It felt like some super shady shit looking up Maea in the books, something akin to stalking someone through social media so you could stare at their photos in order to collect information on them—of course unbeknownst to the social media owner. Not like she had much of a choice though. Maea was probably the most tight-lipped person she'd ever met, someone who often spoke so vaguely, it could be a conversation about fro-yo as easily as it could be about a combustible engine. She didn't have any choices. This was her only option. Not that she still didn't think of it as creepy as hell, she just wanted her position to be understood.
It also meant she was spending long hours in the library, poring over any and all information that she could find. Giles would be proud if he could see her. As for those who actually could—like her mother and father—it was a little disconcerting. To their knowledge, she was researching the magical tremors. So of course, it bothered them that she was getting so into it, seemingly obsessively, when in all honesty she was doing the Watcher equivalent of social media stalking. Did she mention it was creepy?
She felt the need to do it though, mostly because she still wasn't entirely sure that Maea wasn't a threat. She'd been in Bellevue for years now and she'd yet to be behind any major scheme, but then again, maybe she was head of the Seattle Mafia—it's not as if Beth would know anything about that (did Seattle even have a Mafia?). But she had to get all her chickens in a row before they hatched or whatever.
She closed another heavy tomb with a thunk, earning her a face full of dust for her efforts. Treat the books nicely, they said. She never thought the books could be so petty. Coughing, she threw the book to the floor (haha, take that book), on top of the steadily growing pile of what she was now dubbing "buggering useless books." Maeaonis, as it turned out, must really like her privacy. Despite her claim of having been present on this planet, since, dunno, the beginning of time, there was diddly squat on her. Or bumpkiss, as her aunt would say. And if she said it with a whine, she'd sound like her mom. It made sense, she supposed, since Maea said she had a flaming sword and they'd not been able to find hide nor hair of such a mythical weapon, except that is, in myth. But there wasn't even a name-drop randomly in a text about some strange deity who walked amongst the mere mortals. It was annoying. And also, a waste of her time.
"I see you've hidden yourself away again today amongst the tomes," Andrew said, coming into the room.
"It's only hiding if you don't announce to everyone that they can find you in the library," she pointed out lazily.
"Er, yeah, I guess. Buffy was able to answer the question 'Where's Beth' pretty easily," he consented. "Can I ask why?"
"What, you don't think I've suddenly turned into the star pupil, the slayer every Watcher wants, one who spends time learning about her enemies?" she asked with great emphasis. At Andrew's uneasy, but still skeptical look, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "I was doing a bit of light reading. I heard something in passing, and thought I'd look into it."
"Does it have anything to do with the tremors?" he asked, suddenly interested. He raced over to the table, throwing his briefcase down before opening it to dig through it voraciously. "Because Giles sent me som—"
"Nope," she said, popping the "p" and bringing him to screeching halt.
"Nope?" he repeated, hands in mid-search.
"Nuh-uh, that's just what everything thinks because no one's bothered to ask otherwise," she explained. She perked up though at the number of papers in Andrew's briefcase, leaning forward. "But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in what you've got."
With his sails deflated, he sank into the chair opposite her, not looking nearly as excited as he once had. "Most of it's the same as last: more theories with nothing concrete. I was hoping you had something that might point us in one direction. If not…"
"Then the only thing we've gained is answers choices f through m," she said with a sigh and Andrew nodded dejectedly. "I thought saving the world was supposed to be less frustrating than this. Why can't the bad guys ever just do something clear-cut? I'm tired of waiting around. I wanna hit something already."
There may have been a muttered "mini-Buffy," but she didn't care and she only turned back to her research. Another hour, another tome. Likely another dead-end.
"Is it alright if I know what it is you're looking for?" he asked. When she glanced up at him, he stuttered, sitting up straighter, and reiterated, "I mean, as you're Watcher, I should be privy to any side-projects you are involved in that deal with your slaying duties."
"Maeaonis," she told him and he blinked owlishly, having truly not expected her to answer him. "It's a name. A girl's name. Know anything about it?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment. It was likely for show, since he didn't store random facts of information that were unrelated to Star Wars like that. "Erm, no," he finally responded. "It sounds familiar though. I could reach back to HQ and see if they pull anything for you, but I wouldn't guarantee it. Not every demon's name gets recorded."
