Sunday, April 29th, 2001 ~ Summers' Residence ~ Sunnydale, California
A flash of bright light and a rumbling noise roused Sam from a light slumber. Darkness had reasserted itself in the room, so Sam reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp. He reflexively glanced at the clock radio and then blinked at Al. "What's wrong? It's after midnight."
"Yeah, for me too," Al replied. "Sorry, but it's urgent. Is Buffy here?"
Sam nodded, sitting up in bed. "She came home almost an hour ago. She said it was quiet and she didn't want to be away from Dawn any longer than necessary."
"Up here or downstairs?" Al asked.
"She went to bed a little while ago," Sam responded, rubbing his eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"Good," Al said. "Get dressed and we'll talk in the kitchen."
"Dressed?" Sam echoed, still unclear as to what Al wanted. He rose and reached for his clothes. "What's going on?"
"Nothing good," Al muttered.
Sam was tempted to pinch himself to see if he were dreaming. The story Al had told him was simply too bizarre, too frightening - even after what he had experienced on this Leap - to be believed.
"So, if I understand you correctly, you want me to kill a guy named Ben?" Sam asked in confusion.
"I don't want you to have to do it, Sam, but it's the only chance I can see for you to save Buffy. And maybe a whole bunch of other people and, er... things," Al said.
"If Glory needs Dawn to open this dimensional portal, why don't we just send her away and hide her?" Sam wanted to know. "Maybe we can get those Council guys Giles knows to keep her safe."
Al shook his head firmly. "Giles says there's no way Buffy would send her away where she couldn't protect her personally. And she doesn't really trust the Council." Before Sam could object, Al raised a hand and continued. "Before you say it, Buffy can't go haring off into the blue with Dawn, either. She has to stay here and fight the things the Hellmouth attracts; or spews out."
Sam thought about the situation Al had described a little longer. "Glory still doesn't know Dawn is the Key," Sam said. "Maybe we can keep her from finding out."
"That's a big maybe, Sam," Al said, shaking his head. "And it doesn't completely solve the problem. Glory will still be here, in this world, sucking people's brains and doing God knows what else."
"Okay, so we have to get rid of Glory. I guess killing a hell-god is a good thing. But what does that have to do with some guy named Ben?" Sam asked.
"Oy," Al groaned, slapping his forehead. "Why did we stake Spike? A couple hundred bucks, some smokes, a gallon or two of blood, a smooch from Buffy. It could have been so easy."
Sam watched his friend, waiting for an answer that made sense.
Al scrubbed his face with one hand and then met Sam's eyes. "I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. Giles was worried I wouldn't remember when I visited you, even though my actual brain is a long distance and several years away from here."
"Remember what?" Sam asked patiently.
"Go find some paper and something to write with," Al sighed wearily. "Then I'll explain it again."
Sam and Al inspected the note Sam had written to Al's dictation.
"Weird," Al observed. "It's not your handwriting."
Sam nodded. "Muscle memory or something left over from the host, I guess," he said. "My brainwaves, their physicality." Sam frowned at the first two lines he had written on the page. They didn't make sense, so he pointed to them. "Is that what you told me to write?" he asked Al.
"Yes!" Al snapped.
Sam was taken aback at Al's display of temper. "Sorry, it's just..."
"Never mind; you trust me, right?" Al asked him.
"You know I do," Sam answered immediately, with conviction.
Al smiled and Sam watched some of the tension ease from his friend's face.
"Okay, then. Let's take this one step at a time. Fold the note and put it in your pocket." When Sam had completed this task, Al pointed at the kitchen counter. "Grab Giles' keys and let's go."
Sunday, April 29th, 2001 ~ Sunnydale General Hospital ~ Sunnydale, California
Sam parked Giles' car and climbed out. "Why did we come to the hospital?"
"One step at a time, buddy," Al said, gently. "We're looking for a young guy named Ben. He's an intern so I'm hoping he has to pull the graveyard shift in addition to daytime hours. If not, we'll stick around 'til we find him."
"Okay," Sam agreed, puzzled by Al's unusual behavior but confident his friend wouldn't lead him astray.
Al proceeded to repeat the description Giles had given him as he and Sam entered the hospital. They crossed the lobby and went through a set of swinging doors into a wide hallway. Sam paused to get his bearings and Al scanned the faces of the few medical personnel who were in view.
"Admissions over there, emergency on that side," Sam murmured in a voice low enough to carry only as far as Al. "Where do you think we should try first?"
"I dunno," Al said, glancing up at the wall clock. "What's the most likely place for an intern to be at 2:30 in the morning?"
Sam turned in a slow circle. "It looks pretty quiet," he whispered. "Maybe he's trying to catch..."
"What, a nurse?" Al joked. He looked over to see Sam motioning unobtrusively at a figure that had just exited a door that read 'Staff Only'.
"I was going to say nap," Sam said, softly, turning so that he wasn't facing the young man who was approaching them. "But doesn't that look like our guy?"
"Yeah, he does," Al agreed.
The man turned down another hallway a few yards before reaching Sam's position.
"Let's go, Sam," Al called urgently, heading toward the retreating figure.
Sam hurried after him. Neither he nor Al noticed the three men, who had been standing at the Admissions desk, trade glances and then follow them.
Sam and Al burst through a door out into the night.
"Call his name," Al ordered.
"Hey, Ben!" Sam called.
The stranger, who had reached the bottom of a ramp that ran along the side of the hospital to the staff parking lot, turned.
"Yes?" he replied, in a somewhat startled but friendly voice. "I'm sorry, who are you? Did you need something?"
"Go down there, Sam. Take it easy and don't spook him. When you get close enough, grab him," Al told Sam.
Sam glanced at Al in surprise.
