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: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!
A/N: Almost to the end; only one more chapter to go!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Part 22 Drifting Dust
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Buffy's sword slashed right, left, and right again. Well, here I am, battling the undead in a high school gym, she thought. You've come a long way, baby!
Dust shimmered in her wake and fine grit grated beneath the soles of her boots as she danced and pivoted through the mortal remains of her prey. As from a distance, the growling of the Fyarls falling upon the Doctor's crowd of vampire mercenaries met her ears. She was in the zone.
The cavernous chamber had dissolved into violent chaos on the arrival of the Fyarls through the door and Spike's demon cadre through a window. At first the leaderless vamp horde milled about uncertainly, but the Fyarls—holding some sort of grudge, apparently—weren't about to let the undead get away. Combat exploded. Glimpses of the battle caught Buffy's eye as she dodged and whirled. Shouts, grunts, and roars echoed off the tiled walls. Across the room, Xander, Gunn, and Clem plied their weapons with grim glee. A few of the Doctor's remaining enthralled minions joined the melee—Zandar demons, with their array of dagger-sharp horns, Mottarians, with armor-like scales and six-taloned paws, and the ever-popular Polgaras—but, in the end, they were no use to their mistress. Shots of Mrs. C's anti-thrall potion sent them thudding to the floor.
Buffy had to admit that Spike's allies—dammit, even that overdeveloped hottie, Zevra—turned the tide of the fight. Vinnie the Loan Shark threw street-honed right hooks, uppercuts, and rabbit punches, driving his adversaries toward a blue guy who proved pretty swift with a stake—that was probably the elusive Wally. Desperately, less valorous vamps began to peel away from the mob and scuttle off, depleting the bad guys' numbers even further, from fifty to no more than two dozen.
Buffy's smile was flinty. So, this super-villainess thought she could menace HER town? HER friends? Threaten Spike? Not in this life. Katherine Madison, you're going DOWN!
Ducking to the right, Buffy glimpsed Spike roughly shaking Riley's shoulder, as Riley screamed something she couldn't make out. Spike shot to his feet, swift as lightning, and made a great bound across the room, his coat flapping behind him. A second leap took him straight to the platform where Katherine Madison perched above the fray. But he didn't have a weapon…
"Spike!" Buffy shouted. He whirled just in time to see her sword flashing toward him, spinning end over end. Eyes blazing with yellow bale-fire, he caught the pommel in his left hand and swung it high overhead, bringing the blade down in a deadly arc where the Doctor's demon tail curved upward to support her torso. Black fluid spurted from between the reptilian scales; her brazen face didn't change expression, but hideous, inhuman yowls issued from behind the mask. Lightning shot from her fingers, knocking Spike aside. Still gripping the sword, he scrambled to his feet, and charged again.
Once more the Doctor lurched toward the back of the platform. Spike followed, his blade striking sparks from the back of her metal neck she ducked and twisted to escape his blows. Obviously, he was trying to keep her from doing something—and whatever it was she wanted to do couldn't be good.
They should probably stop her.
"Guys!" Buffy cried. "Stop her! This way!"
She saw four of the remaining vampires explode into dust as Zevra fought her way toward the front of the platform, her spear a windmill of destruction.
"Slayer!" the Amazon called. "A blade!" Drawing a short sword from her belt with a sharp-toothed grin, she tossed it over the heads of two more snarling vamps.
Buffy caught it with an answering grin and sprang onto the raised area, arm raised to strike. The question was, where? The chimera was made up of three of her old enemies, Katherine Madison, the Mayor, and Maggie Walsh, smooshed together by some fiendish magical means. So shouldn't there be, well, weak points? Like, seams? (And, ewww.)
Electric bolts and fireballs blasted wildly from the monstrous creature's hands, bouncing from the walls and ceiling. As Abner, Abel, Vinnie, Wally, and Zevra disposed of the remaining vamps and (evil) demons, Gunn, Clem, and Eddie began to slash at the powerful, dangerous tail. Xander's crossbow bolts whizzed past Buffy's ears. Spike and Angel, bobbing and weaving under a rain of flaming missiles, got in some mighty hits to the body.
