Fortress Around Your Heart - Part Twelve
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Sting. Referenced in this chapter is the Clash classic, 'London Calling'.
NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw Our Heroes: Buffy, feeling Spike's death, destroyed Burberry's team and himself in mid-spell; this brought back Spike but also the Lady, who was surprisingly easy to kill. Again. Lilah and Aquascutum called up the last revenant to murder Wes, whose spirit was willing to fight even if the flesh was weak. Dazza (of British Prophecies) and Emily Jenkins of Human Resources were ready to assist five of the Six Who Should Not Be, who arrived in fashion most menacing at Wolfram and Hart headquarters. This chapter: er, what happened immediately after.21 DECEMBER 2007. LONDON. NOON.
The fire alarm had only made the whole thing more fun, apparently.
"It's Christmas come too soon," one office worker giggled to another. The two passed by Imran in the river of wage-slaves and administrators laughing, flooding out of the Wolfram and Hart building. Evacuation meant everyone could go home early, especially on what already promised to be a long weekend. Glad we could make some people happy, he thought.
Of course not everyone was. Next to him, Commander Helen Marks, Scotland Yard's Special Op liaison to the Council of Watchers, ground her teeth at the merriment. The Commander was not the jolliest creature on the planet, he had to admit. Perhaps her four years of falsifying stories about the stream of demon criminals and dimension-skippers his team battled was what made her mouth turn down that way.
She turned dart-point eyes his direction. "Mr. Cumberbatch, I trust that this- uproar -- is indeed necessary. I'll not be pleased if the evacuation is a false alarm."
"Do you remember the infestation of Junic beetles that Mr. Giles, Mr. Bennet, and Ms. Summers dealt with in '05?" he said mildly. Her eyes widened. The 'beetles' had been rogue demons over eight feet tall, and they had announced their arrival in town by chewing through a boat full of Greenwich day-trippers. Watcher-Slayer United had saved most of the South Bank from being the main course on the Junics' menu. Imran continued, "I hardly think my team would be here if it weren't warranted, Commander." She gave a curt Scotland Yard nod and walked over to the building manager.
Imran looked at the barricaded center lift. It had taken his friends to the highest floor, where they would fight and win yet another war. Or so he hoped.
They'd never had to face a law firm from hell before now.
***
When the alarm first rang, Dawn saw the nasty thing twitch. She took great pleasure in pushing the cold-eyed Los Angeles bitch back into the office space, against the wall. "Stay there," Dawn ordered. "We'll deal with you later."
The woman fish-gasped, but Dawn was busy. Buffy and Spike and Giles had lined up against the really hideous demon taking up most of the hall and open space, but that wasn't her goal. Anya already had thrown open the door to the conference room where they'd both visited him last night.
Time to get Wes.
She couldn't help crying out when she made it into the room right behind Anya. Wesley struggled on the floor, while a small, pinched man in ancient clothes knelt over him, pressing a red cloth thing over his nose. The murderer was trying to smother him- "smothered in borrowed clothes," she heard in her mind, a flash from her dream the evening before.
Wasn't going to happen. Dawn yanked the assassin back with such force that she heard his spine crack. He snarled, bit at her hand and missed, then dived back at Wesley's prone body. The red something covered Wes's nose again.
Dawn pulled the murderer's hair with every atom of strength she had. He toppled onto his back, then jumped back to his feet. "She-devil!" he said, a hell-heart smile crossing his face. "I shall be pleased to deal with you after I have finished with him."
"I don't think so." Then she side-stepped as the murderer shrieked and stumbled forward. Wes had kicked out hard, his boots driving against the bad guy's Achilles' heel.
"Dawn, get back." It was Anya's demon-in-charge tone, which one always obeyed. Anya lifted a computer monitor up and then bashed it over the murderer's head. Stunned, he fell to the floor.
"It's a revenant of some kind ...Smells like bad ritual," Wes managed to get out. "Can't be killed normally."
"Oh, that's just wrong," Anya said crossly. "Aren't there enough murderers living, without having to pull them out of hell-dimensions? It's bad form. And unimaginative to boot."
Dawn dropped to her knees beside Wes and ran her hand over his face, brushed through his hair. With a groan he half-sat up, leaning into her. She kissed his forehead. "Sweetheart, do you have any ideas?"
She felt his smile against her heart. "Portal. Teleport, maybe. You two know best."
"Of course, Wesley," Anya said. She looked to Dawn. "Any preference, sweetie?"
Dawn gently laid Wes back down, then scrambled up beside Anya. The two surveyed the stirring form of the assassin. "I think, the hell he came from. How exactly do we frame that?"
Anya clasped her hand, a jolt of energy. "Let me see if I can remember the basic command. Nothing complicated or too specific."
