The Protectors
By Heather Martin
Rated – R
Summary- The monks gave Buffy and Spike one night of fake memories. That would have been enough to change their lives. But when you add a glowing key in the form of an unborn baby, well . . . things wouldn’t just change, they would be turned completely upside-down
Disclaimer- Joss Whedon owns Spike’s eyebrow scar, his bleached hair, his crystal blue eyes, his manly arms, his muscular chest, his tight . . . *cough* Too bad isn’t it? But a girl can dream, right?
Spoilers- Starts during Out of My Mind. The entire Season 5, although I changed it tremendously to suit my own purpose
First I want to thank everyone who sent reviews. Thanks for the warm praise.
Somebody asked about the timeline. They were confused about when Buffy and Spike slept together. It never happened. That was the fake memory the monks created. Buffy and Spike remember it happening whenever the monks did their ritual, which was two months ago. That time would have been sometime before season 5, in the summer.
Chapter 2
The vampire tossed Buffy into the ‘Keep Out’ sign. She grunted form the impact. She ducked, avoiding the fist that swung her way. Her foe was huge, resembling a biker, leather and all.
“I’ve always wanted to kill a slayer,” the vampire said.
Buffy guessed that that must not have been long. He couldn’t be older than a couple years turned.
“I’ve always wanted piano lessons. We don’t always get what we want,” Buffy informed. Actually, most of the time, she silently added.
She accompanied her words with a few blows. He retaliated with a large punch that sent her reeling.
“Uh,” she moaned, suddenly feeling sick.
The vampire charged. She knew that she had to keep it together. She whipped out a stake. Before the vamp could react she thrust it into his heart. He burst into a cloud of dust.
Buffy doubled over and clutched her stomach. She tucked her stake away.
“Hey!”
A man emerged. He held a flashlight and wore a night watchman uniform. Buffy turned her head away as his beam shone in her eyes.
“Miss, if you're looking for one of those rave parties, I'm afraid
you're late. Chased a bunch of kids out of here last night,” he told her.
Buffy straightened. “Oh. Right. Darn. My fellow ravers will be so disappointed.”
“If it were my decision I’d let you do whatever you want. It isn’t like anyone is using the place. But they just don’t pay me enough to argue with the boss.”
Buffy held up her hands in surrender. “Already gone.” She turned to leave.
“Oh, hey, hold it miss!”
Buffy spun back around. The man held out a yellow glowing ball.
“Take . . . whatever this is with you.”
Buffy took the orb. She gazed at it, perplexed.
“Glow balls, huh? I don’t get your generation. What is it with that thing?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer. That was when she leaned over and heaved up her dinner onto the grass.
* * *
“I’m worried about you, Buffy,” Joyce said.
Buffy was curled up on the couch. An afghan was wrapped around her, and Buffy clutched it to her chin. She hadn’t gotten sick in a very long time. She didn’t remember it being this unbearable. It felt like she might turn inside out.
“Mom, I just have the flue or something,” Buffy said.
Her mother reached out and felt her forehead. “You aren’t warm.”
“I’ll be fine by tomorrow. My slayer antibodies are kickin in as we speak.”
A sigh escaped Joyce. “I hope so, honey. You were just up and about, and now . . .”
A pang stabbed at Buffy’s chest. Riley’s death still felt raw. There must have been something she could have done. If only she had moved faster.
“I’ll be fine. All I need is some TLC.”
Her mother was a pro at the tender loving care. She fixed the slayer some chicken noodle soup and made her lay down. It actually was nice for a change. It had been a long while since Buffy had fallen into the cared for daughter role.
In the morning Buffy felt better. That was until lunch time. She had barely consumed half her burger when her stomach began to churn. She had to push her plate away and rush upstairs to the bathroom. She lay back down in bed. She tossed and turned, uncomfortable. The glowing ball on her nightstand caught her eye. She sat up.
Could that be the cause of her suffering? Her symptoms had showed up last night around that factory.
