08:49, FRIDAY AUGUST 27, LIMA (16:49/27-08-99 ZULU)
SHRIKE SAFEHOUSE
"[Why couldn't Team-1 have just come straight back here? This is supposed to be our most secure location!]" Beryl pointed out acidly in his native German.
Onyx took a deep breath, controlling his urge to simply take the man's head off - verbally or otherwise. Thank God I only have to put up with him for a little while longer.... "[Because this is our most secure location, Florian. 'Hellmouth effect' or not, people might have noticed the snatch, and this place is only secure as long as we don't draw attention to it.]"
"Are you sure they're okay?" Amber asked.
"I talked to Topaz by IM a couple of hours ago. She gave me the green-light code-phrases; they're in place, with all their prizes in tow, and without casualties. That'll be the only contact until the hand-off." And you know that, so why are you whinging to me about it?
"Why?" Jade wanted to know.
How many times do I have to go over the same bloody procedures? Ye Gods! Onyx cried inwardly. They're all hardened operators - and not one of them less than ten years my senior to boot - yet they've all come crying to me wailing 'Daddy! Daddy!' Even the Scooby Gang didn't bleat and moan like this! "Because there's more than ten thousand bloody bootnecks camped two hills over, and some of them have electronic surveillance gear. D'you think they only dust that off once a year for their annual exercise?" he demanded caustically. "I know they listen to every last microwatt of electronic communication in this district, and if someone picks up something they consider curious, we're liable to find the Sunnydale Police at our doorstep - or being paid a surprise visit by a couple of platoons of Force Recon shooters. That's why we all 'report by absence': contact is only sought if something goes wrong."
"[And if something goes so badly wrong that they don't get the chance to tell us?]"
"Then it'd be just as well we've got Opal as our ace in the hole, yes?" Onyx said crisply. "Now, get back to work, all of you. Most of the Scooby Gang may be under wraps, but the Slayer herself is still at large, and we still need to keep tabs on what she's up to."
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
16:55, AUGUST 27, LIMA (16:55/27-08-99 ZULU)
ULTRAVIOLET HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM
Pearse J. Harman, nominal director of the United Kingdom Paranatural Defence Service, considered the plan before him with little outward emotion. A distinguished man is his early fifties, the medical condition that would soon retire him (possibly permanently) had given him the pallid skin-tone and emaciated look more commonly associated with the 'Code Fives' he hunted, but he'd lost none of the keen intellect that had gotten him through Oxford, nor the sheer driving force of will that had made him about the only man for this job. One of the other things that made him such a good boss was the fact that he knew when to yield the floor to the experts, like now. Vaughn Rice, the lanky, ebony-skinned man standing at his left hand, was Ultraviolet's head paramilitary man, and he'd well proven over the last eight years that he knew what he was doing. "You're satisfied with this, Vaughn?" he asked, merely to be sure.
"Based on the information we've been given, yeah." Rice's East London accent might have seemed out of place, especially compared to Harman's sophisticated tones, but that idea had never occurred to anyone here; when you were fighting for the very survival of human civilisation, you took volunteers where you found them, and Rice was one of the best anywhere. The sole survivor of an SAS Scud-hunter patrol attacked by 'leeches' in the Iraqi desert in '91, he'd personally hand-picked every one of Ultraviolet's small unit of shooters - most of them British military personnel who'd had experiences similar to his own - and trained most of them in the specialised weapons, tactics and disciplines of their new trade.
Sergeant Jack Nolan, Royal Marines (ret.), one of the key movers in the strike-plan they were surveying, shot his commander a dour look at hearing such an equivocal answer. "How many times do I have to vouch for the intel, 'Major'?" the Irishman asked patiently.
"I realise that this American Sanders is a former comrade of yours, Sergeant, but allow us a commander's prerogative. You can't expect us to feel entirely comfortable in setting up an operation this large based on information we didn't develop ourselves." Harman's dry tone was quintessentially British. "Especially when that operation is directed at an organisation that's supposed to have the same goals that we do."
"With all respect, Director, you don't know Snoopy Sanders. I do. Our Squadron in Hong Kong got into some real pinches against the Triads and the leeches and the goblins, and Snoopy and Steve Wells got us out of 'em as well as anyone could have. He's a joker, and he doesn't have a lot of natural talent for soldiering, but he never sent any of us anywhere he wouldn't go himself and when he sees something that has to be done, the only way to stop him doing it is to run him over with a tank and park it on him. If he says this intel's good, it might as well be the word of God Almighty Himself - if you'll pardon the expression, Father."
"I'm hardly the sort to send you to Confession over it, Sergeant," Harman smiled dryly.
Rice shrugged, dismissing that portion of the argument as he contemplated the proposed deployment. "Well, 'is info's been good so far; most of their crews are off in the States playing clay-pigeon, with Sanders and those Kiwi crazies in the traps, and this place is wide open."
"Everyone's memorised the pictures of those on 'The List'?"
Rice grunted an affirmative. Colt had been very specific: amongst the copious notes, pictures and other information they'd given had been a list of several people of key importance of one sort or another who were not to be harmed under any circumstances. That list of 'no-shoots' included a couple of surprising choices, and a couple of equally startling non-inclusions given the structure of the target organisation, but a brief explanation of the intended results had cleared up that confusion - and set off mental alarms in both Harman and Rice's heads. After all, from their perspective the end result Colt envisaged was just a little too good to be true, and if it looked too good....
Ultraviolet's military commander shook off that thought. If someone was trying to pull a swifty, it was a mistake Colt wouldn't live to regret - and if this wasn't merely bait, the payoff would make all this trouble more than worthwhile.
"And Michael's ready with his end of things?"
Rice nodded against, this time with the barest hint of an indulgent smile. His one-time partner, Michael Colefield, was handling some of the negotiations for the aftermath. Under Angie's eagle eye all the while. I may rate Michael, but after that thing with Beresford, it's pretty obvious he still needs adult supervision for now....
With that snarky observation, he leaned back towards the maps, diagrams and blueprints they'd been given, once more refining his planned assault-and-seizure of Greymoor Manor.
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
08:58, AUGUST 27, LIMA (16:58/27-08-99 ZULU)
FORT QUICK, SUNNYDALE
Willow stared out through the Humvee's windscreen with unseeing eyes, feeling decidedly dizzy as she tried to put everything she'd just been told into some sort of real order. Misha had bustled them all out of Giles' room only a few minutes ago, citing the need to let the Watcher rest and regain his strength - adding, somewhat dryly, that he'd had enough shocks for one millenium.
"Penny for your thoughts," Taz smiled, not taking her eyes off the road.
Before the Wiccan could even register the comment, Misha was speaking. "Hey, Willow, you're the resident smarty-pants, maybe you can help me figure out something I've always wondered about: when someone offers a penny for your thoughts, and you put in your two cents' worth - what happens to the other penny?"
That broke through, in a way, and Willow turned to give him a look. "N- Misha, don't take this the wrong way... but you're a thundering loony!"
"Really? Thank you!" he beamed, the very picture of sincerity. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said about me in days."
"I wonder why," she countered, sinking back into her seat to try and hide her smile.
Taz shot her husband a wink in the rear-vision mirror. That broke her out of the fugue state - nicely done!
A few moments later, they pulled up outside the visitor's quarters, and the two senior Kehua shared a private look of amusement at the way Xander virtually hovered over Willow, helping her out of the Hummer and pacing her all the way to the door in case her still-dubious sense of balance deserted her.
Willow's eyes took a moment to adapt to the relative darkness inside, and when she could see properly, she couldn't help but gape. Far from the sterile, impersonal look and feel one would expect of transient housing, this place looked lived-in and almost homey. There were photos on the wall, a nearly-full bookshelf, several sizeable and well-worn tomes on the coffee-table, and - Willow choked and stared. "Is that -!?"
"Yeah, that's their Bloodcat hide," Xander grinned, tipping his chin at the black-striped reddish-orange rug that lay in the middle of the living-room, 'snarling' at the new arrivals. It was even more substantial than the hacker had gathered from Taz's description: if the animal that had owned that skin in life had been less than eleven feet long and weighed under seven hundred pounds, Ira Rosenberg was Catholic. "We had a couple of scrapes with 'em; Taz took that one with a single shot, front-on down the body. Cleaning him up for tanning was fun, but it was worth it."