"Fools! Lackeys!" the Doctor shrieked, rising to a great height, knocking Clem and Eddie off their feet, "You will never defeat me, Slayer! Thrice you tried, and thrice you failed; your puny efforts only made us stronger. Stronger! Soon you will all be subject to my will! My strength will know no limits!"
"That's what you think, lady," Buffy snapped. She was sick and tired of Mrs. Super-Bitch. "You've caused enough trouble, and I've had it, okay? I guess there's only ONE way to get you out of my town—and this is it!"
With that, she launched herself at the chimera's back, clamped her legs around her ribs, and aimed blow after blow at the bronze neck. Soon the creature's stained lab coat was soaked with blood (if it was blood). Buffy clung for dear life as the great scaled body writhed and bucked, sending the attackers tumbling. She saw Angel slam against the wall and Spike go sailing through the air across the chamber. Spike was up in a moment, and scrambling after the Doctor as she lunged again in the direction of an instrument panel at the back of the platform.
"No!" Buffy heard Riley scream.
With one blow, Spike hacked off the monster's right arm. At almost the same moment, Buffy somersaulted over her head, seized her around the waist, and aimed a powerful stab at the left side of her chest, right where the heart should be—if this blending of demon, witch, and mad scientist still had a heart. The gleaming sword slid through clothing, flesh, and muscle with shocking ease.
Apparently the Doctor did still have a heart, after all. Deep red blood sprayed from her chest and back, and her powerful body shuddered and stiffened. There was a strange lull. All battle sounds faded as Buffy looked her enemy straight in the eyes and saw her die.
The warriors looked at each other. One of the Fyarls began a spine-chilling chant—a death-chant, though whether of victory over his tormentor or mourning for his mistress, Angel couldn't tell—and the others shushed him with low growls. Grunting a little, favoring his right knee, Angel picked himself up and brushed debris from his coat. Demon carcasses littered the floor. His stomach tightened. A miasma of death filled the room, and scents of sweet human blood and acrid demon blood mingled, seductive and repulsive, all underlaid with the chill, graveside smell of vampire dust. Another victory won.
Spike stood at the edge of the Doctor's podium before the corpse, still gripping his sword's hilt as the point dragged on the floor. Blood trickled down his face from an already closing scalp wound. He looked dazed.
"Well," he said, wiping a hand across his forehead, "That's it, then."
Angel hung back as the other demons gathered around their leader.
"All right! We did it, Spike! Ding-dong, the witch is dead!" Clem's ruby eyes beamed. "We couldn't have won without you! Three cheers for Spike!"
Ragged cheers, with roars from the Fyarls and a surprisingly piercing hoot from the little Pikak, rose from the demons. Vinnie Teeth whistled and stamped. Spike blinked, assuming a certain deer-in-the-headlights expression. Angel folded his arms. This should be good.
"Speech!" Wally called, and the others agreed loudly.
"Thanks a lot, mates," Spike said, after a moment's hesitation. "We did it, didn't we? From now on, we're free to run our own patch and make our own rules—if any. From now on, we'll have a fair and honest Demontown. No more underhanded deals. No more minions. No more thrall. Just a free association of equal, um, demonkind."
Not bad, Angel decided. Spike always did have a way with words. He was interrupted by more applause, and held up his hand.
"But we couldn't have done it alone. First, let's give it up for Peaches and… that is, our demon brothers from out of town."
Hey! No fair dragging him into this! A chant of "Angel! Angel! Angel!" began, with the Fyarls grunting in rhythm. Angel, after the obligatory glower at the hated nickname, smiled modestly and sketched a salute. Wally and Vinnie bowed, grinning.
"And let's not forget our friends, the humans, of L.A. and Sunnydale. One, in particular." Before the demons could react, he continued, "Slayer?"
After a slight pause, the demons burst into applause again, and this time Angel joined in. Buffy, her eyes like stars, mounted the platform and took Spike's outstretched hand. Below them, Xander extended his hand to Abel, who, after a moment's hesitation, took it in his own enormous, furry one and shook it vigorously. Xander smiled, hardly wincing at all. This inaugurated an orgy of friendly human-demon handshaking and backslapping, not to mention several enthusiastic hugs for Zevra.
"Thanks, you guys," Buffy said. Despite her torn, bloodied clothing, she glowed like a sunbeam to Angel's eyes. "So, um, from now on we can all work together to keep Sunnydale safe, right? In fact," she continued, with rising enthusiasm, "I had this idea for a kind of joint Neighborhood Watch…"- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw Angel draw away from the victorious gathering and drift toward the back of the room. Well, the old man never did like a crowd. At first he was puzzled at the direction Angel took, until he remembered who lay there, handcuffed and unable to escape—Riley. Uh-oh. Pausing briefly to admire the sight of Buffy enthusiastically comparing notes on battle technique (judging from their rather lethal-looking gestures) with Zevra, he slipped after his progenitor.
He came upon Angel staring at Riley with unsettling intensity, one hand grasping his already bruised neck. Riley was pinned to the floor, his bloodshot blue eyes wide with panic.
"Oh, right. We've still got anatomically incorrect G.I. Joe to dispose of, I reckon," Spike remarked in a casual tone. "Almost forgot about him."
"I didn't," Angel said, in an expressionless voice. Spike looked at him sharply. "He knows too much. About Buffy. About everything."
"Does he? Think you're giving him a bit too much credit. I mean, he's not exactly Charlie-bleeding-Carruthers, Master Spy, is he?"
"He already tried to sell her out once. There's one way to shut him up permanently. If he never leaves here, he can never tell."
"Tell what?" Riley said, still groggy. "I don't know anything. What do you mean? What does he mean? I won't tell anyone, I swear."
"It would be easy," Angel reflected; his dark eyes didn't flicker. Spike felt a bead of ice roll up his spine. "Don't you think? That girl's better off without him, anyhow. You know how he'll treat her in the end. He's nothing." He squeezed Riley's throat a little, leaving him red-faced and gasping. "He's just a puling piece of…"
Bugger. Spike crouched beside his grandsire, and gripped his shoulder hard with one hand.
"You don't want to do that, mate," he said steadily.
Angel didn't answer, and didn't release his hold.
"She wouldn't want that on her conscience," Spike went on, keeping his voice dispassionate. "She wouldn't want that on YOUR conscience. It would prey on her mind, wouldn't it? Make her unhappy."
After a few seconds, Angel sagged, and loosed his hold on Riley, who collapsed, wheezing. Better get him out of here, pronto. Without resistance, Angel dropped a key into Spike's outstretched palm.
"Hop it, moron," Spike snapped, unlocking the A.I. issue steel bracelets, "and don't let us see or hear of you again, savvy? Or you'll regret the day you were born." He emphasized that last threat by vamping out, showing some fang, and glaring with deadly golden eyes. "Point taken?"
Riley bolted.
Side by side, the two souled vampires watched the former soldier scuttle away, unnoticed and unmissed by the happy crowd of humans and (good) demons.
"Hero," Spike summed up. "Clean-cut, all-American, football-tossing, psalm-singing bloody hero."
"I think the word I'm looking for is putz," Angel mused.
"Come on, Grampy." Spike clapped him on the shoulder. "Lively up yourself, all right? Eddie's invited the lot of us to the Red Sunset. Drinks on the house." He cleared his throat. "Inhaling all that dust, I could use a pint. Or five. Or ten."
"Sounds good," Angel said, adding, with a flash of irritation, "Didn't I say never to call me that?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
HELEN'S lips are drifting dust;
Ilion is consumed with rust;
All the galleons of Greece
Drink the ocean's dreamless peace;
Lost was Solomon's purple show
Restless centuries ago;
Stately empires wax and wane—
Babylon, Barbary, and Spain;—
Only one thing, undefaced,
Lasts, though all the worlds lie waste
And the heavens are overturned.
Dear, how long ago we learned!
There's a sight that blinds the sun
Sound that lives when sounds are done,
Music that rebukes the birds,
Language lovelier than words,
Hue and scent that shame the rose,
Wine no earthly vineyard knows,
Silence stiller than the shore
Swept by Charon's stealthy oar,
Ocean more divinely free
Than Pacific's boundless sea,—
Ye who love have learned it true.
Dear, how long ago we knew!
Frederic Lawrence Knowles