Previously: Oz is recovering from his battle with Angelus; and Buffy isn’t feeling too hot. Wesley’s convinced the others that there’s some merit to his worry about Cordelia. This picks up where we left everyone.
Book Two, chapter 28. Rescue me
Sometimes that shark looks right at ya.
Right into your eyes.
And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes.
Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.
When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.
The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin' those sharks come in and... they rip you to pieces.
Quint, Jaws (1975)
My mommy always said there were no monsters
- no real ones - but there are, aren't there?
Newt, Aliens (1986)
“He’s so not supposed to be doing that.” Buffy was flipping through the pages of the book, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes half on the book and half on the almost crawling baby on the floor. “Look.”
Spike took the book from her, noting the progress the baby had made across the floor. “Figure he’s gonna reach the bed?”
“I dunno. But this can’t be good, can it?” She sat up, leaning on his arm. Spike glanced down at the book, squinted then moved it further away so he could read the print. That didn’t help, so he brought it closer to his face. “Sprog’s not supposed to do this for ‘nother couple of months.”
Connor wriggled forward again and Buffy looked between the two males. “This is so not good.”
Xander crept around the side of the mansion, heading toward the back, peeking into the small basement windows as the bot continuously checked for awake vampires. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, not even sleeping minions. It was enough to convince him that this side of the mansion was deserted, until the bot tapped his shoulder. “There’s something in that room.”
He whirled around, following the bot’s pointed finger. “It’s a vampire. Can I stake it?”
“No. Just let me check it out, all right?” He moved forward slowly in case the vampire was awake. Xander leaned against the window, shading his eyes. Some nameless vampire was asleep on a couch, angled away from the window. He didn’t recognize it, rightly figuring it was a relative fledgling. What did catch his attention was the door opposite the window. The sleeping vamp’s posture sort of indicated, at least to him, that the vamp was guarding the door.
“C’mon, let’s keep looking.” Xander moved toward his right, toward the back of the house, the bot trailing him closely.
It was funny how sleeping underground affected a person’s perceptions. Tara had the vague idea that hours had passed since Giles and Wesley had left them alone, but she had no other way, other than her small clock, of verifying that. Oz had barely moved in all that time, mostly shifting here and there to get more comfortable, but never truly waking up.
Even when Spike had come down with the baby, the werewolf had barely stirred. Part of her was beginning to worry, but, Dr. Thomas had said that the best thing for him would be sleep. While not blessed with Slayer or vampire healing, werewolves did have something akin to it.
Within a week, the doctor had assured her, Oz would be up and around, maybe not fighting vampires again, but he’d be well on the way to completely recovered. Tara wasn’t so sure she was thrilled with this news. Too many of them had been getting hurt. She was just afraid that the next time, whoever it was, wouldn’t recover so quickly. Perhaps she and the watchers could research protection spells for everyone.
Oz growled in pain and she sat up, her hands running lightly over his injuries, checking for any changes. For now she had to worry about him, the rest could wait until he was out of the woods.
Crouched down a bit, Wesley craned his neck to see into another window on the opposite side of the house. Rupert was further toward the back of the house, where they had agreed to all meet. From Wesley’s current position, he could see Giles and as he looked down into the window, he could barely make out two pair of feet and the corner of a bed. There was movement in a corner of the room and simultaneously both Englishmen hissed for attention.
Rupert’s voice was a bare whisper. “What have you got?”
“Possibly Angel and Drusilla. All I can see is feet. It appears there’s a girl chained up at the foot of the bed.” He turned to face the older man and his expression told Wesley all he needed to know. “How is she?”
Giles didn’t say anything, remaining silent until he joined Wesley. “Not good.”
Without sparing a second glance behind him, Rupert headed for the back of the house and the other two. Wesley hesitated a moment, moved toward the window, then changing his mind, backed away.
Gotta be something here I can use. . . something. Frustration was getting the better of her temper and Willow was vaguely aware she was sort of unraveling but the information was important. There has to be some way I can fix this mess. . . make all this badness go away. Make everything the way it should be. Why can’t I find it?
This wasn’t like the resurrection spell. Willow realized that – this was more along the lines of using the Lethe’s Bramble to make them forget – but that’s not really what she wanted. Don’t want anyone to forget, just want them to be the way they should be. Make everything right.
