Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon
gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.
Setting: The near future; right about now, in fact!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 18 All I Might Have Been
"Spike, come on!" Angel cried, arms braced against the sides of the window frame.
"Wait!" Buffy said. "I'm going with you - "
"Buffy, no!" Angel said. "Don't you see it's a trick?"
"That's what she wants, love," Spike said, the concern in his eyes almost masking his fury at Riley's betrayal. Almost. "They'll be expecting you - but they won't expect us," he added, with a frankly evil grin that belied his reasonable tone.
She looked toward Angel in the faint hope that he was going to be sensible about this, but he was half out the window already.
"We've got to be right behind them, Buffy," he said impatiently.
She threw up her hands. Well - why not? They knew what they were doing. And vampires were immune to the Doctor's thrall, anyway. "Okay, go!" she said.
Angel leaped to the small courtyard below, and Spike shot out the window right behind him. Buffy ran across the room and hung out over the sill.
"Be careful!" she yelled after them as they bounded away, "Come right back! And don't get in any trouble!"
Jeez, she sounded like their mom, not the damn Slayer. When did that happen?
* * * *
Spike and Angel followed the trail straight across Mrs. Caprescu's courtyard to a rough wooden door resembling an old fashioned storm cellar. The tunnels. Naturally, it would be the tunnels. Convenient for the demon population, and all-too-convenient for escaping rogue commandos - or kidnappers, though there was no sign that Riley and Sam were coerced.
Spike seethed. They'd been played for fools, all of them. Not only had he been tricked, but he'd also involved his friends and convinced them to lend their aid to an Initiative soldier. Resolutely, he wrestled his rage down; he needed a clear head for the chase. But when they found the bastard - that would be a different story.
"I trusted that git," he growled, as the door rattled open and they slipped into the cool, earthy passage. "I believed him. Because he's a bloody human, I believed him."
"Welcome to my world," Angel said, his eyes glinting gold.
* * * *
Buffy went slowly down the stairs, arms folded, and found Fred working over her laptop in the kitchen.
"Where is everybody?" she said, trying to keep the plaintive tone from her voice. Now she knew how Dawn felt, always being the one left behind. No wonder she got snippy.
"Mrs. Caprescu went to the grocery store, I think Clem is with Grak, and Charles is on his way back with some new information." Fred said, pushing her glasses up. "Where are the guys?"
Buffy sat down at the table. "Well - Riley and Sam are gone. Vanished." She waved her arms. "Pffft, like that."
"Oh, my lord! How did that happen? Were they kidnapped?"
"Doesn't look like it. They just left. It's sort of, let's say, suspicion-y? Angel and Spike are tracking them." She scrabbled for a pretzel fragment from the bottom of the almost empty bowl. "They couldn't wait to jump right out the window."
"Oh, that'll be fun for them!" Fred said with a cheerful smile. Then, at Buffy's inquiring look, she elaborated. "You know, being predators, and all; now that they're both good and everything, they can't really hunt anymore. At least, not people. Even though they're supposed to, but they're really not. Because that wouldn't be good."
"Oh," Buffy said. "I never thought of that. I thought they just wanted some guy time."
"More like vamp-time," Fred said.
* * * *
Despite many decades apart, Spike and Angel swiftly and noiselessly tracked their quarry in familiar silence. First the spoor led through passages dug out of the ever-moist earth, and then into the inevitable disused service access areas, smelling of chipped paint and damp cement.
Having the Old Man nearby, a dark shadow reflecting his every move, felt weirdly natural to Spike. They traveled at an easy lope on opposite sides of the murky corridor, with occasional glances and infinitesimal nods to confirm the discovery of clues. He perceived the dimensions of the tunnel quite clearly in the gloom, heard their own preternaturally light footfalls and the frail life-signs of rats, mice and chipmunks, and whatever else might inhabit the soil of Sunnydale, and caught an occasional whiff of an extraneous demon. But although he sensed his hunting partner's presence, there was no distracting heartbeat or blood-scent to interfere with the chase. It was almost relaxing.
Relaxing, except for the tightness in his gut when he realized where they were headed. Any idea that Riley had taken his lost bride and simply run off quickly dissipated; he was quite clearly heading for the Doctor's lair.
