CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Once and Current Slayers
"I should go talk to him alone," Buffy suggested as she gazed through the windshield of Angel's car as the seedy bar Riley had directed them to. Windows had been boarded up rather than repaired, empty cans and bottles were strewn throughout the unpaved parking lot, and the rows of motorcycles bore mute evidence to how rowdy the clientele was likely to be.
Angel's fingers tapped a steady rhythm as he considered Buffy's suggestion. The bar was at least a few miles outside of what could possibly be considered the outskirts of Vegas, and it certainly appeared that Riley had directed them to some sort of miserable no man's land well past the state line but nowhere near civilization.
"Are you absolutely sure this is where Riley wanted to meet?" Angel asked. "Is this maybe an elaborate cover of some sort?"
Buffy nodded as she leaned forward and absorbed the sight of the neon signs, both working and non-working, that covered nearly every square inch of window space and blocked any view of the interior. "I'm pretty positive this isn't a secret military base."
Angel tapped at the wheel again, this time more urgently. "Buffy, I don't want to make you mad, so I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
"Just say it," she said with a sigh. "I'm probably already thinking it."
Angel gestured at the bar, then spoke, "I don't care if there aren't any vamps or demons in there, it's about time for the bartenders to announce last call, that place looks pretty rough, and I think I should go in with you."
"You're probably right," Buffy admitted.
Then it was Angel's turn to sigh. "You're going in by yourself, aren't you?"
"Yup," Buffy confirmed as she opened her door. She swung her legs out, then paused a second. "Angel, if you see something that concerns you, don't worry about making me mad, just get your ass inside, okay?"
"Absolutely."
The cacophony of whistles and catcalls she'd expected, and mentally prepared for, assaulted her ears as she pushed open the bar door and stepped inside. Thankfully, however, the men who were playing pool continued to play pool, the men who were clustered like mushrooms along the bar continued to drink, and she almost immediately spotted Riley seated by himself in a booth.
He saw her as well, and his look seemed studiously neutral. Buffy waited to see if he would wave her over, but he seemed perfectly content to simply stare in her direction.
Here goes nothing.
Peanut shells crunched beneath her feet as she walked over to where Riley sat and joined him on the opposite side of the booth. Riley straightened up from the table, leaned back in his chair, and lifted his beer mug to his lips. He took a long swallow, set the cup down, and reached up with one shirt sleeve to wipe away the thick crust of foam that had formed upon a brown mustache heavily grizzled with gray. His face was far more lined than she remembered, and his eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts.
Riley ran a hand through his graying hair, Buffy took note that he was still wearing a wedding band, and then he proceeded to stare at her for so long she began to wonder if he was ever going to say anything. An instant before she opened her mouth to break the silence, he finally spoke.
"Of all the gin joints in all the world, she walks into mine," he said in a voice devoid of emotion.
Buffy frowned. "Why do most of the guys in my life think they're characters in a Bogart film?"
"What?" Riley asked with a confused expression on his face.
Buffy shook her head. "Never mind." She looked him over more carefully. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and by the smell of him, that wasn't his first beer of the night. "Should you be drinking?"
"Why not?" Riley asked. "I'm not on duty and I have tomorrow off." His face grew sullen. "You're the one who texted me and interrupted my night."
"You've been here the entire time since I texted you?"
What the hell has happened to the Riley Finn I knew?
Riley nodded, took another sip of his drink, then continued, "How's Angel doing? I will admit to being a bit surprised, and worried, when you two crazy kids decided to try to make it work, but congratulations … you pulled it off, curse and all."
Buffy decided candor might be the best policy. "Angel is fine. Better than fine, actually. He's human now …" she reconsidered her phrasing for a moment, "… well, mostly."
Riley's eyebrows raised in surprise as he considered the news, then he mockingly raised his beer. "Mostly human. I can drink to that." He took another swallow. "That's better than a lot of us are doing these days."
Is he drunk? Where's his wife?
A grim thought occurred to Buffy, and she decided that before she could ask a favor of Riley, a man she hadn't seen for many years and who owed her nothing, there was a question she needed to ask.
"Riley, how's Samantha?"
Riley raised the mug to his lips yet again, and this time he didn't stop until he had drained its contents. He lowered the glass and set it on the table.
He glanced away with a vacant expression. "Dead."
She dared to reach out and grab one of his hands with both of hers. "Riley, I'm so sorry."
Riley glanced down at the table. "I appreciate that, but it's been about five years now."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Riley reached for his glass, then seemed to remember that he'd finished it only moments before. He pulled his hand back and stared at her. "Buffy, I know you want something, so how about you just tell me?"
She ignored his attempt to change the subject. "Riley, what happened to Samantha?"
Riley leaned back in the booth. "She had an assignment out here near Vegas, some of her team didn't make it, Sam included, and I've ever since, whenever I'm on the clock, I've been out here playing base commander."
She tightened her grip on Riley's hand and felt him tense up as though he wanted to pull away. "Riley, I am so, so sorry."
"Thank you again for that," Riley muttered. He gathered himself and leaned in closer. "Buffy, I can't even remember the last time I've heard from you, then you text me close to midnight and tell me you desperately need to talk to me. What gives?" A sad grin spread across his face. "You trying to save the world again?"
"Yes," Buffy replied.
Riley started to laugh, then he saw the expression on her face. "You're serious?"
"I am."
Riley rapped his knuckles on the table. "How bad is it?"
Buffy considered telling Riley everything … about Richard Wilkins, about there being a second version of herself in Moonridge, the Valknut and the Stavkirke … then she decided she couldn't. Riley and she had gone their separate ways a long time ago, and his life was his, and hers was hers.
"It's bad," was all she said. "I'm here trying to find something, a weapon that's been stolen."
"What kind of weapon?"
"It kind of looks like an axe, but shiny and red."
Riley blinked a few times as he processed what he'd just heard. "You're trying to save the world with a shiny red axe?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that, but basically, yes," Buffy admitted.
Riley drummed his fingers on the table again. "And why did you think I'd know anything about this axe?"
"We think you might know someone who can find it," Buffy informed him, "she's a prisoner in a military facility near here."
"We maintain several different secure facilities, all of which have varying numbers of prisoners, all within a two-hour drive," Riley explained. "You're going to have to be more specific."
"We're looking for a woman named Gwen Raiden."
Riley chuckled a few times, then his eyes roved over her body in a manner Buffy found repugnant.
"What?" she finally asked when she grew tired of his leering.
"You know that Gwen Raiden and Angel have history, right?"
Buffy nodded. "Angel told me."
"Oh, he did?" Riley said with a surprised look on his face. "I never imagined threesomes would be something you'd go for … I guess you've broadened your horizons."
Buffy stared at Riley in silence, and she suffused her steady gaze with all of the disappointment and hurt she was feeling at his comment.
Riley had the decency to look away when he spoke again. "I'm sorry Buffy, that was uncalled for."
