Changing of the Guard
This was how insects felt. When they were trapped in a spider's web, doomed to watch through multifaceted eyes as eight creepy, crawly legs danced around their body, spinning silk into a binding cocoon. Couldn't move. Could barely breath. Waiting for the arachnid to come back and finish them off with a plunge of their fangs. Spiders were like vampires. Majorly gross.
"Buffy!" Dawn turned her head to the side. It was all she could move anyway. The rest of her was wrapped tightly in blankets and strips of cloth. She was crash proof. She could probably roll down the stairs and not get hurt at all. Like a big, puffy ball of weird Key mojo that tended to wig out on occasion. Rolling and flexing like a caterpillar, she managed to get to the side of the bed and swing her legs over the edge. Standing up was harder. "Buffy!"
"Just a second, Dawn." Buffy's voice was muffled by the bathroom door.
"Right. Leave Dawn defenseless and helpless. You probably just want to hog all the pizza to yourself," Dawn muttered as she raised herself up onto her tiptoes. Time to test that crash dummy theory. She teetered, swaying as she tried to find a balance. The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman without arms. Leaning Tower of Care Bear blankets. She managed to walk with clipped steps that reminded her of Xander's kung-fu movies with the women in tight kimonos. How did they walk in those things? And they had those wacky sandals too. Giving up, she settled for hopping down the hallway, bumping into walls as she lost her balance.
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked as she emerged from the bathroom; her hands paused, her hair only halfway into a ponytail, as she eyed Dawn.
"The Mazurka. What does it look like?" Dawn rolled her eyes. "I think I'll call it...Escape of the Great Dawn Slug."
"Ha ha." Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I could fireman carry you down the stairs?"
"Just give me a push at the top and I'll let gravity do the walking. Or rolling. Or maybe a good slinky imitation. I haven't decided on my entrance yet."
"Always pushing the envelope." For a moment, Buffy's expression reminded Dawn of her mother. She really hated those monks.
"I know you have pizza. Hand it over or the girl goes down the stairs," Dawn threatened half-seriously. She was a little tempted to try out her padding and see if she could make the corner.
"Why don't you go down like you did when you were a little kid?" Buffy sat down on the top steps, trying not to laugh as she started down the stairs one at a time. Feet, butt, feet, butt. "You always looked like an inchworm."
"Monks messin' with your brain, sister dearest." Dawn shook her head but plopped ungracefully onto her rear end. At least she thought it was her rear end; all that padding made it hard to tell. Toes wiggled at the bottom of her cocoon and she began the bumpy slide down the stairs. Bump. Bump. She landed unceremoniously at the bottom of the stairs, panting as Buffy pulled her back onto her feet.
"Real smooth. I give the dismount a seven."
"Only a seven? I'd like to see you do any better. You may be the Slayer but I am a professional slug."
"Gotta have something to fall back on."
"Yeah. Since you've cornered the saving the world market. Xander's got the hammer and nail thing down to a science." Dawn hopped around the corner, heading for the kitchen and the smell of greasy cheese. "And Willow's got the magic mojo goin' on."
"And Giles has that big brain. Plus, he's British."
"Yessiree...make way for Dawn. She can hop circles around the rest of the not exactly human Key things that no one really knows what are but are currently wrapped up like an egg roll."
"And all that in one breath." Buffy helped Dawn onto a stool, her legs sticking out almost straight.
"Hey, Dawnie." Xander held up a slice of pizza. "All cheese goodness or Canadian bacon?"
"Bring on the cheese. And could someone itch my nose?" Dawn pulled a face as Buffy scratched the bridge of her nose. "Thanks. I was seriously ready to pull a crazy fit."
"Here's your pizza. We could play the airplane game." Buffy took a seat next to Dawn, holding out the slice.
"I'm nineteen." Dawn rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, trying not to get cheese all over as she bit into the pizza. "How long am I going to be doing the burrito motif?"
"Until we can be sure you won't hurt yourself."
"And that is?" Dawn didn't expect an answer. She knew they didn't have one to give her but it didn't hurt to ask.
Willow and Giles are doing the number crunching right now. To figure out how much time we have left."
