Fortress Around Your Heart - Part Nine
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Sting. Referenced within the fic are the Chemical Brothers's song 'The Test' (with vocals by Richard Ashcroft of the Verve) and the sitcom Frasier.
NOTES AND SUMMARY: When last we saw our heroes: poisoned Wes made Dawn leave him in the clutches of Wolfram and Hart, and Buffy and Giles agreed that was good strategy; Dawn didn't quite see it that way. Giles learned that he couldn't do magick for another 12 hours or so, because Anyanka had charmed him against the almost daily head-traumas he receives; they strongly disagreed on the course of this action. Anya teleported in to give Wes the antidote; Lilah had unreasoning confidence. This part: Good morning, good morning!
21 DECEMBER 2007. LONDON. EARLY MORNING.
Giles stepped off the last stair as quietly as he could. Sleeping people were stuffed into the oddest corners of his house- Imran, for instance, on the study couch- and he didn't want to wake anyone. It was going to be a difficult day, and they'd have to get up soon enough.
He couldn't sleep, of course.
He'd lain awake next to his wife, who'd curled herself into a tight ball of hurt on the far side of their bed. He didn't quite understand why Anyanka felt so wounded; he was the one who'd been charmed without his bloody consent, wasn't he? Yet it was she who flinched when he accidentally touched her.
He couldn't sleep without her cuddled into his side. He couldn't sleep without her.
Golden light poured out of the kitchen door, and Giles hesitated before remembering that it was his own damn house. He looked in. Will lounged in a chair, with his boots up on the kitchen table and with his glasses on so he could read the scrawl-filled paper in his hand. Git. "Feet off, Will."
"And hullo to you too, Rupes," he said, not looking up. "Tea's made."
Giles fixed himself a mug, sipped (dear Lord, strong enough to make one's eyes pop out), and then walked over to the table. He smacked Will's boots onto the floor himself. "What are you doing, tosser, and why are you up?"
"In reverse order: should I wear a sodding sign to remind you people that I'm a vampire? I'm supposed to be awake at night," Will said. He handed Giles the sheet of paper he'd been studying. "And I've been trying to come up with the last two names for the whole 'six who should not be' noise."
Giles took a look while he drank his tea. Ensouled vampire, resurrected Slayer, Key, vengeance-demon/human/vengeance-demon: yes, that worked. Then he laid the paper down. "You might add mine." When Will's eyebrow went up, he added, "Last night Anyanka told me that she'd had a charm laid on me - apparently I can't be killed by a blow to the head. But the evidence suggests that I should have died at Drury Lane, if not before."
"Ah." Will nodded, then grabbed his own mug and threw its contents down his throat. He seemed a bit upset.
'Died.' Giles hadn't allowed himself to think it before, much less say it out loud. He'd kept in motion last night, walking away from the reality of Wes's pain and the thought of his own passing. After drifting through the house, he'd found himself in Lizzie's room, and he'd sunk down on the floor beside her bed. There slept his Lizbet, the precious gift Anyanka had given him. He lived for his women- what would it mean not to see them again?
He hadn't permitted himself to frame the word even then, however. 'Died.' Nasty thing to face at five bloody thirty in the morning.
As he finished his tea, he saw Will, brow furrowed, staring at him. Annoying git. Giles said, "What?"
"You just found out that your wife has done a stonking job of protecting you, yet your fat arse is parked in your kitchen. Shouldn't a thank-you festival of flowers, jewelry, and shagging be well underway? With all due consideration of poor old Wes and the work ahead, of course."
"Apparently you miss the significance of 'just found out.'"
"Quite right, Anyanka should have told you. And-?"
"She didn't." Giles got up and went over for more tea. He didn't want to look at Will just at the moment. As he poured, he heard himself saying, "And I can't do magic until later today. Part of the charm's after-effects."
"Ah." Giles decided that if Will said that one more time, he'd do something terrible to the little twerp. Possibly with a fork. But said twerp continued, "Feeling a bit on the grim side myself. When I started this list, I thought 'I'm in a prophecy. Neat.' Then it struck me. I'm in a sodding prophecy."
Giles turned around and looked at him. "There is that. We're in a sodding prophecy. And I can't seem to do a damn thing about it."
"It's a forecast that hasn't been completely translated, either. Nasty." Will tilted his head. "I think we need a little antidote to the gloom, don't you? And I've got just the thing."
***
While Ms. Morgan sat vigil with the unconscious Watcher, the two Nullat demons were able to discuss more freely the tactical considerations of the day to come. Or they would have been, have the revenant poisoner in the next room not been screaming for murder, for convulsions and pain and the prisoner's immediate agonizing death.
