New Fic - At Any Cost. (Finished 12 Dec)

[Alcy]

Okay Paul mate, firstly, I have to write the I've sat and read through all of this fic in one sitting...and no, I don't usually have a lot of time on my hands but I unceramoniously left work early today with my own case of gastronomical pyrotechnics. As such, I deleved back into 'At Any Cost' with every intention of getting through the vast volume of text and actually delievering feedback this time around. I say that because I few months ago I read up until the latest update and was much too excited to actually leave any feedback.

Anyway, enough rambling, feedback is what we demand!
I must say, your prose is a joy to read, not to mention your dialouge, both flow so effortlessly that it is evident you are a writer decidedly above par and I should bow down before your talent. Hmmm, fan worship much?
The plot twists and turns, throws up dead-ends and wears numerous disguises, so much so that I'm glad I've read most of it through twice.
I have to admit, I guessed both Willow being preggers and that Timothy is (apparently) their son (whether adopted or biological despite the arguments of those far better versed in biology than me)...although this isn't a result of my intellectual prowess, but rather the fact that I had to read it twice!

I would love to select many, many quotes that I have enjoyed on my journey through this fic but I think I would take up too much space, I'll just say that there are many!

I love the fact that Nameless appears to be a pseudo Scooby, or perhaps their Guardian Angel...albeit as a result of very misguided intentions. The number of times he's swooped in to save them makes me wonder whether all this pseudo benevolence is going to affect him in ways even he hasn't predicted. Okay, he's one nasty bad arse dude but he saves people and he finds it within himself to save little girls...juxtaposition much? I think this is going to make for some very interesting plot developments in future chapters.

I'm worried about the fact that Timothy needs to keep his parents alive, I may have missed some comment in other's replies but are Willow and Tara dead in his time? And does he have any powers of his own, besides the fact that he's managed to travel back in time? Questions, questions, but I'll leave it up to you to answer them.
In the meantime, happy writing...which of course leads to happy reading!

Hope the weather is nicer in Aus than it is over here!
Cheers
Alcy

[Useful_Oxymoron]

First of all, feedback to the feedback. Yeah, Hercules isn't availiable on DVD here in holland either. As a matter of fact, neither is Xena. So, um, I've, uh, liberated the shows from the web. I already have a DivX DVD-player, so that's one problem solved, uh, cheaply. Did I mention I'm immoral?

Good point here. Magic as portrayed on the show often seems to follow a set pattern, a recipe if you will, with the ritual magic anyway. My point was that there is no scientific correlation between the actions of the ritual and the effects they cause. Scientifically, it shouldn't work, or so I imagine.

No scientific correlation in a sense of magic fitting inside a Newtonian model or Eisteinian space, but usually a magical action results in a predictable event, so in that way magic is simular to scientific experiment. But when a series of magical actions is performed, the results become increasingly harder to achieve and predict (well call that the dice-factor in RPGing. ) That's one of the reasons I've always found Willow's magic addiction to be preposterous. Magic is a tool, not a substance. It's the power to manipulate surroundings that increases by practise and study. Usually, in RPG's at least (I'm not one of those nutters who believes magic is real. Just to point that out. )The magic is always there in the same quantity, it's the ability to tap into it that grows.

Just between you and me, I think it would have been a better plot for the show if Willow was addicted to the power magic brought her, rather than the magic itself. Hell, she wouldn't be the first to have a power-trip. Now, it was just for easy for the writers to say 'no, it wasn't Willow, it was just the magic. It wasn't really her fault.'. In the end, it would have been better for Willow's character... Of course, it would also have been better for Willow's character to not have Tara shot.

If you want a more free form magic system, have a look at White Wolf's Mage: The Reckoning etc line. It's been a while since I looked at the book, but from what I remember a lot of that was done on the spot, rather than using a more rigid rule system.

Oh, I remember that system and how it could turn out to be a DM's worst nightmare, under the 'right' circumstances. You have to have a tight control of the group and have set out the can and can't before the game. I'll leave you with one crafty DM : http://www.rpgcodex.com/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=2293

If you can pull that one off, you're a good DM.

Hmm, too many bollocks already. I think it's time to get around to the story right about now, hm?

If I didn't know better, I might think Tara was stoned.

to the mental image of a stoned Tara. That was just too damn weird for comfort, my good man. To the image of Willow in armor. Blame Oblivion for that one. I think Willow'd look damn sexy in Ebony or Deadric armor... uh, if she'd be able to move in that heavy stuff, of course. Maybe a nice Glass armor. Perfect because the green'd clash with her red hair.

LOL! I don't think Nameless'd be the kind of guy that'd tape and sell the 'snuggles' to shady internet sites... At least, I hope he isn't.
I was also nice of Tara to break Xander's fall... if slightly ineffective. Careful, Xand-man... Only Willow gets to handle Tara, like she said.

The next thing you know, we could all be pregnant. Even Xander and Giles!”

I just imagined a Xander-Giles hybrid. Oh, Anya being her usual tactless self.

bye-bye, bugs. Join the many dead goldfish of the world!

Hm, four new demons showing up, ey? New players in town? Just when you think it's safe to get back in the water, this story surprises you with a new twist. Nice going. Nice bits of extreme violence in here too. Can't go wrong with the violence. And, Buffy, well, she doesn't come out to be very smart in this story, does she?

Great update, mate. Keep it up!

[Darth Pacula]

think I might have to leave it here for the time being, and pick it up tomorrow.

Okay, (a full week later) so much for that plan. But on a better note, I finished the update last night (around midnightish) so I should have it up sometime this afternoon. Given that it's 7:15 in the AM right now, that should mean in ... ten/twelve hours or so?

Cheers,
Paul.

[DarkWiccan]

Dude! Paul! You totally skipped me in your replies!

No, no... it's okay... I'll survive... somehow...

Cheers
DW

[Maccoda]

I was expecting update-y goodness when I got home from work. Who's hiding the update?

[Darth Pacula]

Right then, finishing off replies to feedback (a bit later than I had intended, but hey, whatcha gonna do?)

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Antigone Unbound - G'day, Mary. Yes, Aaron was pathetic, even more so as a vampire than he was as a human. about the NRA comment; well, you know us boys and our toys.

Licking his wounds--well, I'll never use that phrase again, ever never ever.

I had to go back and look at what I had written to understand your comment here. Believe it or not, I hadn't meant it in a literal fashion, but hey, vampire! So it works!

Making sure that no-one went down alone (feel free to keep the naughty connotation ) was something I wanted to make a point of. Even when they're at each other's throats, we have to remember that these people are bound together more by love than by duty.

As for Nameless, I doubt he feels betrayed per say. Annoyed, certainly, but his self image is such that he feels he deserves such treatment. As for considering the other houses, that was a echo of who he once was, and could have been. Remember that he made the comment way back near the start that he had wanted to be on the side of the angels?

That being said, he did dismiss the idea as being impractical. So while he's not so far gone as to not even consider the possibility of collateral damage, he won't weaken himself, or risk the scoobies, to avoid it.

Katie's statement about needing to watch her vamped mother get dusted was intended as a subconscious desire for some sense of closure. Her mother had already been taken away from her, but she was still there. I think that Katie just needed to know for certain that her mother was never coming back.

Next one ...

I certainly hope you enjoyed your moment of self-satisfaction.

I'm glad you liked Tara's 'synopsis', as you put it. Sometimes I think I might be rushing through bits like that, so it's good to know that you think it worked. And I'll pass on your request to Tara, though I imagine Willow will have veto power, so be prepared to suck up.

The event in the winter of '99 was Willow and Tara meeting for the first time, an event which sparked off Nathaniel's visions. Or at least, that's what it looks like at the moment.

The dimensional time distortion effect that has been mentioned before does come into play here, though I won't say how, exactly. And nice catch on the tense issue. I won't elaborate why it's a good catch though ...

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Darkness - G'day there, Darkness! Welcome.

If you managed to read this whole thing in the space of a day, well done! I guess it wasn't too confusing to enjoy then?

The issue of Willow's pregnancy was fairly easy to predict; I foreshadowed it a fair bit. Maybe I just felt sorry for everyone, so I gave them an easy puzzle?

As for Nameless, the revelation of the name 'Nathaniel Haust' has probably raised as many questions as it answered. (If it actually answered any in the first place )

Ahh, so many questions here, but none that I can answer without giving away plot points. So I'll have to make do with a statement that most of your questions should be answered by the stories end.

'Master of Schemes', huh? I like that! Please excuse me while I indulge in a good maniacal laugh .... and I'm back.

Thanks!

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Dark Wiccan - G'day, DW.

Fair enough on the nitpick. I suppose that once I got the issue that she was pregnant out of the way, I kind of glossed over the rest of the physical stuff. It's still there, I've just ... been skipping over it. Perhaps as a virtue of not knowing enough about the subject, I suppose. Though that doesn't normally stop me. .

As for your more specific questions:

How far along is she? I can't really answer that, because it might let plot points slip.

Is she still experiencing morning sickness? Yep, to a lesser extent.

How is her body changing?<---descriptively this one has been bothering me the most as far as a "need to see".
How is her emotional frame of mind/reference changing/maturing? I'm kind of whiffle-waffling on these two.

When can we expect to see her at the Dr's office again? I'm not sure it that is going to make it into the story before it ends. Remember that Doctor Lassiter was heading out of town for a week? It's only been about nine days since the diagnosis (by my dubious estimation), and don't forget, Willow left her thinking that the test was a false positive.

Okay, now that is said, I've worked in a bit of stuff that hopefully will satisfy your needs a bit more, regarding the whole 'being pregnant' issue. It is a plot point, but not the main one, and too be honest, in 'story time' there's probably only a few more days to go.

Cheers, DW!

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Antigone Unbound, Mk II - G'day again, Mary.

Ahh, the red-gold hair. If I remember correctly, I actually made mention of that the first time Timothy arrived, and as Grimmy (I think) commented his speech sounded a bit scooby-ish. So, I've been dropping subtle little hints as far back as that.

I loved your thoughts on morality. I really dig that kind of stuff. Personally, I think I'm often very much a black and white person, but I like the sense of uncertainty that shaky morality lends to a story. In real life, people are rarely as strictly good or bad as they are often portrayed in a lot of fiction, so I enjoy having characters that are a bit of both.

The Freddie Prinze Jr dream was a whim I had, sort of a nod to the movie 'The Last Action Hero'. A world parallel to our own where the characters portrayed in movies and TV are real? I just like the idea of that. To be honest, I grinned the whole time I wrote it.

Katie is still young enough to, as you put it, 'veer off in so many directions'. And the girl from the park was Fay Lee Morgan. The idea of putting those two together is interesting. I might have to use that for the sequel.

Making Cooper's fate a universal punishment for that sort of crime is fine with me, but then again, I'm a thug.

Nice comments on Nameless' unswerving refusal to cut himself any slack in the blame game, too.

Now--how do I order this "Lesbian Witches Gone Wild" DVD you mentioned? Oh, wait--I starred in one of those. Never mind.

Okay, now I'm intrigued.

As for the 'stool' joke, that was totally intentiona ... oh crap, I cannot tell a lie; I never even saw that when I wrote that. But hey, it works, so go with it.

On the show, they were always constrained in the violence department by the need to pass the censors, an aspect I am not constrained by. I can get as visceral and gruesome as I like. But that being said, I never saw Buffy as being the type of person to thrill in the kill. Like you said, she gets a kick from the adrenalin, but the less pleasant aspects of fighting don't appeal.

Nameless on the other had, has had little else in his life. The way I see it is like that old song lyric; If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. Nameless didn't always delight in carnage, but when it's all you know, it becomes a part of you.

Thanks again, Mary. It's bloody fantastic to have you back.

-----

Alcy - G'day, Alcy. I hope you're feeling better by now, mate. Gastronomic pyrotechnics are never fun, to experience, watch, hear or smell.

Well, as reasons for not leaving feedback go, being too excited works well for me.

I must say, your prose is a joy to read, not to mention your dialouge, both flow so effortlessly that it is evident you are a writer decidedly above par and I should bow down before your talent.

Aw shucks. You're too kind.

Well, as Guardian Angel's go, Nameless is definitely on the ... how do I put this ... unusually proactive side? He does save people, but unless it's for his own specific reason, it's never his first priority. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

There haven't been any comments on why Timothy has apparently traveled back in time, nor any sign of any supernatural powers. But if he is just another mostly normal schmo, how did he get there in the first place?

