Part Forty-two
Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. May 16, 2001
"Oy, give me another one!" Spike said grumpily, as he pushed the shot glass back across the bar to the bartender.
The bartender eyed Spike for a second, and then took the glass. "Money up front."
Spike pulled a nice little chunk of cash out from his black leather duster pocket, grimacing. The bartender nodded, pulled a bottle out from underneath the bar and poured a shot. "What about your friend?" he asked, nodding at Drusilla.
"Keep yer bloody eyes to yaself, mate!" Spike semi-snarled, taking offense at the barkeep's leery attitude as he downed the shot. "You don't know who you're messin' with."
"Someone who likes to flash a big wad of bills around?" the bartender said, with a raised eyebrow. "You might want to be careful doing that around here, pal. Someone might decide to take the money from you."
Drusilla momentarily entered the conversation from the stool next to Spike, before going back to her own little world. "No they won't, not 'ere, not now."
Spike actually puffed his chest out, having had a few drinks too many to have the best judgement right now. "Yeah, they don't want to mess with me! D'you know who I am? I'm the one the Order of Taraka sends out, when things get too hot for their regular killers. I'm the specialist, I am!"
"Yeah, right," the bartender said nonchalantly, having heard it all before. "That ancient order of assassins trusts *you* with their big jobs? I don't see no ring on your finger."
Spike leaned in towards the bartender, deciding to embellish a little. "I'm undercover, mate. That's how they don't ever see me coming!"
"Yeah, they can just smell you instead." his companion retorted.
Spike glared at the bartender, but he didn't flinch. Tending bar at this particular demon hangout hardened one to various unspoken threats, besides - the bouncer was nearby, and no one messed with a demon that big.
Behind him, the television played the jingle for the WGN evening news. "Good evening, welcome to WGN News at Nine. I'm Steve Sanders."
"And I'm Allison Payne. The top story tonight is the ongoing massive manhunt here in the Windy City, for a couple accused of murdering a child in Urbana."
Spike looked up to the television in response to that. The black woman anchor continued talking, "Authorities announced today that the couple, shown here in these artist sketches, are believed to be hiding somewhere in the Chicago urban area."
Allison went on seamlessly, "In a further development - the driver of a rug delivery van who left Urbana the night of the murder was found killed, and his van was subsequently discovered a few miles south of downtown Chicago; it's now believed that this killing also occurred, thanks to these two people. The child murder, which also resulted in a number of other deaths, took place in public on the campus of a school for gifted children; so police are saying that the pair is to be considered dangerous, and should not be approached. If you spot them, you should not go near either of these people, but immediately call the authorities."
The bartender put two and two together, then he looked at William the Bloody and chuckled. "Yeah, real undercover." he quipped.
"Bollocks," Spike growled, for staring at him on the screen was a crude drawing of both himself and Drusilla.
Dru woke up again, came up behind Spike and looked at the screen. "Ooooh, they got my eyes right," she said happily.
The bartender didn't respond to that, as he drifted off and started polishing some glasses; bottom line, he simply didn't get too torn up over what his patrons did. It wasn't like he was human or anything, after all.
Dru continued talking, "The stars, luv."
"What about the bloody stars?" Spike asked irritably.
"They say others are coming, the wildcat's pack and the pack of the she-wolf. They're coming, and bringing fire."
"Damn," Spike muttered. He rubbed his leg, where Cleburne's bullet was still annoying him; despite his having fed on a number of people recently, to restore his strength. "Guess we should vacate sooner rather than later, then."
"Do we 'ave to, my precious Spoike? I like this city. It hums and it wheezes, it does, and the air goes bang like pop goes the weasel."
The male vamp smirked, reminded of the bloodshed and mayhem he and his paramour had wreaked here back in 1933; in that light, it was no *wonder* why Dru liked Chicago so much. Heck, he liked the place too.
But in this case, discretion was probably the better part of valor, and William didn't relish going up against those government people with no minions or power base. "Another time, pet...we'd best get out of this sodding country, least for a while. Hmmm, maybe Europe would be nice."
O'Hare Airport, Chicago, Illinois. The same time
Joshua Cleburne fidgeted, as the jetliner pulled into the hangar. He was not looking forward to this.
"Roughest part of the job," Gunny commented.
"Never get used to it," Cleburne replied. "'Course with this one, well, the old man..." The Marine colonel's voice trailed off, as the door to the plane opened up and a mobile staircase was pushed up to it.
A couple of tough-looking men exited the plane and made their way down the mobile staircase, their eyes scanning the area and on the lookout for trouble. A few seconds later, an elderly balding man with tufts of white hair on the side of his head followed them. He made his way slowly down the stairs, and was met at the foot of them by Cleburne.
"Hello, old man," the secret agent said in greeting. "I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances."
"What happened?" was the question without preamble.
"Vampires tried an assassination at the Institute. She took a shotgun blast to the chest, trying to protect Alexander Howard," Cleburne explained, using Xander's current alias.
"Did Harris live?" the elderly Mr. Weitz asked simply.