"I accept your apology," she replied, "but now you really owe me one. This is important, or I wouldn't be here. Can you help me?"
"I could," Riley said. "Ms. Raiden happens to be a prisoner at the facility I've been assigned to for about five years now, and it wouldn't be too difficult to get you in to talk to her, assuming you made your conversation quick."
"Then I guess the question is will you help me?"
She tried not to hold her breath while Riley considered his answer.
"We'll call it a favor for old time's sake," Riley finally said.
"Thank you," Buffy replied in what she hoped was a suitably effusive manner.
"I'm guessing this is an as-soon-as-possible" type favor?" Riley asked.
Buffy nodded. "If you wouldn't mind."
"You're going to have to drive," Riley informed her, then he narrowed his eyes in thought. "Wait a moment, do you drive now?"
"No, Angel's waiting in the car."
Riley tilted his head back and groaned. "Seriously? Let a slayer and an ex-vampire waltz into a top secret military research installation?"
"Please, Riley." She wouldn't say that she quite batted her green eyes at him, but she would admit to fluttering them a bit.
"Fine," he said with another groan as he stood. "Let's go."
"Don't you need a uniform, or a shower?" Buffy asked as she stood as well.
Riley frowned at her. "These are undercover bases, Buffy, we only put on our uniforms after we arrive." He held a hand to his mouth, exhaled, then smelled his palm. "I have a sleeping berth in the base, I'll shower and brush there." He yawned. "Most of the personnel should be asleep at this hour. We'll have the prison wing to ourselves, except for the cameras."
Buffy guided Riley, whose unsteadiness seemed to diminish as he walked, out of the bar and towards Angel's car. She headed towards the rear seats, then Riley opened the front passenger door and gestured her inside. "I'm going to lay down and sleep in the back," he explained.
Buffy sat down, then watched Riley maneuver into the car, shut the door, and proceed to stare at Angel in the rearview mirror.
"You've got a reflection," Riley observed.
Angel nodded. "Along with a few other recent additions … a heartbeat, for one."
"I didn't think a cure for vampirism existed."
Angel hit the ignition button, put the sedan in gear, and maneuvered onto the street. "Neither did I." He glanced over at Buffy. "I assume we're not kidnapping him?"
Riley unexpectedly began to laugh, and then Angel joined in.
Buffy found their mutual guffaws excruciating to listen to.
When they'd finished chortling, she glanced back at Riley. "Before you pass out, mind clueing us in on where we're heading?"
Riley swiveled in the seat, lay down, then pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He tapped on the screen for a while, then tucked the phone into a pocket set in the rear of the driver's seat. "There you go," he informed them. "Just head to the GPS coordinates I texted you."
"Thank you again, Riley," Buffy said.
He opened his eyes and glanced at her. "I mean, you are trying to save the world, right?"
"We are," Angel confirmed.
Riley closed his eyes. "One more thing, you need to turn off your cell phones."
"Why?" Buffy asked.
"They're not cleared for use on the base, and they'll trigger a security response."
Buffy tapped the GPS coordinates Riley had provided into the car's navigation system, then she turned off her phone. Angel, with a reluctant look on his face, turned off his phone as well.
"Get some sleep," Angel recommended when he caught her yawning a few minutes later. "You might need it."
Buffy gratefully nodded, then she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.
A thought occurred to Angel. "Riley, you awake?"
Riley grunted in the affirmative.
"I never got the details of why Gwen was locked up. What did she do?"
"Amongst other things," Riley replied, "she burned down a mansion in the process of trying to steal some sort of cutting-edge tech. I don't remember the specifics," Riley wiggled on the seat in an attempt to get comfortable. "It took us a few years to track her down, but we eventually got her."
"Burned down a house?" Angel asked. "She's been incarcerated for what, five years now … for arson?"
"The mansion's sprinkler system malfunctioned and three children, along with their mother, father, and two nannies, were killed in the fire."
. . . . . . . . .
Giles opened his front door and was walking towards Willow before she'd even finished parking her car. He stepped off the curb, circled around the vehicle, and wrapped Willow in his arms the moment she climbed out of the driver's seat. The first rays of the morning sun had not yet warmed Sunnydale, and he could feel her shivering from the cold as she returned the embrace.
"I just watched my husband and one-month old … one-month old … daughter drive away," Willow said as she choked back a sob. "What kind of wife and mother am I?"
Giles put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back so he could look down at her. "The kind who's trying to help, whatever it takes." He resumed hugging her.
"I hope you don't mind that I came over so early," Willow said, "I just … I just couldn't bear to stay at home alone after they left."
"I understand, and of course it's fine," Giles replied as he cleared his throat and unwrapped his arms from Willow. "I was gathering all of our research together to bring over to Xander's."
"I should have brought a sleeping bag," Willow said ruefully. "Xander and Dawn are going to run out of beds and blankets."
Giles glanced down at her. "I'm fairly certain that the woman who gave birth five weeks ago is going to rank a mattress over Angel."
"Speaking of Angel, have you heard from him or Buffy?"
"No," Giles admitted, "and since my calls are going straight to voicemail, I'm guessing they turned the phones off."
"Or they're someplace that has no reception, like the middle of the Mojave," Willow suggested.
Giles shrugged. "In any event, they should have already returned with the Scythe by now if there were no problems, so there must have been at least one problem."
"Do you really think the Scythe will help Buffy?" Willow asked as they began walking towards the front door.
Giles considered the question for a moment. "When in doubt, I'm inclined to trust Buffy," he said. He pulled open the front door and ushered Willow inside.
"I've been wondering if Dana is right?" Willow admitted as Giles closed the front door behind them. "Whatever the mayor is doing, it was about the election, and he's won … we don't want him to have access to the water of Mimisbrunnr, even if we're not sure what it does. Maybe we should be taking the fight to him right about now? Not to, you know, execute him or anything, but to stop him from being sworn in."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Giles admitted, "but attempting to storm a castle in order to attack the mayor-elect doesn't seem like the best idea."
"He'll have to leave his castle to be sworn in," Willow pointed out.
Giles nodded. "I had considered that, as well." They stepped into the kitchen and Willow was surprised to see Olivia, clad in pajamas and slippers, pouring tea out of a gleaming, stainless steel kettle and into mugs.
When she'd finished pouring, Olivia handed a mug to Willow, then smiled. "Good morning, Will, how are you holding up?"
Willow took a grateful sip of the near-scalding tea and considered the question. "I'm doing a lot better now that I'm out of the house." She briefly wondered why Olivia was still in Moonridge, glanced over at Giles for a moment, then decided to keep her curiosity to herself.
Olivia seemed to guess at Willow's unspoken question. "I'm a bit too old to go running off to motels at the first sign of danger," she said with a smile. "I'll tough it out, same as the rest of you."
The expression of displeasure that washed over Giles's face at Olivia's statement was plain to see, but he held his tongue.
"When do you think we should have over to Xander's?" Willow asked.