The question was, why? Just how far would Soldier Boy go?
* * * *
"How much further?" Riley panted. Sam squeezed his big, warm hand. The tunnel was too dark to make out his features, but she knew his boyish face by heart, anyway. Nothing was better than adventuring together, just the two of them, and it made her heart sing after their separation.
"We're close now," she said, her eyes darting along the wall opposite, searching for a particular landmark. They'd made it this far at a run; he kept looking back, but wouldn't tell her who might follow.
She'd never been so happy in her life as when she woke to see him smiling over her, his eyes shining with relief. And she was free; she felt it at once. That terrible compulsion, that fog clouding her brain, was gone as if it had never existed. For a moment, her composure had cracked, and she'd thrown herself into his arms.
"Finn!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Finn! I knew you'd come for me!"
He held her tight, rocking her against him, and kissed her over and over, smoothing her tangled hair. Sam was in heaven; if she could stay here in his arms she'd never feel sorrow again, she thought. But after a few minutes he'd whispered, "Sam, I need you to do something for me."
"Anything." She had smiled at him tremulously, trying to pull herself together. Dammit, she wasn't a crybaby. She was a soldier. "You know that."
"This will be hard for you." His blue eyes were utterly sincere. "I need to see the Doctor. I need you to take me to her."
* * * *
Suddenly, Spike dove into a side passage and emerged clutching a tall, lanky demon, whom he threw roughly to the floor, keeping hold of one bony wrist. Angel melted into the shadows to observe.
"Chalky," Spike said. "What the hell d'you think you're playing at?"
The white-haired, white-skinned demon cringed. He had a prominent nose and a receding chin, and his black eyes were all that kept him from passing for a particularly scruffy and unattractive human. He wore torn, dirty jeans and an all too revealing tank top, and an elaborate filigree of black tattoos decorated his skinny white arms.
"Are you following me?" Spike demanded.
"I wouldn't do that, man!" Chalky whined. "I just happened to be going for a walk. You know, for my health." He tried to sit up, but Spike slammed him back down with a boot on his chest.
"Now, why don't I believe you?" he said, his tawny eyes flickering dangerously. "Who are you working for, Chalky? Vinnie Teeth? Roger the Troll? Or maybe the Doctor?"
"Doctor?" Chalky protested unconvincingly, and licked his lips. "What doctor? There's a doctor?"
Angel's eyes met Spike's for a moment. Opportunity had knocked. He decided it was time for more pressure, and stepped forward out of the deepest gloom.
"What's the holdup, Spike?" he said, ignoring Chalky's gasp of fear. "Who's this loser?"
"Sodding rent-a-minion," Spike sneered. "Too dozy to be any good to us."
Angel snatched up Chalky's other arm. "That doesn't mean he's got nothing of value," he chided. "You've got to think outside the box, Spike." He examined the demon's tattooed forearm. "Nice work."
"Thanks. There's this shop in Demon Town - " Chalky began.
Spike grinned suddenly, his fangs glinting. "See what you mean, mate," he said, looking carefully at the other arm. "These could fetch quite a price."
"Which one do you like better?" Angel twisted the arm he held back and forth.
"I don't know," Spike replied. "There's some good work on this one - artistic, like."
"Maybe we should just take both. It might get messy, but cash is cash - "
"HEY!" Chalky said desperately. "Hey, wait a minute, here! Take what? Are you guys nuts? What are you talking about?"
"Shut up!" Spike gave him a kick. "You had your chance to make yourself useful." He looked at Angel. "Okay, on my signal, just pull - "
"Hey, I was kidding!" Chalky yelled. "Kidding, all right? Sure, I know the Doctor. I'll take a message. No problem. I was going there right now, matter of fact; happy to oblige you two vam -, um, gentlemen."
Spike hauled him up and held him by the scruff of the neck, glaring straight into his eyes. Angel loomed menacingly, and allowed a low rumble to escape his throat. Chalky's Adam's apple bobbed.
"No tricks," Spike snarled. "We want to see the Doctor. You're taking us to her."