As for the weather, lately it's been bright, clear, and cold. For Queensland, anyway. We recently had a record low temperature for May.

Cheers, Alcy!

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Useful_Oxymoron - G'day, UO.

Yeah, Hercules isn't availiable on DVD here in holland either. As a matter of fact, neither is Xena. So, um, I've, uh, liberated the shows from the web. I already have a DivX DVD-player, so that's one problem solved, uh, cheaply. Did I mention I'm immoral?

Never mind, mate. I'll forgive you, this time.

Just between you and me, I think it would have been a better plot for the show if Willow was addicted to the power magic brought her, rather than the magic itself.

Interestingly enough, if you read the section on magic addiction in 'The Magic Box' supplement for the BTVS role-playing game, it pretty much reads as exactly that! Which is the way I've tried to approach it in this story.

at your link. That was hilarious!

:lmao to the mental image of a stoned Tara. That was just too damn weird for comfort, my good man.

What, you can't just see a hippy Tara tripping the light fantastic? Or is that dancing? I'll have to take your word on the Oblivion armor though. I don't have it yet. Not much point until I upgrade the 'puter. I'll have to make do with Morrowind.

No, Nameless hasn't been making bootleg lesbian porn. Remember, he tuned out that one time when they started to ... er ... get frisky?

bye-bye, bugs. Join the many dead goldfish of the world!

The new, and now dead, demons were just mercenaries, hired by Isiah since his vamps hadn't been having much success.

Cheers, UO.

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DW mk II -

Dude! Paul! You totally skipped me in your replies!

No I didn't, you silly sausage! I just hadn't written it yet. Ran out of time, ya see?

Cheers, DW.

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Maccoda - G'day, Mick.

No-one's hiding the update. You just got in two and a half hours before I did, and I've been writing replies for about 1 1/2 hours.

Sheesh, people! A little patience, please!

PS. I like your sig.

-----

And without any further ado, on to the update!

[Darth Pacula]

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. My email address is darthpacula@hotmail.com if you prefer.


Disclaimers: Needless to say, I do not own the Buffyverse, nor those who inhabit it. I only wish I did. Oh, the fun I would have ...


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.


Part 32.


Tara licked her lips nervously, peering at the shimmering barrier blocking both exits from their bedroom. Despite never wanting to let each other go, Willow and Tara had ended their embrace in favor of hunkering down by the end of their bed. Since they had no guarantee that Nameless' barrier would prove to be impervious, or that more demons simply wouldn't teleport in, they'd also armed themselves from the small arsenal left by the demons Nameless had slain.


Turning her head to one side, Tara looked at Willow hopefully. “It's been quiet for a little while now. Do you think it's over?”


“Maybe,” Willow hedged, gnawing on her lower lip. “Or maybe everyone's dead.”


“Don't say that, sweetie,” Tara begged, her face paling. “You guys have survived lots of demon attacks before, right?”


Willow nodded in abruptly forced bravado as she recognized how upset Tara had become at her statement “Oh sure,” she blurted, “Oodles and oodles! We've got demons coming out of our ears here, and we're completely used to it!”


The redhead frowned in a manner that Tara recognized as her train of thought taking a typically Willow-esque detour. “Well, not our literal ears, because that would be ... well, gross. Just think about the earwax issues! Can you imagine a demon composed completely of earwax?”


There was a brief pause before Tara realized that Willow was regarding her patiently, waiting for an answer.


“Um ... no?” Tara hesitantly ventured.


Willow nodded decisively, as if that decided the matter, and there was no possibility that any such demon could exist. Tara wasn't sure she agreed with Willow's snap decision; in a world that had six inch-tall fear demons, and demons that could make you break into a spontaneous musical number, she wouldn't rule out the idea of a demon made out of earwax.


With a sudden pop, the barrier sealing both doors vanished, and both women traded glances from their position kneeling on the floor.


“Do you think it's safe?” Tara asked, once again moistening her lips with her tongue.


The thunderous sound of footsteps storming up the staircase rumbled down the corridor, soon followed by Buffy's raised voice. “Dawn? Will, Tara? You guys all okay?”


Tara sagged in relief as she heard Dawn and Katie shout a response, and she gratefully let the mace she'd been gripping increasing hard slip to the floor. Willow, on the other hand, proved more demonstrative in her reaction; she cast her purloined short sword aside and bolted for the bathroom.


“Willow?” Tara called after her fleeing partner. “Sweetie? Are you okay?” Clambering to her feet, Tara winced as she tried to straighten. Her stomach was still disturbingly tender from the blow she'd taken earlier, and she could only imagine the bruise she would end up wearing tomorrow.


Holding her stomach gingerly, Tara hobbled after her lover. “Willow? Is it the morning sickness again? Do you need something?”


Willow had been reasonably lucky thus far in regards to her morning sickness. She'd suffered frequent minor bouts of nausea at random moments all throughout the day and night, putting paid to the misleading term 'morning sickness'. But most of that time, that nausea hadn't progressed to actual vomiting.


“Um ... no,” Willow responded slowly, her voice sounding embarrassed even through the door. “I ... uh ... I just ... I really needed to pee.”


“Oh,” responded Tara, marginally non-plussed for a moment before she regained her balance. “That's normal, right? When you're pregnant? The needing to pee a lot?”


There was a quiet pause from inside the bathroom. “You're asking me?” Willow asked plaintively. “Am I supposed to be the pregnancy expert now? Just because I'm the pregnant one?”


“No, sweetie,” Tara hurried to assure her partner. “It's just ... you're knowledge girl most of the time.”


Even through the door, Tara heard a pointed 'humph', and in her mind she could perfectly picture the pout Willow was undoubtedly wearing. “Well, normally I would know,” she finally insisted. “If this was ... you know, planned rather than unexplained. I'd have done research, and ... and I'd have schedules and charts and plans.”


The sound of the toilet flushing was soon followed by that of the bathroom tap running, and soon enough the door swung open to reveal Willow, slightly disheveled and more than slightly irritated.


“I don't even know how pregnant I am!” she continued indignantly, before the corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. “No, that's not right. Being pregnant is an all or nothing situation, right? You either are, or you're not. You can't be a 'little bit pregnant', can you!”


Reaching out, Tara took Willow's hands in her own, for no other reason than that she craved the redhead's touch. “You meant that you don't know how far along you are, right sweetie?”


Willow nodded energetically. “Exactly! There's so much I don't know about this, Tara! Not just how I'm pregnant, but about what is going to happen to me physically! I ... oh god, I really cannot go back in there,” she announced, her face blanching impressively.


Turning her head to survey their bedroom, Tara couldn't blame Willow for her reluctance. Seven separate demonic corpses littered the room, and all of them were in a less than pristine condition. As she turned back to agree, Tara found Willow crinkling her nose as if assaulted by some foul odor.


“Can't you smell that?” Willow asked, sounding as if she was close to gagging.


Tara obligingly turned and sniffed at the air, detecting a moderate trace of an unpleasant smell coming from the demon's corpse, but nothing that she could imagine eliciting the type of response Willow was exhibiting.


“Do you mean ... them?” ventured Tara, gesturing towards the nearest corpse hesitantly, as if unwilling to acknowledge such a concrete reminder of the night's earlier violence. “They don't smell that bad to me, sweetie.”


Willow eyed Tara doubtfully as she retreated further into the bathroom, pinching her nostrils shut. “Are you kidding me? That's ... oh god, that's rank.”


“I think that might be another symptom, Willow,” offered Tara as she followed Willow into the bathroom. “I think I read about something like that.”


“Great,” grumbled the redhead, sulking. “I've got stuff gushing out of both ends, my moods are starting go willy-nilly all over the place, and now my sense of smell is wigging out? What's next?”


Tara swept a critical eye up and down her partner's slender frame. “Um ... sweetie? I think you have a bump.”


Eyes flaring wide open in surprise, Willow spun to face the bathroom mirror. “A bump? Where? Am I bleeding? I don't remember getting hit!”


“No, Willow,” Tara hurriedly explained, swiftly crossing to her lovers side. “Not that kind of bump. I mean a baby bump.”


Blinking at her own reflection in the mirror, Willow slowly repeated Tara's last words. “Baby bump?” Looking down at her own body, Willow frowned and turned abruptly to confront her partner. “Are you sure? I can't see any difference. If there's a difference, I should be able to see it, right?”


“Trust me, Will,” replied Tara with an indulgent, soothing smile, and a saucily crooked eyebrow. “If there's one thing I know well, it's your body.”


“But it's my body too,” Willow petulantly insisted, probing her own torso as if determined to find any trace of Tara's proclaimed 'baby bump'. “If anyone knows it, it should be me!”


Tara slipped up close to her pouting lover, and pressed one hand up against Willow's stomach. “It's hard to see, sweetie. Really, it's less of a bump and more of a ... thickening?”


“Maybe I'm just getting fat?” Willow ventured hopefully as she laid one hand of her own atop Tara's.


The smile that blossomed on Tara's face was only just shy from breaking into laughter. “Willow, you could eat nothing but donuts for six months, and you wouldn't gain an ounce. You're not getting fat, you're pregnant.”


“But ... but ... I'm not ready!” protested Willow, her eyes increasingly frantic.


Tara's smile wilted as she realized just how uneasy Willow was becoming, and she pulled the redhead into a hug. “What aren't you ready for, Willow? What's wrong?”


“I'm not ready for any of this, Tara!” The words spilled from Willow's lips all in a rush, as if a dam inside her had burst its banks. “I'm not ready to be pregnant, I'm not ready to be a Mom, I'm just not ready!”


“You are ready, sweetie,” Tara insisted, pressing a kiss against Willow's forehead. “You're ready for all of it.”


Willow drank in the reassurance in the same fashion that a drought stricken plant would drink in water. “Are you sure, Tara? I know I'm freaking out, but ... I just can't help it!”


“I'm sure Willow,” Tara confirmed, trying to display every last iota of her faith in her lover through her voice, her eyes, her body language. “You can do this, all of this. I know you, sweetie, and you can do anything you turn your mind to.”


A tiny hiccup of laughter escaped Willow's lips as they eased from their pout. “Except be straight,” she countered. “Once you taste Tara Maclay, nothing else will do.”


The blonde crocked an eyebrow, and her voice dripping innuendo. “Taste, sweetie?”


“Huh?” questioned Willow, puzzled for a moment before she twigged onto Tara's naughty train of thought. Once that happened, her cheeks colored with embarrassment, and Willow swatted playfully at Tara's shoulder.


But her mirth proved short lived and Willow's brow furrowed, her eyes peering off into the distance as her brain puzzled at whatever issue had captured her attention. “Are we ...” Willow began then hesitated. “Is this ... morbid?”


“Will?”


“We ... we just survived a really bad situation, Tara. I mean ... our room's filled with dead bodies! And bits! Chunks! There's demon blood on the ceiling! I hate to think what we'll have to do to clean up the mess!”


“I know, Willow,” Tara acknowledged with a puzzled nod. “But how does that make this morbid?”


“Well, shouldn't be more freaked out? We almost died, and we just go into the bathroom and start chatting? I ... it just seems ... are we jaded? Are we so used to almost getting killed that ... I dunno, we're used to it? If so, what does that say about us? Should we be bringing a child into this, into our world? A world where you can get accustomed to people trying to violently murder you?”


Reaching up, Tara cupped Willow's cheeks and stared deep into the green orbs of her lady love's frightened eyes. “We are not jaded, sweetie. We are not morbid. This is just us, coping with what happened. And we will do whatever we have to to protect your child ... our child.”


The air between the lovers thrummed with invisible energy as the power of their connection passed between their linked gazes, and they were lost in the depths of each other's eyes. Until Buffy's voice intruded, that is.


“Will? Tara? Were are you guys? You both okay?” There was a brief pause, punctuated a squeak and a thump as a body fell into a wall. “Oh gross! What the hell did I just slip in?”


Both Willow and Tara winced as the same thought crossed both their minds at Buffy's complaint, and they both mouthed the same word simultaneously.


Liquefied demon?


“Oh eww!!” was Buffy's reaction as she came to the same conclusion.


**********


Sergeant Bixby snapped the mobile phone shut, and as he turned to face his superior, Isiah read the gist of the message in the other vampire's pinched expression.


