“I was the last one to see your soddin’ Slayer alive,” Spike reminded Travers in a low, controlled voice, his eyes downcast, not looking at the man who, at the moment, held his life in his hands. He couldn’t help being just the littlest bit scared – he would have been stupid not to be, under the circumstances – but there was no bloody way he was going to let Travers see that.
“Dust me – and you’ll *never* know where she is,” he pointed out, a boldness in his quiet voice that belied his current situation.
“You know, that thought might concern me,” Travers replied with a cold smile, standing up straight all at once, towering over the kneeling, helpless vampire, “if I thought that you had any intention at all of telling us the truth in the first place.”
Spike swallowed hard, his body tensing in dreadful anticipation, as the man swiftly moved his hand, pressing the gun against his chest, its aim flawlessly in line with his unbeating heart. He knew that there would be no convincing Travers now; the man was no longer fooled into thinking that he had anything left to gain from Spike’s continued existence, and he was determined to end his life – and then, no doubt, to go back after the Slayer’s family, witnesses to his crimes.
But Spike could feel the presence of his mate, very near – knew that she was very close by and getting closer, though he had heard no sound of his car’s engine, not the slightest footstep, to indicate her presence. He could, however, catch her scent, as she drew silently nearer to them.
*Buffy?* he reached out to her cautiously in his mind, hoping that she could hear him. *Can you hear me, love?*
*Loud and clear, Spike…you okay?* she replied immediately, without hesitation.
*Just bloody peachy, pet…* he replied, with no little sarcasm, though there was no anger or hostility in his tone. He was too relieved that she was there to even think about the strained, awkward state of their relationship at the moment. *Tell me that the reason I haven’t heard my car is that you thought ahead enough to park it a good distance away – not because it’s no longer in one piece and running…*
*Spike – have a *little* faith in me, ‘k?* Buffy’s voice was far too cheerful, under the circumstances; her words did not really make Spike feel much better about the state of his DeSoto, until she finally relented, reassuring him, *It’s parked a little ways back; Mom and Dawnie and Giles are waiting there so they don’t get hurt. We’ve been following you guys for a while, at a distance; whenever you parked, we passed you and doubled back with our lights off…you don’t think they saw us, do you?*
*No,* he assured her. *Don’t think they’ve got a bloody clue…I’ve kept ‘em pretty well distracted, pet.* He paused for an instant, before adding, almost reluctantly, *But – please hurry, love – they seem to be growing a bit bored…think we’re running out of time…*
*On my way, Honey – just hold on…*
A sudden, savage kick to his stomach drew Spike’s attention abruptly from his mate’s words, and to the men who were holding him captive.
Travers jabbed the gun harder against his chest, as he leaned in closer and demanded menacingly, “Answer me!”
“Could you repeat the bloody question, please?” Spike asked with sarcastic politeness, glaring up at the man in resentful defiance. “Got a bit bored and lost you there for a minute, mate…there’s only so much pompous posturing a bloke can take before he starts *wishing* for death.”
Travers punished the vampire’s insolence with another harsh blow across his face, before repeating in a cold, derisive voice, “For the last time, vampire – if you *really* wish for a quick and simple death – tell me where the Slayer is.”
“Oh, is *that* all you want?” Spike questioned, his eyes wide and innocent, as he glanced over Travers’ shoulder discreetly. Receiving the affirmation he needed, he shrugged slightly. “That’s an easy one, mate.” He nodded toward the spot where his eyes were focused, behind the man. “Right there.”
Travers whirled around, and his unobservant lackey looked up in surprise, to see the smiling Slayer step slowly out from behind his car, her arms crossed casually over her chest as she shrugged disarmingly in a “you got me” sort of gesture.
“Hey, guys,” she remarked calmly. “Is this a private beat down – or can anyone join in?”
“Miss Summers,” Travers stated unnecessarily, casting his assistant a dark look before turning his back completely on him and the chained, helpless vampire to face the infinitely more serious threat of the very angry Slayer.
The other Watcher had been facing the same direction from which the Slayer had come, and in Travers’ opinion, should have seen her coming and warned him; but apparently he had been too distracted by dealing with Spike to notice her.
Now, Travers turned to face Buffy, not giving the vampire a second thought for now; in comparison with the small but powerful girl he was facing, her very presence exuding power and danger and deadly rage – the bound, chipped blonde on his knees on the ground did not appear to be much of a concern.
“How good of you to finally join us,” Travers went on coldly, his gun carefully trained on the girl, who apparently carried no weapon of her own.
Buffy noticed that Travers did not seem terribly worried – not yet – though she could see the caution in his eyes as he read her expression. It probably had something to do with the murderous look in *her* eyes as she took in the scene before her, what the two men had been doing to her mate. Still – the head Watcher appeared calm and in control, not the least bit afraid of her.
After all – he was the one with the visible, aimed weapon.
Spike seemed to be the only one remembering what the Watchers did not seem to realize – she didn’t *need* a weapon.
Bloody hell – she *was* a soddin’ weapon!
“But I must admit,” Travers went on, “I can’t imagine why you’d want to join in on this ‘beat down’ as you so crudely put it. I was under the impression that this -- *creature* -- was a consort of yours.” The disgust in his voice was clear, as he spared the vampire behind him a venomous sneer, before returning his questioning, accusing gaze to Buffy’s face.
“Oh, he is,” she assured him with a grim smile, hardening at his words, and Spike could see the fury building in her eyes as she took in the condition he was in. “And so much more. See – that’s the thing. I wasn’t really thinking so much along the lines of beating *him* down…”
Travers visibly tensed as Buffy smoothly moved nearer to him, every movement smooth and predatory, and speaking of unbelievable power – all focused on his destruction.
“That’s far enough, Miss Summers,” he warned her, only a slight tremor in his voice as he straightened his arm, aiming directly for her heart. “These specially made bullets will kill you as easily as they’ll kill your vampire friend here.”
Spike let out an unconscious growl behind the man, at the threat to his mate, and against his will Travers jumped, turning halfway to face the vampire. The Watcher swore softly, furious at the reaction that the vampire, even chained and helpless on his knees, had managed to get out of him.
Spike saw it as well, and was determined to milk it for all it was worth. Every moment that Travers' attention was focused on him was a moment that Buffy could use to their advantage.
"Yeah -- just like the Slayer'll kill you and your friend here, as easy as squashing an annoying fly that just keeps getting in the way," he sneered. "Face it, mate -- you don't stand a chance against her!"
“Silence!” Travers snarled in tense anger and frustration, turning and raising his gun to strike the vampire across the face again.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The Slayer’s voice was pure, cold fury, and it gave the elder Watcher pause. He hesitated, turning to face her – and froze completely, when he saw the weapon she held in her hand, identical to his own. He paused, clearly considering, before his jaw set in determination – and his hand quickly shifted, taking aim once more at the vampire’s chest.
Though she did not lower her weapon, Buffy’s involuntary gasp brought a cruel smile to the man’s lips.
“Who do you believe to be the faster shot, Miss Summers?” Travers asked softly, looking her in the eyes with an unmistakable challenge in his own. “You or I? Shall we find out?”
Buffy quickly forced herself to recover, though her heart was pounding with fear for her mate. “I’m the Slayer. Preternatural strength, speed, and aim in combination with almost constant training – what do you think?” she asked with a bold smirk, not moving her own weapon, keeping it trained on Travers. “And don’t think I won’t shoot you to protect him – because I will.”
A quick hand gesture from Travers had his assistant’s gun trained carefully on the Slayer’s heart, though he made no move to pull the trigger – not yet.
“It’s a simple matter of physics and timing, Miss Summers,” Travers explained quietly, calmly. “There is no possible way that you can get off two shots before either of us can get off one. So – if you should decide to fire your weapon – either you or your vampire will die. Shoot my assistant here – and I will shoot the vampire before you can fire again. Shoot me – and my fellow Watcher will shoot you before you can stop him.”
“Or give up, surrender, give you my weapon – and watch you shoot us both,” Buffy finished for him, stating her third option, as she saw it. Despite the danger, her eyes were calm, though furious, as she straightened her arm, her eyes blazing into Travers’ with no trace of backing down.
“Personally – I pick door number two,” she informed him. “At least that way, even if you kill me, Spike lives -- and you die – and I've always wanted to see just how much this nifty Slayer healing stuff can do. There's a good chance I'd make it, too. The only one who's a sure loser in that case...is *you*, Travers.”
Travers’ eyes widened slightly at her words – her choice indeed making him the undeniable loser in the scenario -- and she could almost see him wondering if it could possibly be a bluff. Could this little slip of a girl, so young, so clearly driven by her emotions, possibly manage to take the life of a human being, to protect one of the very creatures that she was called to destroy?
Spike felt a sense of relief and certainty at the knowledge that when it came to his life and the lives of her family – she most certainly could.
A moment of intense, heavy silence fell over the small space of desert, the wind whistling around them, as no one dared to move. Travers did not remove the gun from Spike’s chest, and neither Buffy or the other Watcher relaxed their aim one bit – all four players locked in a silent stand off.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Spike caught a subtle, barely noticeable motion of Travers’ head in the direction of his assistant – followed by the slight shift in weight of the man behind him, his foot still pinning the vampire’s wrists to the ground.
It was precious little warning – but it was enough for Spike.
Instinctively, he knew that by some subtle order from Travers, the man was about to shoot Buffy, ending the tense standoff before the Slayer would actually think to pull the trigger. Unlike Travers and those who worked for him, she would not actually shoot unless she knew for a fact that she had no other option.
She didn’t know it yet – but she was in just such a situation now.
There was little that Spike could do to stop what was about to happen – but he was determined to do what he could.
He gathered all his strength and suddenly drew his arms up behind him, leaning forward sharply against the weapon in Travers’ hand, and pushing it off to the side slightly. The position he was in gave him little leverage to work with, but the sharp, unexpected upward movement of the handcuffs under the man’s foot was enough to throw him off balance, sending him stumbling backwards a couple of steps – and freeing Spike to snap the chains from his wrists in another quick, powerful movement.
With a loud blast, the bullet that had been intended for the Slayer soared off across the night sky – utterly harmless now.
The moment that Buffy saw what Spike had done, and what had been about to happen, she lunged forward, into the fray. There was no going back now – the fight had started – and she knew that any moment now Travers would re-aim his weapon and attempt to end her mate’s existence.
Sure enough, just as she reached him, Travers was aiming the weapon at the vampire, who was just rising to his feet. Buffy caught the older man’s wrist, jerking him around to face her, away from his intended target.
It was a pitifully mis-matched fight.
Travers never stood a chance.
Within moments Buffy had wrested the gun from his grasp, pocketing it quickly, freeing her hand to grip Travers’ lapels and slam him up against his own car, menace and fury blazing from her emerald eyes.
Spike grinned at the picture his girl made, all fury and power and danger – bloody intoxicating, she was…
Suddenly, his attention was drawn again by a movement off to his left, and he turned to look at the other Watcher. He had regained his footing, backing off from the scene a few yards, and was now taking aim at the Slayer once more.
There was no hesitation – not the briefest instant’s consideration of the possible consequences – as Spike lunged across the few short feet that separated him from the man, intent on stopping him before he could pull the trigger.
Only in the moment when his body hit that of the Watcher, hurling him to the ground and knocking the weapon from his grasp – in that brief instant before they both fell to the desert sand – did it cross Spike’s mind to wonder whether or not he would find himself in excruciating agony once the Watcher’s body made painful impact with the ground.
It didn’t matter. If it killed him – he would not let the man harm his mate.
*No time left to wonder, mate,* he told himself grimly. *In another bloody second – you’ll know.*
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