Cleburne scowled at the use of that name, but quickly let it go. This wasn't the time to get into that sort of thing, after all. "It was touch and go for a while there, but he's pulled through. We're moving him later today, to the clinic in Leesburg."
The old spymaster nodded. "Who was the target?"
"We're not sure, could have been either the kid or Dr. Hollins. It's one of the first questions I intend to ask, when we catch the vampires in question," Cleburne said through gritted teeth.
"Do you know who they were?" Weitz stared intently at Cleburne.
"Yes, they're named Spike and Drusilla."
"I've heard of them, from Rachael's reports. Your Mr. Harris has quite the history with them, doesn't he? And they were part of the group called the Scourge of Europe, along with the ones called Angelus and Darla?" Weitz said in a questioning tone. Then he snorted, "Amateurs, compared to Himmler, Heydrich, Eichmann and Hitler. Now there was a real scourge of Europe! Who also happened to kill a lot of my family."
Cleburne shifted uncomfortably at that. Weitz continued speaking, "Where is she?"
"The hospital morgue in Urbana. We're making arrangements to have her brought here to Chicago, to..." Cleburne's voice trailed off.
"Send her home. Yes," Weitz finished, as behind him several more men de-planed. Weitz took a breath and continued, "I do have one request, Joshua Elijah. We want to be in on the hunt for Spike and Drusilla-"
Cleburne nodded. "Of course, I never doubted it for a second! We've got a lead or two here in town, we believe they're hiding somewhere in the city. I was about to go ask some questions."
"And I want to see him."
Cleburne was confused at Weitz's question. "Excuse me?"
"Alexander Harris, I want to see him. I know that my organization isn't considered the most trustworthy right now, thanks to that *foolish* plan to hit your young prophet with those drugs , but I think I've earned the right by blood for one personal meeting with the man." Weitz had a neutral expression on his face, that betrayed nothing. He may as well have been talking about the weather, of late.
Joshua stared at his old...friend...for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose you have. All right, I'll make the arrangements," Cleburne replied.
"Her mother." Weitz started.
"I know, I know," Cleburne replied wearily. "I don't know how the hell we can ever explain this to her!"
Chicago City Hall, Chicago, Illinois. May 17, 2001
Chicago Police Department chief Terrence Lonnan stepped up to the microphone, as the cameras from the various television stations recorded the scene. Behind Lonnan stood several law enforcement officials, who appeared appropriately grim and grieving.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. As I'm sure all of you would know, the search for the Urbana child murderers is still in progress at this time. I'm here with representatives of the various law enforcement agencies involved in the manhunt, to appeal for the help of the general populace in finding these animals. I am also announcing at this time that a reward of $100,000 is being offered, for any information leading to their capture. The conviction of the individuals sought is not required in order to claim the reward, only their capture." On the wall behind the officials, were the artist sketches of Spike and Drusilla.
Lonnan finished his presentation, and then started to answer questions from the reporters. About ten minutes into the conference, an older reporter wearing a straw hat waved the tape recorder he was holding, in order to get recognized.
"Chief Lonnan, any comment on the fact that the two suspects being sought today are *dead ringers* for the suspects in the World Fair murder spree, that rocked Chicago back during 1933?"
Lonnan didn't even try to hide the fact that he rolled his eyes, at hearing this question. "Mr. Kolchak, this is about an ongoing investigation here in the 21st century. We'll look in the history books *after* we've caught these two murderers!"
The police chief then sighed. "This is a serious call for the help of the people, not a chance to spin various theories from the X-Files."
Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. Later that night
The demon picked up the pay phone, as he looked behind him. "Hello, you want information on those two child killers you're looking for? You give me all the money, I can give you where they are."
1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time
"Dawn, Buffy, dinner's ready!" Joyce Summers called out from the kitchen.
She turned back to the kitchen counter, leaning on the cane as she did so. It pleased the middle-aged woman to have finally done this simple task on her own, something she would have just taken for granted last year...
Her physical therapy was coming along nicely, and Joyce was now able to hobble for very short periods of time on her cane. Long enough for her to cook dinner for her children, anyway. Her doctors were hopeful that come summer, she would be able to rely exclusively on the cane...
She heard a pair of feet coming down the staircase, and soon Buffy entered the kitchen. "Hey mom, what's for dinner?"
"Lasagna," Joyce replied with a smile. "It's a new recipe that Teresa over at the physical therapy center gave me."
"Cool," Buffy said. "And y'know, after the day I had at college - I could use a full meal before going out on patrol!"
"What does Rupert have you working on tonight?" Joyce asked.
The Slayer noted for a moment that, oddly enough, the familiarity with her Watcher didn't disturb her in the slightest anymore. {Just as long as Giles doesn't move in here, anytime soon.} "We think some newbies have set up shop in the warehouse district. We're going to do a standard sweep, see if we can nail down where they've set up camp," Buffy explained.
"You be careful," Joyce warned her eldest daughter. "Where's Dawn?"
Buffy looked up at the ceiling. "She *was* in her room."
Joyce leaned back from the table. "Dawn. Dinner's ready!" she shouted.
After a few seconds she was rewarded by the sound of stomping feet upstairs, that soon came down the stairs. Dawn then came into the kitchen, glaring at her mother as she did so.
