FIC: Whither Thou Goest... Part 12/?

[PB <pbnj@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Title: Whither Thou Goest...
Author: Pink Rabbit Productions
Archive: Pink Rabbit, A Slayer/A Hacker
Author's Notes: This is the latest sequel to Spin, Spinning, Spun Out, It
All Depends On Your Timing, and Interludis Neanderthalensis. It's not
finished, but I'm going to start posting in segments since it's getting
close to the end (probably).
Disclaimer: The characters and show all belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant
Enemy, Kuzui, and God only knows who else. This particular arrangement of
words in cyberspace belongs to me, however. Btw, it contains love between
two women, so if such things offend you, are illegal where you live or
somesuch, kindly don't read it and upset yourself, 'kay. It'll just make
life easier on all of us.
Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Rating: soft R -- for cursing, some violence, and such
Part: 12/? (yeah, I know the parts and the chapter numbers aren't
necessarily matching up, but that's because there was a prologue and now a
chapter that had to be split into two parts)

Whither Thou Goest...
Chapter Eight (part 2)

Riley Finn watched silently as Buffy hurried away down the sidewalk that
led away from her dorm. He'd considered trying to go with her, but there'd
been no graceful way of pressing the issue when she'd insisted she had
private things to do. His hands fisted at his sides as he remembered how
cool she'd been to him, no longer burning with that sweet fire he'd grown
used to. It was almost as if--no, that wasn't possible--as if she no longer
wanted him. He was still standing there like that when a hand curved to his
muscular shoulder.

"Well?" Maggie Walsh's voice was clipped and short, very much the tone he
expected from his commanding officer. She could be hard woman, though he
well understood the need. They were fighting the worst kind of enemies,
inhuman, soulless things, and she had no room left for gentle sentiments.
But she could also be surprisingly supportive of her men and he'd learned
to lean on that support when things were bothering him. "Do they know
anything?"

Riley glanced back, meeting her flinty gaze as he shook his head. "No. She
said she never saw their faces and seemed relieved that they won't have to
testify."

"Good," Maggie said, sounding more at ease after the revelation. "That
makes things much simpler."

Riley frowned. "But the dead girl.... There are bound to be questions."

"It's been dealt with," Walsh assured him. "It's unfortunate, but by the
time someone discovers her body where it was dumped, all of this will have
blown over." An angry family demanding the maximum sentence for their
daughter's killers would have made burying her team's complicity in the
incident much harder. She sighed softly, her expression disgusted. "What a
wasted opportunity," she muttered under her breath. Instead of a two inch
headline blasting away on the front page, they'd had to bury it in small
print on page ten. Three would-be armed thieves stopped by two college
coeds and a social security ready clerk was hardly the sort of thing likely
to strike terror into the hearts of the citizens of Sunnydale.

Riley cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable as he broached what was
bothering him. "Parker should be on report for drawing that knife. He was
in charge of that mission and no one was supposed to get killed. Maybe we
should cut back on the--"

"It's an unfortunate, even tragic accident, Riley," Walsh cut him off
firmly, though she kept her tone reasonable, "but you know as well as I do
how crucial it is that the citizens of this town perceive crime as a
serious threat." She reached up to smooth a hand lightly down his upper
arm. "It keeps them inside at night, out of our way...and safe, of course.
And if it's ever necessary to institute martial law, the protests will be
minimal this way."

"I know, but--"

She hushed him by holding up a hand as she began to speak. "In any war,
there are losses--and make no mistake, this is a war. It's awful and it's
tragic, but that young woman sacrificed herself for others," she pointed
out, conveniently forgetting that any sacrifices hadn't been made
willingly. "We have to honor her loss by making certain that this mission
is successful. Otherwise she died for nothing." It was like the highlights
tape of every schmaltzy war movie ever made, but desperate to justify his
actions and willing acceptance of similar missions, he lapped up every word.

"I guess you're right," he exhaled at last.

Walsh patted his back as she directed him back toward the Psych building,
her office, and the entry into the secret world of the Initiative. "It's
hard to be part of a higher calling," she sympathized. "To know secrets
that would panic others and send them straight into the arms of danger. We
know this town has much higher than normal incidents of HST activity, but
if the populace knew the truth, the panic would be a disaster. This way,
they stay home in their safe beds and we have the time and the room to hunt
these things down and put an end to the danger."

Riley nodded at her reminder. She was right of course. It was just the
price of the war that was bothering him. Thank goodness he had such an
insightful commander to help him through his doubts. "I know you're right,"
he admitted. "It's just hard to see people being hurt and not be able to do
anything about."

She nodded in understanding. "Of course it is, but that's why what we're
doing is so important." They entered the Psych building together, speaking
freely since the building was quiet for the weekend.

