Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 46
Dirty Girls—Part 5
Sunnydale, California-Sunnydale Mall
1:57 p.m.
Days Before The End Of Days: 15
From around the corner of a store several feet away from the mall, watching Buffy and Willow surveying the carnage…
...Amy Madison and Warren watched, hidden with a glamor spell Amy cast.
Admiring their massacre. Basking in their stolen goods they took from the mall. Glaring at their enemies.
"I could take them both out right here," a fleshless Warren said, aiming his deadly ray gun at the Slayer who humiliated him and the witch that killed and scarred him. He was clad in blue jeans and a rather obnoxious new "Star Wars" Chewbacca tee-shirt with shaggy, synthetic brown fur all over it that he stole from the "Hot Topic" store they torched.
Eyeing her boyfriend's tacky shirt with distaste, Amy made a mental note to burn that hideous thing the first chance she got.
"Down, boy," the powerful witch said with an eye roll as she harshly pushed the barrel of the weapon downwards. "That's not what The First wants. It told us to have fun. Make a lovely mess. But the real party's later on when she storms the lair."
"If she storms the lair," an impatient Warren snorted.
"Trust me. She will," Amy replied, assured.
Her patience did little to quell Warren's nerves. If it were up to me, I'd power up his death ray to max right now and charbroil that little redheaded witch bitch and her annoying pal Slutty the Vampire Layer. All in one shot. No fuss, all muss.
"What makes you so sure?" Warren groused.
"Shame on you, Warren. I thought you knew better." A knowing smirk crawled on Amy's lips. "You read all those comics, babe. You oughta know by now...the hero never can resist when the bad guys throw down the gauntlet."
As she watched the shock in Willow's face at the carnage and the simmering anger boiling in the eyes of Buffy as she watched EMTs stretcher out the wounded and the covered-up remains of the dead, Amy knew The Slayer had gotten the message.
The dark witch smiled sinisterly at her grotesque, disfigured boyfriend before she returned her gaze to her former Sunnydale High classmates. Who she hoped to see as corpses beneath her feet soon enough.
"Consider the gauntlet thrown."
"Buffy, wait!" Willow called out to her best friend, who was angrily stalking back towards the car.
But Buffy was not hearing it. She had seen enough of the mayhem. Enough of the bloodshed.
"That's the problem, Will. Right there. Waiting. Standing around and doing nothing." Buffy whirled around on the redhead, gesturing wildly to the mall, which was overrun by bystanders, police, firefighters and ambulances. A place of fun and shopping now turned into an active crime scene. A place of death and carnage. "This is what happens when we wait! If we acted faster on going after Jasmine instead of waiting, The First wouldn't have a body and The Keystone it needs to destroy all life as we know it. If we acted sooner, Angel's hotel would still be standing and not be a pile of rubble. And if we had gone after those sons of bitches last night like I wanted to, those people back there wouldn't be dead or dying."
The Slayer shook her head, a determined, weary and angry look in her green-hazel eyes. "No more. No more waiting. We move on them. Tonight."
"But what about...maybe we should call Angel," Willow suggested. "Maybe he can—"
"No!"
Willow found herself recoiling slightly at the angry way Buffy barked at her over the mention of his name. The brief flash of hurt and anger on the beautiful blonde's face at hearing his name.
"We don't need him," The Slayer said, looking away, scowling, but her voice a little quieter. I...don't need him...
As if she was trying to convince herself. Convince herself that she didn't need him. When the truth was, deep down in a part of her heart where Buffy Summers had been locked away, she knew that she did need him here. That she wanted him here. More than she could stand…
...But he's not here, The Slayer hissed back at Buffy from her place at the wheel, the truth making Buffy's broken heart ache in agony. He left you. He left you alone when you needed him most. And now, he's done it again. That's fine. You survived Hemery High without him. You made it through four years without him. You survived losing Mom and raising Dawn without him, even came back from DEATH without him, and here you are. You didn't need him then, and you don't need him now. We're the Slayer. All we have is me. And that's all we need...
Willow hesitated. She knew this was bad. The carnage, the mayhem. They were losing control of Sunnydale. With all this carnage, it might only be a matter of time before the town's resident demon populace took it as a sign to join in on this murder party. But still, something about this didn't feel right. Rushing into battle the last time without thinking it through cost Willow her powers. Cost them the Keystone. Nearly got all of them killed. All because she played right into The First's hands instead of stopping to think. Now Buffy was making the same mistake that Willow did. And she had to try and convince Buffy why it was a bad idea to revisit the same road again.
"I-I-I know this looks bad, Buffy—"
"Ya think?" an annoyed Buffy sarcastically replied.
"But, Buffy, maybe Giles is right. All these attacks so soon? And this Caleb guy coming out of nowhere? It feels like he's trying to lead you right where he wants you," Willow said, trying to reason with her best friend, who was becoming increasingly stubborn.
"Then he's going to find out that cornering me is the last thing he wants to do," a simmering Buffy replied, that determined look in her eyes shining brightly. "I'm the Slayer, Will. The First is not going to take my town without going through me. If The First and its new buddies want a fight…"
The Slayer glowered, the look of a warrior ready for battle in her eyes. "...I'll give them a fight. I'll give 'em one hell of a fight."
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Dining Room
2:02 p.m. - Afternoon
Days Before The End Of Days: 15
While Buffy and Willow responded to the mall disaster caused by Amy and Warren, the others were trying to find out anything about this mysterious Caleb that had called them out.