Beth refrained from telling him that Maea wasn't a demon, but a god, feeling like that would only create further problems. She'd even refrained from telling her parents, mostly because of their track record with gods. They hadn't left a pleasant taste in her mother's mouth, so she doubted Maea would. For now, until she could clear the air, she wanted to keep this to herself. Or, well, mostly to herself. She didn't care if Andrew knew. As long as her parents were still under the impression that she was researching the tremors, neither could intimidate Andrew into spilling the beans. And since her parents never cared to listen to really anything he said, he could go on and on about what Beth was researching and it'd go in one ear and out the other. Sometimes a very useful occurrence really. She'd tell her friends though. Judging on how Nadja went off about her father, she'd probably think this was really cool. Daniel likely wouldn't have an opinion beyond a head nod and an odd comment, while Zack would likely lose his cool like he did about everything Beth did. Silly Zack.
"Well, an effort's an effort and I'd really appreciate it," she told him. "These books here are giving a whole new meaning to 'bloody useless.' Had to go and redefine the term." She let out a long sigh before slumping back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the table. In her school uniform, she was the picture of an upper-middle class rebel. All she needed was a cigarette (she wondered if her dad still had a pack somewhere…).
He nodded, looking a little lost. "It seems like everything we need isn't in any book. When I decided to be a Watcher, I didn't think it would be this difficult. And dead-ended."
She raised a brow at his petulant tone. "Well, that's what you get for Watchering the girl who's also not in any book. Not a lot of half-vampires running around either."
"Can't we get something easy for once?" he complained, almost like he hadn't heard her (he had; he wasn't deaf. And he was sitting less than three feet away).
"Well, you know what they say about easy," she began, trailing off until her voice was barely a murmur. She had to share his disgruntled attitude though. If it weren't for piss-poor texts, maybe she wouldn't be having so much frustration. Any more of it, and she was going to pull a Hulk on the group and vamp out, go on a rampage. Now she knew how Bruce Banner felt and it sucked.
"We'll get it," he said after a long, silent moment. "We're the good guys. We always do. The Dark Side shan't prevail for long, young padawan."
She didn't eye roll too hard.
-.-
"I'm going to kill it," Nadja stated, glaring at the store display of pink and red, curly gold lettering spelling out the phrase, "For that Special Someone…"
"What, that special someone?" Beth asked, glancing up from the clothes rack to see Nadja's troubled expression. As in, she was going to make trouble if Beth didn't intervene soon.
Daniel strolled over to the display, eyeing the lingerie with a sort of look lacking the appreciation usually reserved for boys in occasions like this. He almost looked like a scientist observing a new species. "It's cheap material," he said after his finished his examination, rubbing the cloth between his thumb and forefingers. "It's only going to rip at the slightest of pulls."
Nadja rubbed her temples, letting out a frustrated groan. Beth grinned at Daniel, who still looked perturbed that the manufacturers would make such a flimsy piece of clothing. "I think that's the point, Daniel," she told him, trying (and failing) to hide the mirth in her voice.
He looked up at her, confused, not really understanding what she was implying. That wasn't unusual, but she wasn't going to spell it out for him. They were in a public place for goddesses sake and there was already a middle-aged sales lady eyeing them with some apprehension. "I still don't understand," he admitted.
"If you don't then I'm not going to explain it to you," she told him in a soft voice.
"That logically doesn't make any sense," he replied.
"I hate this holiday," Nadja griped. "It's all about flowers and chocolates—"
"I love chocolates," Beth interjected.
"I like flowers, especially calla lilies," Daniel told her.
"Aren't those flowers you have at funerals?" Beth asked.
"Off-topic," Nadja told them in a loud voice, earning them a glare from the sales lady. Hey, they were paying customers. Or, Beth would be once she found something to buy. "I'm voicing my frustrations about Valentine's Day and you're discussing flowers."
"Hey, floriography is a very cool way to send people messages," Beth told her. "Like I could send someone a 'fuck you' message in flowers. All I need are Geraniums, Meadowsweet, Fox—"
"Again, off-topic," she told her and Beth harrumphed, turning back to the racks.