It hardly mattered that what she thought was right might not actually be the way things were supposed to be, because Willow didn’t much care anymore. She just wanted her rightful place back. Buffy’s best friend. Xander’s best friend. And Tara’s girlfriend. That’s the way things are supposed to be. I’m supposed to be on the inside one of the scoobies – not Spike. He’s a vampire, one of the bad guys.
Willow pursed her lips into a look Xander was well acquainted with and if he were there to witness it, he’d be very concerned about Willow’s intentions. It has to be here. . . whatever it is. Turning the page of the old grimoire on her lap, Willow focused on the words of the spell in front of her. Hhhhhmmmm. Maybe I can tweak this a bit.
Determination renewed, Willow set about finding a way to fix the world to her liking.
Cheerfully sending another satisfied customer on their way, Anya idly noted the time on the clock. Quarter past four and she could lock up in another fifteen minutes, then head home.
Home. Where Xander should be. Anya wasn’t so sure she wanted to go there. All they’d been doing lately was fighting. Fighting about announcing their wedding, fighting about Willow’s strange behavior; fighting about Buffy and Spike; fighting about everything. About the only time they weren’t fighting was while they had sex but lately they’d been fighting about that too.
Whenever Xander wasn’t happy with anything, he’d spend time complaining about it. Complaining endlessly. Xander bitched about everything. Every. Thing.
Anya thought that this was normal, until her brief conversation with Giles a couple of weeks ago. Something he’d said had started her thinking and now her head hurt constantly because of all the thinking she’d been doing. And not only her head hurt.
Her heart did too. She wasn’t blind – just outspoken, and yes, she admitted it; sometimes rather self-absorbed. But she’d seen things – lots of things. After all, she’d lived longer than any of them, hell, all of them combined, but she’d seen life along the way. Okay, so vengeance demons don’t always see people at their happiest or their best, but still, she’d seen. She wasn’t blind.
And it had come as a little surprise when she realized that a vampire was more capable of love than she’d ever expected. She was so totally jealous of Buffy; not because she wanted orgasms from Spike and hey, she wouldn’t turn him down if he offered, but really, Anya, off topic, but she was jealous of the way Spike treated Buffy.
It was quite clear to anyone who cared to spend more than five minutes watching them that Buffy was the center of Spike’s world; the sun around which his universe revolved. And that was what Anya was jealous about, because it was also quite clear that she didn’t fulfill that same role for Xander. And that made her head and her heart hurt.
Maybe Giles is right. Maybe its not how, maybe it’s the who that’s all wrong. Anya moved about the shop, needlessly cleaning an already spotless display case when her attention was diverted by the bell over the door pealing in the quiet shop.
Switching on the blinding smile and super-salesgirl persona, Anya greeted her next sale.
“Do you think he’s gonna walk early too?” Buffy was curled on her side at the edge of the bed watching Connor scoot from one side of the floor to the other.
Spike looked up at her from his prone position on the floor blocking the doorway. He’d been coaxing the baby forward for almost an hour now, and all that practice had apparently paid off. As incredible as it appeared, Connor was, at just over two months old, pretty much crawling from one location to another. “‘Spect so. Sprog’s strong for his age, an’ look at ‘im go.”
Connor had reached Spike and was trying to pull himself up using the vampire as a prop, butting against his chest. Spike rolled onto his back and lifted the infant in the air, making zooming noises as he did. Buffy watched the both of them, thinking about how cute they both were. “We can’t. . . how the heck are we supposed to do this? I don’t know anything about babies. And you’re not exactly father of the year material.”
He turned an affronted face to her. “Least I’m here tryin’ to do m’best.”
She knew she’d hurt him by the expression in his eyes. Damn Buffy, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut? Coz he’s right, he’s here doing the daddy bit and where’s the baby’s real father? Oh. Right. Off terrorizing people. Better say something. “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll just have to do our best and figure it all out as we go.”
“Jus’ like everyone else, sunshine. ‘Snot like sprogs come equipped with how-tos. ‘Sides, we don’t know what spawn here is capable of jus’ yet.”
“True.” She watched them both a little longer, her eyes drinking in the sight of her mate playing with a baby. A yawn stretched Connor’s face and Buffy said, “looks like all that practice tired out our boy.”
Spike cradled the boy to his chest, getting gracefully to his feet in the next moment. “Yeah. Take him. Watchers should be in soon. Gonna call Niblet, tell her to head home. You rest with him.”
