“Look, I – I wasn’t going to hurt them, Miss Summers,” Jenkins stumbled over his explanation in his haste to get it out before the Slayer decided to rip his limbs off, taking a couple of steps backward, in the same direction Joyce had moved. “I swear it! I was just…”
“Keeping an eye on them so that Travers could go make sure I was dead – and then kill my mate – and then *he* could come back and kill them?” Buffy finished for him, advancing a step of her own for every step he took backwards. Her voice was calm, casual, as she shrugged and shook her head dismissively. “Somehow – doesn’t make me any less inclined to beat you into an unrecognizable mess of mixed up body parts – and if you take another step toward my mother -- I will.”
The cold steel that crept into her voice on the end of her words was enough to make the Watcher freeze, although he had not really been consciously moving toward Joyce.
It just so happened that “toward Joyce” and “away from psychotic Slayer who wants me to die screaming” happened to be one and the same direction at the moment.
“I – I wasn’t…”
“Shut up.”
The Slayer’s cold command was immediately obeyed, as every conscious person in the room waited in silent anticipation, to see where Buffy would take the little standoff. It was all in her hands now.
“Mom – please come over here,” Buffy instructed, her voice softening as she addressed her mother.
Joyce was a bit caught off guard – and more that a little awed – by the authoritative tone her daughter’s voice had taken on, in spite of the “please” she had used, out of respect for her mother – but she immediately moved to do as Buffy had said, quickly moving past the man and out of his reach before he could even think of reaching for her.
Buffy smiled, her eyes never leaving Jenkins, as she stepped toward her sister and held out her hand expectantly.
Dawn immediately knew what she wanted – and was more than happy to give it to her.
She placed the gun in Buffy’s hand without hesitation. She was glad that she had taken it in the first place, proud of herself for her brave actions that had likely helped the situation to be taken in hand much more easily than it would have been had Jenkins been armed when Buffy entered the room – but she had to admit that she felt much better with the weapon *out* of her hands, and in her sister’s.
Buffy’s gaze shifted for a moment with concern to her own Watcher, stirring slightly, slowly returning to consciousness on the bed.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” she said to her mother and Dawn. “We’ve got to go after Spike – but we can’t leave Giles here. He’s hurt bad; anything could happen to him while we’re gone, not just Travers…”
Joyce immediately moved to the side of the bed, gently shaking the injured man by the shoulder in an attempt to hurry his rousing. He winced slightly, despite her gentle efforts, raising a shaky hand to cover hers and still its movements, as he opened bleary eyes to meet hers over a tight smile.
“I’m – quite conscious, Joyce – thank you,” he assured her in a raspy voice that nevertheless did not disguise his mild sarcasm, as he struggled, with her help, to sit up on the bed – his eyes widening when he saw his Slayer, standing at the foot of the bed, aiming the other Watcher’s own weapon at his chest.
“Buffy,” he said softly, the word barely a breath – and in it, she could hear the concern, the uncertainty he felt at seeing her standing there, armed and dangerous, with murderous rage in her eyes.
It was understandable, she knew. The last time he had seen her, she had been swiftly losing all semblance of control over her own body to the violent, malevolent Slayer demon that had been in her.
“Hey, Giles,” she said with a casual air that didn’t seem to fit the situation. “Yeah, I’m me – don’t tell me you weren’t wondering…” There was an ironic sort of humor in her eyes when she met his – and a bit of a guarded expression, that almost completely masked the tenderness and concern she could not help but feel for him.
Almost.
“I wasn’t going to attempt to,” he assured her with a bittersweet smile of affection. One look in her eyes, however, had put his fears to rest, reassuring her that this was indeed the same girl he had grown to love over the past few years.
“She’s herself again,” Joyce assured him. “I know it looks suspicious what with the gun and all – but that man…”
“Yes, Joyce, I remember very well what sort of a man he is – what he’s capable of – and have no problem whatsoever with Buffy’s current use of the gun -- *however* she might decide to use it,” Giles assured her, a grim, satisfied smile on his face as he regarded the younger Watcher, his eyes cold and dangerous.
Buffy smiled at his words, which only served to emphasize to her prisoner how truly dangerous she could be; her calm eyes focused on Jenkins as she went on with her instructions, “Mom, Dawnie – we have to go, now. Spike’s in danger. Help Giles to Spike’s car. Lock yourselves in. I’ll be down in a minute…”
“Buffy,” Joyce asked, concern in her voice. “What are you going to…”
“Please don’t ask,” Buffy cut her off softly, her gaze shifting to meet her mother’s firmly, reassuringly – though her tone and her words revealed nothing so reassuring to the man standing across the room, on the end of her gun. “Please just trust me.”
Joyce searched her daughter’s eyes for a moment, before nodding slowly in acceptance. Her daughter had to deal with things on a daily basis that she was just now beginning to understand even existed. She had to admit, as much as she longed to guide and protect her daughter – this was a situation that Buffy was better equipped to deal with than she could ever be.
“Okay,” she agreed simply, smiling with affection and trust at her oldest daughter, before moving to obey her request.
Once the room was emptied of all but her and the by now terrified Watcher, Buffy’s smile widened, cold and menacing, as she stepped nearer to him.
“Please,” he whimpered, drawing back further, jumping when his back hit the counter of the sink behind him, and there was no where else to go. “Please – don’t…”
“Oh, shut up,” Buffy snapped in disgust, unmoved by his fear. She had absolutely no sympathy for him, despite the helplessness of his situation. This was one of the men who had brutally beaten her Watcher, threatened her mate, and had had every intention of seeing her and her entire family dead before the night was ended.
Not on her life.
“Come on,” she ordered, gesturing with the gun for the man to move past her, toward the door. “And if you try to run – I *will* shoot you. Don’t necessarily want to – but I will,” she assured him with a calm in her voice that made him realize with a chill just how thoroughly she meant her words.
He obeyed her, walking ahead of her out the door, stopping as directed in front of the door a couple of doors down. His eyes widened when they entered the room, at the sight of the bloodied, torn sheets on the bed, and the chains still attached to it. His audible gulp drew Buffy’s attention to his reaction, and she rolled her eyes in irritation.
“Oh, please!” she sneered, keeping her eyes on the back of the man standing in front of her, as she reached behind her to close the door firmly. “Don’t flatter yourself! I wouldn’t touch you!”
Before Jenkins could turn around, or say a word, she swiftly brought the gun down across the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Buffy’s expression became grim, her smile fading, as she looked down at the still form on the floor with a sigh of resignation.
“Any more than I have to,” she muttered, reaching down to drag the unresponsive body toward the chains still attached to the bed.
Once the unconscious Watcher was securely bound and gagged, she went through his pockets, collecting a cell phone – who knew when Travers might try to get a hold of him? – and another weapon; before heading for the door, which locked automatically behind her.
As she passed the other room on her way to the stairs, she grimaced slightly, apologetically, murmuring, “Sorry,” to no one in particular at the sight of the destroyed door to the room. She would have to get her mother to pay for it later – and then pay back her mother…
She sighed, as she made her way down the stairs – her morose mood fading instantly into fear and anger at the sight of Spike’s car, the visible reminder of the perilous situation her mate was in at the moment, and the next step that she would have to take to get him out of it.
Spike was out there somewhere in the desert, alone with Travers and his men, leading them on a wild goose chase in search of nothing – and most likely unable to defend himself against them, when they inevitably discovered that they were being tricked.
The two of them had not been able to come up with a way of testing whether or not his chip was working, not yet. As her body was for all intents and purposes dead, until after he had left with Travers and his men, he could not try a test hit on her to see if the chip fired or not. He had suggested hitting some random person on their way back to the room – an idea that had not exactly thrilled Buffy, though she knew that it might be a necessity.
She had been both relieved and disappointed when they did not pass a single person on their way back from the desert to the motel room.
And at any rate, they had no idea how her presence in his body might have affected the chip’s power, anyway. Her humanity, inside him, might very well have caused it to deactivate – allowing him to strike a human while she was inside him – only to leave him defenseless against the Council again, once she returned to her own body.
So basically – Spike was going into this encounter with the Council blind, having no idea whether or not he would be able to defend himself, should the need arise.
They had decided that it would be best to act as if the chip was still working for as long as possible. If Spike *did* try to hit Travers or one of his men, and the chip activated, it would only result in his getting hurt or killed. The men would surely retaliate, and he would not be able to fight back. But if it came to it, and it was necessary to defend his life or the lives of his family – he would take the chance…
…and hope for the best.
“I’m beginning to think you’ve been leading us in circles, vampire,” Travers remarked coldly, from his seat beside Spike in the backseat of the car, the weapon that he had produced upon getting into the vehicle pressed sharply into the vampire’s side in a menacing gesture. “And I must say I’m losing my patience. Have you actually any idea whatsoever where we’re going?”
“Of course I do!” the blonde retorted, in an exaggeratedly offended voice. After a moment’s pause, he added, “Least – I *think* I do…shouldn’t be much farther now, mate, honest.”
The slight smirk playing about his lips, the wide-eyed innocence that he could not have pulled off in a million years, incensed the older man sitting beside him, who was increasingly suspicious by the moment that he was being had.
“If you’re lying to us, vampire…” he began in a very soft, deadly voice, a cold, barely restrained smile coming over his face.
“I’m not,” Spike assured him. Then he added with a little half shrug and a soft laugh, “Of course – a bloke could get lost right easy, out here, mate – nothing but sand – no land marks of any kind…not my fault if it all looks the same, now is it?”
He had been doing his best to stall them for some now, hoping to keep them busy so that Dawn could return Buffy to her body, and Buffy could recover enough to be back in good form to fight them – all while keeping the car he was in reasonably close to the motel.
He could feel Buffy through the bond of their mating claim, knew that she was feeling stronger, and better yet, that she was heading toward him by now – but he had to keep up the game just a little bit longer, keep the Council close enough that she could catch up to them in his car.
*Oh, please, love,* he thought suddenly, not sure if she could hear him or not over the distance, but desperately hoping that she could. *Please don’t hurt my baby…*
From the tales he had heard of the Slayer’s driving – he had the terrible feeling that he might not recognize his beloved DeSoto when he saw it again.
