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Title: Lazarus (1/?) Book One of the "Beneath the Sword" trilogy
Author: Trixie
Rating: NC 17
Disclaimer: Joss owns. I don't.
Feedback: C'mon. I am *such* a whore. E-mail me @
trixiefirecra16@hotmail.comAuthor's Notes: Yes, I said trilogy. Yes, I suck. I'm crazy.
Timeline: Right after <i>Bring on the Night</i>
Spoilers: All BtVS and A: tS canons are fair game.
Summary: Buffy stumbles upon something that changes everything forever. And
yes, I do mean, *forever*.
Pairings: main is Buffy/Angel but there will be a bunch of others
The rumble from the bowels of the plane sounds hungry beneath me.
I sit carefully, anxious to avoid any contact between my lividly scraped
arms and Giles' tweed. He is asleep and every so often makes a snuffling
noise that startles me almost fully, but not quite, from the drowsy stupor I
lapsed into sometime on the quiet cab ride to LAX. Giles bought me a
strawberry danish and a coffee when we arrived and left me to pick up our
tickets. He hasn't said much beyond, "Cream and sugar?" which I have to
admit is a relief. I can't take any more words. Ever since I gave my version
of the Crispin's Day speech, I've been talking. Fielding questions from the
SITs and especially Dawn, who has perfected the art of babbling
non-sensically during times of crisis. However, I guess it was her who gave
us the idea for the plan of action.
(("I wonder if there are more Slayers out there," she mused last night,
lying flat on her back over three couch cushions, eating strips of bacon
dipped in mustard. I was watching her with something akin to repulsed love
and jerked in surprise at her comment.
"What gives you the idea there are, Dawnie?"
She shrugged and looked at me, grease smeared across one lip. "There can't
be only five in the world. Bet you five million dollars the Council had tons
of them, just waiting to be called."
"Five million dollars?" Anya piped in, eyes alight. "I'll take that bet."
"Quiet," I whispered, cutting across her speech with the razor of my voice.
"You might be right, Dawn. There probably are more."
"More of what, Buffy?" Giles asked, walking into the room, a book perched
between his fingers.
"More Slayers," I informed him. "I mean Slayers in Training. It doesn't make
sense for there just to be the five-four of us left."
"There were more," Giles reminded me. "They were killed."
"*All* of them?" I stressed. "There could be more out there-and right now.
with Spike MIA, we need all the muscle we can get. You can't fight a war
without soldiers and right now we don't have any."
Giles looked at me. "What about the ones in Los Angeles, Buffy?"
My mouth compressed. "We're not calling them."
"But Buffy-" Willow spoke softly from the corner, where she was busy on her
laptop.
"We have to concentrate on the SITs now," I said stiffly. "They're our best
hope for survival. Giles-are you sure there aren't any more?"
"No," he relented. "I can't be sure of that. No one really can."
"Isn't there a way we could find out though?" I inquired almost desperately.
"The Watcher's Council building? How much of it was destroyed?"
"I'm sure there's rubble, but-"
"Exactly. There could be something left," I said staunchly. "Maybe someone
could-Giles, do you know anyone who could check it out for us?"
"No one I would trust," he replied. "I'm afraid there's not too many of us
left in the world. They've annihilated close to everyone I have been in
contact with over the years. The ones that are left-well, their loyalty to
the cause is questionable."
"What cause?" Dawn asked, flopping over on her belly and grabbing a chicken
finger from the platter of munchies on the coffee table. She was the only
one who was eating. I could feel my stomach churning even as she voiced her
question.
Anya glanced at her. "Good versus evil. You know, the whole 'moral' shebang.
Where have you been?"
"Right here," Dawn snapped. "And I don't remember any 'cause'."
"We're fighting for good Dawnie," I told her, quelling my irritation by
reminding myself that she was so young. Too young to be dealing with this.
"We fight for-for a balance."
She perked up. "Like in Star Wars?"
"Sort of," Willow wrinkled her nose. "Except that Buffy's Luke Skywalker."
"Hey!" I objected. "Watch who you're calling a skinny boy that pouts all the
time and has massive father issues."
"Substitute boy for girl and that's *you*," Anya said cheerfully.
