Chapter 9 - Toes
August 26th, 2001 – 0040 Hours
PRESENT - 2 HOURS, 20 MINUTES AFTER BUFFY'S RESURRECTION
Ten Miles outside Sunnydale, California
The gentle whine of rubber gliding over asphalt filtered through the protective casing of nearly four thousand pounds of modern engineering. Leaning back to enjoy this new found joy he eyed the radio with a suspicious glare, distrustful of its dubious purpose. Learning to drive the 'borrowed' sports car had been enough to wrap his head around without engaging any of the potentially detrimental additives. Not that crashing into one of the many hundreds of trees would be lethal, not to him.
Eyeing another solid looking elm as he rounded yet another bend, he pressed the smallest pedal further. The distinct rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as his new found driving skills eluded yet another obstacle, navigating the treacherous road at a furious pace. The largest dial on the dash pointing to the number thirty-five, the highest he'd braved thus far.
A crash at this speed wouldn't be lethal, but even a balance demon could feel pain.
Whistler scoffed; there was too much to accomplish this night to be slowed by the embrace of stationary forestry and fear of the resulting broken bones. He pressed the pedal further, muscles tensing nervously as the dial reached fifty. Time was finite in this dimension, and here, its flow obeyed no one but the rigid mathematics of physics. He pushed the pedal even further yet, the rumble of the engine finally making itself known for the first time this night. Should he crash, he could at least do enough damage that the powers would be obligated to repair his body. If only ending your life as a balance demon could be so easy.
Even with supernaturally enhanced sight he nearly missed his quarry. Her short stature neatly hiding the blonde mop behind a small rise in the road. He cursed as he pushed the larger pedal just a bit too hard, his face slamming into the leather covered steel of the steering wheel, taken off guard by the rapid deceleration of his modern chariot. Oh how he longed for the simplicity of four hooves and a leather bridal. But the needs must.
The bark of the tires announcing his arrival barley phased the champion before him. So exhausted from fleeing the hellmouth after a half-assed resurrection, she gave only a cursory glance over her shoulder as she finally slowed to a walk. He let a smile creep across his lips as he watched her stagger down the road for another half mile leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake. He watched as her petite form listed slightly to one side only to correct and sway to the other, like a tree blowing in the wind as she continued ever slower down the highway. He knew she was exhausted but he wasn't fooled. He'd watched from dimensions unseen as countless denizens of the hellmouth judged her to be an easy quarry on their final night among the living, or unliving. His grin slipped into a frown as he finally noticed the wound on her left shoulder while his chariot slowly followed. Wondering if - for just this one time - she wasn't putting on an act.
As if answering his question, she swayed just a bit too far for even supernatural balance to correct.
Whistler cursed until he found the correct lever to open the door, allowing his freedom from the cage of metal and glass. His frown deepened with each step he took towards his now unconscious champion. His eyes roved over her disheveled form, her tattered dress showing a bit more flesh that even the provocative slayer would permit giving a clear view to assess her injuries. Fortunately, it seemed only the shoulder wound was significant and even it's bleeding had slowed to an sluggish ooze. A Simple case of pure exhaustion finally driving the slayer onto the ground.
Resurrection was a brutal and disorientating process to the ressurrectee. Even more if the body to be resurrect was heavily damaged and doubly so when said damage was the cumulative result of a battle with a hell goddess followed by a hundred foot plunge through unstable magics ending abruptly on solid concrete. Whistler sighed as he warily scooped the deceptively light slayer into his arms and headed back towards his metal chariot. A voice in the back of his mind screaming that this was still a bluff, that she would finally make good on her most colorful of threats. Even unconscious, his demon half tensed in alarm, still wary of the predator held in his arms.
He let out a breath of relief when she didn't stir. The potent surge of adrenaline that made slayers such vicious weapons having long since run its course and faded, leaving nothing but a depleted store of calories to fill the gap. Calories her trim form was lacking even before they had been pillaged to repair damage enough to be lethal ten times over.
"Wish I could say this was it for tonight slayer. But you've got a lot of miles left to cover."
