Slayers, Vampires, and Genetically Engineered Oh My!
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy and all characters pertaining and created therein; Cameron, Eglee, and the Fox guys Dark Angel and all characters and associations.
Chapter 9
Previously:
Giles calls Joyce to take Buffy home because of her seizures. He promise that he'll patrol for Buffy that night, and in one of the cemeteries, meets up with Angel, who insists on patrolling in his stead.
Angel made short work of patrolling. Like he'd told Giles before, it was too cold out for much supernatural activity, and the few fledglings he'd found he'd quickly dispatched and turned them to dust. He did a run down of the other cemeteries and the one he'd found Giles in one more time, just to be sure, and then he headed down the familiar street of Revello Drive, pausing to stand and stare at number 1630.
It was late at night, extremely late, but that and the cold didn't affect him at all. His gaze landed on her window, and he ached with all that was within him to storm her bedroom and carry her off where he could protect and take care of her until she was better and beyond. Mentally, he knew that she wouldn't take that very well, being very fond of her independence and taking great pride in being able to fend for her.
He noticed that all the lights were off except for a soft glow of what had to be a nightlight in her bedroom. Well, she was sick, and while not up to speed on all the new technological marvels and diseases, he knew enough to know that a grand mal seizure was bad indeed even if Giles hadn't told him that. He knew how weak that made people, he'd seen it happen, and taken advantage of a weak prey back in the day when he had been Angelus.
Not able to help himself but inexplicably drawn to be near her, even if only seeing her from the outside, he had to get closer. It was no problem for the vampire to scale the side of the building, climb the roof, and pause outside her window that was open just a little bit.
Her scent crept out of the window and hit him full blast, and out of reflex, he breathed it in, relishing that piquant scent that was so uniquely her. Never in his years of undead living and traveling had he scented someone so…different. As a vampire, Angel had a keen sense of smell, being able to scent blood from miles away. But he had a sense of smell even keener than other vampires, and he'd used and been used by Darla and the Master to track prey and enemies with this special sense. And that sense told him that Buffy was not human, at least not in the conventional sense.
She was a blend of scents, the tang of female, the light zing of her cherry lip balm, the sharp harsh scent and power of the Slayer, the subtle hint of the vanilla shampoo and body wash she'd taken to wearing…but underneath all that was something unusual. Her natural scent was heavily feline at first sniff, almost overpowering the other scents buried under all the shampoo and other artificial cosmetics. Something aquatic, shark perhaps, and something vaguely avian blended with the feline and human aspects to form a cornucopia of flavors that was distinctively Buffy.
"Are you going to just sit there or are you coming in?"
It wasn't the fact that she spoke which surprised him, as it was the quality of her voice. He'd never heard his Buffy speak in such a…fragile tone of voice. She sounded horrible, as if she were not really feeling good, or recovering from a potentially life-threatening bout of seizures.
Without a word or another moment's hesitation he lifted the window far enough for him to slip through, stepping carefully inside and coming to stand by the foot of the bed closest to the window. Now that he was here, he was uncertain, why he hadn't a clue.
Maybe it was the fact that laying there in the pale moonlight she looked ghostlike, ethereal. Her normally healthy pink color was now vampirish pale, and there were circles under her eyes that had nothing to do with the shadows cast about her room. She seemed so much smaller, the usual commanding aura about her that made one disregard her vertically challenged stature was diminished, and the Slayer resembled more a China doll needing protection than a kick ass Slayer who could stake him and send him to the afterlife in less than five seconds had she wished.
"Okay, out with it. Tell me how horrible and fragile and delicate I look so we can get this over with," Buffy rolled her eyes, and Angel found himself grinning in relief. Buffy was still in there, attitude and all, sickness be damned.
"You could never be horrible looking," he reassured her, telling the truth, feeling his undead heart clench with his passion for her.
Her snort of disbelief was typical Buffy and with a more relaxed stance he crept forward so he could sit at the side of her bed. He reached out and tentatively took hold of her exposed hand, smiling slightly as her fingers curled and tightened about his own. Her hand was so little, almost swallowed whole by his, and his other hand traced random designs on the back of hers. She gave a soft sigh of satisfaction and snuggled back against her pillows, content and feeling better now that Angel was here with her.
"And as for fragile…I don't think anyone would ever make that assumption. Delicate on the other hand," he teased, pleased to see that spark of fire wasn't gone or dulled from her eyes due to his teasing, something he found himself doing more often since he'd initiated contact with her.
"Is not something anyone would ascribe to me within the first five seconds of meeting me," Buffy finished for him, smiling gently as Angel's mere presence soothed her.
It was strange, just being around him mellowed her out, made her think clearer, eased her mind despite his being a vampire and she the Slayer, mortal enemies who found themselves in love…or at least the very serious beginnings. She hadn't felt this safe or loved and protected since she was separated from her family.
"Oh, I don't know about that. You remind me of the chain mail the knights used to wear."
At her incredulous look Angel continued grinning.
"Each link was so thin and delicate, only a master smith could work it properly. But when meshed together, each delicate link supported the others, and nothing could pierce through because it was strong and unbreakable."
"So, I'm what…your little chain mail chickie?"
Angel shook his head at Buffy's lame attempt at humor, not resisting when Buffy brought their linked hands toward her, brushing his knuckles with a soft kiss. She sighed again; wincing as she shifted to relieve the pressure on her bruised and abused ribs. Angel frowned, and gently released her hand, pulling the duvet back. A look at Buffy for permission, and then he slowly raised the material of her shirt to the side, pulling it up and laying bare the taut expanse of her stomach and giving him a view of her ribs.
They were dark colored and swollen, a testament of the tremendous tremors of her seizing and the busy night of slayage previously. Angel growled, his fingers lightly stroking and probing the bruises, not so oblivious to the way her skin trembled underneath his touch.
"Are these related to your seizures?" he asked, eyes on the smooth skin beneath his fingertips.
She was so soft, yet so firm, and tanned a beautiful golden tint by the light of a sun he could never again enjoy. He was fascinated, could almost feel the sun's heat radiating off her body, at least that was what he imagined.
"Partly," Buffy managed, her voice slightly shaky, not at all able to mask her reaction to having Angel touch her.
"Only partly?" Angel raised his eyes to meet hers, and she almost stopped breathing.
"The other part was the fifteen vamps I took out the other night," she shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.
She knew she probably wasn't succeeding, but her eyes were riveted upon Angel's, her body turning into his, leaning into his touch.
"Fifteen? You were a busy Slayer last night."
Her head tilted, as she seemed to creep closer he was closer than she'd thought, or perhaps she wasn't the only one moving.
"Yeah. You know me, busy little bee, that's me."
She raised her head toward his, one hand reaching up to rest upon the hand still on her skin, heart pounding just that much faster.
Angel's head seemed to lower and they were so close they were breathing each other in. This was what she wanted, what she was craving, and what seemed right. Just as she was closing her eyes and about to give in, she jerked away, eyes wide and already pointed toward the door she knew Joyce Summers was about to walk through.
"Mom!" she hissed, and Angel had only seconds to disappear before Buffy's door opened.
"Buffy, I thought you were asleep! I came to check on you. How are you sweetie?" she said it with such love and caring that Buffy caved in.
As always, Buffy felt the warmth of caring and gratitude for this woman who had opened her heart and home to a stray runaway so long ago, even after a nasty divorce. Not many divorced adults, whether male or female, would willing take on a child that wasn't of their own body, but Joyce Summers was one such adult. She gave the woman she'd come to consider her mother a wobbly smile, even as her heart raced thinking of Angel under the bed.
"I was having some trouble sleeping," she admitted, which was the truth.
Before Angel had come in she had just awoken from an awful nightmare where she was back at Manticore, and her friends and mother and Angel and Giles had turned their backs on her when they realized she was an X5, and she had come to consciousness crying softly.
"No wonder, what with that window open. Honestly, I don't see how you could with all that cold air blowing in. You want to catch a cold in addition to these seizures of yours?"
Joyce busied herself with the window, not noticing the male leg that pulled itself further under the bed, the dust ruffle swaying slightly with it's passing.
She came in and sat in the same spot Angel had, reaching over in a similar fashion to expose the same swath of skin Angel had touched. She blanched at the sight but recovered admirably, and if her voice when she next spoke was quivery, who could blame her?
"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."
"What for? Is it your problem I'm fu-uh, messed up and have these seizures? Not your fault."
