Disclaimer:
Okay, they're back by semi-popular demand.
Voice off (Sounds
like A S Head): Previously on "Silly Disclaimers"
Buffy: .Joss
made up all the people we know. he set up a production company
called Mutant Enemy. they sold it to Fox and UPN and everybody
else.
Spike: . My
theory is this Joss wanker is going through some sort of
depression and it's feeding through to all the things that
are happening round here. I reckon that a bit of "Slayer
lovin'" would do wonders to improve the emotional inadequacy
of this. guy.
Faith: Dear Spike,
.I guess your plan might work. One question, how do I actually
hook up with this guy?
Cue title music (Okay,
imagine I asked my friends who are in a band, and have actually
sold a number of albums in four figures to do some music,
'cos that's the only way we'd get any. That means it's sort
of synth, guitar, electro stuff. Check out Face of Tears
at Athamay.com or mp3.com/athamay, but if you lied about
your age to read this don't listen to their other songs,
cos they have rude lyrics. Jess is a perv.)
The Magic Box, A Scooby
Meeting.
Spike: We have
to do this and we have to do it soon.
Xander: What's
in it for you?
Spike: Bloody
hell! I know it's probably habit by now, but right this
minute Joss and his team of wankers are not in charge of
the words coming out of your mouth. Just for once make an
effort not to be a total git. And in answer to your question
it's not what it's who. (Removes utterly hideous looking
hat from Buffy's head and throws it into bin before deigning
to be seen in public holding her hand.) And if you've got
anything to say about it just remember if you say it here
we know its you who's really saying it.
(Xander opens his mouth
to say something, but sees the glare that Anya is giving
him and wisely, for once, closes it again.)
Buffy: Hey. That
hat cost hard-earned money.
Spike: Then you
should probably have looked in a mirror before you bought
it. That hat belongs on an eighty year old granny in Swindon
'cos it would go so well with her tartan shopping trolley.
(Buffy pulls her hand
away from Spike's and punches him hard on the nose before
going to sit on the steps to the loft, pouting)
Willow: I've
been checking this out on the Internet. I can only seem
to pick up his plans a couple of weeks ahead, but if we
don't stop him you four are going to find your love-lives
in tatters, a bit like mine and Tara's already are. There's
rumours about someone dying too, and it looks like it's
another permanent one.
Spike: Okay.
Now you know what we're up against. I've thought about this
and if we bring this guy Joss here, other than the fact
that everybody except me could gang up and kick the crap
out of him, I don't think it would achieve much 'cos he'd
just be a pleb, like us. (Buffy pouts more.) Okay, Slayer
you're not a pleb, in this case the world does revolve around
you and it's even named after you. Happy? (Buffy smiles.
Spike smirks.) Bet I get more fan mail though.
Anyway what we have
to do is transport Faith to the reality where Joss is so
that she can find him and shag him senseless. Glinda, is
there a way to do that, and can we do it without breaking
Faith out of prison first?
Tara: We should
be able to do it. We need something personal to him, but
then everything in this universe is his, so that's okay.
We should be able to locate him. I think I should be able
to do some sort of portal but we'll have to research it.
Depending what spells we can find we might need to get her
out, we might not.
Spike:Okay, those
who can read, hit the books. Harris, you start planning
a prison breakout just in case and remember someone's life
depends on it.
Chapter 20
Spike moved round to a position where he
could again watch the road leading to Travers house. "Why
don't you tell me the details of this plan of Buffy's. I'll
tell you what I've got in my bag of tricks. Ronnie if you
can tell us anything about his habits... When he gets home?
Does he have a dog? Do you know anything about his security
system? Does he know that the two of you are together? Where
does he think you are? ...all that sort of stuff and then
we can come up with an over all strategy... Especially one
little detail, how are we going to get him to ask me in?"
Ronnie smiled over at the vampire. "I thought
you knew. That place isn't just Quentin's house. If the
London offices of the council were equivalent to 10 Downing
Street, then that place would be the equivalent of Checkers.
It's sort of a public building or it's supposed to be. Quentin's
worked fairly hard discouraging anyone else from using the
place. Any member of the council in good standing, could
invite you in. I think that even includes Mr Giles here.
The only place you wouldn't be able to enter without his
permission is Quentin's bedroom and if he were there I'm
sure Mr Giles would be pleased to persuade him to leave
it.
It was almost an hour and a half later when
Spike saw the Bentley turn down onto the road to Travers'
house. The housekeeper had left some time before and they
were almost certain that Travers would be in the house alone.
They let the car disappear from sight, giving Travers half
an hour to reach the house, open up and settle in before
Giles started the van. It was still light out and would
be for another couple of hours at least, so Spike pulled
up the hood on his top and made sure all of his flesh would
be covered. Then, he turned to Ronnie putting the handcuffs
on her and locking them with the key so that the ratchets
couldn't get tighter and start cutting into her wrists.