She'd been shrieking for hours, and the demon in Aquascutum could take no more. He looked at his brother. "Do something. Really."
"She hasn't been very satisfactory, indeed. The initial session went well enough, but- eh. If we need to kill the Watcher now, we can just do it without the theatrics," the demon in Burberry sighed.
He got up and went to the open door. The revenant whirled on him, her hands beseeching. "Master, he still breathes. The pretty one needs more poison. Please let me kill him."
The Nullat shook his head. He said softly, "Return to hell, creature of evil."
The revenant's wail echoed through the halls. "But you promised me! You promised-" And uncanny fire engulfed the figure. Smoke and ash exploded in a piercing scream.
Burberry returned to the conference table in the small office, where Aquascutum read something in his PDA. "Taken care of. What are you doing?"
Aquascutum said, "I think I've got the right creature to summon." He showed his brother the name (because no sense in speaking it aloud and calling it too early). Burberry smiled, and Aquascutum said, "I'll reserve it for topside, though. After you and the last one go down and fetch the Lady."
Burberry said, "I suppose that would work. Security never hurts." He searched in one of his pockets, then pulled out a communication unit. "Speaking of that- I'll check in with the sentries outside the Giles house. The vampire probably should be called in, since sunrise is only an hour or so away."
"Two hours," Aquascutum corrected. His brother didn't bother to answer, but punched in a number.
***
"Father? Father?" There was no answer, but Wesley honestly didn't expect one.
He was locked in the cupboard again. What he'd done he couldn't quite remember, but the crime had been so heinous that he'd been sent away. No one wanted to be around him, his father had said. No one would ever want to be around him. Because he was a criminal. Criminal failure.
Wesley couldn't remember why he was chained, other than that's what happened to convicts. The metal was cold; it was always cold in here.
What puzzled him was that he could hear cheerful, familiar voices. Positive words- "Sit up and look intimidating," "So you must be one of Them," "Come on, old boy," "Trying isn't enough- Sometimes it sodding well is" -chased themselves around the cupboard. "Wes, sweetheart," came a loving whisper through the boards enclosing him.
So the prisoner, tied to the chair, tried to sit up. Tried to be the old boy the voices wanted him to be. Because he was one of Them, after all.
***
Lilah stood over Wesley and watched him stir. Not fully conscious, he mumbled something through dry lips. There were tears in his voice and on his haggard face.
Not dead, unfortunately. Yet this day was starting off very well indeed, she thought..
***
The sentry vamp stomped his feet on the grass, trying to wake himself up. The Tallent demon had somehow wrested the communicator away from him when the boss had called, and was trying to establish himself as the picture of good spying. "'S gone well, I think," the Tallent said. "No activity in or out after about 1 am. Me and Terry been here all night, on alert."
The sentry vamp snorted: 'Me and Terry,' hell. That bloody demon had been snoring on the bench, while he'd been keeping a weather eye out for murderous-
And then the sentry vamp choked. From behind a strong, cold arm caught his neck as if in a vise.
The Tallent just kept yapping, "Right then. I'll send Terry in, and I'll look sharp about it myself. Let you know if anything's happening. Yessir, Barnard out." The demon clicked off the communicator, then finally looked up. His red-green eyes widened. "Terry, what-"
A slight figure in grey leather appeared behind the Tallent and without apparent effort broke its neck. With a nasty pop the demon corpse started to sink into the damp ground, but the figure-oh damn it, the vamp thought, Will Bennet- plucked the communicator out of the liquefying fingers.
Then Bennet looked at the person who held the sentry. "Oh, tosser, go ahead. You know you want to." And the sentry felt the stake go in.
***
"Well, this has gone well so far," Rupert said, stepping back from the dust. "Good job in getting the communicator."
"Yeah, hope Imran's up on his Tallent imitations. They'll expect Barnard to check in every now and then," Spike said. He spun the mobile in his fingers, then tucked it away. "Nice bit of dusting, that."
Rupert shrugged and put the stake back into his pocket. Dad's not quite getting the message, Spike thought. "You've gotten better at that in the past few years, Rupes. Used to be crap in the field, pardon the expression."
"Pillock." Rupert stretched a bit. "I'll admit I wasn't always in the best of shape in Sunnydale."
"No. Stayed away from the spell-casting and patrolling, kept to your books mostly. But bloody hell, didn't Buffy go spare whenever you threatened to leave. Counted on you, right."
"Is there a point to this, Will?"
Spike raised his eyebrow. "Making conversation." He lit himself a cigarette, then looked back at the house. Lights had come on in the upper floors. "Better go back in. Everyone's getting up."
