A Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Kirayoshi
Ambush
[reviews]
Chapter Six
Ambush
The wild boys are calling on there way back from the fire
In August moon's surrender to a dust cloud on the rise
Wild boys fallen far from glory
Reckless and so hungered on the razors edge you trail
Because there's murder by the roadside in a sore afraid new world
They tried to break us looks like they'll try again
Wild boys (wild boys!)
Never lose it
Wild boys (wild boys!)
Never chose this way
Wild boys (wild boys!)
Never close your eyes
Wild boys always shine!
--Duran Duran
"Wild Boys"
Consciousness crept up on her slowly, bringing aches to her bones. She tried to stretch her arms to her sides, only to find their movement restricted by the ropes that held her wrists together, and were secured to a large eye-ring bolt in the rocky ceiling above her. Suddenly aware of her surroundings, she lifted her head, and promptly wished she hadn't. It felt like everything inside her skull shifted as her head moved, causing her balance to shift with each movement. Looking at the floor below her, she saw that her feet were likewise bound and tied. Her temples throbbed and her wrists and ankles chafed from rubbing against the rough ropes.
She slowly looked around her, desperately trying to get her bearings. The room was lit by a single naked light bulb, casting baleful shadows on the walls behind her. The floor was thick with dust, with an odor of things that died long ago. She recognized the room where she was held prisoner; Spike's crypt.
The moment she realized where she was, she yanked her head downward, scanning her jeans. There were some tears at the left cuff...from tripping over a stone, she figured... but there were no rips around the upper legs or pelvis, or any indication that her belt or zipper were tampered with. She breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn't tried to molest her while she was unconscious. Yet.
The door to the crypt opened slowly, and with the groaning shriek of ancient stone against stone. "Hi, honey," a British accented voice called out, "I'm home!" Spike sauntered into the crypt, kicking up the dust, which drifted into her throat, causing her to cough. "Oh, sorry 'bout that, Slayer, I really must speak to the maid one of these days."
Buffy glared angrily at her captor but said nothing. Spike chuckled as he approached his prisoner, a bemused half-smile alighting on his face. "Oh, I guess by now you tested the ropes I got you tied with. I'll bet you're saying to yourself, 'Self, how did ol' Spike get ropes strong enough to bind the all-mighty Slayer?' Answer; I didn't." He gestured toward the dart gun he had rigged at the entrance to his crypt. "Y'see, I found out where Giles kept his journals last year, and started reading a few passages. One in particular, involving your eighteenth birthday. I can't believe that ol' Ripper used a muscle relaxant on you, to weaken you for some bloody rite of passage thing! Anyway, I got the idea to stock up on some muscle relaxant of my own, just in case you planned something like, well, what you just did. I figure you got dosed with enough to keep you weak as a kitten for, oh, twenty-four hours. But don't worry, I'll give you another shot long before then."
The vampire stepped close to Buffy's face, his cold fingers lightly resting on her cheek. "I knew you'd come back, Slayer," he purred throatily. "No matter how hard you fight it, you've got the ol' Spike bug in your system, and it was only a matter of time until you came back for me." He moved up even closer to the Slayer, his eyes electric with lust. "So, you gonna let me give you what I know you want from me?" He started to lean in, to claim Buffy's lips with his own.
Buffy leaned her head back slightly, and spat squarely in the vampire's face.
Spike stood unmoving for a moment, and then wiped the spit off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Cute," he smirked. His smirk morphed into a scowl. "YOU BITCH!" He leaned back and let his hand fly, striking her face with sufficient force to leave a livid welt on her cheek. "You still think I'm beneath you!" His hand swung back, striking Buffy again. "Get this straight, Pet!" Again. "You're the one who's beneath me!" Again. "You're mine now!" Again. "My pet!" Again. "My toy!" Again. "And soon you'll be my Childe!" And again, drawing a spray of blood with final blow.
