Origins: Resolutions by Niamh

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Chapter 15: Preconceived Notions

Author's Notes: As sick as I am, I’ve still been thinking about this story and since this is the one the muse is stuck on, well, this one is the one that’s getting worked on. Hopefully, by the time I get this over to Tam, I’ll be feeling better and it won’t be the mishmash that I fear it’s going to become, with the fever still coming and going. Joy. Thanks for sticking with me on this. There are some interesting mentions in this story – pop culture, historical, and other that no one at all has picked up on. . . Some are names, places, etc. . . and frankly, I can’t believe no one’s even guessed. . . damn. I must be relying on really obscure things then. Title and quotes are as attributed. I own nothing, coz the disclaimers tell me so.

Opinions founded on prejudice are
always sustained with the greatest of violence.
Francis Jeffrey, 1773 - 1850

Prejudice is the child of ignorance.
William Hazlitt

O Lord, help me not to despise or oppose
what I do not understand.
William Penn

Preconceived notions are the locks on the door to wisdom.
Merry Browne

there was a man who had a face
it looked a lot like me
I saw him in the mirror and I fought him in the street
then when he turned away I shot him in the head
then I came to realize I had killed myself
if you're free you'll never see the walls
if you're head is clear you'll never freefall
if you're right you never fear the wrong
if you're head is high you never fear
Exploder, lyrics by Chris Cornell

Be honest, decent, faithful and congenial
towards members of our own blood but to no one else.
Heinrich Himmler, October 4, 1943



Wesley arrived shortly after Giles’ announcement about the Initiative’s tardiness. He apologized profusely, indicating the reports in his hand. “Sorry, I was unavoidably detained. I’ve heard from my contact. He sent me a list of the Council members traveling and information about the new Slayer.”

The announcement went a long way to placating those waiting for him at the shop. As Wesley stepped toward the table, Spike waylaid him and grabbed the majority of the papers from his hand. Giles stood just behind him, reading over his shoulder as the vampire read them. Whenever Spike finished a page, he handed it to Giles, who in turn handed them off to Buffy. Anya and Tara picked up the pages Buffy put down, the former demon grumbling loudly about the delay.

“How many of them are coming?”

“Fourteen, including Travers.”

“Four in the wetworks team; the Slayer and her Watcher and the remaining members are senior staffers.” Wesley ticked off the bare essentials, noting Faith and Jenner coming into the shop from the training room.

“Are the staffers trained in combat?” Faith stripped off the tape around her hands with her teeth, spitting the threads into her hands when she was finished.

“Some are, but probably haven’t seen any real fighting, just training and sparring,” was Giles’ offhand response. A low chuckle escaped him as the first name of the wetworks team was revealed. “Oh, dear.”

Buffy and Anya looked up.

“What?” Buffy demanded.

“Why are you chuckling? Chuckling like that is not good, Rupert.” Anya snapped testily.

“I think perhaps Travers miscalculated a bit.” He passed the page onto Buffy, catching Wesley’s eye as he did so. “Either that, or he was misdirected.”

“I’d say misdirected would be closer to the mark.” The taller Englishman smiled, pointing to the page currently in Spike’s hand. “That name should also be of interest.”

Peering at the page, Giles once again broke into laughter. “Well, that spoils it nicely.”

“Giles. . . ‘splain for the rest of the class.” Buffy read over the page in her hand, then quickly passed it off. “Who is that guy?”

Looking around, Giles realized they were all staring at him, waiting for an explanation for his reaction. “Before I was appointed as your Watcher, I was an instructor at the Council’s small academy. Most of the names on this list belong to former students of mine.” As if that would explain it all, he reached for the next page.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Wesley took pity on the rest of them. “Giles was considered a bit of a rebel by some of the older Council members. He didn’t always teach by the approved method, nor did he teach blind obedience to Council dictates.”

He indicated the page Buffy was currently reading. “Most of the Watchers who studied under him and Edward Robson are. . . well, they constantly challenge the Old Guard.”

“So Ripper didn’t just hide in the shadows, huh?” Buffy sent an impish, teasing look in her Watcher’s direction, laughing when he harrumphed loudly at her in response.

Anya was the only one to react. “Rupert!”

“Yes, dear?” He sounded so affably henpecked that when Spike raised a brow and smirked, Giles tried to stare him down over the top of his glasses.

“You never told me that was you! Ripper? Did you know that the effects of what you did were talked about at all the best parties for,” she paused, calculating the time and devouring him with her eyes at the same time. “Well, it was at least a couple of months. The idea of humans calling forth Eyghon was very exciting. However did you manage?”

Spike shook his head, laughter playing about his lips as Anya continued to prattle, “You really are much better suited for me. Brains and daring and wonderful orgasms.”