"Is this because you lack a significant other?" Daniel asked, curious.
Nadja snorted. "No, I just think it's useless commercialism. And it gives people the excuse to ignore their significant other the other 364 days of the year."
"365 on leap years," Daniel added.
Nadja gave him a withering look before continuing on, "It's a pointless holiday. And to top it all off, it puts pressure on people who don't have someone to celebrate it with! There are many people out there who are happy being single and this holiday only makes them feel like they're something wrong with them for not wanting to have that 'special someone.' It's society that's wrong!"
"While I agree with you on the commercialism, don't you think you're looking a little too close about the other stuff?" Beth inquired.
There was a pause. "No," she finally said, in her most stubborn of stubborn tones.
"Is this because last year Scott Deidson tried to—"
"Argh, I told you never to bring that up again!" Nadja shouted, throwing her hands up. "Deidson, is Deadson to me."
"Nice."
"And he transferred out during the summer so he's the least of my concerns right now," she continued, but this time in a much calmer voice. "I'm allowed to hate Valentine's Day for reasons that aren't personally related to me."
Beth shot Daniel a look that told him just how much she bought into that. He just blinked in response.
"Well, it's only one day of the year so it'll be over before you know it," Beth soothed, pulling a jacket off the rack. "What do you think about this one?"
"It's great," Nadja responded quickly, not even looking. "And it's not just one day of the year. Like every other holiday, it has build-up. It's weeks spent on prep."
"I don't think Veteran's Day has any build-up," Daniel commented.
"What's Veteran's Day?" Beth asked.
"Important holidays," Nadja clarified. "No one cares about Veteran's Day."
"I bet the Veterans do," Beth pointed out and Nadja groaned. "Look, we both think you're making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is. Come next week, Valentine's Day will come and go and then you can fret about St. Patrick's Day all you want. Which, I personally think, is a much more ridiculous holiday. I don't even know why it's celebrated here."
"It's a celebration of one of the foremost important patron saints in Ireland, who died on that day" Daniel explained.
"Of course, you would know that," Nadja grumbled.
"My point still stands. As the history books tell me, the United States was founded by the British, not the Irish. Who cares about their saints?"
He thought for a moment. "People who wish to get drunk," he decided with a firm nod. "Like my uncle."
I don't mind St. Patrick's Day," Nadja informed them snappishly. "It's not as if it's as much of a problem as Valentine's Day. All I have to do is wear green or my Beebee will pinch me. Not that much of a problem."
"Isn't that odd?" Beth mused. "Pinching people. I wonder when that started."
"Actually—" Daniel started, before being physically cut off by Nadja, who threw a hand over his mouth.
"Maybe we should ban together and fight against the holiday," Beth suggested. "You know, fight the power—or the man. Or Big Business, or—what exactly is it that we'd be fighting?" It sounded like a fairly good idea to her; it would probably keep her from thinking about her own sad, little love life and the person she would most definitely not be spending it with (while furiously trying not to think about how he might be spending it with someone else).
"Social expectations," Nadja answered. "So what, we hole ourselves up and watch movies about people who break up and find happiness in their independence?"
Normally, a sentence like that would have sounded condescending (especially since Beth was pretty sure movies like that didn't exist), but with Nadja's tone of voice, she sounded borderline excited.
"Yes," Beth responded. "And with snacks."
"I imagine heart shaped cookies are out of the question," Daniel stated and Nadja shot him a "duh" look.
"Also the color pink," she added. "Would we be inviting along your new god-friend?"
Beth groaned. She almost regretted telling Nadja, who seemed almost fearful of being replaced. Which was such a silly notion, considering Maea and Nadja were in no ways similar at all. Even their snark had a different flare to it.
"I don't think Maea cares about Valentine's Day enough to even boycott it," Beth explained. "And she'd probably be able to tell you the origin on the holiday and we don't need that while we still have Daniel."
"I'm actually unfamiliar with the origin of Valentine's Day," he admitted, "though I do believe it might have something to do with a massacre."
"Great, My Bloody Valentine," Beth murmured.
