Fortress Around Your Heart - Part Ten
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Sting. Referenced in this chapter is "Under Pressure," written by David Bowie and Queen. NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw Our Heroes: Spike and Giles had a nice talk, then killed some sentry demons to make Rupert feel better; the Nullats got rid of the revenant poisoner, because they had a nastier thought in mind; Wesley dreamed of his childhood abuse, but felt better when the other Five Who Should Not Be sent their love; Giles and Anya made up, sort of, and went off to the W & H building (Anya in the guise of Buffy); Spike and Buffy went below. Weird sounds followed.
21 DECEMBER 2007. LONDON, AND BELOW. MORNING.
Dawn shivered in the wind off the Thames. The image of the Door would fade as the sun rose behind the clouds, but she knew the portal itself would remain. Now, blue bits of energy hissed and popped against the waves crashing on Cadogan Pier.
The water was rising, chewing on the human structures built on the Thames. She'd heard that hunger in the river before. But Wesley had been with her then.
The pier gate creaked, and she looked up. Imran was coming toward her. "Hullo, Dawn. Thought I'd come out and wait with you; not much to do inside." When she half-smiled, he put a hand to her shoulder and said, "They'll be fine, Dawn. They'll all be fine."
"You can't promise that, Imran. No one can."
He smiled but fell silent, and they listened to the river for a moment. Then he clapped his hand to his pocket and retrieved the sentry demon's mobile. "Oh, dear. It's about that time."
He cleared his throat very theatrically. After punching in a number on the keypad, he said in a quite different voice from his own- Dawn couldn't decide if it sounded working-class or alien or both- "Barnard here. Been a problem here on watch. One of the Watchers, the oldest one, and the Slayer just left. Dunno where, sir- coming your way, maybe." He winked at Dawn. "Yeah. Just gone. But the rest are right where you'd think."
***
Spike thought that the years hadn't been kind to the hallways Below. When he and Rupes had been here long ago, the polished corridor had shone red and black. Then, the place had been tended. Now it felt like a cave. Felt wild.
However, he still could feel the power sparking up from the center. Dawn's staircase into the corridor had put them a short distance from the chamber where the Fissure's heart pumped fire, and the pull was immediate. The soles of his feet burned through his boots: a new, not so pleasant sensation.
Buffy ran a finger along the wall. Oh right, five years ago she'd never made it out of the central room. She paced forward with a slight frown on her face. He said, "What're you thinking, love?"
"That this place could use a make-over."
"Well, after you defeat the baddies, you can come back-- chuck around some throw pillows and what all." With the ease of long practice, he caught the fist she threw at him, using it to pull her in close. He smiled down at her. "Now, love. Don't hit your partner, 's not nice."
"Then don't be a jerk," she said, lower lip out. Really, his wife could pout for England. Had to be an act, but there was one way to test it; he swooped down and caught the delicious trifle between his teeth. Nibbled, just a bit--
And found himself pinned against the clay and stone wall, Buffy feasting on him. Her touch was closer to Elysium than he deserved to get.
After an eternity/split-second of kisses, she stumbled away. "Now look what you made me do! We're working, Spike." She straightened her long coat, then marched off toward the center.
"Me!" he protested. Pushing off from the wall, he strode to catch up with her. "I was minding my own bloody business, when suddenly I'm as one with the sodding wall, getting an emergency tonsillectomy from the wife!"
"Spike, we need to be quiet. Focused. The delaying tactics might not have worked, and the Nullat demon and henchy things might arrive soon. We're working."
Humph. He hefted his sword onto his shoulder- damn he hated swords; they were Rupert's toys not his - and swaggered forward. Working then, by damn.
Behind him, she snorted. Was his Queen irritated? Bloody good.
As his burning footsteps crunched on the stone, he began to hum a familiar bass line in counterpoint, then very softly sang, "'Pressure, pushing down on me, Pressing down on you no man ask for...'"
Buffy yanked on his sleeve. "Whatever are you doing?"
He kept walking. "Amusing myself. Very very quietly."
"Apparently you've confused me with Giles, honey. I'm not the patrol partner who indulges you in noise. "
"Not confused at all, thank you, pet. 'Under pressure that brings a building down, Splits a family in two...'"
"Just be quiet." She forged ahead of him, her coat swinging.
