It was night in San Francisco. There were no stars, and a heavy mist had settled over the city, obscuring the bright lights of the city. Only a full moon iluminated the city streets. Buffy was in her element, as were the vampires that lurked in the darkness.
She heard the scream at about one o'clock. Buffy had been wandering the city streets for hours, reluctant to return. Then, a woman's high-pitched shriek shattered the dead quiet of the sleeping metropolis, and Buffy's slaying instinct took over. The next thing Buffy knew, she was facing three very large and hungry vampires, alone, with only a single stake. One vampire circled her. He stood at about six foot three, and she judged his weight to be about two-hundered and fifty pounds. The others, a woman and another man, were less of a physical threat, but even weak, skinny vamps posed a danger when they attacked in force. Buffy focused her attention on the giant in front of her, keeping an eye on the other two. The woman the vamps had attacked lay on the street, moaning. Her form was only a shadow shrouded by mist.
Suddenly, the man attacked. Buffy jumped, touching his shoulders and, using the force of her motion, sailed over his head and flipped him over. She stood quickly, rising to face the others. The female vamp shrieked and lauched herself at Buffy, her razor-sharp nails reaching for Buffy's eyes. Buffy caught her easily, and threw her to the ground with the larger man. The smaller one took one look at Buffy, glanced down at his cohorts, and ran, disapearing into the mist.
By this time, the large man had recovered, and he approached Buffy, his eyes glowing with rage. Buffy settled into a fighting stance. The attack was swift and sudden. The man was stronger than even Luke had been, and Buffy knew almost at once she couldn't overpower him. The man lifted her over his head, bringing her down over his knee. She heard her back snap in protest as it bore the brunt of her weight. If her neck wasn't broken, she'd be one sore Slayer for the next few days. Buffy lay on the ground, then heaved herself up. Every muscle in her body ached, but she couldn't give up. To do so would mean death. The man grinned, his hidious vampire face highlighted by a flickering streetlamp. Buffy felt dizzy, and her ears popped. The man savegly backhanded her, and Buffy slipped to her knees, her nose gushing blood. The man smiled in triumph, and Buffy's mind rebelled against the thought of defeat, of death. She'd survived so many times, lived through so many fights and terrible things. To die like this would be embarassing, she thought, her pain-drugged mind only wanting to slip away. Buffy shook her head, attempting to clear it, and saw the male vampire remove something from his sleeve. It looked like a large thimble. He slipped it on his thumb, and placed his hand on her neck, tilting her head back, barring his fangs. God, no, Buffy protested, her lips not able to form the words.
"Buffy!" Buffy thought her mind was playing tricks on her as she recognized the voice. Spike. What was he doing here? she wondered. She heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and the slight pressure the male vampire's hand had put on her neck vanished. Buffy struggled to open her eyes, and finally did. She saw two figures, one large and imposing, one smaller and slimer, battleing to the death. The large vampire stepped beneath that flickering streetlight, and Buffy saw something shiny and metalic glint in the light. She jumped up, her head screaming in pain, but Buffy knew she had to warn Spike. The thing on the vampire's finger was a large ring. It looked like a large thimble, but the end was open. The end curved to a sharp point, perfect to slit a throat and drink the blood. How avant-garde, Buffy thought. Vamps with custom-made jewlery. Spike kicked the vamp, but the man only slashed at Spike with the ring. Buffy saw him make contact with Spike's arm. Blood spilled against the stone pavement, hidden by mist. She walked a few steps, weaving dizzily, but the female vamp had recovered and grabbed onto Buffy's waist, dragging her down.
The fight lasted only a few more minutes. Spike ended up staking the male vamp with the sharpened end of a dirty board lying in a pile of refuse. Buffy threw off the female and staked her. Spike approached the Slayer.
"W-what are you doing here?" Buffy asked, closing her eyes and begging the world to stop spinning.
"Followed Dru. You haven't seen her, have you?" Spike asked, relizing that Buffy would faint in a second if he didn't help. Spike didn't even question why he, who had killed two Slayers, would want to help this one. "We've gotta get you inside." he said, just as Buffy crumpled.
Buffy lay on the sidewalk, looking up at the clear, dark sky. Tall building surrounded the street, and there, silouhetted aginst the bright, full moon, was a dark figure. She forced her eyes to focus on the shadow. It looked to be an Indian, garnished in feathers and beads. The man seemed to be mouthing something at her, but Buffy couldn't understand. The figure swam before her eyes, and the next thing Buffy knew, she had lost consiousness.
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Her head hurt. It really, truly did. Buffy groaned as she sat up.
"Ouch." she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. Her entire spine felt like it was on fire, and the small of her back cracked every time she shifted. Buffy finally gave up, and lay back. She was lying in her new room. It was night now, and the large windows offered a birds-eye veiw of San Francisco nightscape. If she hadn't been in so much physical pain, Buffy would have thought it was pretty.
