The Centre Cannot Hold
by Kirayoshi
The Widening Gyre
[reviews]
Chapter two
The Widening Gyre
"I've done turned the chairs
I've done turned the tables
Trying to find the key
To fifty-million fables
They call me The Seeker,
I've been searching low and high—
I won't get the thing that I'm after
'Til the day I die!"
--The Who
"The Seeker"
Buffy stopped short of Giles' front door, causing Willow to turn toward her girlfriend, her brow crooked in concern. "You okay?" she asked, taking Buffy's hand in hers.
Buffy swallowed hard and faced Willow, drawing comfort from her green eyes. "I'm okay," she assured Willow gently. "I can do this. We tell them we're together, no big, right?"
Willow gave Buffy a quick kiss, little more than a peck on the lips, but the implied love and acceptance warmed Buffy to her heart. "We're together, Buffy. That is big. And I don't want to hide it from anyone."
Buffy couldn't help but smile at Willow's easy acceptance of the love she felt for her. "Me neither. C'mon, Willow, let's go."
Willow smiled as she and Buffy ran up the steps of Giles' porch and rang the doorbell.
{{}}
"And I believe," Jarod announced as he placed his queen's knight within striking distance of Giles' cornered king, "that we have check and mate."
Giles scanned the board briefly, verifying Jarod's victory. "I must say," Giles chuckled ruefully, "This has not been good for my ego. I'm no grandmaster, but it's been a while since I've lost a game as quickly as I have now. And three times in a row yet. Congratulations, Jarod, I bow to your skills."
"Don't sell yourself short, Rupert," Jarod assured the former librarian, "you've proven to be a worthy opponent."
Giles harrumphed slightly, although Jarod could distinctly hear the humor behind it. As Giles began replacing the chessmen, the doorbell rang. "That would be Buffy," Giles affirmed.
"Good," Jarod smiled. "I'd like to meet her. But I assume you'll want a rematch later?" he added, not unkindly.
"Maybe later," Giles offered as he rose to answer the door.
"Hey Giles," Buffy greeted her Watcher as she and Willow filed into his living room. "What's the good word?"
"Good words, I fear," Giles answered soberly, "are few and far between. I am still attempting to determine strategies we may use against Adam, with limited success."
"Don't worry, Giles," Willow assured the team's mentor. "We'll find a way." Buffy nodded in agreement with her lover. Even though she herself was uncertain of her chances against Adam, having faced him herself, Buffy felt a surge of faith in Willow's words.
Funny, she thought to herself. I never had much faith in a whole helluva lot, before I met Willow.
"Make yourselves at home," Giles offered, "and I'll bring out some tea and scones."
"Thanks Giles," Willow answered as she and Buffy entered the living room. "Hey, is Xander gonna be here?"
"Not until this evening," Giles answered from the kitchen. "He said he had some extra work at the construction site, but he would do a donut run before coming here."
"Oh," Willow answered quietly, and Buffy noticed the slight droop in her chin. "Well, Buffy and I had something to announce," she said quietly, "but I'd rather wait until everyone's here. Uh, if that's okay with you, Buffy."
"It's more than okay, Willow," the Slayer answered, smiling. Buffy instinctively reached out to Willow, to offer what comfort she could, but stopped short as she noticed the stranger sitting beside the coffee table, as he finished setting up the chess board.
A long, expressive face regarded Buffy with slate gray eyes, as a calloused hand reached out to the Slayer. "Hello, Miss Summers," he smiled, his eyes aglow with knowing amusement. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. Jarod Witherspoon, at your service."
Buffy slowly accepted the offered handshake, before she spoke to the newcomer. "So, Jarod," she started cautiously, "you a friend of Giles?"
"Not really," Jarod admitted, "I just met him today. But it seems like I've known him for a long time." Buffy sized up the stranger immediately; a mysterious gentleman, seemed nonplussed by Giles talking about Adam or other Slayer business in front of him, an interest in meeting Buffy. These all added up to one thing; Council.
