Chapter
6.07
Wednesday, May 15th, 2002
"Spike!" With barely half a second
to spare before the first bolt should have hit, Buffy shouted a
warning. As clearly as he could see Wesley sitting on his hog in
front of him, taking off his helmet, Spike could see the three
arrows converging on his heart from behind. He didn't question
how he knew this, or that it was really happening.
Battening down the instinct that told him to
dive for cover, he grasped the outer edges of his coat, pulling
it wide to present the largest possible target. He rose up on
tiptoe with his feet on the bike's footrests, hoping that if the
arrows did hit that they would land low of their mark.
"Bloody hell, if the old watcher was
wrong, this is going to hurt," was his last thought before
the arrows bounced painlessly off his back without even marking
the leather. "All praise the orbs of Nezzla Khan and sheer
dumb luck."
"Watcher!" he shouted to the blissfully
unaware Wes. "I'd be immensely happy if you could find some
cover that isn't me. Standing here letting wooden arrows bounce
off my back isn't my idea of fun. I'd much rather be running toward
the bastards with the bows."
The arrows continued to rain in, as soon as the
archers got over the shock of the first few just dropping to the
ground, and soon it became apparent that Spike was their only
target.
After a few seconds, Buffy stood away from the
tree she'd been using as cover. "What the heck? These guys
take Dawn and then think they only have to worry about Spike?"
"Clear," Wes shouted to let Spike know
that he could move without putting the other Englishman in the
line of fire.
Spike was off the bike and into a dogleg run
as fast as a blink. He'd known his target before he even turned
around, the same way he knew that Buffy fell in directly behind
him as he made the turn using his body as both a shield and concealment.
Always, when he and Buffy had fought, both against each other
and on the same side, they had had an intuitive awareness of each
other. Now, it was refined to an incredible degree. It wasn't
as if they were communicating telepathically. He wasn't aware
of what Buffy decided to do. Rather, it was as if they were independent
parts of the same whole, they thought as one.
Even though he knew it wouldn't make a difference,
Spike raised his arms in front of his face instinctively, as he
crashed through the window.
"This is Alpha One requesting assistance,
Alpha One requesting assistance," Riley spoke into the walkie-talkie
as the tornado of fury and black leather that was Spike and Buffy
imploded into the room.
"What do you know? You got any more exes,
maybe from when you lived in LA, who're going to get an urge to
kill me?"
Riley pulled an asp from his boot, flicking the
extendable baton open, but Spike simply ignored the blows that
the younger man tried to land.
"Don't you guys ever get the message? You
can't hit me. You can't shoot me. You can't detain me."
"Buffy, stay out of this," Riley warned.
"Why? 'Cause you only like to shoot people
in the back, or because you don't want to face someone who could
actually hurt you?"
Buffy's questions distracted the soldier long
enough for Spike to slip past his guard. Spike's arms snaked through
under Riley's from behind and then his fingers came up to interlace
behind the taller man's head effectively pinning him. Spike dragged
him back until the vampire could brace himself against the door
into the room, preventing the men upstairs and on the roof from
coming to Riley's aid.
"Do you remember when we were sparring and
I kicked you across the room?"
"Yeah?" Riley's voice was unsure as
he tried to struggle against Spike's grip.
"I was holding back...
There are pretty much two things that make me
mad enough that I stop holding back. One is people who mess with
my boyfriend. The other is people who mess with my family. I guess
you win the jackpot."
It was the type of blow that Buffy rarely, if
ever, used. Normally, she didn't really want to get that closely
acquainted with her opponent's anatomy and if you needed to resort
to dirty tricks it was so predictable that there were generally
better targets. However, with Riley pinned in place and her sister
in danger, she planned to get her message across quickly. As her
kneecap crunched into Riley's pelvic bone with little regard for
the more delicate areas in between, her satisfaction at the grating
sound almost matched Spike's.
Even before the blow, the larger man had been
prevented from standing upright by Spike's hold. After it, he
slumped like a dead weight in Spike's arms.
"Why?" Buffy asked.
Riley panted for several seconds trying to get
his breath. In the lull, the heavy blows of his men, trying to
break through what they assumed was a barricaded door, could be
heard.
"Why not? He's just another monster."
The soldier finally gasped out his reply. "One of these days
that chip's going to stop working. He's already got you and the
others in his thrall. What's going to happen then?"
A low dark voice spoke softly in Riley's ear.
"She already knows you're a bigoted bastard who can't accept
that in the end the better man won. She was asking about her sister,
asking what Dawn's boyfriend did that made you leave him lying
in an alley to die."