"Hey, you're awake!" Whistler's voice sounded out of the darkeness, and he switched on a lamp. Buffy groaned and closed her eyes against the sharp light. Whistler rubbed her forehead with a cool wet cloth. "How do you feel?"
"How do you think I feel?" Buffy's weak, raspy voice and slight smile took the sting out of the words.
"I think she'll live." The voice was familiar, but Buffy had to double-check. Yep. Spike was in her room, sitting in a chair near her bed and looking at her with great amusemant.
"Hey, put that out!" Whistler said as Spike prepared to light a cigarette. Spike obliged, an act which made Buffy blink in suprise.
"Wha-" she began, but thought better of it. "Nevermind." It took too much effort to come up with reasons why Spike would be here, by her bedside. Right now she just wanted to rest and let the amazing healing powers of her Slayer's body go to work.
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For the next few hours, Buffy drifted in and out of consciousness. She dreamed a lot, namely of Angel. Nice dreams, dreams where there was no pain or sorrow, just her and Angel. She also dreamed of her mother, her friends, and all the other people who were hurt now, or dead.
"What the hell did you give her, mate?" Spikes voice cut into the nicest part of her dreams, and she frowned.
"Old family recipe. She's in a happy place." Whistler replied, a cool hand on her forehead. Buffy drifed back into another dream.
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Light flooded her room, and Buffy rolled over, noticing that a lot of the pain was gone. Her back felt fine, as did her head. Her broken nose felt a little tender, but it was healing at a remarkable pace. Buffy's stomach growled, and she decided to head downstairs. She pulled on a housecoat and a pair of slippers, then slowly negotiated the winding stairway. Soon, she was in the kitchen, sleepy and disoriented.
The sight that greeted her really woke her up.
Spike and Whistler were seated at the table, playing poker. Whistler sipped some coffee as Spike chugged down a glass of what appeared to be blood. Buffy wrinkled her upper-lip. Niether the vampire nor the demon seemed very effected by her entrance.
"Want another?" Whistler asked, and Spike hasitily swallowed a mouthful of blood as he nodded. Whistler delt him another card. Spike grinned, his face lighting up.
"Now, you see, that's how we play cards in England!" he said, slamming his hand down on the table. Straight flush. Spike looked at Buffy briefly, as if for approval, and turned back to Whistler. The other man sighed, and put his cards facedown on the table.
"Alright, you win." Whistler conceeded. "What do I owe you?"
"Another bag would be nice..." Spike suggested, his eyes lighting on the fridge for a moment. Buffy went to the white fridge, and opened the door. Inside where a bunch of blood bags, the kind she'd seen Angel devour.
"Where..." Buffy began, an accusing tone in her voice as she stared at Whistler.
"It's diseased." Spike said quickly, rising to get another bag. He slipped past Buffy and grabbed one, pouring a little into a glass. "The hospitals can't use it, and your friend Whistler knows how to get things..."
"What are you doing here?" she asked Spike, a dark, angry look in her eyes. He was still the enemy, no matter how engaging he tried to be.
"Helping you." Spike replied, setting the glass down. Whistler rose and poured another cup of coffee.
"He did save your life." Whistler reminded Buffy. Spike nodded, smiling a little.
"Besides, I'm a handy guy to have around." Spike added.
"Yeah, never know when I need someone to betray me." Buffy affirmed.
"Hey, what did I do to you?" he asked, suddenly very angry. Buffy looked at him is suprise.
"You tried to kill me. You tried to kill Angel...before..." at the haunted look in her eyes, Spike hesitated. He was a cruel, sadistic bastard, but he felt sorry for the girl. Spike shook off the unfamiliar feeling of pity and concentrated on his next words.
"Hey, it's been worse for me. Ever since I've been hanging 'round you, I've been burned, crippled, knocked-out, betrayed and very nearly killed quite a few times. What's happened to you is not directly my fault, so don't go blaming me..." Spike said, his anger and frustration at the events of the past few months mounting. He and Buffy sat glaring at each other until Whistler clapped, putting an end to the electric atmosphere in the room.
"Why can't we all just get along?" he asked, his voice a high-pitched, whiny plea that made both Buffy and Spike relax and smile. "Better. Now, kid, you're feeling better, right?" he asked, turning to Buffy. She nodded. "And you're willing to help out a bit, right?" Whistler asked Spike, who looked at Buffy very carefully before nodding. "All right. Here's the plan. Last night there was a robbery at a museum here in San Francisco. Two guards were killed, and all that was stolen was a Bhuni, a symbol of Native power and magic."
"What of it?" Spike asked, looking bored. He was not here to help little Ms. Buffy be Nacy Drew and solve a mystery. He was here to find Dru, make peace with the Slayer, and figure out his next move.