Buffy managed to make her way to the Magic Box. She stepped in to be greeted by a very frightening sight. Giles stood there in a very pointy sorcerer hat. She blinked at it. Giles’s smile faded. He quickly shrugged out of the costume, embarrassed.
She glanced around. The store was empty.
“When do you open?”
“Since nine this morning actually.” He glanced at his watch. “Still not to worry. No, I’ve got feelings about this place. Magic’s a small niche market but well, think about it. Sunnydale, monsters, supply and demand. They’ll be lining up around the block in no time.”
Buffy nodded. “Yeah. You’ll be making money hand over fist.” Her words hit her with puzzlement. She held her hand over her fist. “Which I guess is a good thing,”
Her former watcher watched her with concern. “You all right? You seem a little distracted.”
A sigh escaped her. She fell into a chair near the round table, which was located in the center of the shop.
“I’ve been a little sick. I have no idea what the deal is,” she told him.
“How sick? Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. I think it’s just a bug.” She paused. “Well, it might not be. I started feeling bad when I found this glowy ball thing.”
Just then Willow bounded inside. She grinned.
“Giles, where’s your hat and cloak!?” she exclaimed. “Oooo, nute eyes! Wow, Buffy, come look at this stuff!” Willow held up a jar filled with weird slimy things. Buffy looked away, feeling even more nauseous.
“Actually, I have a little Scooby-centric deal to deal with first,” Buffy said. “I found this glowing ball. I left it in my room because it might be dangerous. I’ve been throwing up right after contact with it. I don’t want it to affect any of you.”
Willow came over, interested. Giles furrowed his brow, deep in thought.
“Can you describe it?” Giles pressed.
“Well, it’s . . . shiny?”
He frowned. “Is that all?”
“Pretty much.” She made hand movements to indicate how big it was. “Yay large, kinda textured. I found it near an abandoned factory. I vote that I go back out tonight.”
“Are you sure? If you feel unwell . . .”
“Nah, I can’t just sit at home. If this ball is causing my sickness it must be stopped.”
“Don’t worry, Buffy, we’ll research,” Willow said, reassuringly.
Buffy stood up. “Thanks, Will, I appreciate it. I think I’m going to head back and report to Mom. She wasn’t too thrilled about me venturing out.”
With that Buffy left.
At home, Buffy took a nap. She felt lazy, since she was normally so active during the day. A couple hours later she was awakened by the phone ringing. She groaned and ignored it. There was a knock at her door.
“Buffy, Mr. Giles is on the phone. It sounds important,” her mother said.
Buffy got up to talk.
“Giles, did you find anything?”
“Sorry, not yet. I do have something useful, though. It was Anya who thought of it actually. It is a spell called tirer la couture.”
“Rotate many foodstuffs?” Buffy guessed.
“Pull the curtain back,” he corrected.
Well, she never claimed that language was her specialty.
“It will reveal any magical essences at work. Every spell has a trace signature,” Giles went on.
“Thank you, Giles.”
“I’ll have Willow send it over to you.”
A short while later Willow arrived with the spell book, along with the ingredients needed. Buffy locked her door and set up rather quickly. She lit incense and poured some colored sand around her counterclockwise into a circle. Then she sat cross-legged. She closed her eyes and fell into a trance.
Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. She paid attention to every puff of air. A pull made her open her eyes. The room was grainy and dream-like. She picked herself up and headed out. She slowly descended the stairs.
Joyce glanced up form near the front door. She slipped into her coat.
“Will you be all right if I go out for awhile?”
Dazed, Buffy nodded. She became transfixed by a photo on the wall.
“Are you sure you’re feeling better? You seem a little out of it . . . Buffy?”
Buffy looked over. “I’m fine. You go out. Have a good time.”
“You’re so grown up.” Joyce reached out and touched Buffy’s cheek. She smiled and then exited outside.
Buffy focused back on the family portrait. It kept flickering. One second it would show Joyce and her, another Spike, her, and . . . a baby! Buffy gripped the banister. She gave out and sunk to the step below.