He needed her safely tucked away, out of the reach of the witch's magic while she healed, away from any influence but those chosen by him. It would only be hours before they resorted to locator spells. But in this modern era, with 'borrowed' sports cars and all manor of human devised machines, hours was all he needed to ship the vulnerable slayer off to his chosen destination. With enough distance, even a dormant hellmouth would prove sufficient to elude the dark powers of the budding witch. More importantly, doing so without drawing the ire of the PTB at being bothered with such a menial task.
Los Nueves, California
Whistler gently coaxed the car to slow outside the hospital nearly a hundred miles north of its very dead - or potentially soon to be undead - former owner. Easing his foot cautiously into the stopping pedal with quickly improving skills, he took care not to wake the Slayer. Not while he was still in the car with her. The car with very confusing and periodically self locking door latches. He was glad that the car's former owner been kind enough to furnish it with keys and spare cloths. Even more relieved he'd taken the time to slip the jacket he'd found in the back onto the still deeply unconscious slayer while he'd had the chance.
One glance as the peaceful figure beside him and he feared if attempted that same feat now he'd come face to face with a panicked and confused huntress, very much awake and very much ready to slay the first thing that tinged her senses in the wrong way. Her memories would be absent for some time, but even if they hadn't been locked away there was every chance she'd still attack at the first sight of his face. He liked all his bones right where and not used as festive headwear.
The car came smoothly to a halt in the emergency drop off. Wasting no time he gently slipped into the night. Glad the doors had once again unlocked themselves with whatever witchcraft they possessed, saving him from pushing endless buttons until one obeyed, releasing him from its confines.
Just the absence of movement and the soft noise of the door being half closed had already caused the slayer to stir. Their conspicuous arrival having already gained attention from a nearby nurse, taking advantage of the lull in daily activity to catch a smoke. Whistler wasted little time, briskly stalking away, not bothering to observe the swarm of medical personnel descending on the wounded tigress rousing from her slumber.
With a gentle 'pop' he disappeared from this dimension the instant he was hidden from view. There was still much to be done to set the wheels fully in motion this night. To begin forging a new kind of champion.
For the briefest of moments, Buffy found herself back in the warmth she'd left behind. Something comfortable and fuzzy enveloped her as light filled her eyes. No sooner than she'd registered it, the instant of bliss it was gone. The warmth wasn't enough. The plush sensation touching her skin overwhelming her mind. The light flooding her eyes now blinding as it flicked from eye to eye with medical precision.
Pain.
It arrived in a tidal wave from every corner of her body flooding her mind. Each small injury registering before being lost, drowned by the scream of her shoulder and the burn of her feet and legs.
All she wanted was to sleep, rest until this nightmare passed and she woke back in her cocoon of warmth and uncaring. Somewhere far away from this confusing hell where nothing made sense.
The light flicked to her other eye, blinding and burning as gloved hands roughly pried it open. Another gloved hand reached in from nowhere, it's rubbery touch breaking some unseen dam within as it pressed against the side of her throat. It was too much, too much light, too much motion, too much touching.
Threat
The thought that emerged from her muddled mind wasn't her own. There was something else within, something more than just her stream of thoughts. Something dark and enraged, spurring her body into motion. She felt her muscles coil, felt them spring to life, under her control and yet with a will of their own as well.
She bowled into the bodies blocking the door, knocking them down. Pain was forgotten in the new surge of adrenaline as the quick movements ripped open newly formed scabs. Her eyes barley registered individuals in the sea of white coats and medical scrubs. Not slowing her escape as she used people and pavement alike as stepping stones towards freedom. Doctors and nurses alike found themselves wholly unprepared to deal with a panicked slayer.
In a sprint that would leave olympic athletes envious, she headed towards the first alley her blurry eyes could find. Rounding the narrow turn so abruptly she was forced to take a step off the opposing wall to correct her trajectory. Sprinting down the alley, she emerged from the end just as a passing ambulance was gaining speed. She leapt with a final burst of speed, her feet landing on the rear bumper as she grabbed the first hold her hands found, anchoring herself for a ride anywhere but here.
MOMENTS AGO
"Interns should be like flies on the wall, Meredith Grey! The next time I tell you to stay out of the way, you better damn well listen!" Dr. Miranda Bailey yelled the instant the doors had closed behind her. Out of earshot of the hospital staff behind, she ripped into her trainee, gripping the cooler of organs tightly in her hand.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Dr. Meredith Grey tried to explain to her furious supervisor. Looking for a small window of forgiveness and finding none in short woman's eyes. Eyes dark as Bailey's ebony skin viciously cutting down her pride.
