Waiting on a Friend - Part Seven
DISCLAIMER: This chapter will quote a dance-song by Cass & Slide (vocals by Jason Donovan) entitled 'Faith Less'.
NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw our heroes: Buffy and Anya waved their boys off to work at the British Library; Wes and Dawn were on their way to the Wyndham-Pryce 'home', even though distracted by Thames-twinges (Dawn) and Lilah (Wesley); Spike and Giles, who'd passed easily as academics, sneaked into the British Library basement and out into the St. Pancras tunnel. Unfortunately, the door closed, and I mean REALLY closed. This part: It's early Wednesday evening, and action! exposition! angst!Tosser looked so sick and distressed in the phosphorescence that Spike found it unsettling. For one thing, Anyanka would dust him soon as look at him if he let anything happen to Giles before the wedding. Best man's duties or some such, right. He said hearteningly, "Cheer up, Rupes. Not to worry."
Giles didn't appear to be listening to his encouraging remarks. In the eerie dimness of the tunnel he traced his hands where the opening to the British Library basement should have been. "It's not there. It's simply not bloody there."
"Right, then. So we don't have a door to get out." Spike winced; sounded oh so much sodding worse when he actually put it into words. Striving for his normal hectoring tone, he added, "Giles, old man-- did you bollocks it up?"
"No. It was a simple locking spell, that's all. You stupid git." Giles took off his glasses and rubbed at them with his handkerchief. Good, Spike thought, that should generate thought. Or a popped lens, what with the force Rupes was applying.
Spike considered for a second. "When the door disappeared, did you happen to notice the sparks were a different colour? Red, instead of blue?"
"Yes, I did." Giles replaced his glasses on his nose. "This suggests a magick not my own, of course. Let's check." He raised one hand and mumbled something Spike couldn't catch, then jolted as if shocked by a strong current. The hand went down, and Giles's eyes met Spike's in the gloom. "As I feared. We're blocked. There's some other power in control over the space."
"Well, damn it to hell! Did you see anything about that in the sodding files? They said the bad mojo wasn't supposed to be until the Portal to the Fissure itself! This is just-- well, I'm bloody outraged. Faulty Wanker research, that's what I'd call it."
"Yes, Spike. We'll have to send Cumberbatch a stiff memo of complaint." Giles shrugged. "So now the big question. Do we stay here, try to re-open the door that isn't? Or do we go forward and investigate what we're actually here to inspect? Neither option is what I'd call ideal."
Well. Rupert was apparently scared as hell, 'cause he'd gone all pompous, to the point of choking himself. This was not a comfort. Spike swallowed hard, then looked at the tunnel. Night-vision allowed him to discern a slope down, toward what had been the St. Pancras River. He glanced back at the blank, green-tinged wall which had been their entrance, then he mirrored Giles's offhanded gesture. "I vote for going ahead. See what there is to see, yeah? Not only in the way of Portals to Fissures and what all, but Portals back up to London. Because frankly, Rupert, we have to get back to our women in a timely manner, or they'll kick our arses from here to John o' Groats and beyond."
Giles smiled. "You speak truth, old son. Forward it is."
Spike picked up his briefcase and started down the path. Just as an experiment, he lengthened his stride, and the open tweed overcoat snapped behind him the way his old duster always had--
"Ow! Wanker, watch where the hell you smack that thing!" Giles sputtered.
Spike grinned. William be damned, he still had it. Time to get out of this bloody mess.
***
The Lady threw a bone into the fiery split in the cavern's floor, and the One shot up sparks of red. Her charge had it right: time for destruction at last. She could feel the forces aligning in that other dimension, marking the perfect moment.
She had sent two of her creatures after the interlopers above in what had once been her bathing river but now was a stinking tunnel. She did hope her creatures would use lots of teeth on the intruders.
Now, time meant she could assist in another way. She dragged out a line in the floor with her bare foot, claw-tips digging into the cavern's clay surface, and she spat dark river-water all along the line. Then she twisted her hands in the air.
Time for the St. Pancras to rise again, to meet its old Thames- brethren and flow to the sea. Time for the rivers to take back what was theirs, to be One.
***
Anya put down her teacup. She had made herself a pot of Rupert's favourite Royal Blend and stacked a plate with his Rich Tea Biscuits, wanting to capture his late-afternoon taste, but it wasn't helping. She sat in their warm, bright kitchen. Theirs. So why was she so frightened?
Then as if rocked by an earthquake, she felt something horrible shift far below, here and not here, and alongside.
Seized by a terror she refused to name, she ran-- through the house to the front door, through their courtyard and across Cheyne Walk, past the old man digging in the park's rubbish bin, across the traffic on Embankment road and to the wall. She looked down.