"Until you have bits of Key all over the wallpaper?" Dawn took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Do you think I'll explode?"
"Dawn."
"Joking."
"Not sure we need the mental." Xander gave her a hesitant smile. "But it's cool that you're not doing the hysterics and estrogen crying thing."
"I'd love to. But then I'd have to have someone blow my nose and that's major ewww." She struggled against her bindings, trying to shift her stiff muscles. "Bad enough that you have to feed me." The telltale whining was beginning in the back of her head and an army of invisible insects began their frenzied dance beneath her skin. It was the polka, she had decided. Or the Macarena. Evil probably meant the Macarena. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "ETA of the next 'sode is about five minutes. Maybe less."
Buffy's expression immediately turned concerned and she put the pizza slice back onto the paper towel. "Do you want to wait?"
"Yeah. Just catch me when I go all fritzy, okay?" Silence settled over the room. She probably wouldn't have heard the conversation over the buzzing in her ears anyway. "Keep talking. I'll try to seizure quietly."
Buffy smiled sadly. "You're a brave kid."
"Good genes." Dawn smiled back, beginning to tense for the upcoming attack. "Better get me on the floor then." She sighed as Buffy helped her down onto the linoleum, lying flat on her back. Her long hair had been pulled into a tight French braid to keep it from catching on something and pulling out. She blinked. The air around her seemed to thicken and quiver. That was different.
"Dawn?"
"Buffy? Something's different. I don't know..." Dawn shook her head, trying to see through the distorted space around her. Buffy's face blurred together and the world began to melt around her. Watercolors. It always reminded her of the watercolor paintings her mother had tacked on their fridge. Masterpieces. Even then, Dawn had known they were little more than blotches and lines but her mother had loved them. Now the whole world was a watercolor. And it was screaming.
She could feel the vibrations in her blood, in her bones, as they overtook her. Teeth chattered and she was grateful for the padded strip Buffy forced into her mouth to keep her from biting down on her tongue. She felt herself collide with the walls and furniture. Buffy was trying to hold on to her. Green lines shot out and away from her, breaking through the mess of color like crackling laser beams. This was her, the real her. The Key in all its green, glowy, energy matrix craziness. Wind whipped at her, clawing and pulling on the green threads. It wasn't real, the wind, but she could feel it sting her face, feel the world trembling and shaking. And she could feel that this was not the only world, not the only dimension. They were all shaking, crashing in on themselves as the Hellmouths sang. Or screeched. Sometimes it sounded like singing. It felt like being ripped into a million pieces, shattering like the vase she'd broken when she was five.
Slowly, the world came back into focus and the pain faded to a dull ache. There was the usual taste of blood in the back of her throat. Buffy would be holding her, a cloth pressed against her nose carefully. Green threads retreated, faded away as the rest of the colors came back. Lovely colors. Wonderful colors. And voices. Soft murmuring voices.
"...was longer. It's getting worse." Buffy sounded frightened. Usually not of the good. A frightened Slayer meant badness all around and usually the apocalyptic kind.
"We'll find something, Buffy. We'll save her."
"Angel thought that maybe, if we could find a way to get rid of Spike's soul, he wouldn't have to die."
"I don't know." It was Willow's voice, soft and concerned. "Maybe. What do you want to do?"
"We need to talk to him. Find him. Can you do that?"
"Sure." Willow was moving away.
"He'll want to help." That was Xander. "He cares about Dawn."
"I know." Buffy was holding her tightly enough that Dawn could smell her lotion.
"What can I do?"
"Call Angel. He said he'd look after Sunnydale." Buffy was quiet for a moment. "I'll take Dawn away from here. See if it helps."
Dawn didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to move. Too tired. Too lost. Part of her dizzy brain registered that she was going to be leaving Sunnydale. Yay. Road trip. Somehow it's not as much fun when you're running away. Death is on your heels, baby. Where did that come from? Familiar voice. Low, male, accented. Spike?
"Dawn? What did you say?"
"Death is on your heels," Dawn mumbled, repeating the phrase.
"What? Dawn? Talk to me."