He dropped one of the pair of keys into
her bottom jacket pocket and got her to check that she could
reach it. "Not like you should need it, pet, but if I was
letting some vampire I barely knew handcuff me, I think
I'd feel a bit better if I had a key." Giles brought the
van round in a U-turn and parked it at a slight angle to
the road so that even using the verges there wasn't enough
space on either side for a vehicle to pass. He took the
keys out of the ignition and passed them to Ronnie, on the
basis that both he and Spike were capable of hot-wiring
the van if need be.
Giles got out of the van and walked around
to the door on Ronnie's side, opening it and following her
towards the back door of the house. The door was unlocked
and Giles moved back to the corner of the building where
he could be seen from the van and signalled to Spike. The
vampire threw open the rear door of the van and hurried
head down to where the two watchers waited before the trio
entered the house.
Spike moved ahead, listening for any sounds
that would tell him where Travers was in the house. The
faint burble of running water led him up the broad staircase
to the first floor. A smirk crossed his face when the sound
of running water ceased, only to be replaced by splashing
noises and a slightly off-key voice singing, "I am the very
model of a modern major-general." Spike wasn't surprised
when the door to the bathroom was open. Who would bother
to lock it or even shut it when they're in a house on their
own, or they think they are? Spike couldn't contain an evil
grin as he saw the look of surprise and outrage on Travers
face. He threw a towel from the rack in the direction of
the central portion of the bath. "Cover yourself up, Quentin.
We've got a lady present. We might need to torture her later
if you don't decide to talk, but I prefer to stick to physical
rather than mental cruelty. Isn't that right Giles?"
Giles moved forward so he could be seen
the room's doorway, his tight grip on Ronnie's upper arm
obvious. "I do think that the sight of Quentin's naked body
could be the cause of unnecessary emotional trauma." Giles
cast a disparaging look in the direction of the quivering
mound of milk-pale flesh occupying the bath. Spike leaned
over pulling the chain to which the plug was attached draining
the tub. "Why don't you stand up, nice and slowly and keep
that towel where it is so that Miss Macallister doesn't
get any nasty surprises?" Whilst Travers struggled to lever
his overweight form upright, Spike cast a look about the
room. Seeing a robe hanging on the door he checked the pockets
before handing it to the watcher. "Here, put this on. It'll
make you feel less. vulnerable." A brief hint of a smile
crossed Giles' face and Spike wondered whether he'd actually
picked up on the reference. He realised he could almost
imagine a younger Giles in a basque and suspenders at a
Rocky Horror. He doubted it would ever have been Quentin's
cup of tea though.
Once Travers was safely covered by the
robe, Spike held onto his upper arm as the group moved downstairs
where Spike led them into a sitting room. "Miss Macallister."
Still holding Travers with his left hand, Spike gestured
towards a wooden chair next to an escritoire in the corner.
Giles escorted her over and when she was seated in the chair
Spike pulled the bundle of cable ties from his bag and threw
them across the room to Giles. Giles threaded one around
both the handcuffs' chain and the bars of the chair back
before tightening it.
"Okay, Quentin, I'm quite sure that somewhere
in this delightful pile you're bound to have a video camera.
I'd be ever so obliged if you'd show me where it is." Quentin
showed some signs of hesitation. "I - I."
Spike cut him off abruptly. "Quentin, you
really don't want me to start hurting you before we get
to the difficult questions. Is it in this room? Just nod
or shake your head."
"You can't hurt me. Y-You can't hurt anyone,
not humans."
"Dear, dear, Quentin. You should keep up
to date. You don't think it really took this long to find
out who was behind your little schemes, did you? That only
took a couple of days. The rest of the time was taken up
by a bit of surgery and recuperation." Spike tightened his
grip on Travers' arm for effect. "I can hurt anyone, I want
so I'd advise you to co-operate. Besides even if I couldn't
from what I've heard you haven't done Rupert over there
any favours over the years. So, this room?"
The watcher nodded and pointed in the direction
of a sideboard. "Very good, Quentin, I believe you're getting
the idea. Giles, now that you've made Miss Macallister comfortable
could you see if you can find another hard chair in the
dining room for Quentin here, one with arms if possible."
"I'm sure that can be arranged."
Giles quickly returned with the chair,
and Spike secured the eldest watcher to the chair using
cable-ties at his wrists, elbows and ankles. The chair was
positioned so that Travers' back was facing Ronnie and Spike
made sure Travers couldn't see her in any of the mirrors
either. While, Spike took care of that, Giles found not
only a video camera but a tripod for it as well. He checked
that it was working and had a tape in. Once that was done,
he passed it to Spike who then proceeded to find an appropriate
position to get the field of vision he wanted.