"Not helping," I frowned at her and turned to my little sister again. "This
Big Evil wants to take away the Balance. We can't let them. That's the
cause, end of story."
"Not exactly," Giles murmured.
"What do you mean?" I scowled in his general direction. "I thought I summed
things up nicely."
"It goes back much farther than you know," he said. "It was-well, never
mind. Some other time when we have a moment for an in-depth tale. As for the
issue of the Slayers in Training-"
"It's obvious," I cut him off softly. "We'll have to go to London ourselves.
There's no other way to find the information we need."
"Oooh, road-trip," Dawn clapped her hands together and smiled, showing
mustard-stained teeth.
"Just Giles and me," I responded, rolling my eyes faintly. "I need the rest
of you to stay, hole up, research and don't under any circumstances go out
at night. We should only be gone for a few days."
"Buffy, I'm not certain that this is a good idea-" Giles broke in quietly.
"*I'm* not certain we're going to live another day," I interrupted coolly.
"But we're going to try. So everyone will do as I say. Is that clear?"
"As crystal," Giles replied without any inflection but I could see the flare
of anger in his eyes.
We packed quickly. I took weapons and leather and gave last instructions to
Willow and Xander. "If it gets bad," I whispered to them, before we walked
out the door, "call him."))
They didn't ask who I meant.
I suppose they didn't want to say his name anymore than I want to hear it.
Giles stirs beside me, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathes out. He
told me to sleep, but I couldn't and haven't been able to for days. It's not
as if I don't want to, only that I really can't. I can't sleep until this is
finished, until it's done. If that means my death, so be it. I just can't
stand by and watch my friends ((Spike)) being manipulated and tortured by
this thing that wears my Mother's face with such ease. As if her face
belongs to Evil. As if we all do.
((Dawn hugged me so tight before I left. Her face was contorted slightly, as
if she wanted to cry but couldn't. Her eyes looked huge on that soft, round
face and she pressed her lips to my cheek.
"Don't die. Under any circumstances," she whispered and I laughed. It was
all I could do not to weep.
"I'm not planning on it," I said softly. "But I promise to call you first.
If I get the urge."
She laughed, then. It was a tiny giggle, but I considered it a mission
accomplished. "Don't joke about stuff like that, Buffy. The last time that
something big like this happened-you died. I was right there and I couldn't
stop it."
"Not the last time," I reminded her. "Remember Willow? We helped each
other."
"Willow wouldn't have hurt us," she replied naively. "Glory-she was *big*
evil. She came from this thing."
"Maybe we all do," I murmured and she looked stricken.
"You mean me right? I'm this evil key that you didn't even ask for-that you
had to *die* for!"
Breathing out, I tried to keep a lid on my tightly held temper. "That's not
true, Dawnie. You know that you're not evil. I just meant that-"
"I know what you meant," she answered petulantly and crossed her arms.
"*No*, you don't. What I meant was that somehow we all come from this thing.
Maybe. It's just a theory I have. Please don't take this personally. Not
right now, because I have to leave-"
"Leave, what do I care?" she responded. "It's not like what I think matters
to you! You're going to fucking *England* without me-"
Too surprised to even answer for a moment, I just stared at her. "I really
don't want to ever hear that word come out of your mouth again."
"What?" she said belligerently. "Fuck? You're not Mom. You can't tell me
what to do-"
I grabbed her arm and tugged it. "Yes I can. Dad's not going to do it, is
he? And Dawn. in case you've forgotten, you came from me. Not Mom. So listen
to me. I need you to listen just this once."
She looked at me. "When haven't I listened to you? Done what you said? I had
to live for you, didn't I? When you died and left me behind? Don't tell me
what to do! I've always done what you've asked and it hasn't gotten me
anything-"
"You think that's why I ask you to do things?" I questioned her. "I ask you
to-Dawn, look. I just want you to stay alive. That's all I want. Because if
you die- you're all I have left, ok? I can't do this if you're not here."
The tears looked bright as they slid down to her neck, creating dark spots
on the collar of her sweater. "I'm not all-what about---"
I knew from the tone of her voice that she, inexplicably, was going to say,
'What about Angel?' and cut her off; "You're all I have left," I repeated
and pressed her against my heart. "Just do as I say. I need you to be here
when I get back."