And if I find the jerk scientist who slacked off and wasn't paying attention when they pieced me and mine together he's going to wish he were facing an entire army of Congara demons, with only one knife.
"No, but I just wish I knew more of your family history so I can know what else to expect from you."
Joyce missed the expression on her face, but Angel could pick up on the change in her heart and breathing rhythm, as well as the change in her scent. He bit back another growl.
"My family couldn't help you even if they were here," Buffy said quietly, but Joyce didn't catch it.
"Can you tell me more of your family before Hank and I had met you, adopted you? How come you were in San Francisco and on the street at such a young age? And why you wanted us to choose a name for you instead of using your God-given name, which you never told me or Hank."
Buffy shifted uncomfortably even as Joyce gave her the 'Mom' look, finally giving in with a sigh, debating how much she should tell her.
"We weren't related by blood…but we were family to each other, no matter what anyone else said or told us to believe. We looked after each other, y'know?" she smiled as Joyce did the same, holding on to her daughter's hand.
"The place we grew up in…was like an orphanage. We never knew our birth parents, but we were special, that's what they told us."
Well, that's mostly true. Mostly.
"Some of use had the seizures, some more than the others. Some of us died," Buffy's voice caught, images of beloved shaved children flashing through her mind, tears gathered in her eyes.
Joyce made sympathetic noises, and reached over to embrace her little girl, staying silent to encourage her to continue, somehow knowing silence was what Buffy needed.
"Our home," Buffy spat the word out in a bitter venom, "was rough. They did things to us…abused their position of authority. They said they'd help us, those with the seizures, but…they didn't, not really. One of my 'brothers' had a seizure, a grand mal, right before breakfast one day…they took him away. My sisters couldn't sleep that night so she wandered around even though it was past li- uh; bedtime, and she came to a part of the orphanage she'd never been before. She snuck in and there was a door that was partially open, light coming through. Cat and curiosity and all, she went to investigate."
Buffy paused, her breath hitching and eyes glazing over, unfocused, staring past her mother's shoulder.
"She saw him. Saw our brother. He was laid out on a cold, metal table and there were doctors and nurses and people all round him. She thought they were helping them…until she saw them cut him open. They were doing an autopsy."
Joyce couldn't help the gasp that escaped her, even as she hugged Buffy close, alarmed at the stiff way her daughter held herself and didn't pay attention. Down below, Angel could sense Buffy's riotous emotions and wished her were in Joyce's position, or at least able to see her face. He could tell she was hurting, hurting over something years old, but hurting nonetheless, and still hurting.
"That wouldn't have been so bad…except that he woke up in the middle of it."
"Oh, my God," Joyce breathed, hurting at this painful memory, but also hurting for this 'sister' of her daughter's who had to see that.
"He woke up screaming, he had slipped into a coma because of his seizure, but they thought he was dead. They'd cut into his chest, there was so much blood, and she could see his insides. Then he stopped. The, the director of the facility had snapped his neck."
"What?"
"Oh, he'd used to be Special Forces before he'd taken the position, but it was awful. My sister came rushing back to our bar-bedroom and told all our brothers and sisters. We decided that night we weren't going to take it any longer. His name was Jack," and Buffy started to cry, leaning into her mother, letting loose six years worth of hidden pain.
"Shh…it's okay baby. You're not there anymore, they're not going to get you."
Buffy went rigid, back stiffening and she took in a shaky breath, trying to calm herself.
"My sister, Maxie, the one who saw Jack die…she had the shakes too. We were so close, Maxie and I. We'd stay up late all the time, talking, laughing, and swapping stories or gossip or opinions back and forth. We always had trouble sleeping, but we were almost like twins. Both of us with dark hair and dark eyes…Max was a cutie though. She had these big ole brown eyes and this caramel skin and this full, pouting mouth that'll cause trouble for lots of boys," Buffy smiled, face relaxing and going into a look so tender, Joyce was amazed.
Until that moment, she hadn't realized that her daughter wore a mask. But sitting here, holding her close, as she spoke of a sister who wasn't even blood…she found that she didn't know her daughter as well as she thought she had.
"So about a month later, Max got the shakes really bad. They came to take her away, like they did to Jack and all the others before him. We couldn't let that happen. So we escaped."
Sounded simple, right? That was an understatement.
