Origins: Resolutions by Niamh

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 ::

Chapter 14: Readiness to defend

Author's Notes: I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I even looked at this story, much less actually thought about writing some of it. But I wanna get something done, and since this is the one story I could probably write without having to have a real touch of the muse – and not just a fleeting sight of his pale ass – I’m going to work on this. I wish I knew where he was hiding. (Sometimes I think he’s hiding under Tam’s chair, just to avoid me). Anyway, I’m gonna work on this baby. Points to anyone who gets the quirky and weird pop culture reference hidden in this chapter (and there have been others all along that not a soul has picked up on. Not a one). Title and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, unfortunately still say Joss owns it all.]

Previously: The opposing forces are gathering, Scoobies are all converging on the Magic Box, while the Initiative cadre is getting ready to appear. Lawson has sent a group of demons to capture Warren Meers; and the Council is set to arrive sometime after dark. This picks up shortly after our last installment.

That is not to say that we can relax our readiness to defend ourselves.
Our armament must be adequate to the needs,
but our faith is not primarily in these machines of defense but in ourselves.
Chester W. Nimitz, March 22, 1950

There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
If it be now, ‘tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will come – the readiness is all.
Hamlet, act v, sc. ii

Being on the tightrope is living; everything else is waiting.
Karl Wallenda


It took him all of ten minutes to convince Janice they couldn’t study, that there was a situation he had to deal with first, before he could tutor her. Janice, being smarter than everyone gave her credit for, and also knowing exactly what constituted his family, didn’t bother arguing. Instead he’d walked her home, surprised both of them by kissing her goodbye, and headed straight to the Magic Box.

He got there just as Oz was parking the van and he waited to help Buffy get out. There was no surveillance in the alley behind the shop, though they’d all been warned about the sniper on the dry cleaner’s building. “Where’s Spike?”

“On his way through the sewers.” Buffy looked upward, scanning the rooftops around them. “Are we sure there’re only eight of them?”

“Lawson’s had everyone watching. So far that’s it.” Connor trailed the others, allowing his heightened scenes to verify what his eyes viewed. “There’s the guy across the street. No one else is here.”

Buffy relaxed, unclenching her muscles and taking as deep a breath as she could. Her left hand rested on her extended belly, reaching for the door with her other hand. “I so need a nap.”

Tara laughed, admitting, “You aren’t alone.”

The door opened before Buffy could pull it toward her, Jenner motioning them in. “Rogan says they’re on the move. How long till Spike gets here?”

“Any minute now. He left the same time we did.” Buffy moved quickly despite her bulk, past Jenner who held the door for everyone. “If he’s not here in five, I want you to go after him.”

Jenner was about to say something over his shoulder when movement in the shadows behind the building caught his attention. His voice pitched very low, he rumbled at Connor, “Left shoulder.”

Only a barely perceptible nod was his answer and Jenner receded into the room, letting Connor close the door and lock it. “I’ll go out.”

Buffy caught the tension, turning back. “What’s going on?”

“We have company, Slayer.” Jenner moved past her, into the main shop area, addressing the occupants. “Show time.”

Giles was the first to react. “How many?”

“Just one.” Jenner motioned for Faith to hand him the duffle bag they’d brought, and quickly handed out hand guns. “I know this isn’t usual, but these are humans who don’t understand hand to hand combat.”

Faith took one, handing another to Oz, who hesitated briefly. “We can’t let them get close. Not to any of us, but especially the vamps.”

Oz took another look at the handguns and took a step back. “No.”

“No?” Jenner stared at him for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “Any particular reason why?”

“Not my scene.” That was all the explanation Oz was willing to give. He stepped away from the duffle bag, motioning Tara to follow him.

Buffy, with a quick look around at all the non-combatants, took charge. “Keep them out of sight. I don’t want them on the defensive before they even get comfortable. I don’t really wanna have them around.”

“Have what around, kitten?” Spike’s voice preceded him up the steps and everyone turned to face him.

“Guns.”

He stopped in his tracks, looking hard at Faith. “This your idea?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t deny it, squaring her shoulders and almost daring him to confront her about it.