"I need you to get back," she admitted through milky sobs and collapsed into
my embrace. Her head pillowed against my shoulder, she muttered, "Should
we-should we try and save Spike?"
I wanted desperately to say, yes, do it. Please, save him and make sure he's
all right. "No. I want you to stay inside at night. I'll have to. I'll work
it out when I get back."
She shrugged. "Ok."
I wondered briefly at how she could push Spike from her thoughts so quickly.
How she could casually backhand Andrew and feel so little regret. "Thank
you," I said sincerely. "Goodbye, Dawn."))
The plane banks sharply as we begin to land. Pressing my nose against the
window, I see the lights down below, hanging heavily against the inky black.
Everything shakes a bit and Giles awakens with a startled, "Oh!" Fumbling
with his glasses, he blinks at me.
"We're landing, then?"
"Hopefully," I reply dryly. "Because the ground looks pretty close."
He fails to smile at my comment and looks past me into the night. "We have a
lot of work ahead of us, Buffy. Finding these girls will require - well, it
will take a lot of effort. And we may find that there's nothing."
"There has to be something," I answer firmly. "I *will* find them. I know
they're out there. It's just a feeling I have, Giles."
"Your feelings, as you call them, have turned out to be on the mark in the
past," he says quietly. "However, I would remain only cautiously optimistic,
Buffy."
The dark bruises on my wrists begin to throb. "Optimism is a waste of time.
I'll settle for action. Any at all."
A smile touches his mouth briefly. "I somehow knew you would. I think the
first place we should begin looking is in what remains of the
Sicherheitsrat, though to tell you the truth-"
"What? What did you just say?"
He looks surprised for a moment and then his face clears. "Oh. I'm sorry,
that's what we used to call the Watcher's Council Building."
"In the language that doesn't exist?" I joke.
He appears uncomfortable and shifts in the seat as the plane noses down and
sets upon the runway. People begin to clap, in a resounding wave of applause
that echoes in my ears.
"What's going on?"
Giles rubs his forehead. "A European custom. at times, they tend to clap
when a pilot makes a smooth landing. Perhaps they believe it helps boost his
morale," he pauses and seems to consider for a second, "and what I just said
was in German, Buffy. The Council was originally based in Berlin with
sections scattered across the Rhineland as well."
"Oh." Wondering why I'm discomfited at the thought, I watch as people begin
to stand, stretching as they gather their luggage and begin to exit the
plane. Slinging my bag over my back, I feel the bubbles in my knuckles crack
and wince. "I think I've been inactive for too long. We definitely need to
run into some baddies so I can work off this excess energy."
He glances at me, his eyes searching. "Xander told me you haven't slept for
days, Buffy."
"Your point?" I snap, as I step onto the aisle after him.
"My point is that you are without a doubt heading for a breakdown. And
that's the last thing we need at this juncture."
"I'm fine, Giles," I return, lying through my clenched teeth. "What I want
is to get the job done so we can go home and find-"
He's silent for a bit. As we step through onto the off ramp, he hesitantly
says, "So we can find Spike? Buffy, what exactly is your relationship with
him? Because you've been awfully keen on finding him."
"I'm not keen," I mock him slightly and then shrug. "It's Spike. I want to
make sure that we have enough muscle to fight the bad guys is all."
"I've known you long enough to glean when you're lying, Buffy," he reminds
me gently.
"We had.something. I was sleeping with him but it's over." Shocking myself
with the words, I realize that years ago I could never have admitted that to
Giles. Now I can, for some odd reason. "But I don't want him hurt. He has a
soul now. Everything's different. Not to mention the fact that he's our best
link into the mind of this big Evil. Whatever it wants, I think Spike is the
Key."
For a long while, as we walk through a Heathrow teeming with people, we
don't say a word. Finally, Giles speaks quietly, "I will attempt to
understand this like I did your affair with Angel. However, if Spike hurts
anyone-if he hurts someone I care about, I will see to it that he's killed,
Buffy. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," I reply.
"Would you try to stop me?" he asks.
"It depends."
"On what, exactly?"
"On who it was that he hurt." Surprised at my own response, I wonder how far
Spike could go before I would act. Suddenly I remember the cold bathroom
floor and the sting of his fists tangling in my hair and know how far. "I
don't know if I mean that."