"Ooh, we could go back to its roots then and watch a slasher flick," Nadja offered, an almost mad gleam in her eyes.
"You know, sometimes I miss Zack," Beth joked. "I feel like his presence sometimes contained you a little."
"You're just remembering me wrong," Nadja told her with a sympathetic smile. She patted Beth's shoulder comfortingly. "You've just taken too many hits to the head."
Beth let out a loud snort, pushing the clothes on the rack so hard, the metal hangars made a high-pitched shrieking noise against the bar. Boy, that old lady was going to have her scowl permanently etched onto her face.
-.-
It was Nadja's dreaded Thursday when Beth was awoken to the sound of repetitive thumping. She woke up in her bleary state, noticing that the sun wasn't even up. Hell, her alarm wouldn't go off for another several hours! The more cognizant she got though, the more she realized that the banging wasn't ceasing; instead, it kept up its steady pace, making the walls quake at its impact.
"They better not be doing what I think they're doing," she grumbled, tossing her blankets off her and standing up. She marched over to her door with a furious look adorning her face, throwing it open to peak into the hallway. The banging was indeed coming from her parent's room and she let a look of disgust overcome her features before the anger came back, full force. It was way too early to be getting up to that sort of hanky-panky, even for Valentine's Day!
Striding down the hallway, she was ready to give her parents a piece of her mind. She'd already been scarred from a young age, so this was nothing.
"Oi, it's too bloody early for this!" she shouted as she banged on the door. The thumping did not cease. Rapping her knuckles on the door again—this time even louder—she threatened, "Knock it off or I'm coming in with a bucket of icy water and I don't care what I see!"
She groaned when even her threat seemed to fall flat, the banging getting even more insistent as she spoke. She was just about to go get that bucket when she heard was sounded almost like snarling. Halting, she waited until she heard it again because there was no way someone snarled. And yet, there it was again! And scratching, like animalistic scratching.
Now having to rethink her original theory on the thumping, she brushed her hair away from her ear and leaned toward the door. Between the thumping, she could hear the scratching and snarling, along with some colorful curses that sounded like her father.
"Dad?" she asked hesitantly, thoughts running through her head. Did Angel somehow go feral? Was there a wild wolf in there? And where was her mother?
Carefully, she turned the handle of the door, opening it was a creak. She peaked into the room, the thumping growing louder. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary, though the bed looked like it had seen some things. The sheets and blanket were nearly torn off the mattress and pillows were scattered everywhere. Okay, so maybe her original thought wasn't so off-key.
Slowly, she eased into the room, quietly walking her way around the bed. The thumping seemed to be coming from the bathroom, and she steadily made her way toward that door, wishing she had a weapon. God only knew what was in there.
As she rounded the bedframe and the bathroom came into view, she could see her father braced up against the closet door, looking frazzled and in serious need of more clothes, only decked out in his underwear. Whatever was causing that thumping was inside the closet, banging against the door.
"Uh," she said and her father's head jerked up, not having heard her come into the room.
"'lo," he greeted, sounding strained. "Got a bit of a problem."
"So it appears," she replied, coming into the bathroom. Products littered the floor, like someone had gone and swept their arms over the bathroom counter, knocking everything to the ground. In a rather dramatic fashion, she supposed. "Um, what you got there?"
There was a grunt from him as the source of the noise banged against the door particularly hard, nearly causing him to lose his footing. He didn't though, putting even more effort into holding the door closed. "It's your mum," he finally bit out.
"Ho-kay," she replied, though that didn't make any sense. "And why did you put her in the closet?"
"She's gone—," another loud thump, "—mad!"
"Mad?" she repeated.
"Are you going to help or just stand there?" he asked, his voice going up an octave as he felt like he was on the edge of losing it.
She sighed, coming over and bracing herself against the door as well, using all her extra slayery power (and some vampire thrown in too, just because).
"Do you think you could maybe explain to me what happened?" she asked, looking over at her father.
"I don' know," he admitted. "One minute she was fine, then she was attacking me. I was able to drag her into the closet an' lock her in there. I called Andrew. He should be over with the tranquilizer soon enough."
"So she just went mental?" she asked. "Nothing proceeded it? Like at all? Just presto! Mum's crazy?"
"Something did," he admitted. "Well, third base of something."
"Okay, okay! Shut up!" she quickly told him. "Never mind, forget I asked." He chuckled. "Though, when Giles asks—and you know he's going to find out—you're going to have to explain the events that came before Mum went mad." His smile dropped off his face.
A few moments later there was commotion downstairs, followed by the thudding of someone running up the stairs.
"I'm here, I'm here!" Andrew announced breathlessly, running into the room holding the tranquilizer.
"Oh thank god, I think she was getting worse," Beth told him as her Watcher stumbled into the bathroom.
He took in the scene before him, before a growl from Spike kicked him into action. He fumbled with the tranquilizer gun before holding it up. "Well, I've never really used one of these before and they're not standard in Watcher training, but—"
"Oh, for the love of," Spike muttered with a shake of his head. "Beth, brace yourself."
"For what?" she cried. He needn't answer, as she soon figured out what he meant when he let go of the door and all of Buffy's angry strength was concentrated on her. Geesh, her mother was strong.
Spike snatched the gun from Andrew's hands, who eeped, before loading it and aiming it at the door. "Now Beth, when I say go, you let that door open an' I'll handle the rest."
"This sounds like a terrible idea," she told him and Andrew nodded in agreement.
"You got a better one?"
"Just say when."
"Alright. On the count of three. One…two…go!"
Beth flung herself away from the door as it crashed and splintered open, a raging, snarling Buffy flinging herself out and right at Spike. There was a shink from the gun and then Buffy tackled Spike, taking them both to the ground. There was a fair amount of yelling as she scratched at him, Beth scrabbling for the gun, sure her father had missed. But soon, Buffy seemed to slow before eventually slumping on top of Spike, whose face sported a lot of red scratch-marks.
Breathing heavily, he let out a shaky sigh. "Glad that's over."
"Um," Andrew began, looking toward the ceiling. Finally, in a whisper, he got out, "why is she naked?"
"Don't ask," Beth told him, taking particular interest in the abstract painting hanging above the toilet. "Regroup in the living room?"
"Yep," her father said, picking himself up off the floor.
"Cool," she replied, taking ahold of Andrew and dragging him out of the bathroom. He refused to take his eyes off the ceiling, tripping over a bottle of dry shampoo.
They took refuge on the couch, Spike joining them a few minutes later—this time fully dressed—after he had successfully chained his wife up in the basement. There were an odd couple of moments where words weren't exchanged, and the three sat around looking at one another in the dim light of the floor lamp.
Finally, it was Beth who spoke up first, "Glad to see you put some trousers on," she noted at her father, who grumbled in response.
"Erm, is anyone going to tell me what happened?" Andrew asked, looking the most lost out of the three. Of course, that's what he gets for coming to the party late.
"Mum went bonkers," Beth explained and her watcher huffed.
"I saw that!" he replied, throwing out his hands. "She was—she was animalistic! And look at what she did to your face!"
Spike sneered, rolling his eyes. "I don' care about my bloody face. I want to know why my own wife went mental!"
"I don't know nothin'," she told them, putting up her hands.
"What happened?" Andrew asked.
"We got back from patrol an' everythin' was normal," Spike began. "Nothin' weird about it, just the same old vampires and other ruddy demons. We go to bed and then we—"
Beth interrupted with a loud cough, making a big show of clearing her throat and thumping her chest. Spike glared at her before continuing on.
"Then we got up to things," he enunciated, throwing a look at his daughter who nodded her head in satisfaction. "Then right before, she started thrashin' an' bitin'. I eventually got her into the bathroom where I locked her in the closet. Then I called you an' Beth woke up."
"Was Buffy bitten or scratched by anything during patrol?" Andrew questioned.
Spike shook his head. "Not by anythin' she isn't normally."
"Hmm, I ought to get a blood test maybe. Where's Willow?"
"Esme's," Beth told him. "Should I call her, get her to come over, and work some of her mojo?"
He nodded. "She might as well bring Esme over too."
"You think this has somethin' to do with all those magic spikes?" Spike theorized.
"Hard to say," Andrew replied. "As it is, we only have one isolated ca—" The rest of his sentence was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone coming from the kitchen. Beth, who was already halfway there, paused.
