Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
As always a huge thank you to ObscureBookWyrm.
A/N: You know shit has gotten serious when your tertiary characters get a whole chapter to themselves.
The Dawning
Chapter Two
Graham signed the off-duty log, accompanied with a chin lift to the officer assigned to checking identification. In the distance, General Ellison issued a battery of never-ending facility shut-down orders in a rumbling voice that commanded respect and obedience.
Steeling himself against the urge to scream, Graham walked away. While lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling in his emergency barracks, Graham had sworn to never again blindly follow orders. A lifetime of training, first by his stoic father, then by his various sports coaches, and lastly his superiors in the Army, had honed his instincts to obey without question, but after witnessing the fuckery that was the Initiative, Graham knew that he could no longer go on as he had.
A man needed to know his own mind, not have it told to him.
It had taken nearly a week to sort the chaos left behind by the enemy incursion: separating demons from humans, identifying the dead, and collecting action reports from the survivors. Now it was time for sterilization procedures to begin. Computer drives needed to be backed up, and all hard copies of the research were to be collected, collated, and filed in boxes to be moved to a yet-unknown secure facility. All organics including tissue samples and specimens were to be destroyed.
Specimens.
Graham's guts twisted at the word.
Since the incursion, only half the CCTVs were functioning. Much of the facility was damaged, including the electronic surveillance system, making it easier to move around unnoticed inside the labs.
He headed towards the elevator bank, cutting left when he was out of recording view, and passing the emergency exit where he had led the demon woman to safety.
He had thought about her nonstop as he slogged through the emotionally numbing work of sorting the dead. He tried to retreat behind his soldier training as he laid his friends and coworkers out on white tarps along the walls of the main floor, where they waited to be examined by forensic teams before being sealed in black body bags for disposal. Their bodies would never be returned home. They would be listed as MIA, and their families would never know closure, because their mangled corpses would raise too many questions.
Instead of finding solace in emotional disconnect, Graham's thoughts returned again and again to the demoness. He worried about her safety, hoped she'd reunited with her children, and felt an odd pressure in his chest at the thought of her returning to a man.
Which lead him to thinking of Forrest and what he'd done to her. What Graham did to Forrest.
The memory evoked a powerful mixture of emotions. Anger, disgust, savage satisfaction at avenging and protecting his woman, only to be followed by sharp disappointment and loss at the knowledge that the possessiveness burning in his chest was fleeting and false.
There was also a deep sense of sadness that the man Forrest had once been was gone. His friend had been just as destroyed by the Initiative as the creatures they experimented on.
Then there was the fear, because Forrest was missing. Graham had searched for him, but never found his body, which meant the dangerous man was unaccounted for.
Which brought Graham back to his worry for the demon woman's safety.
The muscles across Graham's shoulders tensed and released when he slid the stolen key card into the reader. It flashed green with a click, and he slipped through the portal.
The arrival of General Ellison resulted in the tightening of security. All low ranking officers' security levels, including Graham's, had been reduced to green zones only. All, except the dead's.
Graham glanced at the name on the key card. He hadn't known Sgt. Nolan personally, but the coded yellow dot on the upper left corner of the card said that he was clear for all yellow zones and below. That included sublabs.
His booted footsteps were loud, ricocheting around the empty stairwell as he descended. The cement walls seemed colder down here, more colorless and gray. This is what Graham imagined purgatory must be like. A cold, timeless, and unforgiving place drifting above the burning fires of hell.
Graham doubted that anyone had been down here since the breach, beyond the necessity of ascertaining that the automated food and water dispensers still worked. No one entered sublabs unless specifically ordered. The cramped area was claustrophobic cluster of rooms that bled despair from the cold cement walls.
Sublabs were an afterthought that was never meant to see fruition. The only one who ever spent time down here was Dr. Walsh.
Currently, Dr. Walsh was listed as MIA. Her body had yet to be found in the carnage, but the lack of information in room 314 was disturbing. It was clear that the computer hard drives had been wiped, all specimens destroyed, and whatever had lain on top of the very large, ominous examination table in the center of the room was gone.
Graham had a creeping feeling that the woman was out there somewhere, plotting her next psychotic move. He just hoped he was transferred out before it happened.
