From : Chihuahua
Date : 4th May 2003
Disclaimer : I don't own any of the TRA:JQ characters and neither do I own any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No money is made out of this fic. Don't sue me as I'm not sure I can afford Ally McBeal.
Category : A, JJ-HR, DBN-HR, F, E, JQ/Buffy Crossover
Rating : Parental guidance is advised.
Author's note : This takes place after Season 2 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This is my account on what happens and is based fully on my own creativity.
Archiver's Permission: Granted to those who want it. Just inform me on where it can be found.
CHAPTER 8: STRENGTH, COURAGE & WISDOM
SUNNYDALE
Rupert Giles plonked himself heavily onto his lazy boy, none of his usual dignified stiffness present. He couldn't give a shit what he looked like, a disheveled mess with greasy unwashed hair in a shapeless gray sweatshirt. He surveyed the landfill that had once served as a living room. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to clear up the mess, but he banished the thought as soon as the second passed. He simply couldn't find the energy.
The clock on his mantelpiece indicated that it was three o'clock. In the morning or afternoon he couldn't really be sure. He hadn't slept at all for the past week, and the house was in a state of perpetual darkness.
Giles felt like a failure. Like a sodding loser! He had failed in so many things. He had failed to keep Jenny safe… he had let his guard down and Angel had killed her. In his bed. In his fucking bed! More importantly, although Giles couldn't see it that way right now, he had lost his charge. Buffy had disappeared.
The rest were coping as well as could be expected. Even her mother, who was nearly hysterical when her daughter never went home for two days. The poor woman nearly went ballistic. He had managed to calm her somewhat, but what else was a mother to do but worry?
Willow was still in her self-blame phase, reasoning that it had been her fault that she had not been able to perform the soul-restoring ritual faster. Xander had seemed to lose some of that zest in life, moping about like a chimp in a cage. Even Cordelia seemed to have been affected in some profound way. Sure she was still a bitch, but she was a much nicer one. It was as if her close encounter with danger had heightened her appreciation of life.
Then, there was him. The lousy loser! He who had always prided himself for having any situation under control. Because of his arrogance, the woman he had loved was dead, a Slayer had died; Kendra rest her soul, the rest of his friends had been injured and his charge had disappeared in the wake of her ex-lover's bloody wave.
Angel… that name filled him with such hatred now. No, not hatred, he couldn't hate him. But he felt such anger surging through him, tingling at every nerve.
Giles sighed again for the umpteenth time of the day. He hated the rankness than permeated from himself, the odor of greasiness. Scotch weighed heavily on his breath, the smoky taste still ingrained in his brain and the moment of heady lightheadedness still lingered.
Reaching out, he grabbed his bottle of single-malt scotch and poured himself another glass. Neat, that was how he took it. Anything else was for pansies! Of course 'normal' Giles would never have thought that way, but he was a man fueled solely by liquor now.
His doorbell rang, an offensive intrusion to his solitude. Giles didn't budge from his position, staring blankly at the ceiling, willing his visitor away.
No such luck. The bell jangled loudly again, a more persistent tone this time. And again. And again!
"Sod off!" Giles raged, his voice raspy from the dryness of his throat.
"Giles, open up. It's me, Willow!" the voice called, coming through muffled.
"I know bloody well, who you are. Now, just go!" he screamed. He could almost see her timid demeanor disappearing, taken over by hurt. Once, he would have cared, not now though. Too much weighed on his mind, his heart sunken into a trench too deep to fathom.
There was a moment of silence, and then he heard the front door latch being removed and the lock twisting. Damn that witch!
Willow marched into the house and stormed into the living area. She wrinkled her nose in disdain at the foulness of the air.
"Giles. Get up!" she commanded. Xander entered behind her, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw the state of the place.
"You really did a number on this place, huh?" he said, whistling to enunciate his awe.
"Xander…" Willow hissed warningly, pointing a finger at him.
Xander's hands immediately shielded his crotch area. "No funny business there," he said, a tinge of fear evident in his voice. Willow had used that threat often enough, and Xander did not want to test the validity of it.
Giles glared at the both of them. He struggled to his feet and glowered over both of them. "I told you two to leave."
"Make us," Willow challenged. Her eyes flashed angrily. She had never looked more beautiful, Giles thought. Her rage seemed to bring out the intensity of her auburn hair.