Giles ceased blowing on his steaming mug to respond, "Maybe three or four hours? We need to pack up the research here, Olivia was kind enough to volunteer to make breakfast, and I want to make sure …" his voice trailed off.
Willow frowned at him. "You want to make sure that Willow is mentally over her husband and newborn daughter leaving town? I appreciate the thought, Giles, but I'm not going to be fine, and you and I are just going to have to do what we need to do anyway."
"Fair enough."
As sadness washed over Giles's face, it occurred to Willow that it only this year that she had begun to consider Giles old.
. . . . . . . . .
"Xander, do you realize that this is our first argument since our memories were restored?"
Xander, mouth agape, peeked his head out of the closet to stare at her. "Is that supposed to be funny, Dawn? Is my wanting to keep you safe a big joke? I had to watch Emmy get sliced apart and now I have to worry about something happening to you?"
Truth be told, I don't really like it when Emmy comes up in conversation … but neither would it be fair to blame Xander for not remembering that he was spoken for.
"Fights can be healthy for a relationship," Dawn continued. "It shows we're getting back to normal. Even though we mostly had good times, sometimes one of us would get angry … like you are now. Heated discussions can help clear the air."
When a dim red glow began to shine from deep within the closet, Dawn's back stiffened.
"Xander, your eye …"
The red light gradually faded away, and she breathed deeply and relaxed.
Thank you.
Xander, now clad in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, fixed her with a baleful look as he emerged from the closet and stepped into their bedroom … or what should have been their bedroom.
"Hey," Dawn said. "Xander, I don't want you go downstairs this upset."
"And I don't want to be this upset, Dawn!" Xander near-yelled. "The day we all went to get you out of his house, I knew why Angel handcuffed Buffy to that bed, but I didn't really get it until now. It's unbelievably tempting to just toss you in the truck and not stop driving until it's time to drop you off somewhere safe."
"But you won't do that, because that would be wrong," Dawn prompted him.
Xander glanced away, muttered something under his breath, and then finally turned back to her. "It's tempting, though."
"Xander …"
He raised up a hand in a gesture of surrender. "Yes, I get it." A thought occurred to him. "When you bewitched into thinking you were a mother of two, Buffy couldn't get you to leave town. Now that your memories are back, I can't get you to leave town. Maybe the problem, Dawn, is that you love Moonridge too much."
Dawn decided to try explaining one more time. "Your house … our house … is warded with every enchantment and spell Giles and Willow could think of, I feel like I need to be here for Buffy, and I don't want to leave."
"What about what I want?"
"Sorry," Dawn said in an indifferent voice as she headed for the hallway and began to descend the stairs. "Not this time."
Xander followed her downstairs, then strode into a loathsome room that Dawn could only describe as a man cave of some sort. The urge to broach her desire to get rid of the mirrored wall paneling, throw out the mini-bar, and retheme the space, had been growing on a daily basis.
"Follow me," Xander called out.
"Why?" Dawn asked.
"If you're going to stay, then you need to be able to fight."
"Xander," Dawn said hesitantly, "I kinda held my own once upon a time, but if we need me to fight, it's not looking good."
"I'm not talking about with fists."
Xander grabbed a remote control from somewhere behind the bar, pressed one of its buttons, and Dawn leapt back in surprise as a section of the mirrored wall paneling pulled back, slid aside with a pneumatic hiss, and revealed an entryway. Fluorescent lights flickered on and illuminated the interior.
"You're Batman?"
Xander laughed. "Unfortunately, I'm leaning more Marvel than DC on the superhero spectrum."
"What?"
Xander waved off the question as he walked over to the now-open section of the wall. He gestured inside as he said, "Go ahead."
Dawn, with a growing sense of unease and trepidation, stepped into the room.
What the …
"Xander, what is all this?"
The room had sufficient floor space to walk around, but the bulk of the square footage was filled with barrels of holy water, racks of stakes and gleaming swords, an assortment of crates, child's toys like water balloons and super soakers, and other weapons of nearly every type imaginable. Dawn spotted what looked like a giant crossbow hung from an enormous hook set in one of the walls while on the opposite wall were stacked orderly rows of body armor. Not all of the contents of the room were medieval or occult in nature as weapons cabinets bristled with ugly, frightening looking black guns and a number of the crates and boxes appeared to be military issue.
"Xander, we really need to talk about the last two years," she whispered in shock. "Now that I'm standing in this room, I'm pretty sure I remember this area of the house, and I think it was supposed to be a nursery and child's bedroom."
"Well, I didn't remember any of that when I finished construction," Xander replied, "and while we may not have a nursery, we do have a lot of weapons with which to fight, and that seems like it might be more useful at the moment."
"When this Wilkins deal is over, we are going to sit down and you are going to go week by week on what I've missed out on in your life," Dawn informed him as she blinked in horror at the sight of a straw-filled box packed with grenades.
"What weapons catch your eye?" Xander asked as he rubbed his hands together. "Axe or stake may be old school, vintage, but I'm thinking a dual holster with a holy water super soaker and a small caliber revolver might be easier for you to deal with."
Dawn's mouth hung open as she stared at him.
Who has he become?
"This is the greatest room I have ever seen in my life," Colleen gushed as she and Connor joined them.
"I told you that you'd love it," Connor replied.
"Don't you two know how to knock?" Xander asked. "Or use the doorbell, even? Or call ahead?" He blinked a few times and rubbed his forehead. "Oh my god, I'm turning into Giles."
"I still have a key, and you weren't picking up your phone," Connor explained as he slowly ran a hand along a grenade launcher case lying atop a stack of crates.
"Is that an arbalest?" Colleen asked as she rubbed her hands together in glee and eyed the enormous crossbow hanging from the wall.
"It is," Xander said with a smile.
"Mind if we look around?" Colleen asked.
Xander shrugged. "Be my guest. I'm going to go give Giles and Willow a call, see if they can't pick up donuts on the way."
Dawn backed out of her fiance's insane room of death and tried her best to ignore Colleen and Connor's rapturous expressions of ecstasy.
I really need to talk to Xander about what he's been up to …
Xander checked his phone, then said, "Anyone heard from Buffy? She should have been back by now."
. . . . . . . . .
"All I'm saying, is that we've been sitting here a long time, and it wouldn't be that hard for the military to decide that the creepy ex-vampire and curiously powerless ex-slayer should maybe be kept for observation," Buffy whispered.
"This was your idea, Buffy," Angel reminded her.
The facility had seemed, at first, to consist of a few ramshackle buildings, a collection of trailers, a corral made of battered and weathered wood, and a rusted barbed wire fence. It hadn't been until Riley had led them into one of the trailers, past an extremely surprised set of guards wearing faded jeans and nondescript shirts and jackets, and then into an elevator that descended for an excruciatingly long period of time, that they realized the truth.
The base was huge.