The water churned black, moaning as it moved up the walls. It was hungry. It was coming for them.
Her hand went to her amulet.
***
It was almost as if she could hear moaning and stuff in the walls of the deserted and cold Wyndham-Pryce house. Geez, Wesley's parents had lived in a creepy place, Dawn thought.
She followed Wes up the stairs. He hadn't stopped moving since the woman on the pier had called his name. Ordinarily she'd have enjoyed the walk through Chelsea-- he took her through these cool side streets, with precious little houses and welcoming shops-- but he went too fast. When they'd gotten to South Kensington and his parents' home, he hadn't even paused at the front door.
"Wesley, where exactly are we going?" she asked, struggling to catch up.
He stopped on the landing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Dawn, I didn't think-- I'm just going to what used to be my room. Collect a few of my old things."
"Don't you want to look around? Get stuff belonging to your mom and dad?"
In the light from the wall-sconces she could see his eyes go bleak. "No need. Dawn, I should have explained earlier. My parents-- they weren't like a normal mother and father."
"You mean you were like me? Well, not a Key, obviously, but something more ordinary like adoption?"
"No, no." He laughed, but Dawn thought it sounded colder than the house. "Badly put on my part. I mean I wasn't their idea of a son. We didn't, er, have a lot in common. They wouldn't have expected me to take anything of theirs. Wouldn't have thought I deserved it." She knew her eyes were getting big, but she was trying very hard not to cry or something. It wasn't working, though-- he reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, then headed up the rest of the stairs.
Dawn blinked, hard. She would never, never, never again bitch at Buffy or tell Spike he couldn't boss her around. Because of them, she wasn't alone in the world. She'd thought it was because they were people of her own, but you know, they didn't have to be. They chose to be her family, just like Giles and Anya did. And Wes was chosen too, and he'd just have to figure that out. She jumped up several steps, caught up to him, and grabbed his hand.
He gave it a friendly shake, then let go when they reached the top of the stairs. "This way, Dawnie." He crossed to a small room and opened its door. After he flicked on the lights, she followed him in.
The room was bleak, just a single bed, a chest of drawers, and several rows of full bookshelves. He stood there as if he'd never been there before. Maybe her strong Wesley hadn't been.
Yet along the wall hung a series of beautifully framed prints of movie posters: the old B&W ones, where detectives were shady and women were tough and kinda chilly. She and Wes had done TCM marathons of these movies all the time. She said, "Aha! So you've always had a thing for the noir, huh? Like that one with Gene Tierney?" She pointed to the poster of *Laura.*
He looked at it and smiled. "Yes indeed. I've always liked my women brunette and dangerous."
And Dawn suddenly wondered about that woman on the pier who'd called him 'darling'.
***
Buffy wondered if doing this alone was such a good idea, even though she patrolled in Sunnydale by herself all the time. She paid off the taxi driver (understanding the pounds and pence! go Buffy!), then walked around to the hidden entrance to Brompton Cemetery that she and Wes had used last night. The key she'd borrowed from him felt heavy in her pocket.
It was an odd time for patrol, but it got dark here so early. She had located the nest last night, and she planned to do a little bash-and-dust at the vampires' most vulnerable time of day, right before they'd fed. Just kick in the door, and--
An unwanted flashback to the many times she'd burst into Spike's old crypt made her fumble the key. She'd filled her afternoon with shopping and Dawn-time and planning this solo patrol; she hadn't wanted to think about her love and his mission. He was working, and she trusted him. She did. Even when he was with Giles.
Once inside the cemetery, however, she leaned back against the door she'd just shut. She did trust him. But she always could open her mental door, walk across their bridge, and touch him and his emotions, couldn't she? So emotional, her guy. She just wanted to feel his mood, to know he was still here and still hers.
So she cleared her mind and sent out her feelings to reach his. The communication wasn't normal, though, but as if a storm was throwing debris onto the bridge, blocking her. Through the interference she still could feel him: he was worried. He wanted to fight.
She came back to herself, and her fingers wrapped around her stake. She trusted him. But God, she needed to kill something.
***
Spike prowled ahead, his fingers on his dagger, ready to kill something. Giles found the hunting mode strangely reassuring. When they'd first realized they were trapped, the not-well-hidden note of panic in the little twerp's voice had fed his own. Now they both were back to normal--investigating with weapons out, keeping their eyes open in the phosphorescent gloom. Just Spike and Ripper, out for a casual evening's stroll in a tunnel they couldn't leave.
His eyes went to the edges of said tunnel. There was evidence of recent subsidence here; that shouldn't be possible, should it? "Spike, what do you see along the walls?"
