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Title: Roundabout Author: Devil Piglet Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: This is set post-‘Hell’s Bells’, and while it overlaps some themes of ‘Normal Again’, for my purposes, the events in that episode haven’t occurred. Feedback: This is my first story posted to fanfiction.net. I’d appreciate reviews: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 6: Hands Across America One month to the day after she had left Sunnydale, Buffy Summers stepped into the International Terminal of O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. She shook out her lengthening honey hair and eyed her wrinkled pants with distaste. Nothing like traveling to make you look like you’d just climbed out of a garment bag, she thought. It had taken her longer than she’d expected to make her way east, but she’d had a few stops to make first. Nothing like a visit with old friends, was there? Oh, that look on Angel’s face had been priceless, absolutely priceless. And Cordelia – if Buffy didn’t know any better, she’d think that the ex-cheerleader was setting her pompom for the vampire. An icy smile broke across Buffy’s face. She’d moved on too. As they’d both learned, when blood splashed the floors of the old hotel. That well-stocked weapons cabinet had been a bonus. She sauntered over to the Departure monitors. Her plane was on time, and boarding in ten minutes. Just long enough for her to get freshened up. When she entered the ladies’ restroom it was deserted. Good. She wasn’t much of a people person these days. She stood over the sink, letting the water run as she dug into her purse for lipstick. When she looked back at the mirror, the figures of three black-suited men stood behind her. She whirled around, adopting a fighting stance. “If you’re looking for a good time,” she said, “you’ve come to the right place.” She launched herself at them, and reveled in the fight. Spike had disappointed her, taking the little one and running like a dog when all she wanted was an equal partner. But these boys…they would do nicely. Porcelain smashed into shards, the metal doors of the stalls clanged and dented as the four of them charged around the bathroom. Buffy would have been happy to go on, but suddenly the men stopped, moving jointly to restrain rather than subdue her. Buffy followed their gazes to the doorway. Another man stood there, slight and trim in a tailored suit and graying hair. He eyed her speculatively, and with a certain degree of approval. Buffy felt blood trickling from her lip. Her tongue darted out to lick it clean. The man smiled. “Miss Summers,” he said politely. She threw her head back and laughed. “Maybe,” she winked at him. “People have had a hard time believing it, though.” “I’m well aware,” he replied. “You’ve done some extensive damage. We really didn’t expect you to be so…proactive. It took us some time just to catch up to you.” Her laughter died. “Who’s ‘us’? I don’t take orders from the Council anymore, if that’s who writes your checks.” The man shook his head and stepped closer. “Not at all. My name is Rodger Kehoe.” He nodded to the suits, who backed off and released her. Buffy straightened and eyed him warily. “Do give me the benefit of the doubt,” he chided her. “After all, you can thank me for your newfound freedom.” “Really?” Hmm. She’d wondered, off and on, just what had prompted her..conscience? essence?…to shrug off like a discarded snake’s skin. Not that she missed it. “Yes. We thought you’d be an excellent specimen. And you haven’t disappointed. No, not at all.” “Thanks for thinking of me,” she said. “But,” she turned to the mirror again and ran her hands down the length of her body, conscious of the mens’ eyes on her. “I’m afraid you didn’t quite finish the job.” “Is that so?” “Just the other day,” Buffy went on, “she tried to walk me into a police station. Points for effort – she’s a persistent thing. I’m trying to keep a sense of humor about all this, but she’s starting to piss me off. It’s like…” she searched her mind, then brightened. “It’s like just when you think you’ve got the mouse caught in the trap, it turns up in the cupboard again. So annoying.” He extended a hand to her. “I think we can do something about that.” *************************************** Spike had seen enough. Maybe it was lack of sleep; maybe it was the fact that they were parked in yet another bleached-out, dying highway town. Maybe it was his new godforsaken, bittersweet hunch that something of Buffy was left in that savage shell. Whatever the reason, Spike’s patience had worn down to the thinnest possible shred. He’d been wracking his brain for the last twenty