"You're not ready to know." She could hear the words in her mind. They didn't make any sense at all.
"Dawn. You're scaring me. Please, Dawnie."
Words continued to tumble out of her confused mouth; she could barely hear her own voice. Echoes. Thousands, millions of echoes bounced around her skull. "Goodbye Picadilly, Farewell Leichester bloody square. Where does it lead you?"
"What's she talking about?" Xander's voice was barely a whisper in the noise.
"I don't know, Xander." Panic edged into Buffy's voice.
"You think you know, what's to come, what you are. You haven't even begun." Dawn tried to shake the words away. The world went black.
"Do you think she'll follow?" Roberts was clutching his ever-present notepad anxiously.
"Probably. She appears determined to pursue the vampires." Iverson ran his fingers through his hair wearily, the words on the monitor of his computer blurred from too much coffee and too little sleep. "If she can protect the Hendersons then we've all won. If not, at least she's in Los Angeles and she knows that there's a Watcher who has information. Should luck be on our side, she'll protect him as well."
"About that," Roberts hesitated. "Do you think it was wise to give the vampires the impression that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce knows who is behind their attacks?"
"I had to give her a reason to go to LA. I had to give her a reason to find Wesley. As far as I can tell, she's abandoned her training entirely. Simply telling her that she has a new Watcher would have done very little. We have no way of knowing if she would have ignored us completely or even killed Wesley when he tried to contact her."
"And if the vampires get to him before Cara does?"
"They won't. In any case, he and those he works with are hardly incapable of killing a few vampires."
"Sir." Roberts looked like he had indigestion.
"The vampires were going to be in Los Angeles regardless and are probably going to massacre the Henderson family as they have done every other family. We're running out of options." His temper was beginning to show. "Cara needs a Watcher and she seems to have taken this as a personal mission to try to protect these people. Two birds, one stone."
"With all due respect, sir. She seems to be getting along without a Watcher."
Iverson opened a folder on his desk and tossed several glossy photographs onto the surface. "Does that look like she's getting along? She looks like she's been mauled by a bear." The photos still left a sickening taste in the back of his throat when he looked at them. He could remember the shy girl who had first come to the Council more than a year before. The long dark hair pulled into a curling ponytail that had bounced as she walked was now chopped short in ragged chunks. The soft smile and gentle laughter that had seemed forever a part of the original Cara Sewell was nowhere in sight. Her face was hard lines and healing wounds. Tattered rags of clothing were covered with dried blood and silver tape. Without a Watcher or any sort of support system, she had become someone that he didn't recognize. They did this. This was the result of their meddling.
"And Wesley?"
"Will have all the information that we do about these families." He stared down at the pictures and shook his head tiredly. "No one can survive the life she's living. It's brutal. Beyond brutal, Roberts." For the first time, he was beginning to seriously question their methods. "I'm beginning to believe that Miss Summers is right."
"I'm sure our photographer simply caught her after a particularly bad fight." Roberts didn't sound as though he believed his own words.
"Every minute of every day is a particularly bad fight if you don't know any other way to live." He slid the photos back into the folder, casting one last look at the dirt and blood streaked face staring up at him. It was so incongruous with his memories of her before she had begun the training that he could scarcely believe it was the same person. She was consigned to a life of pain and violence because of a few strands of DNA. She was chosen. For what? To die in the streets where no one knew her name or the sweet tempered girl she had once been. Destiny was surprisingly bitter. The failure of the last Council was that it had never seen these girls as anything but chess pieces to be moved about and regarded as expendable. He had wanted to do better than his predecessors. Thus far, he and his colleagues had only managed to do more damage.
"We haven't been able to confirm the rumors that Spike has returned to New Orleans but the team seemed quite hopeful," Roberts changed the subject uncomfortably.
"It would truly be a spot of luck if we could finally get to him." Iverson pulled himself away from his thoughts on Cara and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Two o'clock in the morning, sir." Roberts paused. "Most everyone has gone home for the night."
"Why don't you head home?" Iverson gave him an encouraging wave. "I'm up to my ears in paperwork over the disaster at the Slayer Academy. The police are still swarming over the building and I can't tell them it was a demon. Not yet anyway."
