Fortress Around Your Heart - Part Five
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Sting.
THANKS: Lesley for beta-ing, Magpie for research. ;-)
NOTES AND SUMMARY: Sequel to *Waiting on a Friend*, set in December 2007. When last we saw our heroes: Spike and Buffy babysat Lizzie; Giles saved himself from a revenant strangler but found himself in buckets of trouble from Anyanka; Dawn decided to nap with Wesley; and the evil project supervisor was revealed to be Lilah Morgan, to the surprise of absolutely no one. This chapter: Domesticity and revelations before the storm hits. The evening of the same day.20 DECEMBER 2007. LONDON. EVENING.
Glory had trapped her again. Where, Dawn didn't know, except that it wasn't at the top of the tower. She was bound in a chair, with chains wrapping around her from elbow to ankle, just short of cutting into flesh. The fire burning nearby had flickered out, and she was cold.
Thunder roared in the near distance-storm coming. She wasn't scared for herself, though. She needed to get to him. He was in danger. Anger. Danger. When she tried to wriggle free, the links of metal hugged tighter. "You can't get out, little Key. This isn't yours," Glory's voice echoed. "You'll smother in borrowed clothes."
And she was in a closet. The closet began to compress from the top and the bottom, while the chain slashed against her thighs. Glory laughed from somewhere above. "It's not blood this time. You'll fail." Fail became Fall became Fail became screaming his name, over and over. But she didn't know what he really was called, did she? Who it was who-
"Dawn. Dawn, wake up." His voice pulled her out of the nightmare. Wes. It had always been Wes.
She opened her eyes. The room was half in shadow, half in lamplight. Wes sat next to her on the couch, his hands firm on her shoulders. They both was safe.
Relieved, she bolted upright and kissed him. He tasted of tea and apple and toothpaste. He also smelled freshly showered. He must have been awake for a while, she thought. Then she stopped thinking, forgot the dream, and just enjoyed.
Abruptly he pulled away, managing to cover half the room in two strides. She watched him shudder and with an effort turn his feelings inside. His blue eyes flickered cold; his voice as usual went softer in anger. "What do you think you're doing, Dawn? Why are you up here?"
"You know, Wes, there's a whole shutting-barn-door-post-escaped-horse vibe going here. Shouldn't you have asked me that before you kissed me back?"
He thrust a hand through his hair, then moved away. He appeared to be looking for something, avoiding her. But she saw his hands shaking.
Dawn's legs were wound up in the throw- okay, Easy Dream-Interpretation 101- and she struggled to free herself. As she untwisted material, she said, "Let's start again. And good evening to you too, Wesley. Thank you for waking me up. I was having a wicked nightmare."
He slid his keys in his pocket, then turned to her. As usual, any mention of her pain took precedence over his. "Were you? Dawn, are you alright?"
"Fine. Now. Are you?"
He went to the coat rack and grabbed his overcoat. "Fine." He turned to her, hiding behind the tweed he clutched. "But I'll ask you again. What are you doing up here?"
She folded her arms. "You know what, Wesley? That's not going to happen- that thing you're doing. The freeze-out?" He raised his eyebrows, and she continued, "To answer your question: It's been three months, and we've both had time to think. I wanted to see you, talk to you. Hence, upstairs. I decided to sleep on the couch with you, so you couldn't get away before talking. End of story."
"You weren't invited, Dawn. You broke in."
Well, she knew he could be a bastard. She breathed through the lash of pain, then returned with "Can't be invited if you don't speak to me. And as I said, we have things to talk about."
Wes looked at her steadily. Her chin went up, and she met his gaze. "Perhaps we do. But you shouldn't have entered a locked space without permission."
"Are you sure you're talking about the loft, Wes? 'Cause I'll see your architecture metaphors, then raise them." He breathed a sigh that came up from somewhere around his ankles, then shoved his arms into his overcoat. "In either context, big guy, let me just remind you that I'm the damn Key."
His eyes went wide. But Wes was stubborn, she gave him that. "You have to follow the rules. My privacy is important to me, Dawn."
"And I'm not?"
"Don't say that," he snapped. Shoving his hands in his pockets, her Word Guy, King of the Books, searched for words. "It's just- Dawn, it was badly done. Badly done."
Oh. My. God. She desperately wanted to scream "Yes!" but with the wit Anya had taught her, she kept her face straight and her voice level. "You're right, Wesley. I apologize for coming up here without warning you." When he half-smiled, she added, "I'll be back here as soon as you return from- wherever you're going. Where ARE you going?"
"Research. With Will." He reflexively patted down his coat- checking for stakes and possibly the little axe or the dagger, she knew- then stopped. "Dawn, it's not a good idea for you to be here."