* * * *
They followed their unwilling guide through earthen tunnels, and then what appeared to be the halls of a subterranean public building of some kind. Angel's brow - already ridged - furrowed in puzzlement. He'd been here before. What was it? There was a faint, distinct scent -
"So," Chalky said, "you guys got business with the Doctor? 'Cause she don't deal with vamps much, I gotta tell you - nothing personal, but - "
"She'll deal with us," Angel growled.
"We'll make her an offer." Spike said expansively. "She won't refuse."
Ambushed by a pop cultural reference he DID get, Angel shut his teeth hard on a snicker.
Chalky peered back at them over his shoulder.
"What kinda offer?" he said. "You better be careful. She drives a hard bargain. She don't kid around, know what I mean?"
"We've got something she wants," Angel said.
"Something she'll pay for - big," Spike added.
"All due respect, you guys don't look like high rollers," the scrawny demon said. "What have you got to offer?"
"The Slayer," Spike said.
* * * *
"Okay, so just let me do the talking, okay?" Chalky whispered. "We gotta go through channels."
"Don't screw with me, Chalky," Spike warned.
They stood before a perfectly ordinary door; the demon rapped on it with bony knuckles.
"Hey, uh, Garg? It's Chalky."
The door opened, revealing the huge form of a Fyarl, who stood blocking the opening.
"How ya doin,' Garg? I got two guys to see the boss. Important business. No kidding."
The Fyarl stared at them impassively with dull red eyes. After a moment it moved clumsily back and opened the door wide.
Spike and Angel followed Chalky into a dimly lit room that looked like it had once been an office. Garg closed the door behind them, and they saw that it was reinforced with steel - and an automatic lock.
"Thanks, guy!" Chalky said, "I think the boss-lady will - ulp!" He grunted as the Fyarl's enormous hand - or whatever - landed on his shoulder. "Hey!"
Several more Fyarls emerged from the darkness, and crowded around the two vampires, as Chalky was hauled away.
One of the Fyarls grumbled something. Angel looked at Spike.
"He says 'follow,'" Spike translated, with a shrug. They followed, escorted by at least six Fyarls, and were led to another ordinary door. The first Fyarl opened it, and spoke again.
"He says 'wait,'" Spike said.
The door opened on an ordinary looking supply closet, windowless, about ten feet square, lined with shelves and strewn with cleaning equipment that looked like it hadn't been used in years. They entered, and the door closed behind them. They looked at each other, dropping back to human form.
And they waited.
* * * *
"Okay," Sam whispered. "It's right there. Just wait and they'll see you. Don't present any threat."
Riley held her by the shoulders, and said, "Wait here, and if I don't come in an hour, meet me at the helicopter landing spot near the dam, remember? Do not, under any circumstances, come after me."
"But I might be able to - " she began.
"No!" he kissed her hard, once. "I mean it. I couldn't stand it if she got to you again. Promise me."
"If that's what you want."
"After I'm done here, we'll go home, and everything will be like it was before. Don't worry." He would make it up to her, he swore.
* * * *
"Go on, you know you want to," Angel said.
"Shut up," Spike replied, pacing out the steps from wall to wall of their makeshift cell. In fact, it was a pretty poor choice for confining vampires, because there was a perfectly good ventilation duct near the ceiling within easy reach - for them, anyway - if they wanted to escape. Angel wondered if the Doctor's minions were really that stupid, or if this was some kind of test. Meanwhile, there was the problem of passing the time. He really didn't feel like meditating much nowadays - but there was one source of entertainment handy.
"Oh, come on. 'Stone walls do not a prison make - " he said, priming the pump.
Scowling, Spike finished the verse despite himself.
"'Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.'
Happy now?" he said, resuming his prowling.
"Kind of apropos, don't you think?"
"Well, except for the 'innocent and quiet' part, I s'pose."
There were some minutes of silence, broken only by Spike's perambulating footsteps.
"Spike, will you cut that out?" Angel complained. "You're driving me insane. And you KNOW you don't want to see that."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Spike said, sinking to the floor and propping his shoulders against the dusty wall. "Sorry." He patted his jacket pockets, found what he was looking for, and fished out one lone, battered cigarette. He broke it in half, and offered one half to Angel.
"What the hell," Angel muttered, after a brief hesitation. "Thanks." With the cigarette between his lips, he leaned forward as Spike held out his lighter, and watched the tip brighten and glow.