The dining room turned into a makeshift study, Giles, Wesley and Darla poured over books and computer records trying to find any mention of Caleb. Meanwhile, Kate had used the police contacts she had to see if they could find any leads on this homicidal so-called preacher.
But their efforts were for naught so far. Every stone they kept turning over yielded nothing. It was like this creep was a ghost. It didn't help that they had no last name which to track him down with, either.
"Damn it all," Giles said, slamming his hand down on the table in frustration. "We might as well be chasing leads to the Ark of the Covenant. At least that would be a productive use of our time."
Wesley, equally frustrated, scoffed in disgust as he turned away from the laptop. "I'd be hard pressed to disagree. If there's any trace of Caleb anywhere, he's not in the court system here in California. I'm cross-referencing with other databases nationwide, but nothing's turning up yet."
From behind Wesley, Darla placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll keep looking. We'll find him," the stunning blonde assured him softly.
Letting himself take a deep breath but still not looking up, Wesley reached up and gave her soft hand a gentle squeeze in thanks. The younger former Watcher was still brooding, but he found himself grateful for Darla's presence. He found her...soothing. Even more so since they...well...connected...in his bedroom several nights ago. Though they hadn't really talked about that since. There was too much happening.
"Bad news. My contacts haven't been able to turn up anything on this scumbag," Kate said as she hung up the phone. "I asked them to check everything they could. They even called in a few favors to the FBI. Nothing. It's like this guy never existed."
"Shannon Jones would have disagreed," Wesley said darkly, all of them aware of what Caleb did to that poor dead Potential.
Giles shook his head. "This isn't good. We won't be able to find out more about him in time before Buffy's attack tonight."
At that, Kate piped up. "That reminds me. I'll help out in any way I can here tonight, Mister Giles...but there's no way in hell I'm sending my kids out there tonight."
The three other White Hats stared at her, both Wesley and Darla mildly surprised. Giles, however, did not.
"I see," the older man said, rather neutrally.
"It's not that we don't want to help. We'll do whatever we have to do to protect the girls inside the house. But I agree with you and Wesley. This whole thing smells like a trap. If things go sideways, I don't want my kids anywhere near that. Sorry. But that's my call, and I'm sticking by it," Kate said, somewhat apologetic but crossing her arms firmly. She wasn't going to budge, and Giles could see that.
"I understand, Miss Lockley," Giles nodded sincerely. "Frankly, you might be right. The risks are too great. There wouldn't be any point in sending more innocent children to die in this fight."
"Sure...now you have a problem with letting kids die," a familiar female voice caught his attention along with everyone else in the room as they turned to the source…
...Dawn.
Leaning against the entrance to the room, arms crossed, scowling, an accusing gleam in her big blue eyes.
"Dawn," Giles breathed, a little surprised to see her here.
Her icy eyes didn't thaw even a little. "We need to talk."
After a few awkward moments, Darla got the hint. "Wesley, uh...why don't you help me start setting up the warding spells around the house?"
Wesley also got the hint. "Uh, yes, right...the spells."
Giles watched as the two (couple?) left the room without another word.
Kate also quickly sensed that she was intruding on a private moment. "I'll, uh, go and see if I can track any more leads on our mysterious not-so-holy man." Then she left, too.
Leaving Dawn and Giles alone.
Still mystified as to what Dawn wanted, Giles frowned. "Um...is everything alright?"
"No, but thanks for asking. Very considerate. Something I always like about you. At least I thought I did. When I thought you were. Y'know...considerate," Dawn said, her tone cool. "I just wanted you to know. This raid tonight? That Buffy's planning? Count me in. I'm going."
At that, Giles stiffened. "Absolutely not," he said sternly. "It's too dangerous."
At that, Dawn's eyes narrowed. "Couldn't be more dangerous than...oh, I don't know...telling Buffy that she should kill me to stop Glory from destroying the world."
Giles' face went slack. It was like he had been sucker-punched.
Dawn stared at him, accusingly, as if daring him to deny it. He did not. His wide eyes, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, were enough confirmation for Dawn.
At first, the British man found himself at a loss for words. "I...how did...where did you…?"
"The First showed me. Showed me a lot, actually," Dawn said. Plainly. Without shouting. Without tears. Without the rage and fury that Giles was half-way expecting. But her tone remained cold. Icy. A freezer-burn-type anger. "What I found more interesting, though, wasn't the man who I'd come to see as like a second father telling my sister that she should let me die to save the world." Her blue eyes were a winter's gale. "No, that award goes to my sister actually agreeing with you. That she'd let me die to save the world."
With no real way to deny anything, Giles removed his glasses, looking down with what Dawn might have guessed was some hint of shame and regret at what he had told Buffy to do. Then his gaze hardened a little, and he looked back at the angry, pretty young girl in front of him. A plainspoken honesty in them.
"You're right." He said that quietly. "I did say that to Buffy. I don't deny that. That wasn't a decision that I came to lightly. I hated it. And I hate myself for making it. More than you'll ever know. Because while you might not have reason anymore to believe it, Dawn, I do care for you." Off her loud scoff, Giles tried to press on. "But you must understand, Dawn—"
"Really? Must I?" she scowled, the back of her eyes stinging, but using a willpower that even she was surprised she could find to hold any kind of weepy emotion back.
"Dawn," he continued, his voice firm like his eyes were. "I'm a Watcher. My duty is to help The Slayer protect the world. That must always be my Number One priority. As much as it broke my heart to make that suggestion, I had to think about the lives of every other living creature on Earth, which is exactly what Glory would have destroyed had her plans with you come to fruition. Our choices in this life aren't always easy, Dawn. They're not pretty. But they're the ones that must be made for the greater good. I hope that one day you'll eventually understand that, and I don't expect you to now, but—"
"You think I don't understand how far I should be willing to go for the greater good?" she asked slowly, with a quiet edge. Her eyes still shining with so many emotions. "I understand, Giles."