He turned the corner and faced the only three cells in the sublab. One cell was empty, another held five small demon children, and the third held a single child. All the children in the middle cell went still, their large, terrified eyes focused on him, but the solitary child remained crouched in the corner of his cell, face hidden behind brown, leathery wings.
A burning sensation in his gut slowly crawled up his throat. He was a good soldier. A good man. He lived and breathed his country. He believed in America. Believed in everything she represented. Freedom, liberty and justice. For All. He couldn't leave these children here to be sanitized.
He couldn't.
Decision made, he strode towards the electronic lock. A shiver a terror ran through the children as they huddled by the back wall. Their terror froze him. He swallowed hard, wetting his suddenly dry mouth.
"I won't hurt you."
A young boy who stood protectively in front of the group snorted derisively. He looked to be about twelve and was the eldest of the children. If it weren't for the small protrusion of horns peeking out from an abundance of curly brown hair and the slight reddish tint to his eyes he would have passed for human.
Graham looked the boy in the eye, his square jaw set with seriousness. "I swear. I'm here to get you out."
"We ain't takin' no word of a sneak. You swivel-eyed gits think we're easy 'cause we ain't got our licks, but we're more sly than you think."
Graham grimaced. He had no idea what the boy just said, but he knew it was all for show. The kid was scared, and scared boys tended to be all swagger. The direct approach, he decided, would be best. He slid his key card along the reader harder than he needed to, waiting for the force field to disengage before taking a single step into the cell.
All the children gasped, huddling behind the boy. Graham felt sick.
"Listen up, kid. You have every right not to trust me. Fuck, I wouldn't trust me." The kids' scared eyes widened at the profanity, but Graham didn't falter. "I'm going to lead you out of here. Either you follow or you stay. But you should know. In about an hour another man wearing a uniform like mine will come down those stairs and the rifle he'll be carrying will be the last thing you see in this world."
Graham hated being so blunt, but the way he figured it, these children had long since matured beyond kid gloves while being imprisoned at the Initiative. God only fucking knew what Maggie Walsh had done to them while she had been alone down here.
The tile squeaked under his heel as he pivoted and strode out of the cell. He paused in front of the third cell, staring at the small demon inside. Whatever it was, it was scary as hell. Its desiccated, leathery skin was the color of deer jerky, and the sharp yellow spikes marching down its spine and sprouting along its arms and legs looked deadly. It was not a demon to be cuddled. Even by its parents. If it had parents.
Graham glanced at the restraining pole that hung on the wall. The hollow steel pole was threaded with a high-tension cord that looped at the tip.
"Don't." Graham looked down at the boy who stood at his elbow. "His kind are toughs. No brains, all blood. Uncork his cage and he'll crack us all." The other children stood at the mouth of their cell, still silently staring, not a whimper among them.
That disturbed him the most. The knowledge that they were beyond terrified tears.
"I can't leave him." Graham snatched the pole off the wall and disengaged the force field. The children instantly shot down the hall towards the exit.
"Wait!" Graham pivoted, taking a step towards them. Something hard slammed between his shoulder blades, knocking him forward. Balancing on the balls of his feet, Graham twisted his upper body, using the momentum to throw the weight over his shoulder and onto the ground.
One of the demon's arm spines slashed his cheek, leaving an acid burn in its wake. Graham ignored the pain and swung the pole around. The demon growled and tried to kip to its feet, but Graham looped the wire over its head and strung it tight. He held on while the demon struggled, applying just enough pressure to restrict the broodling's airflow.
The demon slumped, controlled, but not unconscious. Graham shrugged his shoulder against his cheek to wipe away the blood. He didn't dare take one of his hands away from the restraint pole. The small demon was acquiescent, but that could change at any moment.
Prodding him up the stairs, Graham was relieved to see the herd of children gathered at the door that exited into the corridor. They shifted far away so he could reach the card reader. Using the pole as leverage, Graham pushed the restrained demon against the wall, holding it there as he turned to address the other children.
"Approximately twenty yards to the left is a freight elevator that runs directly to the surface and into Breaker's Wood." He looked directly at the boy as he spoke. "We have to move quickly and quietly."