The revenant tried to wriggle away, but the vengeance demon and the Key each put a foot on him and pressed. Hard. He gasped, "I was promised murder-"
"You tried to kill Wes. Big, big mistake," Dawn said.
"Okay, I've got it." Anya looked down at the revenant. "'Return to hell, creature of evil.'"
Green flashes shot from their joined hands, and the assassin began to blur into smoke. He tried to howl something, then exploded into blood and ash, which disappeared into the green sparks. Only the slightest trace of smoke remained.
Wes painfully pushed himself to a sitting position. Dawn caught him up in her arms, and he rested against her. "Hullo, Dawn," he whispered.
"Hi, Wes," she whispered back. "I am so mad at you, you can't imagine."
"Oh, I suspect I can." He coughed. "Where are the others?"
***
Spike circled the indigo demon, wishing desperately he had a cross-bow or even a dagger rather than this damned sword. He would never ever allow the old man to stock the weapon chest again, he thought, because it was always swords with him.
Even more annoyingly, there was no room to maneuver. The love of all his lives and beyond had climbed up on a desk, seeking the right opening to throw her little gymnastic fighting moves. He feared she'd clunk her golden head on the ceiling if she tried one of her flips.
Rupert had the Morgan bint and the Nullat demon pinned against one wall. His sword was up, and he was smiling. Yeah, 'course Ripper was happy, had a bit of silver in his hand. Irritating bastard.
The blue multi-armed git oiled forward a few paces. "I am hungry, creatures of light. Come and let me feed."
"Sing me a new one. Tune dropped off the charts years ago," Spike said. The five hands grasped air, trying to feel their way to him. He went into game-face and leapt forward.
As he moved, so did Buffy: he went in low, she went in high. Each sword caught one of the demon's arms, severing clean. The arms went flying.
To Spike's dismay, the separated body parts crawled together, flashed black, then fused to form a new mini-demon. It headed for the lawyer, though, so no worries. She screeched and tried to hide behind Rupert.
"That is so disgusting and unfair," Buffy said, from her position on the other side of the room.
The oily demon bellowed, then closed his eyes. Two arms grew from each of the stumps. The seven hands snapped out at Spike and Buffy, indigo nails like claws dragging against carpet.
Rupert grabbed the Nullat by the collar and yanked him up on his toes. "What have you called into being, idiot?"
"C-c-can't say," the trench-coat demon stammered. "My employers had me sign a confidentiality agreement-"
And Rupert tossed the Nullat at the giant demon. Clawed hands caught at expensive fabric, and the Nullat screamed, "No, I was the one who called you! You can't, you can't!"
"But I'm hungry. Just an appetizer," the blue git said reasonably, then with arms and gaping teeth surrounded the other. Claws and incisors ripped, chewed, took in. The mini-demon left off pawing at the lawyer's shoes, oozed over, and scooped up the few remains. Only thing he didn't touch was an goo-drenched PDA which had fallen from the trench-coat.
Now those were some messy eaters, Spike thought. He averted his eyes.
"Oh dear," said a welcome, familiar voice. Pomp and Circumstance stood in a doorway, supported by Dawn and Anyanka. "You didn't try to chop at it, did you?"
***
The blue thing was nasty- somehow familiar, but nasty. Anya frowned at the demon, then looked back at Wesley. He seemed to be able to place it.
"Well, of course we did, Wes," Buffy said.
From Rupert: "Do you suggest an alternative?"
"Well, it's a Great Moebiuk; slicing off its arms just increases its strength. You have to--" His explanation broke off in a wheeze, and Dawn held on to him more tightly.
Anya joined in Rupert's and Will's protest -- "Great Moebiuks are RED!"
"No, no, that's Lesser Moebiuks. One dimension over," Wes managed.
"Silence, creature!" the deep-blue demon screamed.
Rupert and Will looked at each other, then nodded. Will turned to Buffy. "Regular count, love, first position."
"One, two-" Rupert said, and the three of them lunged as one, their swords aimed for the center of the demon's chest. Anya held her breath, but she needn't have worried. The three points pierced exactly, and the demon howled. Then it and the mini-demon disappeared.
Rupert, Buffy, and Will, carried by momentum, smacked into the floor.
"Can you hold Wes?" Anya asked Dawn, who nodded. She ran over and helped her husband up, brushing him off and checking that he wasn't hurt. "That was, um, impressive, Rupie."
"Our aim or our ignominious face-plant, darling?"
"You two might stop chatting long enough to catch the lawyer bitch," Will remarked from the floor.
Lilah Morgan had almost reached the lift. Anya moved quickly, grabbing the woman by one silk-covered arm: "I don't think we're ready for you to leave." As she hauled the woman back, her free hand went to her amulet.
Will had taken Anya's place at Wes's side, saying, "Here, you toffee-nosed little swot, I got you." Wes sagged into his grip, and Dawn let go, stepping back to lean against a nearby desk.