"Oh yeah." Taz nodded feelingly, then turned wicked eyes on the younger redhead. "You ought to stretch out on it some time; it's sinfully comfortable."
"Especially if you're a home-nudist like her," Xander murmured dryly. The Russian heard him, grinned unrepentantly, and headed into the kitchen to start the coffee-machine.
Willow blushed a little at the comment, then looked up at him and all but accused: "I thought she were kidding about the rug thing!"
"You did, huh? Remind me sometime to tell you about how Taz got her shoes for the School Ball," Xander drawled. "We figured you'd want to get cleaned up, so there're fresh clothes and things for you. Your room's at the end of the hallway on the right, bathroom's at the middle left."
"We'll have some food waiting when you're ready," Misha added, casually rummaging through the fridge. "I don't know about the rest of you, but me? I'm starved."
"No wonder you get along with him so well," Willow murmured, cocking a wry eyebrow at Xander.
"Yeah, we're both the sensitive type." He rolled those oh-so-lovely brown eyes of his and jerked his head towards the hallway. "G'wan, scram. If you're quick, there might actually be something left when you get back."
"I'm not gonna hold my breath," she laughed, and was gone.
Xander looked after her for a moment, then voiced something that was almost a sigh and turned back to his fellows. "Jeez, guys, anybody's think you never got fed."
"After three months in Arulco, living on compo rations and food from an agricultural system that would have appalled the Soviets? What do you think?" Taz smirked, digging out the various components of her peculiar form of coffee.
"We got back from there in April!" Xander protested.
Misha had found some corned beef and rye bread and was layering sandwiches together. "We're fattening up for the slaughter. So who gets to play minder?"
"Not I," his wife shrugged. "We won't have the Kill-House time we need to rehearse Sucker Punch unless I go give Colonel Gregan his weekly anal craniocotomy."
"Try and be a little less bolshie this time, okay, cariad?" he sighed in a long-suffering way. "Gregan may be a dick, but he's also a full colonel - and in command of our host MEU(SOC)."
"Hey: it's me!" the Russian grinned.
"Exactly my point," he noted wryly. "I love you, Taz, but in your natural state you're about as tactful as a bris with a piledriver."
"Freaky image-place, Misha," Xander chuckled, cringing a little.
Misha's cell-phone went off before he could respond to that. "Saved by the bell, Snoopy," he smiled, answering the call.
While the older man was busy, Xander looked to Taz and cocked an eyebrow. "Look, maybe it'd be better if I talked to Colonel Gregan. I've got rank on both of you, it might be easier to swallow coming from me."
"Like a corporal looks any better to a bird-colonel than a lance-corporal does," the Russian snorted. "Especially when the colonel is a smug ring-knocking prick like him." Behind her, the coffee-machine finished its cycle, and she went to work on the contents, shaking spices into the pot in carefully-measured, practiced proportions.
"Yeah, but American military types react better to the green lid than they do the sandy one."
Misha, finished with his call in time to hear that last comment, shrugged to his wife. "He's got a point. I guess that's why they call bootnecks 'the thinking man's infantry'."
"'They' usually being bootnecks," she countered with a snort.
"I think that's a 'yes'," the amber-eyed operator drawled, one hand tucking away his phone as the other took up a sandwich.
"Cool. What's the what?"
"The guys working Project Wasp just spotted something they said we'd find 'interesting' out UC Sunnydale way, they need me over there like now. Mind if I catch a ride with you, since you're headed that way? Or better yet, we both go see what the UAV boys're talking about, then we can go tag-team Gregan."
Xander was about to say 'yeah, sure', but checked himself as a thought occurred to him. That'd leave Taz looking after Willow - Looking to the Russian, he opened his mouth to speak -
"What's the cardinal rule of command, Snoopy?" Taz asked mildly, pouring a mug of her notorious 'go-juice'.
"Never give an order that you know won't be obeyed. All you do is undermine your own authority," he repeated... then sighed, recognising how masterfully she'd cut him off from what she knew he'd been about to say. "Just... try to take it easy, okay? They weren't that bad."
"Says a man too close to the problem to see it as it actually is," she countered reasonably. "Don't worry, Snoopy, I won't break her."
"Says the woman whose patrol-speciality is explosives and demolitions," he laughed sourly, turning to head for the Hummer. "I swear, it's like arguing with sphinxes, each as bad as the other...."
"We're not that bad," Misha told the Marine's disappearing back... then glanced at his wife plaintively. "Are we?"
Taz shrugged, swiped his sandwich out of his hand and silenced his protest with a brief, sweet kiss. "Mmmm. Thanks, sexy - now get out of here, you're gonna miss your taxi."
"Y'know, this is why I try never to get involved in my own life," the amber-eyed operator murmured ruefully, snatching up another sandwich as he went. "Too much bloody hassle...."
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
Willow came back into the living-room perhaps fifteen minutes later, looking a little uncertain; seeing Taz lounging in one of the armchairs, she cocked an eyebrow and waved a hand down herself, wordlessly indicating the USMC garrison khakis that had been laid out for her.
"'Low profile'," the Russian smiled blandly. "Mufti'd draw attention, but no-one'll think twice about a uniformed Marine hanging out with us. Saves a lot of questions."
"Oh." And you walking around wearing a gunbelt won't draw attention? she wondered to herself, her eyes lingering on the big SIG-Sauer strapped to the other woman's right thigh. She took a seat in the sofa opposite the older woman, eyeing the plate of sandwiches laid out on the coffee-table a little dubiously. "Uhhhh....?"
"Rye bread with corned beef, tomato relish, and shredded lettuce and potato-chips for texture," Taz supplied; when Willow goggled, the Russian shrugged. "Misha's blend. He claims he's second cousin to Gonzo the Great, and sometimes I believe it. Snoopy's warned me about your reactions to coffee, so I got you some juice instead. Go ahead and tuck in; you must have a thousand questions, and between those and other stuff... well, a conversation that long is best held on a full stomach."
"Especially when it's with you," was the wry retort. She'd tried arguing with this woman several times in the last few weeks, and it was An Experience - a draining one, at that. With that in mind (and her stomach reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat since dinner the previous night), the younger woman set about demolishing the offered refreshments with almost Xander-like gusto. Taz grinned fondly at the sight, killing the time by leafing through one of the books from the table. That said tome would feature in the coming discussion was not a coincidence.
It was a measure of Willow's hunger that she'd gone through two sandwiches before she glanced at what Taz was reading... but when she did, she went utterly still. Swallowing her current mouthful, she did her best to keep her voice even. "Is... is that what I think it is?"
"Uh-huh." Taz smiled gently. "I understand that Mister Giles has said that it was one of the most salient books of Slayer prophecy, but that it had been lost. Correct?"
"Yeah."
A nod. "Yeah, that's about right. He was repeating what he'd been told by his teachers... but since we've already established that his teachers were Mentor, it's safe to say what they told him was probably ninety percent bullshit." She slapped the big book closed, considering the gold lettering on its cover for a moment. "'The Tiberius Manifesto.' Do you know who 'Tiberius' was?"
"Giles never said."
"Because he didn't know, because nobody would've given information that inflammatory to a field-Watcher." The Russian cocked her head and looked at the younger woman closely. "Why does Buffy do what she does, Willow?"
"W- she's the Slayer!" the Wiccan stammered, a little baffled by the question. "She's the Chosen One, she has a sacred duty -"
"Duty to whom, Willow?" Taz demanded. "Sacred - to whom? Chosen - by whom? Did it ever occur to you to ask those questions? If only to establish that Buffy was in the trade for the right reasons?"
"W- she was chosen by the Higher Powers -"
"That'd be ample proof that the Powers are meth-addicts, if it were true. D'you really think they'd choose some self-absorbed airhead cheerleader to be the protector of mankind? Please!"
"So who did choose her?" Willow shot back, rising to her friend's defence.
Taz settled back in her chair a little, taking a deep breath. Misha was so much better at these long explanations than she was... but he wasn't here. Besides, she'd had some time to think this one over. "Do you who the first Slayer was, Willow? A young Etruscan woman, back before the entire people was absorbed by the Romans.