It had been a rough three days, ever since the Key had found out the truth about herself. After Buffy had brought Dawn home that horrible night, there had been tears, and shouting, and quite a number of recriminations, that had led to a major snit on Dawn's behalf, which was hardly a surprise.
All of which had turned the young brunette into a sullen, moody and emotional teenager. Well, even more than she already was.
Joyce sighed to herself. {This is going to be difficult. Dawn finding out about how she really came into our lives, it's going to be almost impossible to deal with! And it's not like I can take her to a psychiatrist! Imagine even trying to explain the problem.}
Dawn sat down at the table wordlessly. Joyce made her way to the table as well, and did likewise. {I just wish there was someone out there, who could help her come to terms with all this.}
Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. May 18, 2001
Not long after midnight, Cleburne opened the door and walked into the establishment, followed by Gunny. The duo made their way to the main bar, as all eyes in the establishment tracked them. The bartender stared at them, cleaning a glass, as they arrived at their destination.
"What do you want?" the bartender said to the two Marines.
"We're here to meet someone," Cleburne replied. "Shifty type, male, speaks with a lousy deep throat imitation. Anyone here fit the bill?"
The bartender smirked. "Oh, you're the ones here to meet with Ronnie! Sorry, he's all torn up about not being able to meet you in person. Well, in a complete person."
The barkeep nodded at the wall at the other end of bar. There was a plaque with the head of demon on it, like a hunting trophy. The head was that of Ronnie, who had been the one to make the earlier call to the authorities.
"Some of the patrons overheard him making the phone call," the bartender explained.
Cleburne's demeanor didn't change. "We're here for information about Spike and Drusilla." He slid a drawing of the two of them across the bar.
The bartender didn't even look down. "Don't care for humans."
"You need to," Gunny said, for he had an inkling of what was about to happen.
A growl came from their left, "Look, blood bags, we don't care what you want, and I ain't gonna shed any tears over some dead human kid! Matter of fact, we don't like the way you lousy humans are sticking your noses into our business. So we're going to send a message here," a vampire said forcefully, as the other customers of the bar started to stand up.
Cleburne looked around. "Well, to be honest, I'm just not in the mood to give you people a choice about doing it the easy way or the hard way. You, you, you, you and you." He pointed at five of the smaller demons and vampires. "You alone are going to walk out of here, to spread the word among your kind. And that is, as long as you shelter Spike and Drusilla, you will know no peace. Either give them up, or pay the price."
"Puny little human!" the bouncer that had earlier given Spike pause growled, as it lumbered towards Cleburne.
He grabbed the Marine, and lifted him up in a bear hug. Joshua shoved a pistol into the bouncer's side with his right hand; a muffled shot could be heard, as Cleburne's left hand then jammed itself into the bouncer's face. The demon dropped Cleburne and stepped back, with a puzzled look on its face.
The bartender grinned at the secret agent. "Now you've done it, you just made him mad."
The bouncer coughed loudly. Instantly, the bartender looked concerned, "Hey, what's wrong?"
"It's the hand grenade I just stuffed down its throat. I shot it, just to get it to open its mouth! You might want to duck." Cleburne said hurriedly, as he heeded his own advice.
The bouncer's eyes opened wide, as its head suddenly exploded apart, blood and brains flew in all directions with a loud bang, in a display that would have done the special effects of Hollywood proud. The dead body fell to its knees with an audible thud, and then collapsed forward onto the floor.
The demons and vampires in the bar looked in shock at what had happened. The bouncer was infamous in the local community for being unbeatable, against anything that chose to fight it. Cleburne though just climbed to his knees, and looked at the demons and vampires that he had pointed to as being the ones to be allowed to leave the bar intact.
"Run. Now," he said flatly.
Two of the selected vampires (who had been teenage girls in mortal life) sitting at the same table looked at each other, and instantly bolted for the door. Neither Cleburne nor Gunny made any move to stop them.
"Damn it! Get 'em!" the bartender shouted out to the rest of his patrons.
"Your funerals," Gunny muttered, as the denizens of the bar rushed towards the two Marines. "He's got a lot more grenades."
Half an hour later
Firefighters fought the fiery blaze, as it threatened to engulf the whole block. The demon hangout was now history, after Cleburne, Gunny and their backup had gone to town on the poor bastards.
A yugo pulled up to the front of the building, where the police had set up a cordon. A young redheaded woman jumped out of the car, carrying a tape recorder with a camera hanging around her neck. She ran along the cordon to where police Chief Lonnan was meeting with other reporters.
The woman bore a distinct resemblance to the reporter who had earlier annoyed Lonnan with his question. The cop in question saw her coming and mentally sighed, but he went ahead with talking to the crowd of reporters anyway - as his job required him to do.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the full details aren't available at this time, but I can confirm that earlier tonight we received a tip that the Urbana child killers were in a bar at this location. Officers investigating the tip had to engage in a gun battle with the patrons of the establishment, and SWAT was called in. The fire you see behind me is the apparent result of the exchange of gunfire."
"What about the suspects?" one of the television reporters asked.
"We've not been able to identify them yet, however it is our belief that they were able to leave the establishment before the fire broke out," Lonnan answered. "We're still urging the public to keep an eye out for them, and to notify law enforcement if they're sighted."
"Any fatalities?" another reporter asked.
Lonnan shook his head. "No officers were harmed, but it's unclear about the patrons in the bar right now."
"Chief Lonnan, can you explain the fact that the suspects seem to be the same ones who committed the World Fair murders back in '33?" the redheaded woman shouted.
"Well, I'll admit, it's possible that maybe it's their grandchildren, as kids *do* sometimes pick up the bad habits of their parents." Lonnan wisecracked, to the chuckling of the press corps.
The redheaded woman frowned. "Chief, if you look..." she started to say, before being interrupted.
"Miss Kolchak, please. I had to put up with your father's questions during the press conference earlier! Do you really believe that the same people from almost over 70 years ago haven't aged a day, and are now back in town killing people? If so, you guys over at Independent News Service have been watching the X-Files too much!" Lonnan snapped. He seemed to have to use the X-Files comment quite a bit, whenever a Kolchak was around.
He then smoothly went on, "Tell you what, I'll help you guys out with a bona fide scoop. The Mayor has authorized an additional reward in the amount of $100,000 for information leading to the arrest or apprehension of the Urbana child killers, bringing the total amount to $200,000."
Lonnan inwardly smiled at that, as the increased money would guarantee that nearly every eye in the city would soon be looking for this pair that the Feds wanted *very* badly, for some reason. Well, those two *did* deserve to fry for what they'd done, so why not? It was all good publicity for the CPD, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later
Joan Kolchak cursed to herself, as she dodged the firefighters. Lonnan had expertly derailed her line of questioning, with his announcement of the increase in the award. The other reporters had gone ape over that, and she hadn't been able to get another question in edgeways.
So, in true Kolchak style, she had decided to sneak past the police cordon and see what she could find out for herself.
Firehoses made the street an obstacle course, though. Cursing again, Joan stepped over them, somehow ignored in the activity going on within the street confines as the firefighters finished putting out the fire.
She kept to the edges of the activity, managing to not get noticed for several minutes. She then spotted a van with its doors open, and Joan saw that two men were taking off body armor, and storing away weapons.
They looked to have been in the thick of things, and Joan noticed that their uniforms were caked with some kind of green goo. She started walking over to them.
"This is never going to come out!" the shorter one of the two remarked. "These uniforms are ruined, may as well turf them right now."
The taller one looked askew at the other one. The shorter one shrugged, "What? Marie is constantly complaining about me not helping out around the house, so I've started doing the laundry whenever I'm home. It stays with you."
"You're a fine housewife, Gunny," Cleburne joked.
Gunny looked at the burning building. "Think you went a little overboard on this one?"
"No, because I wanted to make a point, hey, who are you?" Cleburne spotted Joan lurking about.
{Damn!} The woman had hoped to overhear more before being spotted, but that was obviously no longer an option. So she decided to go ahead and see what she could find out, the normal way. "Joan Kolchak, Independent News Service. What happened here? Did you find the two suspects you're looking for? And are they the same two murderers from 1933?"
Cleburne frowned and his forehead wrinkled. "Lady, I don't know what you're smoking, but I'm pretty sure that anyone around in the 1930s would have aged enough to be in a nursing home somewhere, by now."
"Then why do the pictures from back then match completely the pictures released to the media today?" Joan pressed. "This is some kind of demon or vampire you're looking for, isn't it?"
Cleburne reddened at that. "Look, I don't care what you write for the National Enquirer, or whatever. Some people will buy anything, but my opinion? Nobody who is anybody important in this world, will ever take such a silly story seriously. Officer!"
A nearby Chicago PD patrolman came over in response to Cleburne's shout. "Yes, sir?"
"This young lady is obviously lost, and needs to be escorted back across the police lines."
"You can't do this! They're the same ones, aren't they? You won't be able to bury the truth forever." Kolchak sputtered as she was led away.
Gunny looked over at Cleburne, already having dismissed the scion of the Kolchak clan in his mind. "Might want to check out that 1930s thing she was talking about?"
Cleburne nodded. "Yeah, there might be something there we can use."
Somewhere in Chicago. The same time
"Look, I've done what you blokes wanted me to do! The whelp's dead, I saw it for myself at the time. And that little kid's dead too, why else would they be looking for child murderers if the bleedin' runt hadn't bit the big one?" Spike almost shouted into the phone. "What do you mean, what do I want? How about getting us out of this bloody city, for a start?"
Spike listened for a second, at what the Order of Taraka spokesperson was saying. "Hey, I work for you lot! You can't just abandon us like this! Hello? Hello! Bloody 'ell!" He turned to his beloved. "Looks like they left us hangin' out to dry on this one, luv." William explained, vamping out in his fury.
"Not to worry, Spike-y, the stars tell me we'll soon leave this city," Dru said, sounding half-sad and half-happy - in her own deranged way, that is.
"Forget the stars, pet, I've got a better idea. Come on, Dru!" Spike said, as he grabbed her shoulder and led her out the door.
Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. Some time later
The vampire known as Angel did one of the things that he did best - which was, of course, brood over what had happened. In the privacy of his office, that is.
It had been four days since Gwen had come to him with that *shocking* piece of news, that Spike and Dru had surfaced again in Chicago and tried to kill Xander. He had spoken to one of Harris's keepers on the phone, telling them what he knew of Spike and Drusilla's habits and tactics- and Angel had had no doubts that the government people had genuinely appreciated his input.
And yet, when he'd asked where Xander was, the abrupt 'click' of the disconnecting phone line had also spoken volumes.
{Well, they might be right in wanting me to keep my distance. Xander's probably warned them all about the upcoming return of Angelus during 2003, and there's no point in me knowing too much - when I can't even leave town to help.}
The guilt still ate away at Angel, though. He had made Dru, who in turn had made Spike. Thus, he was ultimately responsible for all their sins. And the death of an innocent child wasn't pleasant to contemplate, even if that *paled* to what had happened 68 years ago.
As even he had heard about what had occurred in Chicago, during 1933 when those relatives of that Chinese Slayer, the one Spike had slaughtered over 30 years previously, had come looking for revenge upon the British vampire.
{What was her name again? Chin Wong? Xin Rong? Something like that, anyway.}
Suddenly, Angel was distracted from his musings as he heard voices outside the door. He could hear heartbeats, and from the smell - it was obvious his secretary had just entered the building.
And her boyfriend, Chuck, was with her.
The male vampire was suddenly reminded of what had happened the night Gwen and Gunn had arrived with their news; he and Cordelia had been in an undercover meet with the extortionist demon, when the captive black man and white woman had been thrown into the room by the evil creature's underlings. And of course, everything had gone to hell from that moment on.
Angel had given up pretending, and started taking out the vamp foot soldiers the demon had employed as minions. A moment later, Cordelia - her ridiculous blonde wig falling off her head - had also leapt into the fray, trying to stake the undead. Luckily, Wesley had come in with his crossbow to cover her, or she might have gotten seriously hurt.
And obviously, Chuck fully agreed with this hypothesis.
"Can't we talk about this later?" Angel heard Cordelia demand, from within his office.
"It's been over three days, Cordelia. How much longer is 'later' gonna have to be?" Chuck's voice was calm on the surface, but the former Angelus could tell whenever a human was upset and trying to hide it.
A theatrical sigh. "Okay, then, fine. Let's get this over with."
Chuck's voice hardened. "You think this is funny? Cordy, you nearly got killed a few nights ago, and now you're making jokes about it?"
Cordelia was obviously backpedaling now. "No, of course not."
"Then what is it? All this is a game for you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Ms. Chase's voice now had a rougher edge to it.
Chuck sighed. "Look, sweetheart, I'm just trying to understand what's going on with you, ever since you dropped this bombshell on me last month, after that Harmony person."
Cordy instantly interrupted, "Hey, I'm sorry about all that! I was wrong, she *was* evil-"
"Will you let me finish? That's not what I was trying to get at!" Chuck now sounded exasperated to the head of Angel Investigations.
"Fine, then what is it you're trying to say?" Cordelia sounded confused.
A pause. "Why are you doing this? As in, this sort of job?"
"Huh?" the former Queen C of Sunnydale High was obviously still in the dark here.
Chuck sighed, and painfully from what Angel could detect. "Honey, look - I know why Angel is doing this sort of thing; he has this whole guilt trip deal going, that anyone with eyes can spot from nearly a mile away! Wesley and Gunn? This is what they've been trained for, ever since they were kids; I've met professional bodybuilders just like them, if those kind of people ever tried to do anything else, they'd be like a fish out of water. Gwen? This is just a side gig for her, deep down she'll always be a thief at heart. But you? Why are *you* doing this?"
Cordy sounded annoyed, "I'm Angel's seer, remember? I get those horrible, painful visions."
But Chuck quickly interrupted her, "But not very often now, right? In fact, from what I've heard, Gwen's been getting almost every single one that the super-people up there have been sending lately. So, what happens when they stop completely? What reason will you have to keep on risking your life this way?"
Cordelia sounded suspicious to Angel, now. "Why don't you tell me?"
But Chuck sounded reluctant to continue. "I don't think you want to hear it."
"Tact isn't exactly your strong point, lover boy. Not tonight, anyway. So spill!"
Angel didn't have to see it to know that the human aerobics instructor was *very* uncomfortable in saying this. But finally Chuck coughed up, "Well, I was just thinking that maybe you're doing this, fighting the good fight and all, to try to prove something to the ghost of Xander Harris."
Angel heard the human woman's shocked, indrawn breath; and winced, just waiting for Hurricane Cordelia to hit the hotel's lobby. But to the vampire's surprise, the former cheerleader simply said calmly, "Well, you're completely wrong about that."
Chuck sounded both confused and relieved at hearing this. "I am?"
"Hell, yes! Please, Chuck, let's get something straight - I, I did something horrible to Xander when I was 17 years old. Maybe even something unforgivable! But it is way in the *past* now. He's just part of my past now, too; geez, it's been two years since that guy died! *You* are my present, and my future. So you don't need to feel threatened by him. Okay?"
"Okay."
And then as the kissing noises reached his ears, Angel quickly tuned out with a sudden grimace. But still, he couldn't help thinking, {Xander, what are you up to right now?}
STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. The same time
On the other side of the country, Xander Harris lay gasping in his bed, having just woken up from a nightmare.
He had been having them every night, ever since Rachael Weitz had died. In his dreams, Harris could see his lover's face as she tried in vain to stretch out towards him, Spike's gunshot blast having already effectively ended her life.
Every time, he tried to save her. Something different, in every dream - he was a few moments faster, he was a bit more stronger, or someone had just dusted that damned vampire a few seconds previously.
But it was all useless. Rachael was dead now, and she wasn't coming back. She wasn't Buffy Summers.
Or himself.
Xander hadn't told anyone so far what had happened, while he'd ended up in Limbo for a while. It wasn't fair to burden Oz and Fred with such knowledge, about what Faith, Rachael and Enoch had told him. And really, how *do* you tell your friends that you had spoken with the spirits of the dead, and the father of Methuselah himself?
{Wish Groo was here, damn it. He would have understood, I could have talked to *him* about all this.}
And about other things, as well.
It had been the first day after getting shot, that Xander had woken up to hear two doctors discussing his case. And what he had heard hadn't exactly filled him with joy and happiness, either.
"What kind of freak is this guy?"
"Will you keep it down? You might wake the patient."
"Quite frankly, doctor, that's the least of my worries right now! I want to know what the hell happened in that operating theater-"
"You and your team did your job, and saved a human life."
"Don't try to bullshit me! That man was dead, and we had stopped trying to revive him. And yet somehow, he's suddenly alive again? And even if, by some miracle, there was a rational explanation for that, the amount of time his brain was without oxygen should almost certainly have meant a state of coma, and more likely than not a permanent one at that! And yet, the next day your Marine lieutenant wakes up with all his memories and faculties intact? What the hell is up with that?!"
A sigh. "Look, that's classified."
"Don't try to wave the flag in my face I was a field doctor during Desert Storm! Whatever story you try to spin, we both know that this man isn't normal; he was mortally wounded, and human life just isn't robust enough to survive something like that! What I'm trying to say is, I don't *care* what kind of secret experiments the government's had done on him; if you're not gonna talk, just get this guy out of my hospital, as fast as you can..."
And at that point, Xander had heard enough and groaned, which had driven the two men silent and out of the room a short while later.
It wasn't pleasant to contemplate, but Harris suspected the loudmouth doctor was right. He wasn't just abnormal mentally now, but also physically as well. He simply wasn't just one of the ordinary people, who had gone through a lot of strange experiences.
Faith had warned him that there would be consequences to coming back, but Xander honestly hadn't been expecting anything like this. And he wondered what *else* might be different about him, now...
{Immortality? No way, Jose; that's a curse, not a blessing.} The young man remembered his words to Oz in the Deeper Well months ago, and recent events had not changed his mind in any way on the subject. Because human life, in the mind of Alexander Lavelle Harris, had a beginning and an end; and since he wasn't Drogyn, and he wasn't a goddamn vampire either...
Which, of course, raised the subject of Spike all over again.
Xander had talked with the visiting members of STW, telling them what he knew of the English vampires to aid in the effort to capture both him and Drusilla. But deep down, Harris had his doubts about the hunters' chances of success in their endeavor. Because he knew Spike of old, having lived with the guy twice in his memories...
{No, wait up. I really need to stop thinking of him as the chipped former menace, or Buffy's undead sex toy.}
Indeed, *that* Spike didn't exist in this brave new world Xander had helped create, and had never done so either. So the chronologically-displaced medical patient figured that the best way to predict what William the Bloody might do now, was go back to his earliest memories of the vamp in question; like when Parent-Teacher Night had taken place, or when Buffy's friend Billy Fordham had come to town, or when Spike had tried to cure his dying sire in that abandoned church, by sacrificing Angel.
But all that didn't help Xander figure out how *he*, personally, was going to turn the bleach-haired vamp into a pile of ashes anytime soon. Well, maybe if the undead duo survived till after the summer of 2003, when there would be no more headaches...
But then the door to his room opened up, and to the wounded man's surprise, an elderly gentleman with tufts of white hair came inside.
"Xander Harris," he said, no questioning in his voice.
"Do I know you?" Xander evaded the comment by the old man. He was somewhat alarmed by the use of a name that was required to be used in secret now.
"You knew my blood; I'm Eli Weitz, Rachael's grandfather," the old man said with a sigh.
"Sir," Xander pulled himself up to a sitting position.
Eli waved his hand. "No, lay still boy - you're wounded. Do not exert yourself needlessly," He pulled a chair up and sat down next to Xander's bed. "I wanted to meet you, and talk to you."
"Sir, if it means anything..." Xander started to say, only to have Weitz wave him off.
"Now, in our family business, it is expected that losses will happen. Particularly in a country such as ours, where national survival is always a concern."