Dropping Connor on the bed behind her, Spike waited until she rolled over to tuck him in her arms, then kissed her forehead. “Get some kip, sunshine, I’ll be back.”
Aside from confirming to the others that Cordelia was in fact in the mansion, Giles hadn’t said anything as they made their way back to the house on Revello Drive. None of them in fact had much of anything to say. Before their mission, only the possibility of Cordelia’s captivity existed; unfortunately, now it had moved from the realm of possibility into very harsh reality.
Reality they’d all hoped wouldn’t actually be true.
Hoping to spare the others what he’d witnessed, Giles had rushed them away from the mansion – partially also to distance himself a bit.
There wasn’t enough time and space to truly distance himself from that. Cordelia was. . . his mind shied away from the visions, from the sight of her. He couldn’t . . . Rupert closed his eyes against the daylight. He. . . oh god. Poor girl. He’d known firsthand the kind of damage Angel could inflict given the time. Without knowing how long he’d had Cordelia, Rupert had fooled himself about what had been done.
He was struck with the sudden realization that he quite possibly owed his life to Spike. But instead of calming him, Ruper also realized that no one had come to Cordelia’s rescue – she’d been in the clutches of a monster for days, without any protection at all – which increased his agitation.
So lost in his thoughts, Rupert had no idea they’d gotten back to the house until Wesley nudged him, after calling him more than once. Giles looked over at the younger man, a very distracted air about him and slowly reacted. “Right.”
Almost blindly, Giles walked in the front door, and the contrast between what was struck him hard. Tears formed in his eyes and Rupert excused himself, leaving the others to wonder at his behavior.
Walking up the steps in a daze, Rupert Giles came to a decision, one that he should have made years before, but hadn’t for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom at this moment. This time, he was going to argue against re-souling Angel, and rather, he was going to advocate dusting him.
Spike was just closing the bedroom door when he reached the second floor hallway. At the stricken look on the older man’s features, Spike sighed. “He’s got her then.”
“Yes.” It was all he needed to hear.
Opening the door again, Spike held up a hand as Rupert started to speak. “Get dressed, kitten. They’re back.”
With that he moved to close the door, but Giles’ hand on his arm stopped him. “Wait Spike, I . . . need to say. . that is. . . I. Thank you. For what you did all those years ago. Diverting Angel’s attention like you did.”
Staring at him in slight shock, Spike shook his head. “Wasn’t doing it for you mate.”
Giles too was shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. The fact remains . . . regardless of why. You saved my life.”
Buffy came to the door, sharing a long look with her mate. “Giles? What happened?”
“Angelus has the cheerleader, love.” Her eyes left Spike’s face to glance up at Giles. His face was without emotion, but Buffy knew Giles was deeply affected; nothing else would have prompted his prior words.
“Oh god. I’ll be down in a minute. Get everyone together.” Buffy closed the door and both men headed back downstairs.
Wesley was pacing the dining room and Xander was sitting at the table, waiting for Giles to come back down so they could discuss what to do and how to rescue Cordelia. The opening and closing of doors upstairs drifted down, and the soft murmur of voices could barely be heard. The bot was bustling about doing something in the kitchen, by the sounds of it washing dishes and generally cleaning. Neither of the two younger men spoke, the silence between them complete.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs was deafening, and both of them looked toward the staircase. Spike stepped down heavily, Giles a mere step behind him. Looking at the grim faces, the vampire said, “Buffy’ll be down in a tick.”
He headed for the phone and motioning toward the others to sit and wait for Buffy; Spike waited until Dawn picked up then told her to get home and bring ginger ale.
Her belly was not cooperating. The rolling nausea that accompanied her every move was threatening to overspill and wreak havoc with her equilibrium. Buffy sat down on the bed, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to control the tempest. Okay, this is not good. Gotta stop this. Slipping into her sweats and one of Spike’s tee shirts, Buffy lifted a sleeping Connor and put him into his crib, then ran a quick hand through her hair. All right, let’s do this.
Inhaling deeply, Buffy slowly made her way downstairs.
All four of them were ranged around the dining room, Xander and Giles sitting in two of the chairs, while Wesley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Spike was pacing, well not really pacing so much as not staying in one place, his attention focused inward. His head perked up as he heard her footsteps on the stairs, worry written on lines bracketed around his mouth.
She smiled at him wanly, knowing that putting a chipper grin on her face was not going to fool him, and kind of inappropriate, given Giles’ revelation about Cordelia. “Hey guys.”