"The Etruscan society had the same problems with goblins and such back then as we do now, but they didn't have the tools to deal with them: there were no formal police back then, so private citizens had to look out for themselves - and for others. Unfortunately, as is all too common in decadent cultures, nobody wanted to take the responsibility... until a fifteen-year-old girl named Amanda woke up to what was going on around her. She saw how the spooks and fangs and goblins had the run of the night - of her world - and she couldn't stand by and do nothing about it. She sought training from the best fighter she could find - an expatriate Spartan, of all things! - and she did what she could, but a kid who weighs maybe fifty kilos soaking wet isn't much shakes against full-fledged vampires, and she knew it. So did the Spartan, Alexios, and he did something about it.
"Alexios was pretty old by the standards of the day, in his mid-forties, and he'd gotten there the hard way. You'll recall that the Spartans devoted almost their entire culture to warfare, and for him to be that old, what he didn't know about personal combat wasn't worth knowing... but it wasn't the sort of knowledge you could impart to a teenage girl in a few months, so he did the only thing he felt he could. He found a couple of fellow warriors who would watch over his young student once he was gone, then sought out a group of local magicians and convinced them to transfer his prowess, his instincts, his strength to her. The transference killed him, of course; he'd known it would. But he knew that it was the only way for Amanda to make any headway. And it worked."
"He sacrificed himself... to turn her into the first Slayer?" Willow asked, and got a confirming nod. "Why?"
"Alexios chose to die in a manner befitting a Spartan warrior: giving his life so a comrade might know victory, that a loved one might be kept safe. Leave us not forget, this is the same culture that brought us Leonidas' stand at Thermopylae not a hundred years later.
"Those warriors he'd chosen as Amanda's guardians fought beside her in her battles, while the magicians provided advice and kept records of her deeds." Taz tapped the cover of the 'Manifesto'.
"The first Watchers."
"Both factions together? Yes. Amanda's fellow warriors had children of their own, many of whom chose to fight beside her. You see, instead of spending every waking moment whinging about how she didn't want the job, she just sucked it up and did it - she was assertive, confident, self-reliant, someone who not only did what was required of her but more, someone who sought more responsibilities to fulfil, someone who'd do the right thing under pressure. She was a selfless warrior and an example to emulate - not a cheerleader assembling a coterie of yes-men and sycophants."
Willow's eyes flared at that. "We're not -!"
"Xander isn't; you, I'm not sure about. But we're getting off the topic at hand."
"You -"
"Shut up and listen, Willow, I'm not finished. When Amanda was killed three years later, the magicians knew that the essence of power that she had borne was a weapon too valuable to dissipate or destroy, so they went to Amanda's fellows and offered them the choice: who would take up her burden?"
The Wiccan blinked as she grasped that. "You mean they didn't just - or They didn't just -?"
"By 'They', you mean the so-called Powers That Be? Hell, no. People are always crediting them with things that are no more than happenstance or the product of some human agency. 'God's Will' is a handy cop-out, no more. The magicians? Well, back then they understood the most important thing about this calling of ours."
"Being?"
The Russian's eyes met Willow's, and they were as unyielding as steel. "That which is given is far more powerful than that which is taken. That there is nothing so powerful as the will of a volunteer."
Things went click at the back of Willow's brain. "You mean Xander."
"Precisely. But we'll get to him soon enough.
"Both of Alexios' fellow warriors were getting past the point of being combat-effective themselves by now, so after one of the volunteers was chosen to be the recipient of Amanda's gifts, they submitted to the same transference as Alexios had done, adding their skills to her powers. A corps of dedicated volunteers led by a girl with a warrior's prowess and instincts was a positive worry to the goblins; that same corps led a girl with three warriors' abilities threw them right back on their heels, and they stayed that way.
"You see, Willow, the Slayer was never meant to be humanity's last hope or a solitary defender; she was meant to be a leader, an inspiration to others, an example to follow, an ideal to strive towards.
"Things continued in that vein for about a hundred years. Candidates were chosen for their integrity and courage, trained by warriors, then asked if they would accept the price that the Slayer's calling demanded; if they accepted - which they almost invariably did - the Slayer's gifts would transfer to them. Each of those girls consciously accepted the responsibility of protecting others' lives at the risk of their own. Unfortunately, after that first century or so, the magicians started thinking they didn't really need the warriors after all and phased them out, started putting their own spin on things, starting their slide towards the Council of today, Mentor in particular. The 'Tiberius Manifesto' is the final chronicle of one of those last warriors, trying to preserve the truth for future generations."
"How did pushing out the soldiers start them on the way down?"
"Because without the warriors to give them perspective, the girls started believing the pseudo-religious spin the magicians put on the whole tale, and the emphasis on choice went by the boards. Instead of 'Here is what must be done. Will you accept this duty?', it was 'There's your duty. Accept it. Do it.' But one thing remained constant: because of the nature of the original empowerment spell, it always remained the girl's choice. Buffy likes to make a lot of noise about how she was drafted and dragged into this without any consideration of her wishes. That's bullshit. Admittedly, they browbeat her into it, and if she'd refused when Merrick asked the question he'd've probably put a bullet in her - but she said 'yes', and now she's got to live with that choice. And so do the rest of us, unfortunately."
"You think she's an unfit Slayer?" Willow asked a little hotly.
Time for Phase Two. "I think she's exactly what Travers wanted when he arranged for her to be Chosen: a cheerleader on a power-trip who likes to play the martyr, spends too much time whinging about problems that aren't worth the name, has no real appreciation of how much support she's received from you all, and makes choices on the basis of her own selfish interests at times when the fate of the entire world hangs on her judgement. I've seen the internal communications on the matter. Travers wanted to score a political point within the Council by proving that a Slayer raised outside of their purview couldn't hack it, wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility or do things the way they wanted. Misha and I were only told about the whole 'Slayer' routine a month after we started smoking vampires, yet we were getting it done in spite of everything that was thrown at us. Mentor didn't like my methods, so they had me removed; Travers didn't like my proving him wrong, so he stood aside to let it happen. Buffy was meant to be his object example, a Slayer who just couldn't cut it and got herself killed inside a month. She doesn't seem to realise that she's survived this long mainly out of Scooby support and pure dumb luck - and it hasn't sunk in yet that sooner or later her luck is going to run out!" Even as Willow began to bristle at her words, Taz picked up the combination remote that lay on the coffee table, turned on the TV, and hit 'PLAY'.
{"So this spell might restore Angel's humanity?"}
Willow's head whipped around. What the - that's Xander! And me, and Buffy - this is the meeting we had just before the Acathla thing!
The on-screen Xander continued to speak, turning hard eyes on his companions. {"Well, here's an interesting angle: who cares?"}
{"I care."} Buffy stood her ground against him, eyes flat.
{"Is that right?"}
{"Let's not lose our perspective here, Xander,"} Giles urged.
{"I'm Perspective Guy: Angel's a killer."}
Taz paused the playback, turning to Willow to answer her questions before they could be voiced. "Archons like Toa are sort of temporal archivists who see all, know all, record all, for the Universal Library, a celestial archive where every word, every deed, every feeling and every thought that is, that has ever been, that will ever be is recorded. It's the central storage for Truth in the universe. According to him, Archons exist simultaneously in all moments in time, past and present and future, and see all the consequences of even the most insignificant change, so they're the only ones who can truly access or comprehend those archives - which explains why the best and most accurate prophets are uniformly nuttier than a muesli bar; a normal human mind can't handle information that complex. He felt that we needed to understand all that's happened in Sunnydale, so he gave us your last three years' exploits on DVD... with some very interesting Easter Egg features," she added dryly... then hit 'FORWARD' a touch and restarted the playback.
{"I-I don't know. What happened to Angel wasn't his fault," Buffy sighed.}
{"Yeah, but what happened to Ms. Calendar is."} Buffy and Willow focused incredulous stares on Xander, who pressed on coldly. {"You can paint this any way you want. But the way I see it is that you wanna forget all about Ms. Calendar's murder so you can get your boyfriend back."}
Taz skipped forward again, to another conversation the next night.
{"So that would be the literal kind of 'sucked into Hell'. Neat,"} Buffy drawled, then turned to her friend. {"Willow, I think you should try the curse."}
{"I tend to side with your friend Xander on this one,"} Kendra disagreed. {"Angel should be eliminated."}
{"Oh, I'll fight him,"} Buffy told her. {"I'll kill him if I have to. But if I don't get there in time, or if I lose, then Willow might be our only hope."}
"And that was the whole problem," the Russian said harshly, pausing the playback again. "Do you know how many people Angelus had butchered to that point, Willow? Just in the not-quite five months since Buffy's little hormonal lapse?"