"'Kay. And you can explain all about it when you get back," she said agreeably. "I'll be waiting."
He looked at her helplessly, then muttered, "'Summers women have focus.' Oh, sod it."
He slammed the door when he left.
She sunk down into the couch, smiling. Okay, he'd hurt her. But there it had been: the giveaway, whether he'd been conscious of it or not. He'd quoted *Emma,* the Jane Austen novel he'd given her when she was 16. And using Mr. Knightley's words? "'Badly done, Dawn?'"
Oh, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was so going down.
***
The water was going down a huge drain, swirling in shades of purple, so enticing. She had to dive in. The drainpipe was cold, colder than she'd expected. But it was great.
Buffy threw up her arms and let the water and gravity take her splashing down. Damn, it was a fun ride. Each turn of the pipe, each wave, made her feel so alive. And she cried "Spike, honey! Come with me!"
From far above he said, "Can't, love. I'd burn into nothingness."
Hands still above her head, she grabbed at the pipe to try to stop herself. She wasn't going anywhere without him. The water began to beat against her face, carving bits of herself that sluiced off in a raging red fall. All because he wasn't here. "Spike!" she screamed-
"Wake up, Buffy," his voice came through the waterfall. She opened her eyes to see his concerned face and feel a long finger stroking her cheek.
Their bedroom. Okay, focus coming back. She was up against their pillows, her hands wrapped around the wrought-iron bedstead. And without handcuffs or anything, she thought.
He sat next to her. "Must confess, love. Never thought I'd see the day when your screaming 'Spike' at the top of your lungs was a problem- but that didn't sound at all comfortable. You alright?" He kissed the corner of her mouth.
Looked as if he had dressed for patrol already. How long had she been asleep? " I'm fine. Spike-" her voice was croaky- "are you going out now?"
"It's nearly eight: prime research time. Have to find the gits who tried to choke Rupert. And shouldn't you be busy yourself, my heart?" Getting up, he moved to their closet. Then he pulled out his pride and joy, his latest duster, and shrugged into it. God, how he looked in flowing grey leather.
He knew it too- that swagger, the way he made it snap behind him when he moved to his chest of drawers. She smiled, her nightmare fading. "Spike honey. You're like the vainest creature who ever walked."
"Am not." He pulled a sheathed dagger out of his sock-and-knife drawer, then stuffed it into his boot. "Can't even see myself in the mirror, how can I be vain?"
"I happen to know for a fact that you took Dawnie with you to buy that coat. You had her take pictures of you with the digital camera so you could check out how it looked."
"What, so seventy-five pounds of hush money buys me sod-all hush?" She started giggling, and he turned on her. "Listen, missy, I don't think the woman who owns eight identical pairs of high-heeled black boots can say one bloody word about vanity."
"Those are for work."
"So is my coat." He leaned back against the chest, resting his arms against the top. She licked her lips- couldn't help it, the drape of the leather, the way he slung those hips out, the gleam in his eyes. He smiled with just a hint of fang. "Don't you think this looks intimidating? Scares off the nasties?"
Her hands seemed locked to the bedframe, and she arched up involuntarily, as if to invite his touch. But she managed, "No. Not particularly scary."
"Bloody shame." He paced forward, then crawled onto their bed. She moaned just a bit, and he wrapped his hands over hers on the wrought-iron. Then he pulled himself the rest of the way up her body, inch by leather-and-cotton-clad inch-with only his one unbandaged arm doing the work. Her slow exhalations seemed to come from somewhere outside herself; she didn't think, couldn't think, only felt.
When his face was over hers, he stopped. Looked down, a lock of his brown-and-blond hair over his eyes. With his body still and heavy on hers, she felt like water spilling over the precipice.
Then he nipped her bottom lip. "I'll work on the intimidation factor then."
When he tried to get up, her arms banded around him. "Just a second, mister." She kissed him, trying to store up enough for several hours' worth of deprivation. She needed him so much. She needed him always. Blind, she whispered, "Wanna play Vampire and Slayer when you get back?"
He brushed his lips against her eyelids. "But that's not a game, love."
The words made her open her eyes: God, he suddenly sounded so sad. And she flashed on her dream- never feeling so alive, wanting him with her. There was something important here. "Spike?"
"No time to chat. Research calls." He smiled at her, his eyes still dark with pain. "And you need sisterly bonding with Bit, yeah?"
Oh no, oh no, Dawn. She kissed him fast and hard, then bucked him off. Sprinting to the closet, she looked for clothes, sweats, anything. "Damn it, Spike. Is she up? Is she mad because I've slept so late?"
He sprawled on the bed, the scarred eyebrow flying high. "Didn't see her when I grabbed a pint of supper." She pulled on her Oxford sweatshirt (his gag gift to her three Christmases ago), then yanked out some yoga trousers. She was so frantic that she almost missed his baffled "Love, you know where she is, right?"
"She's not here?" Buffy finished wriggling into the bottoms, then fisted her hands on her hips. "I'm getting ready like a crazy person, and she's not here?"
The head tilted, and blue eyes smiled. "Ah, my wife. Missing what's so close it's breathing her air. But I love you anyway."
***
They were close, in the Square itself across the street from the Onslow Square house. The demon in Aquascutum rested on a park bench. Two mercenaries (one vampire, one Tallent demon large with the claws and the teeth) paced behind him.
Aquascutum checked his watch. Shouldn't be too long now.
***
Giles popped a couple of Neurofen, then washed them down with tea. It was taking a little longer to bounce back from this one. Still hurt like a bugger.
"Daddy?" Lizzie appeared at his side. He devoutly hoped she'd actually walked in.
His little girl yawned at him, and he had to smile. Even though she was getting so big, he managed to lift her up, set her on his lap. "Lizbet, it's time for you to be in bed."
"Not tired. I barely got to play with you today." Her eyes closed, in defiance of her words, and she rested her head against his shoulder. "Will you read to me?"
Anya stood in the doorway to the study, watching them. He looked up and attempted a smile. She smiled back-sweet success, the first one since their argument this afternoon. "Daddy still needs his special rest, Lizzie. What about-"
"What about your Nanny, eh?" came a rich voice from behind Anyanka. Nanny Tina, all six and a half feet of voluptuous Kindak demon, stalked into the room and waited.
Giles hadn't known she was coming back tonight; she must have teleported in early from her holiday in Madagascar. He hated to put Tina out, but God he was glad to see her. Lizzie slid down from his lap, stood in front of her care-giver, and folded her hands. "Hullo, Nanny. It's been a naughty day, sorry. I threw oatmeal at Aunt Buffy, and teased Uncle Will, and tried to get to Daddy but I got stuck in the first dimension and I had to wiggle out."
"That's a very full report," Tina said. "Good girl to 'fess up to your naughtiness. Now, don't be behaving like that again."
"I won't, I won't, I won't!" Lizzie shrieked- God, she sounded like Dawn used to- then hopped up into Tina's waiting arms.
She looked at him. "Glad to see you're not worm-food, Giles. The missus was worried." The wife in question leaned against the doorjamb, silent.
He got up and crossed to the nanny and his little one. "Welcome home, Tina, even though it cut short your holiday. We have a bit of a problem, and I feel better knowing that Elizabeth-" he brushed Lizzie's forehead- "has you here." Lizzie leaned back to give him a smacking kiss, and he smiled. "Perhaps Nanny will take you upstairs, Lizbet?"
Tina let Lizzie down, and his daughter threw her arms around Giles's legs. "'Night, Daddy." Then she ran and repeated the motion with Anyanka, "'Night, Mummy."
Anya brushed her hand through her daughter's hair, whispered a goodnight, and let Tina shepherd Lizzie out of the room. Only then did she walk over and enfold him. He rested his head against hers. "I hope you didn't mind my calling her, Rupert," she whispered.
He closed his eyes and breathed her in. She wasn't angry any more. "No, darling. I don't mind at all."
She squeezed hard, then let go. "All right, then. Let's get to work."
He watched open-mouthed as she went over to his computer and booted it up, then spread out the Drury Lane vamp's detritus on the desk. "I assume, Rupie, that you'll want to go through these materials. I'll search the Council database whenever you give me a key word- it'll save your poor eyes and head." She sat down at the computer, then threw him a look over her shoulder. He must have been goggling still, because she added, "The sooner we find who's threatening you, the safer you'll be. I told you I'll do anything to protect you. Now then."
"Anyanka." His voice sounded choked, even to him. "I worship you."
"No, you don't, Rupert." Then she flashed him a glorious smile. "But you damn well should."
***
The two Watchers, human and vampire, clattered down the damp front steps of their house. Wes hoped that Will wouldn't keep throwing those sideways looks at him- it was damn well unnerving.
When they got to the pavement, Will stopped. "So, what's it to be? Car, cab, or Tube?"
"Covent Garden area, isn't it? Tube, don't you think?"
"Just what I was thinking." The two turned to walk the three blocks to the South Kensington station. Will shoved his hands in his pockets. "You know, mate, you don't have to come with. If you have other things to, er, do."
"What are you talking about?"
Wes felt his stomach clench at the seriousness of Will's expression- he felt so raw, he'd rather deal with Tigger-Watcher (as Buffy called him) than face the grown-up family member beside him. Will said, "I saw you and Dawn, Wes. Three months ago, at the club."