"How long d'you think we'll have to wait?" Spike said, with deliberate casualness.
"A couple of hours, at least. She wants us to know how important she is."
Spike exhaled a stream of smoke, and turned his lighter over and over in his fingers.
"Just one thing," he said, examining the floor between his feet. "If I fall asleep, wake me up, right?"
Angel shot him a keen glance. "Sure," he said calmly, "No problem."
* * * *
Riley stood near the entrance Sam had indicated, putting his hands in his pockets and striving to look unconcerned. He didn't have long to wait; the door opened and he was confronted by a green-skinned little Pakik demon, an obvious minion.
"Yesssss?" the Pakik hissed.
"I want to see the Doctor. She knows who I am."
The demon considered him with curiously lifeless black eyes. Riley suppressed a shudder, thinking of Sam as he had seen her the night before, with that same dull expression. Then it shrugged, and opened the door.
"Come," it said.
Riley went through the door. It was lucky he had no intention of fighting his way out; before him was a room full of Fyarls.
"Wait," the Pakik said. Six or seven Fyarls surrounded Riley, so he really had no choice but to wait. He saw the Pakik pad on three-toed feet through another door.
After a few minutes the doorkeeper returned, and the Fyarls stood aside.
"Come," it said again. Riley went.
* * * *
"No."
"Oh, come on. To pass the time. It'll keep us awake," Angel said insinuatingly. "I'm bored."
"I don't remember any."
"Yeah, right. Go on, Spike, a long one. With nature in it. And no Wordsworth."
Spike frowned at his clasped hands, dangling between his upraised knees.
"Oh, all right," he said ungraciously. "Worth it to stop you nattering."
Ah. Angel closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the cement wall, and prepared to listen. It had been a long time.
"O'Driscoll drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay..."
Spike's deep voice was hushed and ordinary at first, but as he spoke it gradually expanded with all the subtle tonal colors of an orchestra. And as he listened, the voice swept Angel away from this dreary, musty room, this country still not his own, this hard century, and his own weary heart; and he drifted back to his sinless youth and the soft mists of his lost homeland, the way it once had been.
* * * *
Riley followed the doorkeeper demon into an enormous, dimly lit room, with a wooden floor and bare walls rising up to a high ceiling lost in darkness. A miscellany of chairs and tables were shoved against the walls, and at one end was a dais, about three feet tall and fifteen feet wide. A desk stood on that, and behind it he could make out electronic equipment of some kind; he saw blinking green and red lights against the darkness.
He surreptitiously looked around. The Doctor certainly couldn't be a Fyarl, or any of the dull-eyed demons who stood slackly around the room. Then suddenly he heard a slithering sound, like a snake would make. A very large snake.
A cold feeling of dread seized him. Now that the time had come, he didn't want to look. But that was childish. He had a plan.
"Well," a woman's voice said. "It must be my day for visitors."
Slowly Riley turned his head toward the voice, and felt himself drawn closer.
She was at the edge of the dais, so he had to look up. At first he could hardly make her out - there was something odd about her face, something very odd. And the way she stood - he swallowed a gasp.
She had no legs, just a powerful, serpentine tail, on which she balanced, swaying slightly. A gleaming metal mask covered her head; he saw her eyes glitter behind it, but the mouth didn't move when she spoke.
But that was not what made him cry out in terror, and fall to his knees, his heart hammering.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. It was impossible. He knew it was impossible.
A dingy, stained lab coat hid the Doctor's torso. But her hands - strong, pale, capable - he knew those hands. That scar on the knuckle, where a dog had bitten her - she'd always been afraid of dogs.
They were Maggie Walsh's hands.
"Welcome, Agent Finn," the Doctor said.
The world seemed to rush away as Riley heard himself scream.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
But you, my friend true-hearted -
God keep our friendship green! -
You know how I was parted
From all I might have been.
But what avails the ache of
Remorse or weak regret?
We'll battle for the sake of
The men we might be yet!
We'll strive to keep in sight of
The brave, the true, and clean,
And triumph yet in spite of
The men we might have been.
Henry Lawson
A/N: Spike and Angel's poems are "To Althea from Prison" by Richard Lovelace and "The Host of the Air" by W. B. Yeats, both highly recommended.