"To touch a dead man's penis while I was cutting out his liver?!" Dr. Bailey fumed, her face still red from the equal parts embarrassment and rage her pupil had caused. "Or comment on the size of the appendage?"
"I didn't know that's where I put my hand until … I didn't expect it to be … engorged," Meredith replied, her face equally as red as her superior's but solely from her own embarrassment.
"You-" Dr. Bailey turned, facing the taller woman trying to find the correct words to match her displeasure. "You-" When no words came she turned in disgust, heading towards the waiting ambulance.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs, Meredith followed, quietly relieved Bailey hadn't decided her own liver would make a better transplant organ for the slowly dying recipient back in Seattle. For all her lack of height, Dr. Bailey was a force of nature, fierce and untameable and not to be taken lightly.
At least if Dr. Bailey killed her she wouldn't have to face the continued ridicule sure to await her once the story of her accidental indiscretion with the recently deceased Mr. Jameson was revealed. There was little doubt of the looming and spitefully unconventional punishment Dr. Bailey would have planned. Her reputation of promiscuous indiscretions was already becoming legendary, much to her dismay. This would simply be chalked up as one more unfortunate tally mark under the 'To Fire' column next to her name.
"I'll hold the cooler," Meredith gestured as a peace offering.
"I'm not letting your wandering hands anywhere near this liver. I'll probably find you trying to cop a feel. Now get in the damn ambulance!" Bailey ordered, slamming the doors shut as soon as her pupil sat down.
A small 'thump' interrupting the growl of the ambulance's lazily acceleration caused both doctors to exchange a confused look.
"We should stop and check if we hit something."
"Why, so we can see if there's another po' man's penis you can grope?" Bailey growled unconcerned by the noise.
Cheyenne Mountain Complex (SGC) – Major Samantha Carter's Lab
Sam's eyes were wide and focused, her mind sharp in the small hours of the night fueled by an endless stream of coffee. Her mouth distractedly chewed on a pen as she gorged herself on a flood of numbers streaming across her screen. It happened again, another burst of undefinable energy causing her instruments to scream to life hours ago.
Her teeth bit down once more on the soft plastic. A resolution to kick the habit long forgotten as she hungrily analyzed every single byte of data. Unconsciously she reached under her desk, grabbing a file she knew with certainty was there. Bland in appearance, no project number or identifiers to give it away. Just an innocent looking folder no one would suspect, no one who didn't understand the complexities of subspace wave propagation. Not without it being summarized into words a third grader could decipher. On this base, that meant less than a dozen people who could expose her research, none of which had any reason to suspect her less-than-obedient obsession.
Holding her breath, she quickly compared past and current readouts. Her keen eyes spotting the small, subtle differences mixed among parallels and similarities. She grinned, digging deeper and deeper into both past and present events. Obsessed with understanding the mystery that continued to elude her. Science demanded an answer to the unexplained.
Her own sanity demanded an answer.
The cause of these 'natural' phenomenon.
She rolled her eyes at the NID's casual dismissal of such a potentially monumental discovery. A few years ago no one would have been the wiser without seeing it with their own eyes, if the anomaly could even be witnessed by the human eye. Hard gained advances in technology giving her access to a plethora of sensors capable of seeing even infinitesimal power spikes and quantum radiation once thought impossible.
A quick glance at the upcoming schedule for SG-1 and her various research projects and a horribly delightful idea popped in her head. The thought quickly expounding, festering into fuzzy plan. Her mind raced, too focused on the rapidly solidifying plan to stop her teeth from chomping away on the mutilated pen.
Her hand reached back without guidance, knowing exactly where to find the form for requesting leave, still warm as it spat from the printer. A fresh pen clutched in hand, filling out dates and signatures at a furious pace. She frowned, grimacing as she reached up to remove the forgotten pen from her mouth. The blue tinged saliva coating it confirming the source of the horrid taste now filing her mouth.
Stupid Pen.
Los Angeles – Hyperion Hotel
The normal reaction to a ringing phone at four in the morning would be rage masked only by the groggy fog of the early hour. Angel Investigations kept different hours, staffed night and day by mortals and the undead alike.
The leather clad vampire slid gracefully to the phone. The area code popping up on the small screen widening the thin smile already worn on his lips. He already knew what this was about. He'd felt it, the moment a bond severed was restored.
"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless."
There was no need to give away what he already knew as he rolled his eyes as the ridiculous greeting.
"Angel, Rupert Giles. We seem to have a bit of a situation in Sunnydale."
The voice wasn't as crisp as he remembered. Perhaps dulled by the failures of modern technology. He let his end of the line remain silent knowing the watcher would soon elaborate without prompt.
"It seems Willow and Dawn have … Well you see they … rather foolishly …"
There was a sigh across the line as the watcher attempted to put thoughts into words. He rolled his eyes once more at the British accented stammering that was occurring on the other end of the line. He was immortal, but even in death time was not to be wasted.
"Bloody hell, Buffy's alive!"
He could hear the reserved joy in the man's voice. Still, just slightly off from what it should be in such a moment.
"Buffy's alive?" a quarter millennia of practice had honed his acting skills. He didn't need to be told what he already knew. His skin still hummed from the instant it had happened. Such pure joy, such disgusting happiness knowing that his mate once more walked the earth.
A sickly smile widened as Angelus silently thanked the red witch for her folly. Even Angel in all of his desperation hadn't sunk so low as to attempt what nature deemed an aberration. Yet, it had been done.
"Yes, alive, and rather confused it would seem. Understandable given the unfortunate execution of the resurrection spell."
"You can't find her?" It was part guess, part intuition. A resurrection was bound to be a traumatic experience. More so if they'd lacked the foresight to excavate the slayer from her grave before hand. Two hundred and forty-eight years into his unlife and the experience of digging out of a grave was one he'd still happily forget. "You lost Buffy and you're just calling me now?"
He cursed his slip. Fearing the ever astute watcher would note the wording of his response.
"Yes well, I've spent the better part of the last five hours unconscious."
Fortunately it seemed the watcher was too frazzled by the night's events to notice. Another trip to the land of concussions helping to cover his error.
"Do a locator spell." It was the obvious answer, one even Angel would manage to deduce.
A groan at his feet stole his attention, a bloodied Wesley stirring from his own embrace with brain trauma. He reared his foot back to restore the man to his silence but changed his mind in the end.
"Tara's already tried, Buffy's left Sunnydale. Willow's too drained to cast and Tara doesn't have the power for a wider net."
"Seems you have a bit of a problem then."
"Obviously we have a bloody problem!"
… … …
"We think she might head towards Los Angeles"
"Mmmmm," Angelus nearly purred at the thought. Already his mind was filling with such wonderful plans. So much business left unfinished from his last escape of the souled prison. One particularly perky slayer firmly seated on the top of his 'to eviscerate' list.
"Angel are you alright?"
His smile widened at the single eye fluttering open at his feet. A pity one had already swelled closed. Torture was so much more enjoyable with two wide eyes staring back in fear. Buffy may be the at the top of his list, but there were other, more readily available souls yet to crush. He grinned at the thought, pressing his foot down harshly onto the nearest hand, chuckling happily as Wesley let out an anguished scream.
"I've never felt better, Ripper."
… "Dear Lord!"
"Let's not bring him into this, shall we?"
"Angelus."
His his gleaming teeth beamed as his smile reached its limits at the unmistakable fear on the other end of the line. "I do love the way people say my name."
"How?"
"Your little witch thought there wouldn't be any consequences?" He let out a genuine laugh, moving his foot to slowly crush Wesley's chest. The man's scream now shifting to an interesting wheeze which demanded repetition. "Thought she could make light without creating shadows?"
"Angelus-"
"Do send my regards," he cut in "I'll be seeing you all soon enough. But, right now, Wesley seems so determined not to suffocate. Thank the hellmouth … cause I really wanna torture him. Have you ever peeled a human like a grape? You'll have to wait your turn."
Without another thought he crushed the phone in his hand before ripping the cord from the wall. There was only so much time left in the night for fun and games. By sunrise he would be long gone, safe from the reach of any who would dare threaten him with a soul. In truth he had no intention of crossing the red witch. Not so soon, not when it was so … expected. Especially not when she'd proved powerful enough to bring his favorite blonde plaything back to life.