"Well, go on an' get it," her father piped up, making her jolt into action again. When she reached the phone, she noticed that the caller ID read "Willow." Guess her aunt was either a mind reader or just had really good timing.
"Uh, hello Aunt Willow," Beth greeted when she picked up the phone. "What can I do for you this fine night—err incredibly early morning?"
"Willow?" Andrew hissed from the living room, looking over at Spike. Had she sensed their need of her? Felt a disturbance in the Force, perhaps?
"Oh good, you're awake," Willow sighed, sounding frazzled. "Can I talk to your mom?"
"Um, that's not something you can do right now," Beth told her hesitantly. "See, we're not allowed to unchain her or she might finish trying to scratch off Dad's face again."
There was a gasp. "Wait, are you saying Buffy went completely ballistic and starting attacking Spike?"
"It's almost like you were there."
"Because Esme suddenly just went bezerk and started attacking me! I incapacitated her with a quick spell, but when she comes to, she's going to be really angry!"
"Wait, it happened to you as well?" Beth demanded.
"Uh-huh. Esme and I noticed there had been another spike earlier last night and we were waiting to see what the results were. I think this might be related," Willow hypothesized.
"Depends," Beth said, shifting to lean against the counter, her expression void, "on what you and Esme were getting up to before she went nutters."
"Erm," Willow stammered. "We—were, uh, well—you know, this is a discussion better left to your mother. For when she's not crazy, that is."
"That's answer enough," Beth told her before calling out to the men in the other room. "It's a pandemic!"
"What's a pandemic?" Spike demanded, coming into the kitchen.
"Same thing happened to Aunt Willow," she explained. "Esme attacked her as well. I'm thinking this isn't a two-case thing."
"So it is because of the magical surges," Andrew decided. "So does this mean lots of people are attacking their significant others as we speak?"
"Only if they did the dirty beforehand," Beth told him, earning her a glare from her father and a squeak of disapproval from her aunt.
"Give me that," Spike bit out, taking the phone out of her hand and speaking rapidly to Willow.
"Do you know how problematic this is?" Beth asked her watcher. "Just how many people do you think are going to shag on Valentine's Day?"
The color just about drained out of Andrew's face. "It's going to be a bloody Valentine."
"Right, bye," Spike said into the phone before hanging up, gaining Beth's and Andrew's attention. "Willow's going to be here with Esme in a few short minutes. She's going to see if she can figure out what the buggerin' hell is wrong with our women."
Beth made a face. "You know, I don't think Mum would like it if she heard you calling her your woman. It's all…cave-man."
He shot her an exasperated look. "Is that all you have to say? Nothin' more important could come out of your mouth?"
"Feminism is very important for the modern-day woman," she declared and Andrew nodded vigorously. Her father looked unperturbed though, so she added, "I'll start with researching?"
He nodded and she let out a sigh, slouching toward the stairs. This was not was she intended to be doing at two in the morning, no siree.
-.-
It was with a pile of tomes and what Beth was sure qualified as a "shit ton" of coffee did the sunrise find them. Buffy had long since woken up and begun her manic struggling again, trying to free herself from her confines. Of course, those chains had held vampires and slayers; she wasn't much of a match for them, even in her frenzied vigor.
"Do you think it's random who goes around the bend?" Beth inquired. "Or is it like one or the other? You know, initiator versus initiatee?"
Willow made a face that expressed her discomfort. They could hear rhythmic thumps from Willow's bedroom/storage room (seeing as she spent most of her time at Esme's now) as Esme too fought against her restraints. They'd tried administering a sedative awhile back, but it wore off of Buffy too quickly and Willow was hesitant to drug her girlfriend. A Petricicus Totalus was totally fine though; medication was a no-no.
"Erm, I don't know," Willow finally said. "We've only got your dad and I as subjects and that's hardly what I'd call a sample size…"
Her aunt trailed off into her uncomfortable silence again and Beth rolled her eyes. Normally, she'd steer clear of this topic by about a gazillion miles, but right now, there was trouble. Big trouble. Trying-to-scratch-your-face-off trouble. And it wasn't even trouble aimed at one person. Beth had tried to interact with Psycho-Mom Buffy, thinking she was only interested in mauling her husband, but that turned out to not be true. In fact, she had the oozing scratch marks to prove it. But it was okay. She got pictures of the scratches for guilt-tripping (see, there was this jacket that had caught her attention…).