Giles took an unsteady step towards them and stopped. He knew he would stumble and fall with his next step.
"I thought so." Willow stepped forward and touched his arm gently. "Giles, you've got to snap out of it."
"Why should I? What if I don't want to?" he cried, sounding every bit like the ten year old he felt like.
"We need you. We need your guidance now, after all that has happened…" she trailed off, not caring to elaborate. Partly for him, partly because she did not want to relive the painful memory.
Xander stepped up now. "You're the G-man… we need you around… with all your English bookishness."
Giles glared at the boy. "I told you never to call me that!" he warned. Then he smiled, a ghost of the former Giles. "I'm not sure if I can…"
"You can, it's just a matter of whether you will," Willow pushed on.
"I've got a lot of things on my mind right now, Willow."
"Like what?"
"Like cleaning up my place. It's still a mess and…"
Willow didn't bother listening to his whole explanation. Waving her hands in the air and chanting softly, she raised several objects into the air. Giles' glass smashed into a wall. "Sorry," she said.
"I'll clear up myself if you don't mind," Giles said. "The old-fashioned way."
Willow smiled apologetically. "Sorry about the glass."
Giles waved the apology away. "I'll meet you all at the library this evening. Let me get myself together first."
"My God, what the hell died in here anyway?" a shrill voice called as the rapid fall of high heels clicked imperiously on Giles's hardwood floor.
Willow rolled her eyes.
"Cordy, ever the punctual one. It's okay, Giles has agreed to clean up… before he is evicted by the roaches." Xander cringed a little, as a dull ache throbbed in his broken arm. The cast was a hindrance; he had never wanted to scratch something so much!
"Whatever!" Cordy said, her pretty face still a mask of disdain. She zeroed her glance in on Giles. "You sure you don't want any help? I could send Martha… you'll have to pay her of course but…"
"Thank you very much for the kind offer, Cordelia, but I'm sure I'll be able to cope." Giles smiled wanly. He cleared his throat. "Now, as I was saying, I'll meet you all later at the library…"
"Say no more, G-Man. We're already gone," Xander piped up cheerfully, tugging Cordy with him and signaling for Willow to follow.
The front door closed, and their footsteps faded away. Giles slumped back into his chair, feeling somewhat deflated. But he no longer felt defeated. The kids had done him more good than he wanted to give credit for.
Once again anger passed through him. He was pissed off. At Buffy this time! He realized that he had been mad at her all the while. She had convinced them to trust Angel. She had turned him evil again. She ran away, abandoning her responsibility to them all. To the world. She had no right!
As suddenly as it came, his rage dissipated. He couldn't blame her for trusting Angel, he had not been entirely against it either, and Angel had come through enough times to have earned his trust. As for turning Angel, it had been a declaration of love between the two. He didn't blame her for fearing dying alone. He had woken up in cold sweat enough times from such a fear. But he couldn't find it in himself to forgive her for running away. That remained a selfish act.
He got up, fueled by resolve. While she was AWOL, Sunnydale needed protection. If she wasn't here for it, then he would have to step up…
He began to reorganize his coffee-table, straightening the magazines and books.
***
KUALA LUMPUR, MALAYSIA
Seth wiped the sweat of his
brow, cursing the heat. The humidity was in the high eighties as usual and that
definitely didn't help the situation. Throngs of people hurried past him as he
loitered mindlessly down Jalan Bukit
Bintang.
It never ceased to amaze
him how many people frequented this street. No wonder it was a shopping haven!
But today, he wished that they would all just disappear and leave him alone. He
paused momentarily, surveying the row of shopping complexes that lined the
street on one side. KL Plaza or Sungai Wang Plaza?
He decided against Sungai Wang Plaza… too smoky. He hated it when people didn't have the common courtesy to stop puffing away in air-conditioned spaces. Stupid assholes! He thought viciously, almost consciously restraining himself from flooring the Malay bloke who had just blown a gust of foul smelling smoke into his face. Bangsat! He thought viciously.
The shrill ringing of his cell phone shattered the monotony of his lazy Saturday afternoon. Shifting his paper bags skillfully to his other hand, he reached into his pocket and drew the small contraption.
Mom. "Yeah, mom," he said in standard response. He nodded his head unconsciously as she prattled on. His face showed his displeasure.