"Don't you?"
"I just-he's important to me. I've lost a lot of people, Giles."
"So many people that Spike is important to you?"
My temper flares. "Yes! Why is that so difficult to understand?"
"Perhaps because Spike is a vicious, murdering psychopath, Buffy," he
responds mildly. "But I hardly need to tell you that. You've witnessed his
handiwork on countless occasions."
"Don't try to bait me. I know what Spike did. I know what he is."
"Do you? It seems your judgement is impaired when it comes to him. It's the
same as it was with Angel-"
"It is *not* the same," I snarl, and we halt by the customs desk. "What I
feel for Angel is completely different than what I feel for Spike."
"What you *feel* for Angel?" he asks.
I flush. "Felt."
He doesn't comment. We pass through Customs and Baggage Claim without
difficulty and without conversation. I can feel my hands trembling with the
need to hurt someone. Hurt Giles for what he said to me. Hurt Spike for
disappearing when I need him most. Hurt Dawn for coming into my life out of
nowhere. Hurt Angel. Always, hurt Angel. Breathing with difficulty, I follow
my former Watcher outside where we hail one of the large Taxis that I used
to find so fascinating. Now they simply look like raven black blobs against
the slate grey of the street.
London is shrouded with lights even in the cloak of night. We travel down
the maze of roads to Somerset, where the Watcher's Council used to stand.
Police tape, yellow as lemons, surrounds the site, but the rubble has been
only partially cleared. As Giles pays the cabbie, I approach, cautiously
touching the tape and ducking underneath it. Parts of the stone, wood and
glass are still smoking slightly and I can feel the slight tinge of heat.
The mystical energy still crackles in the air around the ruined building. It
reminds me of the way Dawn feels when I grab her. She hurts a bit to hold,
and looks so green if she's standing in the right light. Like a live wire
about to explode. I wonder sometimes why she remains a form made of
electricity so long after I destroyed Glory's castles in the sky but it goes
the way of Spike's cruel smile and Angelus' figures against my lips as I
slept. I shush it all away and make this life I have, bearable for the
living.
"Be careful Buffy!" Giles calls as I stumble over a wooden beam lying across
my path.
"I'll check this side!" I shout back by way of a response.
He says something, but it's lost in the sounds of the night.
Stepping over shards of glass and sifting my way through a pile of papers, I
find myself next to something that looked as if it used to be a conference
table and a wall drowning in bookshelves. Beside it are the tattered and
burned remains of hundreds of manuscripts, leaflets and diaries. I crouch
down and ignore the sudden sting of the gashes threading across my arms.
"I think I found something!" I yell in Giles' general direction.
Around one of the books is a buzzing energy that leaps slightly as I look at
it. Glancing at the title of the book ("Hauptschluessel") which is another
word I can't pronounce, I reach out and touch it. The buzzing (like bees. So
sweet) begins to sound in my ears and spread throughout my body.
Vaguely I think that I should take my palm away from the soft leather of its
bindings but I can't help stroking the edges. The buzzing begins to pound,
like the loudest heartbeat and I fall back, my body hitting the ground with
a noise akin to a bomb tearing through a building. I begin to hear bombs
going off just then, in my head and in my stomach and my lungs and I scream,
scream, scream but I'm not sure Giles can hear me. I'm not sure anyone can
hear me.
Blackness zips me up and I think my eyes are closed but I can feel myself
falling. Everything spins and twirls and the insane desire to throw up
clutches my belly but I swallow it back, the wind rushing over my face
something only found in my deepest, darkest nightmares. And the buzzing.
God. Like thousands of bees, swarming over my flesh. Not stinging, just
making that bzzt, bzzt sound over and over again and oh God, I *am* going to
start screaming. Screaming like the bombs as they hurtle through the air
and-
It all stops. With a sickening crack, I land against something solid.
Tentatively, I flex my fingers, feeling my bones knitting back together
underneath my skin. As I begin to open my eyes, I'm struck with the
sensation that something is. off. Just then I know why. I'm curled in the
corner of a scarily huge conference room. Sitting at the table are hundreds
of men in suits, all baring a striking resemblance to the men in black from
that Will Smith movie, and all staring straight at me with something skin to
astonishment. Blinking furiously, I sit up and unfurl myself into a standing
position.