"Well," Spike announced, coming back into the house from the garage, "seems we're not the only ones experiencing a 'domestic disturbance.'"
"Domestic disturbance? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Willow joked.
"Heard 'em on the police scanner," he told them. "Police are runnin' themselves ragged trying to answer all the calls."
"You don't think they're going to shoot anyone, do you?" Willow asked worriedly.
He made a grim face. "I've been thinkin' 'bout all the people who don't have the skills you and I have to properly fight back." At that utterance, Willow's face went even paler.
"I didn't know you had a police scanner," Beth said, quickly changing the subject. "Or why. Why?"
"I worked for the police once, didn' I?" he asked, sitting down at the table.
"Yeah, but like eons ago," she replied.
"Any headway in terms of how to stop this?" he asked them.
Beth and Willow exchanged looks. "I found something about a curse a woman put on her husband after he cheated," Willow supplied. "So, when he and his mistress were up to no good, his, erm, thing turned into a—"
"I can imagine the rest," he cut in.
"But do you want to?" Beth asked, absolutely serious.
"Did you find anything better related to what's going on here?" he said.
"Um, no," Willow replied, dejected. "But Andrew's on the phone trying to get in contact with the Watcher's Council."
"He's on hold," Beth added.
"I have this very squicky feeling that this is going to go the way of the sickness," Willow explained. "I don't know if we can find a way to stop it. We might just have to…wait it out."
"People are dying," he stated without preamble.
She winced. "I know Spike. God, do I know. Had I been anyone else with Esme, I would be dead, okay? I know. But right now, we have nothing, just like we've had nothing at all with all of the other magical spikes and their aftermath before! Whoever is doing this—and I hate to say it, I really do—is better than us. Better than me! I can't solve everything Spike!"
"I'm not askin' you to solve everything," he shot back. "'M askin' you to solve this!"
"Whoa, hotheads, cool it!" Beth interrupted, coming to stand between the two. "I will break up this fight if I have to and we know how much of a mean right hook I've got. Now, we need to remain calm. You know why? Because about 50% of all the couples out there are going absolutely, murderously insane and boy are they going to feel bad about it in the morning. Now, listen to me: Maybe we can't solve this or maybe we can, but now I don't think it matters either way. People are getting hurt out there and we can stop it. I think it's time for action."
Spike looked at his daughter for a brief, hard moment before sighing, looking over at Willow. "She's right. We can leave the boy here to figure this mess out while we go out and restrain these people."
"We should," Willow agreed. "I've got the mojo and you've got the rope."
"And I've got a mean right hook!" Beth added, raising her fist. "Now, break!"
"You think you're going out there alone?" Spike asked. "Oh, you're not going anywhere alone."
"We need to cover more ground," she reminded him. "Hello, people dying?"
"She can handle herself, Spike," Willow reminded him. "She's on the road to surpass you in a few years, Mister I-Killed-Two-Slayers."
He glared, but realized he didn't have much room to argue. "Fine. Right, we split up, tackle as many people as we can."
"Literally," Beth interjected.
"And we warn everyone else," Willow added. "We don't need more cases popping up."
"Or maybe it's a compulsion," Beth suggested. "Like, an urge to get physical."
"Just go," he said, pushing her toward the back door. She only smirked at him, before grabbing the tranquilizer from its position leaning up against the wall.
"I call it!" she cried before darting out the door.
"Oi!"
-.-
Maea gripped the bat in her hand tightly, her fingers brushing up and down against the wood. She hadn't expected to get a call from Beth earlier that morning, much less one as rushed. Apparently, the world had gone crazy, over sex it seemed. Not an unusual occurrence to her. After all her years on Earth, she'd come to find that was driving factor behind many a crazy things. That, and power. Something told her this might be a little bit of both, even if one was not as obvious as the other. So now she was out and about, saving humans from their mindless, murderous loved ones.