"What? We never— Buffy, he's lying. He set
this up. We don't hurt people. We protect them from things like
him."
The thuds against the door at Spike's back stopped
to be replaced by the sound of running feet. Buffy looked toward
the smashed window frame, only to recognise the faint shimmer
in the air that denoted one of Willow's barrier spells.
"Yeah, right," answered Spike. "That
why you were in Nepal? The yetis not quite managing to hide as
well as they used to, so you thought you'd go wipe them out? You
ever heard of anyone being attacked by an abominable snowman,
love?"
"You make it sound dirty. All we're doing
is protecting our own."
Buffy's fist smacked into Riley's jaw as Spike
gave his opinion on the man's comments.
"Bollocks. It was bollocks when the Nazis
said it and it's bollocks now."
"Hey, I'm not some—"
"Genocide is genocide, Jews, gypsies, blacks
or demons."
"So what does that make Dawn? Let me guess,
Class 3 subterrestrial, not normally aggressive," Spike gave
a small snort at Buffy's description. "Minimal threat, especially
if the big brave soldiers can drug her and her boyfriend before
they shoot him and kidnap her. How'm I doing?"
"Buffy, I don't know what you're... talking
about." Riley hesitated slightly as Buffy's phone began to
ring.
Buffy pulled the phone from her pocket, turning
her back to the two men as she answered.
"Buffy Summers."
"Miss Summers. It's Andrew Michaels here."
"Hi, Mr Michaels. How's Brandon?"
"He's still unconscious, but he's talking
in his sleep. Now, I can't think of a single reason he would be
dreaming about his grandparent's dog, so maybe you know another
Sam he might be talking about?
I also thought you should know, I've spoken to
Brandon's godfather about this evening's events. He has some influence
at the Pentagon. He's going to see that there's a full inquiry
and that those involved are held accountable for their actions.
I know it doesn't help you find your sister, but those responsible
aren't going to get away with it."
"Thank you, Mr Michaels. You've been more
helpful than you know. I think we know exactly who he means, and
we're currently ...interviewing someone who should be able to help
us find her."
"And Miss Summers. What I said before about
not wanting Brandon around you? He's never been wrong about people
before. I guess when he comes round he'll make his own decisions,
anyway."
"Teenagers generally do."
"I hope you find her, Miss Summers."
"It's Buffy, and we will. Thank you."
Buffy closed the phone and launched into a spinning
kick that caught Riley on the opposite side of his jaw from her
earlier punch.
"Steady, love," Spike cautioned. "Can't
tell us what we need to know if he's got a broken jaw."
"Okay, Riley. How about you start with the
truth this time. What has your wife done with my sister?"
"I don't know what you're talking about.
Sam and her team had reports of a Polgara over the far side of
town. They took it out, finished early, and she went back to Lowell
for some R and R."
"And I'm supposed to swallow that? Just
like I was supposed to believe that those Nevilles—"
"Nevlons," Spike corrected.
"Whatever... Don't interrupt," she snapped
before returning her attention to her ex. "Just because you
fooled me with those baby demons and your stinky clothes, don't
think I'm stupid. Maybe you got past me at the time, but I have a brain. Those stupid crabby things were never going to grow up
into that thing I killed and I bet the reason you didn't want
the thing killed was so that it could lay some more seriously
lucrative spawn for you and your honey.
How damn feeble-minded do you think I am? Now,
tell me where your wife has taken my sister."
Spike felt the fight go out of the bigger man
as the meaning of Buffy's words seeped into his resisting brain.
"I- It can't." he stammered.
Spike loosed his hold on the younger man, letting
him slump to the floor. "I think he thinks you're a bit less
stupid than he is, pet."
"You mean...?" Buffy couldn't bring
herself to believe what Spike seemed to be suggesting.
"She fooled you lot. Guess you weren't the
only ones."
Buffy couldn't bring herself to gloat over the
fact that Riley's perfect life was so very far from perfect after
all, but that was okay, because Spike could revel in his opponent's
misery quite enough for both of them.
"And you," she turned to her fiancé.
"The term is African-American."
"Funny, I was talking about Hitler. He did
most of his killing in Europe and Africa, not America, and it's
just a statement of fact. I'm white. You're white. Martin Luther
King was black. It's not like I called him a—"
"Mouth. Shut. Now," Buffy snapped.
"Bloody hell!" Spike leaned back against
the door and lit a cigarette.
"Riley, your wife took my sister. She's
not being held at the Initiative. In fact, we have reason to assume
she may be aboard a train of some sort. Now, tell me what you
know."
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