"No."
"Counting Miss Calendar, fifty-three. He'd left a trail of bodies in his wake to do Charles Manson's heart glad; here he is, about to see the entire world dragged into a hell that's less than pleasant even by the standards of the breed; the fate of the entire planet hangs on her right now, and what's Buffy thinking? She's going to fight a holding action until you can resoul her demon fuckpiece! Let's see how that ends, shall we?" The Russian had raised her voice not a fraction during her diatribe, but the frigid contempt in her voice had been flaying. Another skip-forward, this to outside Angel's mansion.
{"You're not here to fight."} Buffy set off down the path again. {"You get Giles out, and you run like hell, understood? I can't protect you. I'm gonna be too busy killing."}
Xander took in the sword she was carrying, Kendra's last gift to her. {"Now, that's a new look for you."}
{"It's a present for Angel."}
{"Willow. Uh, she told me to tell you...."}
{"Tell me what?"}
Willow was so intent on the screen that she didn't see Taz tap a green button on the remote.
{"... She's trying the curse again. It should kick in any minute."}
Willow knew what happened next, of course - the parts she hadn't been there for, the others had told her about - but seeing it like this was quite another. As Buffy entered the mansion and events progressed from there, Taz called up an inset view of the Scoobies setting up and enacting the soul-restoration ritual.
But as the sword-fight between Buffy and Angelus developed, Willow started to frown. This wasn't how Buffy had said things went; even she could tell that Buffy was merely playing for time.
"Do you know what happens to rearguards who try to hold out too long, Willow?" Taz asked, as clinically as any surgeon.
A flare of light from one side of the combatants. Buffy's head whipped around; Acathla was glowing. Opening.
If she'd been going after Angelus with all her energy, he might have been worn down enough that her distraction didn't matter. As it was, he was fresh enough to see the opening and exploit it. Even as Buffy turned her attention back to her opponent, he dashed her blade to one side and hacked off her sword-hand.
"They get over-run," the Russian finished, in that same dispassionate tone. "Messily."
Even as Buffy shrieked and stared at the bloody stump of her right wrist, Angelus' backstroke laid the Slayer's belly open to the backbone. The blonde stumbled to her knees, staring at her own entrails spilling onto the floor in mute shock, then looked up at the demon wearing her lover's face. {"A-angel?"}
{"Why do you keep calling me that?"} he asked scornfully, and beheaded her with a casual flick of his wrist. Leaving her corpse to crumple to the floor, he turned and crossed to where the blonde's head had come to rest. He picked it up by the hair, contemplating the baffled expression her face had worn as he struck. {"Should've figured this was the only way to get head from you, Buff,"} he quipped.
In the inset view, Willow finished her incantation, and Angelus' eyes flashed an instant later. He blinked, visibly disoriented as Angel started coming back to himself - then he saw Buffy's severed head hanging from one hand, and the bloody sword in the other. {"Oh, no... oh, dear God -!"}
Then the screen dissolved into the whirling colours of Acathla's vortex.
Taz punched 'stop' and looked to her ashen-faced companion silently.
"That... that's not what happened!" Willow finally managed.
"No, Willow, that's exactly what happened. The integrity of the Universal Library is utterly inviolable: anything recorded there cannot be anything less than one hundred percent accurate. What you just saw is exactly what happened when Buffy was left to her own devices: she played for time when the fate of the world depended on her giving her all, she died for it, and the entire world literally went to hell because she still couldn't think of anything but getting Angel back! Thankfully, that record is of an alternate timeline - not an actual occurrence."
Still wide-eyed with horror, the Wiccan turned her eyes back to the screen as Taz rewound the recording, this time leaving the green button alone.
{"Willow. Uh, she told me to tell you...."}
{"Tell me what?}
{"Kick his ass."}
Willow blinked. "He lied...?"
"He made the choice Buffy refused to - to do what had to be done," Taz countered, her voice like forged steel. "Look at the situation, Willow - use that renowned intellect of yours.
"He'd seen how you and Buffy were acting about the curse. He'd watched Buffy stand by and do nothing as Angelus tore Sunnydale to pieces because she couldn't bring herself to kill the beast that wore Angel's face. He knew Buffy wouldn't go all-out if she knew there was a chance she could have her cake and eat it too.
"He also knew how risky a proposition the curse was. You'd never cast a spell before in your life, and your inexperience might cause it to fail. You were seriously injured, still physically weak and mentally scrambled by that bookcase landing on you; you might not have enough energy to make it work - a valid concern, in the actual event - and it might fizzle, or even drain you dead and then fizzle.
"In short, Willow, he realised that the fate of the world depended on him - and unlike Buffy, he acted like it! He knew there'd be hell to pay when the rest of you found out, and he accepted that."
By this point, Willow was bone-white, almost shaking in horror. "Wh-what do you mean, 'not enough energy'? It worked, didn't it?"
"Not off your powers, it didn't," Taz snorted, calling the image of the Scoobies at the hospital to full-size and pausing as the on-screen Willow flung her head back, shouting words that had never been part of the script Jenny Calendar had translated. "D'you really think that's you casting that spell, Willow? Do you speak Romanian? No. That's Janna Calendar's last hurrah you're seeing. She came back from the beyond to finish what she'd started, and she used the only available vessel to do it: you. She threw every last erg of power left to her shade into you to make that curse work, and that's why you suddenly developed kick-ass magical abilities you didn't have a year before. You cast one huge spell, but about all you can do reliably now is levitate pencils, right? Because you're drawing on the last dregs of the supercharge she gave you... and it's running out. When you finally deplete those reserves... well, personally, I'm guessing you'll probably just revert to being a null like the rest of us. Misha's of the opinion that you'll probably retain the capacity for magic, but that you'll have to start over from scratch, relearn how to channel mana all over again."
Leaving the shell-shocked Wiccan to contemplate that, Taz crossed to the DVD player to touch a few controls, removing a couple of lock-outs on the disc the Archon had left with her. It would take Willow a few minutes to get her head around what she'd just learned, and she wouldn't be ready for the next part of this conversation until she got her feet under her again.
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
09:33, AUGUST 27, LIMA (17:33/27-08-99 ZULU)
MOBILE TELEMETRY CENTRE, 'PROJECT WASP'
FORT QUICK, SUNNYDALE
Project Wasp's mobile telemetry centre wasn't all that elaborate or fancy, but then, that was the entire point. The system was designed for low-profile, easy-deployment operation, so the MTC was built into the back of a single five-ton truck. Misha pulled the Humvee to a stop a few metres from the dismountable launch-ramp and waved a 'hi' to the civilian technicians and Marine mechanics who were working on several of the bat-winged UAVs. "Hey, Kodiak. How's it going?"
"Shitty," said a grease-stained Staff Sergeant Stanislaus Bartkowiak. "Groucho's still not hacking it in the ground-tests, I think we're gonna have to send him back to the factory for a full rebuild after all."
"That's what happens when you crash into a bordello's back yard from half a mile up," Xander observed dryly. "The others?"
"Chico's flight-control actuators are still out to lunch - I think it's a software glitch - and Harpo's hydraulics locked solid last night, the camera-turret won't budge an inch. Gummo's ready to go, and Zeppo's in the air right now. He's the only one of 'em I can depend on."
"Imagine that," Misha deadpanned, not looking at his companion. "Chief around?"
"Yeah, he's inside."
"Thanks. Have fun," Xander added, eyeing in the scattered components of the other two Wasps and their innards. A third stood off to one side looking a little forlorn, the uneven wear on the paint showing where entire sections had been replaced, including one wing. Groucho's mishap had taken him from star performer to hangar queen, and this was with lavish technical support and parts depots on hand. That didn't bode well for future field operations in the field, with minimal support facilities.
The MTC's interior was dimly lit, mainly by the displays. The flight-control consoles ran down the left side of the truck, with the imagery section against the forward wall; three technicians sat in cushioned chairs, one at the controls and two with the telemetry, and a blocky Marine was leaning over the imagery-techs, frowning at the screens.
"Chief," Misha nodded to this last man; this was a work-area, so he forwent the normal salute. "You said you had something for us to look at?"