“Not a good one. Soldier boy isn’t expectin’ this much firepower.” Spike moved further into the shop, his eyes sweeping the occupants. “Don’t want him thinkin’ he’s got to prove he’s got the bigger set. Git already has issues.”

He crouched down, shifting through the weapons. “Where’s Oxford?”

Giles answered him. “He went to get food.” Glancing down at his watch, he frowned. “He should have been back by now.”

Spike glanced up, eyebrow raised. “Find him.”

Anya handed Giles his cell phone, then whirled to reach for the land-line. When they were engaged in two separate conversations, Spike pinned Faith with a glare. “Not sure why you thought this was a good idea. We got two women here that need to be protected, not worryin’ ‘bout whether a stray shot is goin’ to hit them.”

“What are you talking about?” Faith held her ground, returning his stare with one of her own.

He inclined his head toward Buffy, his glare softening for a moment. “Can’t take chances with the sprogs.”

“Oh.” She glanced over at her counterpart, realizing what Spike meant. “I wasn’t actually thinking about that.”

He motioned her forward, holding the duffle bag open. “There’s only two people who should have these. Give one each to the Watchers, otherwise stow ‘em someplace safe. The rest of us don’t need this.”

“What about boy wonder?” Faith looked over her shoulder at Connor, who was lounging idly against the metal stairs.

Spike looked up, catching Connor’s eye. The boy stared back steadily, knowing he was the current subject of their conversation. What Faith didn’t know, since she’d never patrolled with him, was that he had about as much use for a gun as Spike did. Any weapon he needed was close at hand, and he could move as fast as the vampires, with as much strength as one of the Slayers. He smirked, watching Spike shake his head.

“Boy’s fine as he is.”

With a nod in his direction, Spike raised his eyes upward, indicating where he wanted Connor during the coming meeting. “The whole point of havin’ you here, Faith, is in case we need back-up, not to cause the need for back up.” Spike got up, stowing the weapons bag behind the counter. “Won’t do for the toy soldiers to know they’re outnumbered already. We want his help, not a war.”

“His phone keeps going to voicemail.” Giles interrupted, waving his cell phone back and forth.

“Rogan says the last time anyone saw him, he was heading toward Johnny Garlic’s. That was an hour ago.” Anya piped in as she hung up the phone.

“Have Rogan send someone out to find him. We need him here.” Spike paced across the floor.

Giles punched in some other numbers, grumbling somewhat good-naturedly about being Spike’s social secretary, but no one paid him any mind. Everyone’s attention was focused on the blond vampire, who was obviously working out a plan in his head.

“You wanna share with the rest of the class?” Buffy folded her arms atop her belly, a sour look on her face. “We have all done this before, you know.”

He looked over at her, shaking his head. “‘S all different now.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Got you, Glinda an’ . . . Got Nibblet to worry ‘bout.” He shook his head. “Why’re we all here?”

“You mean right now? And not in that crazy existential ‘why are we who we are’ thingy?” She smirked, biting the side of her cheek to keep from laughing at his irate expression. “Because it’s safer for all of us together. Because I don’t trust Riley or the Initiative. Because the Council’s coming. There’s lots of reasons, Spike. You know that.”

His sigh was deep and heartfelt. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then tell me what you’re thinking.”

Their voices had dropped, everyone else around them receding into the background, their collective focus completely on the other. “Think you an’ Glinda should be home. With Dawn.”

“Not happening.” She moved closer to him, and his arms automatically came round her shoulders, hauling her even closer.

“Right. Then she should be up in the rafters with the boy. Thinking you should each have your own bodyguard.” He didn’t need to say it for her to understand. Oz would watch over Tara like – well, the way Spike would be watching out for her. Buffy knew it, understood it, and it finally clicked why he was so worried. He was worried the situation would escalate out of control and he’d be unable to protect all of his family.

“I promise to be good, okay?” She forced herself to hold his intense gaze, knowing he’d see the truth of her promise written in her eyes. He needed her to stay safe at all costs, so she’d do her best. “I promise.”

Another deep sigh broke from him and he shook himself. “Best I can hope for.”

Their surroundings resurfaced and, after a quick kiss Buffy headed over to Dawn while Spike pulled Oz and Jenner aside.

He hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when the phone at his hip began vibrating. Wesley stopped mid-stride, reached for the phone, and when he recognized the caller-id, flipped it open. “Hello, Leslie.”

There was no pause at all. “Wesley, I’ve got a complete list of who’s gone with Travers and their plans.”

“How many are there?”

“Including the old man, fourteen.” McKeown paused, then rattled off the list of names, and their functions. “I’ve got pictures and C.V. ready to download, if you can get to a computer.”

“Have you?” Wesley thought for a second, weighing his options. He could turn around and walk the nearly ten blocks back to the shop, or he could walk the shorter distance to the flat he shared with Giles and Anya. “I’ll be at one momentarily.”

“Good, I can’t risk leaving the information available from this end. Travers left Smythe-Hynde in charge until his return. He voted against every proposal Giles made, and then some. Wouldn’t put it above him to scan personal computers. We’ve got to make this quick.”

The urgency was clear in Leslie’s voice and Wesley couldn’t help but respond to it. “Everything’s in the files you’ll be sending? Including the wetworks team?”

“Everything. Two of the team trained under Giles before he got assigned to Sunnydale.”

“That’s a mark in our favor.” Wesley opened the door, heading straight for the office, which also doubled as his bedroom. “Let me just boot up.”

“Right. Fine.” A tense silence filtered through the phone lines and Wesley could picture the sight McKeown must be making.

“I’m in.”

“Grand. Log onto yahoo and I’ll send you the files.”

“Won’t that take longer than an email?”

“No. And it’s a bit more secure. Emails can be waylaid.” The quick tapping of a keyboard filled his ears and Wesley watched while the first of eight files began transferring. “You might want to print these out so the Gaffer can read them.”

“Already started.” And he had. The moment the first transfer was complete, Wesley began printing. He grabbed the first, briefly scanning the information on Travers and Nicholson. He already knew most of this, though the Curriculum Vitaes held peripheral information that Wesley neither cared about, nor felt was important. “Where did you get these?”

“From the personnel files. These are updated every six months.” Leslie hesitated, then blurted out, “I’ve also got the files for each of you. Do you want those as well?”

While he didn’t doubt the Council kept tabs on him, Wesley wasn’t entirely sure their information would be accurate, though, as he thought it over, it might be a smart idea to know what their opponents knew about them – and what they didn’t. “Send them. I’m sure Rupert will want to see those as well.”

“That’ll be the last batch. There’s not much in the file on the vampire.”

Wesley chuckled a bit. “No, I’m sure what they do have is contained in the Aurelian Chronicles. And I’m just as positive most of it is hearsay.”

Once the last transfer was complete, they disconnected, Leslie confirming that this would be his last communication until after Nicholson had made contact. He’d also confided, just before hanging up, that it was entirely possible that Travers had ordered a second team to be activated, though neither he nor Nicholson could confirm that. There was enough confusion surrounding their departure – some of it deliberate – that kept all of them on edge.

As he sat reading the reports, waiting for the last of them to finish printing, Wesley tried to make sense of Travers’ decision on some of his travel companions. Nicholson’s presence was understandable, given his position as Travers’ secretary. But some of the others? The questionable decision to name Spencer Whitworth as the Watcher for the new Slayer struck Wesley as particularly odd. While she’d been a stellar student and a more than adequate researcher, Wesley had always felt Spencer lacked the ruthless streak most successful Watchers had. Something he was able to recognize, since he lacked it also. Or he had. Time and circumstance had tempered him, his softer edges burned away in the face of some very harrowing and foolish mistakes. Whitworth didn’t appear to him, on the surface, to be made of the ‘right stuff’, as Buffy would have phrased it.

And the new Slayer . . . . Wesley carefully looked over her dossier, trying vainly to read between the lines. Though the Council had moved forward, it was still unusual for a woman to be named as the Watcher for the active Slayer. And although the Council was well aware of Buffy Summers’ continued existence and her position on the Hellmouth, Whitworth’s appointment still struck him as odd.

The news about the wetworks team was encouraging, and Wesley wondered how much of a hand Nicholson had in the choices. Actually, he scanned the list of names again, comprehension dawning. Nicholson must have had more control over the selection than he’d previously thought, because nearly all the names were ones he was familiar with, and knew them to be on the more progressive side.