She walked over to where she found a metal flower vase that her deadbeat father had once sent Buffy for her birthday. I always hated that thing, it's freakin' hideous, she thought to herself with some scorn.
Grabbing the vase and holding it with one hand, she turned and looked Giles straight in the eye. "Believe me...I understand better than you think."
And with one hand, using her new incredible super strength, she effortlessly crumpled and folded the hard metal vase in the middle, then used her other hand to fold it again, and again, until it was nothing more than a jagged, twisted ball of silver. Dawn bit back a smile at the look of astonishment, of mild horror, that washed over Giles's face, casually flipping the destroyed ornament towards him like one would a baseball. Giles fumbled the heirloom briefly in his hands before he steadied himself and caught it.
My God...how did she…? He stared at the crumpled metal in his hands. Then at Dawn. At both with the same incredulous, bug-eyed expression.
With an eerie calm, Dawn merely shrugged at her display of power. Kept her voice cool towards the man who suggested for her to die. A man she once trusted. "Been able to do that for about a week and change. Has something to do with my Key-ness. And if you want a full arsenal, I've also gotten pretty good at hand-to-hand combat, I have some form of super speed, though I'm still working out the kinks, I can shoot green light from my eyes and fingers that makes things explode, and I can apparently access other dimensions with my index finger." She shrugged again. "I kinda like that last one the best. Connor thinks it's cool, so…"
His eyes with a million questions, Giles stared at her in awe. "Dawn...when...how did this happen?"
Thinking back to Darla's role in it, and how grateful she was to the ex-vampiress for giving her these gifts, Dawn scowled at Giles as her posture became slightly more defensive. "Not important."
Straightening herself, her eyes held a steel that briefly reminded Giles of Buffy herself. "What is important is that I have power now. The First knows it, too. It tried to make me afraid of it. Doubt myself. It didn't work. If it's trying to stop me from using my power, that means it's afraid of me. That means I need to be out there. Not in here. I'm going tonight. So is Connor. That wasn't me asking permission. It's happening. And if you're thinking about stopping me? Word of advice…"
Her eyes shined ominously with an unspoken threat. "Don't."
With that, she turned and left the room, leaving a stunned Giles holding a crushed metal vase in his hands and a million questions in his head.
Sunnydale, California—Xander's Apartment
3:21 p.m.
As they were taking a break from arming the Potentials who were battle-ready, Xander and Cordelia stared at the TV in his living room. Watching the footage of the mall attack.
"Geez," Xander muttered in disbelief. The others had already phoned them about Amy and Warren likely being behind the attack.
Next to him, Cordelia shook her head, stunned at what she was watching. Wondering why the Powers didn't warn her about this. What the hell was the point of having these stupid visions if they couldn't prevent horrors like this?
"I thought I've seen bad here in Sunnyhell," Cordelia muttered, her eyes transfixed on the shots of the EMTs wheeling out another corpse covered in a white sheet into an ambulance. "But never anything like this."
The reports were coming in by the minute. 20 dead, 36 wounded. And both numbers were expected to climb.
"I knew Warren was a sick son of a bitch...but even I didn't think he'd go this far," Xander said in disgust.
"And Amy...who would've thought that girl had it in her?" Cordelia asked, as if trying to figure it out. Figure out where the girl she knew in high school went wrong to end up a killer.
"It's always the people you'd least suspect," Xander sighed.
Cordelia flashed back to those lost months when Jasmine and The Beastmaster had hijacked her body and turned her friends' lives and L.A. upside down while Team Angel had no clue to suspect their beloved friend was the snake in their midst. "Yeah...I guess it is," Cordelia said in a hushed, bitter tone.
As if he could see what she was thinking, Xander turned to her, a reassuring tone in his voice. "Hey," he said quietly. "C'mon, Cordy, don't…"
"I'm fine," Cordelia assured him, giving him a grateful smile at his tender concern. "Really. Thanks."
"We're gonna stop these guys, Cor. We will," he assured her with a sloppy half-smile. "Scout's honor."
She gave him a weary smile. "You never joined the Boy Scouts, doofus."
"Yeah, well, I just didn't want to have to sell all those cookies door-to-door. Not much of a salesman," Xander quipped in his Xander-esque way.
"Those are the Girl Scouts," Cordelia informed him, trying her hardest not to laugh.
"Okay, so I underestimated the power of a man in uniform. I was 10, what did I know?" he quipped with a joking smile.
Now Cordelia did laugh. She was still amazed that even after all this time, he could still bring a smile to her face with the threat of danger nearby.
"Knew I could get a laugh," Xander smiled, his voice quiet, but triumphant.
Cordelia gave him a thought-filled look. "I got you something."
"Really?" Xander asked, a surprised, but pleased smile on his face.
Grabbing his hand, Cordelia walked him into the kitchen. Opening the fridge and pulling out a small metal covered tray with a giant yellow stickie on it that read "Keep Off! Or Suffer the Consequences!" scribbled in red by Cordelia herself, Cordy beamed at him as she unveiled the tray's contents—a chocolate cupcake with thick frosting, birthday sprinkles and a candle on it.
"Happy birthday, Xander," Cordelia said sweetly as she flashed him a million dollar smile, topped off with that cute-sexy little wriggle of her perfect nose that always sent a thrill up Xander's spine.