"Please, Sam!" Al implored him. "Just do it. Trust me. Don't let him get away!"
The urgency in Al's voice and Sam's firm belief in his friend spurred him on. He moved, as casually as he could manage, down the ramp toward the young man.
"I just need to speak to you for a moment," Sam said. Ben stood waiting for him and, as he closed the last few feet of distance, Sam lunged. He pinned the other man against the brick wall with one forearm against his neck. Sam grasped one of his arms and leaned his body sideways to trap the other between his side and the wall. "Now what, Al?" Sam panted, struggling to restrain Ben without hurting him too badly.
"Sam," Al said firmly. "Listen to me. That is Glory."
"Glory?" Sam echoed, loudly. He glanced at Al and took in the deadly serious look on the shorter man's face, then looked back at the man he had pinned to the wall. "You're Glory?"
"How... how did you know?" Ben choked. His attempts to free himself had caused Sam to apply more pressure against him as he struggled.
"You have to kill him, Sam," Al went on, grimly.
"Kill him!" Sam cried.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Al said. "But ya gotta do it. I hope like hell this is one of the things that gets lost in that Swiss-cheese effect Leaping has on your brain, but ya gotta do it."
Sam could hear the frantic tone in Al's voice and he wanted desperately to trust him but he was so confused.
"He's Glory!" Al shouted. "If you don't kill him, he's gonna change into her and Buffy will die, along with who knows how many others. He's Glory," Al said again.
"You're Glory and you're going to kill Buffy," Sam repeated, willing himself to obey Al against all his instincts.
"I'm sorry," Ben pleaded with him. "But it isn't my fault! She... she merged with me when I was just a baby! I haven't done anything wrong! I can't control her! I've tried but I can't stop her."
Ben was crying now and Sam felt himself begin to weaken, he struggled to maintain the resolve that Al knew what was best but it was so hard...
"Sam!" Al shouted.
Sam firmed up his grip on Ben and began to turn just as a heavy blow sent him reeling into the brick wall. He fell and rolled once, twice and came to rest at the bottom of the ramp. Sam's vision blurred and he felt dizzy, but he managed to partially prop himself up against the outside corner of the building. Al crouched down next to him.
"Sam, are you okay?" Al asked in a rough voice.
"I... I... think... not sure," Sam mumbled. He squinted, trying to see what was happening just around the corner of the building. He could just make out the figures of two men holding Ben immobile and a third standing in front of them. "Who are they? What's happening?" Sam wondered aloud. He crawled forward, ignoring the sickening roiling in his gut and the pounding in his head. Al moved up beside him and, when he stopped moving, Sam realized he could hear the third stranger speaking.
"So this is how the evil one has evaded our detection," the man said in a deep, resonant voice. "But now Divine Providence has put you at our mercy."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ben panted. "I'm not evil."
"Perhaps not, but you have been touched by it - the One We Do Not Name. We will free you of her torment and send you to your reward." The large man reached out and grasped Ben's head with both hands. There was a sickening crunch and the other two men released their hold on Ben's arms. The body of the young intern fell limply to the ground with a solid thump.
Sam moaned as the large man turned and moved toward him.
"You are the Watcher, are you not?" the man inquired.
Sam nodded mutely, regretting the movement immediately as another wave of agony pulsed through his skull and his stomach threatened to empty itself.
"We, the Knights of Byzantium, thank you for allowing us this honor. We will return to our encampment now to consult with our seer. If the evil one is truly banished we will depart. Tell your Slayer the Key is no longer of any concern to us." The man turned and motioned to his two companions and they strode away into the night.
"J... Jesus," Sam breathed.
"You said it, pal," Al responded. "Who writes that guy's material?"
The laugh that tried to escape Sam came out more as a gurgle. "Al," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Please tell me I'm ready to Leap now."
Al stiffened. Both men could hear the warbling of his hand-link. "Holy shit!" Al exclaimed, yanking the device from his pocket. He punched a button. "Yes!" he crowed in exultation. "Buffy doesn't die!"
Sam smiled and sagged heavily against the wall.
"Hey buddy," Al exclaimed. "Stay with me. Probably not a good idea for you to Leap while you're unconscious." He kept punching buttons. "Sam, are you... whoa! Ziggy says Sunnydale is back on the map. How could saving Buffy keep the town from...?"
Sam didn't care that he never heard the end of Al's question. His smile widened as he felt the tingling sensation of the Leap effect carrying him away.
Giles groaned and struggled to comprehend his situation. The throbbing agony in his skull and the almost overwhelming nausea were recognizable, at least. He stretched out a hand and felt the familiar shape of his glasses under his palm. Giles lifted them carefully and was relieved to find they were unbroken. He put them on and shifted his body against the solid surface behind him. When he managed to get himself into an upright, seated position, he rested for a moment and tried to remember where he was and what he had been doing. Nothing came to him except the notion that, if he were injured, Buffy might be in trouble. He was fairly certain he could manage to stand now, if he started from a crouch, so he rolled slowly to one side until he was propped up on his hands and knees. As he moved forward slightly, his knuckles brushed against fabric. He extended his hand and encountered a warm limb, covered in what felt like light cotton.
"Buffy!" he gasped. He moved his hand again and, this time, grasped a forearm that bore too much hair to be that of his Slayer. Giles shoved his hand into the right hand pocket of his pants pocket and pulled out his key chain. He fumbled with the switch on the tiny but powerful flashlight that hung from the ring. The beam illuminated the face of Ben, a young intern Giles had met on one of his frequent visits to the hospital over the past few months. His head was bent at a sickening, unnatural angle and his eyes were wide open and lifeless.
"Oh, dear Lord," Giles breathed.
End Part 15