“Hey Buff.” Xander had picked up his head at her entrance, his eyes doing a quick scan over her slight form. He grimaced, but held his tongue, at her choice of attire.
Buffy stopped short, swallowing the bile in her throat. “Xand.” She leaned heavily on the table, her eyes darting between all of the males. It was strange to see so many men at a makeshift scoobie meeting, usually they were overwhelmed by the girl-power. Sharing a smile with Spike, Buffy stood up and said, “what’s the sitch, guys?”
By default, it was Giles that spoke, since none of the others had seen where or how Cordelia was being restrained. “She’s in the mansion, on the mid-level floor, on the south side of the building. I’m not certain how many vampires are in the house. Angelus and Drusilla appear to be in the room adjacent to where Cordelia is.”
“She is . . . secured to a bed.” His voice faltered a little, as he paused to draw a breath, but he gathered himself after a moment and he continued, “I couldn’t ascertain the extent of her injuries, but they appear to be extensive. She’s going to need immediate transport to hospital.”
Nothing but silence greeted his words and they all processed the information he’d just imparted.
“We can’t protect her in hospital.” Wesley’s voice was grim.
Giles glanced up at him, anger and frustration evident on his normally placid features. “No, but we cannot keep her here. She needs medical attention of the kind we cannot provide and magic won’t be enough.”
“Can we risk getting her out of town? Or is there some way we can put a protective field around her at one of the hospitals here?” Buffy’s gaze flickered between Giles and Wesley, wondering if either one of them knew something they might be able to use to protect Cordelia once they had her safe.
“I’m not sure. Most public places can’t be barred.” Wesley thought for a few moments, then fixed his eyes on the older man. “How dire are her injuries? If she’s as badly injured as you are implying, she would be housed in ICU, correct?”
“It’s more than likely.” Lifting his eyes to Wesley’s face, Giles asked, “what are you thinking?”
“Since she’ll be in isolation, it might be possible to perform a disinvite.” Spike considered this, his expression thoughtful.
“Might work. She’d be livin’ there.”
Buffy’s expression mirrored Spike’s. “Okay, so we can work on that once we get her out of there. First we have to get her. Any ideas?”
“Our best and probably only chance is going to be a diversion.” Giles took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes to hide the emotions overwhelming him. “We somehow need to draw both Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion.”
“Yeah and how are we gonna manage that and who’s gonna be stupid enough to be the bait?” Xander’s first contribution to the planning session was typically him.
Wesley ignored his tones, focusing instead on the words. “Exactly. What’s the best way to draw both of them?”
Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. “Me.”
They shared a look wrought with tension.
“Are you kidding?” Xander exploded into the quiet room. “If you both act as bait, how the hell are the rest of us supposed to rescue Cordy – you two are the strongest. And I really hate admitting that.”
Without taking his eyes from Buffy, Spike said softly, “I’ll go alone.”
Buffy was shaking her head no, while Giles and Wesley were both spluttering their own negatives. She couldn’t speak for the emotion suddenly clogging her throat and her heart was in her eyes as she looked at him.
“We can’t. . . “ Wesley was trying to come up with a reason to deny Spike, but the vampire held up his hand.
“Listen. I’ll take the bot – get into something so that Angelus and Dru hear of it – all public like.” He paused watching Buffy’s reaction to his words. “You lot get to be the heroes an’ rescue the girl.”
He knew what she was feeling, could sense it through the bond, but he also knew this was pretty much their best plan. Right now it was their only plan.
She could hear the noises from the other rooms, the sounds of people stirring and moving about. In a Pavlovian response, her body tensed, muscles clenching, tears immediately seeping from her closed eyes. There were no prayers left in her, nothing beyond please let me die echoing inside her head. Everything else was numb. Pain had leached away every other thought, every emotion stripped away in the light of what she’d endured.
Blood was sticking to her, making everything crinkle and crack every time she moved. Whimpers sounded in the still air of the room and it took her long minutes to realize it was her own voice making them. The outside noises came closer and the desperation filled her. Please. . . no more. . . please. . . mommy. . . daddy. . . please. . . no. . .
There was no release, the chains still bound her, the leather cutting into her skin, slicing deep into already abused flesh, bruising muscles and creating a fresh flow of blood around her wrists and ankles. The door to her prison creaked open and the dark looming shape of her captor stepped over the threshold.