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon
gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.
Setting: The near future; right about now, in fact!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 18 All I Might Have Been
"Spike, come on!" Angel cried, arms braced against the sides of the window frame.
"Wait!" Buffy said. "I'm going with you - "
"Buffy, no!" Angel said. "Don't you see it's a trick?"
"That's what she wants, love," Spike said, the concern in his eyes almost masking his fury at Riley's betrayal. Almost. "They'll be expecting you - but they won't expect us," he added, with a frankly evil grin that belied his reasonable tone.
She looked toward Angel in the faint hope that he was going to be sensible about this, but he was half out the window already.
"We've got to be right behind them, Buffy," he said impatiently.
She threw up her hands. Well - why not? They knew what they were doing. And vampires were immune to the Doctor's thrall, anyway. "Okay, go!" she said.
Angel leaped to the small courtyard below, and Spike shot out the window right behind him. Buffy ran across the room and hung out over the sill.
"Be careful!" she yelled after them as they bounded away, "Come right back! And don't get in any trouble!"
Jeez, she sounded like their mom, not the damn Slayer. When did that happen?
* * * *
Spike and Angel followed the trail straight across Mrs. Caprescu's courtyard to a rough wooden door resembling an old fashioned storm cellar. The tunnels. Naturally, it would be the tunnels. Convenient for the demon population, and all-too-convenient for escaping rogue commandos - or kidnappers, though there was no sign that Riley and Sam were coerced.
Spike seethed. They'd been played for fools, all of them. Not only had he been tricked, but he'd also involved his friends and convinced them to lend their aid to an Initiative soldier. Resolutely, he wrestled his rage down; he needed a clear head for the chase. But when they found the bastard - that would be a different story.
"I trusted that git," he growled, as the door rattled open and they slipped into the cool, earthy passage. "I believed him. Because he's a bloody human, I believed him."
"Welcome to my world," Angel said, his eyes glinting gold.
* * * *
Buffy went slowly down the stairs, arms folded, and found Fred working over her laptop in the kitchen.
"Where is everybody?" she said, trying to keep the plaintive tone from her voice. Now she knew how Dawn felt, always being the one left behind. No wonder she got snippy.
"Mrs. Caprescu went to the grocery store, I think Clem is with Grak, and Charles is on his way back with some new information." Fred said, pushing her glasses up. "Where are the guys?"
Buffy sat down at the table. "Well - Riley and Sam are gone. Vanished." She waved her arms. "Pffft, like that."
"Oh, my lord! How did that happen? Were they kidnapped?"
"Doesn't look like it. They just left. It's sort of, let's say, suspicion-y? Angel and Spike are tracking them." She scrabbled for a pretzel fragment from the bottom of the almost empty bowl. "They couldn't wait to jump right out the window."
"Oh, that'll be fun for them!" Fred said with a cheerful smile. Then, at Buffy's inquiring look, she elaborated. "You know, being predators, and all; now that they're both good and everything, they can't really hunt anymore. At least, not people. Even though they're supposed to, but they're really not. Because that wouldn't be good."
"Oh," Buffy said. "I never thought of that. I thought they just wanted some guy time."
"More like vamp-time," Fred said.
* * * *
Despite many decades apart, Spike and Angel swiftly and noiselessly tracked their quarry in familiar silence. First the spoor led through passages dug out of the ever-moist earth, and then into the inevitable disused service access areas, smelling of chipped paint and damp cement.
Having the Old Man nearby, a dark shadow reflecting his every move, felt weirdly natural to Spike. They traveled at an easy lope on opposite sides of the murky corridor, with occasional glances and infinitesimal nods to confirm the discovery of clues. He perceived the dimensions of the tunnel quite clearly in the gloom, heard their own preternaturally light footfalls and the frail life-signs of rats, mice and chipmunks, and whatever else might inhabit the soil of Sunnydale, and caught an occasional whiff of an extraneous demon. But although he sensed his hunting partner's presence, there was no distracting heartbeat or blood-scent to interfere with the chase. It was almost relaxing.
Relaxing, except for the tightness in his gut when he realized where they were headed. Any idea that Riley had taken his lost bride and simply run off quickly dissipated; he was quite clearly heading for the Doctor's lair.