He lowered his hand, some of the rage draining from his face. He moved closer to the Slayer's damaged face. "Now see what you made me do," Spike whispered, in a voice that seemed strangely concerned, although no one could mistake the ire and threat underneath. He snatched a grimy shirt off of his bed, and started to dab at Buffy's lip. "You made me lose my temper. Now you've got a split lip." After he cleaned the blood off of Buffy's cut lip, he licked the fabric of the shirt, tasting the Slayer's blood. "I can't go and Turn you now, until that cut heals. Can't have you go through eternity with a split lip now, can I?" He turned away from Buffy, tossing the shirt away. "I'll just leave you hanging for now." He chuckled at his own cleverness. "Oh, that's good, hanging. Gotta keep the sense of humor, right?" He glared dolefully at the Slayer, then blew her a kiss. "See you soon, my Childe."
Buffy lifted her head, pain lancing from the bruises on her face where Spike had struck her. "Bite me," she growled.
Spike stood at the threshold of the crypt, staring at Buffy through a jaundiced eye. "That's the general idea, Slayer. Soon, I promise. Buh bye!"
As soon as Spike disappeared, Buffy tugged again at the ropes that held her but with her strength still halved by the serum Spike pumped her with the ropes held. She thrashed in the grip of her binds as her muscles protested, but the bonds still wouldn't budge. Finally she gave up her struggles, allowing her body to hang limply from the bonds. Her Slayer-instincts told her to rest, to conserve her strength, let the serum work its way out of her system, before trying to free herself again.
But she knew better. She knew that Spike wouldn't allow her that luxury. He would be back soon, to either inject her with more serum, or drink enough of her blood that she would only have two choices. Die, or drink from him, and become a vampire. Become the enemy. Her dream of a few nights was coming true. Spike would turn her, and she would turn against her friends.
She began to pray to a God whose existence she never believed that she would have the strength to simply die. Better a true death than to be the instrument of her family's demise.
"Willow," she murmured, pain lancing through her split lip. "I'm so sorry..."
>
"Okay," Willow growled, pacing the floor like a panther in a cage, "she's been gone for over twenty-four hours, I'm officially freaked."
"Easy, Willow," Tara tried to reason with her beloved. She, Xander, Anya and Victoria arrived at Buffy's house when they heard that she was missing, and they joined Willow and Dawn sat and waited in the living room, waiting for any news on their missing friend. Tara had just left the guest room where Jonathan was recuperating. She had applied a bandage to the scratches on his face, and tried to encourage him to drink some cocoa, most of which spilled onto his shirt.
"I say we hit Spike's crypt and stake the bastard," Xander snarled, sitting on the edge of the sofa, his posture betraying his patience; he looked like he was ready to spring from his seat, ready to hit someone. "I mean, we all know he's got her. Who else could it be?"
"We know no such thing, Xander," Victoria spoke in a calm but firm voice. "Although he is the prime suspect, we have no evidence."
"But we have to get out there," Willow clenched her teeth, fighting back the urge to slam her fist into a wall. "She's in trouble, I know it! She could be hurting, and we're just standing here with our thumbs up our asses!" Xander and Tara shot shocked looks at the redhead, amazed to hear her swear like she did.
"Here, Willow, let's go get some water," Tara soothed as she tried to place her hands on Willow's shoulder. Willow flinched at the first touch, but ultimately allowed the blonde witch to lead her to the kitchen. The others sat quietly, waiting for some kind of news, any leads, anything that would help them rescue Buffy.
Tara bade Willow sit down at the breakfast table and applied a cold compress to her forehead, hoping to cool her former lover down. Handing her a glass of ice water, she spoke gently to her; "Willow, we are going to help Buffy, you have to believe that. But we won't be doing her any favors if we run into Spike's crypt, and it turns out to be an ambush."
"I know," Willow answered wearily. "I just feel so...so...ARGH! I can't just sit here and do nothing! Tara, for the first time since we brought her back, she's been closer to her old self. It's like we've been connecting again, like I finally got Buffy, my Buffy, back! I can't lose her, not now. Not when I..." Her voice gave out, as she gasped and sobbed. Willow slowly managed to control her shaking hands long enough to hold the glass to her lips and take a sip of water.