Chief Warrant Officer-2 Julio Marcales nodded and showed the younger men to the playback area. "Yeah, it's on the recorder - it all went down about twenty minutes ago. Karl, if you please?"
"Okay, now this is the Sunnydale Stormhawk base, about five klicks due east of the UC Sunnydale campus, 'kay?" civilian tech-rep Karl Maitland said, starting the tape. "Get a load of this."
The image was an overhead view of a typical garrison complex: a company-sized barracks, a smaller complex of officer's quarters, a block of administration buildings, a firing range and Kill-House, an armoury, a large motor-pool full of Pathfinders and hard-top Hummers in Stormhawk beige-and-ochre police-pattern livery, and a cluster of supply warehouses. (A glance at the secondary display showed the same base in imaging infra-red, where slight temperature variations in areas of meadow inside the perimeter wire that seemed pristine to the visible-light camera marked the locations of camouflaged defensive bunkers. It seemed that the Stormers had followed their usual pattern of 'peace through superior firepower' - not that either Kehua was surprised.) In front of the main admin block, a small motorcade was just pulling up: a dark blue late-model Mercedes with pennons at either side of the hood, preceded by a blocky ochre Suburban. Someone had rigged up an awning from the admin block's front door, and the Mercedes stopped just at its end. The Suburban's passengers dismounted first.
"Interesting, indeed," Misha murmured, watching how the quartet of bodyguards formed a defensive pocket around the Suburban with admirable speed and precision. They weren't to the level of the American Secret Service's Presidential Detail, but they knew what they were doing.
"Just bloody charming," Xander concurred sourly, taking in the beige/brown/ochre/black camouflage pattern of the newcomers' battledress and the G36K carbines they bore. Both young men had spent more than enough time trading small-arms fire with men in that livery to know who and what it symbolised. Regular 'security' Stormers wore plain beige jumpsuits; camouflage was restricted to the higher-prestige (and better-trained and -armed) units, like the Tactical Response Corps. "I thought we left all this down south in Arulco."
"'Twould seem that were wishful thinking, my friend."
The view had shifted slightly in that brief span of time, the angle changing at the picture receding a little - the observer had locked his cameras on the scene, even as Zeppo flew onwards. Now it started to grow again as the UAV came back around to get another look at what was going on below. With a secure cordon about them, the men in the Suburban climbed down under the awning's shade.
"Can you zoom in on those guys?" Xander asked. Both men wore the ochre blouses over tan slacks that formed Stormhawk Class-A uniform, but neither seemed old enough to rate a four-man personal-defence detail.
"Sure." Maitland paused the playback, then tightened the picture and punched a couple of keys to digitally sharpen the image. Most of the older UAVs in use had optical-technology cameras, but Wasp used CCD-TV, imaging infrared and straight thermal imaging, all collimated on a computer-stabilised, full-traverse belly turret and linked to a new digital recording system that allowed for sharper imaging both live and in replay. Pretty soon, the duo filled the entire screen, and the observers could read their name-tags and insignia.
"Now that is very interesting," Misha murmured. "This joker - see those black facings on his uniform?"
Xander nodded thoughtfully, recognising the markings. "Stormhawk Special Purposes Group," he mused, taking a closer look at the screen himself. "And the question then becomes 'what is a Major from von Hausmann's personal Death Commandos doing in Sunnydale?'"
"He could be here by coincidence," the technician suggested.
"'Coincidence?'" Misha snorted. "In this trade, boyo, there is no such beast."
"Shift the main view to the thermal picture, please?" Xander was looking closely at the senior Stormhawk officer, though he'd already spotted what was wrong on the secondary monitors. He's keeping a really close eye on how close he is to the sunlight....
Maitland cocked an eyebrow, but he complied. An instant later, he let out a startled curse: the junior man showed a normal human IR profile -
- but the Major's body-temperature was uniform all over his body - just above ambient.
Misha traded a look of grim amusement with his fellow Kehua. Looks like we're going to need those local trainees sooner than we thought.
Xander nodded, letting out a long sigh. "Up to their old tricks again, I'll be bound. There goes the neighbourhood...."
"You're the one who says this town is supposed to attract the lowest of the low, Snoopy."
"Yeah, but even we've got standards!"
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
10:12, AUGUST 27, LIMA (18:12/27-08-99 ZULU)
SUNNYDALE POLICE STATION
"Where the hell is Patterson?" Stein snarled, slamming his fists down on his desk. The supervisor's 'phone had been ringing for almost two minutes solid, and there was no sign of the big ex-Marine.
"He took some personal time, Frank, remember? He's at the funeral for that security guard who got smoked at the gallery heist," Nuñez supplied.
"What does he care about some idiot clock-puncher?" the senior detective griped. Letting out a put-upon huff, he set down the papers he was working on and ducked into the other office to pick up the line. "Sunnydale Homicide, Detective Stein."
{"Sergeant Dobrowolski, Homicide, Peoria P.D."}
Stein frowned. "What does Illinois Homicide need with the Sunnydale P.D.?"
{"We've got some bad news to give to one of your citizens, and it'd probably be less of a hit coming from one of your uniforms. I'm looking at a double homicide out here, looks like a street-mugging gone bad and really messy. Vics are a couple of locals, Grant and Arlene Burdette; their daughter survived the attack, and she's talking some really weird stuff."}
"I'm still waiting for this to be my problem."
A patient sigh from halfway across the continent. {"Arlene Burdette's maiden name is Murcheson, and her only listed next-of-kin is her sister, Joyce; she lives in Sunnydale under her married name, Summers."}
Stein perked up. Oh, reeeally? "What, you want the S.P.D. to notify her about the deaths?"
{"And check if she's willing to take the daughter in, none of the Burdettes want her. She's thirteen and kind'a going through a rebellious phase, y'know?"}
A wild array of thoughts flew across the detective's mind. About how he'd watched that juvenile delinquent tear Sunnydale High to pieces, Slayer or no. About how he'd had her dead to rights for two separate murder charges that could have taken her out of Richard Wilkins' way for good... only to be forced to let her slide on both when too many people heard the real story. About how he'd never been able to pin Finch's death or the attempt on Faith's life on that blonde bimbo, despite almost endless trying. About how the Mayor's second pay-cheque for keeping his mouth shut and doing exactly what he was told had had him raking in almost eighty grand a year... until that little cheerleader barbecued him and the acting mayor dried up all the 'contingency funds', pending full review. It probably wouldn't be too long before someone started investigating where all that money went, and when they did, IA would swoop on the S.P.D. like the vultures they were. Which meant he had to do what damage he could while he still had the chance. He could say any number of things, take any number of courses.... between one breath and the next, his mind was made up. Time to poison the wells.... "You better notify Social Services, then, pal, 'cause there was a 211 at Joyce Summers' art gallery on Monday. Five dead."
{"And Summers was amongst 'em?"}
"Yeah, that's right, Joyce Summers included."
As the other detective said his goodbyes, Stein was toting up the final results. Even if Social Services sorted through this mess and got the real story, it'd take them months to jump through all the necessary bureaucratic hoops. Months of being in foster care. Months of teenage angst compounded by knowing she'd been rejected and left out in the cold by her own flesh and blood. Months of pent-up grief and loneliness and resentment that would probably fester into outright hatred. By the time they got things straightened out and put Dawn Burdette with her real family....
Stein settled the phone back into the cradle and leaned back, a distinctly satisfied smile spreading across his face. The best way of making a summer's day has to be making a Summers' day....
"You know something, Frank? You're a real piece of work," Nuñez declared. He'd heard enough of Stein's side of things to put it together... and be appalled.
"Thanks, Rafe, I try."
That wasn't a compliment, you fucking pendejo.... "Look, I'm turning up nothing on these two kids who live in that apartment that got redecorated. Customs and the INS never heard of 'em, they paid for everything in cash, and that Jaguar LaFollet says they drive? They bought it outright, with cash, at the tax-auction after the Chases got caught cooking their books. People who don't exist throwing around a lot of hard currency, their apartment blowing up with a known merc inside... I'm smelling 'drug connection', Frank."
Stein turned that over in his head a couple of times. Nuñez might only be a couple of years out of uniform, but he learned fast. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds pretty good."
"Okay, so, I'm gonna go have a word with Willy Stanton, maybe he knows if anybody's broken into the market since those two showed up."