She wondered how much therapy costed.
She wound up in the more demon-y part of Seattle, her trail having taken her in such a direction. Currently, they seemed a lot less troubled than the other areas and she wondered if the madness was only affecting humans. It had affected the slayer though and she didn't know what that meant.
Rounding the corner, she caught sight of two demons casually talking out in broad daylight. She frowned at the sight, as the demons—even the peaceful ones—tended to stick to the shadows. It probably had something to do with the lack of humans running around, seeing as most we either tearing at people or being torn at.
"Hey," she called out, approaching them.
Their heads jerked up, making their ears flop, and their eyes were drawn to her bat before they took a hesitant step back.
"We didn't do it!" one cried, throwing his hands up over his head.
"Yeah, we swear!" the other added. "We only came out to buy some smokes!"
"Never said either of you did it," she told them coolly, dropping the bat to her side to appear non-threatening. She'd only taken it as a precaution anyway; it was not liked she'd end up using it or anything. "I assume you're talking about what's going on."
The first one nodded vigorously. "We heard the humans are going crazy! Crazier than a Guff'nark demon!"
"And that's insane!" the other one tacked on.
"We're just happy it doesn't affect demons," the first one sighed. "We've been thinking of hightailing it out of here anyway, though."
"Why?" she inquired.
The two demons side-eyed one another and she raised her bat as a warning.
"Okay, geez, calm down," the first one said. "I was only hesitating because I didn't want to sound like a wimp! But it's just with all this attacking, and the snowstorm, and this screaming—"
"Screaming?" she interrupted.
The other demon nodded. "Yeah, we heard it last night. Woke us up out of a dead sleep. And we said, 'nope, that's it. This is the last straw. Seattle has really gone to the dogs.' And so now we're thinking of leaving."
"And—of course—then this happens!"
"What sort of screaming?" she asked.
"Like, a loud one?" the first one replied. When she shot him a glare, he added, "Pained. Whoever it was sounded in pain."
"And you don't think it was because of the attacks going on?"
The demons shrugged. "It didn't sound…human."
She thought for a moment. While the scream could be unrelated, she had the deepest feeling that it wasn't. There was something inside of her that was asking her not to ignore this. "And where were you when you heard this scream?"
"Industrial district," the first one replied quickly.
She nodded before walking away. "Thanks," she muttered over her shoulder. "And you should probably get back inside. The slayer's out and about and she won't take kindly to you two hanging around on the street corner."
Both demons blanched before tailing it out of there down an alleyway, banging into a couple of trashcans along the way.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, dialing Beth. It rung five times before the girl in question picked up.
"Hello?" she sounded out of breath.
"Handling everything on your side?" Maea inquired.
"Yes. Maybe. Did you know that Bellevue has quite the budding body builder's community? And that those muscles aren't just for show? They do things and they hurt."
"You took out a body builder?"
"Three, actually. They congregated in one place if that isn't weird at all. But I saved a shopkeeper, so that's good right?"
"I think I might have some information you want," Maea told her.
"Ooh, do tell. If it's about how we can end this early and I can take a nap, I'll buy you France in exchange."
"I don't want France," Maea replied, unable to keep the small smile off her face. "But it does have to do with what's going on. I ran into a couple of demons who said they heard some screaming before the attacks started. It came from the Industrial District."
"That's where my aunt said the spike occurred," she replied. "But why screaming?"
Maea shrugged. "I don't have a clue. They said it sounded like someone was in pain, and that it wasn't human."
"A sacrifice?"
"No, that would leave too many clues and would be too hard to clean up," Maea told her.
"So your theory that someone is trying to rip through dimensions…"
"Is looking better and better," Maea finished. "It's not easy doing that, especially if you don't have the right resources. It's likely whoever's doing it is in a lot of pain."
"Hmm, sounds like we might just finally have our much-needed break in the case," she decided. "Keep me posted Maea, and keep up the good work!"
Maea muttered a quick goodbye before hanging up, taking a turn down a road where she heard someone screaming for help. It'd been a long time since she'd been in the game and it was giving her a sort of uplifting feeling she hadn't felt in a long while. In fact, she hadn't thought herself capable of feeling it at all.