The shape and size reminded Buffy of an aircraft hangar, or maybe the interior of a cruise ship. Rows of railing-lined floors lined with doors rose on either side of them, while the center … the ceiling of which had to be sixty to seventy feet above their heads, was empty save for the uniformed men and women walking back and forth.
"You're in early, Major," one of the guards had said to Riley upon glancing them over with an expression of curiosity.
The other guard had chimed in, "I thought you had the day off?"
Buffy's immediate thought was: Major? Riley seems like he's barely keeping it together.
"You didn't know he was one of the guys in charge here?" Angel had later asked, when they were alone and could chat in private.
Buffy had shaken her head.
"What's a major with an occult, special forces division of the military, doing getting wasted at a seedy biker bar?" Angel continued.
Buffy decided to voice the only explanation she could think of, "Grief?"
Angel considered Buffy's answer for a few moments, then he guessed at to what she meant. "His wife? The one he worked with?"
"That would be the one."
"I can't imagine losing someone you love like that," Angel had replied. "I don't know how I'd ever get over it, especially if I could have done something to prevent it."
She had stared at him a long time after that comment, and Angel was, thankfully, wise enough to stop talking.
The waiting room … or holding cell … they were in had seemed accommodating at first, with its padded chairs, table, and couch. That was until Buffy had tested the doorknob and found it locked.
"There's nothing we can do until Rileys gets back, so we might as well settle in," Angel informed her from his prone position on the couch.
"How can you try to sleep?"
"Mostly because I'm pretty tired," he explained. "I didn't have someone to drive."
Buffy tested the doorknob again, and, of course, it was still locked.
"Do you think you could break down the door?"
Angel half-opened one of his eyes and glanced over at her. "That seems like a terrible idea."
Thankfully, just before she lost her mind from waiting, Riley returned … although it required several seconds for her to realize it actually was Riley. Although he had foregone the bars and insignia commonly associated with the military, his uniform was crisp and freshly starched, his boots shone beneath the lights, and the brass of his belt knuckle had been brightly polished. Riley had combed his hair to a razor part, and his eyes, which had been bloodshot while they drove, were now clear and focused.
In short, he looked absolutely unrecognizable from the near-derelict she'd spoken to at a bar only a few hours earlier.
"What?" Riley had asked after she had stared at him, silently, for a good long while.
"You cleaned up pretty nice," she replied.
That comment woke Angel up. He sat upright on the couch, rolled his head around a few times to work out the kinks, then stood.
"I don't suppose we could go talk to Gwen?" he asked.
Jesus, Angel, right to the point as always …
Riley seemed taken aback by the abruptness of the question, but after a moment he nodded. "I've arranged for a brief visit, but there are a few ground rules."
Of course …
"Absolutely," Buffy said in the cheeriest, most accommodating voice she could manage. "I assume we shouldn't pass her any weapons, cell phones, batteries, things like that?"
"You've got the general idea," Riley replied, "but also, maybe avoid discussing current events in the world. I think it's best if you stick with questions about this axe you're looking for."
Angel and Buffy assured Riley they'd stay on topic.
When Riley was satisfied, he turned to Angel. "How close do you consider yourself to be to Ms. Raiden?"
Angel sighed. "You, too? I already went over this with Buffy, she and I didn't date."
Riley fixed Angel with a quizzical expression. "Fair enough, but do you consider her a friend?"
Angel considered the question. "I guess … maybe? It's hard to get over the whole burning down a house with children in it, thing, though."
"She isn't in the best shape, mentally," Riley informed them. "So, prepare yourself." He glanced at Buffy. "Do you want some coffee before you head in?"
"Oh god, yes!" Buffy immediately answered.
Riley handed them ID badges to pin to their shirts, then they worked their way down the center corridor, ignoring the curious stares of military personnel, until they reached a utilitarian room featuring several refrigerators, a kitchenette, and a large coffee maker.
Buffy could feel her brain screaming for caffeine every second until Riley handed her a mug. The unsweetened, bracingly bitter, scorching hot coffee easily had to be the best tasting drink she had ever had in her life.
She almost dropped the mug when the refrigerator opened, apparently on its own accord, and a paper bag floated out of the interior to hover in empty air.
Riley did not react to the odd occurrence except to say, "Good morning, Marcie."
The bag moved up and down a few times, almost as if it was replicating a nod of the head, then it hovered out of the entryway of the room and vanished.
"That was … Marcie?" Buffy asked as she pointed in the direction the bag had left. "From Sunnydale High School?"
"Yup," Riley had said. "Been a stalwart for the division since long before I started here." He glanced at Angel and Buffy's mugs. "Finish up, our window to chat with Gwen is pretty small."
After they'd drained the coffee, they followed Riley as he led them through one of the nondescript doors, which then led to a series of nondescript tunnels, until finally they found themselves in a long, high-ceilinged room that couldn't be anything other than a prison. As she walked, Buffy tried not to look at the sullen, dispirited prisoners wearing green jumpsuits who were housed on the far side of transparent plexiglass doors. Angel, on the other hand, examined each cell carefully, and unless she was mistaken, he recognized a few faces … at one point she was fairly certain he grinned in satisfaction.
Finally, they reached a concrete door which had embedded in its center an ancient looking dial.
"No electricity," Riley explained as he twisted the dial. The sound of the tumblers reminded Buffy of a high school locker, and then after Riley entered the code, he put his hand on the latch then gestured towards a set of baskets placed in alcoves along the wall. "Anything electronic, leave it in there."
Buffy and Angel dutifully placed their cell phones in the baskets.
Riley swung the door open. "I've got a few things I need to check on and I wanted to grab Ms. Raiden's file," he said. "I'll let you two interrogate her on your own for a while."
Buffy and Angel had nodded, Riley had ushered them inside, then he closed the door behind them. Buffy tested the door latch and the slowly-building sensation of claustrophobia that had been setting in dissipated somewhat when she confirmed the door had been left unlocked.
In the center of the large concrete room sat a plexiglass cube perhaps twenty feet on each side. The walls of the cube had to be at least three or four inches thick, and the clear material was dotted with air holes perhaps an inch in circumference. Within the cube sat a bed, desk, chair, and couch, all of which were made of the same clear plastic material. There were no blankets, reading material, cushions, or entertainment of any kind visible within the cube, although Buffy did notice that a number of paintings featuring a variety of landscapes had been hung on the walls throughout the room. In the corner, set well away from the cube, was an old-fashioned hand-cranked phonograph. The milk crates on the floor next to the phonograph were filled with a variety of records.
The woman Buffy presumed was Gwen Raiden, upon seeing them enter, sprang from the couch and scurried in a vaguely feral manner to the side of the cube nearest to them. The woman's gray-streaked brown had been hacked to perhaps an inch in length, her eyes were sunken and hollow, and what skin was visible was pale and dry. There wasn't much of skin to be seen, however, as Gwen was covered from toes to neck in a one-piece outfit made from some sort of form-adhering material. Buffy guessed that the garb was made from neoprene as it somewhat resembled a wetsuit. Gloves and booties integrated into the suit encased Gwen's hands and feet, and metal bindings had been tightly locked around her ankles, neck, wrists, and waist. Beneath the suit, Gwen's body appeared borderline skeletal, she was so thin and frail.