"Want me to come with you?"
"Nah, I'd be more intimidating on my own. Latino temper and all," the Cuban grinned. "I ought'a be back in an hour or so."
"You better not be too long, I can't get through all this on my own." Stein waved a hand at all the paperwork clogging up his desk, inches deep at some points.
Nuñez shot his partner a grin and was gone. Down at the motor pool, however, before he started the car, he dug out his cellphone and looked at it for a long moment. If he did this, he'd be stabbing his partner in the back. Stein would swiftly realise what had happened and who had done it, and the entire department would consider the Cuban a rat, never to be trusted again.
But on the other hand.... He started dialing. Messing with Summers 'cause you could never pin anything on her? Fine. But you never go after somebody through their familia, puto....
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
09:46, AUGUST 27, LIMA (17:46/27-08-99 ZULU)
LONG-TERM VISITOR'S QUARTERS
FORT QUICK, SUNNYDALE
"And now we move on to the second part of our presentation," Taz said with tart whimsy, returning to her seat. "Willow Rosenberg, it's time you met Xander Harris."
Willow blinked. "I've known Xander most of my life!"
"Wanna bet?" Taz returned promptly, still with that touch of acid, and thumbed the DVD remote's 'PLAY' key once more. "Let's see about that, hmm?"
The younger redhead was a little nonplussed at what appeared on-screen. In the lower left corner of the screen was a date-time group marking the scene as the night of the Master's rise; the scene itself was a small, dimly-lit apartment furnished with a number of antiquities, in which sat.... "Angel?"
"Uh-huh. This is the night that Buffy was prophesied to die - and he's doing so much about that, isn't he?"
"B-but Buffy said he got Xander to help him and went after her!"
"Riiiiiight," Taz drawled. "He's been a vampire for two-hundred-odd years, and he needs a sixteen-year-old to help him? Much less one that he moderately detests and who returns the sentiment in spades? I believe the Californian for that is 'what-ev-er'!"
On-screen, someone knocked at the door, and Angel answered it. {"Oh. Look who's here."}
{"Mind if I come in?"} Xander asked, and shouldered past the vampire anyway.
{"Make yourself at home,"} Angel muttered sourly, closing the door.
{"She's gone."}
{"Whadaya mean?"}
{"Buffy - she's gone to fight the Master."}
{"He'll kill her."}
{"Rumor has it. Only we're not gonna let it happen."}
{"Well, what do you propose we do about it?"}
{"Look, I know you can find this Master guy. He's underground, right? Take me to him."}
Are you kidding, or just fucking insane? was writ large on Angel's face. {"You're way outta your league, kid. The Master'll kill you before you can even breathe. If you're lucky."}
{"How can I say this clearly?"} Xander mused - then shoved a cross right in Angel's face, forcing him back onto his own couch. Willow tried not to gape as her childhood friend kept speaking. {"I don't like you. At the end of the day, I pretty much think you're a vampire. But Buffy's got this big old yen for you. She thinks you're a real person - and right now, I need you to prove her right."}
Taz worked the remote, turning to Willow while the scene flickered and changed. "Before you ask, he didn't have to work hard to find where Angel lived - looked up his history, found his real name, looked for recent leases under that name. For a guy who's been around for almost three centuries, Angel's pretty damn' stupid - or at least, he ain't paranoid enough, which is about the same thing. In any case, the rest you know: Angel leads Xander to the Master's lair, Xander saves Buffy's life, good guys win this round."
Willow blinked and shook her head a few times, trying to reconcile what she'd just seen with what she'd 'known' was the truth. "Buffy told me -"
"Buffy saw Angel there and the Mills-and-Boon delusions of a sixteen-year-old with a raging crush filled in the rest for her; she wanted to see Angel as some sort of tragic Dark Knight, so she took one look at him there and jumped straight to the conclusion she wanted to get, promptly reinforcing those same romantic fantasies; daisy-chain logic at its worst. Buffy saw what she wanted to see; you were blinded by that oh-so-romantic 'star-crossed lovers' routine they had going and took Buffy's account at face value; neither of you even once engaged your brains about it."
Even as her companion bristled at that, Taz directed her attention to the TV screen, which had settled down and now showed a beige-trimmed corridor in early 1998. That's the hospital - back when Buffy was sick! What's going - Xander was parked in a chair, fidgeting a little, and looked up as someone approached the door next to him, whistling Beethoven. He was out of his seat in a flash, blocking the path of the newcomer.
Angelus? Willow blinked. "Oh my God - Xander, what were you thinking!?"
{"Visiting hours are over."}
{"Well, I'm pretty much family,"} the vampire smirked.
{"Yeah,"} Xander jeered. {"Why don't you come back during the day? Oh, gee, no, I guess you can't."}
Angelus all but laughed at him. {"If I decide to walk into Buffy's room, do you think for one microsecond that you could stop me?"}
Xander shrugged one shoulder, the gesture far more casual than he could possibly be feeling. {"Maybe not. Maybe that security guard couldn't either. Or those cops... or the orderlies.... But I'm kinda curious to find out. You game?"}
{"Buffy's White Knight. You still love her."} Xander said nothing, and Angelus got right in his face. {"It must just eat you up that I got there first."}
Xander just gave him a flat look. {"You're gonna die. And I'm gonna be there."}
After a moment, Angelus slapped the bouquet he'd brought into Xander's chest and turned away. {"Tell her I stopped by."}
When the vampire was gone, Xander took a deep breath, crossed to a rubbish bin, dropped in the flowers, and went back to his seat as if nothing had happened.
Willow's eyes were so wide she looked like something out of Sailor Moon. "Wuh... buh.... Why did he just -?"
"'Why did he just leave?'" Taz suggested, rewinding the playback to get a capture of Xander's expression as Angelus stepped to him. "Look at his face, Willow. He knows down to his soul that he can't stop Angelus, but he does not CARE if he lives or dies so long as doing either will keep that sick bloodsucker off of Buffy for one... more... minute. And if Angelus does start towards Buffy's room, the shit's gonna fly; Xander will die, and they both know it, but he might get enough of Angelus to take him down with him... and unlike Snoopy, he's not ready to die for a 'maybe'."
"How can you be sure that's what's going through his head?" the hacker gaped.
"I grew up with and married a man who gets that very same look when his loved ones are threatened, Willow; I recognise the 'suicidal resolve face' all too well."
"H-he -"
"'He never said anything'?" the Russian suggested. "Why would he? The problem was handled."
"He faced down Angelus, Taz! Why wouldn't he mention that?"
An exasperated sigh. "Because it wasn't important, Willow - at least not to him; in his mind, the only important thing about the incident was that Buffy went unmolested. What, you think he wanted a medal for it?" Taz shook her head in disbelief. "He doesn't do this for glory or accolades, Willow, any more than Misha or I do. We do it because it has to be done, and if it has to be done it had better be done right. We take satisfaction from a job well done, not from the accolades of others."
The Russian took a sip from her juice, buying time to calm down a little. Working herself into a tirade of screaming and cursing wouldn't do anything towards driving some good sense into the younger girl's skull, unless she wanted to try doing it manually. (Which was an option of last resort... though not entirely out of the question.) "That said, Willow, Xander's like any other man; he may not want or need medals or parades... but the loyalty and support of his friends means the world to him.
"And I don't think he's ever HAD it."
Willow blanched at the accusation, then went an incensed red. "He's always had -"
"Y'know, your eyes would probably be blue if you weren't so full of shit," Taz interjected caustically. "Let's go to the tape, hmm?"
The image that flashed up on-screen made Willow go bone-white: the basement of the burned-out factory where she and Xander had been imprisoned when Spike had made his flying visit to Sunnydale at the end of 1998. They were both on the bed, video-Willow sitting very close to video-Xander, helping him sit up; the image was paused with the hacker frozen mid-word. Real-world-Willow shot Taz a horrified look.
"Don't worry, Willow, I've never watched this part before," the Russian said wryly. "Xander's told us his version of this incident, but he was curiously vague about how far things went and he led us to believe that it was all his idea... which, if I know Xander, is not an entirely accurate representation of events. Why don't we find out?"
Willow swallowed in dread. "Y-you... did you talk to Xander about what happened at the hospital?"
"He gave us a bare-bones explanation, mentioned that Oz threw this in your face. I'd like to see why."