“Captain ...” Bixby began, but Isiah cut his subordinate off.


“Let me guess?” Hawkins sarcastically ventured. “Ahh ... it didn't work? Those supposedly capable demons you recruited royally cocked things up again?”


Bixby forged on, regardless of Isiah's implied criticism. “Sir ... that was our contractor. According to him, all of the demons he teleported into the Slayer's house have been killed.”


“Do we know if they had any success at all yet? Did they at least take any of the Slayer's lackeys with them?” Isiah queried bitingly.


Bixby shook his head. “He doesn't know, Captain. He sent the demon's through, and everything seemed to be going well until our contractor picked up what he thought was another teleportation spell going in.”


“Nameless,” Isiah spat.


“Given the speed with which the demons started to die off after that, I'd have to agree, Cap'n.”


Hawkins pounded one fist on his desk in a sudden fit of pique. “Damn it! Will no-one rid me of this meddlesome warlock!”


There was a faint pause as Bixby regarded his superior. “Henry the II, sir?”


Isiah smirked. “Yes, actually. What do you think? Too much?”


**********


Buffy regarded the scene of carnage in her best friend's bedroom in a state of near despair. “See? This is why I prefer vampires! Less combing gooey chunks out of the carpet, and more ... I dunno, vacuuming?”


Peering past her sister's shoulder, Dawn's face seemed permanently set on the 'eww' setting. “Why is it you never seem to leave a mess like this?” she asked. “You do the occasional beheading, but this ... gah! Talk about an abattoir! And what am I standing in here?”


“Liquefied demon goo,” Buffy informed Dawn, keeping her face studiously blank. The younger Summers emitted a painfully loud squeal of dismay, and leapt out of the room. Despite Dawn's departure, Buffy quite happily continued with her explanation. “According to Will and Tara, Nameless takes the phrase 'killer bad breath' to the next level.”


“Yes ... well, it is rather unpleasant,” commented Giles, looking down distastefully and shuffling surreptitiously to one side.


“Buffy,” complained Dawn in a high pitched tone. “You could have warned me!”


Buffy shrugged. “I did tell you you'd be better off not coming in here,” she pointed out innocently.


“At least you're wearing shoes! I'm in bare feet!” The sound of Dawn's voice began to fade as she beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. “I'm going to have to scrub a whole layer of skin off my feet before I can even think about going back to sleep ...”


“I rather suspect you were planning that, Buffy,” Giles dryly noted. There was a mischievous twinkle in Buffy's eyes as she responded with a cheeky grin.


But the Slayer's mirth died as she turned back to the the scene of slaughter that had once been her mother's bedroom. Not that it hadn't been the scene of violence before. The attack of the Ovi Mobani zombies was just one example that came immediately to mind.


But nothing in Buffy's memory could compare to the state in which she found the room right now. It didn't help that there were still cracks in the wall from her earlier brawl with Nameless the other night.


“Giles, what are we supposed to do with all these bodies?” she asked. “It doesn't look like these are the helpful type of demon that liquefy or something.” Buffy glanced down and backwards. “Well, at least not without outside help. Do you think Willow or ...”


“No, I wouldn't advise it, Buffy,” Giles stated with a shake of his head. “I'm sure they are capable, but when we can do it ourselves, I don't think we should bother them.”


Buffy eyed Giles cynically. “So you're saying we can do this ourselves? How do we go about doing it then? Am I just supposed to bury them in the backyard?”


“A hacksaw and garbage bags,” stated a voice from behind them, and Buffy turned to find Anya peering inside with an appreciative expression. “I think Nameless would have made a good Vengeance Demon. He's not afraid to get in with the entrails, is he?”


“A hacksaw ...” repeated Buffy faintly, as if afraid to ask for elaboration.


“Oh yeah,” Anya replied brightly, all too happy to expound upon the details of her anecdote, unasked or not. “Bodies are easier to transport when they're dismembered. I remember this one time, during the Crimean War, there was this butcher ...”


“Yes, well .... I rather think we don't need to know the exact details, Anya,” Giles hurriedly interrupted.


“No, wait, it's a good story,” replied Anya indignantly. “This butcher was an inveterate womanizer, you see and his wife ...”


Slayer and Watcher exchanged despairing glances, and submitted to the inevitable tale that Anya seemed determined to inflict on them.


**********


Well, that was entertaining, if ultimately pointless, I thought to myself as I paced back and forth. If Buffy hadn't gone an acted as per normal, I could have been eviscerating Hawkins right now.


I couldn't blame Buffy though; I've been doing my best to make her consider me her enemy, regardless of the truth of things. Slayer's aren't in the habit of indulging their foes' desires. At least, the ones who last any appreciable amount of time don't. Cast what aspersions you like on Buffy Summers' character, but if nothing else, she's good at what she does.


Just not as good as I am. After a pause, I snorted disparagingly at my own arrogance. I'm skilled, and powerful, but so have plenty of Buffy's other nemesises ... nemeseese? What the heck is the plural for nemesis?


Scowling, I shook my head to regain my focus. It appeared that the .... unorthodox paths that Willow's mind could take were somewhat contagious. While it might work for her, I don't think I myself could pull off endearingly cute. Too many scars, too much mental trauma, or some such. Besides, if I tried, I'd probably rip my own throat out. Where the hell was I? I did have a point somewhere in there. Ah, yes ....


On one hand, I could admire Buffy's reaction from a strategic point of view. As far as she knew, I was her enemy as much as Hawkins was, albeit with a longer term plan that doesn't call for their immediate demise. You never wanted two separate enemies to join forces against you.


On the other hand, it was still bloody annoying. This close, I had been this close to finding where that wretched leech was hiding! And now? I am still left with no idea whatsoever how to find the bastard!


Glancing down, I found my skeletal hand curled into a fist, ready to lash out. It was only with considerable effort that I managed to uncurl it. It would appear that despite being able to vent my frustration on the demon's that had assailed the witches, the Slayer's interference had still left me extremely aggravated.


My methods of dealing with my anger would never be considered ... healthy by any sane person. Unless sudden acts of brutal violence have sudden become acceptable while I wasn't paying attention. I would go out and hunt; this is Sunnydale, after all. If I couldn't find something of a demonic nature to kill here, then I wasn't likely to find something anywhere. But I couldn't leave my post. Isiah could mount another attack at any time.


It was really only luck that neither Willow nor Tara had suffered a serious injury. Hell, it was luck alone that none of them were dead. If I had been out, or if I had reacted slowly ... well, lets just say there wouldn't have been any need to find Hawkins. I'd have turned this entire town into a funeral pyre.


So ... denied a target upon which to unleash my rage, I might as well use it, rather than let it turn inwards and fester like I had done so many times in the past. I had a puzzle to solve. I had a vampire to find. Once I found him, then I could uncage the beast living in my soul and let it out to play.


So, what do I know?


My foe is a vampire, and former military at that, so Isiah will have likely gone to ground in a hardened location, one easily defended as well as affording protection from the sun's lethal rays. Unfortunately, that could be any number of places in Sunnydale.


This misbegotten town had been designed as a demonic playground right from the word go by the late Richard Wilkins. The zoning codes Sunnydale's former mayor had introduced allowed for some rather ... different buildings to be built, compared to the norm for southern California.


Nor did I have Willow's knack with the arcane mysteries of computers. I can turn someone inside out without too much effort, but ask me to hack into the Department of Public Works to find floor plans of all the buildings that might have met Isiah's requirements, and I wouldn't know were to begin.


And it wasn't as if I could piggy-back off the scoobies research anymore. I couldn't even watch them any more.


So, unless I cared to spend the gods alone know how much time physically searching every last inch of Sunnydale, none of that information exactly helped my cause. None of my attempts to track Hawkins magically have come even close to succeeding. The spells I've used have all either shown Hawkins as being in several hundred locations at once, or been utterly stymied altogether.


These new demon's ...? Could there be something there, some lead that would lead me back to Hawkins?


Unlikely. They weren't a species I was familiar with, and that was saying something. When it cames to demonic species, not even Ripper knew as much as me. Comes from spending more than a decade and a half in a demon dimension, I imagine. Since I knew next to nothing of their breed, I didn't know where to look, and again, I can't chance leaving my lair to find out. My warding circle is now the only way I can detect any further attacks upon the scoobies.


Whatever magic is protecting the vampires, it's impressive. Subtle too, because I can't even detect the spell itself, an aspect that is often forgotten. Hiding something is all well and good, but sometimes the absence of something can be more informative than its presence. Not so in this case though.


If I could find some trace of the spell, I might have been able to punch a hole in it with brute force, but as things stand, it's akin to swinging blind in a dense fog. Then again, the handful of times I'd managed to brush up against the edges of the spell by luck alone, in each case it had melted away beneath my touch.


Whoever they've got doing this for them isn't some rank amateur ... wait. That's it. I'm hunting the wrong prey. Instead of hunting the vampires, I should be hunting whoever's hiding them.


**********


Buffy hefted the extra strong garbage bag she held with understandable reluctance. If it ripped open, spilling .... its contents all over the lawn? If that happened, Buffy was going to call it a night. At least, that's what Buffy liked to tell herself. The truth was that she couldn't just leave a pile of dismembered demon parts on her front lawn. Even in Sunnydale, that would draw unwanted attention.


After spending the last hour or so in engaged in activities she would happily pay to forget, Buffy found herself feeling ... soiled. In the seven or so years she'd been the Slayer, Buffy had killed more demons than she cared to count. The body count she'd accumulated since she'd moved to Sunnydale alone was staggering, and was something she didn't care to dwell on.


She killed demons; that was her job, her calling, as Giles repeatedly insisted on calling it. Killing demons was what she did, and she did it well. But she rarely took pleasure in it. Not in the way that Nameless, or Nathaniel, or whatever his name was, did.


For Buffy, killing demons was what she had to do to keep the world, and more importantly the people she cared about, safe. It was what she had to do, because there was no-one else to do it. Her friends helped, Buffy couldn't, and wouldn't, deny that. Without her friends, Buffy knew that she would never have lasted as long as she had, and that was including the two times she'd died already.


But it was ultimately on her shoulders that the fate of the world so frequently rested. The others, her friends, they could stop. Buffy imagined that one day, they'd have to stop. That was an option denied to Buffy, a fact she didn't like, but had largely come to accept over the years.


At the end of the day, that was why she couldn't trust Nameless an inch. She couldn't argue with the fact that the warlock was, at present, protecting them, for whatever reason. But she also couldn't deny that Nameless was a murderer, even if his choice of victims had thus far not rated very high on Buffy's scale of worthwhile human beings.


Nameless wielded who knows how much power, and he seemed to have next to no compunction about using it. Something deep down inside her told Buffy that one day, sooner or later, she would have to stop him. And she dreaded what that might mean, for the both of them.


And for all that, where was I when they needed me? Somewhere else, that's where! They all could have been killed, just because I couldn't stand to just sit around any more.


With a self deprecating snort, Buffy realized that she'd been standing, frozen in thought, holding a garbage bag filled with 'demon chunks' for several minutes now. I must look like a real dope to anyone who might be watching.


Buffy cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder to check that no-one in the house was watching her; she'd hate to give Dawn any more ammo for use in their ongoing cold war of sibling rivalry. Fortunately, no-one seemed to have noticed her lapse in attention, so Buffy slung the garbage bag into the boot of Giles' hire care, musing as she did so that it was fortunate that Giles no longer drove his 'mid-life crisis-mobile'. Its trunk would never have been large enough.


Her brow furrowed as a distinct odor began to tickle at the edges of her senses, soon followed by a faint rustle in the hedges. Having long since lost her patience, Buffy spun around and lunged.


**********


Tara flinched as the front door was flung open with a bang as it crashed into the wall. The violent events of the night so far had left her understandably on edge. Looking up from where she knelt on the floor, attempting to scrub both human and demon blood out of the carpet, Tara blinked at the sight of Buffy in the doorway, holding a squirming figure up in the air.


A familiar squirming figure.


“Look at what I found lurking outside,” Buffy announced brightly. “It's our favorite purveyor of both information and highly offensive body odors.”


“Hey!” protested Lickspittle from beneath the voluminous depths of its hood, flailing comically in a futile attempt to regain his freedom. “Dis 'ere scent took mae a fair lick of time ta cultivate, I'll 'ave youse know!”