Moved, Xander stared at amazement at the chocolate confectionary creation. In the rush of everything, nobody had remembered his birthday yesterday, which his hurt self-esteem registered and he bravely shrugged off. There were more important things going on than a birthday, Xander told himself...even though he admitted that it did hurt that his makeshift family had completely seemed to forget.
Until now.
Despite himself, a small lump formed in his throat. She remembered..."Cor...you didn't have to—"
"Oh, please," she waved off his protest as if it was no big deal. "You really think I'd forget your birthday? Think again, mister." She then looked apologetic. "I was trying to go for a big cake thing, but there wasn't a lot of time in between watching the Potentials. The cupcake was the best I could do."
"Ah, who needs cake? Cupcakes have been all the rage since Mrs. Benson's second-grade class," he said jokingly. But he looked at her with wonder and amazement. Even through her pain, even through everything she's dealing with, that we're all going through...she does this for me. Cordelia Chase, you are a goddess among women…
Smiling bright enough to make the lights on Broadway seem like dim bulbs, Cordelia put the cupcake down, reached into the drawer to grab a lighter, and lit the wick of the birthday candle. She held up her proudly-made cupcake to Xander's face.
"Make a wish," Cordelia beamed at him, a perfect smile greeting him from the brunette beauty queen.
For a moment, Xander flashed back to that dream he had the other night...with Cordelia wearing that sinfully tight, transparent nylon bodysuit, dancing for him in his dreams…
What the heck, stranger things have happened on the Hellmouth, he thought, and he blew out the candle with one strong huff of his breath.
Giving Cordelia the once-over, as if he actually expected her to transform into that sexy get-up by the power of his little birthday wish, he smirked. "Nope, didn't come true, you're not wearing it," he chuckled.
At that, Cordelia raised an eyebrow. "Say-what-now?"
Realizing his slip-up, Xander blushed. "Uhh...nothing." He smiled again. "So, arming the girls, right? Let's get back to—"
"No, no, I wanna talk about what you just said," Cordelia said, not willing to let him off the hook.
Realizing from the look in Cordelia's eyes that she wasn't going to let him off, Xander sighed. "Look, um...it's...nothing, it's just...this stupid thing the other night…"
"Go on," Cordelia nodded.
"...I...I had this dream," Xander said, mortified that he would have to spill these details. "...I was in my room, and...you came in...and you were all sad and nervous about the fight, and we were talking, and…" He blushed as he remembered it. "..and then there was music. From Sting. You know, that song he made with the sexy Arabic overtones—"
"'Desert Rose,'" Cordelia offered.
"Right," Xander nodded. "And then you were, um...well, you started to dance. Like, this really...hot…belly dancing routine...and when you took off your robe you were wearing this...sheer black bodystocking thing…" He scratched his head, cheeks flaming with humiliation as he imagined that Cordelia was probably going to slap him so hard he'd lose the taste in his tongue for about a month.
To his surprise...she wasn't slapping him. In fact, she took it in, her eyes seeming to register the description. Picture it. Maybe even...wait, is she blushing too?
She lowered her eyes, and before Xander knew it, her slender fingers were suddenly brushing at the buttons of his flannel shirt. The contact wasn't much, but to Xander, it felt like he had suddenly stuck his fingers in the electrical socket, as a jolt of electricity raced through him.
"And..so...how did this dream end?" she asked as she looked back up at him, her chocolate brown irises clouded with some emotion that Xander had seen right before they used to make out back in the day, voice dropping just a little and becoming just a tad bit...husky? Xander asked inwardly. Is it really husky?
He smiled, trying to keep his composure. "Well...uh...we were starting to...well, y'know…" He gave her that dopey-looking half-grin that she always found so damn cute for some reason, blushing again. Then he grimaced. "And then Rona woke me up telling me that I had to clean a double-clogged toilet."
Cordelia giggled softly at that, her laughter eliciting a similar quiet laugh from Xander.
Suddenly, the air seemed to heat up around them. A lot like it did back in the old days, when they could barely keep their hands off one another.
"Well, uh…" Cordelia said, softly, biting gently at her lower lip in a way that made Xander's toes curl. "It might take a quick stroll down to one of the lady's stores downtown...and I'd have to download the Sting song...but with a little time and if you play your cards right...if things go right tonight after the raid…"
She leaned in close, pressed a gentle hint of a kiss on Xander's ear, and all his motor functions just about stopped right there. Pulling back, she gave him a wink.
"Who knows? Maybe some birthday wishes can come true after all," Cordelia smiled at him, giving him a lingering look as she turned back to head into the living room to help the Potentials, her shapely hips swaying ever so femininely.
A dazed Xander's eyes never left her slender frame, her perfect ass, her lavender scent still lingering around his nose like a thousand little kisses. And inside, a part of him wanted to dance a happy Irish jig, and he wasn't even Irish. His thoughts filled only of Cordelia Chase...beautiful, sweet, sexy Cordelia…
Who knows? He thought with a sloppy grin as he held the birthday cupcake she made for him in his hand like it was a prize. It might have gone off to a slow start, but...something tells me this might be one belated birthday I'll never forget...
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Basement
5:21 p.m. - Afternoon
Spike couldn't keep his eyes off Faith as she moved around the basement, arming herself, checking weapons once, then twice then three times. A warrior making sure her tools of the trade were at the ready.