Anyanka crossed to Rupie. Facing the six of them, the lawyer tried to look cold, unmoved, but Anya had felt the tremors shaking the brittle human bones. Yes, she should be scared.
"Wolfram and Hart made a rather serious mistake in trying to extend its evil here," Rupert began. "Your team Below failed, as have your efforts above. Your -subordinates? associates?- are lost. You have lost."
"Then I see no reason for you to bother yourself further." The lawyer's eyes flickered. "Your threats don't affect me; I don't believe the Council of Watchers would want to attract any more attention from my firm. This visit was just a beginning-"
"Hello, did you not get the whole utter-failure aspect?" Buffy demanded.
"And we have other business with you," Dawn said from the desk.
Her cue, Anyanka thought. She allowed her demon-aspect to take over, then she looked at Wesley. "Sweetie, I believe I promised you something. Is there anything you'd like to request?"
Wes raised his head to look at the Morgan woman. The hate which passed between them would make even a justice-demon shiver. But when Wesley spoke, his voice was soft. "Lilah, you tortured me and tried to kill me. Yet you assured me that it was nothing personal. 'Business.' I choose to believe you."
"Oh, but-" Buffy and Dawn said in unison, and Wes raised a hand.
"I believe you, Lilah. I shall respond accordingly." At his signal Will let him stand by himself. Wes, drawing strength from who knew where, said, "Anyanka? I wish that every Wolfram and Hart file and account that Lilah Morgan has ever touched or been associated with, in hard copy or electronic form or in any kind of demonic memory-bank, including all ongoing work actions, be destroyed."
Anya felt so proud. She moved to kiss Wesley's cheek, murmuring, "You used your thinking time well." Then she faced the lawyer. Her hand held fast to her amulet. "Wish granted."
The power rippled through her: energies shifting, matter destroyed, time changed. It was done.
"They'll kill me," Morgan said quietly. "It's worse than if you fed me to the demon the Nullat called."
"Oh, how can you be sure?" Dawnie said. Holding a slip of paper in her hand, she slid off the desk and moved toward the lawyer. Eye to eye with her, Dawn said, "You might not realize this, bitch, but you tried to hurt what's mine. I don't want you anywhere near my Wesley, now or ever." She glanced at the paper in her hand, then smiled. "Company letterhead is really very helpful- look, the address of your Home Office. I think you should go explain to them what's just happened."
Her eyes closed for a second in concentration; her hands sketched the outline of a door. Blue sparks flew, and time and space shimmered. Within the open frame Anya could see a conference room much like this one, filled with men and demons in suits. Their heads turned.
Morgan tried to escape one last time, but Dawn caught her arms. "Bye," she said sweetly, and pushed the woman through the portal. There wasn't even enough time for a scream.
Dawn closed the Door. And Wesley collapsed.
Buffy and Will lifted him, then Dawn gathered him in. "So sorry. I feel really awful," he said into her shoulder.
"It's okay, Wes. Come on, you guys, let's get him downstairs so Emily can work her healing mojo." Buffy edged Dawn aside just a few inches, so Slayer-strength could take over and Dawn could just pour in love.
Rupert smiled at Anya. "You did well, darling." Although it always worried her a bit, pursuing justice in front of him, that was his honest grin. He wasn't mad, then- at least not about this.
"Will, why don't you stay behind with me? We need to, er, clean the place up," Rupert said.
Will cast a glance at the office space, completely free of lawyers, revenants, and (non-family) demons, and he raised his scarred eyebrow. All he said, though, was "Right." He kissed Buffy, then let her and Dawn take Wes.
"Will you be alright, Rupie?" Anya asked. She had a very good notion of what he was planning, although she wasn't going to say it aloud. Buffy could get such funny scruples sometimes.
"Fine, darling." His hand caressed her hair for a second, then she followed the others to the lift.
It had been a good morning's work, she thought as she got in.
***
"Mate, let's rest for a second before getting back to the job."
"Yeah. Hell of a day." When Giles threw open the door to the conference room, Will stepped back, cat-like. "Um-could you shut the blinds, old man?"
"Right, right." The day was cloudy, but no sense in taking chances. He found the electronic control. Shutters appeared out of nowhere and crashed onto the ledge.
Will sat on the conference table, then let his head drop, hands balancing on his thighs. The adrenaline from the fight seemed to evaporate; every line of his body spoke of exhaustion. Giles sat next to him. "Got any fags, Will?"
The honey-blond head lifted. "You winding me up?"
"No. Ciggie first, work second."
Grumbling "Anyanka's going to send me to the Outback at noon if she catches me," Will fished in his duster pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He stared at it blankly for a moment.
Giles took it out of Will's hand, then got them each a smoke. The first taste was wonderful, he thought. But this was about the plan. Which reminded him, he still didn't know- "You look done in, Will. What happened Below, besides you and Buffy triumphing over Wolfram and Hart's forces?"
