Oncoming Train

Thursday.
He’d noticed the van two blocks after leaving the bar. Knowing it could be virtually anyone following him, Riley’s instincts told him he wasn’t going to be so lucky to be stalked by some revenge seeking demons. There wasn’t much point in trying to outrun a vehicle while on the sidewalk, but there was a chance of losing them in the park. Slipping into the bordering of trees, Riley realized his mistake too late. He’d been out maneuvered. Arms came around from behind as another body slammed into him from the front. The ex-commando tried to struggle, but his arms were being bruisingly pressed to his sides, his feet knocked far apart, and the band of steel around his waist easily restrained his writhing. He’d been effectively pinned with moves too rehearsed for this to be a simple mugging.

His growl of frustration muted into a grunt of pain when he felt something sharp prick and slide into his throat, carotid artery. Pressure, at his skin, then inside, spreading with an oily sensation of sterile chemicals, polluting his bloodstream. “It’s for your own good, sir.” A voice near his ear, almost recognized. Whatever he’d been injected with, it worked fast. Less than a minute since he’d been grabbed. Weird how time slowed like that. Bodies shuffled as his knees buckled, surrendering to the heavy numbness eating him in gulps. No fight now, but he gathered bits of consciousness and held on tightly. Opportunity kept its own time and schedule, and he’d learned the patience to meet it.

Vision grayed, blackening. Whispered screaming of static. There was blurred movement past the man in front of him, hands trembling slightly in their tight clasp of his arms, crewed blond hair.

Graham?

***

Later, he’d re-assure himself he acted on instinct when he attacked the humans dressed all in black. His thoughts were of his childe as he grabbed the first body and threw it. The smell of gun oil and the electricity of powered weapons hung heavy on them, and he didn’t know if they were the Initiative that had neutered his William. Didn’t care. They weren’t torturing another demon for science.

Their victim crumpled to the ground as the man who’d held him from behind let go, cursing as he fumbled for his weapon. From the corner of his eye, Angel caught the glint off the falling hypodermic. Hundred feet away the doors to a van parked on the facing street burst open, two more men jumping out, tasers in hand. Angel’s fist met the second soldier’s face and he stepped past the falling body to greet the newcomers.

They didn’t last long. It’d taken more of them to subdue William the Bloody, and he was Angelus. The demon roared in glee and the soul barely restrained the violence. Broken bones, but nothing they’d die from. If they sought medical attention sooner rather than later. Angel grinned as he returned the humans’ quarry.

The lanky figure was curled on his side, long legs folded at the knee. Red t-shirt, worn jeans, tennis shoes; muscular, but in a long, sinuous way. Angel knelt down to grip one broad shoulder and roll him over.

“Damn me.” He’d rescued no demon, but one the Initiative’s own, their prize commando. Riley-pure-of-heart Finn. Buffy’s human ex-boyfriend. The demon growled at the sight of that cleanly angled face, but Angel strangled it down. The youth had been attacked and drugged unconscious, possibly by his own people. Xander’d said Finn had come back to fight Glory, alone, and stayed to help after Buffy’s loss. Perhaps the Initiative disagreed with that decision?

Standing, Angel pulled out the cell phone Cordelia insisted he carry and quickly dialed the whelp’s number. He’d never been to their apartment, never been invited inside, so he couldn’t just take Finn back to the flat he shared with the other boys. Not unless he was considering just propping him against the door. Listening to the connection ring, he thought about doing that, but reluctantly disregarded the idea. Whoever was after the boy might know where he lived. Be a waste of a good pummeling to leave him out for the next team of enterprising commandos.

The answering machine clicked on, and listening to Xander’s cocky voice the vampire realized Finn might not be the only target, just the one he intercepted. He hated working on this little information. Was someone after all his Scoobies, or one? Either way, he couldn’t protect them if they were all over the place. He made his decision to the background noise of Spike demanding his pet stop snooking with that infernal machine and come snookie him. Will’s inventive vocabulary never ceased to amuse and confuse.

“Xander, bring Will and the girls to his old home. Riley was attacked.” With the possibility of the phones being tapped, he didn’t want to give out his street address, but he hoped he wasn’t too vague. Let the bad guys wonder who had Finn. Stashing the phone, he went back to the, well, he guessed he could label them commandos, in their coordinating black pajamas, and searched for anything that could identify them. Pocketed one of the tasers and the syringe after he safely bent the needle in half, but found nothing else. No identification. All four were young males, three Caucasians, one Hispanic. Short hair, clean shaven, physically fit; they certainly gave the appearance of military.

He didn’t like what this meant. Besides disliking Finn for loving Buffy like he never could and being human, he’d hardly given the boy a thought. Somebody, however, placed a high value on the boy. If Finn was the first target, and the rest of the Scoobies were safe, then that someone considered Finn the most dangerous of the gang and therefore had to be removed first. Disbelief of witches or more accurate information? If he was the only one, then what was his value? Obviously, he’d have to re-evaluate the level of attention Riley Finn warranted.