Clad in black jeans that hugged her sculpted thighs and ass, her favorite blue jean jacket and a tight red burgundy tank top that made her already amazing-looking breasts look spectacular, Faith moved like a lioness would, a feminine grace tinged with a wild savagery. All lean muscle and supple curves. Beautiful to watch, but the air of danger and ferocity underneath that was not to be mistaken.
For a moment, Spike couldn't help but to drift back in time. He remembered that Chinese Slayer he killed back at the turn of the century. Pretty young thing, trained to kill. But the weight of her calling had worn her down. He could sense it somehow. She was ready to die. Same with Nikki Wood. She was hot, powerful, deadly. And through all that, she managed to have a son. (Kind of a wanker, honestly, in Spike's view, but still, kudos to Nikki for trying to have something normal.)
And then there was Buffy...wow, was she ever different from the rest. Ever since she had high-kicked her way into his life, all shiny blonde hair and green eyes that screamed 'Take me now', he had been in wonder how different the little blonde was. How she broke all the rules a Slayer was supposed to follow. Having friends. Having a life. Having boyfriends and lovers. Doing it all her way.
But the same fierce independence that he had seen in Buffy, he saw in Faith, as well. She was at times just like him, a sarcastic quip at the ready on her full, pouty lips and a preference for working alone. But she had been learning. Making connections. Forming meaningful relationships. He knew that behind those seductive mocha orbs that had captivated him so, the tough girl routine was a shield to hide that there was really a bruised, scared girl underneath. Someone who had been through a rough life, had seen things, bad things, yet lived to tell the tale. Yet the woman in her, the hero that had been hiding there, would not let herself bow to that fear. She'd take life's best punches right on the chin, smile through blood-caked teeth, get up and dare it to try and knock her down.
Faith...whatever-her-last-name-is was really something else. Gotta make sure I finally get her to tell me her real name, Spike mused. He had been cajoling her, prodding her to give him her real name for a while, but every time, Faith would smile, shake her head and tell him not yet. He was getting closer...but not yet.
And at that moment, he didn't particularly know why, but Spike was feeling a little bit...bold.
As she surveyed her weapons one last time, checking the knives behind her back hidden in her jean jacket, one knife in her right boot and the stake in her left boot, Faith nodded.
"I'm all set," she said, as she was turning to Spike. "How're you lookin', Sp—mmrph?!"
Faith's sentence was cut off with the unexpected sensation of Spike's lips pressing against hers.
She was shocked for about three seconds.
Annoyed that he would impose himself on her like that for one second.
Every other second after that? She couldn't register as she sunk into his kiss.
She threw out all other thoughts and returned his kiss with just as much fervor. Just as much passion. The kiss became heated quickly, Faith allowing his probing tongue access into her hot mouth, melding her own with his. His hands roamed up and down her back, holding her close, generously tracing the muscles around her spine, her own hands reaching up and sliding her fingers into his frosted blonde hair. He was cold to the touch, she noticed, the only real heat between them being the warmth of her own body. But she found herself enjoying it. Enjoying the cool feel of his skin on her rapidly warming flesh. As he pressed her against a wall, their searing kiss unrelenting, Faith was starting to consider wrapping her legs around his waist and letting themselves fall into a sweaty mess of limbs and legs, taking each other about 20 different ways from Sunday…
...until he slowly broke their kiss, taking another nip of her plump bottom lip before he pressed his forehead against hers. Panting, Faith had to gather her breath as she closed her eyes for a moment, taking in his scent—of cologne, leather and aftershave—before her expressive chocolate irises met his searing blue orbs.
She smiled at him. "Not that I minded, but...what was that for?"
He brushed her long dark hair gently away from her face. A loving gesture that Faith hadn't really been accustomed to before. "No reason…" He gave her a ghost of a smile. "Just...felt like kissin' ya, is all."
Faith had no idea why, but she liked what he said. A lot.
"Easy, Blue Eyes. Battle first." She traced the outlines of his fine cheekbones with her finger, her voice a raspy, husky sound, her rich mocha eyes smoldering. "Play your cards right...then we'll revisit a post-game celebration later."
"Go team go," Spike drawled, holding her hand as she led him upstairs. "So luv...you ever gonna tell me your real name?"
Faith turned back at him and winked. "Patience, big boy...all good things come to those who wait, and all that."
The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth
The Same Time
Angel was already tired of waiting.
He had been walking for what felt like forever in the darkness of this secret chamber.
Eyes sharp and senses on alert as he took a look at his surroundings. He hadn't drawn the sword in his jacket yet. Best not to give away too much to whatever foes lay waiting in the dark. He needed some kind of element of surprise in this strange environment.
He kept walking until his sharp eyes caught sight of a bright light at the end of the corridor. Following the light, he eventually came upon the source...a round, colosseum-like pit. Like one of those built in the ancient times in Rome. Angel himself wasn't old enough to remember those days, but he had seen the pictures.
It somehow seemed like an apropos setting for his first trial in his quest for Hope's Dagger. The key to perhaps their survival, or so he was told.
"Welcome, vampire."
The call from the darkness hissed, and Angel's eyes darted upwards toward the shadows of the pit, then in front of him, then back. It seemed like the voice had come from everywhere. Damn acoustics, Angel thought ruefully.
"Who's there?" Angel called out, senses on alert.
"One that would see you fall like all the rest who dared think they could get past this stage," the voice called back, arrogant and accented in some kind of strong Eurasian accent that Angel had narrowed down to somewhere Mediterranean. "Only I will take great pleasure in seeing you fall more than most...Angelus."
A man emerged from the shadows in the opposite corner, watching him with interest.