*If* he saw it again.
Travers frowned, poking him a bit harder with the gun, so that the vampire winced slightly. “I’m through playing games, vampire,” he insisted, warningly. “You told me you could take us to the Slayer’s body – and you will. Or you will beg to die. If you are leading us in the wrong direction…”
“I’m not,” Spike cut him off, his voice low and serious, as he looked straight ahead through the windshield at the lonely, deserted road ahead of them. Then a sly, mocking smile broke through the sober expression, as he added with a tiny shrug, and more than a little irritation in his voice, “most likely. And I *have* got a name, mate – it’s Spike – if you bloody wankers can’t seem to remember it, I could always remind you how I got it!”
The mockery in his voice was doing little to diffuse the situation – but Spike really did not care. He had had enough these past few days of sitting back and taking whatever bullying and violence was thrown his way. He might or might not be able to defend himself against these wankers – but he certainly did not have to silently accept their derision and degradation of him, treating him as nothing more than a thing to be used in whatever way he could be, and then discarded without a second thought.
He could feel the violent temper rising in the man beside him, before Travers exploded angrily, “That’s it! Stop this car!” he ordered the Watcher who was driving. “Stop it now!”
Spike tensed slightly, pulling against the chains at his wrists that the Watcher had put on him before getting into the car. He had thought about resisting then and there, aware that he would stand less of a chance of overcoming them bound, but knew that he could not – not when he had no idea yet if resistance would even do any good, and not when they were still so near to his family.
He could never endanger them like that.
So, he had submitted to the handcuffs that Travers had put on him, immediately testing his strength against them as soon as he was in the car. They were surprisingly strong, most likely designed to hold a vampire – but he thought that he probably could break them, if he had to.
Now, he prepared himself to act if necessary, as the car pulled over on the side of the road, and the driver got out to open the back passenger side door.
Spike still had no idea if he would actually be able to defend himself, or not – but it looked as if he was about to find out. Apparently, Travers had tired of his forgetfulness and uncertainty, that had led them over the same indistinguishable patch of desert several times now.
The game was quickly drawing to an end – and Spike would soon find out whether he would be the winner or the loser.
He was dragged roughly from the car by the driver, who was considerably larger and stronger than Travers, and thrown to the sand on his knees, unable to catch his balance with his hands bound behind his back. Instinctively he pulled against the sturdy handcuffs that bound him, which creaked in a promising way, but did not give – not yet.
“The Slayer’s not even dead – is she?” Travers demanded, cold fury in his quiet voice.
“Of course she is!” Spike insisted, flexing his wrists against the cuffs again behind his back.
He suddenly had to bite back a cry of pain as the driver, who had moved behind him without his notice, aimed a vicious kick that caught him both in his straining wrists, and the small of his back, causing his back to arch in pain. The man moved in closer, placing his foot on the metal between the two cuffs and holding it to the ground, effectively robbing Spike of the leverage he needed to break the handcuffs, and holding him in that same awkward, backward-bent position.
“We would have received a call by now, *Spike*,” Travers informed him, overly patient and patronizing in his use of his name, as Spike had requested. “Informing us of the calling of the new Slayer.” He moved forward, closer to him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back sharply, and the vampire could not help but wince at the painful contact.
He had had enough of that particular painful, demeaning gesture in the past few days, to last him a lifetime.
“Why should I believe that the Slayer is dead?” Travers demanded coldly, a deadly look in his eyes – and Spike knew that his time was about to run out.
Still – he had to try.
He glared defiantly up at the human that he would have torn apart in two seconds had he been free of the handcuffs and the chip, as he gave his simple, emphatic answer, ground out in a voice of derisive hatred.
“Because I’m…*not*…”
Travers smiled, with a slight nod of acknowledgement at Spike’s point. From what Giles had told him of the Slayer, while under the influence of the Slayer demon, there was no way that she would have allowed Spike to live, at the end of their fight, if she was still alive to do otherwise.
She had to be dead.
But the vampire was clearly not going to lead them to where she was; he had outlived his usefulness to the Council.
Without warning, Travers drew back the gun in his hand, simultaneously releasing his grip on Spike’s hair as he slammed the weapon down hard across his face, splitting his lip with the force of the blow. As Spike struggled to catch his breath, his eyes closed, his face turned slightly away, Travers crouched beside him, a cruel smile on his lips, as he amended what Spike had just said in a soft, menacing voice.
“*Yet*.”
Spike struggled to gather the thoughts that the splitting pain in his head had driven from him, struggled to focus enough to rally his strength and attempt again to break the chains that bound him, although now that the bully behind him knew that he was trying, he knew it was going to be more difficult than ever to do so.
Assuming that even breaking his bonds would do him any good, anyway.
One thing brought him hope – that tiny little prickling sensation in the back of his mind, the one that had told him that his mate was headed toward him, had been getting stronger every moment, even as Travers and his assistant had been beating and threatening him, and the moments ticked by toward the moment when they would take his life.
And Spike knew something that they could not possibly know.
Buffy was no longer on her way.
She was here.
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