"Like mice, we are."
Behind him the other children nodded. Graham's eyes lingered on a green-haired girl who couldn't be more than three. The more afraid she became, the bluer her skin turned.
"It's going to be okay, sweetheart. I won't let anything happen to you."
She didn't respond, ducking behind another slightly taller girl who she held onto with a death grip.
Graham motioned to them to be quiet as he slid his card through the reader and wedged open the door to peek out. When he didn't see anyone he opened the door wider. Suddenly the pole jerked in his hand, the handle shoving hard into his chest. Graham's lower floating rib snapped under the blunt force. He fell back against the doorjamb, wheezing for breath.
The pole twisted, and Graham's numbed fingers couldn't maintain their hold. The demon darted out into the hall, yanking off the restraining pole as he fled in the wrong direction. Graham righted himself just as the demon disappeared around the corner. There was a cacophony of shouts, a god-awful inhumane screech, then a smattering of gunfire.
Graham stood transfixed. A tsunami of emotions ran over him. In a blink he was back in the moment when the Initiative was overrun-the shouts, the screams, the rattle of gunfire. Demons and men locked in combat fueled by bloodlust and panic. A cold sweat broke out all over his body, raising the fine hairs on his arms and nape. He leaned against the doorway, his jellied legs suddenly unable to support him. He tried to breathe and couldn't.
"Mister."
The eldest boy yanked on his sleeve, his red-brown eyes without a touch of sympathy.
"We got to scarper. We cain't let 'em cage us again."
Pushing down the panic and horror the memories flooded him with, Graham glanced down the corridor to make sure the coast was clear. Knowing the soldiers would be on them any minute, he led the children out into the hall towards the freight elevator.
Graham slid his card along the reader, calling the elevator. A tiny cry caught his attention. The little green-haired girl straggled behind, her tiny legs unable to keep up with the older children.
The sounds of battle died down, followed by the sharp bark of Ellison ordering the men to check on the sublabs.
He ran back, snatching the little girl up in his arms. The neon green of her frightened tears stained the pristine olive drab of his tee, and they were icy cold against his skin.
The elevator doors opened and he herded the children inside. In the car, he pressed against the wall, hiding his identity as his fellow soldiers rounded the corner. The doors closed on their angry shouts.
When they exited into Breaker's Woods, concern swamped Graham when he looked down at the young children. He couldn't just release them into the wild, but he had no idea where to take them either.
It mattered little at the moment; getting them away from the Initiative was of immediate importance.
"This way." As he led them into the woods he asked them if any of them knew how to get back to their homes. The solemn children shook their heads.
"I know a place," the boy said. "Me pater told me to go there if he never came home. I was on me way when you rotten sneaks caught me up." The last words were spat at Graham, followed by a hateful look in the boy's eye. The soldier accepted it as his due.
"Show me," Graham demanded, letting the boy lead him into the sewers.
They halted in front of a round metal door the length and width of the sewer tunnel.
"The password is Aliyah," the boy told him.
Graham banged his fist on the steel door. A small panel slid open, revealing gray, soulless eyes.
"Aliyah."
The panel snapped shut, and the large door angled open on a smooth, oiled pivot. Deep bass flooded into the sewer, along with the scents of cigarette smoke and floral perfume. Eden was scrawled in neon blue lighting along the wall.
A huge, gray-skinned demon with backswept horns and a nasty smile blocked the doorway. The demon's gray eyes scanned Graham, his face growing harder and colder as he took in the olive drab uniform he wore.
Graham regretted not securing a concealed weapon before signing the off-duty log. As well trained as he was, Graham knew he was no match for the demon staring him down.
The boy stepped up, addressing the huge demon without fear.
"Me pater told me to come here for sanctuary. Said the Boss would take care of me." The boy glanced at the other children. "Us," he reiterated.
The demon eyed the children, before returning his cold gaze to Graham.
"And him?"
The boy's brow clouded.
"He done broke us out."
The demon stepped aside, allowing them entrance, his expression still cold.
Graham wasn't a coward, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid. He slowly backed away, heading for the nearest sewer exit.