The snow crunched underfoot, sending tendrils of cold shooting up her leg, but she ignored it. She had tried to get to Jace to come, but Jace had just frozen, staying put and refusing to come. She was a good soldier she had insisted. Jondy, who would later be known as Buffy Summers, figured her sister's reversion to soldier mode was due more to the shock of seeing Eva gunned down than any adherence or loyalty to Manticore. As much as she wanted to cart her sister off, she couldn't dally anymore…besides Maxie needed her more, and she wouldn't force Jace into a decision that might earn her enmity.
She swung around, zig-zagging to throw off the slathering hounds, whose baying she imagined to be the belling of Gabriel's Ratchets, the Hellhounds, Hounds of the Great Hunt. When she was satisfied with the false trail she darted through familiar woods to the clearing Zack had predetermined as Nav Alpha.
She was the last one to arrive. The heads of her siblings popped up like macabre daisies dressed in pathetically flimsy gowns in the grim hours of the darkest part of night. It would have been funny had the situation not been so serious.
She gave a 'no-go' in response to Zack's questioning about where Jace was. Lips thin in a tightened line, he dismissed her to take her spot by Max. A quick glance assured her that her sister was better, her shaking not as bad. Of course, she could also be cold, as she shivered herself.
She snapped alert as Zack started giving orders and breaking them up into pairs…wait a moment. They were splitting up? While tactically sound, what if they got into trouble, and needed one of the Unit? There was a greater safety in numbers that outweighed the risk of exposure.
As Zack sent Brin and Vada away, she found herself frowning. Zack wasn't giving them any secondary rendezvous coordinates. Did he just expect them to split up and never see anyone else again? That kind of cell movement wasn't very sound in the long run.
It was when Ben started to put up a fuss and Max shifted anxiously that she came left her musings, to see a scowling Zack gesture imperiously to Ben and Seth to leave. She knew that Ben wanted to be with Maxie now – he was about the only other person than she that Max would feel the most comfortable and safe with.
If she were honest with herself, she had to admit; taking care of Max seemed the only thing that kept him sane now. It probably would be better for Ben himself, to have someone like Max to take care of so soon after his bout with Psy-Ops. She couldn't believe Zack was splitting the two up. As close as she and Max were, she couldn't help feel that Ben needed Maxie more.
Seth finally intervened, her third in command, now upgraded to second with Eva's painful death by Lydecker's hand, placing a gentle but firm hand on Ben's shoulder and jerking his head toward the woods. With a last, apologetic look to Max, and a glare for Biggest Brother Zack, the two male X5's were gone.
It was just her, Max, and Zack left in the clearing, and they could hear the sound of the guards and dogs closing in, the whine of snowmobiles revving up, shouts going back and forth, and the distant whump, whump of helicopter blades warming up. Weren't they going to be surprised at the little parting gift the littlest 'Monster' left them?
Zack gave the order for her and Max to go, but Max didn't want to leave Zack. Not an unusual response. Max out of them all craved, no, needed the structure of the Unit, and hated leaving any behind. That was her one weakness and Zack shook his head adamantly and stabbed his fingers in an insistent signal to 'go'.
Grabbing Max's arm, she gripped her sister and headed for freedom. They knew where the fence was; they had just never thought to jump over it before. She knew that they had to make it over the fence, or they wouldn't be going anywhere but Psy-Ops for a really long time.
Reaching the perimeter, ignoring the probing, searching spotlights and pops of sporadic gunfire, Jondy urged Max on ahead, leaping easily onto the chain link fence and pausing in her mad scurrying to help and make sure Max made it to the top. Her back and neck prickled with the sensation of being watched, and she could almost sense the malevolence and malicious intent, suddenly knowing with gut wrenching certainty she was being hunted to kill.
That feeling was abruptly diminished, and as she landed on the other side of the fence, a quick glance backward revealed Zack tacking on several TAC officers, knowing that her brother had sacrificed his freedom to ensure hers and Maxie's.
Blue Lady, be with you, brother, she thought even as she prodded a reluctant Max onward. She followed her instinct and took off, Max behind her, and didn't pay attention to the ice beneath her. Unfortunately, two X5's, even if they were children and not very big, was too much and with a sickening sound eerily similar to bone snapping Max was just all of a sudden below ice.