Angel sized him up instantly. Tall and strong, dressed in a white button-down shirt and black pants—clothes crisp and new—the man was built to stand out. His dark hair seemed a bit wild, swept back from his face European-style, and his thin scruff of beard gave him a roguish air. Honestly, the whole smoldering, dark, broody look this stranger was sporting kinda reminded Angel of himself back in the old days around Europe.
No, he reminded himself. Not himself. The demon in him. Angelus.
"Who the hell are you?" Angel demanded.
"Malik," the man smirked. "Born more than eight hundred years ago in Turkey. For centuries, I served the Powers That Be."
A light switch clicked on in Angel's head. "You're saying you're a Champion?"
"In my lifetime, yes. One of their finest. Their best," Malik replied, in a condescending, arrogant tone. "I've seen men and women far greater than you enter here. Seeking Hope's Dagger. Greatest of all the weapons of Champions. Your fate will be no different from theirs...although I doubt even the infamous Scourge of Europe will last any longer than they did."
Angel remained nonplussed, unfazed by Malik's taunts.
"Oh, yes...I know who you are. What you've done," Malik smirked, taking a few paces out, walking along the edges of the pit, weaving in and out of the shadows. "I know how much blood is on your hands. Tell me, vampire...do you still dream pathetically that even with your list of misdeeds that you can truly be forgiven for what you've done? That you can be redeemed? That you can stop the endless cycle of violence you set in motion long ago?"
Angel glared at the man. The truth was, Angel didn't know. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, the sins of his past were never truly washed away. And sometimes, the ones he loved paid the price for his sins. Buffy. Connor. Cordelia. Maybe redemption wasn't in the cards for him. Maybe it was his fate to forever be defined by his past. But then again…
"Who would I be if I didn't try?" Angel replied, his voice tinged with honesty. A quiet strength. Silent steel.
Malik chuckled. Amused. "Determination. I almost respect that, Angelus."
"It's 'Angel'...Mal," Angel replied, icily and annoyed. "Now, are we gonna get to the fighting, or is this going to be a 'debate-to-the-death'?"
The man in the shadows smirked, as if he knew a secret that Angel didn't. "Time is of no consequence here. Time moves much faster in this place. And as for us...we may have time enough. If you survive my comrades."
At that, Angel frowned. "Comrades?"
At that, four other figures emerged from around Angel.
Two were dwarves, probably around no more than four feet tall. Stocky, barrel chested. Each bearded and armed, one with a large flail and the other with a massive mace. Another, a female, had long, flowing red hair, slender, sylph-like frame swaying to and fro, blue eyes thick with seduction, a whip tucked at her hip. The last one, a hulking Asian man, was "the Big Guy" of the group. Massive, imposing, standing at around seven feet tall and probably at least 500 pounds. Attached at his hips, a pair of silver daggers, intricately etched, ancient blades from their appearance.
As they circled him, Angel shifted his stance, watching carefully for the first sign of attack. They had the numbers and they had the terrain. The only thing he had going for him was making the first move. The element of surprise. He would have to press that for as long as he could and try to find a way to take these guys out one by one. Because he could sense they weren't pushovers. From the way Angel's preternatural senses were going berserk, he could tell they were much more powerful than what they appeared.
And they looked pretty powerful.
"Hey, Biers. I heard this guy's supposed to be Angelus. The Scourge of Europe. Doesn't look like much, though, does he? Can you believe this trash thinks he's worthy of the dagger? HA!" spat the dwarf with the ax.
"Nah, this guy can't be Angelus, Bors. I heard that Nancy Boy got himself whipped by some little blonde Slayer tart. Got soft," the other dwarf, Biers, snorted, eyeing Angel up and down in distaste.
Barely repressing a growl, Angel made it a mental note to make that little shrimp pay for that insult to Buffy later.
"I don't like 'im. He's too pretty," Biers growled, disdainfully. "Though I can fix that with a shot from my mace. Mash that pretty face of his like rotted potatoes. Whaddaya think, Simone?"
The deadly beauty with the whip—Simone, Angel assumed— gave Angel an appreciative glance, drinking in his form with her eyes. "I don't know...I always rather enjoyed the pretty ones. And they rarely have come in as pretty as this one."
She smirked at the handsome, brooding vampire. "And if he's good enough to bed a Slayer, of all things, then he must be a handful. Perhaps I'll keep you around as my pet in the afterlife, vampire. Wouldn't that be nice, Tai?"
The giant, Tai, said nothing, glaring balefully at Angel. Good. At least the big one doesn't ramble on like these other idiots, Angel thought in some relief.
"Right. Listen, fellas, I'm kinda on a schedule here," Angel tersely replied, his patience running low. "So if we can speed up your schoolyard crap and cut to the fight part..."
"Are you that eager to end your immortal life, Angelus?" Malik called from the shadows. "Many have fallen at the hands of these four alone, even without me. These are all former Champions of the Powers That Be. Deadly fighters in their own right. Together? A well-oiled killing machine. Now do you see how utterly hopeless you truly—"
POW!
With a well-timed, swift uppercut, Angel rocketed Biers, the dwarf who insulted Buffy, up off the ground and knocked him backwards several feet right on his back. And Angel wasn't going to lie...that felt really good.
The other fallen Champions eyed him in surprise.
"Like I said…" an impatient Angel glowered, drawing his sword from under his jacket. "Cut to the fight part. Was never much for the banter-monologuing crap."
Furious, the other three Champions descended on Angel, the determined dark-haired immortal's sword swinging head-on to meet their weapons.
Angel's Trial of Skill was officially on.