"Great," Buffy raised her eyebrow sardonically. "Look buddy, I don't have time for any games. So if the Council sent you, don't let the door slap your fanny on the way out."
"Buffy," Giles emerged from the kitchen, maintaining a tight rein on his emotions. Buffy glared hard at Giles, not even attempting to hide her anger. "Forget it Giles," she snapped at her Watcher. "I'm not the Council's point-girl anymore! After what they did to us last year, I wouldn't trust any of them if they told me that grass was green!"
Giles steeled himself for what promised to be a heated debate with Buffy over his guest, but Jarod raised his hand to draw their attention to him. "Believe me, Buffy," Jarod spoke in gentle, assuring tones, "I don't suffer them gladly either. Indeed, it was when I learned how they mistreated you with their damned Cruciamentum that I chose to hand the Council my walking papers. I have about as much love for ol' Quentin Travers as you do."
"Oh yeah? Then..." Buffy started instantly, before Jarod's words registered. She stood in stunned silence, her mouth hanging slack jawed, her eyes darting between Giles and Willow. Giles regarded her with a smirking mouth, a sign Buffy recognized as kindly condescension, while Willow feigned sympathy but somehow couldn't suppress a faint giggle. "Uh," a mollified Buffy continued, "slight pause while I remove the foot from my mouth."
Jarod's gentle laughter carried no malice, and had the strange effect of calming Buffy's anxieties. "That's okay, Buffy, no harm no foul. From what Giles had been telling me, you've been having a hard time of it this past year, and the Council weren't very supportive."
"Well, that's life in the big city," Buffy answered. "Oh, and the gorgeous redhead on the sofa is my best friend and roommate, Willow Rosenberg."
"Ah," Jarod nodded. "Giles mentioned you this morning. You're a witch, right?"
Willow smiled warmly as she shook Jarod's hand. "Guilty as charged, Mr. Witherspoon."
"Please," Jarod shook his head, "call me Jarod. I was never comfortable with my last name. Always sounded so fake, y'know?" Jarod smiled inwardly at a private joke that only he knew.
"Well, Jarod," Willow corrected herself, "what brings you to Spook Central?"
Jarod returned to his seat, noticing how Buffy slid onto the sofa right next to Willow. He couldn't help but notice the easy intimacy between the two; the way Buffy's hand never strayed from Willow's back and side, how her eyes occasionally darted toward the redhead's face. He found himself wondering how deep their friendship ran.
He filed that question away for further reference. They seemed happy together, and Jarod wouldn't begrudge them their happiness. "Information, mostly," Jarod answered. "Although I'm no longer with the Council, I still maintain some informal contact with them."
"In other words," Willow crooked an editorial eyebrow, "you hack their computers."
"In other words," Jarod answered defensively, "I maintain contact with a sympathetic friend of mine. A Flemish psychiatrist, actually. No one you know, Giles. But he does let me have access to some of the Council's files. Not the more esoteric files, you understand, just the day-to-day stuff. Anyway, my contact had informed me recently about an organization called The Initiative."
Buffy frowned at the word, and Jarod quietly took note of her expression. "How did the Council know about the Initiative?"
"They probably sent a spy to Sunnydale," Giles answered, emerging from the kitchen with a silver plated tray containing a teapot and four tea cups. "Once we severed ties to the Council, they no doubt sent someone to the Hellmouth to keep tabs on us."
"Lovely," Buffy grumped, a dark scowl creasing her face. "Just can't keep away from the Council, huh?"
"They do seem to have a Napoleon complex," Jarod observed. "Always having to be in charge. But that's not why I'm here, Buffy. I came here to meet you personally, and to offer any assistance that I can. But it's your town, Buffy, it's your show, and I will defer to you at all times."
Buffy glanced back at Willow, gauging her reaction to the stranger in their midst. Over the years she found that she often relied on Willow's people-reading skills more than her own. Willow saw the unasked question in Buffy's eyes, and smiled reassuringly. Without words, Willow assured Buffy that the new Watcher could be trusted.