The demon's predatory grin ignited all of Graham's fighting instincts. He jumped to the side, but the demon was faster. A freight train of a fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him down hard onto the wet bricks. Fire bloomed in his cheek as the demon punched him again and again in the face.
"You got a lotta fuckin' balls comin' down here, soldier boy. I'm gonna love ripping your flesh from your bones."
The bloody word-picture followed Graham down the deep hole of darkness he spiraled into.
"Chantilly. He's one of those cock-sucking Initiative soldiers. Fucking bold as brass comin' down here into our world."
"He's not like them. He saved me. And those kids. Now you leave him be."
Graham clawed his way out of the dark hole he'd fallen into, following the voice of an angel towards the light.
It was her.
Chantilly.
He rolled her name around, caressing it from every angle. It was the kind of name that curled the tip of the tongue, rolling like a deep, licking kiss. He wanted to do just that, kiss her while curling his tongue around her name.
He turned his head, desperate for the sight of her. He saw just enough to know he was lying on a black leather couch in some sort of plush business office before his world up-ended, and he had to grit his teeth to keep the bile down.
"Go get the boss. He's coming around," the angel ordered.
Graham soldiered up, locking away the agony in his skull. After taking a few deep breaths, he tried to sit up, only to have a small hand push him back down.
"Don't get up yet."
There was no way he was going to remain on his back in enemy territory.
Taking another deep breath, he struggled to his feet, forcing her to step back. Once he knew he'd be able to stay upright without humiliating himself by sicking up all over his boots, he opened his eyes, immediately seeking her out.
She was whole and healthy looking. Her creamy skin glowed and her coral hair was clean and shiny. Although, the dark shadows beneath her lantern-blue eyes made him want to pull her close and shelter her.
She was also nearly naked.
His breath lodged in his throat as he stared at the pink-spangled crop top that pushed up her breasts until they nearly spilled out. He hadn't noticed before, but her cream skin naturally blushed a rosy hue in her deep cleavage, spreading over delicate collarbones that were outlined in gold dust.
He wondered if it did the same at the crease in her thighs, then immediately damned himself for the thought.
Her bare midriff revealed a gold dolphin leaping over a pink jewel dangling in the hollow of her belly button. Her hot-pink spandex miniskirt ended at the curve of her ass, leaving her long, creamy legs bared to feet that were shod in the tallest pair of pink rhinestone fuck-me heels he'd ever seen.
He told himself to stop staring.
Instead he inhaled the scent of tea roses.
Her hand dropped away, and he had to bite back a protest. Even in her six-inch stilettos, the top of her head only came to his nose. She'd be a perfect fit under his arm if he tugged her close.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice husky, discordant. Too world-weary. Too damaged. "Being a hero again?"
"No, ma'am." He vehemently disagreed with her assessment. If anything he was a coward. Only a coward followed orders they knew in their guts to be wrong. Only a coward turned a blind eye while innocent people were tortured and slaughtered.
"I'm no hero."
Her fey features blanked, her amazing lantern-blue eyes focused on the olive drab of his uniform.
"Yeah, I guess betraying your country makes you a traitor."
Graham's jaw hardened, and he tasted blood from his split lips.
"I didn't betray my country. The Initiative did. Rescuing you, those children. That's the only right thing I've done since being assigned to this mission."
"If not a traitor, then why not a hero?"
She still wouldn't look him in the eye, and an invisible noose tightened around Graham's chest, making it hard for him to draw a breath.
"If I was a hero, I wouldn't have played along like I did. I wouldn't have worried about my career instead of doing the right thing the first time I knew something was wrong."
He stepped closer to her, forcing her to tilt her head to look up at him.
"If I had done my duty to my country, to myself, I would have had the Initiative shut down long before they ever captured you."
Her pink tongue darted out to lick her shiny lower lip. Graham clenched his hands to stop himself from reaching for her.
"You could have done that? You had the power?"
It was his turn to look away, because he really didn't have that power. He was a lowly private with no idea how far up the ladder the Initiative plan went or how the top brass would have responded to a whistleblower. At worst, he would have ended up in Leavenworth or at the very least he would have been reassigned to Antarctica or some hellhole like Belize.
Cool fingertips brushed his creased brow. Helplessly, he leaned into her touch, feeling himself drowning in her bottomless eyes.