"Thank you. Do try to get some rest, sir." Roberts was gone, soft footsteps receding down the hallway into the night.
Sinking into his chair, Iverson closed his eyes for a moment, dreading the stack of forms he had to continue filling out. Who were the victims, where were they from, where were their families. Their families were dead. All of them. Killing the girls at the Academy had merely been another step in eliminating the Slayer lines. Why? Maybe whatever evil was behind the atrocities didn't need a reason. Perhaps it merely wanted to kill them. He was glad he hadn't seen the crime scene photos. Crime scene indeed, as if Scotland Yard had any hope at all of catching whatever had murdered every living soul in the building. There were only three Slayers left. Buffy, Faith, and Cara. All that was left of the Slayer line.
If they could hold off the end of the world long enough, the lines could be regenerated. He smiled a little bitterly at that thought. Given Buffy's historical preference in lovers it would be a very long time before she produced any offspring. Faith was showing the same tendency although her history was much more traditional. Cara wouldn't know what to do with a man. He was exhausted enough to find it quite humorous.
Reluctantly, he turned back to the stack of papers, stretching his fingers briefly to work out some of the cramped muscles. Maybe there was something about being a Slayer, something in their demonic genes that attracted them to vampires. They had never been able to discover what type of demon essence was given to the first Slayer. There were many theories, the most popular being that it had been a vampire's. It made sense. And it could possibly explain Buffy and Faith's attraction to the vampire. A basic, molecular recognition of similarity. Perhaps the demon part of their DNA was trying to find another like itself. Theories.
Iverson tapped the tip of his pen lightly on the desk, staring into the shadows of his office and listening to the sirens outside on the streets. The leaders of the nations were not yet listening to them. In time they would have no choice. He had hope that they would be able to contain and eliminate Spike before the world reached that point.
Spike.
The pen stilled and he blinked into the darkness. Spike had killed two Slayers, three if Faith was counted, and had followed and harassed more than that. By all accounts the vampire had been obsessed with them. And now he had formed another relationship with a Slayer. Could it be the same question? Spike was drawn to Slayers, Slayers were drawn to him. Was it for the same reason? Spike had managed to surprise them, elude them, defy their attempts to understand and to classify. What little they knew about the vampire was fraught with error. Sired by Drusilla, what year? There were several different dates for his rebirth and there was nothing known about him before he had been turned, as though he had sprung from nowhere. Many of the historians had believed that he had been a pickpocket or working class. His activities other than killing Slayers had gone unrecorded until he had been implanted with the behavior modification chip in Sunnydale.
Frowning, he switched to his computer and began searching through the online archives the Council had created at his insistence. One could only take so much of a musty old library. Other vampires had pursued a fair share of Slayers but none with the single-mindedness or success that Spike had. Squinting at the small text, Iverson opened one of the databases and began the tedious task of wading through hundreds of arcane references. If there was nothing wrong with Buffy or Faith, nothing in Slayer genes that drew them to vampires, then there was only one possibility left. The anomaly, the source of their unholy attraction was Spike himself. What about William the Bloody distinguished him from the millions of undead? The soul? After all, Buffy had been involved with Angel and there had been rumors of his being pursued by Faith as well. Unfortunately, if he had the dates correct in his mind, Buffy's liaison with Spike had occurred before he had obtained his soul, which made the soul theory difficult to follow. There had to be something else.
Pausing to rummage through his desk for a note pad, he began to jot down dates and names as he scrolled through the database. The first objective was to discover if any other Slayers had maintained relationships with vampires. If there were none, then he could assume that it was Spike who was different rather than Buffy and Faith. The mountain of paperwork was forgotten on his desk. Those girls would still be dead in the morning and Scotland Yard would still be light years away from finding their murderer. Finding answers to interesting puzzles was what Iverson did best and Spike was proving to be a fascinating enigma.
"Angel's on his way." Willow settled the last suitcase into the trunk of her car.
"Are you sure about this Will?"