"Right, Quentin, I'm sure you'd like some
ground rules. Rule number one is don't lie. Rule number
two is don't hesitate because then I might think you're
trying to think of a lie. Rule number three is apart from
me I want no names given as to who else is here. It won't
help you. It just means I'll have to edit the tape and that
would make me cranky."
Spike started the tape rolling. Quentin
watched as Spike pulled a small table over next to the chair,
where it could be seen on camera. He then proceeded to slowly
and methodically lay out on the table the contents of his
bag. Meantime Giles removed Ronnie's handcuffs and they
both took a seat out of Travers line of sight.
Spike gave the old watcher plenty of time
to take in the range of implements. He lit a cigarette and
smoked it half way down before he spoke again.
"You remember our rules, don't you Quentin?"
Spike crouched next to the camera, so that both had approximately
the same view.
"Yes."
"Here's an extra one, face this direction
when you're answering my questions, okay."
Travers nodded.
"We'll start with some nice simple ones
to warm you up. Just yes or no answers, but it's better
if you say it rather than nodding, okay?"
"Yes."
"Your name is Quentin Travers, yes or no?"
"Yes."
"You are the head of a group known as the
watchers council."
"Yes."
"See, isn't this nice and simple. Some
time over the last couple of years you managed to lay your
hands on a contract I had signed a few years ago, is that
correct?"
Travers shifted in his seat, as he answered,
"No."
Spike rose from his position and treated
Travers to a hard backhanded slap. "What was rule number
one?"
"Don't lie."
"That's right. Now every time you break
the rules the punishment is going to get a little bit worse."
He returned to his position and resumed his close watch
on the older man. Eyes the colour of the deepest ocean stared
into Travers' soul.
"It's round about this time that if I thought
you were a real man or any sort of gentleman at all that
I would start work on our lady friend, but, see I don't
think you are, so I'll save that for a last resort for the
moment.
Now, I repeat at some point over the last
couple of years you got a hold of a contract that I had
signed some years ago."
"Yes."
"The contents of the contract were basically
such that in exchange for services received, I would on
demand pay the bearer of the contract a sum of money or
perform such services as were required of me providing they
weren't deemed to be too inherently dangerous. Failing to
comply with the terms of the contract would result in a
penalty clause coming into play. Is that correct?"
Travers paused before answering in the
affirmative.
Again Spike gave him a backhanded slap.
"Now, I didn't make that worse because even though you hesitated
you did tell the truth in the end but remember you shouldn't
need to hesitate. It's all yes or no stuff. It's very simple
just tell the truth."
"You arranged to use this contract to put
me in a situation where I would almost certainly die. Yes
or no?"
"No." For a second Spike was stunned. He'd
seen no indication that the man was lying. Slowly a lopsided
smile formed on Spike's face. "Very clever. Let me rephrase
the question. You arranged, using this contract to put me
in a situation where I would almost certainly cease to be
undead. Yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Let us assume for now that when I'm talking
about my death, I am not talking about dying as a human
but rather dying as a vampire, becoming a big pile of dust,
that sort of death.
Was my death, the main aim behind your
use of the contract?"
"Yes."
"Was it the only aim of using the contract?"
"No."
"What else were you hoping to achieve?
Were you trying to create a rift between myself and Buffy?"
"Yes."
"I think you should elaborate on this a
bit, Quentin."
"We thought even if you weren't killed,
that the slayer wouldn't trust you any more."
"But you had people following me or her
or both. You were aware that the slayer's life was also
potentially in danger. Yes or no?"
Travers again hesitated. "Yes or no, Quentin?"
"Yes."
"If she had died, would this have upset
you?"
"Well, em."
"Okay, If Buffy had died, would that have
been in line with your long term goals?" Spike watched Travers
face intently, but also watched for any telltale body language.
Travers' eyes flicked up and to the right,
and even as he answered, "no", Spike's left fist hit him
squarely on the nose hard enough to tip the chair over on
its back and Travers' head hit the floor with a thump. Spike
heard "You bastard!" from Giles' corner of the room. Before
Travers had a chance to recover from the punch, Spike moved
round blocking his view of Giles and Ronnie and righted
the chair once more.
"Did you know, Quentin, that when you access
the creative centre within the brain, your eyes automatically
move up and to the right. Now that's why you're looking
into the camera over here and I'm making sure I don't block
the shot. That way everyone can tell when you're lying.
Do you have plans that involve Buffy's death?"
"Yes."
"Do you want a slayer that you can manipulate
more easily?"
"Yes."
"And to do that you would kill me, Buffy
and Faith?"