"All Buffy's show, mate. Not me." Will shuddered, and for the first time Giles realized that he was warm. Strange.
"That doesn't sound at all likely. Where were you?"
"Not sure. But- see, I went in the Fissure." Giles choked on a breath of smoke, and Will looked up. Quietly, anguished: "Died. Dusted. Or whatever the bloody hell is the equivalent for a vampire with a soul."
"Ah." The monosyllable was good, Giles thought; it hid all his shock and panic. But - "You're here now, though. You're fine."
"Aside from what feels like a fever, yeah, 'm fine." Will took another drag. "The Nullat was raising the Lady, and since I died with my hands around the wolf-bitch's throat, don't ask, guess I'm the unintended by-product of Spell Interrupted." His head dipped again, his body bowed. Pain radiated like heat.
Giles felt helpless. He ventured, "Will. Do you know- where you were?"
"Alone. Utterly." Will looked up. Giles put his hand on his friend's shoulder: anything to connect, to wipe that expression out of blue eyes. "Would be forever, looked like. And now you know Will Bennet's personal vision of hell."
Giles rubbed his hand in comforting circles on Will's back. "Well, you're not alone now." When the vampire half-smiled and took another drag, Giles heard himself saying, "Besides, you were only alone because we all were still here. Wouldn't be forever, you prat, stop being such a drama prince."
There, that got a laugh. Shaky, but a laugh. "Thank you, Rupert. A beautiful lie, but I thank you nonetheless."
"Don't question me, sonny." Giles took in more smoke, trying to master his own emotion. When he felt able to speak again, he said, "Haven't finished the fag, have you?"
"No."
"Good." At Will's sideways glance, Giles smiled. "I think my little plan will make you feel better."
***
Emily checked Wesley's pulse. "I'm amazed. We'll have to get you re-hydrated, and I'll want to do a test or two back at the Council clinic- but you're better than I'd dared dream you'd be."
"Wesley's tough," Dawn said. He smiled at her from his place in her arms.
Buffy, holding onto his free hand, had to agree. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was a tough guy. And she was glad, so glad that their decision of the night before hadn't turned out-differently. She had faced too much loss in the past twenty-four hours. She couldn't think of it. Couldn't.
"Darren, stop tinkering with your prophecy for five seconds and please hand me those purifying crystals from the front seat," Emily said.
"'Course, Your Worship. Blue or green baubles?" he said. She huffed, then leaned over the van's seat back herself.
As the other two fussed, Buffy smiled down at Wes. She had to tell him, explain-- "You are so brave and Watcher-guy. I mean, the history with Lilah Morgan must have made it even scarier than an ordinary old kidnapping/ torture scenario..."
"Say what? History? What kind of history would that be?" Dawn said. Wes closed his eyes, tortoise going into shell. "Sweetheart, is there something you haven't told me?"
Buffy winced. Oh, damn. This was still what happened when she tried to talk it out. She was more Action Girl.
***
Spike's boot smashed against the last file cabinet, and as the file doors opened, papers spilled out. Across the room Rupert had his own armful of files, which he heaped onto the center table. The surface overflowed with Wolfram and Hart's confidential business.
"'London Calling, at the top of the dial,'" he sang, and Rupes finished with "'And after all this, won't you give us a smile...'"
Spike grabbed the last papers and threw them on top of the pile. A pretty picture, he thought.
"Excellent." Rupert gestured to the thoroughly trashed office space: every desk drawer opened, every bit of correspondence and data brought into the fluorescent light. The most disturbing records of death and destruction had earned pride of place on the table.
"Yeah." Spike looked at the mess, and grinned. "'London is drowning, and I live by the river...'"
He got a laugh for that, then Giles crossed to stand beside him. "Right then. It's time."
Both took one last drag, then flipped their burning fag-ends onto the paper. After only a second or two, a delicate line of red appeared in the river of white and black.
They walked out of the office and to the fire stairs. At the open door, Rupert turned. Spike knew the charm was on his mind, and he put his hands on the other's shoulders. "'s fine. Go on, bring old Ripper out- I've got you."
"Thanks, Will." Then Rupert raised his hands. Energy crackled as he did, and a wind began to blow through the top floor of the Wolfram and Hart building. He said, "Purify. Burn."
Spike got him into the stairwell and slammed home the door, just as the office exploded in flames.
The walls melted. But Spike and Ripper? They were laughing.
***
The blast from above rattled the lobby, and tile and plaster began to hail down around them.
Commander Marks was all accusation. "What was that, Mr. Cumberbatch?"
He pulled her out of the way of a falling ceiling tile. "Oh, you know. Accidents will happen." When she didn't seem amused, he added, "Cheer up, Commander. I told you it wasn't a false alarm."