"Of course. Can't let you have all the cross-country fun." She grinned at Buffy. "Besides, you need someone who can drive. Other than Dawn, who's just as likely to end up in a ditch."
"I can hear you," Dawn called from the backseat. "I still have ears."
"Very large ears. Bat radar ears." Buffy rolled her eyes. "I just have to say good bye to Giles. He's still pouting because I wouldn't let him come."
"He misses the big action sequences. Although, considering how many times he got hit in the head, it's probably a good thing he'll be staying here." Willow jangled the keys as she climbed into the driver's seat.
"I'll hurry." Buffy took a deep breath to steady her nerves before she faced her Watcher. Of course, he hadn't been her Watcher for years but she still felt like she was stepping up to be lectured. In a kind, fatherly way of course, because the Englishman was actually fond of her. How had that happened? From someone who had thought she would wear cats on her feet if told to by a fashion magazine, he had become quite attached to her. She was grateful for Giles. For what he'd done for her. But they'd grown apart as the years went by and she wondered if he actually realized she wasn't sixteen any longer. Now she had to explain why she was putting him out to pasture. It wasn't going to be pretty.
"Did you forget something?" Giles glanced up from his mug mid-sip, a book held open in his other hand. It was the exact same position she had seen him in more times than she could possibly remember. Giles Research Pose Number twenty-seven. She wished she had a photograph of them all. Each lovable, if at times stuffy and British, quirk that made Giles Giles. The glasses, even the clucking noise he was going to make when she started the inevitable conversation.
"Buffy?"
She felt awkward, closing the door front door quietly behind her. "Thank you. For all this research. I know that I don't thank you enough for what you do. Especially since you really don't want to be doing it. I know you don't actually want to help Spike."
"It's not that I don't want to help him." Giles shook his head. "I just don't see another way."
"You didn't see another way with Dawn either. But I found one. I'll find one this time too."
"At what cost? That's what worries me, Buffy. I worry that you'll sacrifice too much for him. I won't pretend to understand. I don't. I'm not sure I can even begin."
"I have to try."
Giles sighed, sitting down on one of the steps and watching her thoughtfully. "What I want for you, for your life, will probably never happen. What you deserve may never happen. But it is more than a vampire can ever give you, even with a soul. The same holds true for Faith. It's upsetting to watch you, both of you, let your hearts lead you down paths that can only end in heartbreak. It's not what I ever wanted for either of you."
"He doesn't deserve to die."
"I can't begin to fathom what a creature like Spike does deserve. But you have to remember that he is not and never will be a human being. He is still a vampire and at a very basic level, he is still a demon." He closed the book slowly. "Vampires and humans are fundamentally incompatible."
"I know that, Giles."
"Then perhaps you are the best one to speak with Faith. About what has to happen with Spike if we don't find any other answers." He took a sip of tea. "You had to send Angel to a hell dimension, you understand the choices and their ramifications."
"I'm not going to ask Faith to kill Spike. I will never do that to anyone. I know how hard it is." Buffy heard the hard edge in her voice and tried to relax. Deep breaths. "I'm going to ask Spike about giving up his soul. That's as far as this train goes."
"And if it's not enough?"
"It has to be."
"He is just a vampire, Buffy. One vampire."
"And the fate of the world has been on the shoulders of one girl for nearly ten years. My shoulders. Don't tell me that one person can't make a difference because I'm living proof of it." Buffy crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I have died twice to save this world."
"I'm concerned that you're not seeing the situation clearly."
"That's why you're not coming with us, Giles."
"What are you saying?" He frowned over his mug.
"You're not coming because I can't trust you to trust me." Buffy watched his face carefully, trying not to let the hurt in his eyes sway her. "I can't trust you not to go behind my back and try to kill him."
"I wouldn't." He seemed a little offended that she didn't trust him but guilty enough for Buffy to know that she was right.
"What happened to Ben, Giles?" She caught the flicker of surprise before he looked down into his mug. "Did you think I wouldn't check? That I wouldn't look for him. Make sure he was never coming back. Did you think I wouldn't find out that he died the same day I did? What happened to him?"