They fell in step together, as they had done for the past five and a half years. After they'd gotten into their stride, Spike said, "Tidy little operation there, even though you didn't use magick or anything. Couldn't have done it by myself."
"And that's a bald-faced lie." Rupert half-smiled. "You're not by any chance trying to make the old man feel younger or still useful, are you?"
"No. Lord, no. Why would I bother myself like that?" Why do I even bother to lie, Spike thought.
Rupert bounded up from the street onto the pavement. "Strangely enough, it worked. So, to whom do I make out the cheque for this consult? To William Bennet, Vampire Psychologist?"
"Sod off."
The grin was blinding. "Here's an idea. You should get your own radio chat show- dispense advice on air to callers. 'Hello, I'm Dr. William Bennet, and I'm bloody listening. Wankers.'"
"Wonder if your charm would still work if I put out my fag on your forehead. Not officially a blow, right?"
***
Buffy wondered if her sister was ever going to talk to her again.
Since no one had gone home last night- safer to stay together- Dawn had to bunk in with Spike and Buffy. The chill from the Key, who'd wrapped herself in blankets and silence, had gotten through to Buffy even in her sleep.
It didn't help that she hadn't had her good-luck marital loving, either, unless she counted the quickie in the walk-in closet last night while Dawn was showering. And that, while perfectly fine for what it was, hardly seemed like enough luck for her To-Do list today.
Dawn walked down the hall ahead of her, then looked into the study. Buffy followed. Imran sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes; he'd obviously been awakened by a tiny half-demon tornado. Lizzie at the moment was trying to put a CD into Giles's expensive stereo. Damn.
"Sweetie, don't," Buffy began, but Dawn was there before her. She scooped Lizzie up in her arms and nuzzled. Lizzie cuddled back.
Imran muttered something about tea, vats of tea, and staggered off toward the kitchen. At almost the same time Nanny Tina popped her head into the study and said, "Elizabeth. Your breakfast will be ready in a minute, and then we have to go."
"Egg?" Lizzie asked, and Tina nodded before disappearing. Well, Buffy corrected herself, she just went back down the hall. The disappearing gig would be after breakfast; Anya had decided that the little one and her care-giver would be better off at Tina's home. Which was in a dimension that Buffy couldn't actually pronounce.
In one of those alarmingly perceptive moments the little girl had, Lizzie curled her fingers around Dawn's hair and said, "Auntie Dawn, you look sad."
"Yes, Lizzie. Uncle Wes isn't doing very well. He's alone and sick and he needs someone, and that makes me very sad." Dawn's eyes met Buffy's. Right. Her sister was never going to talk to her again.
From down the hall, the voices of Giles and Spike rang out, telling Imran about the sentries they'd just dispatched out in front. See, there Spike went again. He'd better not have been dancing with danger, playing with fire, all those cliches. She'd talked to him about this. It had even been in the damn wedding vows.
Anya came into the study, heading for Lizzie. "Darling girl, what are you doing?"
Lizzie jumped- well, Buffy hoped it was only a jump- onto her mother's back. Anya twirled her around a couple of times, getting a good strong squeal from her daughter. Lizzie, though, was focused on one thing. "Mummy, Aunt Dawn wants Uncle Wes to feel better."
"We all do, precious," Anya answered. Her hand met Dawn's, and they hung on for a moment. For that moment, Buffy felt utterly excluded. Slayers had to make the choices that made their sisters hate them. Slayers didn't get to swing their little girls on their backs.
Cool hands came around her from behind, sliding slowly across her stomach while pulling her back against her husband's chest. On the other hand, she thought, it wasn't all bad to be Buffy Summers, Slayer. She reached back to give Spike a morning kiss. He tasted of smoke, but in a good way.
Giles walked into the room too. He hesitated for a minute, then moved to his wife and child. Lifting his hand to Lizzie's hair, he said, "Good morning, darling." After a pause, he added, "Both my darlings."
Anya looked up at him, but incredibly said nothing. He moved his hand to caress Anya's neck, which she allowed. Buffy couldn't understand the scene at all, but Spike whispered in her ear, "Nasty disagreement. Tell you later."
Lizzie took this opportunity to lean over and slam in the CD. After a few seconds of prettiness the bass on one of those electronic songs Anya liked kicked in, and Buffy winced. Lizzie was in oh so many ways her mother's daughter. She slid down off Anya's back and then grabbed Dawn's hand.
"Aunt Dawn, here, sit with me. We'll wish Uncle Wes better."
Dawn collapsed gracefully on the floor and then pulled Lizzie onto her lap, hiding her face in the little demon's hair. Although the words were muffled, Buffy could hear Dawn say, "I'd like that very much, sweetie." The two clasped hands and closed their eyes.