Buffy turned back to Jarod and said, "You're on. Welcome to the Scooby Gang." Giles nodded approvingly and started to pour the tea.
"My pleasure," Jarod nodded, flashing Buffy a boyish smile.
"Now then," Giles suggested as he offered Jarod a tea cup, "you said that you were looking for information, Jarod, about the Initiative?"
"Oh, thank you," Jarod answered as he took the offered cup. "Anything you can tell me would be appreciated, so I can get up to speed."
"I've put all the info we got on them in a file on my computer," Willow offered brightly. "If you'd like, I can burn off a disc for you..." She then noticed Giles starting to squirm uncomfortably in his chair, as he usually did when the topic turned to computers, and reconsidered her offer. "Of course," she added, more subdued, "if you don't have a computer, I could always print out the files..."
"As a matter of fact," Jarod told Willow, "I do have a laptop." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen, and scribbled out a line of figures on a nearby napkin. "Here," he said, handing Willow the napkin, "my addy. Just email the files to me when you have the chance."
"I'd be glad to," Willow grinned. "Hey, how about I head back to the dorm and send you the email now? I've got a report due in my psych class in two weeks, and I'd like to get that hammered out a.s.a.p."
"Understood," Jarod answered as Willow and Buffy got up off the sofa. "I should be heading to my hotel soon, to settle in, make sure my online connection's up and running. Are you gonna be here later today, to meet Xander and Anya?"
"Sorry, Willow," Jarod shook his head. "I have some business to take care of. Maybe we can talk again tomorrow, once I've read the files."
"Sounds like a plan," Giles nodded, seeing the others to the door. "Take care today, Buffy," he spoke to the Slayer sternly, yet with a fatherly affection. So much like Sydney, Jarod mused. "If Adam and his minions are about, they may be targeting you in particular."
"What a coincidence," Buffy answered gravely as she headed for the door. "I'm targeting Adam too."
{{}}
Two hours later, Jarod booted his laptop computer and clicked his internet service icon. Once he was logged on, he checked his email, and smiled as he noticed the address; RedWitch1@ucsunnydale.com. A few mouseclicks later, and Jarod had downloaded the files that Willow had promised him.
He spent the next hour scanning each file, absorbing the information they contained like a sponge. He scowled inwardly at Willow's account of Maggie Walsh, and how she attempted to have Buffy killed, fearing that she was a risk to the Initiative. He shuddered at Buffy's impressions of the monster Adam and her fears that she could not beat this thing. He cross-referenced Willow's files with the information he had hacked out of the Centre's mainframe, and found his worst fears confirmed.
Before he logged off, he looked at his Instant Messaging Buddy list, and smiled when he saw that the name MajorCharles was listed. He opened a chat window, and began to write;
TheGreatPretender; Hey Dad.
MajorCharles; It's good to hear from you Jarod.
TheGreatPretender; Same here. How's Emily and Ethan?
MajorCharles; They're doing well. Ethan's been a great help for me. He may have some leads on your mother's whereabouts. And Emily misses her big brother. They both do.
TheGreatPretender; I miss them too, Dad. Listen, I don't have a lot of time, so I'll make it quick. The word is 'liberation'.
MajorCharles; So you're going through with it?
TheGreatPretender; I have to. And I want you to keep Emily and Ethan safe. You have the address for the safehouse?
MajorCharles; Memorized, Jarod.
TheGreatPretender; Good. And the other things we talked about before, when we first set up this contingency, will that be a problem?
MajorCharles; Not at all. I'll take care of everything.
TheGreatPretender; Thanks, Dad. I gotta go. Things are happening fast here, and I have some contacts to make.
MajorCharles; No problem. You just stay safe, Son. When this is over with, I want you safe and back with your family. I seem to recall that I promised to take you fishing.
TheGreatPretender; :-) I'll bring the worms! I love you Dad.
MajorCharles; I love you too son. Take care.