None of them dared to look at each other, knowing the laughter bubbling at the surface would somehow insult Anya unintentionally. Even Dawn averted her eyes and bit her lip, knowing the second anyone tried speaking the giggles would spew from her.

The mood changed drastically though, when Jenner remarked, almost idly, “We’ve still got company.”

At thirteen thirty hours, Riley sent Watkins down to the Magic Shop, with instructions to get into position in the alley behind it, watching the back entrance. He’d already briefed him on who and what to expect.

As he settled into position, the only known target was the Slayer herself. Everyone else was not on the list Lieutenant Finn had given him. They were unidentifiable and Watkins didn’t like unknowns. Uncertain of what his orders should be, he radioed in after the last of them cleared the door, hoping to get some clarification from his superior officer. What he got wasn’t much help. None of the descriptions he relayed corresponded to any of the core group surrounding the Slayer, though the young teen could possibly be Xander Harris. Settling back on his haunches, Watkins kept his eyes on the alley door, occasionally scanning the entrances on either side of him.

Which explained why almost two hours into his surveillance, when the kid dropped down from the building over his head, landing practically on top of him, he fell back, landing square on his ass. He knew he was at a distinct disadvantage and silently cursed his inattention. The kid stared down at him, intense blue eyes blazing from an almost feminine face. Watkins reacted, jumping to his feet before the kid could move, only to find himself back down on the ground.

“Don’t.” It was the only thing the kid said, his face devoid of any expression. “Just don’t.”

Watkins tried standing again, to find himself again on his ass. “What the fuck?”

The kid stared at him, the only change in his expression a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. “You don’t listen so well, do you?”

“What the hell do you want? And who the hell are you?” Watkins reached for his weapon, flicking open the holster. Before he could clear it, the kid had moved, stepping heavily on his wrist, pinning it to the ground.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I already told you not to do anything. Guess you Army guys don’t really know how to follow orders.”

Though he tried, he couldn’t shift the kid’s weight off his wrist, unable to knock him off balance. Instead, the pressure increased until he could feel the smaller bones start to shift. “All right, get off. I won’t do anything.”

“Good choice.” Connor leaned down, his face inches from the soldier’s. “Too bad you’re gonna miss all the fun.” Before the older man could blink, Connor had tapped his fist against the side of his head, knocking him out completely.

A satisfied grin crossed his face and he reached out to grab the soldier under his arms. Dragging him toward the Magic Shop, Connor kicked back at the door twice with his boot and waited until Jenner opened it.

“Finn?”

Riley stopped, waiting for the doctor to reach him. “May I have a few moments to confer with you after the meeting?”

“Sure. Is there something in particular you wanted to discuss?” His mind wasn’t on the current conversation, but on the briefing they were both about to enter. “Are you sure you want to wait until then?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m sure.”

“Very well, Major Kramer. I can spare a few minutes after the briefing.” Riley watched the older man head into the dining room of the rented house, which had been converted into the main meeting room. He had no idea what the Major wanted and wondered what might be going on in the man’s head. Kramer was one of the few, like himself, who had been with the Initiative on the first tour in Sunnydale and he thought perhaps the other officer wanted to explore the caves and underground area. It might be worth a little reconnaissance to see what remained after the Army had abandoned the post. There might be something useful.

Shrugging off the thoughts, Riley ushered the last of his group into the dining room, intent on the matter at hand.

Spencer had spent the next four hours of the flight at his side, severely hampering his actions and keeping him from going over his tasks for the next few hours. Every time she opened her mouth, Nicholson fought the urge to yell at her and send her on her way back to the Slayer, who was fidgeting mightily in her seat three rows back.

There was another problem bound to blow up in their faces. The new Slayer, Kennedy – what an awful name for a girl child – was a spoiled, pampered, petulant brat. And those were just her finer points. Nothing anyone did or said was to her satisfaction, from the morning meal to the night’s repast. Nothing pleased her, nothing placated her. Thankfully for them, they were flying on the Council’s private plane and not commercially, which would have posed another set of problems.

Nicholson was glad, when Travers signaled for his attention and he could leave Spencer to her own devices. At the moment, it was a choice between the Scylla and Charybdis, but he’d take anything at this point. “Sir?”

“We need to go over latest data from the Hellmouth before we land. I want to make certain there’s been no further changes or other news.”

“I’ll check the fax machine, sir, but I don’t believe anything else has come to light in the last few hours.” Nicholson held his breath, hoping he was correct as he ducked into the information center. Two laptops and a fax machine hummed softly, barely discernible over the jet engines. He pressed a button, activating the first laptop, then punched in a series of passwords.

Swallowing deeply, he realized he’d spoken a bit too soon. The latest report, which had come in just before take-off, or so it appeared, indicated that the US Military had activated a small unit on the Hellmouth. Nicholson waited anxiously while the pages printed, wondering how the old man was going to react to this bit of news. He hadn’t been pleased the last time the military had set up shop in Sunnydale, and had easily conveyed said displeasure to the Prime Minister, who in turn, had conducted hasty meetings with the President. All of which contributed heavily, no doubt, to the official disbanding of the group.