Cordelia whimpered, high-pitched and desperate, fear ripping through her. She couldn’t think of him as what he once was, who he once was. . . he wasn’t that person. . . He might wear the same face, inhabit the same body, but whoever lived behind his eyes was not the person she . . .
“Good evening Cordy. How are you tonight? Did you miss me? Hhhmmm?” He grinned ferally as he came closer to the bed, entering her line of sight. “You know, I’m really thinking that I like you all quiet and obedient. But hey, kind of missing the visions. Seen anything good lately?”
Angel ran a deceptively gentle hand over her face, which he hadn’t yet damaged. “You are a beauty.” She tried shying away from his fingers, but Angel gripped her chin in one hand, leaning close, so that their faces were bare inches apart. “Shouldn’t do that Cordy. Really.”
Tracing a hand down along her neck, Angel leaned down, squeezing and flexing his fingers around, tightening and cutting off her air. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she gasped desperately for air. Her lungs constricted, her body bucking and writhing in an attempt to get the oxygen she needed to survive. His face came closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear and he whispered softly, gently, “don’t fight so much. You get used to not needing to breathe after a while. Kind of like getting used to not having a heartbeat.”
Choking noises filled the room, and he abruptly let her go, watching with a wide grin as she coughed and wheezed. Purple marks bloomed freshly over yellowed bruises and Cordy refused to look at him as he moved a single finger from her throat down toward her slashed breasts. Pressing hard against barely healed cuts, Angel broke open the scabs, letting fresh blood ooze from the abused globes.
Musing almost distractedly, Angel spoke aloud, his words barely registering in her mind. “So much to play with, so nice and full and delicious. You know, you taste like catnip. Maybe I’ll let my kitty-cat girl play for a little while.”
Angel watched while tiny streams of blood flowed from tiny pooling red lakes, down the sides of Cordelia’s once lovely breasts. He drew shimmering Celtic designs in blood on her torso, patterns swirling on and over her breasts and down her flanks, dipping closer to her torn and battered sex. More to himself than her, he continued speaking, “maybe I’ll have this branded into you, before I bring you over. Prove to you forever who you belong to. That you are mine. . . . to keep . . or not.”
He shoved his thumb inside her, pumping once, then reached for the police baton he’d taken from his latest minion. Grinning, he played with it, making sure Cordelia saw what he was doing. There was a soft noise behind him, and without moving or turning away from his victim, Angel said, “not now Dru. I’m playing.”
A soft laugh accompanied his dismissal. “Really Daddy, might I play with you? I’ve been ever so good and Miss Edith says the little seer will be seeing things tonight. Such nice little visions.”
With her words, Angel did finally turn around to look at Dru. His leer upon seeing her was wide and hungry. She lounged in the doorway, covered in nothing but a virginal lace veil stolen from the bridal shop, her skin as pearly white as the material, save for the darkness of her long hair and the shadow at the junction of her thighs. “A vision? Miss Edith says our guest is going to have a vision?”
“And the pixies too. Daddy, might your little girl come in and play? Please. . . pretty please?” A coquette’s grin and wide guileless eyes graced Drusilla’s face and as always, Angel couldn’t resist her. Holding out a hand to his precious childe, Angel motioned her forward. A happy giggle sounded in the air and she bounced forward eagerly. “Oooohhh Daddy, I promise I’ll be good. . . . can I play?”
Gathering the swirling lace in his big hand, Angel dragged Drusilla forward, until she hovered over Cordelia’s trussed body. The white lace dragged through the congealed blood, abrading the sensitive skin on Cordelia’s naked flesh. “So Dru, where does Daddy’s little girl want to play first?”
Drusilla was nearly salivating and bouncing with unrepressed glee. “Can I lick her up, can I? Pretty please. . . . please Daddy?”
Angel appeared to contemplate the idea for long minutes, looking between the two brunettes. The mental image had Cordelia being a willing participant, but that would come in time. . . .
“Sure baby. Lick her all over.”
Drusilla’s mouth descended slowly toward Cordelia’s cracked and bleeding nipple, her tongue poking out from between deadly lips, but Cordelia didn’t care, her mind was blank, lost in the fog of pain and despair, all hope of rescue long gone.
Okay folks, you have got to let me know what you think of this one, because this is really pivotal. Please. be kind to me, and leave me a review and let me know what you thought of this one.