TheGreatPretender; You too.
Jarod severed his instant message connection, and started printing out the files from Willow's email. While the printer ran, Jarod fished out his cellular and started to dial.
The two-story townhouse stood overlooking the San Francisco Bay, indistinct from the other townhouses that flanked it left and right; red brick façade, Victorian door and window frames and a small, well-manicured lawn. When asked about the occupants of the townhouse, the neighbors shook their heads and admitted ignorance. Whoever lived their kept to themselves and interacted with nobody. No one outside of the Centre knew the truth, that the townhouse was in fact a Centre safe house, frequently used as a retreat or field headquarters for Centre operatives.
Miss Parker lit a cigarette and watched as the setting sun tinted the waters of the bay orange and red. She then turned her attention to the latest clue in the seemingly never-ending search for the errant Pretender. She held the crudely whittled wooden rod between her thumb and forefinger, scanning its surface for clues. "What's your game this time, Jarod," she murmured, half to herself.
Sydney scowled slightly as he considered Jarod's clues. "Perhaps he's comparing the Centre to vampires?"
Miss Parker snorted derisively, wincing as the dark tar-smoke taste of her cigarette deposited itself in the back of her throat. "Too cliché, even for Jarod. There's something else we're not getting."
"Hey," Broots suggested, "what about that song he was quoting when he called you? Y'know, 'Welcome to the Hotel California'?"
"And you're going where with this?" Miss Parker asked impatiently.
"Well," Broots suggested, "it's been disproved since, but there used to be rumors running around that the song was about a Satanic cult or somesuch. And it is kind of a dark song. Y'know, that line; 'They cut it with their steely knives but they just can't kill the beast'."
"Yes," Sydney mused. "It is possible that Jarod has become fixated on the trappings of horror. Vampires, devils, monsters..." Sydney's musings were interrupted by the incessantly shrill ringing of his cellular.
"Yeah," Miss Parker fumed, stubbing her cigarette angrily in a nearby, partly filled ashtray. "Well right now, the only monster he has to deal with right now is yours truly, the Wicked Witch of the East."
The incessant chirp of Sydney's cellular interrupted their conversation. Sydney chuckled slightly as he answered his phone. "Sydney here."
"Sydney," Jarod's voice sounded quiet yet harsh over the cellular. "We need to talk."
Sydney slipped effortlessly into 'patient father' mode; he was not about to lose contact with Jarod. "You know you can talk to me about anything, Jarod."
"Not over the phone, Syd," Jarod answered. "Face to face. I need to speak to all three of you, sometime in the next twenty-four hours."
"All three of us?" Sydney asked, puzzlement furrowing his brow. Miss Parker snatched the phone out of Sydney's hand, her patience worn to the nub. "Quit yanking our chains, Lab-rat!" she shouted into the phone. "I am getting sick of playing 'Catch Me If You Can' across the country with you!"
"Believe me, Miss Parker," Jarod intoned solemnly, "that game is rapidly coming to an end. I need to see the three of you in person tonight, or else I'll cut off all contact now, and there will be no place in this world where you will ever find me!"
Miss Parker slowly bit off her anger and swallowed hard before continuing her conversation with Jarod. "Fine. Where are you?"
"Sunnydale, California," Jarod answered. "It's about a hundred miles north of Los Angeles. While I'd normally prefer a public place for our meeting, what I have to say can't get out."
Miss Parker huffed angrily. "And you expect us to simply waltz into whatever little funhouse ride you've concocted for us while whistling a happy tune, Pez-head?"
"I expect you to show up," Jarod barked into the phone, "at North 221 Upriver Drive in Sunnydale, in four hours. That is, if you ever want to see your prize lab-rat again. And I'll expect you to show without a Sweeper within a hundred yards of the address. If there's even the suggestion of a Sweeper, it will be as if I fell of the face of the earth."
"You think you can stay free of the Centre, you son of a b—" A faint click, followed by a dial tone, caused Miss Parker to angrily slam the cel down onto the coffee table, hard.