The suit had a metal plate embedded in the front from which a multitude of wires bristled. The wires, which seemed to be fixed to the surface of the suit in some manner, wound their way around the woman's body and limbs in a regular pattern. Buffy guessed that the entire ensemble was intended to dampen her powers.
I'm getting serious Silence of the Lambs vibes right now.
Gwen stared at Angel, then put one gloved hand on the clear wall of her cage. With her other hand she wiped away tears.
"I don't suppose it's too much to hope that you're here to rescue me?" Gwen finally asked. Her voice was high and crumbling, like a warbling note from an instrument on the verge of breaking.
"Three children, a mother and father, and two nannies, Gwen?" was Angel's reply.
Gwen fought back a sob and wiped her eyes again. "The house was supposed to be empty … I didn't know they were there, and I didn't mean to start a fire. Angel, it was an accident."
"How about that trap you set in that cave in Barstow, was that an accident?" Angel continued. "If it had been someone besides me who touched that case, it could have killed them. What's your excuse for that?"
Gwen didn't answer for a long while, and when she did, her voice was thin and quavering. "It was just business, Angel."
"Who gave you the job?" Buffy interjected.
Gwen turned her head towards Buffy. "You must be Buffy Summers." Gwen glanced Buffy over. "You're exactly how I pictured you from Angel's description."
Buffy's head snapped over to Angel. "I'm surprised my name came up when you and Angel were chatting."
Angel closed his eyes for a moment and Buffy was fairly sure she could hear his teeth grinding.
"Gwen," Angel said. "We need your help. That axe you stole from that cave, we need to know who wanted it stolen, and where it is now."
"You want my help!" Gwen's voice sounded near hysterical. "Angel, I need your help!" She spread her arms and gestured to the walls of her prison. "I've been in this glorified packing crate for so long I can barely remember anything else. Do you want to know how they feed and water me?" She gestured to one of the airholes that was slightly larger than the others, then pressed both hands against the glass. "They stick two tubes through that hole, three times a day. Nobody would allow an animal to be treated like this." She pressed the side of her face against the glass and the skin of her cheek and jaw distorted from the pressure. "Angel, I didn't mean to kill anyone."
"Three children," was Angel's reply.
"Have you been in this room the entire five years?" Buffy asked as she stared at Gwen.
"It's been five years?" Gwen howled as she hung her head. Tears dripped from her eyes and splattered upon the plexiglass floor.
Angel shot Buffy a warning glance and frowned.
That's right … I'm not supposed to give her any information …
Gwen continued to stare at the ground as she spoke, "Forget the rescue, I'd settle for you killing me."
"If you want that, Gwen, you should do it yourself," Angel replied in a dry, uncaring manner.
I've seen Angel like this before, and I've never liked it. This is the man who could go work for Wolfram & Hart.
"You don't think I've tried!" Gwen screamed as she beat her gloved hands against the glass. They made a dull, muffled thudding sound with each strike. "I'm in this suit every second that I'm awake. If they need to take it off me, they spray some knock-out gas through one of these holes, do what they want, and when I wake up, I'm still in here."
She fell to her knees, and her shoulders heaved as she sobbed. "Angel, I am begging you, help me."
"Help us, and we'll see."
Buffy frowned.
I don't like what's happening here. Gwen is right, death is probably better.
Gwen put a hand back up to the glass. "Angel, I can't remember the last time I've felt my own skin …"
Buffy felt compelled to say something. "Angel, maybe we can talk to Riley, have him …"
Gwen's head snapped up and she stopped crying. "Major Finn?" She sprang to her feet and pressed her gloves hands against the glass again. "He's polite, he's always polite, but I know he hates me. His wife is the one who led the team that captured me." Her eyes went vacant. "It feels like a hundred years ago … I was supposed to meet a client at some godawful biker bar outside of Vegas, a real shithole, I was a couple shots in, and then … bam … I'm trying to fight my way out of a trap." Gwen's continued to stare vacantly at nothing in particular as she continued, "I got knocked out, and I woke up in here." She blinked a few times then stared at Angel. "Angel, we had something, once, is there anything you can do to help me?"
Angel and Gwen had something! Angel, you lying son of a …
"We never had anything, Gwen," Angel replied. "And I wasn't too thrilled with the way you left things with Gunn."
"Sure, you and I only had that one kiss, but it was a nice kiss, wasn't it?" Gwen's voice was beginning to crumble, and her eyes had become unfocused and wandering.
One kiss? I can live with that. Wait, what am I saying? Angel's love life isn't my concern anymore.
Angel folded his arms. "Tell us where we can find that axe you stole and who hired you, then we'll see."
"I didn't get a trial, Angel," Gwen moaned piteously. "They're going to keep me in here, like this, until I die," Gwen glanced over at Buffy. "Angel told me about you, you're … good … right?" She pointed at the suit encasing her body. "Does this seem like justice to you? Do you want to know what it's like when I need to go to the bathroom?"
"Gwen," Buffy said as she walked to the cage and pressed her hand against the glass. "I'll do something about this. I promise."
After Gwen nodded, she stepped back and could feel Angel glowering at her.
At the sound of the door opening both she and Angel turned to stare.
Riley walked into the room, and in his hands he held a red axe with a silver edge, a long metal handle, and a wooden stake affixed to the base of the haft.
Buffy's mouth opened in shock as she rushed forward. She managed to catch her hand mid-dart as she reached for the Scythe, tried to compose herself and regain some semblance of her manners, and glanced up at Riley.
"May I?"
He grinned at her and extended the Scythe. "We've tested it every way we can think of, and it's just metal. Go ahead and take it." He glanced over at Angel. "When I grabbed Ms. Raiden's file, I checked the possession log and realized she had the axe on her when she was arrested. After the lab guys tested it, it's been in storage ever since."
Buffy reached out with eager hands and grabbed the Scythe. It was heavier than she remembered … far heavier … but it was a comforting, solid weight. Some part of her that hadn't been whole for a long time rejoiced at the feel of her fingers curling around the haft.
She expected to find Angel smiling when she turned, but instead he was staring with grim anger at Gwen.
"You knew what we were looking for was here the entire time that we've been talking?" he asked. "And you tried to extract promises instead of helping us?"
Gwen eyes were rheumy and red as she resumed sobbing.
Angel knelt next to the glass. "Last chance to try to earn some cooperation points. Who hired you to steal that axe and leave a trap behind for the next person who might want to find it?"
"It was a Watcher," Gwen said between sobs.
A Watcher?
"Who?" Buffy asked as she held the Scythe close and stepped near the cell.
Gwen stared at her as she spoke, "He gave me a bullshit name and even more bullshit story about the axe being stolen, but I always do some checking on potential clients … his name was Todd Wells-Clarke. He gave me GPS coordinates and a set of directions he'd downloaded from someone's phone."