The youth hadn’t twitched from the sprawl he’d been left in. Angel bent and scooped him into his arms, the ash blond head lolling against his shoulder as he strode to the car. The attack had happened at the corner of the park, at the cross streets of Main and Fifth. Finn could have been heading anywhere. The van was on Main, parked facing north. If they hadn’t swung around to park, and had been following the boy, Finn had been heading home, cutting through the park to Fifth. Possibly an established routine the commandos had taken advantage of.

Thankful he’d opted to keep the top down, he poured the ex-Marine into the backseat, then settled himself behind the wheel. The demon felt the rush of deja-vu, and he remembered he’d done this before. Not a car, it had been a carriage, but the memory of a beautiful young man tossed across leather seat cushions gave him a warm rush of forgotten pleasures and cruelties. Crispin Foxcourt, however, had never been so clean of soul as Riley Finn. Thank God, else that long ago evening would have ended right sourly with anguished tears instead of ecstatic screams.

The mansion was in the opposite direction of the boys’ flat, so he did a slow U-turn before accelerating down the street. He wasn’t too worried about the local constabulary stopping him for speeding or having a body in the back seat, but the Initiative or whoever were more likely to take note of a maniac speeding through the streets than just another bloke out for a cruise. So it was 35 MPH the whole way and stopping at all the stop signs.

Thirty minutes later he pulled up behind the mansion, out of sight of the street. Slung the boy scout over one shoulder and fumbled for the keys in his pocket with other. The place was as he’d left it, fear of Angelus having kept the vagrants away, both of the human and demon variety. Winding his way through the darkened halls, he reached the living room, draped in yards of dusty grayed cloth. Yanking the sheet off the couch, he dumped Finn, then went back out for his bags.

For nearly an hour he busied himself making the mansion livable again, mindful that he’d be in close quarters with Cordelia’s criticizing mouth for an indefinite length. Hopefully, their stay would only extend a week or so, but he saw no reason to rough it, and he knew his seer certainly wouldn’t. Initiative or not, he wasn’t reading by candlelight. Did that for a couple of centuries, didn’t need to re-enact the experience. And he might have all of the Scooby Gang descending on him. So he checked all the wiring, turned the power on, and went through the rooms they’d be using, pulling off sheets and opening windows to air the dust out. He’d had his doubts about paying the monthly service fee to the electrical company, but the chugging hum of the refrigerator sounded of home as he stocked the shelves with bags of blood and Cordelia’s groceries.

The ex-commando was where he’d left him when he wandered back into the living room. For a minute or two he stood there, not sure if he was supposed to do something. Working with Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn on a daily basis had improved his knowledge of human maintenance, but one of them was always on hand when another was hurt. He was good for fetching the medical kit, but then he usually just sat back and ignored the blood. Hands-on was going to be new. He didn’t like new.

Falling back on habit, he pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. A few rings later, the phone clicked.

“Cordelia?” He heard muffled snoring, then a thunking sound.

“Aow. S’op tha’, ‘Enis.”

Angel spoke louder. “Cordelia!”

The phone groaned. “God, Angel, I thought we agreed me and Gunn were coming in the morning? Ya know, daylight? Grr, sun, bad?”

“Yeah, I know, but something came up.” As succinctly as possible, he summarized the evening, finishing with, “And it’s Riley Finn. On my couch.”

There was a rustling noise, then, “Someone jumped that major piece of real estate? Gyah! Why am I never there when there are gorgeous men to rescue?”

“Gyah? Wait a minute, real estate? Are we talking about the same –“

“Never mind, Angel. You were absolutely right in calling me. You need to make him comfortable until I can get there. Take his shoes off, un-tuck his shirt, undo those tight little jeans of his.”

“I’m not touching his jeans, Cordelia.”

“A-ha! So he’s wearing jeans! If I can get Gunn here in half an hour, we can be there before dawn.” The girl spoke quietly, obviously forgetting she was on the phone. “My blue dress is at the cleaners, but I can make that new Verace work. Or maybe I
should wear something more uniformie, appeal to the dirty little soldier in him.”

Angel had heard enough. There was no way Gunn was gracing this side of dawn without something in immediate need of a staking, so the chances were he’d see his co-workers when planned. Late, late morning. “Good night, Cordelia. Thanks.”

“Uh-hunh. Night.” The phone clicked.

Okay. A plan. Re-pocketing the phone, he shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on a convenient chair as he studied the mechanics of tennis shoes. He’d never gotten into modern footwear, though Velcro had been entertaining for a while there. Boots, loafers, those he could do. From watching the Scooby Gang, however, he’d learned there were two types of shoelace wearers: those who tied and untied, and those who wiggled.

Further inspection and a few test tugs revealed Riley Finn to be a wiggler. Surprising, since military anal retentiveness would enforce tying and untying. Kneeling down, an ankle cupped in one hand, shoe gripped in the other, Angel easily slid the sneaker off. Dropped it to the floor, then repeated the action. Shoes successfully removed.

