FIC: A New World (7/?)
"Oh no," Connor pulled Dawn into the shadows.
"What's wrong?" the last remaining Summers demanded, her voice shrill.
Connor glanced worriedly at his companion. Since last night, the beautiful teen had been on a knife-edge, veering between the extremes of depression and hysteria. Deciding she had the right to know whatever news there was, however bad, he tore a poster from the nearest wall. "Do you read Italian?" the Sunnydale native nodded at him. "What does this say?"
Dawn's doe-like eyes grew saucer-sized as she recognised the poster's photograph. "That's me!" she squawked.
"Focus," Connor muttered.
"Yeah right," Dawn nodded before looking down at the sheet of paper. "Wanted. Dawn Summers, 17. Miss. Summers is suspected of the robbery of three tourists, drugs-smuggling, and prostitution." Dawn's jaw hit the ground. "Prostitution! Who do they think I am, Faith?"
"Quiet," Connor hissed as he clamped a palm over the girl's mouth as it opened for another rant. "Low profile, remember? I think there was a deaf Sicilian who didn't hear you."
"Sorry," Dawn's apology was muffled by his hand. "I'm calm now." Relieved, he released his hold. "What are we going to do?"
"Um," seeing a near-by sign he smiled as a light-bulb clicked on. "I think you need an image change."
"Xander," Giles glanced nervously around the safety deposit bank. "If we are being tracked then perhaps a bank transaction isn't the best way to keep a low profile."
"I know," his son nodded. "But we haven't got a choice. And after this, we won't need to break cover again until we're ready."
After a second, Giles nodded reluctantly. "Very well," he conceded before glancing at his companion. While his own sleep had been plagued by nightmares and the girls' too, judging by their red eyes and generally dishevelled appearance, Xander appeared to be almost revitalised. It was as if the crisis had propelled him out of his year-long depression, returning him to his usual vitality. "I'll bow to your judgment."
Xander appeared inordinately pleased by the compliment. "Um, thanks." As Xander stepped up to the reception desk, Giles took a second to glance around their surroundings.
It was a simple enough set-up, a small office in a side street off the town's busy main street. Giles grimaced as he noted the two CCTV cameras over the grilled front door. If their mysterious adversaries tracked them this far, then they'd know they'd come here. At least in the vault there'd be no camera, leaving their opponents to wonder why exactly they'd come here.
This was something he was more than a little intrigued about. "We're ready."
Giles turned at Xander's voice. "Lead the way," he instructed.
The pretty receptionist led them into the vault, a long room filled with two rows of deposit boxes stacked ten high. "Here you are Mr. Harris," the twenty-something woman stopped by one of the columns. "Number 288. I'll leave you to it. Buzz the intercom when you're ready to leave."
"Thanks miss," Xander nodded. Once the bank worker had exited the vault, closing the door behind her, Xander unlocked his box and pulled the tray inside it out, placing it on the table central to the vault.
Giles' eyes widened when his son pulled the tray's lid off to reveal a .32 automatic and a selection of documents including a passport, driving licence, and a quartet of bank books. "What is all this?"
"When Anya died," Xander's single eye shadowed in pain. "She left me $350,000 in her will." Giles blinked. Xander chuckled humourlessly. "My girl could play the stock market. In addition I got another 100 k for my eye and half a million as beneficiary of Anya's life insurance." Xander looked down at the table for a second before continuing. "When the money came through, I took it. Converted it into pounds, 600,000 in all. Then, remember that week last October, when I disappeared?" After a second he nodded. He'd had Vi and Rona tear the locality apart looking for his son until the young man had suddenly reappeared, ignoring all requests for an explanation. "I went to London, looking for a forger so I could get some fake ID."
"Why?"
"I knew if I just left you'd try and track me down. If I had false ID and my money in fake accounts then maybe I might be able to escape."
"Why didn't you go through with the running?"
Xander shrugged. "Lack of motivation. Cowardice. Reluctance to leave the only people who ever knew Anya." Xander shrugged again. "Take your pick."
"And your plan is to get us some fake ID. Using your contacts?"
"Something like that," Xander offered him the snub .32.
"That'll take time," Giles commented as he pocketed the gun.
"I know," frustration showed in Xander's eye. "But we don't have a choice if we want to get to Dawn. And Angel's got access to resources we no longer have, he should get there sooner."
Giles nodded, the undeniable truth of what Xander had said hitting home. "Then what is your plan?"
"You take Rona and Vi," Xander passed him the bundles of notes, "and get us a new car, clothes, and some mobiles. "I'll take Faith as protection as I empty these." Xander waved the account books. "Then tonight we'll head down to my contact and get some false ID."
"Do you think it's prudent to separate Faith from Vi and Rona?" Giles queried. In her current mood the Bostonian made him more than a little wary. "She could be a danger to you."
"It's possible," Xander shrugged, his remaining eye suddenly cold. "But without Anya I still don't care if I live or die, just as long as you, Dawn, and the others do, and someone pays for Will and Buff's deaths. Coming?"
