Part 3: Lost
Buffy did her best to move through the sea of people who were dancing to the metallic sounding music that flooded the club. For a place that vamps and demons had supposedly been warned to stay away from tonight, it sure was packed. True, from what she could tell, most were human, but she had run into a vamp here and there; and she would have sworn that was a Totel demon she had seen hitting on Catherine at the bar.
Most of the club goers were looking at her strangely, like she didn't belong there. She guessed she really didn't look like she did. After all, her outfit only consisted of about ten percent leather, from her boots, and she would swear that the place had an eight percent or more requirement just to get in the doors. Of course, she didn't stand out nearly as much as Giles, who she had last seen pushing his way towards the back of the club. If Californian blonde didn't mix in this place, then old, upper-class British guy really didn't fit in.
"Seen anythin' yet?" a familiar voice yelled, but was barely audible above the music.
She turned to find that Spike had seemingly magically appeared at her side. Buffy let a small breath, gratefully to have run into him again after losing him in the crowd a few minutes after arriving.
"Nothing yet," she called back. It had felt like she was nearly screaming, but her own voice had sounded like a soft whisper to her ears. With a frown from sounding so small, she yelled again, "Have you seen Giles or Catherine?"
Spike, who had been scanning the crowd while he stood with her, looked over at the little blonde and shook his head. "No. Lost 'em somewhere."
She paused for a moment. "Or Dylan?"
The straight line of his lips turned slightly down at the tips before he shook his head again. Not that Buffy had really expected that he had seen her, but, still, she felt her hopes deflate a little more at the gesture. He saw this, placed his hand on her shoulder and offered a warm smile as if tell her not to give up just yet.
After she weakly returned the smile, he said, "We should keep lookin' for this Pushkin guy. I'll keep lookin' down here." He nodded upward, drawing Buffy's attention to the second level that was overlooking the dance floor. It was considerable higher than the one at the Bronze, which made sense since the whole building was larger then the club back home, with catwalks that spread out all over the place. There wasn't as many people up there, and the people who were along the catwalks looked like they were much more interested in their partners than the rest of the club that could see everything they were doing. "Why don't you have a look around up there," Spike suggested.
Buffy nodded, then asked, "Meet you at the bar in thirty?"
"Right," he agreed.
With one last reassuring smile, he disappeared back into the crowd. With a sigh, the slayer turned to look at the second story before heading for the metal stairwell.
**********
It wasn't so bad back here. Sure, there were still a lot of people, but at least the music wasn't so loud that one couldn't think. At least, that's the way Dylan felt.
The young girl was sitting next Sebastian in a table that was stuck in the back corner of the second story, almost like they had been trying to hide them away from prying eyes. Considering she and the boy next to her were at least ten years to young to be here, she could understand why. Not like she really minded being tucked away from all those weirdo's, though.
The guy who met them at the door had led them up there and, from what Bastian said, told them to wait. Grandfather hadn't seemed too happy about that, but said nothing. Instead, he had chosen to wait quietly like asked, until a person speaking Russian came towards them with a large smile. The old man smiled at the sight of the man who was obviously his friend, and stood to greet him properly.
The man was middle-aged or a little older. His once black hair was turning a nice silver color and had thinned considerable over the years. He stood nearly as tall as Grandfather, but had a much broader pair of shoulders, that looked even wider thanks to the navy blue, pinstriped suit he was wearing. Dylan figured it was because he wanted to look thinner than he actually was, but those strips would have be a lot wider to pull off that effect.
They greeted one another in Russian, and Dylan could imagine what they were saying. By the reactions to one another, it must have been the usually 'How are you?' and 'Good. How's the wife?' 'Oh, fine. And yours?' or some such nonsense. Grandfather was continuing to speak as he and the man came to the table and sat down.
Dylan raised an eyebrow at the two other men that come up with the middle-aged man. They were standing off at separate sides, constantly looking around as if they were waiting for someone to launch a sudden attack on them at any moment. The feeling that she had stepped into some modern day gangster movie had plagued her since she walked through the door. Now, with the two irritable men off to the side and a well dressed man across from, Dylan suddenly found herself wondering when the door was going to be broken down with someone yelling 'This is a raid.'
Grandfather and the man exchanged a few more words and laughed at a joke the middle-aged man made. The old man, still chuckling, then turned his attention to the small girl across from them.
"Dylan, Sebastian, I want you to met an old friend of mine, Serge Pushkin. He owns this fine establishment." The way the old man said these words caused Dylan to seriously wonder if they were actually friends or if maybe this Pushkin guy only thought they were. Still smiling, the Grandfather said, "You'll have to forgive him, children. For all his talents, poor Mr. Pushkin doesn't speak a word of English. This is a real shame, especially considering the many international contacts he must maintain in his occupation."
Dylan's eyes furrowed at the statement. "I thought you just said that he owns the club?" the girl said, though she knew that that wasn't the only thing the man did.
"I know you are smarter than that, Dylan-darling," Grandfather grinned. She watched in amazement as the old man reached over and placed his arm around Pushkin's shoulders like they were drinking buddies, a very odd sight to see for the usually reserved old man. "You see, children, even though Mr. Pushkin has tried very hard to keep up the appearance of a legitimate businessman, he most certainly does not make his money that way. He cheats, he steals, and he kills for what he wants. And not only that, he also deals with demons and vampires openly. I have known Mr. Pushkin for many years, and I can honestly say that he is one of the worst human beings I have ever met in my entire life."
Dylan was beyond confused now. Grandfather was saying how much he disliked this man, but he was saying it in an endearing tone. To Mr. Pushkin, it probably sounded like he was talking about great he was, which was probably why the old man was using such a tone.
"Why, in the past year, Mr. Pushkin has been involved in at least two murders and several disappearances directly," Grandfather went on, smiling broadly at the old man and shaking his shoulders like he was telling some story that the middle-aged man should be proud of. Pushkin laughed slightly, like he thought he was supposed, and a grinning Grandfather turned back to the children. "Now, Dylan, do you know what that makes Mr. Pushkin?"
She glanced over to Bastian at her side, as if to ask him for the answer. But the boy just sat there, his eyes cast down to the dark wood table, leaving her on her own. "Um…a bad man?"
For a moment, Grandfather's grin turned genuine. "Very good, Dylan. You are learning. Now, what do we do with bad men?"
"Call the cops?" she said slowly, like the answer should be obvious.
The old man's face fell at the answer. "Oh, tisk, tisk, Dylan," he said sadly, sounding an awful lot like her grandmother whenever her Aunt Dawn had brought home a bad grade. "You see, my dear, Mr. Pushkin lines the pockets of the city officials, so what good would it be to call them to arrest him? So, Dylan, I'll ask again. What do we do with bad men?"
The child sat there for a few minutes, then shrugged. "I don't know."
The grin returned as the old man turned to look at the still smiling Pushkin. Grandfather drew his hand back to where he was rubbing the back of his 'friends' neck. "Same thing we do with all other bad things," Grandfather said, looking at the middle-aged man but speaking to the girl. "We destroy them."
No sooner had the old man said that then his face furrowed up in almost a feral anger and his other hand shot out from his side to seize the other side of Pushkin's head. Dylan jumped slightly at the sound of his neck popping and she was sure her eyes went as wide as saucers while her jaw dropped. She had never actually seen anyone murdered before her eyes before, and it sent her into a semi state of shock. She didn't enjoy it long, though, before things went bad around her.
**********
Buffy walked out onto the suspended platform that was the second story of the club and began to scan the area. This section of the club was a bit better than the downstairs, and she at least felt like she could breathe again up here. It was just as dark here as it was below, but there were tables set up a bit farther back balcony and it almost looked like a restaurant. There was a bar in the middle of the floor, which looked much classier then the one downstairs; and there were even a few women running around between the tables like they were actually waitresses.
The slayer took a few steps out onto the floor when she felt someone touch her shoulder. She spun around with her fist raised like she had thought someone was about to attack her. Catherine, stunned, took a step back and held up her hands.
Groaning, Buffy let her fist fall and scolded, "Don't you know better than to sneak up on a slayer?"
"I am sorry," the black-haired woman apologized. "I did not mean to startle you."
Sighing, the slayer shook her head. "No, I've been bit jumpy lately. You know, from the whole not getting a lot of sleep thing, and Cranky Buffy equal's Dangerous Buffy."
"So I have seen," she grinned, a small glint in her eyes as the two women began to walk the second story. "I take you have not had much better luck in finding Mr. Pushkin than I have."
"Well, it would've helped if Moury would've, you know, given us description or something. And it's not like I can ask people here if they've seen him. Well, I could, but I wouldn't have any idea what they were saying."
"It would not matter if you did. I have asked several of them, and all they keep saying is that he is unavailable at the mom-." Catherine stopped mid-sentence when she found that the slayer had stopped following her. Instead, she was standing a few feet behind the heiress, starring at something off to the side. "Buffy? What is it?"
The blonde stood there, not believing her eyes. Off in a back table sat her daughter, looking confused by something. There were two large men sitting in front of her, but they had their backs to Buffy and she couldn't make out who they were. Halfway covered was a young boy who sat next to Dylan, his head lower and his brown hair covering most of his face.
"Dylan," she squeaked out, feeling oddly calm at that moment.
The man who had his arm around the other man's neck began to rub it, and a second later, Buffy watched her daughter witness the man's death. Shock hit the girls face as the sound of the man's neck being broken seemed to echo throughout the whole club. The slayer blinked when she caught movement from the corner of her eye and two well dressed men swirled around to the sound. As one of them turned, he reached into his jacket, pulled out something that was shiny, and took aim at the table.
"NO!!" Buffy screamed, taking off at full slayer speed.
But the man either didn't hear her or chose to ignore the scream and was about to fire when the slayer dove into his side, knocking him to the ground. The gun went off, but the shot was fired at a weird angle, missing everyone at the table. When the two hit the ground, the man landed hard on the arm he had used to aim at the table, causing him to lose his grip on the gun. The black weapon went sliding off into the darkness, while more screams erupted from the shot and then people began to run to get off the second story.
Something crashed nearby, and Buffy looked up to see that the table Dylan had been sitting at had been overturned as a sort of shield from any more fire. However, the man the slayer had tackled used the moment she had been distracted and bucked up to throw her off him. As she fell, he twisted them to where he was now on top of her, and punched her hard across the face. He scrambled quickly to his feet while she blinked from dizziness, and kicked her in the head, causing the fog to thicken around her.
There was another man, firing at something that must have been running by the sound of the rapid shots. The man that had kicked her started to move towards where his gun had slid, but she couldn't let him get a hold of it. Her arm shot out and grabbed the man by the ankle, tripping him. He fell hard to floor, and Buffy scrambled towards where he was reaching. Just before her fingers touched the gun's handle, the man kicked her legs, causing her to belly flop back flat to the ground again, before he went for the gun again. Their hands were inter-tangled with one another, and, for a moment, Buffy lost track of which were hers and which were his.
Finally, the slayer gritted her teeth; pulled back one of her hands, and backhanded him in the face with her fist. His body instantly became still from being knocked unconscious, and Buffy successfully scooped up the gun.
She wobbled uneasily on her feet from the kick to the head, and the gun felt heavy in her hand. She tossed it as far away as she could, and then began to look around for Dylan.
**********
Dylan wasn't sure what was happening. She remembered seeing Grandfather break Pushkin's neck, then some movement, and then a loud bang, like a gun going off. The next thing she knew, she saw Bastian turn the table up to protect them from more fire before he grabbed her wrist and began to pull her out of there.
Her legs felt like lead as the boy drug her along as fast as he could towards the balcony, all the while a popping sound following them. She felt something breeze past her several times, and a small cry escaped her when she felt it graze across the skin of lifted leg. This caused her to go crashing to the ground, just feet from the balcony's edge. People were screaming as they ran by, not paying any mind to the two children who were running for their lives.
Sebastian turned to see why she had fallen, and Dylan watched in what seemed like slow motion as his shoulder jerked back and something grazed it. He cried in pain as the force threw him backward to the ground. His hand shot up to cover the wound, but his shirt was already turning a dark, crimson color.
The girl looked up from the boy to see a dark-haired woman pushing her way towards them. The woman broke away from the crowd and was charging right at them when another shot rang out. Dylan watched as she jerked back, just as Sebastian had; her face in shock. She stumbled backwards, hit the railing, and slid down to the ground.
Dylan glanced back at the shooter, who looked as if he were angry with his weapon. Off to the side, there was another scuffle going on, but Dylan couldn't take her eyes off the man who had just shot two other people and possibly her. He growled at the gun that now seemed to be useless, before throwing it angrily to the side and coming at her.
The girl glanced over to Sebastian, the one who had unofficially turned into her protector in such situations. But he was still clutching his shoulder, groaning in pain. He looked up for a moment, and apparently had seen the man coming as well; and tried to lift himself up, only to fall back down to the ground. That told Dylan one thing, she was on her own here.
The young girl struggled to her feet, the back of her right leg throbbing in pain, but she did her best to ignore it for the time being. The attacker grinned evilly as she fell back into a fighting stance, leading off with her left foot that she placed most of her weight on. But, like most people, he was underestimating her because she was just a kid.
When he reached her, he lifted his arm up to back hand her, but Dylan's fist shot out first and landed square in his stomach. The much tall man doubled over from the force; and the blond child spun on her left foot and kicked him as hard as she could across the face with her injured leg. She screamed out in pain from the contact, and fell to the ground with him.
While she lay there, holding her leg in agony, she looked over to the man that lay at her side. His head was turned to her, and he had the strangest, glassy look while a little blood leaked out of his nose. Dylan managed to sit up and studied the man next to her. His head was at a curious angle, and he wasn't trying to move to hurt her anymore.
"Oh, God, Dylan," she heard someone say. The child looked up and saw her mother standing a few feet away from her; Buffy's face was white at the sight before her. She looked up to meet Dylan's eyes before asking, "What've you done?"
**********
Buffy couldn't believe what she was seeing. Dylan had just broken that man's neck, and the child didn't even seem to know it. She just sat there, staring almost dumbly at her mother as if she expected her to say or do something. But Buffy didn't know what she could do, except stare.
"Why thank you, Ms. Summers," a voice said from behind her. Spinning around on her heels, Buffy came face to face with a figure from her past that she honestly never thought she would ever see again. He then grinned and said, "I couldn't have done this without you."
Blinking, she heard herself say, "Travers?"
Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before she felt something hit her in the upper abdomen. The blonde slayer felt something hot and sticky leak onto her hand that had instinctively reached for the spot, and she looked down to see it covered in blood. Her eyes lifted slightly and she saw the gun she had tossed away smoking a few inches from her in his hand. Someone screamed-Dylan, maybe?-and Buffy felt her knees give out as she fell to the floor and darkness.
Standing over the unconscious and surely dying woman, Travers snorted in pleasure at the sight. God, he wanted to do that for the longest time. He dropped the gun onto her body, shifted the cane back to his right hand, and looked up at the shocked and confused little girl a few feet from him.
That brat Sebastian had finally managed to get to his feet again, but was still clutching his wound as he approached Dylan. The boy looked up to him for instruction, and the old man simple nodded to the girl to get her to her feet.
Straightening out his clothes to regain his proper look, Travers told them, "Time to go, children."
**********
Chaos ruled the club as Spike did his best to get upstairs to its source. He had been on the other side of the room whenever the first shot rang out, and had barely made it half way through the sea of fleeing people when he thought the shots were finished. Somewhere along the way, he had bumped into Giles, who had thought that this was something that he should investigate instead of run from. The last shot had been fired a few minutes ago, just as they reached the bottom of the crowded stairs.
"Move out of the way!" Giles roared, pushing the fleeing people to the side the best he could. Spike had growled at a few, but they were already so frightened they hadn't noticed. When they reached the second floor, the vampire felt his already cold blood drop a few more degrees.
There was blood everywhere, from at least four different people, but the ones that caught his attention belonged to Buffy and Dylan. His daughter had been there, and had been injured, but the child was now gone, along with another person who's blood was thick in the air.
There were several bodies laying around, and the first one to catch their attention was the dark-haired girl slumped against the balcony. Giles moved past him and to Catherine's side. He checked her quickly, then said, "She needs a doctor."
But Spike's eyes were locked on another body and he didn't hear him. Swallowing hard, he said barely above a whisper, "Buffy."
**********
(Okay, I'm really not out to hurt or kill Buffy by any means, but she always just seems to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Also, because of school, it'll probably be awhile before I can get the next chapter up, just to let you guys know.)