"Why now?" he demanded. He listened for her response, more of an obligation than anything else. "Yeah, yeah! I know! It's my bloody responsibility!" He terminated the call before she could say anymore. Anything important had been shared.
He looked over at the Malay guy who had stopped just a few feet away to light a new stick. Muttering softly and sweeping his hand over, the cigarette combusted instantly, leaving the man with burnt fingers.
Seth smiled a twisted smile of pleasure as he heard the man's shouts of pain. Idiot!
He would have to pack. He had been prepared for the worst… five years ago! Now that he had settled nice and comfy in the country he had was born in, he had to leave again.
Shaking away his thoughts, he marched right into Sungai Wang Plaza. More cigs to incinerate there!
***
MAINE
"So, you found the origins of the Destined?" Race enquired, knitting his eyebrows when he saw the pile of books on the table.
Benton nodded. "Most of it is in this journal, so helpful bits and pieces are scattered about the various Watcher's journals."
Hadji seemed uneasy, as if disturbed by something. He fingered the spine of a book delicately, running his long fingers over the cracks.
"What's with you, Hadji?" Race asked, turning his attention to him.
"I don't know how to describe it… but it's a feeling that is… well, intangible. I can feel it. Its presence is saturated in the air… and yet I do not know what it is."
"Have you been able to contact Jonny?" Benton asked, turning his weary expression onto Hadji too.
"No." The answer was curt. In fact, he had not tried lately. Hadji hated to acknowledge it, but resentment was slowly creeping into his soul. He had been left to cope with two emotionally distraught men in the wake of a family tragedy. He did not feel that he had the strength to continuously try to communicate with his brother who had absented himself in such a selfish manner. In short, Hadji was beginning to feel used.
"He'll come back soon… when he's ready," Race offered, and even he could hear his own disbelief.
"Have you contacted I-1 about the Destined, Race?" Benton asked pointedly.
Race nodded. "They said that they'll get back to me about the desired data and documents."
"Call them again tomorrow… I want the files over here in two days. Max!"
"Why do you want all that info for, doc?"
"I need to know more about this. I need to know… everything. I do not want Jonny to fall just like that. He will maximize his existence."
There was an ample moment of silence as each man regarded the other with some level of respect.
"I guess there's nothing we can do until I-1 gets back to us," Race said, getting up. He left the room, stretching his arms.
Hadji got up silently and proceeded to follow suite.
"Hadji." Benton's voice stilled him. He turned to regard his father. Benton looked at his son, studying his deep features for a moment. Then, pulling him into a hug, he said, "I'm sorry."
***
SAN FRANCISCO
Chinatown was teeming with people. The streets were brightly lit, the roads slick from the previous rain. The sweet scent of boiling ginseng and ginger permeated the air, fragrant aromas of roast meats and Chinese dishes overpowering even the smoke of the various vehicles. The noise level was amazing; people chatting over Mushu pork and noodles, hawkers hollering for customers and the irregular honks of impatient vehicles.
Above all, Jessie could smell blood. The sweet inviting scent of fresh blood was heavy and heady. She was alone tonight, separated from the rest. She tossed her red hair behind her shoulders and continued to walk down the crowded sidewalks, avoiding the running children. Several times she was tempted to rip their throats open to slake her thirst.
Each time she stopped herself. Because she didn't want to be discovered. Because her soul did not permit her to do so.
The streets were less crowded now. She had passed the majority of the crowd, and there was only an occasional pedestrian now. This part of the city was also less brightly lit. Less festive. Less alive.
"Jessie!" she heard him call.
Spinning around, she saw his slender silhouette approaching.
She ran.
He followed.
She heard him calling her. Heard his approaching footsteps, heard his pace matching hers, outpacing hers. Then, it was over. She was cornered in a dead-end.
"End of the road, Jess." His tone was cold. "No more running. No more hiding. No more games. It ends now."
She took a fighter's stance, feet slightly apart and hands poised for either shielding or attacking. She grimaced when she saw him striking a similar poise.
"You can't kill me, Jonny," she taunted. "You don't have the heart to. Not while I can do this," she continued. "Help me, Jonny. Save me." She smiled a savage grin when she saw the effect her words had on him.
"Shut up!"
"Why? Can't take it?"
"Just shut up!"
"Make me. Fight me!"