However, more recent reports indicated that the Initiative hadn’t been disbanded, only strategically relocated to one of the South American hot-spots. And if that was the case, having a small cadre of soldiers in Sunnydale did not bode well at all. Especially given Buffy Summers current condition. Nicholson shook off his worries and headed down the aisle to where Travers sat.

“Sir?”

Travers looked up and, catching the grim look on Nicholson’s face, urged him to sit. “What is it?”

“There’s a problem.”

In terse, concise sentences, backed up by the printout in his hand, Nicholson relayed his concerns about the information he’d just received. When he was finished, Travers sat back, his eyes fixed on Nicholson’s. The old man was quiet, almost too quiet and Nicholson braced himself for the fall-out. “Get me whatever intelligence you can on who is leading that unit. Find out their purpose and how long they’ve been in Sunnydale. And if you can,” he continued in a deceptively soft tone, “Find out who authorized that and why.”

Nicholson got to his feet, but Travers’ next words made him pause. “I want all this in place by the time we land.” He checked his watch. “Which means you have approximately four hours.”

The house on Coraline Avenue was small and relatively non-descript. White siding with dark green and black trim covered the walls, and pretty lace curtains fluttered in the late afternoon breeze. Neighborhood noises filled the rest of the block, but the area around number 2218 was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Rogan had tripped the electric grid for the block, shutting down all the electronics. Here and there a generator hummed, but for the most part, the block was down. Five off-duty members of Sunnydale’s finest were ranged about the house, waiting on his signal to batter down the doors and seize whatever they found inside. Imelda was sitting in the van, earphones on and infrared camera aimed at the front door of the house. He was sitting next to her, radio in hand, relaying instructions to the rest of the crew.

Information spilled over from those who were conducting surveillance on the Initiative, as he listened to their transmissions back and forth. Confusion reigned momentarily, when one of his people mistook a go-ahead from Lawson for his signal, but the situation was back under control long before it could have escalated into something potentially bad.

He waited, restoring calm, while his sister confirmed the identity and location of their target.

“Got him.” Imelda reached for the radio in his hand, speaking as her finger depressed the button. “He’s in the basement level, there is another with him. Second target is unknown, but probably in on it with him. Bring them both in. Watch out for booby traps, boys.”

With a pointed glare, Rogan wrestled his radio back from her. “Okay, guys, you heard her. Take him.”

Low whoops and several ‘about times’ were heard, which barely elicited a retort from their end. Two of the five approached from the rear, while another two knocked on the front door. As cover, they were using the neighbor’s complaint about stolen cable, and though off-duty, were carrying their badges. Imelda and Rogan waited, while the unknown answered the door and, readily intimidated, let them in.

Within minutes, they had disarmed the two weaselly-looking men, subdued and handcuffed both of them. Twenty minutes after that, they were both secured in Oz’ cage, both of them spouting ineffective curses and expletives.

Rogan smiled evilly at both of them and morphed into his demonic visage, laughing when the smaller, a goofy-looking blond – nearly pissed his pants. Ignoring them, he radioed in the information.

Now all they had to do was sit and wait for the other business to be over.

Riley watched his men file out, Hughes already on the radio, trying to reach Watkins while Lansome was trying to get Sloth to respond. Major Kramer was waiting for him, a folder under his arm, doing his best to wait until everyone, including Graham had left the dining room. “Major?”

“Lieutenant. I’d like to have your undivided attention.” Kramer stood stiffly, his eyes slightly averted from Riley’s direct gaze.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” He watched while Kramer closed the door to the kitchen, followed by the French doors leading to the living room.

“Please sit.” The folder was placed before him, but before he could open it, Kramer started speaking. “Do you remember what the purpose of the Initiative was?”

“To capture hostile sub-humans and contain them.” Finn’s answer was rote, and he wondered what was the purpose of Kramer’s request and why he chose this moment to confront him.

“Not exactly, Lieutenant.” He pointed to the folder in front of him. “The original purpose was to capture and study the sub-humans in order to help create a smart, faster, stronger soldier.”

“Was that also supposed to include experimentation and the Adam situation?” Riley suddenly didn’t like what Kramer was hinting at.

“Those hostiles weren’t human, Finn. However, we have a unique situation here.” Kramer leaned on the table, palms against the flat surface, eagerness – and perhaps a bit of fanaticism – lighting his pale grey eyes. Riley had never seen the man so animated before, not even when Walsh had been in charge. “Though you haven’t admitted out loud, I’m almost positive you have suspicions regarding Miss Summers’ pregnancy. I know I do.”