Tara looked on at the trembling young woman before her. Finally she approached Willow, lifting the crying girl's chin with her knuckle. Peering into her jade-green eyes, Tara smiled sadly. "Two weeks ago, you told me that we weren't going to get back together. I guess you were right." Willow started to speak, but Tara placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I don't blame you, Willow. And I don't blame her. I'm just grateful for the time we had together, however brief it was." Sniffling slightly, Tara placed her hand on Willow's, treasuring the contact, even as she realized that they couldn't share such intimacies again. "On my life I swear to you, Willow, that we will find Buffy. Now, I want you to swear something to me."
"Anything, Tara," Willow answered, choking back a slight sob.
"When we do find her," Tara spoke solemnly, "I want you to tell her what you truly feel about her. You love her, I know that now. And if she doesn't love you as much as I do, I'll never trust my people-reading skills again."
Willow stood and stared at Tara, knowing with a sad certainty that she was right. She swallowed hard as she began to speak to her former lover. "I am so sorry Tara. About the magic, about...about everything. I never meant to hurt you."
"You never did," Tara assured Willow, taking the redhead's hands in hers. "The love we had is lost, I have to accept that. But the friendship we share, we're never gonna lose that."
"I love you, Tara," Willow whispered.
"I know," Tara answered, surprised at how dry her eyes remained. She knew that there would be tears later, but for now she was happy with the knowledge that Willow was going to do what was right for her. "Go love Buffy now. She needs that love as much as anyone. She deserves it."
The two wiccans hugged, and Willow sobbed briefly over Tara's shoulder. As breakups go, it was painless, and knowing that they had their friendship to fall back on warmed Willow's heart to the core.
A rattling sound from outside the house broke the tender moment, causing Willow and Tara to turn toward the kitchen window. Willow rushed to the window and pulled open the blind. A lone figure was standing in the backyard, throwing gravel at the window.
"Who the hell is that?" Willow asked as she rushed toward the door. She opened the door, only to be knocked back against the wall, as the figure from the backyard rushed headlong into the kitchen. "Is Buffy here?" he asked frantically. "I gotta warn her..."
"Hey," Willow pushed herself from the wall, and tried to steady the intruder by grabbing his shoulders. "Chill, buddy. Buffy's not here. What did you want to warn her about?"
"You're Willow, right?" the anxious youth asked. When Willow nodded, he exhaled a relieved sigh. "Look, I'm Andrew, and I gotta warn you about..."
"Andrew!" a voice screamed from the entrance to the living room. Willow and Tara spun around as Jonathan rushed toward them, Xander and Victoria following. "Sorry guys," Xander said, "we tried to stop him."
"Willow!" Jonathan shouted. "What are you waiting for? Stake him!"
"NO!" Andrew cried, ducking behind Tara. "I'm not the vamp, he is!"
"Don't listen to him, stake him!" Jonathan demanded. "What were you thinking of, inviting him in?"
"Hey, wait a minute," Willow shouted Jonathan down. "I didn't invite him in! I just opened the door, and he...rushed...in..." The others glanced at Willow as her voice grew quiet. Willow found her eyes drifting toward Jonathan, who was leaning against the oven. Or rather, at the glass window of the oven he was leaning against. She noticed the reflection of the kitchen counter on the window, and of Xander's legs.
She didn't see any of Jonathan reflected on the window.
And she wasn't the only one who noticed it.
Jonathan stood up straight, losing all pretence of his earlier fear. "Do you know," he hissed, "how hard it was for me to get into your house?" His eyes started to glow yellow. "Those garlic cloves you buried near the door, and the holy water bottles, nice touch." His face contorted, shifted as bone ridges formed under the skin of his brow. "And I gotta love the crucifix you had nailed to the other side of your front door. My knuckles are still hurting from knocking." All resemblance to the man he had been was lost, as the demon took control. "In fact, I'm feeling a lot of pain right now, and I just want to lash out at the lot of you!"
"SCATTER!" Willow yelled, as Jonathan lunged at the group. The vampire clawed clumsily at Willow, who dodged the attack easily. "Xander, go make sure Dawn's okay!"
"On it!" Xander answered as he ran out of the kitchen.
"Y'know," Jonathan snarled as he grabbed at Willow, "I'm kinda glad that Spike turned me. Because I got a little revenge to dish out!" Willow ducked behind the counter as Jonathan reached around the other side. "You and that damn Slayer ruined everything for me. I had it all, Willow! Money, power, success, girls!" Tara grabbed a frying pan from the stove and whacked Jonathan upside the head. Jonathan smirked at Tara, and pushed her away as though she were an afterthought. "But then Buffy had to horn in and reverse the magic that gave me that life!" Jonathan crawled around the counter, cornering Willow against the wall. "Now, I've got the power to take it back! All I gotta do is keep you here, until Spike turns Buffy. Then her friends will become her first meal!"
"Excuse me, Jonathan, behind you."
Jonathan spun around, glaring at Victoria, who smiled sweetly at him. "Made you look." She then thrust an aerosol can in his face, and fired a fine spray into his face. Jonathan staggered back, clawing at his face, screaming in pain. "Garlic spray," Victoria said, "gotta love it."
Jonathan snarled and hissed like a beast at bay, swiping his clawed hand randomly. Willow pushed herself forward from the wall, grabbed a wooden spoon from a nearby utensil canister and struck it hard against the counter, breaking the end off. With a hard and fast thrust, she rammed the makeshift stake through Jonathan's chest, into his unbeating heart. Within seconds, he was a pile of ash on the kitchen floor.
Willow slowly stepped away from the ashes, letting the broken spoon fall from her nerveless fingers. Tara made her way to Willow's side, supporting her weight before she fainted. Instinctively the redhead took Tara's hand in hers, accepting her warmth and support as she was guided to a stool by the breakfast table. "Thanks, Tara," she breathed hoarsely. "I never had to stake someone I actually knew before."
"You didn't know him, Willow," Xander spoke from the doorway, Dawn clinging to him for protection. "None of us did. Jonathan died the moment Spike turned him. That was just a demon who wore the body of our old classmate." Willow lowered her head in quiet acceptance of Xander's words. Intellectually she knew he was right, it would just take a while for his words to register in her gut.
"You're right, Xander," she finally admitted. "But right now we got bigger problems. Spike has Buffy; thanks to Jonathan, we know that. And he plans to turn her, and send her to kill us." Just like in her dream, Willow thought but refused to say aloud. She shuddered at the thought.
Victoria added, "And we can safely assume that wherever he has her, he's got the place prepped for an ambush. He'll be waiting for anyone to rescue her."
"So, what do we do, just whistle a rousing chorus of 'Monster Mash' when she comes back all vamped up?" Dawn shouted. "We can't just sit here, we gotta stop Spike before he sinks his fangs into her!"
"You're preaching to the converted here, Dawn," Willow shook her head in exasperation. "But how do we sneak in without Spike knowing?"
"Uh, guys?" Six heads turned toward the sound of Andrew's voice. They had completely forgotten that the surviving nerd was still there. "Uh, I think I may have a way..."
>
The door to the abandoned hide-out creaked open, and Andrew turned on the switch, bathing the room in fluorescent light. "Here we are, guys," he piped up, "HQ sweet HQ."
Willow and Xander looked over the remains of the self-styled Troika's headquarters. Most of the furniture was overturned and slashed, the picture tube in the television set was smashed in, and blood splatters soaked the sofa cushions and hardwood floors. "Let me guess," Xander quipped, "Spike was here?"
"Yeah," Andrew said sadly. "He showed up with Warren's head in his hands, then he attacked Jonathan. I guess he wanted a minion or something. I managed to get away while he was busy with Jonathan. I guess he did a thorough job of trashing the joint. But..." Andrew paused as he scanned around the room. He stopped, stared hard at a corner of the room, and smiled. "Good," he muttered, "he missed it."
He sprinted to the corner and located a battered foot locker. Hauling the locker out of the corner, he smiled as he unlatched and lifted the lid. "Yes," he breathed, as he lifted an object out of the locker, "he didn't find this baby!"
Willow and Xander gathered around Andrew as he closed the locker and placed the object reverently on top of it. It resembled a rifle in shape, but looked somewhat like a jury-rigged laser weapon. "Cute," Xander quipped. "What is it?"
"Just a little something Warren was working on for the last few weeks, as part of our Master Plan," Andrew answered. "This," he added, with just a hint of pride, "is an invisibility ray."