She didn't understand, he thought as they walked. He had to sing and laugh and swagger, or he'd scream. His family was all so fragile, and in the past thirty-six hours he'd nearly lost two people important to him. The only thing keeping him from crouching in a corner and keening "not yet, not yet" was that he sang.
They entered the antechamber to the Fissure. The mysterious light flared crimson here, and he could see Buffy's tension in shoulder and jaw. Then she turned to him, her free hand going to his, fingers entwining. "Spike. I'm sorry."
"For what, love?"
"For- oh, you know. It's just the mission, and that I haven't had my required daily allowance of Spike yet, which always makes me a little crazy. You're my good luck, you know."
His heart surged, but he controlled the waves of love. Just. He lifted their joined hands to his lips: a William move, he was all too aware, but sincere. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Buffy, I'm yours. Full-stop."
Smiling, she said, "I count on that-" and then paused. "Honey? Did you just growl?"
***
"Darling, count the steps to the Wolfram and Hart building," Rupert instructed. "We want an accurate tally for our storming the place later. I'll check out ingress and egress possibilities."
Anya nodded. Here in the midst of normal Friday morning activity, Rupert and 'Buffy' were supposed to be hunting. They had walked down Arundel Street, reaching Temple Place and the tall, glass-front building which faced the Thames. Which held Wesley and those who wanted to kill her family. The bastards who already had tried to kill Rupert twice.
She tried to walk like Buffy, carry her sword like Buffy, even as she counted off: twenty-five strides from the alley to the back, seemingly vulnerable doorway into the W&H fortress. There were human guards at every entrance. Vulnerable.
Rupert had no idea how shaky she still felt over everything, she thought. He'd almost been gone, hadn't he realized that? And he'd been so angry, still was. Disappointing him was like taking a knife and digging it into her skin. (Thirty steps to the front of the building, she counted.) But without him, she'd be cut all over. No choice there. She was here to keep him safe and support him, even though it was scary and she could feel the ripples of hunger off the river.
That reminded her - "When should we show ourselves? You know, Watcher and 'Slayer,' come to scare the bad guys."
He smiled at her. "Good question. Now, I should think. Here-" He cast a quick look around and up for witnesses, then put his hand to the sword she had hidden in the folds of her coat. He adjusted her grip on the stupid thing (vengeance demons didn't carry swords, didn't like them) and gave her fingers a quick caress. She melted.
Not that he noticed. His head went up, scanning the street; he looked predatory. Frankly, she didn't know how she was supposed to role-play when he went all Ripper like that. But, okay, 'Buffy' should be leading across to the plot of land between the Place and the Embankment.
Before she stepped into the street, though, she looked back at the Wolfram and Hart building. Her demon blood curdled. "Rupert. There are two Fyarls hiding in the shadows, behind that pillar? Watching us?"
He spun around toward them, his long coat billowing as he moved, and she heaved a sigh. He had such Fyarl issues, her husband. She was not surprised in the slightest to see him charge.
Trembling, she raised her own sword and ran after him.
***
On the top floor of the Wolfram and Hart building, the demon in Burberry inspected his troops. Regardless of what Ms. Morgan said, four vampires and two Tallents should be enough to form the security team. They didn't anticipate any resistance, since the Watcher-Slayer group was so effectively distracted-
His brother in Aquascutum burst into the room. "Slayer and the Watcher Giles are here, just as that idiot Barnard said. Just saw them on the security cam downstairs; they're going after the sentry demons."
Burberry paused; he'd tempted the dark gods by his over-confidence, apparently. Still the plans were solid. "We'll slip out the delivery door, then." He handed the specially reinforced umbrellas to the vampires (protection against the clouds), then waved them forward. As they headed for the fire stairs, he fingered the supplies in his coat pocket. Ready.
Ms. Morgan, holding a phone, came out of her office. "Wolfram and Hart are counting on you, gentlemen."
"We'll bring the Wolf of the Deep back," Burberry said.
***
Spike hadn't heard the growling, but Buffy certainly seemed confident of her own ears. He'd searched the last room, but found nothing. His wife had prowled beside him, her own teeth bared. Metaphorically, of course.
When he turned to her, his hands outstretched to signal the complete lack of results, she nodded. "To the Center, then," she mouthed.
The space Below felt even more different here, he thought. Claw-marks decorated the antechamber and the entrance to the cavern. He could see the Fissure even from outside, spitting blood-tinged smoke into the air, every hiss a threat. Lovely.