"It had to be done, Buffy. Glory would have returned and destroyed us all. Revenge, spite, or just because she wanted to. You know that as well as I do." Giles set the mug down on the floor. It wasn't an admission of guilt but it was all she needed to know.
"We can't know that."
"I do. There was no other way to make sure you were safe. That is what I'm trying to tell you. You have to be willing to make those decisions."
"I am."
"I don't see it." He shook his head. "You're blinded by your emotions, your feelings for Spike."
"There has to be another way," she repeated stubbornly. "I understand why you killed Ben but it wasn't your place to make that decision. You think I'm not ready to make those decisions but I am. I have been this all these years. You just never saw it." She turned away, one hand on the doorknob. She was getting nowhere with Giles.
"Prove it." There was a challenge in his voice.
"Killing Angel wasn't enough for you?" Buffy bit down hard on her lower lip to control her anger. "It will never be enough for you. As long as you have no respect for me or my decisions. The fact that you disagree doesn't make me wrong. Deal with it."
"Showing mercy doesn't always make you right." Giles stood up, beginning to pace. "I know it's not a good option but it's an option. You have to admit that much. What happens if you can't remove the soul in time? What about Dawn?"
"I'm not going to do this, Giles. I won't argue with you anymore." The doorknob twisted in her hand. "Willow and Dawn are waiting."
"You may not have a choice. Buffy. You must realize that you might not be able to save them both."
Buffy smiled as she stepped through the doorway. "I know I don't have all the answers. But how am I supposed to figure this whole crazy world out if you don't trust me to make my own decisions? Maybe they won't be the right ones and maybe I'll make a lot of mistakes. But I've got to do this on my own. I need to you let go."
"Buffy?" His voice was barely a whisper as he finally realized what she was asking.
"I'm not a little girl. I'm a Slayer. Let me do my job." Buffy hesitated again. "Angel will be here to keep the creepy crawlies in check and I'll try to check in every day. If Faith or Spike call, let them know we're on our way to them. Don't say anything about Dawn, she doesn't want Spike to know yet." She tried to give him a comforting smile. "You're Giles and I love you. But you've got to learn to trust me."
The door closed behind her with a sense of finality. It had been long time coming. Cutting the ties without severing the bond. At least she hoped that she hadn't hurt him too badly. She just needed him to see her for who she was. Even if she was still a little fuzzy about that part herself.
"How'd it go?" Willow gave her a sympathetic smile as she climbed into the car and pulled on her seat belt.
"A little on the side of ouch but I think he'll recover." Buffy checked the backseat quickly, seeing Dawn flipping casually through a magazine. "He's resilient that way."
"Good old Giles. I think maybe he needs to retire."
"Do Watchers retire?"
"Sure they do. They go back to being museum curators and librarians. Much safer." Willow fiddled with the radio dial for a second. "Hey Dawnie, why don't you pick out some road worthy music? We should do it right. Since it's probably the last chance we'll get to do this. Could we stop at the Grand Canyon, Buff?"
"I don't think so. Kind of a business trip." Buffy handed the CD case to Dawn. "But we'll do this again after we save the world. Full sight seeing tour of America the Beautiful for the Scooby gang."
"Think Angel and Cordy will be all right? With all the extra perkiness?"
"They'll be fine. No worries for the vamp and shiny half-demon." Buffy took a deep breath and relaxed into the seat. "I haven't left Sunnydale since I ran away after Acathla. Feels good. Weird but good." She gave the Now Leaving Sunnydale sign a small wave, thinking back to that bus trip to the city. She had wondered a hundred times if things would have been better if she'd stayed in the studio apartment, waitressing at the diner, and killing the occasional slave driver demon. There was a strange sense of excitement regardless of their dire circumstances. Off to see the world, endless strips of highway and nothing but four wheels and the wind in their hair. It was liberating.
"We should have done this years ago," Willow said, echoing her thoughts.
"Better late than never." Dawn reached forward, slipping a CD into the player. Her fingers tapped the back of Buffy's seat as the music started. "And we deserve a vacation. Especially if the world is going to end, don't you think?"
"You're right." Buffy grinned. "New Orleans. Here we come."