Xander nodded at Weitz's point, he could see where Rachael's family might be more likely to die on the job than others. {The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it? Buffy got that one right, for sure.}
Weitz took a breath. "Still - every time it happens, your soul burns and cries. An all-too-often event in my life." The old man shook his head. "However, you go on, hoping the sacrifice, the price paid, is worth it."
Weitz looked up at Xander. "Rachael told me quite a bit about you. For the last year or so, you were a key part of her life."
"She was important to me also," Xander replied. "I'm sorry for..."
Weitz continued on, not letting him finish. "She left a letter behind for me and for her mother, not long before her passing. Tell me, Mr. Harris, the truth is - bad times are coming, aren't they?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah, both normal trouble and the freaky type at night."
"I anticipated as much," the old man sighed. He suddenly leaned forward. "You understand what she did, don't you?"
"Of course, how could I not?" Xander sputtered.
Weitz looked at Xander carefully for several seconds, his expression betraying nothing. He then leaned back and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "She left you a letter also, boy. She knew - well, I'll let her explain it herself." He dropped the letter on the nightstand.
Weitz stood up, and started to leave the room. He stopped at the door and turned around, and this time - an expression of ancient pain was visible on his features.
"Earn this. She paid a huge price to make it possible," he said simply. Then he was out the door.
Later that evening
"Hello, Mr. Harris."
"Mr. Wizard," Xander calmly greeted the child genius Irving Hollins, who was standing in the doorway.
"Are you, getting better?" Hollins asked with some hesitation.
"Interesting question," Xander commented. "And in response, the doctors tell me that I'm healing very nicely. As a matter of fact, *too* nicely for their tastes...you ought to see the expression on the faces of some of the newbies around here."
"Indeed. Well, I'd imagine all that is probably a result of your drinking from the Holy Grail," Hollins advanced into the room, and as he closed the door behind him Xander caught a glimpse of a bodyguard in the hallway.
"Mother Hen keeping a close watch on you?" the young man asked.
"Oh yes, I have at least double the number of security personnel now that I used to. Ah, you would have no doubt already figured this out, but" Hollins' voice faltered for a second. "I was definitely the primary target of that attack, when you saved my life that way. No doubt the vampires wanted you dead too, of course."
"Of course," Xander wisecracked. "I'd feel slighted if it was otherwise!"
Hollins smiled, but only for a second. "In any case, Joshua feels he now has the answer - as to why September 11 took place, in the original history. He hasn't said it to me out loud, of course, but I know what he's thinking. I'm supposed to be dead right now, and thus would have never been around to determine what was going on with those terrorists a few months down the road."
Dr. Hollins paused for a second, and said earnestly, "Thank you. I owe you my continued existence, Mr. Har- Xander. And I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"Don't mention it," the former Zeppo said, with a *slight* smile. "Just doin' my part for our team, pal, like I said to Buffy way back when."
Irving raised an eyebrow, but then said, "Well, at any rate, the NSA has intercepted some cell phone conversations between Germany and Afghanistan. As I mentioned, with everything that's happened in the last few days - it's believed that this may have been a run-up to the September attacks, in an attempt to blind us to al-Qaeda's plans."
Xander frowned at that. "Spike and Dru, the tool of terrorists? Doesn't sound like them. And what's the connection with Germany?"
"We think the Order of Taraka arranged for William the Bloody and his minions to try to kill me. The Order in turn accepted the contract from Osama bin Laden's people, apparently."
Xander nodded, recalling Giles mentioning at some point how the Order of Taraka was supposedly based somewhere in the Black Forest. "How did you find all this out?"
"Colonel Cleburne has been most persuasive in obtaining information," the child genius explained.
"Thought as much. Where is Mr. Gung-ho Marine right now, anyway?" Xander asked.
"Chicago. He's still hunting for Spike and Drusilla."
Xander looked at Hollins, and saw for the first time, just how scared the young child was by what had happened. "Don't worry," he said simply. "They took their best shot at it, and failed. Nothing else's gonna happen now."
Hollins looked up at that, looking like a terrified child; which after all, was what he was. "I know, security has been increased and the word has been put out that the attempt to kill me worked. This should ensure no further attempts take place, until after we've dealt with the parties in question."
As Hollins talked, he seemed to become a little more reassured. "I just wanted to stop in and see how you were, not to mention say thank you."
Xander managed a feeble smile. "You're welcome, and thanks for that. I just..."
Hollins nodded in understanding. "Yes, I know, Rachael...I talked to her grandfather not long ago, and he said that he had been here earlier. Have you read the letter yet?"
Xander shook his head. "No, I just can't."
Hollins stood up. "You should. Believe it or not, you really should, and as soon as possible. I'll leave you in private." So saying, Hollins quietly left the room.
Xander stared at the door for almost a minute. He then reached over and picked up the letter on the nightstand, where the man had put it earlier. Looking at it, the former Slayerette saw his name on the front of the envelope.
{This feels *weird*, damn it. With all the letters I've written to G-man and Deadboy, it just feels...wrong, to be on the receiving end of one of these things.} With a sigh, Harris then tore open the letter and pulled out a sheet of paper, as he started to read.