“Yeah, you must be so proud,” came Buffy's caustic reply. “Now, would you care to explain why you're spying on our house?”


“I'm noot!”


“You're not?” Buffy repeated, scoffing. “You just happen to be out wandering, right after a bunch of demons invade my home and attack my friends? Am I just supposed to believe that?” She snorted in disbelief. “Pull the other one, it plays 'Jingle Bells'!”


Twisting slightly in her grip, Lickspittle looked back at its captor. “Jingle whoot? Pull de oodda whut?”


As Buffy glowered at the captive demon, Tara cleared her throat and knuckled the small of her aching back. “Buffy, perhaps Lickspittle had some more information to sell us?” she calmly suggested, hoping to temper the other blonde's obviously bad mood. She knew that Buffy was feeling guilty about not being here for the demon attack, a fact that had to be contributing to her current bout of distemper.


For her part, Buffy didn't seem to take the hint, shaking Lickspittle by the scruff of its neck. “Is that it, huh? Got some more suspiciously fortu... fortid... lucky intell to sell?”


“Nay, ye crazed slattern!” whined Lickspittle pathetically. “I'd bee lootin' ye trashcans!”


Tara blinked. “You ... you were going through our trash?”


Lickspittle's head bobbed in enthusiastic acknowledgment. “Aye! Well, I canna jus' stroll inna da mall tae do mae shoppin', can'aye? Nae weeoot gettin' kicked oot on mae rear, anyhoo.”


“What's that smell ...” asked Willow's voice, briefly preceding the arrival from the kitchen of Tara's redheaded love herself. Willow's nose was held up to the air, visibly sniffing, and her eyes were half closed, as if to avoid sensory overload.


“Will?” Tara asked, voice tinged with concern. Lickspittle's odor was ... nothing if not vigorous, and she would hate it if that smell set off Willow's squicky tummy. She knew that morning sickness was a common symptom of pregnancy, but if she could minimize it's effects on Willow in any way, Tara meant to do so.


At the sound of her lover's voice, Willow's emerald eyes flicked open to behold the scene before her. A sudden look of understanding flickered across the redhead's open and expressive face. But there was something else there as well, something undefinable that told Tara there was something else on her lover's mind.


Anya appeared behind Willow, scurrying along in pursuit, waving a dustpan above her head with one gloved hand, as if she were a general calling for an assault on the forces of Disorder and Various Other Messes. “Hey! Just because you're in the process of spawning an infant, don't think that gets you out of doing your share of the clean-up, little 'Miss I-can't-misuse-magic-to-make-Anya's-life-easier'!”


Then she caught sight of Buffy and her unwilling guest. “Oh. Are you here to help clean up? And what died? Besides the obvious, that is.”


“Anya, this is ...” Tara began, but Anya snorted and threw up her hands in disinterest.


“If he's not here to help, I don't care who the smelly midget is,” she informed them, turning on her heel and marching back into the kitchen, having apparently forgotten the reason she'd left for in the first place.


“Hey, Will,” Buffy acknowledged once Anya had left the room. “Get this. Lickspittle here claims he was just rummaging through our garbage. Do you buy that?” Her tone made no secret of the fact that she expected Willow to share her disbelief.


Which might be why Willow's answer surprised her so much.


“Um ... yes?”


Buffy's jaw dropped, and if her response was any indication, so did her IQ. “Huh?”


“Well, I mean what other reason would Lickspittle have for being here? Right?” Willow continued, shifting nervously. “And I suppose he's got better places to be, am I right.”


Lickspittle nodded energetically. “Aye! Too right, missus! I'd be havin' places tae be, an' paeoples tae be seein'.”


“There, see?” Willow stated, gesturing emphatically. “He's got places to go to, Buffy. So ... um, you may as well let him go.”


“Let him go?” repeated Buffy weakly, bewildered by Willow's reaction.


“Yep,” Willow confirmed, her eyebrows wriggling in an apparent attempt to wordlessly communicate. “I really think you should let him go. Now-ish.”


“But ...” Buffy tried to protest, until she saw Willow's face begin the process of adopting her 'resolve face'. Knowing full what that meant, Buffy surrendered rather than fight a battle she knew she would be bound to lose, and dropped Lickspittle to the floor.


The demon staggered as it hit the floor, and lurched back to its full, if unintimidating, height. Straightening its ruffled clothing with laughable dignity, Lickspittle bowed to Willow in formal gratitude, nodded to Tara, and kicked Buffy in the shin before bolting out the still open front door.


“Ow,” Buffy mumbled to herself, glaring after the demon as it fled into the night. “What the hell, Will?” she demanded, rounding on Willow, whose earlier composure had been replaced by nervous excitement.


“Quick, Buffy! Follow him ... her ... whatever. Hurry!” Willow ordered, waving frantically in the direction of the rapidly disappearing Lickspittle.


“Oh! Right, follow him back to whoever's putting him up to this! Good thinking, Willow!” Turning to follow the fleeing demon, Buffy hesitated. “What if there's another attack while I'm gone?”


Willow shook her head. “No, they won't have had time to round up another batch of demons yet, and vampires still can't teleport in without an invitation. We'll be fine, now go!”


Without another word, Buffy went, loping out the door at a distance eating pace. Tara turned to her partner with a questioning expression. “What are you up to, sweetie?”


“I recognized it, baby!” Willow blurted excitedly. “I know what it was now!”


“Recognized what, Willow?” Tara asked blankly. “I need some more information here.”


“The smell!” crowed Willow, as if that cleared everything up. Eventually, the expression on her lover's face, both puzzled and bemused, informed Willow otherwise, and she moved to clarify her earlier statements.


“The smell? The one from Timothy's house? It was Lickspittle!”


**********


“Is this really such a good idea, sweetie?” Tara asked as she hurried after Willow, the redhead striding confidently across the street. Willow jerked to an abrupt halt at her lover's question, and Tara only narrowly avoided crashing into her.


“Of course it's a good idea!” Willow loudly announced, spinning around. “It's a great idea! It's a stupendous idea! Just like all my idea's are! Why? You don't think it's a good idea? It's a bad idea? Oh god, you think it's a bad idea, don't you? You think my brain's turning to mush!”


Tara blinked, caught unawares by Willow's mercurial mood shift. “I don't think ... why would your brain be turning to mush, sweetie,” she assured her girlfriend. “You're still very much the big beautiful girl I love.”


“Then what's wrong with the plan?” Willow pugnaciously demanded. “We suspected that there was more to Timothy than met the eye, and now we know!”


“We think we know, Will,” Tara countered softly. “We don't know anything for certain yet. You might be ...” Willow started to pout slightly, and Tara obligingly re-evaluated her statement with a sigh. “You probably are right, but we don't know for sure.”


Willow shrugged, unable to see Tara's point. “So? That's why we're going! To find out!”


“Yes, sweetie, but what if you're right? What do we do then? What do we do if Timothy turns violent? You sent Buffy off after Lickspittle, and you wouldn't wait to tell any of the others where we were going.”


“Oh,” Willow muttered, her face falling as she finally caught Tara's point. “Um ... if things go wrong ... we ... er ... run away? Use magic if we have to, but run away first?”


“Sounds like a plan to me, sweetie,” agreed Tara with a nod, taking Willow's hand. If pressed, Tara would have acknowledged that was in an effort to temper her partner's enthusiasm, but for the most part, she just liked holding hands.


Hand in hand, the two women resumed their journey across the street towards Timothy's house. The house in question was mostly dark, though a few lights could be seen burning through the windows. Tara shivered as the cool night breeze tickled the back of her neck, even under the weight of her hair.


She looked around, suddenly aware of how quiet the night was. It was almost preternaturally silent in a way that no human populated location on the planet was. In an morosely introspective moment, Tara wondered if this was nature's contribution to the drama of the moment, a prophetically pregnant pause in the world.


But then they were climbing the steps up to Timothy's porch, and Tara had to focus on the moment, rather than the vague misgivings worrying at the edges of her consciousness. Stepping forward,Willow rapped vigorously on the front door. Despite waiting for several minutes, there was no response, and Willow impatiently knocked several more times.


Inching forward, Tara peered through the nearest window, finding the living room empty and lit only by a single lamp. Scanning to either side, she couldn't find any sign of life whatsoever inside.


“I don't think he's home, Willow,” Tara ventured.


“Drat!” grumbled Willow, scowling as she started to stomp back down the stairs. “How am I supposed to have my Matlock moment if he isn't here!”


“Matlock moment, sweetie?” Tara inquired with a grin as she followed close behind.


With the opening that comment provided, Willow was off and running. “Yeah, you know, the moment when I pull the rabbit out of my hat in front of the jury? Well, not an actual rabbit, or even a real hat, so where does that phrase come from. I know about the whole stage magician thingy, but why did that ever become associated with meaning a surprise? There's a lot of things that would have done just as well. Should we break in?”


“What?” Tara asked, confused by the rapid change of direction.


“Should we break in?” Willow repeated patiently, having long ago become used to people not keeping up with her lightning fast shifts in direction. “Into Timothy's house, to ... y'know, do the snooping around thing?”


Tara did her best to fight the grin tickling the inside of her lips. “Um ... sweetie, I think we left our criminal mastermind kits at home.”


“Phooey!” Willow grumbled, scuffing at the ground with her foot like a scolded schoolgirl.


“Come on, sweetie,” Tara urged, slipping an arm around Willow's waist and shepherding her across the street. “If you're right, and Timothy has some connection to Lickspittle, what do you suppose he's up to?”


“What do you mean if ...”


Both women's voices began to fade as they crossed the street and vanished back into their own house. For a while, the ominous stillness of the night ruled once more, broken only occasionally by a gentle rustle as occasional breezes whispered past.


A faint shimmer grew in the shadow of a large tree growing by the street outside Timothy's house, and solidified into a dark shape lurking against the trunk. Shifting slowly, the figure limped out onto the sidewalk, staring in the direction Willow and Tara had left. The wan illumination from a streetlight on the corner painted thick shadows on the figure's face, but was enough to identify Nameless.


“My, my ... what fun things you can learn when people don't know you're there,” he drawled, a measuring expression on his scarred face. His head turned back to regard the largely dark bulk of Timothy's house. “Close. Far too close. I can't have the witches finding out who our 'Mr Garner' really is.”


Nameless rolled his shoulders as a predatory grin stole across his face. “I think it's time for me to take 'Timothy' out of the game. Once and for all.” Turning on his heel, Nameless limped towards Timothy's somnolent house, fingers twitching as if already wrapped around someone's neck.


To be continued ...

[viximon]

Ey there pal. How are you Paul?
My computer is giving me problems but otherwise I do fine.

That chap was a funny one. I love it. The demonjuice all over the place at casa Summers with the two sisters stepping on it and all...hilarious. And Willow was just sublime. He hehe, Tara hands Willow switch moods pretty profesional well. Oh, and dear Lickspittle made an apperance on this update too so it was great. Wonderful package .

Now, now. Seems Nameless and Timothy are going to confront each others soon. Yahoo. I want so much to read whats next. Next chapter promise to be a interesting one (like each untill now, pff), there will be gore and blood and such, will not? Nameless will make sure of that. he he.

Gah, I have to go, shame. Well, my friend, see you next round. Take care

[mole]

Is it just me, or do events seem to be ramping up to one hell of a conclusion? And here I am still trying to puzzle things out. Sigh...I never was very good at figuring out who done it.

You've capture Willow babble very well in this update. Rabbits out of hats, indeed. I must admit that my brain sometimes gets derailed in a similar fashion. Why do familiar sayings mean what we all agree they mean? How do such terms get started? But, I digress...

Willow and Tara's connection is so strong and clear in the last couple of updates. And you've shown that it's both mental and physicial. Tara knows what Willow is thinking and recognizes the signs of of impending Babble. And you mention a couple of times the need to just hold hands, to touch each other as if to reassure themselves that they are whole and together. It's all just very heartfelt and sweet.

Once again, you've left me with questions to which I have no answers. And a couple of burgeoning theories which I'll refrain from speaking of one the one-in-a-million chance that I'm anywhere near right:)

Great work Paul. Looking forward to more.
Michelle

[Willowtree252]

ahhhhh you are killing me but i so love it i am so into this story i can,t wait for willow and tara to find out about the baby

[caz]

Hi Paul sorry that I missed giving fb for your last chapter.