'Max!' she couldn't stop the cry from tearing out of her throat.
No, not Max!
Jondy slid along the ice, freezing as she caught sight of her sister under the ice. A flurry of rushed signals and she reluctantly followed her sister's command to go on. She could hear the vehicles and the dogs and the guards…and some instinct told her that the Colonel was on his way.
With one last agonizing, regretful look Jondy left her sister. But she didn't intend to stray very far. She had faith Max would make it; she just had to make sure that she was safe. There was a huge conifer tree, bristling with boughs heavy laden with snow, about an eighth of a mile away, it's aroma pungent and would do to mask her scent and distort her body temperature.
It was nerve wracking to have to wait, even if she had been trained to do so. Worry for Max, for her other siblings, for her own self getting captured, kept her strung up. It was especially bad when Lydecker and some of his men parked right where Max was hidden under the ice. Knowing it would be suicide to take on all the men, but nonetheless prepared to do so if they discovered Max, Jondy waited while slowing down her heartbeat and breathing.
They finally left after what seemed like an eternity to the awaiting X5, but even then she did not move. A gasping figure spluttering and shivering with cold and seizure after effects came up out of the water, and Jondy winced at seeing her sister like this. The pathetic hospital gowns they wore did not offer any protection, especially now that she was wet and cold.
Jondy was on her way to slipping out of the tree when she caught the unmistakable sound of the TAC officers. Her teeth bared in a grimacing snarl as she realized they had sighted Maxie, who was already on her way to freedom but slightly hampered by her recent experiences enough that the two men were able to track her.
Not my Maxie tonight, Jondy hissed in her mind.
Stealthily following the men following her sister, she slipped in the trees and shadows like a shadow herself, a creature of the night and born for war. Right now, she declared war on two TAC officers daring to attempt to capture her sister. She'd show them why she'd earned the nickname 'Monster'.
"I'm so sorry, baby," Joyce murmured again, her hands making soothing motions on her back even as she clutched her closer.
"It's okay, Mom. It was a long time ago. Besides, I eventually found my way to San Francisco where I met you and Dad."
"I don't think that living and working in a bar was the correct place for a young child," Joyce stated with disapproval in her voice. Buffy grinned in the darkness, seizing the opportunity to tease her mother.
"Now why would you think that? At least it was the bar and not the strip club my foster mother worked."
"And for that reason is why we rescued you from that horrible situation. It was bad enough she worked as a bartender and brought you along, and bringing a little girl to a strip club…" Joyce shook her head.
"It was educational," Buffy deadpanned and Joyce laughed.
"I'll bet. That is one area I encourage you to fail to remember."
The two Summers women were grinning at each other and Buffy suddenly yawned, tired. The excitement of the last twenty-four hours was enough to exhaust even her X5 and Slayer endurance, and she didn't resist Joyce's urgings to lie back down.
"Goodnight, Buffy. Pleasant dreams."
"Night, Mom."
Buffy layback, listening, making sure her mother really was going to bed and not going to come back in. Her eyes felt heavy, but there was something more important.
"Angel?" she whispered, and just like it was a summons, he was there.
"You should get some sleep," he spoke, after several moments worth of gazing at her.
"Please, stay," she asked softly, not quite begging just yet. She could see he was teetering, and she reached for the closest hand.
"Please," she added, and he gave in. She lifted the covers on her bed and scooted gingerly to one side, giving him room to slide in. She heaved a contented sigh as his arms went about her and she snuggled into him, his chest against her back.
"Thank you," she whispered, reassured by his cool presence at her back that countered her own natural high body temperature.
"You're welcome," he answered back, just as softly.
She knew it was probably tempting him to have her neck so close and bared to him, but he was remarkably controlled, though she could feel the tension in his arms as he held her, smell his lust and desire that was only partially for her physically, and the other part for the blood pumping through her body. It was an unfair test, for sure, but it also proved how much she trusted him, and for that, she would bare all of herself if need be.
She was almost asleep when he asked, "You're not completely human, are you?"
A/n: Hehe! Thought we were going to be nice just cause we posted the second chapter eh?
Jareth: Well, nana nana nuah! I don't even know if that's how you spell that, but Jareth gives you the raspberry! :P
Me: Jareth! Please ignore him; he's had a nap. Please review!