"Where am I?" I ask them directly.
They continue to stare, dumbfounded.
"Are you all deaf?" I call out, waving my arms. "Where am I?"
"How did you - how did you get in here?" one of the men closest to me asks,
his tone suspicious and frightened all at the same time.
"I didn't," I respond warily. "I just touched some book and I ended up here.
In what looks to be some sort of business meeting for funeral directors.
Look, I'll just get out of your way-"
"A book?" the man echoes. "What did it look like?"
I glance at him, edging towards the door. "It was green. Leather. Strangely
energetic. Look, I should really go. My Watcher will be looking for me-"
"Your Watcher?!" one exclaims, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Did I say Watcher? I meant boyfriend. Big. Big muscles. Named Bubba. He'll
be worried-I should go-" I trail off as one of the men stands and I get a
good look at him. Shocked, I say coldly, "You? You're supposed to be dead.
Did you get someone to lie to-?"
"Dead?" Quentin Travers replies. "I'm nothing of the sort, nor was I ever.
Now. who are you and why are you masquerading as a Slayer in Training?"
"You don't-wait, do you have amnesia or something? Because hi, Quentin,
we've already met. You hate me. And you're supposed to be dead. Really dead.
Like blown to bits dead," I reply helplessly, my fingers itching to reach
for the door knob.
"We haven't met," he replies. "I am quite sure I would remember such a
dubious pleasure. What is your name, girl?"
"Buffy Summers," I snap. "You *know* that! I'm the Slayer, damnit. And you
know that to. Now what in the hell is going on here? Giles said you were
dead! In fact, he said all of you were dead. So unless I stumbled on some
way back into Heaven, I'm guessing he was lying?"
"Giles?" Quentin repeats and then a slow, terrifying smile spreads across
his grey features. "You mean Rupert Giles? So Ripper is back."
"No- I didn't say 'Ripper'.wait, what?"
"Come here, Miss. Summers. I believe we could use you, somehow."
"Use me?" I reiterate, stepping back, my hand closing over the handle of the
door. "I don't think so."
"Oh, you don't?" Quentin says softly. "Grab her."
I hear the word 'grab' and immediately wrench on the knob. It holds fast and
I lash out with my fists at the men descending upon me. Two fall back,
clutching blood streaked noses, but one continues to lunge at me, hands and
legs flying. I use one hand to hold him off as I kick the door as hard as I
can the wood breaking. Splinters scrape my cheeks. Suddenly a cloth soaked
in some sweet smelling liquid is shoved against my face. I gasp and shudder,
shaking my head as I attack the door with the rage of a hunted thing.
It shatters a second later and I leap through the opening, hearing the hot,
sweaty sounds of pursuit behind me as I race down halls, through doorways,
past more men in suits. There are no women but I have no time to ruminate on
that fact as I gather speed, sensing fresh air. Pounding down marble steps,
I enter a vast, soaring lobby and see double doors up ahead. Freedom. Jesus.
I need to get out there. A quick kick with my steel toed boots sends the
doors crashing open and I sprint out into. bright sunshine.
God. How long was I out?
Glancing around me, I see that I'm on the same street where Giles and I
stopped to sift through the rubble. But there are no charred and burnt
remains of a building now. Just a towering structure that appears to pierce
the heavens with its five steeples, each one taller than the last. Blinking
desperately, I jog down the street. No one seems to be following me anymore
and I look around, searching for any sign of Giles.
Everything looks slightly different. There are no taxi cabs. The roads are
properly paved. My brow creases as I take in the people walking around,
their clothes definitely not what I'm used to seeing. It could just be
London fashion, though so many creepy things are happening I tend to think
not.
A small boy is handing out newspapers on the corner. Walking towards him, I
feel the fear slice through me. I don't want to know. But I have to.
"Can I have a paper?" I inquire, holding out my hand.
He looks at me belligerently, his hair falling over his eyes. "Got the
money?"
"No," I growl and he looks startled as I grab it, searching the headlines.
They are a blur. All that stands out is the date. In bold print. Black and
white. Un-changing even when I close my eyes and wish it away.
January 3rd, 1941
TBC....
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