"There have been tons of really wacked things happening here lately. Lots of Native American artifacts have disapeared from private collections and museum displays, and ancient cemetarys have been voilated, bodies removed. In short, someone is trying very hard to gather all the ancient indian symbols of power and magic they can. And it doesn't look good." Whistler said, pulling out a map.
"I want you guys to check out this gallery. A Native display of a Shamen's tools is being transported to the gallery tonight, and I have a feeling something bad is going down. You up for it?" he asked Buffy. She nodded.
"Wait. You want me to waste my precious time and energy to protect a little Indian display?" Spike asked, freigning shock. "I'll do it." he agreed, as he caught the look in the Slayer's eyes.
"Alright." Whistler said, begining to outline a plan. Buffy became emersed in battle tactics and planning, and Spike was just as absorbed. Finally, when all the details were clear, Whistler showed them out of the underground cavern, and whispered, "Good luck," as he tossed Buffy a black nylon bag full of weapons and other useful items. Spike and Buffy headed out into the night.
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The museum was illuminated by floodlights. The large beams of light sliced through the dark fog of the San Francisco night like a hot knife through butter. The actual museum building was a vast complex of stone and glass. Gothic detail, such as the gargoyles hunched over the detailing around the high windows, added a classic air to the museum. Buffy gathered her hair into a ponytail and put on her gloves.
"Any ideas how we get in there?" Spike asked, looking at the building very carefully. It looked pretty solid. The windows were obviously rigged to sound an alarm if opened or broken, and night watchmen were everywhere. Not that they would be a problem, Spike mused, licking his lips. He felt like a midnight snack.
"We climb." Buffy said evenly, removing a small graphiling hook from her bag. Spike raised his eyebrows.
"Y'know, that whole 'vampires turning into bats and flying away' thing is just a charming story." Spike said, tracing the outline of the very tall building with his eyes. Seventeen stories, at least. God, and he had never really liked heights....
"We go up." Buffy said strongly, and swung the rope with the hook attached. A small grunt of exertion, and she let the rope fly. It sailed up, up, up, and with a little clink found purchase on a handy gargoyles head. Buffy tested her weight upon the rope carefully, and motioned to Spike. "Let's get started."
The climbing was more difficult than Spike had anticipated. He hadn't gotten much exercise during his confinment to the chair, and lately he really hadn't been that active. All in all, it was his vampire strength that saved him more than physical ability or climbing technique. He was out of breath and panting a little as he dragged himself over the last ledge and lay gasping near Buffy's feet. She, being the Slayer, had made it to the top of the building very quickly, and had sat waiting for him.
"Ugh." Spike choaked, sputtering.
"Gotta quit smoking, Spikey." Buffy suggested with a grin. "You've got that hack-thing goin' on." Spike blinked. How long had it been since someone actually teased him? He shook his head, got up, and ran to catch up with Buffy as she busted the lock on the roof-access door and lead the way down a narrow staircase.
Spike pulled a flashlight from the nylon bag and tossed it to Buffy. She clicked it on, and shined it down the stairwell, illuminating the hallway at the end of the stairs. It was empty. Darn, Spike thought. No midnight snack.
Buffy mentally went over the floor-plan of the museum. If memory served....it was just about right here....Buffy turned to the left and opened a door. A vast, silent white viewing gallery waited in the darkeness. The Slayer entered the room, followed by Spike. The heels of his boots made a hollow sound against the tiled floor as they crossed the gallery. Cold, silent faces trapped in beautiful paintings watched their process, and Spike concentrated on the floor. All those human eyes, watching him....
He came to a dead halt in front of a massive painting. The woman in the work of art looked exactly like Drusilla. Spike traced the edge of the frame with a finger, thinking of his love. The girl in the picture sat stifly, and there was insanity in her eyes. Buffy noticed Spike had left her side and re-traced her steps, ending up standing behind him. She shivered as she looked at the painting.
"C'mon, let's keep moving." she whispered in the heavy silence of the huge, empty room. Spike was more than happy to oblige.
They ended up at the end of the room, and followed a small hall to the left. This hall was darker than the others, and Buffy held the flashlight high. The beam of light caught a sign with the words "Native American History Comes Alive!", and Buffy followed the arrow. The room it lead to was painted a dark, heavy green to simulate a forest. Displays of dummies engaged in the daily activites Native American indians had performed a centuary ago filled the room. Spike and Buffy wandered past a scene of domestic traquility; a small mud house and a yard occuiped by two small children and a dog were placed in the foreground, a pretty indian woman was standing over a fire while a man entered the yard, a bunch of fish slung over his shoulder. The dark light and illumination from the flashlight transformed the wax figures into faceless, terrifying shapes. Buffy and Spike were glad to exit that room.