hours, wondering how to share his suspicions with Dawn. But the spectacle she was putting on now warranted a different conversation entirely. He grabbed her arm and half-dragged her, protesting, out of the gas station-cum-convenience store. In one had he held a plastic bag of lousy, nutritionless food; in the other he towed Dawn across the street to their motel. “What?” Dawn whined. He didn’t say anything, merely steered her into their room and gave her a rough shove inside. “Manhandle much?” she snapped. “What’s your problem?” “My problem is you making eyes at some inbred, glue-sniffing petrol jockey who’d love to teach jailbait like you a few things.” “I was not making eyes! God, we were just talking!” “Oh, sorry. I must have just been imagining the way you were twirling your bloody hair. If it makes you happy, you got his attention. And if he comes sniffing around here, I’ll get his attention. Understand?” “You can’t do anything anyway You’ve got –" “I can do plenty. All it costs me is a headache.” “What, are you going to be the only person I talk to for the rest of my life?” “Not at all. Nuns, elderly shut-ins – they’re all fair game.” She stamped her foot. “Stop making fun of me!” “Stop acting funny.” “I’m sick of being shut up in these stupid nasty motels with you! I want to have a life! And if I want to talk to a guy, then I’ll do that too!” Spike’s jaw clenched, and he stalked forward, got right up in her face. “You’ll have a life when I decide it’s safe. Until then, little girl, you and I are stuck together for better or worse. Things are gonna get a hell of a lot worse if you don’t start behaving!” “I hate you!” she screamed. “Good!” he shouted back. “I hate you too! And the next time your bitch of a sister goes off the rails, she can take you with her!” She pushed past him and into the tiny bathroom, slamming the door behind her. He heard the lock turn and then the water running, affording her the only privacy that could be had given their circumstances. He scowled and kicked the TV stand. An unsightly crack appeared and the thing lilted drunkenly to one side, but the wanton destruction of property left him strangely cold. Finally he slumped against the bathroom door, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. He was no good at this. He wasn’t a fool, despite all evidence to the contrary. He knew Giles was right in his distrust of Spike as Dawn’s de facto guardian. He was strong, yeah – the only one among them who could hold his own with Buffy in a fight – but when it came to the day-to-day responsibilities of caring for a teenaged girl, he was at sea. He was a bad influence on her, he could see it: the nocturnal schedule; the diet of television and transience; their whole fast-food existence – cheap, dirty and utterly lacking in value. A part of him – a very large part – had wanted nothing more than to join Buffy in her rampage. They’d create a thing of terrible beauty, he knew. They’d bring carnage to depths unplumbed even by he and Dru. And Spike would be back to doing something he was good at. He didn’t know how long he sat there before the door opened and he fell backward in a manner not befitting an authority figure. As he propped himself up on the cold, cracked tiles of the bathroom, Dawn surveyed him. Finally, she scooted down at his side. “I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper. “Me too.” He took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead lightly. They sat in silence for several minutes. “What if it happens to me, too?” Dawn asked. “Huh?” “The way she – changed. What if it’s going to happen to me?” “It won’t.” “The monks made me out of her, Spike. We’re the same. If it’s in our blood, or our brains or whatever –" “Let’s see,” Spike said. “Dawn, insane and wishing for my dusty death. Well, how the hell would I even be able to tell the difference?” She punched him on the arm. It reminded him of Buffy. “Tell you what,” he said. “Next stop we make, we’ll stay in a real hotel. Someplace nice. And we’ll get a suite, with plenty of space. Giles says he’s gotten our IDs in order, it shouldn’t be too hard.” Dawn sat up. “Really?” “You’re not exactly an ideal roommate, you know. Chip’s been getting quite a workout the last few weeks and that’s just over the snoring.” “It’s not snoring, it’s breathing. You’re just not used to hearing it.” It was snoring, and Spike knew this because he had lain awake many nights back in Sunnydale, listening to Buffy breathe. Buffy slept the sleep of the exhausted, the sexually satiated and the emotionally ravaged. But she had nothing on the bone-rattling racket that erupted form Dawn Summers. “Fine. If we get a place with rooms and doors, then I won’t