The front of the T-shit proved easy enough to yank out, but the back portion resisted his insistent tugging. Realizing the boy’s dead weight was hampering him, Angel wedged an arm around his upper back and lifted him into a sitting position. Warm breath steamed against his neck and the shirt pulled free, falling to cover the brief glimpse of blue underwear. Shirt successfully un-tucked. Maybe he’d graduate to dressing them before long.

A sudden explosion of movement startled him, Finn’s heartbeat spiking, breath rapid. “No! Let go of me!” Hands clutched at Angels’ shirt, shoving. The strength displayed was unexpected, and the vampire toppled backwards, taking the youth with him.

Bodies entangled, Finn continued to struggle, testing Angel’s control to restrain the boy without hurting either of them. “Finn. R-Riley, Riley, calm down.” No reaction to the sound of his voice, just blind resistance. Finally, when a knee came too close to his groin for comfort, Angel stopped trying to be gallant. It was Finn; perhaps not an enemy, but certainly not a friend. With a growl, he heaved and threw the wiry body away from him.

Finn hit the floor several yards away, hard enough for the impact to echo, rolled, and came up into a half-crouch, snarling. “I won’t go back,” he rasped, the shaking voice revealing how much the drug was still in co1ntrol. From across the breadth of the room Angel could hear the hammering of his heart, nearly triple what it should be. The kid was going to give himself a heart attack.

“I won’t make you,” Angel said softly, slowly crawling, inching across the floor, not wanting to startle. “You’re safe here, Riley. Xander and Spike will be here soon.” Unfocused hazel eyes tried to see him, or maybe just one of him, and the ash blond head cocked to one side, listening, identifying. Even weakened, the movements were gracefully predatory. Angel’s response was instinctual, breathing in to catch the youth’s scent, his groin tightening. There was something in the back of his eyes that pulled on the vampire, drawing him closer.

“Angel.” No fear or anger in that word, just simple satisfaction. Unknown identified. The heartbeat was slowing.

“Yeah. Remember me?” The youth was intriguing. Angel remembered a straight-laced, angry young man, not this sensual play of strength and vulnerability. The demon rumbled, curious, and crawling became more difficult.

“Yeah.” The long mouth quirked briefly, then a shudder stole it, wracking the long frame. “How – “ He swallowed, a more violent shudder rattling through.

Angel slid closer, and when the youth did not react, closer still. “I stopped four men from kidnapping you. They were humans, dressed in black fatigues. Sound like friends of yours?”

Something burned briefly, dark grey eyes flushing green before they dulled. “Tired. Must have . . . somethin’ new.” Within reach, Angel gently rested a hand on the bowed head. “Can’t-“

“Don’t fight it, Riley. Just sleep. Trust me enough to do that.” He pulled the slacking youth into his arms, trying to soothe as he carded the sweat-dampened hair.

“Not much choice,” Riley chuckled, surrendering, muscles relaxing, molding into him. He was unconscious again, his brief lucidity gone as quickly as it had come. With no certainty as to why, Angel gathered the youth to him with a much greater observance to care than originally shown. Riley Finn was a surprise, wiggler and all.

Returning him to the couch, Angel smoothed the long limbs in a seemingly comfortable arrangement, lightly stroking the bruises already blushing the lightly tanned arms. He felt uncertain, hesitant. Riley Finn wasn’t his responsibility; he was a Scooby and theirs to look after. Yet, he couldn’t quell the feelings of protectiveness, possessiveness, the youth garnered. He didn’t need another sheep to guard, but Finn didn’t look very wooly. The strength he’d shown; even drugged, he’d tested Angel’s own vampiric strength, and that shouldn’t have happened. A puzzle in sleek muscles and soft skin, with a snarl that stroked Angel down to his bones.

“I’m in trouble.”

***

With his bouncing lover proceeding him, Xander came home, tired and in desperate need of his pillow. A good night of slaying by all, and it was time to celebrate with cheesy movies and dozing off on the couch between his two favorite blondes. Distracted by such snuggly thoughts, he flipped on the apartment’s lights, tossed his keys on the nearest coffee table and headed for the kitchen.

His soda was half guzzled when he heard Deadboy’s voice loudly over the answering machine. Head stuck in the fridge, he froze, Angel’s words trickling through his head, connecting to reality. The apartment had been dark when they came home, empty. Riley got off work at 11:30. Home by midnight. It was close to two. Riley wasn’t home.

Someone had tried to take Riley.

The fridge door slammed shut as the teenager stalked into the living room, grabbing his vampire and his keys on his way to the door. For a moment there, staring at the moldy pizza on the bottom shelf, he’d felt the old fear crawling coldly up his spine. They couldn’t handle this, not without Buffy and Giles. It was just too much.

Then he’d remembered. It was always too much. There was always some new villain to fight. Some new prophesy to overcome. And they did. They would.

Nobody survived life on the Hellmouth better than a Scooby.

TBC.