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Kitchen
7:48 p.m. - Nightfall
Days Before The End Of Days: 15
Battle preparations.
In the living room, Dawn, Cordelia, Xander, Oz and Anya were helping the Potentials check their weapons and put on protective gear as the girls were going through their moves. Alongside them, Gunn, Fred, Lindsey and Spike.
Andrew was . . . there also. He was definitely not allowed to be part of the attack, Buffy made that clear to the nerdling early on. His job was to stay at home, stay out of the way and make everyone a hot meal, keep the troops fed.
Xander wanted very badly for there to be a noble sort of Spartacus air to the proceedings, but truth was, it felt more like Helm's Deep.
But they won at Helm's Deep, he reminded himself. The Elves and the Walking Trees helped out. I'm sure we've got some Walking Trees around here somewhere.
"Now, remember," he instructed, using Cordelia as his demonstration aid, "we're looking for killing blows only, people, so chest and throat if there're vampires."
"Though it's most likely going to be the Bringers," Anya added helpfully. "On account of them seeming to show up every time when someone's trying to kill us. And you gals specifically," she told the Potentials, many of who started to pale a bit at that insensitive reminder.
"And ignoring Ms. Blunt Force Childhood Trauma over there…" Cordelia sniped, which earned her a glare from Anya that the Seer promptly ignored, she turned a helpful smile towards the Potentials. "Stomach, chest, and face if it's a Bringer. Hard, fast, then switch to the next one," Cordelia added, a few light practice swings in the air at Xander to show the newbies.
On edge and anxious, Rona asked, "What if it's a something else?"
Oz agreed. "Also possible. We've seen our share of 'something else' 'round these parts."
Xander nodded, remembering all those brushes with the beasties of a different variety on the Hellmouth. Like Ms. French, the hot bug lady teacher who wanted him for his body...and his head. "Could happen, something otherworldly, but there's an answer for that, too. Gunn?" Off that, he looked at his new buddy Gunn, whom he had kinda bonded with over the last few days.
"Nice assist," Gunn nodded, before turning back to the girls. "Here's a tip I picked up after battling my share of beasties and uglies on the streets: Don't waste your time with the tentacles. Just 'cause they're waving about all riled up trying to get attention don't make them important. Go for the center—brain, heart, eyes. Everything's got eyes."
"Except the Bringers," Dawn piped up.
"Except the Bringers," Xander conceded.
Molly looked unhappy, wincing a bit at the thought. "I don't want there to be tentacles. I'm not good with squishy."
"Forget the squishy, girl. Just go right for center mass," Spike replied, frankly. "Without a brain or a heart, tentacled blokes drop as dead as the ones without."
"Don't worry, Mol, I'm sure there won't be any tentacles," Vi said helpfully.
Kennedy squared her shoulders and declared, "I don't care if it's Godzilla, I want to get in this thing."
Andrew raised a hand. "Godzilla's mostly Tokyo based, so he's probably a no-show."
With a raised eyebrow and a hint of the contempt that Xander recalled seeing in her beautiful dark brown eyes around kids like Andrew back in Sunnydale High, Cordelia looked at Andrew the way that one would regard a fly. "Yeah. That's the only problem with that theory," the leggy brunette replied in a frosty, sarcastic tone.
Her tone and her mildly-irritated look made Andrew shrink back instinctively, and Xander had to stifle a laugh. He excused Cordy for that May Queen flashback. He knew that she understood the dangers that were facing them tonight in this mission and was taking this seriously. She had survived the worst that Sunnydale and L.A. could throw at her and she was still standing. Xander knew that was impressive; few people could survive what Cordelia Chase did. For that reason, he knew she had no patience to deal with a fanboy who was in over his head, had no tactical use and was frankly lucky to be alive thus far. Her exact words, Xander recalled with a repressed chuckle.
Besides, Cordelia had told him privately that Andrew was too twitchy. She couldn't stand twitchy. And that, frankly, was just fine with Xander.
"Besides, Matthew Broderick can kill Godzilla, so how tough can he be?" Amanda went on.
With controlled fury, Andrew appealed for support to his secret brother in geekdom. "Xanderrr…"
Normally, Xander would have preferred to do literally anything else than to side with Andrew on anything. The kid was just weird. Xander loved himself sci-fi, but he didn't fantasize and overly fetishize it the way Andrew did. He learned a long time ago that acting like Andrew was a surefire way to make sure there was no sex for Xander. And he had come to like sex.
But in this case, Xander would make an exception. One didn't just let someone think that the new Godzilla would hold a candle to the original. That just wasn't right.
So equally annoyed, Xander corrected the young Amanda. "Matthew Broderick never killed Godzilla. He killed a big dumb lizard that was not the real Godzilla."
"Right, right," Amanda jibed, "the big slow guy in the suit was cooler."
"I can't hear this," Andrew moaned, with all the passion of one who agreed with the poster on the Internet Movie Data Base who said, in effect, that the film-makers' contempt for Godzilla fans was obvious.
"She's young, bro," Xander reminded him. "She doesn't understand."
Lindsey looked around at this ridiculous conversation and had to resist the urge to facepalm. The fate of the world was relying on the geeks from the Comic Con Convention. "My God, we are so gonna die," he muttered quietly.
But not quietly enough to avoid Spike's preternatural hearing.
"Yeah, and some of us quicker than others if ya keep talkin' like that round the wee ones," Spike warned, his blue eyes dead serious. He didn't much fancy that kind of talk around the troops, even back when he was evil.
Rona shook her head as she looked up from her weaponry and her outfitry. "You people are even crazier than her."