What?
Angel managed to control his reaction as a number of questions that had accumulated over the course of the year seemed to have been answered, but Buffy had to turn away in order to conceal her shock.
Andrew's husband?
Angel stood, walked over to Buffy, and leaned in close to whisper, "We'll talk about this later. Right now, we need to get out of here and start back to Moonridge."
"You two alright?" Riley called out.
At the sound of Riley's voice, Gwen hastened to her feet and backed away from the glass.
"Let's go," Angel replied. "We have what we came for."
A plaintive wail rose from within the plexiglass cube. "Please, Angel."
Angel paused a moment, then called out to Gwen, "You've made mistakes, Gwen, and this is the price."
"Like you haven't made mistakes," Gwen screamed.
"I have," Angel admitted. "And, for the most part, I paid for them. In fact, I'm still paying for some of them."
Angel, with Riley and Buffy following, headed towards the door, pushed it open, and exited the cell. They retrieved their phones and proceeded to silently retraced their steps back through the prison section of the facility until they were once more in the cavernous central space.
"Riley," Angel said as he pointed back towards the prison where Gwen was being kept. "Is all of that necessary? There's a line between being careful and being cruel, and it seems like you guys have gone way over it." His words were heated, and while he wasn't exactly confronting Riley eye to eye, the conversation definitely seemed to be leaning in that direction.
Buffy could feel her heart literally thaw as Angel spoke.
Angel does care … he just didn't want Gwen to know … for some reason.
"I am open to suggestions," Riley replied in a calm, even tone. "But you know how dangerous Ms. Raiden is. We take that suit off, even for a second, she can kill anyone within a few feet of her, fry every security system we have, or melt through just about anything given enough time." He shrugged. "You tell me what we should do?"
"I'll come up with a list and text it over," Angel replied. "Executing her might be preferable to what you're putting her through."
"I know you two usually just slay any enemies you come across, but we don't do that here," Riley retorted.
Angel's brow wrinkled in anger and his jaw set a firm line as he opened his mouth to respond, but Buffy reached out, grabbed his forearm, and interrupted his thought.
"Riley," she said, "what's happening with Gwen … it isn't personal for you, is it?"
Riley glanced away, and she knew.
Oh, no. Samantha.
"Riley, you know me … you know I can't just let something like this go." Buffy gestured with her thumb towards the prison wing. "You're better than what I saw in there. The U.S. government needs to be better than what I saw in there."
"Gwen's incarceration is exactly in line with precedent, protocol, and security guidelines," Riley said in a monotone, emotionless voice. "Exactly in line."
I need to do something about this, but not today.
She nodded in feigned agreement and tried to lighten her tone. "Thank you for everything," she told Riley as she wiggled the axe in his direction. "You have no idea what this means."
"It'll save the world, right?"
"I think it'll help."
Riley looked at her and then Angel. "You two are on a mission to save the world, but Buffy takes time out to lobby for better prison conditions on behalf of a woman who is responsible for the deaths of quite a few innocents." He grinned at her, but there was little mirth or warmth behind it. "I guess that's what makes you, you."
"Thanks," Buffy said in an uncertain tone.
Riley continued, "Do you know why I kept you waiting so long this morning?"
Buffy, without thinking, uttered the first guess that came to mind, "You had to sober up and shower?"
He frowned at her. "True, but that doesn't take hours. Not when you have access to the kind of drugs we have here."
Riley, not Initiative drugs again …
Riley continued, "My superiors wanted me to recruit you both … give you the hard sell, and they thought letting you see Ms. Raiden and cooperating with your axe investigation would represent an olive branch of good faith. They view having an ensouled vampire and a slayer in pocket as the recruiting coup of the twenty-first century." He pointed at Angel. "I didn't mention you're no longer a vampire, as I didn't want to see you become a lab rat," he gestured next at Buffy, "and I was maybe ninety percent sure that you aren't a slayer anymore until I handed you that axe, and when I saw how heavy it was for you, I became one-hundred percent sure." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "What the hell happened to you two, and what's going on in Moonridge?"
"Is it too much to ask that you stand by in case we need your help?" Buffy asked.
Riley frowned. "Trying to save the world is what we do, and you've got my number." He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Are you alright, Buffy? Health-wise, I mean? I've never heard of a slayer losing her powers, or a vampire becoming human again, for that matter."
"I'm not human," Angel interjected. "I'm something else, now."
He almost sounds proud of not being human.
Riley nodded thoughtfully, if with a somewhat confused expression on his face. He turned back to Buffy, "I know it's been a long time, but I'd like to think we owe each other some degree of trust. You'd tell me if you were … sick … or if something was wrong with you physically, right?"
I'm surprised he still cares.
"I'm just not a slayer anymore," Buffy reassured him, "I'm not injured or ill."
Riley nodded, and he seemed somewhat mollified.
Angel reached into the breast pocket of his black coat, pulled out his wallet, then fished through the contents until he'd extracted a business card. He tapped the card thoughtfully against the wallet, then extended it to Riley.
Riley took the proffered card and read the name on it. "Detective Catherine Lockley, L.A.P.D.?" He looked up at Angel. "Who's she?"
"You're looking for recruits who understand, and have fought, supernatural threats?" Angel reached out and tapped the card. "Try Kate."
"I'll run a background check, and if she passes, I'll give her a call," Riley promised as he tucked the card into his pocket.
Buffy and Riley's goodbyes were brief, if heartfelt, and she did her best to not let claustrophobia set in as they were led back above ground. Buffy didn't loosen her grip on the Scythe's handle until they were back in Angel's car, at which point she reverently laid it on the back seat.
Her and Angel's discussions about Andrew and what to do with the information they'd learned about his husband stretched on at length while they drove, and as a result neither of them remembered to turn their cell phones back on for quite some time.
. . . . . . . . .
Dawn fought down an unwanted urge to track down a bottle of wine as Xander, Colleen, and Connor spent several hours gleefully spreading weapons and armor throughout the house. Swords, stakes, and squirt guns were laid in orderly rows upon the dining room table, an assortment of firearms and matching ammunition had been stacked upon the coffee table, and a barrel of holy water had been rolled near the front door.
Only one item had drawn raised eyebrows from anyone besides Dawn.
"Are you sure about that?" Collen had asked after watching Xander lay the rocket launcher case across the kitchen counter.
Xander had nodded, grinned at her, and said, "Absolutely."
Dawn eventually plopped herself onto the couch and settled in to wait for Buffy and Angel to return. After roughly the twentieth phone call and text, she decided that, for some reason, their phones were either off or had no reception, and she'd just have to be patient.
Where the hell are they?
When's Colleen phone began to buzz, Colleen checked the screen, mouthed the name 'Dana,' then exchanged worried glances with Xander and Connor before stepping outside to take the call.
Xander eyed Connor with a thoughtful expression. "You and Colleen? Really? How'd I miss that?"