* * *
She didn’t know how long she remained in her stupor. The world was back to normal. She kept checking the picture. It had stopped switching. Still, she couldn’t get over what she had seen. She knew she hadn’t imagined it.
The phone rang. Buffy went to answer it. She was glad that it was Giles. She could hear loud voices over the line.
“Buffy? I’m glad I caught you. I think we might have underestimated what we’re dealing with,” the shop keeper said.
She held the phone tighter. “Go on.”
“The orb is called the Dagon Sphere. Its history goes back centuries.”
“What’s it do?”
“It’s a protective device, made to ward off primordial evil.”
Buffy let out a breath. “So it isn’t making me sick?”
“I would think not. But whatever it is supposedly warding off could be.”
“Any word on what that might be?”
“Unfortunately no. All I could uncover was that it repelled that which cannot be named. Do be careful. Anything that cannot be named is either greatly worshipped or feared- maybe both. Have you completed your trance?”
Buffy took a quick peek at the photo. Her mother and she were displayed in a loving embrace. The Spike and her one, complete with offspring flashed in her mind. They had seemed very happy. How could that be? It was Spike!
“That’s the thing . . .” She hesitated. Could she really tell Giles that she had seen a family photo with ‘Spike’ of all people? Frankly she was ashamed and scared.
“Nothing, it didn’t work,” she quickly said. She smashed the phone back in its cradle.
* * *
The factory wasn’t so abandoned as everyone thought. Buffy was surprised to find one fashionably lacking woman. Well, by the way she was able to throw her into a cement wall she wasn’t any ordinary woman.
Buffy tried to fight back but the bitch grabbed her arms. The permed freak then proceeded to wrench them downward. Buffy let out a cry. She had to do something fast. She slammed back her head.
The woman seemed shocked. “You hit me! What are you, crazy?”
Buffy continued her assault. She hit and kicked in a frenzy.
“You can’t go around hitting and kicking people!”
Buffy ignored her. The woman grabbed hold of her and slammed her into the wall once again.
“I just noticed something,” the woman said. “You have super powers.” She picked Buffy up by the throat. “Can you fly?”
She was flung across the room. Buffy realized two things. One: she had to get out of there. Two: she had to save the really thrashed monk. Buffy’s eyes shifted to the glass window. The woman, or whatever she was, noticed what she was about to do. She was too late.
Buffy dragged the monk along with her. They crashed through the window and tumbled to the ground. She helped the monk up and they ran.
“Please, stop!” the monk pleaded.
“No, we have to keep going,” Buffy reasoned.
The monk’s legs gave out at the fence. He slumped against it.
“My journey is done I think.”
“Don’t get metaphory on me. We’re going.” She reached for him again but he pulled away.
He gazed up at her with large eyes. “You must . . . the key. You must protect the key.”
“Okay, the key. We’ll protect the key. Just far, far away from here.”
“Many will die if you don’t keep it safe.”
That caught her attention. “How? What is it?”
“A portal. It opens the door.”
“The dagon sphere?”
He shook his head. “No. For centuries the abomination found us. We had to hide the key, gave it form, molded it to flesh.” He paused. “And sent it to you.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. Things fell into place. Her hand automatically roamed to her stomach.
“You planted that thing ‘in’ me!”
“We knew the slayer would protect.”
“Whose is it? Is it Riley’s? Or . . . Spike’s?” she demanded.
The man smiled. “The vampire is strong. He will help protect.”
“That’s not an answer.” Her hands formed into fists.
“We built memories. Two warriors were united to form the vessel.”
“Unbuild them! This is my life!” Tears streamed down her face.
The monk fell into a coughing fit. She knew that he would soon fade away.
“It’s not my baby,” she whispered.
“She doesn’t know that,” the monk said.
She? Oh God!
“I didn’t ask for this. I don’t even know . . . what is it . . . she?”
Pleased, the monk said, “Human. Now human. And helpless. Please, she’s an innocent in this. She needs you.”
The monk’s eyes closed. He exhaled his last breath.
Buffy crumpled to the cold ground and sobbed.
_________________________________________
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