"I don't think you could have stopped it. I think that you did the best that you could in a very bad situation."
"That's no excuse. I didn't stop what happened to you."
"You saved me."
His eyes closed in agony. "Too little, too late," he whispered.
"What's this then?"
Graham jerked to attention, angling himself protectively in front of Chantilly.
He opened his mouth, but was shocked speechless.
Even disheveled, looking as if he hadn't slept in a week, and dressed in a perfectly tailored but rumpled Hugo Boss suit, Graham recognized Hostile Seventeen.
The vampire's eyes haunted the soldier's dreams. Twin blue fires burning with hate and anger, slowing turning into yellow, sulfuric flame without losing a lick of emotion.
The man proved the Initiative's rhetoric of subterrestrials being little better than animals false.
Vampires were cataloged as particularly clever mimics, able to imitate their prey long enough for them to feed. Unfeeling and merciless, they were predatory animals, nothing more.
But when Graham looked into Hostile Seventeen's eyes, he knew the rhetoric for the lie that it was. There was no way the man before him was unfeeling. No matter what spectrum it fell into, hate was an emotion, and the man displayed it towards the Initiative in spades.
"Private Graham Miller, US Army."
Graham didn't bother to offer his hand.
Hostile Seventeen looked him over with cool detachment, a corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. There was nothing threatening in his stance. A cut crystal tumbler dangled in one hand while the other was tucked in his loose pants pocket, but there was an aura of restrained violence that made all of Graham's soldiering instincts take point.
"Dekker was right. You've got some brass balls, boy." Ice clinked when the vampire raised his glass to take a drink.
"Mr. Spike." Chantilly tried to step around Graham to intercede, but the soldier blocked her way.
All amusement fled Spike's face as he straightened up from his leisurely slump against the doorjamb.
"Not very bright though," Spike murmured silkily.
Chantilly laid a small hand on Graham's bicep. It was all he could do to conceal his shiver.
"Mr. Spike would never hurt me."
Graham tore his gaze away from the vampire who was watching them very carefully to look down at his demoness. Her lips were curved upwards in a not-quite smile, but it was enough to make the hum of leashed violence vibrating his insides ease a fraction.
"This him then?" Spike asked.
Chantilly didn't answer, only nodded while still staring into Graham's eyes.
"Well, go on then. You've got customers waiting."
She drew away, biting her lip.
"Go on. I promise not to bruise the boy, but we've got business to discuss."
Graham watched her leave. Beyond the doorway he could see a stage with a half-naked, dancing girl.
"This is a strip club."
"Yep."
"And Chantilly works for you?"
"Got it in one. Maybe you are bright."
Graham ignored the man's sarcasm. "Dancing?"
Spike shrugged. "When she wants."
Graham seethed, his large hands fisting along his sides. He wanted nothing more than to slam his fists into the smug man's face repeatedly.
"She shouldn't…not after…" Graham locked his eyes on the vampire, his entire being vibrating with hostility. "You can't force her to do that."
Spike stepped into the room, slamming the door behind him. Gone was the jaded businessman. In his place was a predator, his presence swamping the room until it felt like Graham was choking on the gathering shadows.
"I don't force her to do anything. I'm not the Initiative."
Protectiveness made Graham brave. Chantilly was worth fighting any battle for. His bones ached where Dekker landed his blows, but it didn't stop Graham from drawing himself up taller to face down the dangerous demon swaggering towards him.
"She needs someone to take care of her."
They stood inches apart, neither willing to back down. "You'd better learn, boy. You don't 'take care' of women. They can care for themselves."
"I know that," Graham spat. "That doesn't mean she doesn't deserve someone to care for her. Pamper her. Fucking protect her."
Spike arched a dark, condescending brow.
"That goin' to be you?"
Graham raised his chin, refusing to answer. If Chantilly let him, he'd take care of her any way she wanted, and never ask a thing in return.
"Chantilly says you got her out during the rescue mission."
"Her being there wasn't right."
"Just her?"
Graham glared at the ground, his hands fisted in impotent frustration. "None of it was right," he ground out.
The vampire was silent.