"We've been preoccupied," Dawn reminded her fiancé.
Xander chucked. "I suppose so."
"Colleen and I have only gone out a few times," Connor hastened to explain. "But I like her." He cleared his throat, then continued. "What do you guys think of her?"
"I actually had a thing for Colleen once upon a time," Xander said in a blithe, uncaring manner. When he realized what he'd said, his face went white and his eyes widened in terror. He turned to Dawn, who was staring at him jaw agape, and raised an apologetic hand. "Sorry, sweetheart, that was the other set of memories … the one where we never dated, getting in the way again."
She ignored his apologetic smile, glared at him, and hoped the blush she was feeling wasn't too intense.
"Anyway," Connor said as he eyed the two of them, "if Dana is calling, it can't be good."
"It wasn't," Colleen said as she closed the door behind her. At some point during the sojourn on the front patio, she'd tied her brown hair into a ponytail and found a stake to tuck into her belt. Her eyes, which had been glittering with excitement as she had pawed through Xander's creepy room of death, had become guarded and grim. "Richard Wilkins is being sworn in this afternoon."
"What?" Xander gasped. "How is that possible? The election was yesterday!"
Colleen pointed at the television. "It's all over the news. He'll be sworn in as acting mayor today, then he'll start his actual term in a few weeks." Colleen rubbed her forehead. "Apparently there was some form Buffy was supposed to fill out and deliver personally to City Hall in order to prevent an automatic concession."
"Buffy will be back today!" Dawn exclaimed.
This can't be happening …
Colleen slowly shook her head. "Unless it's in the next hour or two, she'll come back to find Richard Wilkins having been sworn in as mayor."
What does Dana want to do?" Connor asked.
"More importantly, what is Faith going to do?" Xander added. "I wish she was here so we could talk some sense into her … heck, wasn't Faith supposed to come over this morning?"
"She was a bit hungover," Colleen informed them.
"Hungover?" Dawn asked. "You can't be serious."
Connor stepped closer to Colleen and repeated her prior question, "What does Dana want to do."
Colleen hesitated a moment, then replied, "We all know where Wilkins will be, and we know when he's going to be there. We'll get him at City Hall."
"Get him?" Dawn protested. "You mean murder him, don't you?"
"Is he even really a person?" Colleen asked. "He doesn't belong in this dimension."
The obvious retort instantly arose to Dawn's lips, "You could say the same thing about me! We're supposed to be the good guys, we should arrest him, or something, instead of trying to assassinate him."
"Dawn!" Xander exclaimed. "Wilkins deserves killing about as much as anyone ever has."
Dawn stared incredulously at him. "Remember Buffy and Angel? Remember how we were going to give them a day or two to get back, and how we weren't going to break the truce?"
"Those are things Buffy said, not things we said," Colleen said. "Dana is on her way, and when she gets here, I'm going."
"Then I'm coming with you," Connor announced.
Dawn noted Connor's immediately protective instinct towards the diminutive, brunette slayer with the upturned nose and the shy, cute smile that Xander undoubtedly had found oh-so-precious once upon a time.
Connor, I'm pretty sure you've done more than gone out with Colleen a few times …
"Connor!" Xander yelled. "Your father said to wait for him and Buffy to get back."
Connor glanced at Colleen, then at Xander. "I don't know how the Scythe is going to help, but I do know that Wilkins being sworn in will probably be a disaster. Besides, I don't want Colleen … and the other slayers … to head to City Hall by themselves."
The barest of smiles lifted the corners of Colleen's lips.
"Can't we at least wait for Giles and Willow to get here," Dawn pled. "They might be a big help."
Colleen frowned. "I'll ask Dana, but I don't think she's in the mood to wait any longer. Besides, honestly, Giles is probably a little too old for this sort of thing, and isn't Willow's magic still a bit pregnancy-wonky?"
"You'll want Willow," Xander informed Colleen. "Trust me."
"Like I said, I'll ask Dana."
Dawn had not sat idle while Richard Wilkins's murder was being discussed. She'd tried to call and text Buffy and Angel, repeatedly, and also sent a frantic missive off to Giles and Willow, both of whom had replied that they were on their way and to do anything they could to keep the slayers from rushing off to do something stupid. Finally, she'd texted Spike and his Buffy, and they'd both responded with shockingly coarse epithets that Dawn decided she wasn't going to pass on to Dana.
When Dana, Faith, and Jess arrived, it was clear from their expressions that they weren't in the mood for further discussion.
"It's time," Dana had announced the moment she stepped into the living room. She gestured, with her head towards the street. "Let's go."
"Oh wow," Jess exclaimed as she stepped towards the dining room table and surveyed the assembled weaponry "Where'd all this come from?"
"Why don't you guys look over Xander's creepy arsenal, wait for back-up to arrive, and we'll make a decision together?" Dawn suggested. "We've still got some time before the swearing-in."
Dana, who was wearing a thin, but sturdy looking brown leather coat, matching gloves, and thick jeans, had simply shaken her head. "Buffy isn't here, either of the Buffys, actually, and we don't have time to wait. If Wilkins leaves City Hall as mayor, everything we've been doing all year will have been for nothing." She drew herself up and fixed Dawn with a determined, somewhat ferocious stare. "No more waiting."
"But murder?" Dawn said. "Buffy specifically warned us to not to break the truce with Wolfram & Hart, and her hunches are usually pretty good."
"B's hunches are why we're so screwed," Faith replied, speaking for the first time since Dana had swung the door open, "and if anybody alive deserves to be murdered, it's Richard Wilkins." Her eyes grew shadowed. "Trust me."
"Dawn's right," Xander said flatly as he walked over to the door. "Rushing off is a bad idea. Let's gear up, let's talk, and let's wait for everyone else to arrive."
"Especially Buffy," Dawn added.
"Enough," Jess said as she turned away from the dining room table and towards Xander. She held aloft a short, ugly looking knife with a black iron handle and a wicked curve. "Mind if I borrow this?"
"Sure," Xander replied instinctively.
Jess and Faith moved to flank Dana, while Colleen lingered next to Connor. It struck Dawn how similar all four slayers were in terms of movements and appearance. Sure, the hair colors and lengths might vary, and Dana was dusky while the other three were pale as milk, but all four moved with the same panther-like grace and economy of movement. They had even dressed similarly, with thick jeans, boots, and jackets that provided some degree of protection.
If I can convince one to stay, they all will.
"Faith," Dawn tried one last time. "You guys cannot just go to City Hall and attack Richard Wilkins. Whatever else he might be, he's a human being, and this isn't how slaying works. If everyone was here, more than half the room would be screaming at you not to do this."
Faith didn't meet Dawn's eyes as she replied, "We've decided, Dawnie. We can't let Wilkins take over Moonridge."
Dana ignored Dawn entirely and turned to Colleen. "Is he coming?" she asked as she gesture towards Connor.
"I'm coming," Connor confirmed.