They walked down hollow, empty halls, elaborate display galleries, and places where the silence was so loud it drowned out everything else. Finally, they reached a door marked 'Basement Access'. Buffy quickly broke the lock on that door, and pushed it open with a loud creak. Spike wrinkled his brow.
"Wanna do that a little louder?" he asked, a teasing note present in his tone. Buffy glared at him.
"You didn't have to come." she hissed. Spike narrowed his eyes and started down the dark stairwell.
"What's down there?" he asked. Buffy directed the beam of the flashlight into the gloom.
"That's where the native art is being stored. Whistler thought that if something was going to go down, it'd happen here." Spike nodded and was content to follow Buffy down into the dark depths of the museum basement. The stairs seemed to descend forever, and Buffy began to question the wisdome of coming here. Finally, they reached the basement floor.
Suddenly, the sound of something heavy reached them, and Buffy quickly turned off the flashlight, dropping into a couch. Spike did the same, albet reluctantly. He was all for investigating the noise rather than cowering in the shadows. Something moved in the darkness, and slivers of fear bit into his heart.
"What is that?" he whispered. Buffy only held her finger to her lips, signalling for quiet. Spike obliged, for the time being. They watched as an unseen figure, a large shape looming in the absolute dark of the downstairs, strained as it tried to move something heavy. Spike's hearing, heightend by his vampire senses, heard the rustle of beads and feathers as they swayed with the person's movement.
"He's wearing some very odd accessories." Spike told Buffy. She only shook her head, wanting him to be very, very quiet. Spike rolled his eyes. He didn't remember her being this cautious. The Buffy he'd known and hated was rash, impulsive, and very good at her job. What was she going to accomplish just by sitting here?
Finally, the figure seemed to have accomplished what it had to, and moved off into the deeper shadows. Buffy rose silently, and motioned to Spike, darting her eyes in the direction of the disappearing figure. Spike nodded. They quietly followed their quary, rounding corners and entering rooms guided only by their heightended senses in the dark. Sometimes it was handy to hang out with a Slayer, Spike addmitted to himself. The floor was slippery, and Spike assumed it was wet from the moisture of the underground rooms. At last, the person ahead of them seemed to have stopped. Buffy halted, and listened. Silence greeted her ears, and only the sound of her own breathing penetrated the darkness. Spike had no breath. The sudden flicker in rememberance of Angel distracted her mind for a moment, and Spike grabbed her flashlight, flicking it on before she could stop him. The sight illuminated by the light nearly made her faint, and she had seen some pretty scary things in her time.
The bright light had momentarily blinded the very tall Native American man before her. He stood at a towering six foot five, thin and wiry like a tree. His hands sheiled his eyes from the light so Buffy couldn't see his face, but she did note that he was dripping with blood. Rivers of it ran down his chest, soaking his legs and dripping down the loincloth, which was his only covering. An eleboate necklace of white feathers was dark and heavy with blood. The sweet, and slightly mettalic stench of the blood made Buffy's nostirls flare. Where was all the blood coming from? Buffy wondered, and Spike directed the beam of light down to the floor. She got her answer. At the man's feet, a river of blood trailed off down the hall. That was what Spike had been slipping in. He followed the trail of blood with the light.
As soon as the light left the mans face, he sprung into action. With no waring whatever, he launched himself at Buffy. Caught by suprise, Buffy sliped on the blood and landed on her back with the man on top of her. She knocked her head on the floor, which was already sore and aching due to her earlier adventures. With a grunt of pain she attempted to fight the man off, but Spike relized what was happening and shone the light back on her. The man had already disappeard.
Buffy sat up, rubbing her head. "Wow. Pain." she said as Spike held the light to her face. She squeezed her eyes closed against the brightness, and Spike crouched down beside her.
"You're covered in blood." he said, and Buffy felt the cold, wet blood seep in through her shirt and pants, coating her skin and drying quickly. Spike sniffed, and grimaced as the smell of the stale blood damaged his vampire sensibilites. Somewhere behind them, a door slammed shut. Spike left her side to investigate, and Buffy rose shakily. After a while, Spike was back.
"He's locked us in." Spike informed her, indignation in his voice. He'd never liked small spaces. When he'd been trapped in the Sunset Club for a day back in Sunnydale, he'd discovered that. "The door is pretty solid. I doubt we'll be able to break through."
Buffy accepted his words, running though plans of escape and abondoning them. If Whistler's schematics of the museum were correct, there was only one way out of the room, and it was locked. She made her way down the hall, guided by the flashlight Spike held. They climbed the stairs again, and sure enough, the door was shut tightly. It was the same door Buffy had busted earlier, but something heavy had been moved in front of it. There was no way they'd be able to get out without outside help. Buffy slumped down, her chin resting in her hands.
"Great. Just great."
CONTINUES