It's three A.M. and we've been watching a lot of movies. David Bowie looks cool. Ludo. We had Pringles and marshmallows. Chloe got sick.We need to get her to the ER…I can't see. What's her name? Trista. Where's my mom? No mom's dead. She died years ago. I'm running down the hill… all that blood. I can hear the sirens…
It's so bright and sterile in the waiting room. Everyone is choked by the smell of ammonia and disinfectant. Chloe and Sam sit close together, Chloe lays her head on Sam's shoulder. Willow's talking to the nurse by the reception desk.
Chloe's still shell shocked. She hasn't said anything since they pulled up. They carried her in and got the gurney. Jesus, all that blood. They wouldn't let her go in with Trista and Chloe kept thinking how scared she must be without anyone there with her. Not that it matters if she… if she…
"I think," Sam begins in a hollow tone, "I think that people hate hospitals because… there's no good here."
Chloe glances at him and replies, though not believing what she says, "That's not true."
Over at the reception desk, Willow's finally speaking with the doctor. "She's lost a lot of blood but we did a transfusion and got her breathing again. We stitched up her abdomen with absorbable sutures. She should be okay in a month or so. If everything heals fine, she won't even need a follow up check."
"Good. Good. Thanks," says Willow as she nods, relieved. She moves to Chloe and Sam in the waiting room, who rise expectantly. Willow takes a deep breath and offers a smile when saying, "She's alive." Chloe and Sam sigh with relief as their emotional weight is lifted. Willow continues, "She should be okay. They have those stitches thingers that dissolve as the wound heals so--"
"Can we see her?" interjects Chloe. She almost instantly becomes self-conscious and asks again in a softer tone, "Can we?"
Willow glances at the reception desk but then nods, "Don't see why we can't. Where's Spike?"
Spike's in the men's bathroom on the fourth floor. He's been washing his hands for a half hour but he could still feel the blood. Her blood. He was just starting to be able to stand her and then… He shakes his head and continues scrubbing. Why won't it come off? He thought of his coat. Is it in the car? Oh, damn. It's still at the apartment. He slams his hands into the sink violently, cracking the basin. How the hell could I think of my bleedin coat at a time like this!
"Hey."
Spike turns and sees Sam at the door. Spike regards him, annoyed, "What do you want, Nancy?"
"She's alive."
Chloe's hugging Trista, near tears. She smiles at Trista and whispers, "You're alive. You're alive…" Chloe lets her go and regains her composure, and shaking her head, says, "I hate this place. Does anyone else emphatically hate this place?"
Trista smiles at Chloe's remark. Trista's still pale and clammy but alive. She's weak and moving is somewhat an issue but alive. Trista, herself, is a bit surprised by that fact. The moment that demon cut into her, all she could think was, "This is it. It's over." It never occurred to her that she might wake up. All she wanted was that the others survived. But, hey, she's not complaining. Dying? Not the thrill ride you'd expect. She replies to Chloe, "You're right," she continues in grave seriousness, "The food here sucks."
Sam enters, Spike in tow. Spike stops short and sees Trista. A wave of happiness comes over his features, but he gives way to being withdrawn and moves to a corner as Sam crosses to Trista and hugs her, "Hey, Sparky."
"Hey, Sam."
The Doctor enters with his clipboard and faux pleasantness. He smiles at Trista and says, "How are we doing tonight?"
"Like I had a near death experience but that's probably because I'm a complainer."
"I just wanted to check your fluids and your STATS."
"If I pass do I get a cookie?"
"Oh-kay. Speech is good…" he says as he checks off something on his clipboard. After he checks the IV levels he continues, "Let's check your pulse. Mmm-hmm. Pulse is strong, very strong. Blood pressure… okay," he says as he pumps the blood pressure meter. He lets it go and it deflates with a hiss. He looks to Trista and smiles, "You're good. Now all you need to do is stay off your feet for a month or so."
"Sha. More like an hour or so."
"No. You don't understand. You physically can't--"
"Cut it open."
Getting impatient, the doctor sighs, "Cut what open?"
"My bandages. Open me up."
"I don't think--"
"I think you better do it, mate," Spike interrupts with his first words since he left the bathroom.
"Well-- I can't just-- Ah--" stutters the doctor before he gives up. He goes out and returns a few minutes later with a pair of scissors. He cuts the front of the heavy gauze bandages and carefully pulls them away and is shocked by what he sees.
"Oh. My. God."