"Well, I'm just glad that Buffy and Willow didn't see anything. It would
have been hard to make them understand the necessity for this operation."
His chest puffed out ever so slightly with pride as he continued, "After
all, they don't have our understanding of the HST situation."
Maggie nodded again, offering a praising smile, but her eyes were flint
hard. If the girls had seen her men's faces, the last thing she'd be
worrying about was explaining the situation to them. "By the way," she said
as they approached the corridor that led to her office, "you're right about
Parker. He lost control of the situation and he belongs on report." She
still hadn't had a chance to review the video retrieved from the store, but
the accounts from her agents in the field had been appalling enough. They'd
obviously gotten too excited and tripped all over themselves. How else to
explain the fact that an encounter with three girls and one old man had
left them all unconscious on the floor? If the officer in charge hadn't
been on their payroll, it could have been a hell of a mess.

Riley brightened. He'd really feel much better about everything if Parker
was reprimanded for disobeying orders. There was just too much chance of
more people getting seriously hurt if all operatives didn't stick to the
game plan while on operations like the one at the Twenty-Four/Seven. "I
think that's for the best," he agreed with her decision with a precise nod
as they came to a halt in front of her office. "I want to make sure we
don't have any similar problems on future missions."

Walsh bestowed another smile on him that made him stand a little
taller--she so rarely gave them any praise that he knew he'd done well when
she smiled at him that way--then reached up to stroke his arm again, her
touch very light. "Well, I've got to get some paperwork done," she said as
she unlocked her office and stepped inside. "But I want you to know that
your thoroughness is one of the reasons you're such a valuable asset to me,
Agent Finn."

"Thanks, Dr. Walsh," he said, beaming under her praise, as he hurried away
down the hallway.

Maggie slammed the door closed, letting the mask fall away now that she
didn't need it anymore. "Well, that," she added with a raised brow, "and
the fact that you're dumb as a post and you'd slit those two girls' throats
if I ordered you to." She dropped into the office chair behind the desk.
"Though I've got to admit that body is..." She trailed off then let out a
soft whistle, then shook off those thoughts as she leaned forward to turn
on her computer. She had a lot of work to get done. HSTs to control, a man
to design, soldiers to manipulate. "A doctor's job is never done," she
sighed theatrically as she began opening files, a wry smile touching her lips.

* * * * * * *
"So, Willy, what can you tell me?" Buffy questioned as she sidled up the
bar in the dark, smoky, underground bar preferred by the demonic denizens
of Sunnydale.

The very human bartender looked around nervously, grateful to notice that
he had no daytime customers. That was fine by him, particularly with the
Slayer nosing around. They didn't take kindly to it when he was seen in the
company of someone who regularly shrunk their ranks by dispatching them
back to hell, no matter how unwilling he might be in the conversation.
"Now, look," his eyes darted nervously toward the rear entrance, which
linked into the sewers running under the city--the daytime travel route for
those demons with an an allergy to direct sunlight-- "Whatever's up with
you, it's no business of mine. I can't help you." He suddenly found himself
pressed face down against the top of the bar as the Slayer grabbed him by
the shirtfront and hauled him forward as she shoved him down.

"Delaine DuCourvallier," Buffy whispered near the bartender's ear and felt
him stiffen.

The bartender twisted so he could stare up at her through wide, terrified
eyes, despite the discomfort of his position. "Oh geez, oh shit, you're
kidding me, right? I mean, I've heard the legends, but...oh, shit, oh,
shit, oh, shit," he breathed when he saw the deadly serious look on her face.

"Apparently she's here in Sunnydale," Buffy said as she tugged him upright
again. "Now, I want to know if you've seen her."

"Seen her?" the bartender squealed. "I'm alive, aren't I?" he demanded,
sounding outraged. "Of course I haven't seen her. The only people who've
seen her are dead and by that I don't mean dead, but still with us. I mean
dead, the permanent, non-moving, six-feet under and staying that way kind.
She's crazy," he volunteered without even being asked. "And they say
everybody she meets up with winds up dead one way or the other."

"What do you mean by one way or another?" Buffy demanded as she shook him
hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Willy shook his head dazedly. "I just mean that according to everything
I've ever heard about that chick, there's a really high body count whenever
she shows up...and even if she leaves some folks alive, they don't seem to
stay that way for long."He shuddered. "Explains why everybody's been all
tense around here lately."

Buffy shook him again, her expression deadly serious. "Willy, this would be
a very bad time for you to lie to me," she informed him, her voice low and
threatening. "Because last night, this bitch attacked my mother and roughed
up a friend."

Willy had the good sense to gulp noticeably and shake with stark terror.

Confident that she had his full attention, Buffy hauled him halfway across
the bar until they were almost nose to nose. "Now, I suggest you tell me
anything you know."

He swallowed again, Adam's apple bobbing against her hand where it was
curled into his collar. "Nothin'," he insisted. "I mean just what everybody
else knows. She was a Slayer back, like, in medieval times or somethin',
and when she tried to ditch the job, the Council handed her over to a
buncha vampires."