"So," Sydney questioned Miss Parker. "What do we do now?"
"We go to Sunnydale," she answered. "And we play it Jarod's way, for now. We go in without Sweepers, hear what he has to say, then we take him in."
Sydney and Broots kept a respectful silence around Miss Parker for the rest of the day.
{{}}
Main Headquarters, the Centre;
Blue Cove, Delaware
"Any contact with your errant sister, Lyle?" the small balding figure feebly inhaled from the tube connected to his ever-present oxygen tank as he addressed the younger, dark-haired gentleman.
Lyle glanced up from his paperwork at the command, and nodded to his senior supervisor. "She's still in California, Mr. Raines," he answered. "She called me an hour ago. Said something about Jarod's latest clue."
Mr. Raines rolled his eyes in exasperation. "This little game of cat and mouse grows more tiresome with each passing day. Did Miss Parker tell you what Jarod left as a clue?"
"Let's see," Lyle snatched a sheet of note paper and deciphered his own scribbled handwriting; five years after the Yakuza boss he had betrayed had sliced off Lyle's thumb in retribution, and he still hadn't fully adapted to writing with his other hand. "Something about a song by the Eagles, another red notebook, and, oh yeah, a stake."
"A stake?" Raines asked pointedly as he approached Lyle's desk, dragging his oxygen tank behind him. Lyle couldn't help but note the knowing stare of his hawk-like eyes. "Are we talking the kind of steak that one eats with a baked potato, or the kind one uses to secure a tent?"
"Uh, the latter, I would guess," Lyle said, his voice hesitant. As much as he disliked Raines, he certainly didn't wish to displease him. For his seeming frailty, Raines had proven his resiliency over the years. His word was life or death to any employee of the Centre. "She said that Jarod left behind a wooden stake."
Raines' jaw clenched, and his grip around the handle to his oxygen tank tightened. "He knows," he whispered. "The son of a bitch knows..."
Lyle sat in blinking incomprehension, before he dared to speak again. "Uh, what does he know?"
Raines' eyes flashed a dark fire as he regarded Lyle. "Too much, Lyle. Too much." As he turned around and started out of Lyle's office, he announced, "I have some business involving the Tower for the next hour. Once I've finished my business, I'll be on my private jet to Sunnydale, California. I want you to contact all sweepers in California; they have new orders."
"And what are those orders?" Lyle asked as Raines opened the office door.
Raines didn't turn his head as he spoke but his words still rang with the clarity of cannon-fire; "The order regarding Jarod is now, 'locate, and shoot to kill'."
Lyle blinked for a second in pure startlement. "Do you no longer want Jarod brought back alive, Mr. Raines?"
"Sadly," Raines wheezed slowly, "that is no longer an option. Not with what he now knows."
"And what exactly does he know?" Lyle asked.
Raines turned his head slowly, almost mechanically, and said, "As usual, Lyle, much more than you do. Which is why I am flying to Sunnydale. I need to handle the next phase of this operation myself. And Jarod's continued existence can no longer be tolerated. He must die."
"I'll tell my sister the good news myself," Lyle reached for the phone, but Raines' cold stare stopped him. "No, Lyle. Miss Parker, Sydney and Broots, alas, have also become liabilities to the Centre. Their lives are effectively over. I want to read their obituaries in the morning."
Lyle's office door latched behind Raines with the finality of a gunshot. Alone in his office, Lyle felt a strange duel of conflicting emotions; on the one hand, he sensed that a fundamental change was in the air. Whatever was happening with Jarod, life at the Centre would never be the same.
On the other hand, he sincerely wished that he could be the one to encounter Miss Parker in Sunnydale. He smiled as he imagined pressing the barrel of his .9 millimeter against her forehead and gently squeezing the trigger.
"Call it sibling rivalry, dear sister," Lyle chuckled as he regarded the slight stump on his hand where his thumb used to be, "but I always wanted to be an only child."