Nameless to the rescue again! Even though the Scoobies had removed the eyes that were throughout the house, Nameless still knows what is going on.

Chapter 32 - I'm with Nameless on this one - I'd like to know who is protecting Hawkins.

Poor Willow, she's still unsure about her pregnancy and the hormones kicking in don't help!

I knew that Willow would pick up on Lickspittle's scent. However, I don't think that Willow and Tara should visit Timothy without any slayer backup. I'm suspicious of that man and I don't know why.

Looking forward to your next update.

Caz

[WillowRulez]

Hm, I am curious as to what Nameless is gonna do to Timothy.
The earwax demon... that just made me crack up! Anya could have asked that... well, no because she knows EVERYTHING but the moment when Willow expected really an answer from Tara regarding those demons was a classic Anya moment. At least for me.
So cute that Willow finally freaks about her pregnancy. And a baby bump... awww!
I also knew Willow'd find out about the whole Licky & Timmy connection. Can't wait for how all this will develop!

[Darkness]

Hm, I am curious as to what Nameless is gonna do to Timothy.

I wondered that myself. If I only have read the first chapters, then I wouldn't put it past him to just kill him right off, but there is more than meets the eye here. Perhaps he'll capture him? We yet have to be told about the Nameless agenda. He didn't travel back through time just to cause havoc and save the scoobies again and again. I guess the answers will come once we learn more about his connection to Willows child. And why he has made this connection.

I just went back a few chapters, and there are several speculations, and Nameless indicates that Willow have to pay, due to his visions. Another question raised is why Nameless, who has done much worse things, would care about this? Also an answer we'll burn to find out about. It could be that Nameless simply doesn't want an unexperienced girl like Willow (at least for him) to destroy the entire world, but that would be too easy as a plot twist, would it not?

Just re-read the two last chapters, and the one with the demon attackers really got to me. The moment when both Willow and Tara thinks they're gonna die, and their eyes meets... such feelings involved there, I can only guess.. to think they're to die, and want to be with each other as long as it is possible, before the darkness falls. This is one great story.

P.S = I don't know what Timothy's fate is, but I hope he makes it.

[db]

Wheee! What a ride. Everything is so mysteriously mysterious. I cannot puzzle it out, yet I am very intrigued.

You are a plot mastermind!

[Lonewolf22]

Darth Pacula: Great update, I really liked Willow freaking out a bit about her pregnancy and LOVED the way that Tara was there to comfort her and to let her know that she CAN do this for their child. I thought that it was a little funny what Buffy did to Dawn. Very smart of Willow to let Lickspittle go and have Buffy follow him. What is Nameless going to do to Timothy? And who is helping the vampires hide? I can't wait to read more.

Lonewolf22

[Alcy]

Hi Paul, look at me delivering feedback in a timely fashion without waiting for oh, say ten chapters to go by!

I really enjoyed the humour in this chapter, earwax demons and Willow complaining about stuff gushing out of both ends was just fantastic, it's the mark of a good comedy writer when you can make me openly chuckle at my computer.

While it was incredibly cute to read Willow and Tara talking about their baby and understandable about their concern regarding readiness and such, I would be far more worried about where it came from. I know Timothy seems like a nice wee lad (if he is the one that Willow is carrying) but Willow and Tara don't know that. for all they know there baby could be evil...and I've seen plenty of movies with evil little children in them to know that they can be really, really evil (scares the hell out of me).

Nice reference to Henry II, who said the same thing as Isiah in reference to his Archbishop, four of his knights then took off and killed the poor chap...I hardly think Isiah's lackeys would have the same success, given Nameless' substantial power.

I love reading Lickspittle's speech, I sound the words out in my head the way you've written them and they come out fantastically Scottish, I love the wee pleasures in life! But now we've got Willow and Tara suspicious of poor Tim...as well as Nameless on his case. I suspect that we're going to see a lot more of the fellow over the next chapters.

Another great update, a pleasure as always,

Cheers

Alcy

[AntigoneUnbound]

Hey Paul! How goes it in your neck o' the woods?

I called Beckham a rugby player?!? I meant to identify him properly as a figure skater. I'm so embarrassed...

You know, I loved the alternating humor and pensiveness in this update. Of course Willow's freaking out about being pregnant. To paraphrase the saying, some have children thrust upon them. And then she asks what I think is a very good question: Have they gotten so accustomed to carnage that nothing affects them anymore? And if so, what would it be like to bring a child into that mix?

It was also fascinating to watch the juxtaposition of Buffy's and Nameless' musings, particularly about each other. They make such worthy foes, even if we're not sure that they HAVE to be foes. It's interesting b/c w/ Willow and Tara, we see his emotional side even in the midst of his planning: clearly he has some attachment to them. But with Buffy, it was like watching an old general reflect on the skills and strategem of a respected adversary.

Loved Willow's "catch" on where she had caught Lickspittle's smell before. And now we have to wonder what Nameless has in store for Timothy--except I don't see Timothy being exactly clueless.

Just great stuff, Paul! I hope that life is treating you well! Now, if you'll excuse me, Beckham's in the middle of his long program.

Mary

[Useful_Oxymoron]

Heya! How are things in the Down Underverse?

Interestingly enough, if you read the section on magic addiction in 'The Magic Box' supplement for the BTVS role-playing game, it pretty much reads as exactly that! Which is the way I've tried to approach it in this story.

I've not read much in the BTVS RPG, but that supplement sounds suspiciously like a retcon if you ask me.

And hippy Tara still seems weird, yet slightly sexy. Then again, Tara is always sexy.

A demon consisting entirely out of Earwax? Uh, you're large with the weird imagry these days, are you?

“If this was ... you know, planned rather than unexplained. I'd have done research, and ... and I'd have schedules and charts and plans.”

I have two coworkers who'd laugh their asses off at that one. And then run to the backroom for the tenth time in one morning.

“Maybe I'm just getting fat?” Willow ventured hopefully as she laid one hand of her own atop Tara's.

Classic line. Poignant bit about Willow seeing her own body, btw. Can you believe that there are women out there who have no idea that they're pregnant until the baby actually arrive. I mean... how?!

And when you're in a bind, Tara is all you need to cheer you up. She's right, you know? Will can do anything... except being straight that is. Will can't be straight, except walking straight and drawing a straight line.

There was a faint pause as Bixby regarded his superior. “Henry the II, sir?”

Isiah smirked. “Yes, actually. What do you think? Too much?”

I was thinking more along the lines of Terry Jones : He's not the Messiah. He's a very naughty boy!

Heee, Licky is back... and he brought his odor, how nice.

'Miss I-can't-misuse-magic-to-make-Anya's-life-easier'

LOL! And everything is okay, even mass murder, if it alleviates Anya's workload. Perfik characterisation there.

It seems Licky's smell and Willow's new talent'll get Timothy in a spot of trouble, though. Oddly enough, I'd have thought Willow'd be more like Ling in the courtroom than Matlock. Still, I think nameless'll be more trouble than Matlock!Willow.

One of the things I really enjoy about this story are the numerous factions involved who have no or little idea what the other factions are up to. We as the readers have some (but little ) clue, but the people in the story are not so fortunate, though I suspect Timothy might be the person that's the least in the dark, though thats only a hunch,

Keep it up, mate!

[LeatherQueen]

Well, Paul, I must apologize for my long absence in feedback. I have been reading diligently, but I've been rather lax in responding. So I shall have to amend that.

So here's my feedback: Yay! More!

I am a woman of few words. But I am very excited about a possible confrontation between our neighborly Mr. Garner and Nameless. Imagine the possibilities!! Which I'm sure you have done, since it's your story and all.

I shall look forward to your next update with breathless anticipation!

[mizzesmom]

I really like this story and I am waiting impatiently for an update..

[willow_tara_always]

greatness, updates pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx

[ZenMe]

Darth,

I just wanted to let you know that I love your story. Sometimes it gets all large with the violence and the blood and the gore and the bits and the pieces, but its soooo damn interesting and well thought out that my squeemish stomach doesn't mind. Its one of my favorites and I look forward to every update.

Thanks for writing it.

Zen

[Darth Pacula]

G'day all. First off, sorry about this chapter taking so long to turn up. I've just been very distracted lately, what with my parents being over for the last two weekends, and I've been sucked into the delightful insanity of the Chat thread.

But it's done now, so on to replies.

-----

viximon - G'day, Vix. Sorry to hear your computer is giving you problems. At times, it seems as if that's all they were designed to do, doesn't it?

I'm glad you liked the humor. I might surprise you when it comes to Timothy vs Nameless though. Just so as you know, there is method to my madness.

See you next time, Vix!

-----

mole - G'day, Michelle. Yep, conclusion time is drawing ever closer.

Willow's thoughts on where some of our sayings come from is something that I've been pondering for a while. It can be fun trying to figure out where such things might have originated from. Though that might just be because I'm a nerd.

It's all just very heartfelt and sweet.

Two words that aren't commonly associated with me.

Everyone seems to be developing theories, but no-one is sharing! I seem to be rubbing off on people.

Cheers, Michelle!

-----

Dianneswillowtree - G'day, DWT (your screen name is too long for lazy little me to write every time ).

Killing is bad, but loving is good, so I guess they balance out.

Thanks for reading!

-----

caz - G'day, Caz. Don't sweat missed feedback. I am currently a mile behind on all the feedback I need to leave. The problem is finding enough time!

I wouldn't say that Nameless knew what was going on in the house, but he knew something was off, and the rest was luck ... oh, and lots of violence.

The identity of who's hiding Isiah and co. will be revealed at the end of this update.

Poor Willow, she's still unsure about her pregnancy and the hormones kicking in don't help!

Well, wouldn't you be worried? Getting pregnant from out of nowhere with no rational explanation?

Still suspicious of Timothy, huh? Maybe you just have good instincts. Maybe you're completely off track. Either way, I'm not telling.

Cheers, Caz!

-----

WillowRulez - G'day, WillowRulez. Another person curious about what's going to happen to Timothy. Well, as I said above, I might just surprise you there.

about your reaction to the Earwax demon. I don't know where I come up with half this stuff myself. And it could have worked for Anya too.

Cheers, WillowRulez!

-----

Darkness - G'day, Darkness. Yes, when it comes to Nameless you can definitely say that there's more than meets the eye.

We yet have to be told about the Nameless agenda. He didn't travel back through time just to cause havoc and save the scoobies again and again.

Good point. I'd say there's about another three or four updates until I start revealing everything about what Nameless is trying to do.

About Nameless indicating that Willow has to pay ... well, right back in the first chapter, he said that Willow is going to get what she deserves. Now that could be taken negatively, as most people seemed to, or positively. After all, what do all we Kittens think Willow deserves?

Thanks about your comments on the near-death experience for Willow and Tara. The whole idea of wanting to be together right to the very end was what I was trying to go for.

Thanks for reading, mate.

-----

db - G'day, db. Note the lower case, if you will. I know you prefer the lower case because then they look like boobs.

I'm glad you're enjoying the ride so far, db, and thanks for the complement. Nothing puffs up an evil person's ego like being called a mastermind.

Cheers!

-----

Lonewolf22 - G'day, Lonewolf22.

Willow freaking out seemed the way to go, and people seemed to like it, so yay!

I thought that it was a little funny what Buffy did to Dawn.

So did Buffy, but I don't think Dawn got the joke.

At least one of your other questions will be answered by the end of this update.

Thanks for reading!

-----

Alcy - Greetings to you, my fellow Antipodean! And check it out, with the prompt feedback. Way to go, Alcy!

it's the mark of a good comedy writer when you can make me openly chuckle at my computer

Is it also the mark of a good comedy writer to have doubts about their ability to write funny stuff? Because if so, I must be a great comedy writer!

Good point about worrying more about where the baby came from. They have been doing that in the past, but so long as they don't know anything, and everything seems to progress normally, they'll have to focus on whatever problem is most pressing at the moment. You can't worry about everything all at once after all.

I hate to admit it, but the Henry the II quote was nearly attributed to Shakespeare by accident.

The Scottish tone of Lickspittle's voice is intentional, though I also chuck in all sorts of other things, like Irish and even Orks from Warhammer 40,000.

I suspect that we're going to see a lot more of the fellow over the next chapters.

You might be surprised there ....

Cheers, Alcy!

-----

AntigoneUnbound - G'day, Mary! In my neck of the woods, it's cold (but not too cold, it is Queensland) and dry. Damn, we really need rain, and I mean really. Like ... doing a rain dance in the backyard wearing nothing but underwear and one of those jester's hats with the bells on the ends?

I called Beckham a rugby player?!? I meant to identify him properly as a figure skater. I'm so embarrassed...

Nice paraphrase there, Mary. Some have children thrust upon them, indeed. And after all that they've seen, I'd be surprised if they weren't a little desensitized to it all. Otherwise, they might loose it. But either way, it's a volatile life to bring a child into.

I liked your thoughts on how Buffy and Nameless are regarding each other. You've hit the head on the nail about how Nameless thinks about Buffy. If she were anyone else, he'd probably have just lost his temper and killed them.

Regarding Willow's catch, that was a subtle nod to an apparent symptom of pregnancy. Apparently pregnant women can develop an increased sensitivity to smells, or so my limited research informed me.

I hope you enjoyed Beckham's skating. Always good to hear from you, Mary.

-----

Useful_Oxymoron - G'day, UO. Things are good here in the Down Underverse. How's tricks in the Netherlands? Are the clog trees flowering yet?

A demon consisting entirely out of Earwax? Uh, you're large with the weird imagery these days, are you?

What do you mean these days? I thought I was large with the weird imagery all the time!

I have two coworkers who'd laugh their asses off at that one. And then run to the backroom for the tenth time in one morning.

Okay, so the idea's ludicrous, but it's also very Willow-esque wouldn't you say? When she comes up with a schedule for something, them by gum it'd better stick to it!

Oddly enough, I'd have thought Willow'd be more like Ling in the courtroom than Matlock.

I normally wouldn't think of Willow as being quite so ... aggressive as I remember Ling being, but then I remember her interrogating Jonathon back in season 3.

Cheers, mate!

-----

LeatherQueen - G'day, LeatherQueen and welcome back!

So here's my feedback: Yay! More!

I am a woman of few words.

I've said it a few times, and I'll say it again: you will probably be surprised regarding Nameless vs Timothy.

BTW, your anticipation doesn't have to be breathless. You can't read the story if you've passed out from lack of oxygen.

Cheers!

-----

mizzesmom - Greetings, and welcome to the Kittenboard!

I'm glad you're liking, and sorry again for the delay.

-----

willow_tara_always - G'day there, willow_tara_always!

Thanks, and enjoy the next update!

-----

ZenMe - G'day, ZenMe. Welcome!

I'm glad you like the story, icky bits aside. Sorry about that, I tend to forget that not everyone might be as desensitized as me. Still, if it's one of your favorites, I'm glad.

Thanks for writing it.

No, thanks for reading it!

Cheers!

[Darth Pacula]

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. My email address is darthpacula@hotmail.com if you prefer.


Disclaimers: Needless to say, I do not own the Buffyverse, nor those who inhabit it. I only wish I did. Oh, the fun I would have ...


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.


Part 33.


Buffy quietly eased the kitchen door shut behind her. The house had been mostly dark when she'd returned, and Buffy didn't want to chance waking anyone who'd actually managed to get to sleep. As she turned around, Buffy found the kitchen was already occupied.


Tara was standing by the stove, looking down wearily at the contents of a saucepan. At the sound of the door, she turned slightly and greeted Buffy with a small wave.


“Should you still be up, Tara?” Buffy asked, concerned by how tired the other blonde looked. “Isn't it Giles' turn on watch? No offense, but you kinda look like death warmed up.”


One corner of Tara's lips pulled up in a rueful grin. “I feel like it too,” she admitted.


“Then why are you still up, and not snuggled up with your pregnant honey?” Buffy sternly asked, stepping forward to see what Tara had in the saucepan. “Milk?”


“Willow was having trouble getting to sleep,” Tara explained, covering her mouth as a yawn ripped through her. “I thought a little warm milk might help.”


Buffy frowned. “Why didn't you use the microwave? It would have been faster than using a saucepan, right?”


“The microwave?” repeated Tara groggily, shaking her head. “I must be even more tired than I thought. I didn't even think of that.”


“Then get yourself back in bed, little missy,” Buffy ordered, in a fair approximation of sternness.


Nodding obediently, Tara paused to pour the milk she'd heated into a glass. “How did it go? With Lickspittle?” Tara asked as she did so.


“Not so well,” Buffy admitted with a scowl. “I trailed him all over town, but all he ever seemed to do was rummage through dumpsters. Until he got to the dump; then he burrowed right into a garbage pile, like a gopher or something, except with rubbish.” Pausing, Buffy pulled a face that made her opinion of such an action perfectly clear. “Your 'Little General' had better not have expected me to jump right in after him, because that was sooo not happening.”


“I think she'll let you get away with it, Buffy,” Tara joked, shuffling wearily into the dining room. “This time, anyway. Do you think Lickspittle knew you were following him?”


“And gave me the runaround?” mused Buffy as she followed Tara, shrugging. “Maybe. It's not like he was looking over his shoulder all the time, though. He didn't seem any shiftier than usual. Not that it would be easy to notice a difference.”


Tara pursed her lips, eyes thoughtful as she paused at the foot of the stairs. “Have you noticed we've been referring to Lickspittle as a 'he' lately? When did that happen? We still don't know if Lickspittle is male or female.”


Once again, Buffy could do little but shrug. “I guess we just started assuming. He ... she ... whatever doesn't exactly act too feminine.”


Tara couldn't help but giggle as the most absurd image sprung into her mind's eye out of the blue. An image of Lickspittle in a bright pink tutu, worn tugged snugly over his usual garb of filthy, obscuring rags.


Buffy crocked an eyebrow at the image of Tara giggling at what appeared to be thin air, and made a shooing gesture up the stairs with both hands. “All right, when you start laughing for no apparent reason, that's time for Auntie Buffy to put you to bed.”


“Auntie Buffy?” Tara queried as she obediently, and quite happily, continued upstairs.


“Well, out of all of us, you're the 'Mom', so I figure I'd have to at least be an Aunt. Right?”


“I'm the Mom?” Tara wondered aloud, quite touched by the title Buffy had awarded her.


“Yes, now get back into bed with your sweetie,” ordered Buffy, “or do I have to physically carry you?”


As a lark, Tara paused at the head of the stairs, making it look as if she were considering the offer. Playing along, Buffy moved in as if she were about to sling the other blonde over her shoulder, and Tara darted away, giggling again.


“I'm going, you little tyrant!” she insisted between peals of laughter. “I'm going!”


“Then just go already!” demanded Anya's voice through the closed door of Buffy's bedroom. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”


Clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her merriment, Tara waved goodnight to Buffy and continued into the bedroom she shared with Willow.


“Sweetie? I've got your warm milk,” Tara murmured as she leaned over her partner's supine form. A form which turned out to be soundly asleep, mouth slightly open in an endearing fashion. Shaking her head, Tara allowed herself a sigh, drank the milk herself, and climbed into bed, snuggling up to her lover.


**********


Lickspittle was nervous, which in of itself wasn't an uncommon event. A considerable portion of the demon's existence was spent being nervous about something or other. In Lickspittle's experience, there was always something in the world that would like nothing better than to beat, kill and occasionally eat it.


Having a mystically empowered slayer of all things demonic, the very Slayer herself, following it hadn't helped Lickspittle's equilibrium. The Slayer had been trying to remain inconspicuous, but Lickspittle had known that she was there. Long years of experience had gifted the demon with almost a supernatural sense of when it was being followed.


So the demon had tried it's best to lead it's covert pursuer on a merry chase around town, by acting as it would any normal night. Which was to say, spending the night rummaging through every dumpster likely to hold something interesting. In point of fact, Lickspittle had chanced across several interesting items in the process.


But no matter what Lickspittle had done, no matter how circuitous or tortuous a route a route it had taken, Lickspittle couldn't shake the Slayer off it's tail. It had only been when the demon that burrowed deep into a pile of rotting refuse at the Sunnydale dump that it had finally managed to shake the tenacious Miss Summers off.


Even after that though, Lickspittle had spent the rest of the night in a nervous daze, jumping at even the slightest sound, afraid that it would the vengeful specter of an incensed Slayer. An' I neva dun did nought ta make 'er vengeful inna firs' place!


Lickspittle hadn't lied when it had claimed to have had no ulterior motive to lurking around the Slayer's house. Besides the chance to rummage through their garbage, that is. Timothy hadn't ordered Lickspittle to keep an eye on them; in point of fact Lickspittle would be reasonably sure that it's employer would be annoyed that Lickspittle had been there in the first place.


Still, he's 'n alright sort, he is. He mae get snippy an' suchlike, but a' least he dunna thrash me wun I bollocks it up, like some o' dose odda's I've worked for.


Which was why the demon was here the next morning, making a covert approach towards Timothy's house. After Lickspittle's last daytime visit had invoked such a displeased reaction from Timothy, it was a calculated risk making another, but Lickspittle felt that it was important to inform his employer of last night's events.


Even if'n it gets mae a clip aroon da ear.

The morning sun was hot and heavy on Lickspittle's back as he scurried the last few feet from the hedge that lined the perimeter of Timothy's backyard to the back door, making the demon feel naked and exposed. Crouching down beside the door, Lickspittle scanned the surrounding area nervously, twitching occasionally. It was reasonably sure that it hadn't been followed, but better safe than sorry. Lickspittle didn't want to think about that Timothy would do if the demon accidentally let the secret of his parentage out.


Not that Lickspittle understood why Timothy was keeping it a secret. The demon didn't know, or understand the full situation, but Lickspittle would have thought that the Slayer would have accepted Timothy as an ally, given his parentage and what he was trying to do. But Timothy seemed bent on secrecy, and he was the boss, so Lickspittle had no choice but to bend to its employer's wishes.


Human's make nay sense ta mae, da 'ole bleedin' lot o' 'em. Fun to be aroond, tho'.


At last, marginally convinced at least that no-one was spying on Timothy's house, and by extension, Lickspittle's own self, the demon moved to knock lightly on the door. Before the demon's knuckles had even come within a few inches of the wood, it was wretched open, and a pale, gaunt hand, scarred, tattooed and claw-like, lunged out.


Lickspittle found himself hauled into the air and hefted inside before the demon could even think of reacting. As Lickspittle found itself being slammed against a wall, it got a brief impression of a house that was suddenly dark and gloomy, as if it's new tenant were physically affecting the mood of the building.


Lickspittle found itself face to face with a mutilated visage that could only belong to one person; Nameless.


“Oh, feck,” muttered the demon, as it flinched beneath the near physical weight of a pair of mismatched, burning eyes.


“Feck indeed,” rasped the warlock through a wolfish grin, seemingly enthused at the prospect of violence. “Whatever could you have been expecting to have find here, my odious little friend?”


A tiny pink tongue like that of a baby kitten flicked out and ran along the edges of Lickspittle's misshapen lips as the demon thought furiously. Lickspittle's concentration wasn't helped by the fact that Nameless was idly stroking a taloned finger up and down the wall, a hair's breadth from the demon's face. A quickly darted glance to one side revealed the wallpaper parting like gossamer beneath the warlock's claw, and Lickspittle gulped.


“I wuz ... I wuz lookin' for a place ta kip, youir lairdship,” Lickspittle finally blurted.


“Looking for a place to sleep ...” Nameless repeated absently, his head tilting to one side. “Tell me something ... do I look stupid enough to believe that?”


“Nae, youir lairdship! Nae!” insisted Lickspittle anxiously, head bobbing at a frantic pace. “Youir da very image o' wisdom!”


Nameless leaned forward until his face was menacingly close to Lickspittle, so close that the only thing preventing the demon's head from going further back was the wall behind it. “I rather think I'm more the very image of someone who tried to shave with a chainsaw,” he countered with a mocking smirk. “And I know you're lying to me.”


“But I ain't!” Lickspittle protested vociferously. “I'z tellin' ye da trut'! I swear it on ma mudda's hump!” The demon's vigorous protests were abruptly cut off as Nameless pinched Lickspittle's lips closed with a pair of taloned fingers.


“I know you're lying to me ... Lickspittle,” Nameless whispered, and the demon's shoulders slumped at the realization that, somehow, the warlock knew it's name. “And I know exactly why you're here. You're here to have a little chat with your employer, a one Timothy ... 'Garner'.”