Willow's lips worked, but she couldn't form any sounds to forestall the older woman. After a moment, the unrelenting Russian tapped the 'PLAY' key again.
{"- so drunk he forgets about us, and we starve to death. That's sort of the best one,"} a sheepish video-Willow observed.
{"Will, we're not gonna die,"} video-Xander assured her. {"If he's so drunk, he'll get sloppy, and then I'll make my move."} His strength gave out about then, and he fell back onto the bed with Willow atop him, which prompted a rueful postscript: {"As long as my move doesn't involve standing up or using my limbs, we'll be okay."}
Their lips were bare inches apart, and it was an open question as to who leaned in first.
{"We're not supposed to,"} video-Willow whispered half-heartedly.
Video-Xander shrugged a little. {"Exemption for impending death situation."}
Taz hit 'PAUSE' just as the couple's lips touched. "Even if I wanted to get past the ratings-blocker on these discs, I'm not especially inclined to play voyeur on my friends' intimate lives, so I put it to you instead: if I were going to watch something else in its place, would I need to flick on 'Melrose Place' - or rent a Vivid Video?"
Willow went bright, scorching scarlet. "Uh... the, the last one."
The Russian nodded, expecting as much. "It wouldn't've been such an effective weapon in Oz's hands otherwise. And was it Xander's idea?"
The hacker shot her companion a pleading look - and got only a slightly curious but unrelenting stare in return. 'Mercy' was obviously not a capacity Taz was used to exercising. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she met that stare without flinching, (finally) shouldering responsibility for (some of) her deeds. "No. It was mine."
"I figured. And because he wanted you to be happy, no matter that it would be with another man, Xander took all the heat for your shared indiscretions. You got Oz back, and Cordelia spent the rest of the year hacking pieces off of him and chasing after your erstwhile executioner Wesley to punish him for something that happened as much at your instigation as at his. He wasn't even allowed to touch you, lest Oz think it was happening all over again; you're the one thing he's always been able to count upon, the one friend who's always been there for him in times of need - but the one time he needed you most, you froze him out. Some 'friendship' you show. Y'know, if someone had brought me out of a vegetative state, I'd be just a little more appreciative than that."
"Vegetative -?" Willow's eyes widened as she took the older woman's meaning. She can't mean - but that was Oz! I remember it was -
Taz tapped a combination on the DVD remote, bringing up a date-time group Willow dearly cherished for its aftermath and longed to forget for the event itself: her brief coma. Cordelia and Xander were at her bedside, and video-Willow... Jeez, nobody told me I looked that bad!
{"Do you want some coffee?"} video-Cordelia asked her then-boyfriend.
{"I don't wanna leave,"} video-Xander said firmly. {"She might, uh...."}
{"I'll get it,"} she assured him. The Willow who was watching this a year later was a little taken aback at how... well, understanding an offer that was to come from the same Cordelia Chase who had tormented her for so long. I guess Xander really did bring out part of her I didn't get to see.
{"Thanks,"} video-Xander nodded. The cheerleader slipped out quietly, and Xander looked back to the bedridden video-Willow. After a moment, he leaned forward to take her hand and started speaking again, quietly but feelingly. {"Come on, Will. Look, you don't have a choice here. You gotta wake up. I need you, Will. I mean, how am I gonna pass trig, y'know? *chuckle* And who am I gonna call every night... and talk about everything we did all day? You're my best friend. You've always...."}
Overcome for a moment, video-Xander looked away, then back.
{"I love you."}
Watching-Willow went stark white in shock. It had been Xander?
On-screen, the battered Willow in the hospital-bed stirred and clasped at Xander's hand, and he leaned forward eagerly. {"Willow?"}
{"Oz?"} video-Willow whispered, her eyes still closed. {"Oz?"}
Even as Xander's face crumpled, {"I'm here,"} came from off-screen, and the 'camera' panned a little to reveal the part-time werewolf standing in the doorway.
"Oh, God," now-Willow breathed, her eyes wide as the image went still again. "And -"
"Again, 'he never said anything'," Taz nodded, cocking an eyebrow at the younger woman. "Doing so would have undermined your happiness with Oz. You've known him for more than a decade, yet it's funny how surprised you are by a pattern of behaviour I spotted in the first two weeks of knowing him."
Willow didn't respond, staring at the frozen image and trying to reconcile what she 'knew' with what she was seeing. Something about the way he'd - "When did Oz get there?" She knew that Xander had called him, and it looked like he'd arrived just as she spoke, but....
Taz blinked. "That's actually a damned good question." And why the hell has it never come up before? she wondered in aggravation, manipulating the controls. I'm supposed to be the one making the points here! A moment later, the scene was rewound to where Cordelia had left, with a time-synchronised inset view of the doorway, much like the one in the showing of the Buffy/Angelus duel.
Oz appeared in the inset view at the word 'choice', stopping in the doorway to listen to the whole rambling plea.
"Oz knew," Willow breathed, deep in the haze of shellshock but hot fury peeking through from behind it. "He knew and he never set me straight! He let me go on thinking that it was him and all the time he knew! Why -"
"Because he wanted you for himself," Taz said, her accent thickened by repressed fury even as she leaned back a little, seeming oddly tired. "Even if it meant your relationship was based partly on a misapprehension. Y'know, that's one of the things that always bugged me about you and him, Willow. Outwardly, Oz was the perfect high-school boyfriend for you, but there are two major problems with that popular theory: people are not perfect, and life is not high school."
After a moment, the Russian shook off her seeming bout of world-weariness and straightened again. "But as much as seeing that pisses me off, it's an issue for another time; we need to finish talking about Xander before we move on to Oz, don't you think?"
Still somewhere between shock and ire, Willow shot her companion a glare. "Do you ever give up?"
"I suffer from a minor genetic defect that renders me completely bullshit-intolerant... which makes it kind of pointless to try giving me the runaround. But I tell you what: we're going to watch one 'episode' out of this past year, the night your little lot fought off the Sisterhood of Jhe and slammed the door on the Hellmouth, and we can have the discussion group after. What do you say?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." Taz was back in 'ruthless determination' mode.
"Then I guess it's time for 'This is Your Life'."
"Very good."
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
Some eighty minutes later, with most of their 'errands' complete and their arrangements in place, Xander and Misha came back into the quasi-apartment to find Taz and Willow still sitting on the couch, talking in soft voices. "Ka-nock ka-nock - anybody home?" the Kiwi called ahead.
Both redheads looked up, and Xander's heart lurched at the wretched expression on Willow's face. She'd obviously been crying again, and the set of Taz's jaw suggested that she'd pressed her advantage rather than succumb to compassion... not that he was any too surprised. 'Achieve the objective, then take prisoners' was a tactical fundamental that that woman had learned before she mastered the English language... assuming it wasn't just a part of her genetic heritage, which was a distinct possibility. "Hey, you guys busy? Are we interrupting? We're interrupting," he drawled, far more lightly than he felt.
He blinked as he heard himself; he'd spoken those words before, but he couldn't place them. On the other hand, Taz could - he distinctly heard the klik behind her eyes - and being who she was, she took the ball and ran with it. "Hey, there. Willow, this is Misha... and that's Xander."
Still looking like she'd been put through the wringer - again - Willow somehow summoned a wan, bittersweet smile and spoke herself, putting a little more feeling on the words than they'd carried the first time around. "Oh, Xander and I go waaay back - we're old friends, we were very close. There was that period of estrangement where I think we were both growing as people... but now, here we are, like old times. I'm quite moved."
"Not quite like old times," Misha murmured significantly, then put in his own two cents. "Hey, uh, is it me, or is she turning into a bibbling idiot?"
"It can't be both?" Taz deadpanned.
"Don't make me spank you, cariad," her husband growled, half-seriously.
"What, in public? You're getting kinkier in your old age," she returned impishly, drawing blushes from all present.
Xander let out a helpless, indulgent laugh and crossed to Willow's side, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Mostly... I think," she said faintly. "Xander -"
"I know, Will. Not right now, okay? We'll talk when you've had a chance to calm down."
"How'd it go with Gregan?" Taz drawled.
"He was ready to shut us down completely," Misha noted sourly, heading into the kitchen for something to drink. "Good news is, Ron was having a word with him when we arrived, and Lenny said the wrong thing. We've got the Kill-House for as long as we need it, today and tomorrow, and Sadiq's boys are game to play 'Red Force' for us."