Dear Alexander,
I honestly don't know how to start writing this letter. Because I know that when the time comes for you to read this, I'll be dead...
I know, I know. But don't get too angry with me, sweetheart, please; because I accepted what was to come willingly.
You see, that time we went to Pylea, the Transuding Furies met with me. They told me how I had a role to play, a destiny if you will. And my destiny wasn't to save the world, well - not directly. I am, was, fated to save you.
However, there was a catch. I would have to give up my life to do so. The sisters didn't know the details, all they knew was that I had to stay close to you - so at the right time, I could die so that you could live.
You can imagine how this was *quite* a shock to me. And at first, I thought they were just blowing smoke...however, I later confirmed it through some, shall we say, other sources. And I had trouble dealing with that, for quite a while. However, one thing was clear during all that time.
It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, in order to keep you safe; because you weren't just an assignment to me. Okay, maybe you were at first, but not after I got to know you. And even if you weren't fated to save the world somehow, I still would have made the same choice.
Because I love you. Well, loved you. No - I still love you, even if I am dead. But now, you have to go on. Live for me. Feel free to mourn me; as a matter of fact, I'll haunt you if you don't.
Just a little joke there. What I'm trying to say is, remember me fondly - but don't let sorrow overwhelm you.
Because you have a job to do, my love, an important one. The Furies were quite clear on that point. They wouldn't tell me more, only mentioning the word 'unity' and that you would know what that meant...
I've written my family and told them to help you, no matter what. You can rely on them. When you're ready, Cleburne can tell you more about the Weitz family, but piece of advice; you might want to get introduced to them by someone else, other than that particular Marine. My father, for some reason that I've never been able to fathom, really dislikes that guy!
Well, anyway. You'll like them, although they will need some time to grieve. You also, grieve me and remember always that I love you.
And keep in mind that I'll be watching you from somewhere up above, so make me proud, lover...
Your beloved,
Rachael
Xander put the letter down and leaned back, closing his eyes as he did so. {Another woman dead, just because she cared about me. Well, obviously, my record's still perfectly intact.}
Midway Airport, Chicago, Illinois. The same time
The three policemen walked down the row of cargo containers, their flashlights dancing down the aisle.
"This is the last container," the oldest of the trio said as they came to the end of the aisle.
"Well, open it up and let's check it out," the second policeman said.
"No, don't bother," the older one said, as he looked at the tracking slip on it. "No need to."
"Sir?" the rookie of the three said. "We were told to check all the containers, to make sure those two fugitives weren't in one of them?"
The older officer sighed. "Look, son, this shipment is getting put on a freight plane to Canada - in less than half an hour. And it's going in a depressurized cabin. Anybody dumb enough to hide in this thing? They're going to be gasping for air shortly after takeoff, and be dead a few minutes later. The Canadian authorities in Vancouver will find their corpses, and let us know. So personally, I'm clocking out and getting a beer."
He turned around, and started walking off. After a few seconds, the other two officers shrugged and simply followed him.
And no one heard the insane female giggling, which erupted from the sealed container in question.
Elsewhere. Later that evening
Buffy Summers looked around in surprise. She was standing in the middle of a outcropping of rocks, in a desert of some sort. A desert she should have dreamed about long ago...yet thanks to Xander Harris, hadn't needed to.
Until now.
"How the heck did I get here?" she asked out loud. And Ms. Summers didn't expect an answer, but she got one anyway.
"Change."
Buffy turned around, and saw a ratty-haired cavewoman stalking her from atop the rocks. The Chosen One immediately assumed a combat stance and said sarcastically, "Well, you're obviously in thundering need of a facial and a good hair stylist - but hey, right now? I just want to know what's going on! And who are you?"
"No name. Live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound..." The cavewoman straightened up, and looked Buffy in the eye. "Destruction. Absolute...alone."
Buffy had an epiphany, looking at the rags and the primitive physiology. "You're talking about the Slayer-"
"The first."
Well, *that* was enough to really rock the college girl's world, as she realized what her interlocutor was. "Wow! So, uh, about that thing regarding what's going on-?"
"Change. Heralded by three," the First Slayer said, staying atop the rocks. Buffy finally noticed how speech seemed difficult for her companion, but had no way to know how Tara was unavailable now to speak for her. "All three, known to you. One thought gone, one hunted, the other unexpected. All will test."
"Okay, just so you know, I don't like tests, I don't do well on them! Well, my SAT scores didn't exactly bomb, but I still didn't like going through all that! What say you come down here and give me some non-cryptic answers, and I won't have to go all modern-day Slayer on your ass?" Buffy snapped.
"Not ready yet. Not become..." the First Slayer cocked her head to the side before she finished, "...complete." The First Slayer bent down and almost hissed at Buffy, "Need to get ready. We...are...should...alone!" With that, the Primitive jumped down onto Buffy like a cat, obviously intending to attack her.
And at that instant, Buffy Summers bolted awake, sitting up in her bed.
"Oh, great!" she cursed. "I suppose I better wake up Giles, and give him the good news..."
TBC...