"Than who?" Xander asked.
"Buffy, man! Taking us right into the bad guy's lair," Rona said, exasperated.
"Well," Xander began, "that's, generally speaking, where you find the bad guy. And I don't think you came here to fight plaque."
"No, I came here for protection," Rona informed him.
Xander began to bristle, arguing, "Well, you signed on to fight with—"
"I know! I know," Rona sighed, "but this plan is trouble. Buffy doesn't care how many of us she—"
Xander cut her dead. "Hey. Let me tell you something about Buffy. In fact . . ."
He gazed around the room ". . . everybody should listen to this."
"Uh...we kinda were," Kennedy flippantly replied.
Ignoring her, Xander went all in on what he had to say to the scared troops. "I've been through more battles with Buffy than you all can imagine. She's stopped anything that's ever come against her."
He was unaware that Buffy and Faith, coming back from one last stakeout of The First's hideout, came into the house, and were silently listening.
"She's laid down her life—literally—to protect the people around her. This girl died, two times, and she's still standing. "You're scared, that's smart. You got questions, you should ask." He looked at them all again, very serious, very clear. "But you doubt her motives, you think Buffy is about the kill, then you take the little bus to battle. I've seen her heart . . . this time not literally . . . and I'll tell you right now: she cares more about your lives than you will ever know. You have to trust her.
"She's earned it."
The room was pin-drop silent. But nobody had to speak. Their body language spoke all it needed to.
Andrew fought not to cry. Dawn beamed at Xander. Gunn gave him a nod of respect, impressed at his surprisingly inspiring speech. Fred gave him an inspired smile. Oz gave him a subtle nod, a huge sign of respect from the normally taciturn werewolf. Anya couldn't help but to gaze at him affectionately. Even Spike, who had never gotten along with Xander, quirked his eyebrows with a small nod, admitting silently that the ponce gave a pretty damn good speech just now.
And Cordelia? Her beautiful brown eyes shone brightly at him with admiration. Respect. Wonder. And a hint of lust. My God, when did he become this sexy? This amazing?
Listening silently to every word, an emotional Buffy was moved nearly to tears herself. For all the grief that Xander had taken as being the joker, the slacker, the only 'normal' guy in the group, this...this moment right here...reminded Buffy of why her longtime friend, the first person she had ever met at Sunnydale High, was such a vital part of their strange, but tight knit little family. He really did see everything.
"Well, damn! I had no idea you were that cool!" Faith said jovially.
Everyone was startled to see them.
"Well, you always were a little slow," Buffy pointed out.
"I get that now," Faith said contritely as she made her way next to Spike, both of their eyes locked in mutual affection. Normally, Buffy would have picked up on that. Had some kind of hard-to-place feelings about.
But Buffy's gaze was for Xander, and Xander alone. Her gratitude boundless.
Then she stepped into the room, and put her martial aspect back on.
"Just so we're clear. First wave has me, Spike, Gunn and Fred leading the way. Second wave will have Faith, Xander, Oz, Cordelia, Lindsey, Rondell and Kennedy at the helm. Stay sharp, stay alert and have each other's backs. The First wants this town? It's going to find out we're not giving it up without a fight."
Each of them looked at each other. This was it. The final curtain before Fight Night.
Buffy turned to Gunn. "How's Rondell? His crew ready to move on the second wave?"
Gunn nodded. "He'll be here. Giles is helping them arm up at his place."
"All right, people," The Slayer said, her eyes brimming with courage. "Let's saddle up."
As the troops began to march out into battle, none seemed to notice Dawn quietly slip upstairs to her room.
Where Connor and Amanda were waiting for her. Connor armed and ready, while Amanda was not. Amanda was deemed too new and inexperienced by Buffy to take part in tonight's raid.
"You sure you wanna do this?" Connor asked her, wanting to make sure. He hated the idea of her being in any danger, but when she had explained her feelings, why she needed to do this, he got it. He knew what it was like to try to prove yourself in the shadow of a family member with a larger-than-life presence.
Dawn took a moment, as if silently checking with herself if this was the right course of action for her to take.
Finally, she nodded. "Yeah. We're doing this. Our friends need us. And I was never much of a cheerleader. I'm done being Sidelines Gal."
"Are-are you sure you can't just stay?" Amanda asked, fretfully, worried about her new friends. "I mean, we could use the help to keep the house safe."
Dawn smiled at Amanda, but shook her head. Her blue eyes set with determination. "Sorry, Amanda. But this is something I have to do."
Still not liking it, but willing to respect her wishes, Connor handed her a sword. "Remember. Keep close to me at all times."
"Sure," Dawn smirked, pulling him in for a quick kiss on the lips before she opened the window to make their escape. "Somebody's gotta watch your back."
As both Amanda and Connor watched her lithe frame slide out the window before he followed her out, Amanda watched her fretfully, calling out to Dawn to be careful.
And Connor?
Shaking his head, the taste of Dawn's candy lips still lingering on his mouth, Connor could only smile. She really is something else...
Little did he know, that would be the last happy memory anyone would have of that night.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT:
Caleb.
He's waiting.
Waiting to take Buffy where she has never gone before...
Away.
The mayhem begins as the White Hats clash with the First's forces. Pain, blood and shocking revelations await...and not everyone will leave...or leave the same...
A/N: The Champions that are fighting Angel are inspired by the Buffy novel "Dark Congress", by Christopher Golden. Check it out!
More to come soon! Stay safe, read, comment and follow!
Best,
Jean-The Guardian