Riley settled back into his chair, watching Kramer pace to the end of the table, almost grateful that someone else had picked up on the strangeness of his ex-girlfriend’s situation. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid, Lieutenant. We both know it’s an act and not a very good one, either.” The doctor pointed to the latest photograph of Buffy. She was standing outside the Magic Box, talking to a young male Riley didn’t recognize. He suspected the boy was Dawn’s boyfriend, but so far all efforts to identify him had failed. Her pregnant belly was prominent and she looked happier and healthier than he could ever remember her being. Judging by the way she looked, her claims about being dead seemed almost delusional.

“According to our surveillance reports, the only adult male living in the house with her and her sister is the vampire. Neither of the other two Englishmen is living there. If the younger one was, in fact, the father of her children, wouldn’t they at least be sharing living space?”

The question was somewhat rhetorical and Riley chose not to answer it. Too much had changed in the past year for him to say he knew Buffy Summers as well as he once thought he did. Instead, he addressed the doctor’s other statements. “So what are you getting at, Major?”

His next statement was uttered so quietly, that Riley was only half-sure he heard him. “If these children are hybrids, we have an opportunity to study them, Lieutenant.”

“Study?” While the idea didn’t exactly sit well with him, Riley wasn’t completely opposed to it. “What do you mean by study?”

“No one is really sure of what a Slayer is, whether she’s other than human. Her abilities coupled with those of a vampire could be unstoppable.” He paused, hoping to somehow appeal to Riley. “Think of the possibilities.”

He had to admit part of him was thinking of the possibilities. Someone with the combined strength of Spike and Buffy would be a formidable ally or an equally deadly opponent. But a bigger part of him was thinking about how his ex-girlfriend – a girl he thought would make a perfect wife and partner – had been sleeping with a thing, a dead man. A vampire. The thought alone disgusted him. How she could lower herself to – and then for it to be some soulless, evil. . . thing. Riley realized, as he was sitting there, half listening to Kramer’s arguments, that he absolutely hated Spike. Hated him with nearly the same fervor that he had once loved Buffy. Spike represented everything he hated about vampires; and worse, he represented his own personal failures.

The second he found out that Buffy’s first boyfriend, her first real love, had been a vampire, Riley knew they were doomed. Knew he’d always come out second best or worst. He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t fast enough, didn’t understand her world enough because he was just a super-charged regular guy. Magic confused him; the manipulation of will based on words and intentions was beyond his understanding. At first, he fought demons because the Army ordered him to, not because of some sacred calling. It wasn’t until he’d had an actual chance to see and watch the demons in action that Riley had understood why the Army had wanted to destroy demons. They deserved to be destroyed. They fed off humans, created chaos and threatened the lives and safety of real people.

It wasn’t possible to reason with a demon. You couldn’t make them understand people weren’t a food source or slave labor or anything rational, because demons lacked the capacity to understand those things. They were like sharks or lions, focused on feeding and creating new predators. That’s all. And because they were like that, they needed to be destroyed. The fact some of them spoke English and looked human was immaterial. They weren’t human. They were less than human.

And Buffy, the girl he once thought he loved enough to marry, had slept with more than one of them. It was disgusting. She treats those vampires like their opinions and thoughts matter. Like they’re no different from me.

Riley stared down at his hands, tracing the lines of scars that crisscrossed the back of the left one. A vampire in Belize had given him those, scratching and fighting after destroying almost an entire village. A vampire. Just like Spike. Like Angel. Riley looked up, surprised to see that Kramer was still speaking.

“It wouldn’t be right to take them from their mother. At least not until they’re born. Would you be able to persuade her to agree to some testing? Or maybe just give her an option about safety? Play on her fears as a new mother?”

Riley almost laughed in the Major’s face. “Buffy? Afraid of something?” He pushed the photograph across the table. “She’s not really afraid of anything.” Which was really one of her problems. . .

“Lieutenant, I don’t think you understand what kind of thoughts go through a person’s head when they’re about to become a parent for the first time. She’ll have concerns.” The way he said it set Riley’s teeth on edge, hearing the condescension in his voice.

There was only one drawback to Kramer’s whole plan. “I still don’t know who the father is. And until I hear it straight from Buffy, I’m not going to authorize this.”

Kramer wisely refrained from saying anything more, somehow gauging Riley’s reluctance to truly take that step. Feeling more than satisfied by the outcome, Kramer nodded, then left the converted dining room, leaving Riley alone with his thoughts.

Almost in spite of himself, Riley went through the reports one more time. Only this time, Kramer’s words replayed themselves over and over. Those babies would someday grow up. If they were Spike’s – a thought which still boggled his mind – would they inherit more of Buffy’s nature or Spike’s? And would they care about humanity. . . or want to take over the world?

Riley was beginning to think he couldn’t wait that long to find out. It might be better to take guesswork out of the equation.







to be continued

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