Graham felt lost, rudderless. Completely without direction. His whole life had been spent following orders, and now he just wanted out. Wanted something more.
"I hear the Initiative is being shut down. Some bigwig from the Pentagon is cleaning house."
Graham eyed the vampire, uncertain of what he should say. Any information he shared with the enemy would be grounds for treason.
Yet at the same time, the man across from him held the key to the very thing he wanted. Graham had a feeling that if he didn't gain Spike's trust he would never see Chantilly again.
"They're beginning sanitization procedures. That's why I got the children out. They were going to be neutralized."
"Wankers," Spike hissed. He glared at the floor, his jaw flexing. "You took a pretty big risk, sneaking them out."
"It was the right thing to do. It doesn't begin to make up for everything I did wrong."
Spike crossed the room to the wet bar, pouring another brandy for himself and one for Graham.
Graham didn't hesitate to take the drink offered to him. He threw it back, hissing through the burn.
Graham cleared his throat, uncomfortable about what he wanted to ask, but was time to grow some hair on his balls.
"Are Ms. Summers and the child okay?"
The glass tumbler Graham held hit the white shag carpet with a dull thud when he smacked into the far wall. The solider kept his expression stoic as Spike held him there, the vampire's fangs centimeters from his face.
"You don't talk about my family, soldier boy. Ever."
"Understood." Graham replied as calmly as possible. The ache in his head began to throb again, and behind his stony façade his heart was racing. Despite his training, he was no match for a master vampire.
"What happened to them wasn't right. Nothing that happened there was right."
Graham couldn't get the image of Chantilly huddled naked on the floor out of his mind. A beautiful flower, left to shrivel and die.
Spike's vamp face faded, revealing his cool, distrustful human face.
Slowly the vampire backed away. He poured himself another drink, watching Graham with dark speculation. When Spike held up the heavy decanter, Graham swiped up his tumbler from the ground, cautiously crossing to the vampire for another drink.
"You want to help make it right?"
The silence was thick as Graham examined the vampire. The demon was calm again, but the violence was still there, just beneath the cool façade.
"How?"
Spike took another drink, visibly weighing his words. "You should know, solider boy, that I'll know if you lie to me."
Graham merely cocked a cool brow. Vampires had excellent senses. The man across from him could undoubtedly hear every frightened stutter of Graham's heart.
Spike set down his drink, aiming his eyes at Graham's pulse, while angling his ear to listen.
"My family's safety is very important to me. The existence of my child is…" Spike licked his lips. "I need all the evidence of her existence to be destroyed. The electronic files have already been erased, but there's bound to be physical evidence. If it falls into the wrong hands…My child doesn't deserve that. She's innocent."
It was the most that Graham had ever heard the vampire utter in one go. He knew exactly where he could find the research. Destroying it would be easy.
It suddenly occurred to Graham that the vampire needed him. Desperately.
"I can do that. Easily. But I want something from you in return."
The heavy crystal tumbler Spike held hit the glass top of the wet bar with a loud smack. "I thought you wanted to do the right thing?"
"Doing the right thing doesn't necessarily mean only doing something for you. I have another debt to pay. I want access to your club."
"I won't have you stalking Chantilly," Spike snarled.
"I'm not going to stalk her," Graham growled back. "I want to get to know her. Take care of her, if she'll let me."
"Nothing good comes of demons and humans mixin'."
"Nothing, except your child," Graham returned without a hint of smugness.
Spike watched him, considering his offer.
"That's all you want? I'm askin' you to commit treason. If you're caught you'll spend the rest of your days in Leavenworth or some such, and all you want is a chance to see her?"
Graham looked Spike square in the eye. "She's worth it."
Spike shook his head but there was an odd light in his eyes. Graham dared to believe it was respect.
"Fine. You do this and you'll be welcome here whenever you want. Beyond that, you're on your own."
Graham nodded. "I'll do it tonight."
"How can I know if you'll keep your word?"
"You can't. We'll just have to trust each other."
Spike snorted, and poured them another drink.
A/N: During WWII the Youth Aliyah program was responsible for smuggling more than 14,000 children out of Germany. They, along with many other similar groups, risked death to rescue men, women, and children from the atrocity of ethnic cleansing. To them I say... thank you.