The question was, why? Just how far would Soldier Boy go?
* * * *
"How much further?" Riley panted. Sam squeezed his big, warm hand. The tunnel was too dark to make out his features, but she knew his boyish face by heart, anyway. Nothing was better than adventuring together, just the two of them, and it made her heart sing after their separation.
"We're close now," she said, her eyes darting along the wall opposite, searching for a particular landmark. They'd made it this far at a run; he kept looking back, but wouldn't tell her who might follow.
She'd never been so happy in her life as when she woke to see him smiling over her, his eyes shining with relief. And she was free; she felt it at once. That terrible compulsion, that fog clouding her brain, was gone as if it had never existed. For a moment, her composure had cracked, and she'd thrown herself into his arms.
"Finn!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Finn! I knew you'd come for me!"
He held her tight, rocking her against him, and kissed her over and over, smoothing her tangled hair. Sam was in heaven; if she could stay here in his arms she'd never feel sorrow again, she thought. But after a few minutes he'd whispered, "Sam, I need you to do something for me."
"Anything." She had smiled at him tremulously, trying to pull herself together. Dammit, she wasn't a crybaby. She was a soldier. "You know that."
"This will be hard for you." His blue eyes were utterly sincere. "I need to see the Doctor. I need you to take me to her."
* * * *
Suddenly, Spike dove into a side passage and emerged clutching a tall, lanky demon, whom he threw roughly to the floor, keeping hold of one bony wrist. Angel melted into the shadows to observe.
"Chalky," Spike said. "What the hell d'you think you're playing at?"
The white-haired, white-skinned demon cringed. He had a prominent nose and a receding chin, and his black eyes were all that kept him from passing for a particularly scruffy and unattractive human. He wore torn, dirty jeans and an all too revealing tank top, and an elaborate filigree of black tattoos decorated his skinny white arms.
"Are you following me?" Spike demanded.
"I wouldn't do that, man!" Chalky whined. "I just happened to be going for a walk. You know, for my health." He tried to sit up, but Spike slammed him back down with a boot on his chest.
"Now, why don't I believe you?" he said, his tawny eyes flickering dangerously. "Who are you working for, Chalky? Vinnie Teeth? Roger the Troll? Or maybe the Doctor?"
"Doctor?" Chalky protested unconvincingly, and licked his lips. "What doctor? There's a doctor?"
Angel's eyes met Spike's for a moment. Opportunity had knocked. He decided it was time for more pressure, and stepped forward out of the deepest gloom.
"What's the holdup, Spike?" he said, ignoring Chalky's gasp of fear. "Who's this loser?"
"Sodding rent-a-minion," Spike sneered. "Too dozy to be any good to us."
Angel snatched up Chalky's other arm. "That doesn't mean he's got nothing of value," he chided. "You've got to think outside the box, Spike." He examined the demon's tattooed forearm. "Nice work."
"Thanks. There's this shop in Demon Town - " Chalky began.
Spike grinned suddenly, his fangs glinting. "See what you mean, mate," he said, looking carefully at the other arm. "These could fetch quite a price."
"Which one do you like better?" Angel twisted the arm he held back and forth.
"I don't know," Spike replied. "There's some good work on this one - artistic, like."
"Maybe we should just take both. It might get messy, but cash is cash - "
"HEY!" Chalky said desperately. "Hey, wait a minute, here! Take what? Are you guys nuts? What are you talking about?"
"Shut up!" Spike gave him a kick. "You had your chance to make yourself useful." He looked at Angel. "Okay, on my signal, just pull - "
"Hey, I was kidding!" Chalky yelled. "Kidding, all right? Sure, I know the Doctor. I'll take a message. No problem. I was going there right now, matter of fact; happy to oblige you two vam -, um, gentlemen."
Spike hauled him up and held him by the scruff of the neck, glaring straight into his eyes. Angel loomed menacingly, and allowed a low rumble to escape his throat. Chalky's Adam's apple bobbed.
"No tricks," Spike snarled. "We want to see the Doctor. You're taking us to her."