Surprisingly, Giles and Anya looked at each other and nodded. Their hands linked; Giles's fingers grabbed so tightly that Anya winced, then she grabbed back just as hard. They placed their free hands on Dawn's head.
Buffy waited for Spike to say something like, "What bollocks- with a capital B, and that rhymes with C, and that stands for crap." But he didn't. There was a little snort of what might have been laughter, and then his whisper. "Shall we?"
They walked over to join the family. Buffy thought that perhaps the thumping music was not the best choice for wish soundtracks, but then she heard the refrain: "Can you hear me now; am I coming through." And she thought of Wes, all alone.
Spike caught her hand in his: so strong, so matched. She put her other hand on Anya's shoulder, and Spike mirrored the action with Giles. She closed her eyes.
It was as if a current passed through them all, linking them. The air crackled, and Buffy could feel each individual in the whole: Giles's solidity, Anya's pragmatism, Spike's energy, her own power, and Dawn's overwhelming love. And she thought of Wes.
Their missing one.
***
Lilah looked at her watch. Time to set the plans in motion. She got up from her Wesley-watching chair and walked toward the door-
But she stopped at a noise from behind her. Was he crying?
***
The voices had gotten so incredibly loud, so full of light and energy and joy. Wesley almost couldn't bear it. The walls of the cupboard cracked a bit, and fresh clean air blew through the chinks.
Then the locked door burst open, and light poured in. Wesley couldn't help it. He laughed out loud.
The sound of his own voice jolted his eyes open. He was still tied to a chair in the Wolfram and Hart conference room. Traces of poison still ran through his veins, and he desperately needed liquids. He needed to move from his cramped, chained position.
Yet he felt oddly free.
***
"Did you feel something odd?" Aquascutum asked his brother. It had been almost like the energies they used to summon the creatures, to control the demons they called, had shifted. As if the universe had aligned themselves against the Nullats.
Burberry looked up from his PDA. "Yeah. Strange, very strange." They sat in silence for a bit, but nothing happened. They went back to their plans.
***
Giles threw an extremely ostentatious sword into the back of the Land-Rover. Their plan was to make a show of this, after all.
Anya stood next to him, her hair tossing in the cold wind off the river. She hadn't changed yet for their expedition. "Is there a sword for me to carry too?"
"That one is for you. Mine's in the back, where I always leave it."
"Of course. Where you leave it for your regular patrols," she said. The words were matter-of-fact, as most of his wife's were, but they bit deep.
After a second of hesitation, he reached out to her, his arms going around her waist. Embracing him, she laid her head against his chest. "You haven't been straightforward with me, Anyanka, and that's not like you. I'm still very very angry," he whispered into her hair.
She didn't say anything; he knew that to be a measure of her distress. Tightening his hold, he leaned down to kiss her ear. "However, that's not all I feel. Thank you for loving me."
"Rupie. I love you too." She looked up at him. "And at least now we have a starting point for discussion, after we finish our day."
He laughed and let her go. She smiled at him, then clutched her amulet. Without so much as a split-second where he could have discerned the transition, Anya-as-Buffy stood in front of him. "Let's go, Rupert," his wife said in Buffy's voice.
***
Across the Embankment, Buffy turned from the sight of her double climbing into Giles's car, which would be bizarre if she wasn't the Slayer and used to split selves, body-switching, and a variety of things that usually caused stays in asylums. But she couldn't worry about that part of the team. She needed to focus on herself, her husband and their mission.
Dawn stood with them on Cadogan Pier. Even through clouds the sunrise threatened, and Spike looked itchy in the last rays from the pier and bridge lamps. "Bit, how's about opening the door before a bloke burns up to nothing?" The words echoed strangely for Buffy, but she couldn't place them.
"You'll get your door, big brother," Dawn said. She still had not looked at Buffy since that weird current-thingy had linked them all together and to Wes. But she looked now. "Be safe, sis. Call me if you need me."
Buffy petted her sister's hair, just for a moment. She didn't want to say anything, because for her, words always seemed to cut rather than heal. She did smile, hoping Dawn knew how sorry she was. For everything.
Dawn turned away. With her hands she sketched the outline of a Door, and blue sparks lit where her hands touched. "Now, I'll stay out here until you guys come back up. But don't be long, because it's cold."
Spike put his hand to the outline, and the Door solidified. When he turned the handle, a cold wind from another place, another reality, collided with the river air. "Let's go, love," he said.
Hand in hand, they stepped over the Sill, onto black stone stairs. The Door shut behind them. In the crimson light, they started to descend.
As they went, Buffy could have sworn that she heard the scrabble of paws behind her- but that would have been crazy, right?