"Slippage. The earth has shifted recently, I'm thinking; could be from construction above, of course. But it's odd. The floor's more than damp." The voice was Dr. Bennet's, but the controlled, powerful stride was all Spike. Giles idly wondered when Spike was going to tell him about William Bennet the human and why he hadn't yet. What could be bothering--
When the two demons jumped out of a crevice just ahead of them, Giles stopped wondering. No time.
Luviat demons were rare, but Giles recognized the species: large, mean, possessed of two sets of teeth. Not attractive, he'd have to say. He hefted his sword and moved up beside Spike to face the creatures.
"So, what's this? Ugly-Bugger Night at the dead riverside? Lads with too many teeth get drinks half-price?" Spike said.
"You've intruded on the Lady's domain. You have no place here," said one of the Luviats. "You must die," said the other. Humourless sods, Giles thought. Then the creatures charged.
Spike leapt first, moving so fast that his momentum overbalanced his opponent. But Giles couldn't waste attention on that. His own Luviat was upon him, trying to claw at his head. His sword flashed in the gloom and ripped a gash up the demon's arm.
The creature dripped green ooze from the wound. Giles knew he'd have to stay away from that: acid poison to humans and vampires. Better warn--"Spike, that's not blood they've got! Stay clear!" And he spun around and sliced at the Luviat's back.
"I knew that," Spike growled. He kicked his opponent across the tunnel, and it fell into a heap of crumbled clay. The tunnel rocked slightly, then a rushing sound filled the space. Giles couldn't identify it exactly, though it reminded him of--
Water. The earth below their feet began to seep water, as if pressure was forcing it up from below. Within seconds it was more than seeping; it poured up through the clay, up into the tunnel.
"Bloody hell!" Spike roared. His Luviat headed for him again, but the dagger was poised to cut at the demon's neck, and Spike spun away before the ooze could touch him.
Giles had his own problems. His opponent was circling just outside his sword's reach. He'd have to commit himself-- and almost before his mind finished the thought, he lunged forward two steps. His sword point caught the demon's torso and ripped upwards. The Luviat struggled forward, trying to brush Giles with the green poison. Giles evaded, if not gracefully.
The water was rising. Over the tops of their shoes now.
Spike managed to twist around, behind his target, and with one powerful stroke severed the demon's neck. His blade moved so quickly that Spike stepped back before the Luviat acid could drip onto his hands.
Giles followed Spike's good example. He also twisted behind his demon, sliced through its neck, then kicked the creature down the tunnel and into the water. Which was almost to his knees.
Spike snagged his briefcase, which he'd thrown against the wall when the Luviats had appeared. Both of them carefully wiped off their blades on outcroppings along the wall, so that no acid remained. Then they stood together and gazed at the rising tide.
"Got any good ideas now, Dad?" Spike said. "'Cause it looks rather like we're buggered."
***
"It's far too dark and cold to go off and inspect the river now, Dawn. What's your fascination with the damn thing anyway?" Wesley said, juggling his small box of mementos with one hand so he could snag the back of Dawn's coat with the other. He turned her around, then frowned. "Just go inside, dear."
"You are so the figure of the oppressor, Wes," Dawn sniffed, then grinned at him. She opened the front door of the Cheyne Walk house, calling, "We're back! Anyone home?"
The interior was almost dark, just a table-lamp switched on in the foyer. Wesley could hear faint music coming from the study--someone must be here, at least. He and Dawn set down their burdens, then headed off in that direction.
As they got closer he could hear a singer crooning over the throbbing drum and bass, "I never want to lose my faith in you," over and over. "Must be Anya," Dawn said. "She likes all that electronica stuff, which is kinda cool, don't you--" She stopped talking when they reached the study.
A row of candles were the only light in the room. Anya huddled in a leather chair and rocked, knees to chest. Her hand was around her amulet. When she raised her eyes to theirs, Wesley sucked in his breath, and Dawn grabbed his arm. Anya looked broken.
Her voice was empty, small. "Something's gone terribly wrong. All the rivers are flooding-- I can hear them screaming for blood. So I knew that Rupert and Spike would be in trouble, everything's falling apart everywhere, and I tried to teleport to them. But I can't. Some much more powerful force has claimed that territory and cut off all access."
Dawn cried out, "Oh, Anya!" and rushed to her side. Wes followed, putting his hand on the vengeance demon's hair.
Anya took a shuddering breath, near a sob, then repeated, "Rupert and Spike are cut off. Beyond our help. Oh Rupert, oh my God--" She buried her face in her knees.
Dawn crawled up beside Anya and cradled her, murmuring, "Sshh, it'll be all right." Wes looked at the candle-flames leaping higher. Dimly he could still hear the singer's voice repeating, "I never want to lose my faith in you...."