The gash looks as if it underwent a month's worth of healing in a matter of hours. The doctor stares at the healed wound in utter disbelief. Trista rises and begins to dress, "I guess I'll be going now. Bill me."
"It's a miracle…"
"Erm. Yeah. Big spanking holier than thou miracle. Can you believe it? I can't. Gee," she looks to Willow and motions to the door. They all begin filing out. Trista first, Willow then Chloe and Sam, Spike brings up the rear.
In the hall, they walk briskly out. Willow says to Trista, "Um… we didn't give them any information. To, you know, bill you. It was so urgent, that we didn't give them the rest of the paperwork." Trista smiles at her and shrugs nonchalantly, "Well, damn." Behind them, they hear some security guards turn the corner. Trista's face drops slightly, "We better walk a little faster just in case."
As they move out, Chloe smiles and shakes her head, "Good as new."
They weren't sure where to go. The apartment wasn't safe, they knew that but where do they go now? Pulling up at a Motel 8, it was the general consensus that they were scraping the barrel but it'll do. A check in, two hotel rooms with a shared door, and a few ice buckets later, Trista's sleeping on the bed of the generic hotel room, with its loud floral print curtains and matching bed spreads. Willow's sitting with Spike, wondering what to do next.
In the next room, Chloe watches late night talk shows as she plays poker with Sam. Trista said they should take the night off, so that's what they'll do. Just chill out tonight. There's gonna be all kinds of hell to battle tomorrow so tonight we should just relax.
Back in the other room, Willow pipes up to Spike, "We should call Giles."
"Giles?" Spike laughs, "Because Giles is the almighty book wielder."
"Well, we need books don't we? We have no idea what that big demon thing was and we're more likely to find out if we have the resources."
Spike hangs his head in thought. He knows she's right. He sighs and submits, "Fine. Make the call."
Willow smiles and, despite herself, gets a little rush from the authority she just had. She rises, "Good. Right. I'll make the call and you'll--"
Spike glares at her. Authority go bye bye.
"--just do whatever you want. It is night off after all."
Spike looks at the digital clock on the nightstand that reads 2:30 AM. He looks to Willow and says, "I don't know. Tonight seemed to be very on."
Willow goes to make the call, and Spike rises and goes to the other room, closing the door behind him. His eyes meet Chloe's.
"She's gonna call Giles."
Chloe nods and looks down at her cards. She looks back up at Spike, almost friendly, she says, "Wanna play?"
Spike considers and shrugs. As he sits he says, "Nothing better to do is there?"
Sam deals him in. They play silently for a few seconds.
"Bollocks," says Spike angrily, dropping his cards.
"Nice poker face there, Spike," Sam says.
"Hey, Nancy, why don't you go bake a tasty soufflé before I rip out your throat."
"Eh, go head butt the sidewalk, Sid," retorts Chloe, not looking up from her cards, "You gonna fold?"
Spike takes another look at his cards and sighs, "Yeah. What'd you mean by that?"
"By what?"
"You called him Sid," Sam replies. He looks at his cards and then at Chloe, "Anymore cards?"
"Nah," she puts down her cards and continues to Spike, "You know, late 70's, bassist, funky junkie. I don't know, I just get that Sid vibe from you."
They continue to play in silence for a bit. Sam deals as Chloe leans back and grabs a pack of her cigarettes and lights one. She glances at Spike and offers him a smoke. Spike takes it and lights, taking a long drag. He relaxes some and thinks, "She's not so bad after all."
Willow comes in, a little upset. She looks to Spike and says, "I couldn't reach him. I kept getting a busy signal."
Spike shrugs and leaning back says, "Guess best thing to do is wait till tomorrow."
"Wanna play?" asks Chloe.
"I don't--" she begins apprehensively.
"Eh, lighten up, Red. There's nothing you can do till tomorrow anyway," interjects Spike.
Willow gives in and sits saying, "Okay. But only for a little while."
Sam deals her in and they play.
Trista wakes quietly. She turns over and silently cringes. She touches her lower back and groans, "Damn hotel beds." She looks around and blinks. The room is empty and is bathed in a blue hue. It's just before sunrise. She rises and walks on her tiptoes to the bathroom. She goes to the sink and runs the water. After patting her face with water, she turns on the shower.
In the shower, the sound of the water falling is amplified ten times. She wets her hair and, while closing her eyes, moans with relief, "Mmmm." She looks down to her stomach and watches the water bounce off of her mostly healed wound. She stares at it for a second, transfixed with the small beads hitting, bouncing, falling, hitting, bouncing, falling. She shakes it off and continues with her shower.
Trista saunters into the hotel room from hers in a stiff white bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel. She smiles slightly at the scene she takes in. Chloe and Willow are asleep on one bed, Sam's sprawled on the floor near an empty pizza box, and Spike's asleep sans coat on the bed closest to the window. It's adorable. Suddenly Trista's face drops and she gasps, "Oh, Jesus."
She sprints to the window, stepping on Sam's stomach in the process, and closes the window as the sunlight just starts to hit Spike's face. Spike clasps his hands over his face and, flipping off the bed, screams, "Bloody hell!" waking Chloe and Willow up.
"My face! Bollocks! Bleedin sunlight…"
Trista grins, "Eh, buck up, bub. At least you didn't die."
Sam, walking towards the mini-fridge stiffly to get ice, croaks, "We should all be so lucky."
Trista goes to him in a sugary sweet voice, "Oooooh, Sammy. Did I get you in the tummy?"
"Condescension can wait, you violent nudist."
Completely bemused, Trista begins, "Vio- who?" getting it she looks at her robe, "Oohh." She smacks him in the back of the head and moves to the other room, closing the door behind her. As she dresses, she calls to the gang, "We should get down to the apartment. Salvage what we can."
"Unce-unce-unce-unce-unce-unce-unce-unce!"
Techno music's blaring and Trista seems to be uncing along with the beat as she drives in the jeep that has its windows recently spray painted black. Chloe, in the passenger seat, and Spike, in the back by Sam and Willow, both lunge for the radio to turn it off.
"Hey now! Seatbelt! Seatbelt!" yells Trista to Spike.
"Because that makes sense for the only one in the bloody car who won't die to be bound to the seat," retorts Spike.
"One, it's the law and I don't want a ticket and two, do you want to get flung from the car if we hit something? It is a bit flammable out today."
They drive in silence for a minute. Sam puts his hand down too close to Spike, and Spike pushes him, "Stay on your side, you bloody poof."
"Not a poof," says Chloe, without looking back.
Spike and Sam start to push each other, not unlike two nine-year-old boys. Trista, the mom at the moment, yells, "Hey! You two settle down or I'll beat you to death with your own obnoxiousness."
Sam begins, "How can you," he stops short, feeling the daggers coming at him through the rearview mirror.
After a moment, the earth rumbles and then shakes into another earthquake. It causes the cars in front of Trista to swerve and hit each other. She has to do a sharp turn to avoid the collision and to avoid hitting another car. Everyone sits in shocked silence.
They enter the lobby, Spike under a large, smoking blanket, and notice the elevator they came out of last night. It has a big "Out of Order" sign hung on it. They keep walking and go into the second elevator. Chloe and Trista share a look as the doors close with a ding. Spike starts to rear back, ducking from the light, but all the windows are covered with tarp.
Walking down the hall, Chloe's running off the list of things they need to get, "Okay, so clothes, food, I already got money, did we get all the books? If we didn't we need those." They pass construction posts and yellow police tape. There are no people on the floor, it's essentially abandoned.
They turn to the door. Instinctively, Trista reaches for her keys but stops. The door, barely hanging on its hinges, is on its last leg. Spike reaches from behind her, and pushes the door down with his index finger. It falls with a crash into the completely ransacked apartment.
Chloe continues, "We should get our cell phones, and I guess basically we should just fan out and grab what inspires," she stops and sees that no one is looking or listening to her. She follows their gazes to see a man sitting on one of their chairs going through some other older tomes. She has no idea who he is. He's older with a subtle confident charm about him that's emphasized by the glasses.
"Hey Giles," is all Trista can muster.
After warm greetings, awkward introductions and equally awkward reacquainting, Giles sits with Willow and Spike as the others pack.
Giles smiles at Willow and says, "How have you been?"
"Oh, okay. Kennedy and I are really acclimating well. But then things got a little ishy when the whole slayer thing happened," she pauses, welling with guilt, "Gee, I seem to be able to destroy the world even when I don't try."
"Oh, come on now, Willow. It wasn't your fault. We all did it and besides it's not as if it isn't a fixable dilemma."
"Is it? Plan A is on the 'fin' side of 'ito' and Plan B is being chased by a big--"
She's cut off by Chloe's screams.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Everyone rushes into the back bathroom to find Chloe using a tissue box to beat the cheese out of--
"Andrew!" yells Willow.
--who has his foot stuck in the toilet. Trista calms Chloe and looks to Andrew, "What the hell."
Giles takes off his glasses and, closing his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, "Andrew, what happened?"
"Well, see what happened. Well, so I had to-- and well, I popped in to the 'loo'," he says using quote marks and continues, "and my shoe, it got stuck and I would've called for help but I thought," he pulls at his stuck leg, "I could handle it," he attempts to pull again but no dice.
"Huh. Apparently not," says Trista shortly. She goes to Andrew and yanks his foot out. He cringes in pain.
"Ow. Ow. Ow," he does a cutsey wave to Spike, "Hi, Spike. Ow. Ow. Ow."
Trista, getting impatient, heads out calling over her shoulder, "Can we get back to the freaking life or death situation?"
Everyone sighs and shakes their heads at Andrew as they file out, Spike and Andrew last.
"You don't think I'm less of a man now, do you, Spike?"
"Trust me, Andrew. There's no possible way that could happen."
In the diner, dishes clank and clutter with the work of a normal day. Willow, Giles, Spike, Trista, Andrew, Chloe, and Sam sit in the big booth in the corner of the diner. The expressions are grave as they look in one of Giles's texts at an intimidating sketch of the demon they encountered the other night.
"Avachius," says Giles.
"Avachius," repeats Trista as she stares at the picture, "That's him."
Andrew takes the floor, touching his fingertips together, being as Watcherly as possible, "Yes. Yes. Avachius second cousin to Alastor. Deadly sort. Risen from the very pits of hell to serve the forces of… hell. They're the nasty assassin type and not very," he's forced to pause because a biscuit was thrown at his head. Chloe does her best to look innocent as Andrew launches from Watcher to whiner, "You know, I do all this research and what do I get?"
"Your foot stuck in a toilet?" inquires Chloe.
"No appreciation?" asks Sam.
"Small pox?" grins Trista.
"I get breads thrown at me! That's what!" he turns to Giles, "Gi-i-les! Tell them to not throw things at me."
"Andrew, if you do not continue, I'll be inclined to throw something quite heavy at you also."
"Fine. Fine," says Andrew dramatically waiving his hand. He regains his composure and fingertip touching before he continues, "While very deadly and strong. The Avachi are able to track very well and also aren't very discreet about their attacks."
"Well, if that's true," asks Trista, "then why hasn't he attacked yet?"
Andrew sighs dramatically and replies gravely, "He's waiting. Watching. Getting ready for his time."
"He also only attacks at night," says Willow, who's been skimming Giles's book. She continues, "Says here that he does special rituals before he attacks. He also waits for the first full moon after the initial battle to ensure luck."
"Well, we should be okay till the next full moon, right? Give us time to build up forces, yeah?" says Spike.
"Depends on when the next full moon is," replies Trista, "When is that?"
"Tomorrow night," says Giles, cleaning his glasses.
Spike takes this in and casually replies, "Oh, never mind. We're screwed."
Suddenly, a violent earthquake hits, causing everything in the diner to not only shudder but thrash. This one is bigger than any of the others. Trista covers her head and, in the process, buries her face into Spike's chest. Instinctively, he covers her, protects her. It's over as quick as it started. The people in the diner are all freaking out, trading off "Oh, Jesus!" and "What the hell was that!"
Everyone looks at each other, gravely. Spike offers, "Right. There's also an apocalypse. We're definitely screwed."
"It does seem that Big Bertha Earth is on her breaking point," says Sam, as he looks around with a mix of stunned and worried plastered on his face.
"Um, Trista?" begins Willow, "Not to be the big bad news bearer person guy, but I was reading while we were still at the apartment and, well, the ritual we need to do, it requires a sacrifice."
"Like a goat?" asks Sam.
"No, not a goat. Something big."
"Big," repeats Trista, this is all getting too much for her.
"Like, if-we-could-sacrifice-humans big. Maybe bigger."
The gang starts to freak out. They're asking questions a mile a minute. Trista turns away and thinks as she looks out the window, trying to tune out her own fear. She sees the people, recovering from the blast, crossing the street, helping each other up, crossing the cross walks and inspiration hits, the general takes over. She addresses the group, "No. No, we're not screwed. If we work quick enough, we can be the opposite polar extreme of screwed. Here's what we're gonna do."