"Yes." Up to the point where Spike had
punched him Travers' answers had seemed almost resigned,
now they were becoming increasingly defiant as if he now
considered himself beyond hope, and felt free to show his
hatred and malice.
"Earlier, you said, "We thought even if
you weren't killed." Who else is involved?"
Travers was silent.
Spike picked up a couple of lengths of
thonging from the table. He pulled the cap from the only
remaining bottle of Jack Daniels and dangled the leather
strips into the bourbon. "I would normally use water but
this is here and I'm sure it'll work just as well, possibly
even faster." Once the leather pieces had soaked for a minute
or so Spike removed them from the bottle, stretching them
before tying them tightly, one around each of Travers' wrists.
"As they dry out they'll tighten. At first it'll be like
pins and needles but eventually they'll cut into your flesh."
"Okay, Quentin, that contract you used
doesn't belong to you. It doesn't even belong to the watcher's
council. Did the real owner know you were going to use it?"
"Yes." Travers eyes had once more shifted
right and upwards despite his efforts to prevent it.
"Tut, tut, tut. Wrong again." Spike picked
up one of the pieces of cloth and balled it up before sticking
it in Travers mouth and putting duct tape over the top.
"We'll just leave that leather to tighten up a bit. In the
mean time I think I'll have a word with our other hostage.
It would seem like you're actually innocent in all this."
Spike didn't move from his spot in front of Travers. "Quentin,
here, would rather lay the blame on you than any of his
real buddies though. Maybe you can make a guess or two as
to who would be involved in something like that."
"Arthur Wyndam-Pryce." The head watcher
didn't seem to react and Spike was quite relieved given
the current holder of the contract.
"George Ellis." Travers' eyes flickered
for a second.
"Maybe Prajan Khan." Again, the flicker.
"Alright, pet, we could be here all night.
It looks like there's a few of them."
Spike pulled the tape from Travers' mouth
and removed the gag.
"Where are the photographs? You had two
sets of surveillance photographs taken of Buffy and myself
at different times and you also paid someone to take photos
of your other guest. Where are they?"
He hesitated again but then seemed to change
his mind. "Master bedroom. Top drawer. Bedside cabinet."
Spike did not want to think about why the photographs were
there. "Perhaps if you let the young lady loose she could
retrieve them. I trust her not to do more than what's necessary
to identify hers and mine."
"Are those the only copies?"
"Yes, I think so." Again he was telling
the truth.
"Other than making it easier to get to
Buffy were there any other reasons for trying to kill me?"
"Yes."
"Could it be anything to do with the fact
that the council and possibly you in particular aren't keen
on moral grey areas. You'd much prefer it if you could say
council good, vampire bad wouldn't you? That's why you wanted
it to look like I'd gone bad, isn't it? You could start
fresh with some kid and have her stake anything that doesn't
have a heartbeat?
"Yes."
"The longer I stick around helping out
the harder it's going to be for you to do that. Well, let's
say I plan to keep it up long after you're gone. You don't
much like the idea of me and the slayer as a couple either,
do you?
"No."
"And you don't like the fact that the girl
you're perving over is interested in me, even if there's
no chance she'd be interested in some old codger three times
her age even if I was out of the picture."
"No."
"I think we're almost done here. If the
right circumstances arose were you actually going to use
the default clause, assuming you could."
"Yes."
Spike's eyes gleamed gold and his brow
ridges came down in less time than it took for the punch
to land.
"For those viewers who don't know what
you just admitted to. The default clause demands the death
of the three people I care most for probably by magical
means. So to make their job of getting Buffy out of the
way easier, they would take the lives of two innocents.
One of them is a fifteen year old kid, and the other is
probably the most genuinely nice person you're ever likely
to meet; a white-witch who's never done anything but good
in her life. Is that the case?"
"Yes, though I'm forced to accept your
character judgement not actually knowing the girl in question."
"I think I've run out of questions here."
Spike pulled a piece of paper from his jeans pocket. He
then began reading from it
"I, William the Bloody, seek vengeance
against those who have wronged me and mine. Fernak heed
my bidding and dispense justice."
Spike and Travers, both stared somewhat
aghast at the figure that appeared before them.
"I thought all you vengeance demons was
bints," said Spike.
The figure in front of Spike had dark curly
hair spilling down to his shoulders and held away from his
face with a gold circlet. Falling to just above the knee,
he wore something Spike knew was a toga, but he still wanted
to call it a dress. Instead of a pendant he wore a medallion.
"It is true that very few of us are male,
but bint is not a term I would use about vengeance demons
on the whole, assuming you are aware of its literal meaning."
Spike had the good grace to look shame-faced
even though it was impossible to blush. "No, s'pose not,
mate."
"You seek vengeance?"
"Yeah, I wish Quentin Travers and all his
knowing accomplices in his misdeeds against me and those
I love would.
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