He'd seen- oh, God. O unjust and cruel God. Wes walked a little faster, as if to escape the conversation. "It was just a mistake, a-thing. Not-"
And he found himself flat on his back on the pavement, vampire's boot-heel digging into his chest. "You calling Dawn a thing, Wesley? Not even you, mate. Not even you."
"No. Will, no, you misunderstand." Wes managed to raise up on his elbows. "I meant I didn't mean to take advantage. I know I'm not what she needs, what's right for her. I tried to stay away-"
The boot pressed down a little harder. "May I say something, Pomp and Circumstance?"
Wes laid his head down on the wet stone. Unfortunately, said stone showed no signs of swallowing him up. "Be my guest."
"I bloody hate it when people make assumptions." Will removed his boot, then extended his hand to help Wesley up. This was disturbing, but Wes saw no option but to let Will put him back on his feet. "However, I'm going to make some. Dawn didn't seem to be struggling, old boy, then or now; in fact she was damn upset when you scarpered. You looked miserable this morning, so I figured you two hadn't chatted out the mess you'd made. But I know she didn't kip in her room this afternoon, and I heard her voice coming from the loft. Figured you had finally made with the turtledove-ing, and love was in the air."
The world had gone mad. Wes shook his head to clear the buzzing in his ears. "You- you're not telling me I'm not good enough for her? That she's too young, that we're wrong for each other, that there's-"
"Please, tosser. Do I look like a hypocrite to you? Or worse, a bastard like Angel? 'I know what's best for you. I'll leave you alone for your own good, so you can go off and make a better life.'" It was a wicked impression, Wes thought. In his own voice Will added, "Good look-out for me that he was a patronizing git to a woman old enough to know her own mind, and I fancy Buffy is a damn sight better off. But to condescend to the Bit? Girl's a terror. What have I taught you?"
"Summers women have focus," Wesley said blankly. Then he swallowed hard. "May I borrow a cigarette?"
"What am I, tobacco pusher to all tweed-for-brains? Jesus," Will grumbled. But he shook out a cigarette for Wes, then another for himself, and lit both. Wesley clutched at his, and sucked in deeply. He could taste the smoke. He must be alive. Not a hallucination, either.
"So stop faffing about, Wes, we've got work to do." Will took a drag, then started to stride toward the station.
Wesley pulled in another lungful. It burned. This no doubt was why he said, "Will, I haven't- she just showed up in the loft, and announced- God, I haven't talked to her. Haven't told her, er, anything."
Will half-turned. "So I gather, you big girl's blouse. Or you wouldn't be on a research jaunt with me, sucking on burning nicotine." He reached back and grabbed Wesley's sleeve, pulling him forward. "Let's hurry up, find the wankers who attacked Rupert, and get back to our Summers ladies."
Wes found himself falling into step with Will as they turned toward Pelham Street. They walked several more steps, then Will expelled smoke in a long, lazy rush. "Oh, and this is pro forma. You know if you ever hurt her again, I'm gonna go Angelus on your arse."
"Completely understood." Wesley took one more drag, then crushed out his fag under his boot. "Although it wasn't my arse Angel aimed at when he tried to kill me."
"That's not funny, mate." At Will's affront, Wesley couldn't help but laugh. It rolled up from every muscle which had tightly held in his emotions for the past ninrty-six days, and spilled out into the misty London night. He laughed, and he kept laughing.
The two Watchers, the guffawing human and the eye-rolling vampire, crossed Pelham Street and headed into the arcade which housed the station entrance. Behind them a vampire and a Tallent demon, large with the claws and the teeth, skulked.
The demon in Aquascutum finished his text message, then hurried to catch up with his soldiers.
***
The demon in Burberry noticed his communicator going off, and he checked it. "Wyndham-Pryce and Bennet have just headed toward the Underground, Ms. Morgan. They'll be coming to Covent Garden, according to what has been overheard."
Lilah Morgan put aside a half-eaten sandwich and wiped her hands. "Bennet. Hmm, that could be a problem; vampires of the Line of Aurelius tend to be rather formidable. Should you take reinforcements? It would be handy to dust him, if at all possible, as well as to acquire the target."
"An excellent suggestion." Burberry went out of the office. She could hear him calling to the gang of mercenaries he'd engaged for this operation. Footsteps shuffled, metal clanked against metal, and then finally the outer door shut.
She walked to the window in the fifteenth-floor office. The Thames below couldn't be seen, even through the wall of glass; reflections mirrored back only Lilah and the room behind her. She turned to survey it. A specially prepared chair sat ready for the expected guest. She quite liked the look of the chains draped across the back. They'd come in handy in all sorts of ways, she figured. The more she tortured him, the better it would be for her mission as a whole.
Oh, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was going down.