Lickspittle rolled it's eyes pleadingly and tried to speak, but the iron grip Nameless held on the demon's lips constrained whatever it was that Lickspittle tried to say.


“Don't try and deny it, my overly aromatic acquaintance,” Nameless drawled, idly scratching geometric patterns into the wall with a single taloned finger. “Timothy and I had a ... little chat. It was quite edifying.”


Squirming like a restless infant, Lickspittle finally managed to squeeze it's lips free. “Wha'dja doo wut 'im, ya piker!” demanded the demon, flailing impotently at Nameless with it's feet. For all the effect that had on the warlock, Lickspittle might as well have been kicking a concrete pillar.


The corners of Nameless' lips quirked upwards in a mirthless smile at the indignation in Lickspittle's tone. “How sweet,” he sneered contemptuously. “Such loyalty ... it brings a tear to my eye. Or it might, if the tear duct hadn't gone the way of the eye itself.”


“Ansaa da bleedin' queastion, yae gruisoime bastard!”


“Nothing permanent,” Nameless coldly replied. “For now, at least. For the near foreseeable future, Mr 'Garner',” continued the warlock, emphasizing the name with a hateful snarl, “will be otherwise occupied. So, it would appear that your employment contract has been transferred to me.”


With that, Nameless dropped Lickspittle unceremoniously to the floor, and stepped back, folding his hands behind his back even as his talons were shifting back into fingers. Lickspittle scrabbled to it's feet, one hand darting towards the rusty knife thrust through the demon's belt.


“Naughty, naughty,” chided the warlock, wagging a remonstrating finger. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Nameless took a pointed sniff at the air, and his mutilated face creased in distaste. “Then again, if I were you, I would bathe rather more frequently.”


Heedless of the warlock's warning, Lickspittle's fingers closed on the hilt of it's knife, but the demon refrained from pulling the slender, rusty blade clear. “I wunna see 'im,” Lickspittle insisted.


“No,” was Nameless' casual reply. “That is not going to happen so long as Mr 'Garner' lies under the auspices of my ... hospitality. And yet, I cannot help but wonder, what has he done to earn such a display of loyalty?”


Squinting suspiciously, Lickspittle shrugged. “I dunno,” the demon admitted grudgingly. “'E treats me good like, not like some o' the gits I've done worked for.”


The warlock's eyes narrowed in distrust as he glared at Lickspittle for a moment. The air between the two figures all but crackled with tension, pregnant with the threat of imminent violence.


Had there been an impartial observer present, they would have been hard pressed to find two more different figures. Lickspittle, diminutive of stature, hunched over as it leaned against the wall, twitching in indecision, swathed in concealing rags and hooded sweatshirt; Nameless, drawn to his full height, standing in total stillness, intent, watchful and above all, cold.


Abruptly, Nameless slumped backwards against the kitchen counter island, and favored Lickspittle with a melancholy smile. “That's rather depressing, you know. You've been mistreated so frequently that you gift even the slightest sign of compassion with slavish loyalty.”


“I ain't nae slave!” grouched Lickspittle, mistaking Nameless' words.


“What?” The warlock's brow furrowed in momentary confusion before understanding dawned. “No, you ignorant ...” Nameless sighed in exasperation. “Slavish, not slave. There is a difference.”


“Whut is it?” Lickspittle asked suspiciously, still not certain that it wasn't being insulted.


“Do I look like a dictionary?” snapped Nameless, his earlier irritation resurfacing in the flash of an eye. “Go look it up yourself. In fact, why don't you just get out of my sight. Make yourself useful, see if you can find this new wannabe vampire king. Mayhaps you will have better luck than I have.”


Lickspittle simultaneously snorted in disbelieving amusement, and scowled distrustfully, resulting in an expression that looked not unlike the image of a leper being violently ill. “Why shud I doo whut you'd be wantin' den?”


Nameless laughed out loud, though there was little of good humor in that bleak eruption of sound. “Oh, don't ever trust me, my dear fellow! That's never an action conducive to a long life.” The warlock shook his head in wry amusement, his loose shoulder-length hair swaying with the movement.


“But as for the general gist of your inquiry, look at it this way. At this point in time, the goals of both myself and your Mr 'Garner' happily coincide. We both want the witches alive and well. By assisting me, you also do your master's will. Plus ... well, if you don't, I'll just kill you.”


“Och aye, here come da threats den, 'ey?” replied Lickspittle sullenly. “I'm used ta threats.”


“Which means what, precisely?” inquired the warlock with deceptive calm.


Lickspittle straighted as much as it's kinked and hunched spine would allow, and straightened it's covering of rags with what little dignity the demon could muster.


“Wull, it maens I'll be doin' whatcha be tellin' mae ta do den, ain't it!” Lickspittle proclaimed with sudden, and unconvincing faked enthusiasm. “So, I'd best be doin' dat den, 'ey?”


After waiting nervously for a disinterested gesture of dismissal from the warlock, Lickspittle bolted for the door when it finally came. Lurching stiffly upright, Nameless stalked over to the door and kicked it shut behind the fleeing demon.


“Huh,” grunted the warlock as he stared blankly at the surface of the door. “He's like a puppy; an honest-to-god ugly, stupid, very smelly puppy. I do hope he doesn't get himself neutered.”


**********


“But nothing happened, Buffy!” exclaimed Willow, for perhaps the third time in a row. As with her previous attempts to salve her friend's annoyance, this one too met with abject failure.


“That's not the point, Willow!” Buffy insisted. “You hared off into a possibly dangerous situation without even telling anyone where you were going! You should have waited!”


“Why?” Willow demanded. “I'm pregnant, not helpless! Besides, Tara was with me, weren't you, baby.” The redhead turned to regard her partner expectantly. The move caught Tara by surprise as she stood to one side, hoping to remain unobtrusive enough to avoid notice.


“Um ... yes?” ventured Tara, realizing that her attempts to avoid getting pulled into the disagreement were all for nought. Thankfully, Willow took her less than certain response as a ringing endorsement.


“There, see!” announced the redhead triumphantly, as if that settled the issue.


“All I see is two of my dearest friends potentially putting themselves in harms way!” Buffy shot back. “More than that, actually. You're walking right up to Harm, shaking his hand and asking if he can please hit you in the head with this big heavy mallet!”


“I am not!” Willow briskly countered. “I am not shaking anything of Harm's! All Harm gets from me is a polite no thank you, I'm gay!”


Tara cleared her throat awkwardly, and both Willow and Buffy's attention swung to her. “How did we get onto the physical manifest ion of a potential event asking out my girlfriend? And do you two have to bicker on the sidewalk, in public? The neighbors probably already think we're weird enough already.”


Blushing, Willow ducked her head in abashment, while beside her, Buffy fidgeted like a chastised schoolgirl. “Sorry, Tara,” they intoned in perfect harmony, and the blonde got the sneaking suspicion that they might be gently poking fun at her. Tara decided to let it go; it would be much more fun to wreak her revenge on Willow in a more private environment.


“Shall we go then?” Tara asked, gesturing across the street towards their destination.


Nodding, Buffy abruptly commenced marching across the road, leaving Tara and Willow to scurry behind in an effort to catch up. As she strode along, Buffy tossed a final rejoinder over her shoulder. “Just because nothing went wrong doesn't mean it wasn't a bad idea, Willow. What if he had been home, things had gone bad, and it turned out that Timothy had something to counteract your magic? What would you have done then, huh?”


Eyes flashing, Willow opened her mouth, ready to join vocal battle once more, but Tara caught her lover's gaze and silently shook her head. Willow pouted, giving her best hangdog expression a try, like a puppy requesting permission to bark. But even though Tara's full lips curved in a soft, indulgent smile, the blonde still shook her head again.


Willow's shoulders slumped theatrically as she swallowed what would have undoubtedly have been a biting and witty comeback, and allowed Buffy her victory. To ease the slight to her pride, Tara gave her girlfriend a quick peck on the cheek, which easily returned a smile to Willow's face.


All the while, Buffy remained happily oblivious to it all.


Leading the way up the steps onto Timothy's front porch, Buffy swiftly crossed to the front door and knocked loudly. Willow hissed anxiously, and fluttered her hands at Buffy in what might have been an attempt to make the Slayer back off.


“What?” Buffy queried, perplexed by her best friend's reaction.


“Do you have to knock quite so loudly?” demanded Willow in an anxious half-whisper. “What if Timothy's still sleeping?”


“Umm ... Will?” Buffy began cautiously. “You suspect this guy you know next to nothing about of being involved with demons, and potential nefariousness ... and you're worried about waking him up?”


“Well ... just because you might be kicking his pattootie before too long doesn't mean we shouldn't be polite. Right?” Willow's eyes flickered back and forth between Buffy and Tara, seeking reassurance that she wasn't crazy.


“You're one of a kind, Will. I'll tell you what, if he turns out to be a bad guy, I'll only punch him politely,” replied Buffy warmly, before she turned and knocked again, just as vigorously as the first time.


“How do you hit someone politely?” Tara asked tentatively, almost afraid to ask.


Buffy looked back over her shoulder and grinned. “You say sorry before punching them in the nose.”


Turning back to the door, Buffy leaned to one side and pressed her face against the nearest window, cupping her hands around her eyes. Making a tsk of disappointment, Buffy shook her head. “Looks like this trip is a bust too. Still, doesn't look like he's home.”


“What, still?” complained Willow, joining Buffy at the window. “One minute Timothy's popping up out of thin air at really convenient times, and the next he's nowhere to be found. Where the frilly heck is he?”


**********


Clea Monaghan could feel them crawling over her skin, their prickly little legs gouging at the flesh of her limbs with every movement. She could feel them burrowing beneath her skin, tunneling through her like worms through an apple. Her stomach churned, and bile stung at the back of her throat, but it was the ants that bothered her most of all.


Even if they didn't actually exist.


Rubbing incessantly at one eye, Clea scratched compulsively at her knee through the threadbare fabric of her worn and stained jeans. Her hand was trembling when she finished, threatening to blow out at any minute into a full blown palsy. Clea found her teeth chattering, and wrapped her too-thin arms around herself, letting her lank blonde hair fall down around her face.


Darting paranoid glances at the shabby rooms other occupants, Clea momentarily satisfied herself that there was no-one else threatening to displace her position in the queue for their host's services. She had been doing so on and off for the entire hour and a half that she'd been waiting, and the room's other three occupants had barely moved. Two of them were so caught up in the near orgasmic rush of their own highs to even notice Clea's existence. The third might not have even still been alive. Clea didn't care, couldn't care, not so long as she got what she needed.


It hadn't always been this way; in the dim recesses of her memory, Clea was vaguely aware of that. She'd always been the archetypal good girl, the dutiful daughter and the attentive student. Her parents loved her, and she them; Clea was certain of that, even if she could no longer seem to summon up the memory of what her parents looked like. She suffered a similar problem with her two sisters.


But she'd always felt as though she was living a lie, that she was living someone else's life. Clea never felt as good as her parents seemed to believe she was. She felt like a fraud, unable to live up to her parents expectations, and unwilling to surrender to her most secret desires.


Even at a young age, Clea had felt different. Different from her parents, different from her siblings, different from most everyone around her. She didn't understand exactly what it was that she was feeling for the longest time, and even when the truth finally dawned on her, Clea could never bring herself to admit it, even to herself.


She could never admit that she was gay.


Not even when she fell head over heels in love.


Clea had never been able to really believe in love, not on an emotional level. She believed in love on an intellectual level; she believed that people could, and did fall in love, but Clea had never felt even the first glimmers of it in herself. It was a condition that was perhaps due, in part at least, to Clea's denial of her own nature.


From the first moment she saw Brigitte though, Clea was lost, adrift on a sea of rapturous emotion, and utterly, utterly smitten. It was on Clea's first day of college, freshly arrived in Sunnydale from her native Pittsburgh, that Brigitte had walked into her life, and Clea's future had suddenly seemed bright and gleaming with promise in a way that it had never done so before. From that point on, almost every single waking moment of Clea's life was plagued by thoughts of Brigitte.


Brigitte was everything that Clea had dreamed of, on those few occasions when she let herself dream of what it was that she really wanted. She was pretty, smart, and funny, and best of all, Brigitte was gay herself. They shared a multitude of interests, and Clea was as attracted to her mentally as she was physically.