* * * *
They followed their unwilling guide through earthen tunnels, and then what appeared to be the halls of a subterranean public building of some kind. Angel's brow - already ridged - furrowed in puzzlement. He'd been here before. What was it? There was a faint, distinct scent -
"So," Chalky said, "you guys got business with the Doctor? 'Cause she don't deal with vamps much, I gotta tell you - nothing personal, but - "
"She'll deal with us," Angel growled.
"We'll make her an offer." Spike said expansively. "She won't refuse."
Ambushed by a pop cultural reference he DID get, Angel shut his teeth hard on a snicker.
Chalky peered back at them over his shoulder.
"What kinda offer?" he said. "You better be careful. She drives a hard bargain. She don't kid around, know what I mean?"
"We've got something she wants," Angel said.
"Something she'll pay for - big," Spike added.
"All due respect, you guys don't look like high rollers," the scrawny demon said. "What have you got to offer?"
"The Slayer," Spike said.
* * * *
"Okay, so just let me do the talking, okay?" Chalky whispered. "We gotta go through channels."
"Don't screw with me, Chalky," Spike warned.
They stood before a perfectly ordinary door; the demon rapped on it with bony knuckles.
"Hey, uh, Garg? It's Chalky."
The door opened, revealing the huge form of a Fyarl, who stood blocking the opening.
"How ya doin,' Garg? I got two guys to see the boss. Important business. No kidding."
The Fyarl stared at them impassively with dull red eyes. After a moment it moved clumsily back and opened the door wide.
Spike and Angel followed Chalky into a dimly lit room that looked like it had once been an office. Garg closed the door behind them, and they saw that it was reinforced with steel - and an automatic lock.
"Thanks, guy!" Chalky said, "I think the boss-lady will - ulp!" He grunted as the Fyarl's enormous hand - or whatever - landed on his shoulder. "Hey!"
Several more Fyarls emerged from the darkness, and crowded around the two vampires, as Chalky was hauled away.
One of the Fyarls grumbled something. Angel looked at Spike.
"He says 'follow,'" Spike translated, with a shrug. They followed, escorted by at least six Fyarls, and were led to another ordinary door. The first Fyarl opened it, and spoke again.
"He says 'wait,'" Spike said.
The door opened on an ordinary looking supply closet, windowless, about ten feet square, lined with shelves and strewn with cleaning equipment that looked like it hadn't been used in years. They entered, and the door closed behind them. They looked at each other, dropping back to human form.
And they waited.
* * * *
"Okay," Sam whispered. "It's right there. Just wait and they'll see you. Don't present any threat."
Riley held her by the shoulders, and said, "Wait here, and if I don't come in an hour, meet me at the helicopter landing spot near the dam, remember? Do not, under any circumstances, come after me."
"But I might be able to - " she began.
"No!" he kissed her hard, once. "I mean it. I couldn't stand it if she got to you again. Promise me."
"If that's what you want."
"After I'm done here, we'll go home, and everything will be like it was before. Don't worry." He would make it up to her, he swore.
* * * *
"Go on, you know you want to," Angel said.
"Shut up," Spike replied, pacing out the steps from wall to wall of their makeshift cell. In fact, it was a pretty poor choice for confining vampires, because there was a perfectly good ventilation duct near the ceiling within easy reach - for them, anyway - if they wanted to escape. Angel wondered if the Doctor's minions were really that stupid, or if this was some kind of test. Meanwhile, there was the problem of passing the time. He really didn't feel like meditating much nowadays - but there was one source of entertainment handy.
"Oh, come on. 'Stone walls do not a prison make - " he said, priming the pump.
Scowling, Spike finished the verse despite himself.
"'Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.'
Happy now?" he said, resuming his prowling.
"Kind of apropos, don't you think?"
"Well, except for the 'innocent and quiet' part, I s'pose."
There were some minutes of silence, broken only by Spike's perambulating footsteps.
"Spike, will you cut that out?" Angel complained. "You're driving me insane. And you KNOW you don't want to see that."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Spike said, sinking to the floor and propping his shoulders against the dusty wall. "Sorry." He patted his jacket pockets, found what he was looking for, and fished out one lone, battered cigarette. He broke it in half, and offered one half to Angel.
"What the hell," Angel muttered, after a brief hesitation. "Thanks." With the cigarette between his lips, he leaned forward as Spike held out his lighter, and watched the tip brighten and glow.
"How long d'you think we'll have to wait?" Spike said, with deliberate casualness.
"A couple of hours, at least. She wants us to know how important she is."
Spike exhaled a stream of smoke, and turned his lighter over and over in his fingers.
"Just one thing," he said, examining the floor between his feet. "If I fall asleep, wake me up, right?"
Angel shot him a keen glance. "Sure," he said calmly, "No problem."
* * * *
Riley stood near the entrance Sam had indicated, putting his hands in his pockets and striving to look unconcerned. He didn't have long to wait; the door opened and he was confronted by a green-skinned little Pakik demon, an obvious minion.
"Yesssss?" the Pakik hissed.
"I want to see the Doctor. She knows who I am."
The demon considered him with curiously lifeless black eyes. Riley suppressed a shudder, thinking of Sam as he had seen her the night before, with that same dull expression. Then it shrugged, and opened the door.
"Come," it said.
Riley went through the door. It was lucky he had no intention of fighting his way out; before him was a room full of Fyarls.
"Wait," the Pakik said. Six or seven Fyarls surrounded Riley, so he really had no choice but to wait. He saw the Pakik pad on three-toed feet through another door.
After a few minutes the doorkeeper returned, and the Fyarls stood aside.
"Come," it said again. Riley went.
* * * *
"No."
"Oh, come on. To pass the time. It'll keep us awake," Angel said insinuatingly. "I'm bored."
"I don't remember any."
"Yeah, right. Go on, Spike, a long one. With nature in it. And no Wordsworth."
Spike frowned at his clasped hands, dangling between his upraised knees.
"Oh, all right," he said ungraciously. "Worth it to stop you nattering."
Ah. Angel closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the cement wall, and prepared to listen. It had been a long time.
"O'Driscoll drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay..."
Spike's deep voice was hushed and ordinary at first, but as he spoke it gradually expanded with all the subtle tonal colors of an orchestra. And as he listened, the voice swept Angel away from this dreary, musty room, this country still not his own, this hard century, and his own weary heart; and he drifted back to his sinless youth and the soft mists of his lost homeland, the way it once had been.
* * * *
Riley followed the doorkeeper demon into an enormous, dimly lit room, with a wooden floor and bare walls rising up to a high ceiling lost in darkness. A miscellany of chairs and tables were shoved against the walls, and at one end was a dais, about three feet tall and fifteen feet wide. A desk stood on that, and behind it he could make out electronic equipment of some kind; he saw blinking green and red lights against the darkness.
He surreptitiously looked around. The Doctor certainly couldn't be a Fyarl, or any of the dull-eyed demons who stood slackly around the room. Then suddenly he heard a slithering sound, like a snake would make. A very large snake.
A cold feeling of dread seized him. Now that the time had come, he didn't want to look. But that was childish. He had a plan.
"Well," a woman's voice said. "It must be my day for visitors."
Slowly Riley turned his head toward the voice, and felt himself drawn closer.
She was at the edge of the dais, so he had to look up. At first he could hardly make her out - there was something odd about her face, something very odd. And the way she stood - he swallowed a gasp.
She had no legs, just a powerful, serpentine tail, on which she balanced, swaying slightly. A gleaming metal mask covered her head; he saw her eyes glitter behind it, but the mouth didn't move when she spoke.
But that was not what made him cry out in terror, and fall to his knees, his heart hammering.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. It was impossible. He knew it was impossible.
A dingy, stained lab coat hid the Doctor's torso. But her hands - strong, pale, capable - he knew those hands. That scar on the knuckle, where a dog had bitten her - she'd always been afraid of dogs.
They were Maggie Walsh's hands.
"Welcome, Agent Finn," the Doctor said.
The world seemed to rush away as Riley heard himself scream.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
But you, my friend true-hearted -
God keep our friendship green! -
You know how I was parted
From all I might have been.
But what avails the ache of
Remorse or weak regret?
We'll battle for the sake of
The men we might be yet!
We'll strive to keep in sight of
The brave, the true, and clean,
And triumph yet in spite of
The men we might have been.
Henry Lawson
A/N: Spike and Angel's poems are "To Althea from Prison" by Richard Lovelace and "The Host of the Air" by W. B. Yeats, both highly recommended.