"'Ron'?" Willow asked quietly.
"Fort Quick's CO," Taz supplied.
"You call General Barrett by his first name?" the hacker goggled.
"Why wouldn't we?" the Russian frowned, honestly puzzled.
Willow's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out; after a moment, she gave up and subsided back against the couch, one hand over her eyes and shaking her head. "Never mind."
"You get used to it, Will," Xander smirked.
"Easy for you to say," she muttered, but there was no heat to it.
Leaving the two Sunnydalers be, Misha switched to Russian to sketch out the Wasp's findings. Taz almost bolted out of her seat, knowing that an SPG's presence could only mean serious trouble was in the offing, and likely sooner than later. When he was finished speaking, she posed her question into English for Xander's benefit. "So what do we do about him?"
"We can blow up that bridge when we come to it," Misha shrugged. "We've got issues that demand our attention rather more immediately."
"True enough," she conceded. "Well, Snoopy, Willow, shall we motorvate? With what we had to do to get the range-time, we don't want to squander it."
- * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
11:56, AUGUST 27, LIMA (19:56/27-08-99 ZULU)
CQB RANGE ("KILL-HOUSE")
FORT QUICK, SUNNYDALE
They'd done two run-throughs in the last hour, and Willow's ears were ringing a little from the blasts of the flash-bang grenades that the Kehua had been using; the range's observation room might be soundproofed and some twenty metres from the 'Kill House' itself to boot, but the AV system recording every room in the range was quite high-fidelity... perhaps a little too much so. Now, Xander, Misha and Taz were all sitting at the bank of monitors, watching the replay of their second rehearsal, and it wasn't hard to spot their frustration. "I-is it really that bad?"
"Yes and no," Misha said, rubbing the marks his voder/respirator had left on his jaw. "We know most of the really critical info-bits we need for something like this, and that takes care of most of the stuff we can plan for, but the real sticking points are the unpredictable elements - which is what we're trying to throw at ourselves, so we can try to anticipate 'em and adapt for 'em. The main wildcard is Buffy herself - we can't be sure how she's going to react, especially to the 'Sucker Punch' ploy. If she does something dumb and provokes them into premature action, then this could all come to pieces right then and there... and the way she, Snoopy and Colt would be exposed by that makes it unacceptable."
Unless someone keeps her under control, the hacker noted, her brow furrowing as she thought deeply. We need some way to make sure Buffy doesn't say something to make them kill her before it all happens, or worse yet make them run off and hide somewhere to try this whole thing all over again. We need.... "Uh... hey, guys? I've got a really, really bad idea."
"And what might that b-" Misha read her eyes and shook his head violently. "Oh, FUCK no, Willow! It's NOT gonna happen!"
"It's the only way to keep Buffy calm!" she declared earnestly.
"NO, Willow! Leaving aside the fact that we only just got you out of the line of fire, how the hell would we be supposed to get you in place? If you show up at Buffy's, they're going to know something's screwy and prick up their ears!"
She took a deep breath and met his gaze steadily. "Who said anything about going to Buffy?"
Taz took her meaning immediately, and her voice rose into an incredulous shout. "Have you lost your fucking MIND?"
"Probably," the younger woman said on a quavering laugh, but an odd kind of serenity was coming to her: the resignation of being committed to action. "But if you want to keep Buffy from doing something crazy, it's the only way. If I'm there, she's not going to do anything too risky unless she doesn't see any other choice."
Xander was staring at her in abject horror. "Will, if you're trying to be funny -"
"Strangely enough? Really not. But hey, already done something this dumb once before, right?" she chirped, remembering the encounter with her doppelgänger.
"Those guys didn't have automatic weapons, Will!"
"Neither did the good guys, that time," she pointed out dryly. "Besides, six of us, four of them? A lot better odds than ten-to-five like back then."
"Willow, we can't ask -" Misha began.
"- And you're not," she countered calmly... then met his eyes and added, with very deliberate emphasis, "I'm volunteering."
That silenced both foreigners for a long moment, and they traded a complex series of looks and expressions she recognised as the kind of non-verbal communication she'd once had with Xander, though she couldn't follow all of the subtleties.
Your words? Misha demanded, distinctly put out.
Yup. Oops? Taz winced.
Nice going. Now what?
She shrugged minutely. She's got a point. And having her there would buy us a few fractions on 'em....
Misha's eyes flickered sideways. Snoopy's gonna go apeshit if we go along with this.
Yeah, but he'll also be right there to get between her and the gunfire, she countered.
This is a bad move.
Yeah, it is... but she's got us, and with our own policy.
Doesn't make me like it.
D'you think I do? "How the hell are we supposed to get you into their hands?" she asked aloud.
"Well, umm, Colt, right? And th-the others still think those creeps from last night are out there, and that they've got Xander and me, right? How about -" She sketched out an idea.
Xander could hardly credit what he was hearing. "And what if they just kill you outright instead of going to the trouble of picking you up and holding you?" he demanded, a little shrilly.
"And mess up Opal's precious 'scenario'? They'd sooner tangle with a velociraptor," Misha noted bitterly. "No, it's out of the question - she'd be perfectly safe up until the actual H-hour, if only because they wouldn't dare ruin the fun for their boss."
"Guys, in case you hadn't noticed, Willow is not the best liar in the universe - she can't even con Buffy well!"
I wonder what it'd be worth to you for me not to tell her you said that? the hacker wondered dryly. I still owe you for what you did to my Barbie, y'know....
Not hearing the thought, Xander kept speaking. "D'you really think that she can carry off that kind of act? She'll be in a house full of highly-trained paranoids - someone is going to notice that she's too calm and wonder if she knows something they don't!"
"Another non-issue," Taz noted clinically. "They know she's a witch, remember? They were already planning to keep her blindfolded, gagged and bound until show-time, and they wouldn't change that now. Trust me, it's very, very easy to look completely terrified when you're that helpless - mainly because you're not acting."
Xander winced. He didn't know the full story behind the amount of feeling Taz had put on that, and he wasn't quite sure he ever wanted to. "Yeah, but -"
"Snoopy, hush, okay?" With a sigh, Taz turned to the younger woman. "Willow, you realise that you'd be putting yourself into the power of people who want to kill you, and who may well be willing to abuse you in any number of ways beforehand?"
"Yes."
"And that there's no way we can guarantee your safety while you're in their custody, or during the actual takedown?"
"Yes."
"And you still want to do this?"
With the dangers explicitly delineated like that, the hacker's bravado wavered a little... but it didn't fail. "It gives us all the best chance of destroying these people without any of us good guys getting hurt. The idea terrifies me... but I'm in."
Taz smiled faintly. Functioning despite your fear: the purest form of courage.... and she's doing this knowing she wouldn't have her magic to save her if things go pear-shaped between the pick-up and 'Sucker Punch'. She may be growing up after all. In all frankness, the argument had really been over as soon as Willow had said the word 'volunteer', and both foreigners knew it, but one had to observe the proprieties. "It's your choice: if you're crazy enough to want to do this, we're crazy enough to help you. C'mon, let's get inside and set you up as a 'Kenny'. If you're going to have a front-row seat at this little ballet, you'll need to know the steps."
"Ummm: 'Kenny'?" she asked faintly.
Misha snorted. "It's what Nga Kehua call hostages in our live-fire exercises. Y'ever see 'South Park'?"
Chapter End Notes:
Yes, I've completely discarded the canon explanation of the source of the Slayer's power (mainly for thematic reasons, but also because it was such elegant proof that Mutant Enemy's writing staff are all crack-addled dimwits). As much as I loved Robert Cox's excellent monologue on the subject, I've also declined to use that (sorry, Rob!). Even if I hadn't already invested too much in my alternate explanation, the PTBs outright drafting girls goes against everything I'm trying to say with this fic.
... and the series Ultraviolet gets its crossover time, after all: Father Pearse Harman, Vaughn Rice, Michael Colefield, and Doctor Angela March are all canon characters therefrom, though I've done a little embellishing on Rice's canon backstory for my own purposes. Jack Nolan is my own creation based thereupon; Ultraviolet's tactical types don't just appear out of nowhere, and his personal acquaintance with/knowledge of at least one of the players in this little drama would mean the command-types would seek his input, even at a 'final review' planning session so close to H-hour.