But as strong as her feelings were, they had been no match for the ferocious fears that riddled her. Which was why Clea had run as far away from Brigitte as she could, run away from her own desires.


Clea had no idea what Brigitte had thought when she'd started avoiding her; it wasn't like they were actually dating. Clea didn't even know if Brigitte even thought of her as anything other than a friend, but either way, Clea had cut off all contact with brutal finality. Brigitte had been confused and hurt, Clea knew that, but the other woman hadn't taken Clea's hint. Which, deep down in the frightened corner of Clea's soul where she was honest with herself, made her love Brigitte even more.


Unable to drive Brigitte away through rudeness and rudimentary avoidance, Clea had acted in desperation, going to increasingly extreme measures to drive a wedge between them. She'd started cutting class, an action previously unthinkable to either woman. But instead of driving her away, that had just worried Brigitte.


Clea had changed everything about herself; her appearance, her friends, her behavior, her personality. Nothing seemed to work. Finally, in desperation, Clea had turned to drugs, with the aid of her new-found 'friends', and in a final tearful confrontation Clea had driven Brigitte away.


Even know, months later, the details of their fight remained lost to Clea in a drug-fueled haze. She knew that she had said terrible, unforgivable things, fueling her cruel comments with her own confusing and self-loathing. The one thing that did stick with her was the expression of pain on Brigitte's face.


It was the recurring memory of that expression that had driven Clea ever further down into the morass of human degradation, until she had found herself at her current location. The high that she'd found here was so much more than the chemical intoxication of the more well-known recreational pharmaceutical products.


Clea didn't exactly what it was that he did, but she knew how it made her feel. While the high lasted, it felt as if the world was at her feet, as if she could do anything that she set her mind to. But best of all, it let her forget the pain. At least until she came down, and had to stumble back, twitching and desperate for her next fix.


A burst of sudden movement snapped Clea out of her depressed musings as the battered old door at the entrance flew inwards. But even the crash of the door colliding with the wall didn't evoke a response from the room's other occupants.


Stalking inside with a limping gait, the newcomer made a beeline straight towards the inner door that led to his inner sanctum. Clea lurched to her feet, and staggered after the newcomer. She didn't know his this newcomer was, but she didn't care. There was no way that she was going to let anyone steal her spot in the queue.


“Hey,” Clea growled, making a unsteady grab for the newcomer's arm, “There's a line for a reason, jerk!”


Clea's hand never even came close to landing. Spinning like a dervish, the tail of the long coat he was wearing spreading like the wings of a predatory bird, the newcomer slapped Clea's hand away hard enough to leave her entire arm numb. Before she could even realize what was going on, Clea found herself pinned to the wall with an unnaturally hard hand cruelly gripping her throat.


A shadowed face that Clea couldn't focus on leaned in uncomfortably close, and hot breath caressed her ear. “Addicts ...” drawled a quiet, bitter and rasping voice. “I have little patience for your kind. If you lack both the strength and the will to help yourself ...”


Clea trembled helplessly as a second hand stroked her cheek with deceptive gentleness. Her mind shuddered at the impossibility of the abrupt realization that the hand caressing her face was formed of naked bone, and the fingertips were razor sharp talons.


That's impossible! Clea wildly thought, fighting the urge to shrink away as those selfsame talons pressed into her flesh with just under the force required to penetrate the skin. Oh Jesus, I'm going to die!


Clea's mind strangely quietened at that thought, she realized with a mild shock that the prospect of her own demise didn't especially worry her. In a disturbing way, she all but welcomed the prospect, welcomed an end to the mind-numbing pain that her life currently represented.


Almost without realizing that she was doing so, Clea relaxed and leaned forward into the claws that were rhythmically stroking her face. Part of her wanted this, wanted those wickedly sharp talons to bring her misery to a hot, sharp end. Clea found herself tilting her head back as if silently asking for that one single blow that would end it all and tear her away from the pain that was all this worlds seemed to offer.


“You desire death do you, foolish child?” whispered the man who held Clea's life in his unnatural hands. “Do you know what death is, little girl? Shall I tell you? Shall I whisper to you the secrets from beyond the grave?”


An uncomfortable silence descended between the two figures, echoing back and forth, feeding upon itself until the silence itself seemed heavy enough to crush Clea's chest like an empty soda can.


“No ...” The sound of the bone-handed man's sly voice was a shock as it broke the silence. “You want death, or so you think. And, as I am ever so much a contrary bastard, I'll give you something else. I'll give you what you don't want. I'll make you live.”


Those wickedly sharp bone fingers jerked back and thrust forward again, this time aimed at Clea's chest. She had a single brief moment to wonder if she was about to get groped before energy crackled from bone fingertips in a manner similar to him. But whereas his touch brought Clea momentary and deceptive surcease from her life's woes, the newcomer's ripped that comfortingly concealing veil away.


Clea's spine bowed as her mouth opened in a silent scream. Liquid fire thundered through her veins as the newcomer somehow delved deep inside her, not physically but on a much more profound level. Her eyes were bulging from their sockets fit to burst, and try as she might, Clea found herself unable to drag a breath into her aching lungs.


She felt an alien presence in the back of her mind, burrowing inside like a grub, winnowing through her memories, sifting through her very personality. Learning all of her secrets as black spots began to dance in front of Clea's eyes.


Multi-colored sparks of energy spat and crackled as the newcomer slowly drew back his hand, and as that skeletal limb pulled backwards, it dragged something with it. Something dark and twisted, that writhed like a snake as it fought to stay where it was. But that bone hand relentlessly pulled, and the serpent, for lack of a better word, was torn free from it's bed in Clea's chest.


Air exploded into Clea's chest, and she sagged forward, kept upright only by the hand gripping her throat. Thoughts whirled like a hurricane in her mind, as for the first time in longer than Clea could remember, her head was clear. Everything suddenly seemed so clear; Clea looked back on her life and saw what she'd done wrong.


All of her life, Clea had been afraid to be happy, to take a chance that would leave her heart open. She saw the love her family felt for her, and knew that being gay wouldn't change that. She saw how much Brigitte truly cared for her, and realized what she had thrown away.


But whereas she might once have wallowed in the despair of what-might-have-been, Clea instead felt ... hope. Hope that she might fix her mistakes, hope that she could fix what she'd done wrong. Hope that she could and would be happy.


“Here's a hint,” rasped the newcomer harshly. “Don't fuck your second chance up. Because I won't be here to give you a third.”


“Thank ...” Clea started to say, but he brusquely cut her off.


“Bored now,” he drawled. “Run away now. I've got people to kill.”


With that disinterested dismissal, he physically hurled Clea towards the exit and resumed his limping progress towards the inner sanctum. When Clea picked her self off the floor, she turned and fled without a second thought. She had an apology to make.


**********


I waved my hand at the door, and twin whip cracks of magic brushed against the hinges of the door barring my passage. In the blink of an eye, the metal had corroded to the point where the hinges crumbled to dust, and the door fell inward with a hollow boom.


The room beyond was in vastly better condition than the antechamber I'd just left. Hanging tapestry's hid any flaws within the walls, and instead of broken down chair and sagging couches, there were elegant couches that wouldn't have been out of place in a Victorian era parlor.


But despite the relative grandeur of this new room, it still retained a seedy undertone, as if the man responsible for it all corrupted everything he came into contact with. There was no sense of style or taste here, simply things randomly lumped together simply because they were expensive.


And there, in the middle of the room, back towards me, was the man I had come here to see. The human spider sitting at the middle of this web of iniquity, the dealer, the peddler in mind altering magic. The man who was hiding Isiah Hawkins from me. The man I'd come here to kill.


“Hello, strawberry,” he drawled lazily, still not bothering to turn towards me. “I knew you couldn't stay away for long. No-one ever does.”


He turned around now, with an insolent grin on that scarred face, and inside I smirked as his own smile faltered at the sight of me. No sign of my amusement showed on my face though. That remained locked in the cold, blank mask I had adopted.


“Not who you were expecting?” I inquired with a contemptuous sneer.


“I could have sworn ...” muttered my prey, before he shrugged and dismissed his confusion. He regarded me now with covetous eyes. “You're fairly singing with power there, friend.”


I acknowledged his observation with a brief nod, but at no time did my eyes leave his form. “I suppose I do, at that.” I paused for a moment, then let the truth of my boundless hate and rage boil forth. My lips peeled back from my teeth in a terrible snarl. “Care for a taste, Rack?”


Lightning flared from my fingers, and the fight was on.


To be continued.

[Lonewolf22]

Darth Pacula: Great update, I really liked how Willow was so concerned about being polite, Buffy is right, she is one of a kind, so funny. I hope that nothing too bad has happened to Timothy, I'm kinda liking Lickspittle. Why did Nameless help that Clea girl? I can't wait to read more.

Lonewolf22

[caz]

Rack - the bastard!

Oh, Hi Paul Sorry, I just had to get that out.

Well, you've managed to confuse me again. I'm waivering over Timothy cos Nameless said that they were after the same thing.

I found this bit very interesting,

“Hello, strawberry,” he drawled lazily, still not bothering to turn towards me. “I knew you couldn't stay away for long. No-one ever does.”

it's given me something to think about!

Looking forward to ypur next update.

Caz

[a willow angel]

I haven't reviewed in a while because of the pile of assignments I've been (and still am really) burried under, but I have been reading, and I still say this fic rocks!
I loved Tara bringing Willow warm milk to help her sleep only to find her already asleep. And also love how they communicate with looks, like when Tara wouldn't let Willow bicker with Buffy anymore. I think I might have mentioned this before, but you do it really well so I'll say it again, the connection you have created between Willow and Tara is just gorgeous.

[Willowtree252]

ooohhh a nickname DWT here thanks i love how w/t are together you have captured who that really are . I think i may know who nameless is but i wont say in case i am wrong but i makes sense to me as for clea i am so glad she is going to find her lost love and not just throw it all away

[Useful_Oxymoron]

Heya, Paul!

How's tricks in the Netherlands? Are the clog trees flowering yet?

Oh, yes, the mountains (what we have of those) are filled with raw clog-ore, while the fields are filled with clog-wheat and the lakes are filled with clog-trout (= obscure Ren & Stimpy reference)

What do you mean these days? I thought I was large with the weird imagery all the time!

Even moreso recently!

We open to Tara being a night-owl, sacrificing her own rest for her lovely Willow. That's talking trooper, people. And imaging Lickspittle in a tutu, of all things, now we're talking sleep deprevation. I actually think Buffy would throw Tara over her shoulder.

I shudder to think what kind of interesting items Licky had found while throwing off Buffy...

Then to the seriousness with Nameless sticking his non-existant nose into Timothy's affairs. What the hell has he done to him? It's nice to see Licky holding his own against Nameless.

“I am not!” Willow briskly countered. “I am not shaking anything of Harm's! All Harm gets from me is a polite no thank you, I'm gay!”

Unless Harm's short for Harmony.

Blushing, Willow ducked her head in abashment, while beside her, Buffy fidgeted like a chastised schoolgirl. “Sorry, Tara,” they intoned in perfect harmony, and the blonde got the sneaking suspicion that they might be gently poking fun at her. Tara decided to let it go; it would be much more fun to wreak her revenge on Willow in a more private environment.

Heheheh, perfection.

The story of Clea and Brigitte was lovingly worked out and very tragic. All-in-all, a wonderful addition to the story. Nameless done her a wonderful favor, though. Unexpected... and yet not unexpected.

“I could have sworn ...” muttered my prey, before he shrugged and dismissed his confusion. He regarded me now with covetous eyes. “You're fairly singing with power there, friend.”

Ah, Rack... the man who desperately needs a visit from Mr. 47. But for now, Nameless will do.

Another great installment, Paul. Can't wait for the fight next part!

[WillowRulez]

Really enjoyed the Tara and Buffy conversation in the kitchen.
Buffy is exceptionally oblivious. Hasn't it ever occured to her that since she can sense demons and vamps they might be able to sense her?
I just can't figure Nameless out. Suddenly he is Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. Or he always was in a way but now it's more pronounced. Helping Clea and destroying Rack...
For some reason I thought that this was a really interesting choice of words:
Timothy hadn't ordered Lickspittle to keep an eye on them; in point of fact Lickspittle would be reasonably sure that it's employer would be annoyed that Lickspittle had been there in the first place.