Buffy led the way into the cavern. Spike looked around; the Lady's throne of polished bone and rock had begun to break apart. Going closer, he could see that the ends of almost all the bones had been gnawed, split in half by what looked to have been the grip of enormous fangs. Lovelier.
"Honey," she said quietly, and he turned. She pointed to the other side of the entrance; she'd taken up her own post, ready to attack whatever came through the archway.
He walked over to his place and leaned against the rock, which scratched at his skin even through the leather duster. Not the friendliest place, Below. He yearned for a cigarette, but knew better than to start a leisurely smoke when threats were coming.
And he paused. There: he could hear the click of nails against floor, coming closer. Buffy crouched, ready to leap, and he mirrored her position. Click, click, click-
Then a rush of air, a howl, and something huge and grey and shaggy jumped through the entryway, out of the reach of their swords. It landed softly on the other side, near the Fissure which shot flame to greet it, and faced them. Jaws were open, showing fangs and a nasty green gunge dripping from its mouth.
Bugger it all, he thought furiously. It was a wolf, three times the size of an ordinary Canis lupus.
And he recognized its eyes from when he'd last seen them: five years ago in this chamber, albeit in a different form.
***
Giles couldn't see where the bastards had gone- oh, there. He had chased the sodding things around the building (tricky to avoid civilians coming to work, of course) toward the back, and he caught sight of them frantically hitting the keypad beside the door of a loading dock. Hah, fat Fyarl fingers hardly could manipulate the small buttons.
Anya valiantly kept up with him. Even in her Buffy guise, she was so clearly his darling; for one thing, she still had no idea how to hold a sword. He took a mental note to give her some instruction later, and then he leapt on the villains.
The sword skewered one Fyarl in the heart, just as outlined in all the best handbook. Giles gave a quick thanks for Spanish silver and then twisted. Satisfyingly dead, the huge demon slumped to the ground.
After pulling the sword out, Giles turned to his next target. It barreled toward them, and Anya hit it hard on the head with the flat edge of the sword. When the Fyarl didn't slow, she smacked it again. Still no effect: the creature actually put its claws on her shoulder.
At which point Rupert ran his sword through the thing's neck. Nobody and no thing touched his Anyanka.
The loading dock's door began to inch upward, and Giles kicked the dead demon back as he yanked out his sword. Anya shivered, then stood with him. He was well aware that they'd both look like escapees from an asylum if the people on the other side of the door were civilians-
But they weren't. Two Tallent demons charged from the dark into the cloudy day first, fists and teeth flashing. Giles and Anya managed to push them away by using the swords like cricket bats. The Tallents stumbled back into a nest of vampires, all of whom popped open huge umbrellas. Giles took a second to wonder if he'd wandered into a bloody lost episode of *The Avengers.*
Not Anya, though. His smart, practical wife took her sword and slashed - not at the vampires themselves, but at the umbrellas. The material ripped open. It was too cloudy for a dust explosion, but the exposure might slow them down a bit.
The crowd of All-sorts demons pushed forward and through, smoke beginning to trail from the vamps. Giles and Anya gave chase, but the demons felt far less compunction about using passers-by as shields; they managed to get around the corner and head for-
The Thames. Christ. Giles sidestepped a couple of pin-striped suits and started to follow the creatures across the Embankment, but Anya caught hold of his coat and pulled him back. "What the sodding hell--!"
An enormous truck whizzed by, where he'd have been. "That's the hell, darling," she snapped.
Once the traffic passed, Giles pulled Anya across the street. A Nullat demon in a nice trench-coat, whom he hadn't noticed before, jumped onto the retaining wall. It pulled something from a coat pocket, mumbled several words, and then pointed to a Tallent. The hulking thing came forward; the Nullat ripped through its forearm, dipped a finger in its blood, and drew the shape of a Door in the air above the river.
Buggering bollocky damn, Giles thought, and bolted forward.
He managed to damage two of the four vampires severely enough that they collapsed onto the pavement. Crucial steps ahead, however, the Nullat smashed his fist against the red-outlined Door, threw something on the shape, and opened it. Then the creature led the Tallents and the remaining vampires into the blackness within.
The Door closed.
Anya caught Giles's free hand in hers. "We were supposed to just slow them down, right? Buffy and Will can manage that crew. They're already down there in position."