There were only two more hours of darkness left, conveniently, the exact number of Angel's friends left with a human pulse.
Gunn had went first, the wily street fighter enough of a threat to end quickly, quietly, and with as much gore efficiently spread as the human body would allow. Fred was second, left chained downstairs, the blood cleaned neatly from her mouth to surprise any foolish enough to presume her death to be final. Still verging on insanity from her time on Pylea, she'd be a credit to his line. A second vampiress of his own making to be released upon the world. He couldn't wait to see what greatness she could achieve.
Cordilla was currently trussed up on the other end of the lobby, her body still bleeding from the first and second rounds of his attentions. As soon as she regained consciousness, he would make the most of what life she had left.
Lorne would have to wait for another day, perhaps a Molotov cocktail into Karatas on his way out of town to show his thanks. He couldn't help but wonder if the demon had foreseen this turn of events. The green skinned demon might already be well on his way to anywhere but this dimension. He'd be a tricky one to track down.
That only left poor little Wesley. The watcher no one had bothered to give a spine. Too pathetic to even save himself once he'd spotted the blood trails criss crossing the floor. He'd been fair, given him a chance at taking him down. Looking down at the helpless man struggling to breathe, Wesley's eyes seemed to disagree. He shrugged, fair had many definitions.
There was a hushed 'pop' from behind as a familiar presence washed over him.
"Whistler."
"Angelus."
… … …
"You've been busy," Whistler noted dryly.
"What? No speech about redemption? No sales pitch for the white hats?"
"Would it work?"
"No, but I like the begging."
"I don't beg."
Angelus shrugged once more, picking up his foot from Wesley's chest and pacing around behind the back of the balance demon. "Good for you. Now, go away. I've things to do, people to maim, children to eat."
"I have something you want. You have something I want."
"I thought you didn't beg?"
"Not begging, trading," Whistler replied seemingly without care.
"I don't seem to need anything. Unless you happened to have a chainsaw handy."
Whistler rolled his eyes. "You can surely do better than that."
"Obviously, but time is pressing."
"I want Chase, alive."
Angelus let out a chuckle "And why exactly would I do that?"
"Because I know where Buffy is headed."
Angelus stopped his pacing, fixing the demon with cold eyes. "I can feel her, Angel's claim still holds. I'll find her on my own."
"And how long will that take? Days? Weeks? … Months? How long before The Slayer's strong enough to kill you on sight? Time is not your friend."
"I'm listening." Angelus paused, circling back to the desk delivering a bone crushing kick into Wesley's ribs.
"Buffy's location for Chase. Deal or no deal?"
Angelus strode over towards Cordelia, pleasantly surprised to find her awake, quite and cleverly pretending to be unconscious. "What do you think Cordy? Buffy for you?" Before she could whimper a response he crushed his lips onto hers, savoring every drop of blood staining them. He frowned slightly "No … it's really just not the same." He turned to Whistler. "You have a deal."
"Seattle."
"That's it?"
"A partial answer for a partial hostage."
"She's only missing a few toes."
Whistler raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, most of them." Angelus grinned. "I was in a moment."
… … …
"Fine, whatever, get her out of here. Wesley, my boy. Looks like you're up." Almost absentmindedly he turned while dragging the half conscious man across the blood smeared floor. "I get to keep the toes, right?"
A/N: Buuwhahaha, Angelus has finally made his appearance into the story. Such a fun (and disturbing) character to write.
If your not familiar with Grey's Anatomy and its characters don't sweat it. Just assume they're any other new characters. The references and characters from that TV show will be kept to a minimum. Likewise however, if you've never watched it I'd happily recommend the first 8 or 9 seasons.
Originally, in this story's first incarnation I had an elderly couple pick up Buffy and take her to the hospital. But I decided I wanted to make Whistler more involved and this seemed a good way to fix several minor plot holes I was finding when I reviewed that scene for final posting. Hope you enjoy.
Reviews and recommendations are always appreciated. A reminder that this is my first venture into writing. Please keep your reviews constructive.
Still looking for a BETA. Anyone who's enjoying the story and would like to improve it, please let me know or just take a spin through the posted BETA links. I've had some takers and I appreciate their contributions.