have to put a stop to the breathing, will I?” “Oh, this is going to be so cool. We’ll have to wait ‘til we get to an actual city, you know, one with a stoplight and everything, but still…” Spike stood, reaching a hand out to her. She took it and followed him out of the bathroom. The phone on the bedside table rang shrilly. Spike shut his eyes briefly. Another depressing chat with the Watcher, in which nothing was learned and no solution made itself known. As a true Sunnydale native would put it, yay. He let Dawn answer it. “Hi, Giles. How are you?” She toyed with the phone cord. “Mmm…mmm-hmmm. We’re okay, I guess. I didn’t know Texas was so big. I feel like we’ve been here forever.” A beat. “Largest…oh. I didn’t know that. Learn something new every day, huh? Even when you’re not in school,” she added pointedly. Spike smirked and settled himself on the bed next to her. Let her torture the Watcher for a while; he was wrung out. “Spike? He’s not doing too well, actually.” Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, a move that had driven countless women wild but, sadly, had no effect on Dawn. “What? No, nothing like that. I think his squirrel and jackrabbit diet is making him crabby,” she confided. “Yow!” She dodged Spike’s half-hearted grab and tossed the phone at him. “Here. Giles wants to talk to you.” Spike took the phone and moved to the open window, where he could smoke without getting kicked in the shin by Dawn. “Yeah?” “I’ve been happy to avoid this topic, but I suppose it’s time I inquire as to how, exactly, you two are surviving. In terms of money, and, er, sustenance.” “If it makes you feel better. I thought I’d hit rock bottom when I was tied up in your bathtub being fed from a straw. Now I’m mugging truckers for cash and living off roadkill and restaurant leavings. Happy now?” “Not by any stretch of the imagination. Allow me to change the subject. I have news.” Spike stood up straighter, the cigarette in his hand forgotten. “Talk to me.” “Two days ago, a gentleman at O’Hare Airport in Chicago reported seeing a young woman with an axe sticking out of her carry-on bag. She matched Buffy’s description and had a one-way ticket to Heathrow.” Buffy did always have the best weapons, Spike thought wistfully. “She was coming to see you.” “It would appear so. Airport security investigated the man’s sighting, but the woman left the airport without getting on her scheduled flight.” “Left?” “They have her on videotape, getting into a stretch limousine with four men.” “She was taken, then.” Spike felt his worst fear confirmed. They’d abandoned Buffy, and now – “No. She seemed…quite content to be in their company. While I obviously don’t know the details of their encounter, I would wager that these men have something to do with what happened to Buffy. If we’ve been able to track her, so have others.” “And unlike us, those others are with her at this very blasted second. Damnit, Rupert, I told you we should have gone after her.” “How? In her current state she’s clearly beyond reason. Would you have Dawn wait in the car while you tried to wrestle her sister, her only family, into submission? Truss her up in the trunk and beat her back to sanity?” As a matter of fact, it closely resembled the plan Spike had come up with since his epiphany last night. It still sounded pretty good to him. “I understand your disappointment. Believe me, I feel the same. But our position has improved. We have more information now.” “We have bugger-all now!” “Spike, listen to me!” Giles’ voice practically reverberated through the phone line. “This all came to light today – when the group returned to the airport. They boarded a private jet, circumventing the standard security checkpoints. Therefore the airport police weren’t able to detain them in time. They were en route to California. Los Angeles.” Ten minutes later Spike hung up, feeling both giddy and fearful. He turned to see Dawn watching him intently. She knew. Of course she knew; his little one was as quick as they came. “Buffy…?” “Pack up,” he told her. “We’re heading back.” *************************************** Tara slipped away that evening. Willow sat by the bed long after it was empty, her white fingers gripping the sheets. “Will?” Xander poked his head in. They’d been discharged for weeks, but visiting Tara had kept them at the hospital nearly full-time. She didn’t answer. He approached cautiously, settling himself on the bed. “Don’t sit there!” Willow cried. Xander stood up. “Willow, you’ve got to leave. They need…they need the room.” Willow turned her red-rimmed eyes up to his. “I’ll never forgive her for this.” Part 7: Gridlock | HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |