Title: At Any Cost
Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula
Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )
Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.
Disclaimers: See Paul. See Paul Write. Write Paul Write. Paul Ownes Diddly Squat. Please don't sue Paul.
Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforeseen consequences.
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.
Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.
Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.
Thoughts are in italics.
The story so far ... A whole bunch of stuff's happened. Some more happens right here. For details, read the damn thing yourself. I'm too damn tired to think.
A/N - Near the end of this update, things get a touch nasty. Just bear in mind things may not be what they appear to be.
Part 22.
The scene felt slightly surreal surreal to Willow. The sun was shining bright and full in a cloudless sky, and birds chirped happily in the trees. Even now, at mid morning, there was relatively few people out. Students were scattered here and there about the boulevard, some hurrying to class, others doing so at a more gradual, slothful pace. Still more were camped out in small clumps on the grass like mushrooms springing up after a period of decent rainfall, taking advantage of the glorious weather.
The campus was one of Willow's favorite places in Sunnydale. The combination of architecture and greenery, the ambiance, and the frequent opportunities to acquire new information all came together to form a mecca of learn-y goodness. Plus, for Willow it would always be where she met and fell in love with Tara. Not even the memory of the machinations of Adam and the now defunct Initiative could spoil that.
A day full of classes and Tara-time was usually the highlight of the redhead's week, outshone only by those days filled entirely by Tara-time, and Willow had been looking forward to this for days. But in one swift stroke, her day had been ruined. Ruined by the man standing before them. Ruined by Nameless.
The warlock stood before them, an exercise in contradictions. Dressed in a pair of old jeans and a t shirt advertising The Grateful Dead, he could have been just another student, albeit one with more scars and tattoos than usual. Most members of the UC Sunnydale student body didn't tend to show the manifestations of dark magic misuse, though.
Every other time Willow and Tara had encountered the warlock had been at night, typically in some dark and violent situation. To witness him here, in the light of day, in a place of learning was unsettling. Willow almost would have expected his presence to suck the warmth and light from the area like a black hole of darkness and despair.
But he's just standing there, with that ... that arrogant, self satisfied smirk, and ... a young girl ... peeking around his back? Huh?
“Well? Did ya miss me?” Nameless repeated with a cheeky grin.
“I didn't realize we'd thrown anything at you,” Tara replied primly, in a rare display of understated anger.
The blonde's snarky comment actually made Nameless chuckle in appreciation. “Nicely done,” he acknowledged with a jerk of his head.
Willow sidled towards Tara, reaching out with one hand without looking. She felt her partner's hand join with hers without asking; they were more powerful when they worked in concert together, and Willow had the feeling that they would need every scrap of power they could muster to stop Nameless.
Cocking his head, the warlock raised a single questioning eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to try your luck, ladies?” he idly asked. “With all these hapless civilians all over the place, just waiting to become collateral damage? If we start a little magical pissing contest here, there's no telling how much damage we might cause.” Without taking his narrowed eyes off the two witches, Nameless reached back to ruffle Katie's hair. “Especially to this poor wee moppet.”
Willow froze, her eyes darting back and forth between the warlock's scarred face and that of the wide-eyed child. A sharp intake of breath from beside her informed Willow that Tara shared her frustration. Of course she does, thought the redhead chidingly. With a heart like Tara's, of course she'd hesitate. Damn it! He's taking advantage of our good natures!
“Bringing your own hostages with you now, huh?” quipped Willow nervously. “How's that working out for you?”
“Hostage?” repeated the warlock, sounding amused. “You mean little Katie here? She's not a hostage, are you child?”
“No,” answered the dark haired girl softly as she clutched at the fabric of Nameless' jeans with one hand. It ... it's almost like she thinks he'll protect her. From what? Us? He's the one she needs protection from! Katie's wide, liquid brown eyes slid upwards towards Nameless' face, but slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure if she could trust the two witches if she wasn't constantly monitoring them.
“Are they bad women too?”she asked, and Willow gaped, barely restraining herself from a spluttering protest to the contrary. A warning squeeze from Tara's hand, still warm and soft in her own, helped the redhead maintain her composure.
Lips twisting in a quirky grin, Nameless shook his head. “Far from it, child,” he informed Katie jauntily. “These nice ladies are bone fide heroines, Katie. Honest to god, world saving heroines. Good, true, nice and ever so much in love with each other.”
As Willow struggled to discern whether the warlock had meant that sarcastically or not, Katie looked back at the two women, her small face scrunched up in confusion. “But they're both girls?” she half stated and half asked. Nameless shrugged, and regarded the little girl quizzically, completely ignoring Willow and Tara. The redhead wasn't sure if that made her feel insulted, or relieved.
“So?” he asked. “Does that matter?”
Katie pondered this thoughtfully, gnawing on her bottom lip as her forehead creased in a way that reminded Willow of herself. After a moment's consideration, Katie finally shook her head firmly, uttering a firm 'Nope' as if daring anyone to contradict her.
“Flattered though I am,” Tara stated, sounding anything but, “You're the last person I would expect to find arguing for gay rights.”
“Bah! What do I care about which gender you prefer to boink,” Nameless declared with a contemptuous snort. “If I decide to kill someone, I'll have a better reason than such a trivial inconsequentiality. Or, ya know, a passing whim will strike me.”
“You're a monster,” Willow blurted without thinking, feeling surprised when Katie frowned at her. Was she ... is she defending Nameless?
The warlock on the other hand projected a air of complete disinterest in Willow's opinion of him. “Yes, I am. Which leads me into why exactly I'm paying you this little visit.”
“What do you want, Nameless?” Tara asked curtly, struggling to retain at least the appearance of civility even as she was frantically searching her memory for every defensive spell she could think of.
“Ah well, that's simple. I want you to take Katie off my hands.”
“What?” asked Willow and Tara simultaneously in surprise.
“What!” echoed Katie with a hurt expression, and Willow regarded the young girl with concern. It sounds like she wants to stay with him! Why would a young girl want to stay with a murderous jerk like Nameless?
Nameless peered down at his disgruntled ward. “If you expect me to find your 'bad man' Katie, I can't be hobbled by the need to look after you. Besides, I'm not really in the child minding business.”
“But ...”
Nameless half turned and dropped awkwardly to one knee so that he could look Katie straight in the eyes. “Child, they can keep you safe. I can't,” he began.
“But you ...”
“Don't interrupt your elders,” Nameless growled, and Katie reluctantly subsided into a grudging silence. “I dwell in the dark places of the soul, and everything I touch inevitably dies. Now, you might be annoying, but I don't especially want you dead. So ... just shut up and do what you're told.”
Oh yeah, great parenting skills, you big twisted freak!
Lurching gracelessly to his feet, Nameless placed one hand on Katie's back and propelled her roughly towards the two witches. Tara immediately stepped forward and gestured for Katie to come to her, which the little girl did reluctantly, still eying both witches cautiously.
“Come on sweetie,” Tara urged. “We won't hurt you.”
Does Tara see something of herself in her? Willow suddenly wondered. The young girl seemed extremely skittish and wary for ... what, an eight year old? I wouldn't have even thought that she might be afraid of us. I'm not exactly scary, am I? Oh god, what if I am? What if I'm the scary old woman for all the neighborhood kids, except ... well, I'm not old, but to a kid, I suppose I might be ... but ...
As Willow's overactive imagination continued spiraling off into a convoluted fantasy world in which she imagined herself as the wicked witch of Sunnydale, Tara was reaching out one hand to Katie, palm up, waiting patiently for the young girl to come to her at her own pace. Haltingly, Katie inched closer, step by cautious step.
“Oh for the love of God, girl!” snapped Nameless sharply, causing Katie to jump slightly in surprise, and Tara to shoot him a withering glare for his lack of sensitivity. “Get on with it already! I'm more likely to bite you than Tara is!”
Looking backwards with a hurt expression, Katie pointedly turned her back on Nameless and made her way to Tara with intentional slowness. This display of non-verbal rebellion snapped Willow out of her introspective daydream and brought a grin to her face. Glancing from the corner of her eyes at the warlock, Willow was surprised to find him also grinning proudly.
As Tara finally gathered Katie's hand within her own, she noticed that one of the girl's arms was bound in a crude, but effective splint. The blonde's eyes grew unaccustomedly hard, and her expression as she glowered at Nameless was the fiercest Willow had ever seen Tara.
“Did you do this?” Tara demanded angrily.
Cocking his head in a manner that was becoming disturbingly common, Nameless raised a single eyebrow in query. “Did I do what, Tara? The breaking ... or the splinting?” he asked, unphased by the blonde's display of pique. “Breaking ... no, splinting ... yes.”
“The bad man hurt me,” Katie volunteered quietly. “He hurt my family too.”
“And before you ask, it wasn't me,” interjected Nameless snidely. “I'm not the only bad man in town, ya know.”
“So how did she end up stuck with you?” Willow muttered accusingly. “Where's her family?”
“Dead,” Nameless replied bluntly, without any sign of consideration for Katie's feelings. “Whether that's the rotting in the ground type of dead, or walking around sucking other people's blood type of dead, I don't quite know yet.”
“Where do you come into this then, huh?”
“I was ... on a little hunting trip, and I stumbled across her hiding in a wall.”
“Hunting what?” Willow asked suspiciously.
“Vampires,” announced the warlock with a sudden, insanely bright smile. “To be more precise, a vampire by the name of Isiah Hawkins. He's new in town, and just happens to behind the attempt on your lives. If you want to know more ... well, you're the ones with the pet Watcher. Put him to use before he's so full of tea, he sloshes when he walks.”
“You know his name?” Tara asked incredulously, looking up from where she was thoroughly checking Katie for further injuries. “How did you find that out?”
Nameless' answering grin wasn't pleasant. “I asked.”
“You asked?” Willow echoed, her tone doubtful.
“I asked ... hard,” he expounded. “I can be quite persuasive when I want to be. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to know more.”
“Yeah, well ... I kinda don't, Mr Big Sneaky McJerk!” Willow blurted recklessly.
The warlock's eyebrows rose so high they threatened to vanish into his hairline. “Big ... Sneaky ...McJerk?” he repeated. “That's the best you could do with that freakishly big brain of yours? Seriously? Face it Willow, when it comes to insults ... you just, plain suck.”
“I do not,” Willow objected vociferously, albeit on principle alone.
“No?” countered Nameless. “Then insult me properly, you insipid, styleless know-nothing!”
“Hey!” both Willow and Tara shouted defensively at the same time.
Nameless' lips quirked upwards in a mirthless smile. “You see? You're soft. Any sharp edges you possess have been suppressed, hidden, buried by a lifetime's worth of being the good daughter, the prize student, the loyal friend. It's made you what you are, and what you are is weak! You let your heart rule you, lead you by the nose, force you to obey the rules of idiotic morality!”
“What's so great about your life then, huh?” Willow demanded, infuriated by such a contemptuous summing up of her life. “What's made you into such a productive member of society? Murdering helpless men in their hospital beds! Killing women and children!”
“Pain. Suffering. Loss,” the warlock acknowledged with a grin like that of a shark. “That is what made me, witch. Didn't you see enough last night to tell you that?”
Too late, Willow realized her mistake. He just baited me into admitting I'd accessed his memories. Damn it!
“Yes, I know what you were doing last night, little witch. And I don't appreciate having my privacy invaded.”
“Your privacy!” Willow exploded, her face almost going as red as her hair. “What about our privacy! Ya know? That thing you keep running roughshod over?”
“I'm the bad guy, Willow,” Nameless pointed out with a teasing smirk. “Are you actually surprised that I'm a hypocrite?”
“It won't be happening again,” Tara stated firmly. “We're going to ward Willow's dreams. That should stop whatever it is you're trying to do to her.”
For the briefest of moments, a flicker of a second, Nameless hesitated. But then it was gone, as surely as if it had never been, and the warlock's face was a mask carved from ice. Mismatched eyes blinked slowly as they regarded the two lovers and the child.
“You might consider taking the child to a hospital,” he suggested in an icy monotone. “I slipped her a little something to speed up her own natural healing processes, but I'm hardly an expert at healing wounds. I'm normally causing them.”
“What are we supposed to tell them?” Willow blurted, her mind sudden conjuring a plethora of problems. “We aren't her parents! What if they accuse us of kidnapping her?”
“That's hardly my problem anymore, is it? But I would suggest lying. It works well for me.” With that, Nameless turned as if to leave, ignoring the half hearted wave that Katie sent in his direction as she clutched at Tara's leg.
“Why are you doing this?” Tara suddenly asked, her face a study in confusion. “We're your enemies. Why leave Katie with us?”
Nameless halted abruptly, standing stiffly with his back to the two witches, his body language screaming of discomfort. With a sharp twitch-like jerk of the head, he looked over his shoulder at them with conflicted eyes.
“Katie deserves better than what fate has dealt her. She deserves the best.” A handful of seconds passed, before Nameless reluctantly continued, with what appeared to be heart wrenching sincerity. “So I gave her ... you two.”
Then he vanished, as swiftly and thoroughly as if he had ceased to exist.
Willow turned to face Tara, bewildered. “Did he just complement us?” she asked, glancing around in surprise at the total lack of reaction from any of the people scattered around the immediate area. “And why the heck didn't anyone else notice that?”
**********
Katie scratched awkwardly at the bright pink cast now adorning her broken arm, and scuffed her sneakered feet against the carpet. The eight year old sat on the edge of the sofa in the Summers' lounge room, while her uncertain new guardians were in the dining room with the rest of the scoobies.
After Nameless had left her with the two strange women, Katie had been taken to a hospital where a doctor had looked at her arm and given her a lollipop and a neat cast. Katie had giggled at the silly woman with red hair as she had babbled on and on at the doctor about something, until the blonde lady had rescued the increasingly harried looking physician from being buried under a landslide of words.
Then they had taken Katie to the mall, where they had witnessed with awe at the amount of food the young girl had put away. She hadn't really had much in the way of anything to eat since ... before, and the food Nameless had offered her hadn't been very appetizing to an eight year old's taste buds.
Once her ravenous hunger had been satisfied, the two women, who had insisted that Katie call them Willow and Tara, had taken her shopping. Since the only possessions she'd had were the filthy clothes she'd been wearing for days, that had been a necessity. Katie was especially proud of her new sneakers, which were pink and white with little ponies on them. The redheaded woman, Willow, had tried to talk Katie out of picking those shoes for some reason, but Katie had been adamant.
Katie still wasn't sure why she couldn't have stayed with Nameless; she knew he'd said something about it being for her own good, but Katie had the sneaking suspicion that adults only said that to trick kids into doing something they didn't want to do. Sure, Nameless was creepy looking, and always seemed cranky, but he had saved her. And he was magic! Willow and Tara seemed very nice, even if they were a bit silly at times. What Katie wasn't sure about was the rest of them.
When Willow and Tara had finally led Katie to this house, it was already full of people. People who started talking loudly and fast. These people and Katie's new guardians had started arguing, and they had been going at it for half an hour now.
At first, Katie had tried to watch TV, but the sound of the bickering from the dining room had drowned out the volume, and besides, there wasn't anything fun on to watch. She'd tried, but every time that something had seemed the slightest bit entertaining, Katie had remembered doing such things with her family, and then the full weight of her loss crashed down upon her again.
Scrunching her eyes shut, Katie fought against the scalding wave of tears that threatened to break out. She would not cry, not here, not now. Nameless had told her to 'use her pain', and while she wasn't quite sure what he had meant by that, Katie was reasonably sure crying wasn't part of it. So she wouldn't cry.
In an attempt to distract herself, Katie decided to investigate the room more thoroughly. Her search proved largely fruitless, though she did find one interesting thing; a handmade wooden chest filled with a variety of strange things. Swords, axes, wooden stakes, little bottles of what looked like water, and a couple of crossbows.
Katie looked around the room furtively before easing the lid of the box shut. What kind of people are these? What do they need all of these weapons for?
Resolving that if she was going to stay here, she deserved to know what was going on, Katie slunk over to the wall nearest the dining room and maneuvered her way closer, the sound of the heated bickering concealing the noise of her movement. Katie sat down on the lowest step of the stairs leading up to the second floor, and settled in to listen.
**********
“Giles, she's just a child!” Tara pointed out heatedly as she tried to reign in her mounting irritation. Willow stood supportively by her side, and both women's hands were white knuckled where they gripped the other's.
Giles stood on the far side of the dining room table, glasses in one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I know she's a child, Tara,” he replied wearily. “But she's not your child.”
“Do you think we don't know that?” Willow snapped acerbically. “Just because she's not our child, we're not supposed to care?”
“Willow, you know I didn't mean that!” Giles shot back, his own patience wearing thin. “The point is, she may well have family ...”
Tara cut the Englishman off with no sign of her customary tact. “Her family is dead, Giles!”
“According to Nameless,” Giles countered, his tone of voice clearing indicating how trustworthy he found that.
“According to Katie!” Willow blurted, amazed by how intractable Giles was being. “She was there, Giles! I think she'd know!”
“Um ... guys?” Xander weakly interrupted, trying to ease the tension in yet another display of his habit of flinging himself unprepared into life threatening situations. All his attempt gained him was a healthy dose of being blatantly ignored.
“She's an eight year old child, Willow! And for all intents and purposes, Nameless is a master of deception! It could all be a lie!”
“Why, Giles?” Tara inquired after a deep breath, trying to release the building sense of frustration she was feeling. “What could possibly be the point?”
“To perhaps get you both arrested for child kidnapping? Or all of us? Did you even try and contact her parents?”
Neither Tara or Willow were prepared for the possibility that Giles raised, and the thought left them both stunned and blinking owlishly in surprise. “Umm .... no?” Willow mumbled weakly.
“You know,” Anya muttered to Dawn under her breath where they stood against the wall, acting as spectators to the argument, “That's not a bad plan. Strip us of our magical support, and do it in such a way that we can't easily fight.”
“You sound almost impressed, Anya,” Dawn hissed back from the corner of her mouth. “I thought you still carried a grudge for him breaking your wrist?”
“Oh, I do!” Anya replied brightly. “I was actually complementing Giles. He would make a great demon, being able to come up with plans like that.”
Dawn wisely chose the better part of valor, and backed away from that comment as if it were a ticking bomb.
“How about I go and check on Katie's parents?” Buffy suggested. “I can find their address in the phone book, knock on the front door and find out if they are still alive. If they are, we can ... I dunno, drop Katie off, ring the doorbell and run for it? If they are dead, well ... we'll have to figure it out from there.”
“That might be a good idea,” Willow acknowledged with a wry shrug. “I might be all about the girl on girl action these days, but that doesn't mean I like the idea of being sent to the big house.”
Glancing over at her partner, Willow noticed the subtle mannerisms in Tara's face that preceded the raising of an eyebrow, and hastily sought to cover herself. “That's one girl on girl action ... no, no ... I'm not trying to say that I won't do threesomes ... no, wait, I am saying that ... but ...”
“Oh good grief,” Giles muttered to himself, dropping his head into his hands, as Willow continued to verbally flounder like a beached whale.
“ ... well, women's prison is typically depicted as a hotbed of lesbian sex, though that may simply be an example of the male obsession with ... ya'know ... but my point is ...”
“Wow,” Buffy quietly quipped to Xander, “Did you think she'd get to her point before she verbally garroted herself?”
“I was giving it 50/50 odds,” Xander replied, struggling to keep a straight face. Everyone but the redhead herself, Tara included, seemed to find Willow's rambling, babbling attempt to redeem her earlier imagined slight highly amusing. Well, everyone except Giles, who seemed torn between the desire to sigh in fond exasperation, or to knock himself unconscious.
“ ... my point is that I'm only interested in the girl on girl action with one particular girl. Only that girl. You get that, right baby?”
Tara nodded and fondly stroked Willow's cheek, who unashamedly nuzzled against the touch. “I get that, sweetie. To be fair, I think we all get that.”
Giles raised one hand and spoke without raising his head. “Even if we didn't wish to, we got that.” Both women blushed, and exchanged hooded glances that were simultaneously embarrassed and bemused.
Coughing to disguise a fond chuckle, Buffy pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against and started towards the front door. “Well, I'm going to go and see if I can clear up the issue of Katie's family. Anyone want to come with?”
Xander nodded, and bounded to his feet with childlike enthusiasm. “Sure. I've seen Willow trip over her own tongue plenty of times. I haven't seen the Buffster explain to a couple of frantic parents why she's got their apparently kidnapped child before. Could be fun to watch.”
“Gee thanks, Xander,” she replied dryly, before leading the way outside. Neither of them turned around as they left, and so they didn't see Katie sitting wide-eyed on the stairs.
“Giles ... do you really think he could be using Katie against us somehow?” Tara asked weakly, the very idea of using a child in such a fashion turning her stomach. “Do you think he could actually do such a thing?”
Dropping his glasses on the dining room table, Giles slumped bonelessly in the nearest chair and regarded Tara wearily. “I don't know, Tara. If what Willow saw in her dreams was accurate, I don't think there's much that he wouldn't stoop to. But ... we don't have enough information to be able to accurately validate that information. We ... I ...” Out of nowhere, Giles slammed his fists against the table in a fit of fiery temper, and glared at the wooden surface as if it were responsible for all of his problems.
“I don't bloody well know!” Giles growled through gritted teeth. “I don't know enough!”
“Giles?” Willow asked tentatively, shocked by the Watcher's sudden explosion. A little bit scared, too, if she could bring herself to admit it. Giles was usually so ... British, and such a loss of control seemed both out of character and worrying.
Raising his head, Giles regarded the remaining scoobies with an apologetic expression. “I'm sorry, everyone. It's just ... Nameless always seems to be a step ahead of us, and ... well to be perfectly honest, it's extremely frustrating.”
“Giles, it's okay,” Tara urged, leaning over the table to grip the hand of the man who had become a father figure to all of the scoobies in so many ways. “You don't need to have all of the answers, all of the time.”
“But that's my job, Tara. The Slayer fights evil ... and ... and the Watcher tells her how to do so. I can't even do that. Even after all this time, what have we learned? We don't even know who he is, let alone what he's trying to do, or how to stop him!”
Making her way around the table, Willow sat down in the seat next to Giles, and slung one arm comfortingly around his shoulders. “Giles, I think part of the problem is that you're questioning everything we learn too much.”
Giles made as if to interrupt, but Willow gently cut him off. “I know why you're doing it, Giles, and I agree that we can't take things at face value with Nameless. But you've taken this too far. You're refusing to believe anything we discover, no matter what it is. That could just as easily be his ploy.”
“You have to find a middle ground, Giles,” Tara added. “It's good that you're suspicious, but you need to believe in some of the information we find, or we'll never act.”
As Giles smiled in wry acknowledgment of the truth of their words, Tara was suddenly struck by how tired and drawn Giles' face appeared. He's been driving himself so hard for weeks now. We've all been so caught up in things, I don't think anyone's noticed what Giles has been putting himself through. Tara's thoughts drifted backwards into the past, recalling everything she could about Giles' actions over the past few weeks. For weeks now, Giles had been the first to wake, the last to sleep, and every waking moment had seemed dedicated to the search for information.
Tara had Willow, and her studies, and vice versa. Buffy had Dawn and, no matter how much she complained about it, she had her job at the Doublemeat Palace. In a strange, adversarial way, even Xander and Anya had each other. All Giles had was his self imposed mission; to keep both the world and his peculiar adopted family safe.
The sound of a slamming door suddenly broke Tara free from her reverie, and her head snapped back around to the front door. A sudden premonition clutched at her with icy fingers, and she cursed herself for allowing herself to be dragged in and distracted by the argument. “Where's Katie?” she asked urgently.
**********
Katie heard the front door slam shut behind her as she raced down the pathway towards the road. Heart beating furiously within her slender chest, she bitterly criticized herself as she fled. How could I be such a stupid-head! How could I think I was safe! I'm never going to be safe, never again. I don't deserve it.
She was breathing hard even before she'd reached the sidewalk. The ordeal she'd undergone over the last few days had left her weak, and a single morning's pampering was nowhere near enough to restore her to a state of full health and vigor.
As Katie turned onto the sidewalk and fled down it, she heard the door open behind her, heard her name called frantically. Turning her head, Katie looked over her shoulder even as she continued to run. She saw Tara standing in the doorway, her head casting this way and that, searching for her. Worried cerulean eyes fixed on her, and words followed; a plea to stop, to come back. But Katie did not do so.
Not until she ran full pace into another pedestrian. Rebounding from the collision, Katie landed on her backside on the concrete sidewalk. As the dull ache of the impact made its unwelcome presence known, Katie looked up at the person she'd collided with eyes that watered with the threat of unshed tears.
Timothy Garner stared back down at her, his own face threatening to break into a panic at any moment.
“Geez! I'm sorry, kiddo!” he babbled anxiously as he extended a hand and helped Katie to her feet. “Are you okay? I didn't see you there ... well, obviously, cuz I wouldn't have run into you otherwise, right? You are okay, aren't you?”
“I fell on my bottom,” Katie announced with a lip trembling pout that made Timothy wince. “It hurt.”
Tara chose that moment to arrive in a whirlwind of movement, dropping to her knees beside Katie and simultaneously examining her for injuries, giving her a desperate hug and scolding her for running away. Willow arrived shortly after, following in Tara's wake like a leaf caught in an updraft, and joined in the combination examination/reprimand. Timothy took a step back to give the three a modicum of privacy, an expression that was part bemused and part wistful on his face.
Once both women had verified that Katie was essentially unharmed, and were satisfied that she had been suitably chastised for her attempted flight, they both stood and turned to face Timothy.
“Thank you, Timothy,” Tara said gratefully, and Timothy shrugged self consciously.
“For what?” he replied, half joking. “For acting as a human wall and knocking the poor girl on her butt? Glad I could be of assistance, Tara. I ... er ... I didn't know that you two had kids.”
“Oh, Katie's not ours,” Willow pointed out hastily. “We're just ... um ... looking after her for a while.”
“Ah. So, if you don't mind me asking, what got her so worked up?”
“They're bad guys!” Katie blurted without hesitation. “Maybe not Miss Tara and Miss Willow, but the rest ... they're working with the slayer, and ...”
“Katie!” Willow yelped, apparently deciding to forgo a cool and collected reaction in favor of blatant panic. “Ix nay on the Slaygae in publicae!”
As Tara gave Timothy a weak grin, as if to comment on the general wackiness of children, Katie fixed Willow with a suspicious glare. “Did you forget how to talk?”
Leaving Willow struggling to explain the concept of pig Latin to a cagey eight year old, Tara sought to distract Timothy from Katie's statement. Timothy, however, seemed to take it in his stride and blithely disregarded anything strange.
“Kids, huh?”
“We ... uh ... we were playing a game together, and I think Katie just got swept up in it all,” Tara stated, feeling uneasy at lying to their neighbor, but she was mostly certain that it was the right thing to do in the circumstances.
“Hey, don't sweat it, Tara,” Timothy replied jovially. “We all do stupid stuff when we're kids. I was once playing at being a pirate, and I got a little ... er ... overenthusiastic. Buy the time I was finished, I had one foot stuck in a hole in the wall, and my head was trapped between the banister railings on a staircase.”
Tara had to bite her own lip to prevent herself from bursting into open laughter at the mental image Timothy's description conjured, and Timothy gave her a self-effacing grin in response.
“How did you ...”
Timothy hung his head in mock shame. “Oh please, don't ask. It's a long, and embarrassing story, and I'd like to keep at least some of my admittedly threadbare pride.” He glanced at his wristwatch, and sighed. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay and share some more of my past inept exploits with you lovely ladies, time waits for no man I'm afraid. I have to run.”
Tara nodded her understanding, and waved goodbye as Timothy jogged across the road and vanished inside his house. Once he was out of sight, Tara rounded back on Katie and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Now then, young lady?” Tara began, keeping her tone mild so as not to further upset Katie. “Would you care to explain why you think we're the 'bad guys'?”
Katie scowled dubiously, but was apparently won over by both women's expressions; Tara's of compassionate concern while Willow's was nervous and anxious, but equally caring. “It was something Nameless said the night he rescued me,” she grudgingly admitted.
“What was that?” Tara inquired.
“He said he was going to destroy this slayer person,” Katie replied. “He wouldn't be doing that if they weren't a bad guy. Right?” This final word was spoken nervously, as Katie was unsettled by the stricken expression on both of her new guardians' faces.
“I think we'd better talk to Giles,” Willow announced, her voice thick with foreboding as she took Katie by the hand. Tara took Katie's other hand, and together they led the girl inside.
**********
I was at a disadvantage. My enemy was concealed from me, a fact that irritated me no end. Whatever magics were being used to hide Isiah from me were powerful indeed. Another fact that irritated me no end. In fact, when I thought about it, irritants were piling up in every direction. It was ... irritating was not a strong enough word. It was ... vexing. It was ... well, it was fucking infuriating.
I'm supposed to be the hidden one! I'm supposed to be the hidden figure striking from the shadows! I'm supposed to be the one driving my enemies up the wall with fear and confusion! I lurched up off the stool I was perched upon, spun around and lashed out with a savage kick that bent the inoffensive stool nearly in half. Crap. Okay, so instead, I'm the one throwing a juvenile temper tantrum.
I dragged a deep draught of air into my lungs in an attempt to soothe the growling beast of my temper, and focused on the ruined stool. A tiny trickle of power coursed through me in obedient response to my summons, and I bent it to my will. The stool slowly straightened as I forced the metal struts back into their original position.
A rare smile of simple satisfaction blossomed to life on my thin lips as I regarded the stool, restored back to working condition. Ah ha! Then the metal struts snapped under the pressure of having been bent backwards and forwards, and with a metallic ping, the entire top of the stool sheered off and fell to the floor.
Oh, that's just brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Why do I even bother?
I started to pace backwards and forwards, trying to determine my next move. Hawkins had to die, that was a given. If some son of bitch blows me up, he'd best do a proper job of it, or I'll have his guts for garters. I'd given the witches his name, so I expected good ol' Ripper would soon dig up some dirt on the bastard leech. My bug constructs should let me take advantage of any discoveries the Watcher might make. With any luck, Summers will deal with the fang face for me.
The problem is ... Hawkins is building an army. A small one to be sure, for someone who once commanded armies numbering in the millions, but not insignificant. I'm only one man, no matter how powerful. I can still be overwhelmed by numbers if I'm not careful. In this world, I lack allies. Even though both the Scoobies and I count Hawkins an enemy, I cannot foresee an alliance in our future. I've been giving them every reason to hate me so far.
No, I will have to change the balance of power in some other way. Then it comes to me. If this Hawkins fellow can recruit his own personal army, then why can't I? Not vampires, or demons, no. I have something much more ... innovative in mind.
It's time I built myself an army of my own.
**********
Buffy stole through the cluttered cemetery, at one with the night, at home in the shadows. In the same fashion that she had spent so many other nights, she wandered a path through some of Sunnydale's many cemeteries.
This past afternoon had been especially hectic, and Buffy was glad to avail herself of the chance for the relative peace of fighting the undead. She and Xander had found Katie's home empty, the furniture upset and occasional patches of blood splashed on the walls and floor. All in all, it supported the tale the child had told, thought Buffy wasn't sure what it meant for Katie in the long run.
It was a sad fact that people disappearing in Sunnydale wasn't an unusual occurrence, but when Buffy let herself think about the situation, it seemed rife with unusual complexities. This was an eight year old child they were talking about, a child whose entire family had 'vanished'. Willow and Tara couldn't simply adopt her like they would a stray cat. Buffy was certain that there were legal questions to be answered that neither of her friends were considering, not the least of which was how Katie had ended up in their custody.
In addition to this, there was also what Katie had revealed of Nameless' plans; the warlock's self avowed intention of destroying Buffy and her friends. Buffy wasn't surprised, she had never thought that Nameless was tormenting them for some benevolent reason. But his plan to strip their lives of every scrap of happiness was new. Mostly the big bads that come to the Hellmouth gunning for her mostly just wanted her dead.
So, to recap, we've got a vampire of unknown origins, who likes to use guns, explosives, and lots of flunkies, planning to kill not just me but my friends as well. We've got Nameless, a warlock of again, unspecified origins, who seems to nurse a personal grudge against us, and apparently isn't content with killing us. No, he's got to ruin our lives first. Oh, and he seems to be after my little sister as well.
Yep, sounds like a normal day in Sunnydale. If you're ... oh, say, me? Or one of my friends.
Muttering vague imprecations beneath her breath, Buffy kicked at a gravestone as she abandoned all of her attempts at stealth. The senses gifted to her as part of her 'Slayer package of death, destruction and other fun' hadn't picked up a single vampire yet tonight. Not even a newbie, fresh from the grave, still with dirt dropping off her, which was something of a rarity for Buffy.
Buffy had left her friends asleep, or in the case of Giles, nose deep in yet another book, chasing down this Isiah person, to patrol. She had been expecting to find something for her to fight, to relieve her frustrations upon. I even brought an axe, just for a change, Buffy thought to herself, idly spinning the aforementioned axe distractedly in her hands. How am I supposed to vent if all the bad guys don't come out to play?
It was at that point that a scratchy whisper reached the blonde's ears, borne upon the gentle night breeze, and her instincts perked up. Immediately dropping to a crouch, Buffy cocked an ear to the night air and focused, trying to determine from what direction the whisper was coming. Her task was made easier when the whisper was joined by a loud rumbling, followed soon after by the sound of a wooden object thumping against hard packed dirt.
Bingo! Her target's general direction identified, Buffy crept along a line of tombstones in a noiseless crouch, her axe held loose and ready. A slight figure loomed up out of the gloom, stood over the vague outline of a large box. As Buffy cautiously closed the distance between them, the figure bent over and wrenched open a hinged lid.
Is that ... a coffin? The Slayer's unvoiced question was answered as the figure reached inside and hoisted out a limp limbed figure with one hand. It was a corpse, brutally torn from it's eternal rest without compunction, with as no more ceremony than opening a bag of chips. Then, in a final indignity, the corpse was tossed over the figure's should to land in a sprawl of tangled limbs atop a growing pile of similar cadavers.
Starting to whistle a jaunty tune that set Buffy's teeth on edge, the figure gestured flamboyantly, and the empty coffin rose into the air and floated obediently into the air and over to join an expansive pile of likewise emptied coffins.
Buffy had made her way close enough now to be able to make out enough of their features as they turned, even in this gloom, to be able to afford a rough identification. It was Nameless himself.
Now the sun of a bitch is robbing graves? Okay, this ends now. Buffy settled her grip upon the axe in her hands, but she still didn't move. As the Slayer, Buffy had rarely faced an ethical dilemma. Virtually everything she fought was irredeemably evil, a fact that made her life exceedingly easy. But this was different; Nameless was human, and Buffy didn't kill humans.
That's not precisely true, Buffy admitted to herself guiltily. She had killed humans. The Knights of Byzantium, while a bunch of medieval fayre loving weirdos, had still been human. And she'd killed more than a few while defending her sister. In all the chaos of their ultimately failed flight from Sunnydale, Buffy had let herself gloss over that fact in favor of concentrating upon more immediate issues, like saving both her sister and the world.
I was defending myself, Buffy argued with herself. They attacked me, not the other way around.
They were still human, answered a quiet voice in the back of her head.
They wanted to kill Dawn!
They were still human.
I didn't want to kill them! They forced my hand!
They were still human. And so is Nameless.
Buffy gritted her teeth. Damn it! Stupid conscience! Hoping that she wouldn't live to regret this decision, Buffy rotated the axe in her hands so that the blade faced backwards, effectively turning her weapon into a steel tipped club. Thus prepared, Buffy rose to her feet, sprang forward and struck.
Her powerful swing, aimed squarely at the back of Nameless' head, encountered nothing but thin air as the warlock smoothly sidestepped, not even bothering to stop whistling. Buffy was left momentarily off balance, and before she could recover, Nameless lashed out in a one-two kick that buckled the Slayer's knee and knocked her face first to the ground.
“Hello there, Buffy,” Nameless greeted her mildly as he stepped back. “Long time, no see. Tell me, did you really think I didn't know you were there?”
“Oh sure,” Buffy quipped sarcastically as she rolled to her feet and swung her reversed axe in a sharp arc at her opponent's ribcage. “I figured as much. I just really enjoy a good face plant.”
Nameless swayed back from the blow, and ducked a second savage swipe at his head. “Good to know. I'm glad I could be of assistance. How's the family?”
“Stay away from my sister!” Buffy snarled, incensed by what she saw as a subtle threat. She lunged forward, a powerful downward strike aiming to introduce Nameless' skull to the steel end of her axe.
This time, Nameless didn't even try to dodge. Instead, he caught the descending weapon in one hand and wrenched it cleanly from Buffy's grasp. He spun in a circle, using his momentum to add power to his own blow as he whipped the axe handle across the Slayer's face. The force of the blow snapped the axe haft halfway down, and sent Buffy spinning to the ground once again.
“Whatever would I want with your irritating little brat of a sister, Buffy?” he asked curiously as he tossed the broken axe away. Then a sly smile spread across his face as the light dawned on him. “Ah. Miss Rosenberg's brazen violation of my dreams. I'm afraid you've leapt to the wrong conclusion there. I couldn't care less about your precious little key of a sister. I don't have any doors I can't unlock myself, you see.”
“Yeah, like I'm going to believe anything you say,” Buffy spat as she lunged to her feet, angrily self conscious of the spreading bruise on her cheekbone. If she had been an ordinary human, the blow likely would have broken her cheekbone. The Slayer attacked in a blur of motion, unleashing a tightly controlled flurry of blows at the warlock.
Nameless managed to block most of them, but a few slipped past his defenses. A straight jab broke his nose, an uppercut cracked a single lower rib, and a spinning kick to his bad knee sent the warlock tumbling to the ground. Buffy rushed forward, seeking to press her advantage, but a single gesture lifted her into the air and sent her spinning backwards.
Lurching awkwardly to his feet, Nameless spat blood and grinned, to all appearances having the time of his life. Without hesitation, he gripped his broken nose and forced it back into position with a sharp exhalation of pain.
“Better, Buffy. Much better,” he offered, as if he were training the Slayer as opposed to simply fighting her. “But you are quite right to distrust me. If there is one thing I can claim to be, it is a liar. I lie about everything.”
“Including what you just said?” Buffy shot back as she regained her feet, rubbing at the pain in her side where she'd slammed into a nearby tombstone.
“Hah! You're not quite as stupid as some people make you out to be, are ya?”
“What? Who's calling me stupid?” Buffy demanded, moving closer as she spoke, hoping to distract the warlock long enough to get in a shot that would count.
“Well, if I remember properly, you often do so yourself,” Nameless bluntly responded, circling Buffy like a shark circling its next meal. “Still, I suppose when you've both got Willow and Giles to compare yourself to, you're bound to feel a bit intellectually inferior.”
“Are you calling me stupid now?”
“If you can't tell of your own accord, I suppose that answers the question then, doesn't it?” he snidely responded. “I must remember to insult you with smaller words in the future, yes?”
“You talk too much!” Buffy lunged forward, her body twisting as she drove a side kick at her opponent's solar plexus. A circular block kept Buffy's attack from connecting, and Nameless closed in, crowding the Slayer and denying her the use of her greater agility. A brutal elbow to the jaw stunned the blonde, and left her open to a head butt that sent her staggering backwards.
“That's rich, coming from little Miss Gabs-alot!” sneered Nameless as he limped forward relentlessly.
Catching Buffy by the throat, Nameless hoisted the Slayer into the air single handedly. Without any visible strain, he kept her suspended in midair, his free arm deflecting the kicks Buffy frantically threw at her.
“You know, we're really quite similar in some ways, Buffy,” Nameless replied in a conversational tone, as if he wasn't involved in a full on brawl with a Slayer.
“I'm ... nothing ... like ... you!” Buffy choked through the grip on her throat.
Hefting the Slayer's struggling body like a rag doll, Nameless laughed bitterly as he hurled her a good ten feet into the air. “Don't be so sure of yourself, Summers. After all, we're both killers. Our only difference is the cause in which we do so.”
“I'm not a killer!” Buffy heatedly denied, as she slowly picked herself up off the ground. “I'm the Slayer!”
“Which is simply another name for a killer!” countered Nameless intently. “Don't fool yourself, Buffy. The demons you slay are no less dead for being evil. No matter what your reason, no matter what your motivation, you are still a killer. We've both been shaped into living weapons; you by fate, me by choice. Our methods may differ, and we might be at different ends of the moral spectrum, but that makes us no less similar.”
“Wait, let me get this straight. You chose to look like you stuck your face in a blender?” quipped Buffy. “See, I just don't get that. And, for the record, I don't murder people.”
Nameless sneered knowingly. “Only because you haven't been given a reason. Try saying that when the only thing in the world that ever meant anything at all to you is stolen from you. Try saying that when all you've got left is revenge!”
“Blah blah, woof woof, yap yap,” sighed the Slayer, feigning boredom. “Can we get back to fighting now? This psychoanalyzing stuff is beginning to wig me out.”
“Certainly,” Nameless replied with a courteous nod. Then he slashed one hand in the air, and Buffy was sent spinning through the air like a slayer-sized arrow fired from a bow. “To be perfectly honest, this is starting to bore me too.”
Turning to one side, Nameless' right hand reached for a small knife resting atop a nearby tombstone. But even as his hand closed upon the weapon, the broken head of Buffy's axe came whirling in from the darkness and sliced cleanly through the warlock's wrist.
**********
Agony blazed a trail throughout my entire nervous system as blood spurted from the stump of my freshly severed hand. A strangled, animalistic moan escaped my lips as I stared in shock at the severed appendage where it lay upon the grass. Even as I watched, the fingers twitched slightly, and my ritual knife slipped free.
“Well, I wouldn't exactly say you're 'armless' now, but it's a good start,” punned Buffy, and my lips pulled back in a terrible, vengeful rictus at the sound of her voice.
“YOU STUPID, MEDDLING LITTLE BITCH!” I bellowed as I spun around and flung lightning with my remaining hand. The coruscating bolt of electricity caught the startled Slayer full in the chest, and hurled her backwards head first into the side of a nearby mausoleum, clothes smoldering and flesh charred.
A quick, albeit wavering, check with my senses confirmed that she was unconscious, and freed me to attend to my wound, which was still pumping blood freely. I have to control the bleeding. To have come this far, only to faint from shock and bleed out in a pox-ridden cemetery? No. I will not allow that.
A snap of the fingers conjured a small fireball to life in the palm of my one remaining hand, and without hesitation, I thrust my stump into the flames. A scream tore from my throat, shrill and primal, as the fire charred my flesh and cauterized the wound. Black spots danced before my vision, as unconsciousness clawed at me, threatened to drag me down into the abyss.
But this is not the first time I have suffered such pain, and I refuse to let my pain command me. The magic that permanently courses through my blood will deal with the remnant of my wound now, it just needs time. Now is not the time to rest, oh now. Not now. Not when every fiber of my being cries out for bloody handed vengeance.
I totter to my feet, and lurch towards the unconscious Slayer, the incandescent fire of my rage bolstering my strength with every step. Soon, I stood over her, my face contorted into a snarl, my remaining hand clenched, white-knuckled, into a fist.
“You just couldn't lie down, could you? You never could. You have to push, you have to struggle! Stupid bitch! Why couldn't you just let me do what needs to be done!”
I spat the words at her furiously, uncaring if she heard me or not, my voice like two slabs of stone, gravestones, grinding together like the wheels of a mill. Trembling, I stared down at the slack visage I knew almost as well as that of the witches. A red mist seemed to fall down upon me, and I fell, drowning in rage as it surged up from inside me. A rage that had been borne from a lifetime of suffering and pain. A rage that demanded to be unleashed.
I slammed a foot down on her chest with all my might, and I felt and heard her ribs snap. I stamped on her again, and I could the splintered bones gouge and rip and tear through tender, inner flesh. I kicked her in the head, breaking that incessantly yapping jaw. And the flood of rage overwhelmed me.
I was lost inside a frenzy, where everything I saw was red, as if tinged with blood. I lost everything but the desire to hurt she who had so previously wounded me. I stomped, I stamped, I kicked and gouged. Bones broke, flesh bruised and tore, blood flowed. I crushed her ribcage, driving splinters of broken bone deep into her own organs. I shattered her cheekbones, ground her nose into nothingness. I pulped her eyeballs as they spilled forth from broken eye sockets. I crushed her skull and left her a shattered mockery of a human being; a dead, worthless slab of meat.
I blinked, and sanity returned.
Looking downwards, I saw a Buffy Summers that was bloodied and bruised, still unconscious, but alive. I hadn't kicked her, hadn't stamped or stomped upon her defenseless flesh. I hadn't killed her. Uncurling my fist, I looked at the jagged wounds my own nails had gouged in the already spare flesh of my hand.
“Damn you,” I whispered at Buffy. “And damn me too.”
Turning on my heel, I strode away back to where my severed hand rested. Retrieving my knife, I sheathed it and snatched the limp appendage up off the ground. As I strode back towards Summers once more, I paused and focused on the pile of corpses I'd unearthed as I mumbled a quick incantation beneath my breath. The mass of dead bodies vanished, sent back to my lair. It would have been a shame to have gone to all of this trouble only to forget the raw materials with which I would build my army.
Reaching the Slayer, I bent down to grab her by the leg. With a hand that was no longer there. I swore, loudly and expansively. Over the decades, I've picked up quite a repertoire.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now, huh?” I demanded of the unconscious Slayer, waving my severed hand in her direction so that the slack fingers wobbled obscenely.
Muttering demonic obscenities beneath my breath, I shoved my own severed hand into my mouth and bit down, freeing my hand to grab the Slayer by one leg. At which point I realized that now I couldn't speak the teleportation incantation. Dropping the Slayer like a leprous girlfriend, I retrieved my hand from between my teeth.
“Fuck!” I howled at the uncaring night sky. “This really is not my night!”
**********
Giles started bolt upright as a sonorous bell tolled, sounding impossibly as if it where right behind him. The Watcher had fallen asleep at the dining room table again, face down on the book he had perusing. Blinking in confusion, the Englishman struggled to recall where he had heard that noise before.
Then the memory came to him; it was Tara's magical warning system. Which meant that ... Dear lord! Giles sprinted to Buffy's weapons chest and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a broad bladed short sword. Wheeling about, Giles raced for the front door, sword at the ready, determined to protect those he considered his children with his very life if need be.
Flinging the door open, Giles caught sight of Nameless standing expectantly on the lawn. Huddled in a pile at his feet was ... No. Dear god, no!
Some trace of what Giles was thinking must have shown on his face, because Nameless scowled and jerked his head 'no'. “Don't get your panties in a bunch, Ripper. She's still alive,” he growled. “Do me a favor, will you. When your idiot Slayer wakes up, tell her she's lucky I want her alive. I'm not usually this forgiving with people who cut off parts of my anatomy.”
With that, Nameless vanished into the night, leaving Giles to rush to Buffy's side.
To be continued ....
Now, I haven't slept for more than five hours for the past three days, so I need to go sleep now. Let's hear it for four day weekends! Woo hoo!
I've never been great at solving mysteries, I never won at Clue as a kid. So, this is kinda exciting. Sorry for the outburst. 
most cruel author ever. And you just love being so. Don't you? 
I wouldn't want you anyway else 
Take care pal.See you next time
Looking forward to your next update.
You can hit me, if you like.
On the television, there was a fairy-tale about a prince wanting to get married. So, he called all the princesses in the surrounding lands, but found nobody interesting enough... until he falls in love with one of the princesses' brother. For the kiddies, that was really confusing. The last thing I saw of my mentor was her sneaking out giggling and saying : "You have the floor."
Anyway, a good portrayal of some more organized vamps. 
So, two days huh? Not bad. I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Okay, I’m back. This is just so poignant and beautiful and...sigh…I’m gushing. I’ll stop.
. This whole scene was just so cute. As was their magic together... wow, that was one intense(ly hot) scene, and the aftermath was, again, cute. 
I suppose being pregant is better than an Ebola-Leprosy-Lupus combination. 
All in all, a great update with a very high cuteness factor. 
One thing that will keep me awake, though: what the hell did Nameless mean with that??
cause this little guy tickles me so!