"Coming," Giles concurred. As his son turned to the intercom, he was struck by the realisation just how dangerous the Sunnydale High School graduate truly was.
Angel hurried, wraith-like, across the Wolfram & Hart private airfield. He and Illyria had exited the sewers an hour ago after spending the last day in them and headed for the jet he'd used on his last trip to Italy. With Spike.
Pushing aside his surprising sense of loss at his childe's death, he stepped out of the shadows behind the plane's pilot, stood just by his plane. "Hello Russell."
The pilot spun to face him, his face paling. "A…angel," the man stumbled backwards. "But you're dead."
"Undead actually," he corrected with a smile. "Now I need the plane-."
"I can't," Russell shook his head. "You're no longer-, ugh."
"I wasn't asking," Angel clamped a hand around the pilot's throat and lifted him off the ground before morphing into his demonic visage. "I was telling." Grabbing hold of the propeller on the plane's nose, he gave it a spin. "You know in my wild days I was considered quite the torturer. Never got to use a propeller on a man's face though."
"I'll take wherever you want to go," Russell stammered.
"Of course you will," Angel returned to his human face before lowering the shaking pilot to the ground. "Now get on with it. I'm in a hurry."
As the pilot raced up the plane's steps, he sensed Illyria behind him. "I thought you said you did not use torture?"
"I don't on humans as a rule. Never said anything about intimidation."
"Ah," Illyria nodded. "I understand. You are wise indeed. You will make a worthy guide."
"I'm so honoured," Angel muttered. He noticed it hadn't been a request.
"And what would madam want?"
Dawn glanced around the stylish hair-dressing saloon that Connor had dragged her into after buying her a pair of sun-glasses before replying. "I want it cutting short."
"Short?" the waif-like Italian beauty stood behind her, reflected in the mirror in front of her, looked horrified. "But to cut such beautiful hair is a crime!"
Dawn gritted her teeth. The stylist's words echoed her own thoughts. For as long as she could remember she'd been proud of her long, straight hair. But if she wanted to live long enough to see her sister avenged for the moment she had to hide. "I feel like a change," she lied. "And maybe a perm and some tints too."
"How are you feeling today Faith?"
"Five by five."
The dullness in the brunette's normally spirited eyes, the paleness of her skin, and the puffiness of her cheeks said different. For a second Xander stared at the Bostonian sat opposite before glancing down at the pub menu. "What do you want for lunch?"
"Not hungry."
"Okay," he glanced at the hovering waitress. Deciding to ignore the Slayer's reply he gave his order. "Two 16 oz steaks, two side orders of fries, and a side order of onion rings." The waitress nodded before disappearing to the kitchen. "You need to keep your strength up."
When he received no reply he looked around the bar. It was a typical English pub, dimly lit with rustic furnishings and a crackling fire in the far corner, the perfect refuge and antidote to a typical rainy English day. Turning back to his companion, he decided to try again. "It hurt losing someone doesn't it?"
Something dangerous flickered in Faith's eyes. "Gonna gloat are ya?"
"No," Xander took a calming breath. "Just to offer some advice. I've wasted the last year in a pit of self-pity, you shouldn't do the same. I didn't realise there were other people who cared -."
"Cared about you," Faith interrupted, her eyes hardening. "The only person who didn't think of me as second-best to B or just a slut is dead."
"That's not true," Xander countered. "Even in my depression I noticed how excited all the Slayers would get when you returned. They idolised you."
"Yeah. Past tense, they're all dead."
"Not all, Vi and Rona are still alive, they need your guidance. And there's other girls around the world. You're their hero."
"Whatever."
"Okay, then what about Deadboy?" A muscle in the Bostonian's left cheek twitched. Encouraged, Xander continued. "We'll be seeing him in a few days. What will it do to him to see you like this?"
"You don't give a shit about Fang!" Faith accused.
"Guilty," he nodded. "But I give a shit about you. I don't want to see a strong, spirited woman fall back into her self-abusive ways."
"See, you do look down on me."
"No," Xander denied with a shake of his head. "I admire how you managed to drag yourself up from an abusive childhood to be a hero. In fact," he hesitated before plunging in. "I'd be honoured if you'd consider me as your Watcher."
"You think you can replace Woodie?" Faith scowled. "You think being my Watcher would give you rights or something?"
"No." It was an effort, but again Xander managed to keep his temper under control by reminding himself that retaliating could well end up with him being thrown through the nearest window.
"Why then?"
"Because an amazing woman tried like hell to be my friend and I was too stupid to realise what a precious gift she was offering. I'd like a second chance."
Faith stared at him for a long second before speaking. "I'll think about it,"
"Great," Xander beamed at his companion before looking towards the kitchen. "Where is that food? Oh, and one other thing?"
"Yeah?" Faith didn't look up.
"Prison showers, anything like Caged Heat?" Xander grinned. "You did it."
"Did what? This time the Slayer glanced up at him.
"Smiled."
"Did not!"
"Did too."