Wesley glanced at the clock, surprised to see nearly two hours had passed. Gathering up the reports, he switched off the computer, then reactivated his cell phone. Simultaneously, someone pounded at the door and the phone rang, leaving Wesley a bit flustered. He flipped the phone, heading for the front door, surprised when he got yelled at from both ends.

“Where are you?”

“Are you okay?” Rogan was at the door with Imelda two steps behind him, relief clear on both their faces. “They’ve been frantically trying to get you, dude. What the hell happened?”

Waving the reports at them, Wesley barked into the phone, “I’m fine. Really, Anya. I am. I’m heading back to the shop now. I’ve forgotten lunch.”

Rogan took the papers from Wesley, whistling as he scanned the contents. “This is some serious info. Where’d you get it?”

“From a contact within the Council. I have to get back to the shop.” Ushering them out the door, Wesley took the files back. “Is everything else ready?”

“Yeah, they were all just waiting on you.” Rogan turned to look at Wesley, his blond hair falling over his eyes. “Dunno if you heard, but we nailed that robot-guy.”

“Robot?” His eyes sought out Imelda’s, knowing he’d get more coherent information from her. “What robot-guy?”

“We think we found the guy who built the Buffybot.” Imelda leaned closer, pitching her voice low. “We’re on our way to pick him up. With a few others. Spike said to take him over to the cage.”

Wesley could barely contain his surprise. “That was quick.”

“I know. It came over on a neighbor’s complaint.” Imelda brushed her hair back, pushing Rogan ahead of her. “We’ve gotta head over there. We’ll see you after the meeting.”

“Right.” Wesley watched the two of them head off. Events were coming at them faster than he’d expected, and though he was rather pleased it would all be over and done with shortly, he wasn’t entirely sure that would work in their favor. With both the Initiative and the Council in town, anything could happen.

Wesley just hoped it wouldn’t complicate Buffy’s condition.

As soon as Wesley had been located, the tension in the shop decreased visibly. Spike was still pacing the floor, though his steps weren’t as hurried. Giles and Anya had quickly polled everyone, deciding that lunch was still something they should all have, and the decision was made to switch to pizza, which could be delivered.

Buffy and Tara were sitting at the table, their heads together, whispering softly. After placing the order, Giles approached the two blonds. “What time did you set this meeting for with Riley?”

“We agreed on two-thirty. Why?”

“Because it’s quarter to three already.” He glanced over at the clock, knowing his announcement would catch everyone’s attention. “We haven’t heard from any of our look-outs, have we?”

Spike whirled around, the flare of his coat catching briefly on a display. “Phones would’ve rung. So no.”

“Should we be worried?” Buffy wrinkled her nose, then rested her chin in the palm of one hand. “No news and all that, right?”

“I don’t think we should be concerned at this point. It’s probably just a minor delay.” Giles downplayed his concern, though he caught Spike’s gaze as he looked over Buffy’s head. “What on earth are you reading?”

“Baby names.” Buffy held up the book in front of her and Tara, pointing out one of her choices. “I think we’ve decided against Hortense, but everything else is up for grabs.”

Spike snorted, choking on a laugh at the look on Dawn’s face.

“You’re not serious.”

Buffy’s light laugh had Dawn up on her feet, heading down the steps. “You are so not naming my sibs – giving one of them the name Hortense. That’s just cruel.”

“I dunno, Dawnie, Hortense is a really old fashioned name. Maybe Spike would like that.” Tara’s sly words caught up with the vampire a moment later, and he turned a sardonic look on her.

“Hardly, Glinda. Might like a more traditional name, but that’s just. . . no. No Hortense.”
Noticing the looks on everyone’s faces, Spike sighed, giving in just a little bit. “We’ve decided on. . . “

Buffy interrupted him before he could spill the beans. “Names. We have good names. We just aren’t sharing them yet. You’ll see. It’ll be all good.”



Feedback is always welcome, since it feeds the muse and lures him back to my side. . . otherwise the little bugger is very likely to stray. . . . Thanks bunches, to everyone who's still with me!

Submit a Review!