Buffy frowned. That wasn't the story she'd heard at all, leaving her to
wonder where the truth lay.

"I guess they couldn't kill her themselves and they couldn't be without a
Slayer...except she got turned and escaped. She's been killing demons and
humans since then, though they say she's vowed vengeance against the
Council for betraying her."

Wanting to believe he was lying, Buffy shook him again, her expression hard
with anger, and was surprised when, instead of launching into another
version of his story, he only insisted, "I'm telling you the truth. At
least what I've ever heard about it."

"You'd better be," she snarled as she shoved him back.

"Hey, man, I got no reason to lie to protect her. One of her favorite
hobbies is s'posed to be killing demons by the truckload. Where you think
they all hang out in this 'burg?" He was panting hard, his skin sheen with
sweat, eyes wide with terror. "Sheez, I oughta be asking you for protection."

He wasn't lying. Buffy knew Willy well enough to know when he was in
lying-through-his-teeth mode and he wasn't. He was genuinely panicked, not
just by her threats, but by the thought that this particular demon was in
town. The Slayer's brows lifted and she couldn't restrain a disbelieving
laugh. "Oh yeah, Willy, I'm in a hurry to do that." She shook her head and
turned to leave.

"Come on, I'm human, 'n' you're supposed to protect humans."

"Not this time, Willy. Maybe you should consider another line of work," she
suggested as she retrieved her bag from where she'd left it next to the
door. "I have a feeling this one just got a whole lot more dangerous."

Out in the sunlight again, she drew Giles' phone from her pocket, dialing
as she headed in the direction of her mother's gallery. "Giles, yeah, it's
Buffy. Anything to report on your end," she said the instant her Watcher
picked up.

"Not really. Your mother has Xander and Anya checking the painting in
detail, but they haven't been able to find anything out of the ordinary.
She also called, trying to trace information about the original owner of
the collection, but hasn't been able to learn anything. Apparently, all of
the phone numbers she had have since been disconnected."

"Now, there's a surprise," Buffy muttered dryly, while Giles just continued
talking.

"She has a mailing address where she was supposed to send the check, but
it's in Shanghai, China, so there's no easy way to trace it. I've put a
call into the British embassy there, but I doubt they'll be much help and,
all things considered, I don't dare use any Watcher contacts." There was a
pause on the other end of the line and Buffy suspected he was debating
suggesting they call the Council again.

"Damn," the Slayer sighed, wondering if maybe she was doing the wrong thing
in not just letting the Council take care of the problem. "I just talked to
Willy. He hasn't seen her. In fact he's quaking in his shoes now that he
knows she's in town."

There was a brief pause before Giles replied, "Not too surprising. She has
a habit of killing anyone in her vicinity rather indiscriminately."

"Yeah," Buffy exhaled. She started to say something about Willy's other
comments, but something held her back. "Typical vampire."

"Hardly," Giles disagreed mildly before continuing. "In any event, we
should just be grateful she hasn't linked up with the local demon
population. She's quite dangerous enough on her own."

"Yeah." Buffy rounded a corner just down the block from the gallery. "More
than dangerous enough, I'd say." The bag slung over her shoulder clanked
gently as she jogged across the street. "Look, Giles, I've still got a
couple of things I want to check into. I'll call in again later."

A few minutes later, the Slayer found herself standing in the shattered
remains of what had been her mother's upscale art gallery. Shattered glass
covered the floor between the rubble of what had been expensive display
cases. Overhead, the skylight had several panes shattered out and pigeons
had found the opening and were roosting in the trendy runs of track
lighting that hung from the ceiling. Not good. Not good at all. Buffy
wondered if maybe she should suggest her mom bulk up on the prescription
pain killers they'd given her at the hospital before coming back, because
she wasn't going to handle this well at all.

With a soft sigh, she dropped the weapons bag to the ground and began
digging things out, laying the extensive collection out on the floor as her
gaze slid around the interior of the building, hunting out and finding any
likely looking hiding places for the various implements of death she
carried in the bag. She had no intention of going along with
DuCourvallier's demands that she appear unarmed, but that didn't mean she
had to be obvious about it. She secreted three swords, five daggers, two
crossbows--both loaded and with a handful of bolts within reach-plus a
dozen stakes, then stepped back to survey her handiwork. No one would ever
guess the room was a virtual arsenal of hidden weaponry. It just looked
like a trashed art gallery.

She glanced at her watch. Barely one, which meant she had time to get back
to the dorm, find out what Willow had learned and maybe even catch a few
Z's. She massaged the back of her neck, thinking that last option was
deeply appealing. She'd barely slept for two days and even she was starting
to feel the lack of sleep. Retrieving the now empty weapons duffel, she
paused just long enough to lock up before heading in the direction of the
campus at a jog.

* * * * * *
TBC

--"If I was all that fond of real life, I would never have majored in theater"

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