Jonny took the first offensive, leaping in with an aerial drop kick. Jessie dodged it easily, and struck with a hard uppercut. The blow struck Jonny in the ribs just as he planted a hard knee in her abdomen. The both of them fell back, reeling slightly, but not enough to slow them down. Jonny's next low roundhouse caught her unaware and she fell.
Combining the grace of a dancer and the power of the fighter she was, she rolled out of the way and whipped her long legs in a wide arc, taking him down with a scissor motion. They both flipped back onto their feet at the same time, as if in some strange brutal ballet.
Each blow was parried and dodged by the other, an occasional blow catching the other unaware. The attacks were rapid fire in succession, each trained fighter not letting up or giving up. The passion was not absent as they squared off over and over again.
"Give it up, Jonny! You can't hurt me."
"And why is that?"
"You're still making this personal."
"I'm hitting my girlfriend. My best-friend. It is personal!"
"Not to me it isn't!" she snarled back, landing a heavy backhand to his face. Her fist came back bloody. She had probably broken his nose. She laughed. He reeled in pain, but the hurt was deeper than the physical damage she had just inflicted.
"You know what your problem is, Jonny?" she taunted, dodging a high kick. There was no reply. "You don't fight dirty!" She cart wheeled aside and picked up the lid of a dustbin. Taking a quick aim, she threw it like a Frisbee, watching it catch Jonny full in the ribs. He doubled over, blood dribbling off his nose.
Striding over, she kicked him in the head, flipping him over with the sheer force. He fell, bloody and beat up. But not defeated.
He rolled away, getting to his feet with some struggle. No good. A hard kick to the midsection sent him bouncing off a concrete wall. Jonny moaned as he felt his arm being wrenched, flipping him onto his back. She sat astride him, one hand pinning his hands down above his head.
Then he saw it. Jessie. Not the demon that had inhabited her, but her soul looking sadly at him. "You must end this, Jon," she said softly. "For the both of us."
He spat out a gob a bloodied spit to the side. "I…"
"You must!" she insisted. "This is what I am now. I'm not Jessie anymore!" She vamped out and planted a kiss on him.
On his neck.
When she moved away, her lips were bloody. "Just so you remember."
With that, she was gone.
Jonny stumbled back to the motel. His wounds were mostly superficial, amazingly considering all the thrashing he had been through. His nose had stopped bleeding but it still ached. No, it just hurt. He brushed away some old blood, watching the flakes flutter to the ground. Blood.
He touched his neck gently, felt the twin punctures. She had bitten him, not to drain him, or change him. "Just so you remember," she had said.
He remembered.
There was no hot water, as usual, for the shower. He just stood there under the torrent of cold water, his every fiber aching from the fight. The cuts and grazes stung as the water flowed over them. He stood there till the water ran clear. He stepped out of the shower, and checked the time. Nearly five. He had wandered the streets for several hours before he returned, a bloody wreck.
He pulled on a tank top, wishing he had something else to cover the wounds with. He didn't want Buffy to know. The black drawstring pants he had worn the night before would do just fine.
Jonny moved carefully to his duffel and dug deep for the scrap of paper. The scrap with the instructions for unbinding a soul. The spell was fairly easy to perform, and he had it memorized by now. He had held back all this while, hoping that there might be a way to bring her back. He knew now that there wasn't. He would have to kill her. First things first, he would have to free her. Only then would he kill her.
He lay down at his usual spot with some difficulty. Less than an hour to sunrise. He would have to head for work then.
Buffy heard him shuffle in. Saw him bleeding. Watched him drift off to a troubled sleep. She didn't say a word. She knew he didn't want any advice or anything now. Quietly, she let him go about. She saw a resolve in his features as he drifted off.
What she didn't understand was why Jessie couldn't control the demon if she still had a soul. The way Angel did. Why didn't she fight back? Too many questions, too few answers.
Things were beginning to be strange lately. The vampires encountered each night seemed to be better armed, fighters in their own right. As if they were being trained. Secondly, the influx of vampires had not led to the rise of dead bodies. It was as if the bodies were being stored.
Or worse, turned.
She turned away. Jonny's tortured expression still haunted her.
***
MAINE
Hadji felt himself being pulled away from his fitful sleep. In a way, he was relieved to be dragged away from the macabre world of demonology. And yet, there was an underlying sense of uneasiness as he continued to drift away from familiar territory. He seemed to fall through a haze, his surroundings completely engulfed in a mist that was quite unlike any which he had seen before. It was denser than a fog, somewhat heavier as it eddied about languidly, like smoke on a still day.
He was drawn to it, and yet he feared it. Where was he and how was it that he was here?
"I brought you here, Hadj," Jessie's voice replied, a response to his thoughts.
"Jessie?" he exclaimed in recognition. "Is that you?"
She seemed to materialize out of thin air, appearing next to him. Hadji leapt away, more in shock than in fright.
"You're dead!" he cried, not allowing himself to hear the fear in his voice. He tried several cleansing breaths to regain his calm.
"I know that, Hadj," Jessie teased, rolling her eyes. "But it is me. I'm speaking to you."
"But how can you? You're a vampire, your soul is gone… or at least it should be."
Jessie sighed. "I bound myself to Jonny… my soul cannot leave this plane."
Hadji nodded thoughtfully, some of his old composure returning to him.
A moment of silence passed.
"Why can't you fight the demon?" Hadji asked expectantly.
"I've tried… so many times you can't imagine. Every conscious moment is a struggle. But my soul is just bound to Jonny, it can't leave this plane, but it has nowhere else to go, so it's still in me." She paused, and continued when she was satisfied that he understood. "It's not so much part of me than it is trapped here. The demon will always win in the end… I have only short bursts of control."
"Is there a way to bind your soul to your body then?"
She nodded again. "But I don't want to, Hadj. I don't want to go back to that body. I don't want to live its guilt. I want to be free again." She stopped, tears streaming down her face. "I know it's selfish, but I just want to move on! Get away from it"
He pulled her into a hug. "Shh… don't cry. It's not selfish. It's right." He stroked her hair. His heart ached for them; his brother and her. What had they done to deserve a separation like this? In was cruel and unfair!
She pulled away after a while. "Thank you, Hadj."
He looked puzzled. "For what, Jessie?"
"For being there all those times. For still being here."
"It's not a big thing."
She smiled. "You don't have to be around here, you know. Constantly surrounded by chaos and disorder. You could be in Bangalore, being all sultan-ish and all."
"Jessie," Hadji said, turning her to look at him. "Whatever it is, my family comes first. You're my family."
Another wan smile. "It'll be goodbye soon, Hadj. I won't be able to see you when it comes."
"I'll know it when your freedom comes."
"Thanks." She pulled him into a tight hug. "I love you, Hadj! Tell Mom and Dad, please."
"And you know that I love you too." He returned her embrace, his own tears running down his cheek. "Always."
"Always."
Hadji opened his eyes. His tears were still hot against his cheek. His senses still tingled.
***
SUNNYDALE
Sunnydale High Library. The air was thick, musty with mildew. The odor of books was heavy. Giles opened up the book cage where he kept his entire arsenal of crossbows, daggers, swords and some sharp stakes.
"Cool axe, Giles!" Xander exclaimed, making a move to remove the impressive looking weapon from its stand.
"Don't touch that." The words carried enough menace for Xander to withdraw, a little hurt.
Giles's expression softened. "It's heavy, that's all. And potentially lethal!"
"Gotcha G-Man!" Xander chirped, enjoying the look of frustration on the Watcher's face.
"Why are we here again?" Cordelia whined.
"Cor, you have to stop using that line. It makes you sound like a poodle!" Xander smiled impishly.
"So, what's the plan, Giles?" Willow asked, ignoring the banter between Xander and his newfound and highly unlikely girlfriend- Cordelia!
"I have to patrol tonight, just to keep the numbers of vamps in check," he deadpanned.
Willow nodded. "I'm in."
"You certainly are not!" Giles sputtered, hands on his hips.
"Yes I am! You're gonna need some help… with the slaying and all. I can help… do something…"
"You'll be a liability, Willow," Giles reasoned.
"I haven't been a liability so far. And I won't let you out by yourself. You could be killed!"
Giles looked mildly indignant although he realized the truth in her words. "I can handle vampires, thank you very…"
"Don't get huffy now, Giles," she pleaded. "We all need to stick together on this."
Her emphasis was clear and Giles felt his resolve melting. He nodded. "But you must keep back. Only come out during the direst of moments."
"Fine." But he knew she wouldn't.
"We're coming too!" Xander broke in.
"Xander…!" Cordelia's petulant whine cut him off.
"Fine… I'm coming. Just let me drop, Princess C here off at her stately manor first."
"You're not going anywhere without me," Cordelia protested. "Your arm is still broken, and I don't trust you with these two!" She pointed a manicured nail at his cast. "No offense," she said, looking at Willow and Giles.
Willow just shrugged, knowing that Cordelia just wanted to help.
"None taken, I assure you," Giles said curtly. "It's against my better judgment, but if you are to follow me tonight, I would suggest that you select your weapon of choice now."
Xander rubbed his hands together, his exuberance a façade that was transparent to Willow. He reached for the axe and hefted it from the stand. The axe clanged heavily on the ground, barely missing his foot. Slightly shaken, he carefully replaced it and reached for a crossbow instead. "Not my type of weapon," he offered, somewhat shame-faced.
Willow pulled a couple of stakes and a vial of holy water off the rack and placed them into her sling bag.
They all looked expectantly at Cordelia. Making a face, she picked up a sharp knife with a serrated blade.
Giles pulled out a second crossbow and two bags of bolts. He handed one to Xander. "Aim for the heart."
"Right-o!"
The fight was a messy one. Four of them against a single vampire, and the odds were against them. The vampire had Xander pinned against a wall and was about to sink his fangs into Xander's throat when a bolt struck him in the arm.
Distracted momentarily, the vampire loosened his grip on the boy, just enough for Xander to fire a bolt straight to its unbeating heart. There was a loud whoosh as it disintegrated into dust.
"That was close," Xander said, making a show of dusting himself off.
"Indeed," Giles concurred. He picked up the used bolt and stored it in his bag.
A stake suddenly zipped past Giles's head and struck something with a wet thud. They all turned to see a vampire looking surprised before vaporizing as well.
"Way to go, Will!" Xander whooped, flashing a thumb-up at the witch.
"This is pointless," Cordelia said, none of her usual whine in her voice. "We've killed two vamps in three hours, and gotten our asses thrashed already."
"A lot of help, you were," Giles commented dryly.
"Yeah, thanks for the vocal dynamics, Cor," Xander said, then backing away as he received a withering glare.
"I was injured!" she protested, rubbing at an imaginary bruise on her arm. Truth was she had sustained a minor graze on her shin where she had fallen on when the first vampire has shoved her aside.
"Well, there will be more tonight," Giles said, pointing north. The cemetery was a deep blue in the moonlight, the regularly placed tombstones a shining silver like coins in a display case.
They didn't have to patrol long. Their encounter came in the next five minutes. The vampire was a newborn, desperately in bloodlust. She was savage, battering them mercilessly. With a snarl that shook Willow's nerve, she leapt at her. Willow went down with the attack, her hands pushing with all her strength.
Xander and Giles leapt in to assist but were thrown back with a single swipe. Cordelia clumsily stabbed the dagger at the vampire's back.
It shrieked and jerked away, a clawed talon tearing at Cordy. Willow fumbled for the bottle of holy water and smashed it into the vampire's face. The glass cut her palms but she did not care. Bits of burnt flesh fell off the vampire's sizzling face.
Before she could plunge a stake into its heart, Giles released a bolt from his crossbow that struck its target straight on. Willow choked at the dust, realizing with revolt that she was breathing in dead flesh.
She struggled to stand, still gasping for air. "Thanks," she mumbled to Cordelia.
The girl was too busy inspecting the claw marks on her arm. "No problem," her reply was tight.
Giles knew that the girl was close to tears, and he respected her courage. More than he ever had. He picked up the dagger and dropped it into his bag. "Let's go home. We have done enough for a night."
The sad party trooped off, a battered and bruised company of warriors.
***
MAINE
Kick. Side kick. Elbow strike. Axe kick. Punch. Lower punch. Palm strike. Roundhouse kick. Mule kick. Scissor takedown.
Each file was identical to Benton, and yet they were different. Jonny seemed to relish the kill as he struck out each foe, one after the other. He sustained a few hits, but his blows hardly ever missed and he was always victorious.
My boy, he thought with some pride. He watched as his son triumphed once more over the simulated villains that Jessie had set up. Of course these were just simulations. Who knew how much harder reality was? Who knew how brutal each fight was?
Knee strike. Back thrust. Uppercut. Swinging backfist. Five consecutive punches to the ribs. Twin knifehands. The barrage was endless. This was all he had for now.
You think you would know someone, living with them all your life. Raising them.
He had been completely wrong. He had never seen this destiny for his son. He had never even considered this lifestyle. It had all been a myth to him. None of this would've been real, if he'd his way. None!
But it was real. The images flashing by the screen were real. Not real-time, but real enough.
Benton rubbed his eyes. They were sore from his viewing the files for hours on end. Each time, he would argue that he just wanted to watch one more file. Each time he would repeat the file, mesmerized by the fluidity and power Jonny displayed. Each time wishing he had known. Wanting to help.
There was the scuffle of feet on stone as someone ran up the stairs. Race entered the room, urgency evident in his expression.
"I-1 called back. They're on vid phone. Want me to transfer the call here?" Race said, marching up behind the doc.
Benton nodded. "Okay."
"IRIS, transfer call 015 to Lighthouse."
"AFFIRMATIVE, CALL TRANSFERRED." The screen playing the clips flickered off and was replaced by the image of a heavyset man in military uniform.
"Good morning, Dr. Quest." The greeting was polite enough, but Benton felt an underlying current of dislike. He didn't mind, the feeling was mutual, as it was public enough.
Benton nodded in return, but did not offer any pleasantries of his own. "Do you have the files I've requested for, Corbin?" His tone was all-business.
"We'd appreciate it if you stayed out of this affair, Dr. Quest. For your own safety and for the good of the American public."
"I did not ask for a plea bargain, I requested to know if you have the files in question," Benton replied in a courteous tone, but his words were clipped.
"Your son is an amazing asset to us, and we cannot allow information about him to freely transferred," Corbin said, his tone an exact imitation of the doc's.
"Thank you for your assessment of my son's great value."
"In fact, you were not ever supposed to know this much, Dr. Quest," Corbin said, his words pointed.
"Am I that stupid then?" Benton said smoothly.
"What I mean is that it is against typical protocol for others to know about the Destined's existence, what more know the identity of the Destined. Only our operatives were ever meant to have that kind of information."
"There have been unusual circumstances, Commander," Race interrupted, trying to avoid an ugly confrontation.
"So I've heard. I'm sorry to hear about the death of your daughter, Bannon." His tone was uniform, devoid of an emotion. An automaton could have given a more heartfelt speech.
"Thank you." Race's fists were clenched so tight that the skin on the back of his hands looked as if it would tear.
"I will need to speak to Jonny," Corbin changed the subject, skirting around Benton's demands.
Benton looked puzzled for a second and ticked a glance over at Race who looked away.
He didn't tell them. He couldn't…
"Jonny is unavailable right now… but I would very much appreciate it if you would tell me what this is about." Again with the curt and civil tone.
Corbin looked defeated. "You already know my answer to that, Dr. Quest."
"And given your level of intelligence, you would know mine too."
Race wanted to run and scream. This strained atmosphere was driving him nuts. On one hand, he knew that he owed his allegiance to I-1 and the big fight, but on the heavier hand, he wanted to side up with Benton and cheer him through. He watched the strained expression on Corbin's face, watched the man struggle for composure. Now, he wanted to laugh. So much power in one guy… the doc had made Corbin squirm again.
"Dr. Quest, surely you…"
"I'm not sure about anything right now, Corbin. Good-day," Benton cut him off. "IRIS, terminate call 015 now!" The screen went blank for a second, and the video feeds of Jonny's training reappeared.
Benton looked at Race. "But I'm sure about this," he said, motioning to the screen. Race nodded.
Hadji opened his eyes, his posture going lax for a moment. He let out a deep breath, and felt the rigid tension slow out of him. The gloom of his room came back to focus. "He's going to do it," he intoned, to no one in particular. He folded his legs again and resumed his meditative calm. But he felt awash with emotion.
Hadji prayed. Hard.
***
SAN FRANCISCO
Jonny uncurled his legs, stretching them for a moment before raising himself to his feet. He felt calm, powerful. He touched his neck and grimaced. They had healed, but the punctures had left scars.
Ironic, all I have left are scars.
He looked over his shoulder. "Ready?"
To be continued…
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