Jess frowned at Connor's inclusion in Dana's death squad, while Colleen smiled.
As Dana lingered at the doorway, Dawn watched her brow crinkle as a thought occurred to her. "Connor, we could maybe use some cannon fodder … your cultists available?"
Connor pointed at the sunlight streaming through the open door. "Not during the day."
Dana chucked. "I should have figured that."
"You're making a mistake," Dawn said. "Xander, can't you do something?"
All four slayers narrowed their eyes as they swiveled their collective gaze towards Xander.
"I don't think setting them on fire is going to help," he replied.
The slayers hadn't waited around longer after that comment.
Once they had left, Xander and Dawn stared at each other for a long time before Xander finally spoke.
"Dawn, please, let me drive you somewhere safe."
Dawn stared at the ceiling and sighed. "I'm not sure where that would be, and I'm waiting for Buffy.
. . . . . . . . .
"You let them leave?" Giles had roared at Xander in a rather accusatory manner only moments after he'd stepped into the living room.
"As I went over with Dawn about a half an hour ago," Xander replied, "other than setting things on fire, which I don't think would help very much, how exactly did you want me to go about manhandling four slayers and Angel's son?" Xander raised a finger. "Besides, a few months ago, didn't Angel teach us all the very important lesson that we are not going to go around trying to protect people against their will?" He shot Dawn an irritated glance. "No matter how much we want to."
"You couldn't at least make them wait until we got here?" Willow asked as she plunked a bag filled with books on the dining room table. For the first time she seemed to notice the weaponry spread around the downstairs of the house. A worried expression darkened her features as she turned to Dawn and shot her a questioning look. "Have you talked to Xander about all of this …" she gestured at the weapons, "yet?"
"Oh, that conversation is definitely happening," Dawn replied.
Willow enthusiastically nodded. "Good."
"Connor, too?" Giles asked. "Neither of you could keep him from joining in on this idiocy?"
"Connor likes Colleen," Dawn explained. "As does Xander."
Xander made a sound that Dawn could only describe as a strangled cough.
"I was wondering when the rest of you would start to pick up on Connor and Colleen's budding romance," Giles said as he began to clean his glasses. "It took long enough."
Willow checked her cell phone and shook her head. "Still no updates from Buffy and Angel." She glanced around the room. "What now?"
Spike and the younger Buffy chose that moment to slam open the front door, resulting in both Dawn and Xander wincing as the doorknob gouged a divot in the drywall, and rush into the room.
"You guys couldn't convince those bloody idiots to wait until Buffy got back!" Spike roared. "I thought slayers are supposed to stick together?"
"They don't consider Buffy a slayer," Giles reminded Spike. "It's been affecting the cooperative dynamic for months now."
Spike pointed a finger at Giles. "Shove the cooperative dynamic up their soddin' arses, is what I say."
"Last time I checked, I'm a slayer," the teen Buffy reminded everyone. "And they didn't wait for me, either."
"Now what?" Spike asked. "Wait to see which side wins and separate out body parts later?"
"We need to help Faith and Connor," Willow replied. "And Colleen." After a much longer pause, she continued, "Dana and Jess, too, I suppose."
Xander checked his watch. "The slayers should just now be reaching City Hall," he glanced around the room. "Which means that they'll probably be in need of rescuing at any moment."
"At the risk of sounding like a broken record … wait for Buffy and Angel?" Dawn suggested.
Willow pulled several pouches out of the bag she'd dropped near the dining room table and tucked them into the pockets of her thick jacket. "We can't," she said. "I think we're needed at City Hall."
"Willow," Giles said, "could you please toss me the powdered elderberry along with the yak hair."
Willow shook her head. "You're staying here with Dawn, Giles," she announced in a firm tone that brooked no disagreement. "If we get delayed, or if something happens to us, you are going to need to be here to help Angel and Buffy launch a second front."
Dawn knew that Willow was leaving the rest unspoken, namely, that they had all collectively decided that Giles would no longer be on the front line.
I forget sometimes that Giles is closer to seventy than to sixty … he still looks good.
Giles began to protest, then Dawn walked over and grabbed his hand. "Please?" she asked. "I don't want to be here alone, and I'm worried about Angel and Buffy."
It was an underhanded ploy to appeal to Giles's paternalistic, and usually well hidden, chauvinism, but as Dawn expected, it worked.
"Fine," Giles said, "I'll stay here with Dawn, but I expect to be updated frequently."
"We'll keep you in the loop," Xander promised. He grabbed a flak jacket from the table, slipped it over his shoulders, and pulled the center zipper closed. Into holsters hanging from the front of the jacket he tucked a shiny revolver and a filled super soaker … the exact same combination of firearms Dawn recalled Xander offering to her earlier. After tightening the straps, Xander realized everyone was staring at him. "What?"
Willow walked over to Dawn and patted her on the arm. "Please have that talk with Xander about all of this," she whispered as she gestured at the arsenal on display, "soon."
Dawn and Willow watched with expressions of distaste as Spike and the younger Buffy excitedly began selecting their own weaponry of choice.
Xander grabbed his keys from a hook by the front door. "Grab the gear you want, and let's take my truck."
. . . . . . . . .
"What?" Buffy exclaimed in horror as she pressed her cell phone to her ear. "They didn't."
Angel glanced over at her. "Uh … Buffy … want to clue me in as to what Dawn is saying?"
Buffy rubbed her eyes and tried to fight back the overwhelming urge to scream. "We're only hours from Moonridge, Dawn, and we have the Scythe. Can't you call them and convince them to come back?"
When Buffy had finished speaking with her sister, she disconnected the call, slammed her cell phone into the cupholder, and ignored the sight of Angel checking to see if the interior of the car had been scuffed.
After Angel had assured himself that Buffy hadn't left a mark on his cupholder, he asked again, "Buffy, what did Dawn say?"
I might as well just tell him.
"Evidently, there's some sort of paperwork I was supposed to turn in no later than this morning, thanks Gertrude, and Wilkins is being sworn in as acting mayor in a few hours."
"Who's Gertrude?" Angel asked with a quizzical expression on his face. Then the rest of Buffy's sentence struck him. "Wilkins is being sworn in today? The election was yesterday? How is that possible?"
"It's all over the news, so it's happening."
Thanks to my screw-up.
She forced herself to continue, "The slayers are on their way to City Hall to break the truce and murder Richard Wilkins. Xander, Willow, Spike, and the other Buffy just left to rescue them."
"What?" Angel yelled as he tightened his hands on the steering wheel until his fingers had turned white from the strain. "We specifically asked everyone to not break the truce and to give us a few days."
"There's one more thing," Buffy added. "And you're really not going to like this."
"It's worse news?" Angel asked. "I'm not sure that's possible unless the apocalypse is officially here."
"Connor went with the slayers."
When Angel had accelerated well past a hundred miles an hour, Buffy decided to close her eyes to spare herself the view of Angel weaving in and out of traffic.