Giles squeezed her hand. But he couldn't say anything. He could only stare at the red outline of a Door. It might have been his imagination, but he could hear something gnawing.
***
Lilah Morgan and the demon in Aquascutum stared out of the window, their heads tilted down. At the Embankment, Wesley thought.
He had successfully played almost-dead (if it was indeed playing) for an hour, so he'd witnessed Lilah's increasing unease. The creature in Regent Street's finest also seemed a bit jumpy. Never underestimate the power of Watcher-Slayer United, Wesley thought.
Aquascutum turned away from the window. "I think I'll check on the preparations for the final raising, if you don't mind."
Lilah smiled. "No, you go right ahead." The demon streamed out of the room, and she leaned back against the expanse of window. Cold grey sky framed her dark form; cold eyes surveyed him. He managed to meet her gaze - if he seemed terribly shaky, so much the better.
The phone in her hand rang, and she clicked on. "Morgan." The voice on the other end was enough to make her snap to attention. "Sir. Yes, the first phase has begun, with the Door....No. No, I had no idea...A seer? One of the Watcher-Slayer team must perish?" Her eyes fell on Wesley. "Well, no. Yes, if it's written, it's written. I'll get right on it."
She clicked off the phone and set it gently on a table near the window. "Wesley darling. I know that you won't mind this a bit. It's not personal, is it? No more personal than when I was tied and humiliated five years ago."
She prowled forward, and then her fingernail dug under his chin. "The question on the table is how best to do the job. Hmm."
Wesley took a deep breath. It would be all right (Dawn Dawn Dawn, part of his brain screamed) whatever happened now. He'd done his own job, provided the distraction. He could go happy.
Despite his stoicism, his forearms and thighs tightened involuntarily, muscles bunching. With the movement, he heard a snick, a falling away. He fumbled for a memory from the height of the fever and distress and found it: feeling Dawn's fingers even through the metal links that separated them.
When Dawn had touched him, she must have unlocked the chains.
***
Buffy couldn't get to Spike, just at the moment. But when she did, she was going to kill him.
When the wolf-thing had jumped into the cave, she'd been startled. Not her insane husband, however. He'd gone into game face, snarled louder than the wolf - something about "Lady," which made no real sense - and hurled himself forward, sword first. The weapon point had ripped up the unnatural animal's forearm, and he'd laughed. "History transferring, eh, bitch?"
Then the wolf had sprung on him. His sword went flying.
Buffy tried to get closer again, but the two battled too fiercely, too closely. She couldn't predict who would be on top at any given moment. She shouted at him to talk to her, to let her take over, to just stop it, but as usual he wasn't listening.
Their growls got louder. She saw blood on the floor, although she didn't know whose it was. Spike reared up briefly, punched the creature in the head, but was flattened again.
He was slipping in blood, sliding down. The image seemed familiar but strange at the same time; she had dreamed this, or something like it. Her fingers clutched her sword convulsively.
Now hidden, the Fissure sent fire and smoke into the air. She could hear the gnawing of teeth behind the curtain of ash tinted blood-red. That couldn't be of the good, she thought.
Footsteps crashed through the antechamber, but she didn't bother to turn around. Her attention was on Spike, her body straining toward him. There- an opening. She leapt forward and drove her sword in. A last-minute twist of the wrestling forms, however, meant that the point merely grazed a back paw of the wolf. It yelped once, sharply, then bent its head toward her husband.
Five demons burst into the cavern and skidded to a halt. She was distracted for just a second: Nullat thingy in a raincoat, the boss; two Tallent idiots; two vamps. Even as she catalogued, she heard Spike's roar.
She whirled. The wolf was on top again. Spike tried to buck the creature off, but it dug its claws into his shoulder.
The momentum of his push rolled them perilously near the ash and smoke hiding the Fissure. She ran toward him, but one of the new arrivals caught at her coat, slowing her down. She elbowed it away. The wolf struggled to get free, but it and Spike were so intertwined that it drove them nearer to the ash-
And into the smoke. She heard Spike's scream cut off abruptly. Flames soared over the pall of smoke, brushing the cavern's ceiling.
Buffy pushed closer, but a blast of burning, ashy air sent her back against the rock. Desperately she breathed in, trying to connect to him.
There was nothing. Spike was gone.
And Buffy howled.