Champions

The sun had set, and Spike still slept. After the shock of Buffy’s arrival had worn off, he had completely passed out. Buffy had stayed by his side until hunger had forced her out. Now, she sat comfortably in one of the matching arm chairs in the living area with a cup of coffee in her left hand, still steaming pleasantly. Angel had left as soon as it was possible, and Illyria lurked about the room, not entirely sure she was wanted or welcome, but refusing to show weakness in regards to a lowly vampires slayer. Willow had begun pacing with gusto, back and forth through the center of the large room and, after a rushed explanation of the current situation, continued along the tight path in nervous silence, hardly daring to look at Buffy for fear of what she might see. The door to Spike’s room remained open, and Buffy stared absently into the gloom. His sleeping form could be clearly seen so that, if anything did happen, Buffy would know and be ready.

“Well?” Willow asked at last, halting her pacing in exasperation. “Don’t you have anything say?”

Buffy looked up, dazedly, as though she were surprised to see Willow standing there. “What should I say? It’s not like we haven’t faced things like this before.”

Willow moved to Buffy’s side with quick steps and sank to her knees. “But Buffy…” she said, plaintively, “he almost died. And Gunn…it’s not like we knew him personally or anything, but still. This is a big deal. Nothing’s ever come that close to doing Spike in. Not even you.” She said the last quietly, not intending to insult, but knowing the fact probably sting Buffy’s pride a little.

“He did die once already…” Buffy answered quietly.

“That was a sacrifice. He chose. This was different.”

Buffy sighed and set her cup down on a little table next to her chair. “I know, Will… When I think about what could have happened…” She shuddered visibly. “But we’re here now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to him. To any of us.”

Illyria suddenly jerked to attention. “You mean to stay?”

Buffy turned to see the blue haired woman standing in a dark corner of the room, glaring at her. “Of course I do.” She had not liked this strange woman at all. From the moment Buffy had laid eyes on her, she had distrusted her.

“This is not your fight,” Illyria replied with disdain.

Buffy stood slowly, setting her coffee down and turning to face the demon. “I’m making it my fight.” She glanced to her right, through the open window onto the brightly lit city. “And I’m going to make sure that whatever this thing is knows it.”


* * *

Angel stalked down the dark alleyway with impunity. He silently dared any and all potential assailants to try their luck. He could use a little distraction. As it were, the darkness offered nothing to drag his mind away from its dark thoughts. Over and over, Angel saw Buffy’s face as it filled with fear and concern. Not for him…never for him…for someone else. For someone she loved. For the one person who had single handedly ruined every aspect of Angel’s life from the moment he was sired.

“Spike…” Angel growled the name, filling it with all the hate he’d ever felt for the younger man. A sudden realization hit him and made his blood boil. It wasn’t the vampire that Angel hated. As a demon, Spike was a fierce warrior; a fighter that Angel had trusted, at least marginally, and had been proud to have on his side. Both as a hero and a monster, Spike was a force to be reckoned with. No. Angel hated the man in him. He had envied Spike’s humanity for ages, but now he knew. It was the man in Spike which had destroyed everything. If Angel had his way, Spike would be whisked away, never to be seen again. He couldn’t bring himself to wish for the vampire’s death…but if he never saw him again, Angel would be only too happy.

A faint laugh brought him to a sudden halt. The sound had come from behind him, and it was almost swallowed by the night sounds of the city. And yet, Angel knew he had been meant to hear it. Slowly, he turned. A piece of the shadows silently watched him. Her face was such a blending of quiet appraisal and innocence that, at first, Angel doubted his instincts. But the hand shaped bruises encircling her neck made her identity clear. For a long moment, they merely regarded each other. He watched her warily. She seemed nothing more than politely interested and slightly amused. A t last, Angel broke the silence.

“I knew Spike had to be exaggerating. He couldn’t possibly have hurt you as bad as he said.”

“Maybe…maybe not.” Her voice was like a strain of music in the darkness. It held the lightness of a child at play. But it also resonated deep within him, echoing with the deeper tones of womanhood.

“You seem fine to me,” he tested her warily. “Fit enough that you think you can take me on, perhaps?”

“Maybe…” she laughed again. “Maybe not.”

“Look, as cute as this little game of yours is, I’m really not in the mood,” he ground out. “Let’s get on with it already.”

“If I had killed him…” she asked by way of response, “would you have mourned? I watched you cry over the human. Would you cry for your own kind?”

Angel shrank back visibly, entirely thrown by the question. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to expose a weakness. And it was there… She had brushed against it, feather light…but he doubted she realized it. The truth was, Angel didn’t really know the answer. He wanted Spike out of his life, that much was easy to see. But would it have really matter to him if Spike had died? He just didn’t know. The girl nodded and smiled at him kindly as though she had seen nothing more than she expected and was pleased by it.

“I think you would…because you know you could be next.” There was something sinister in her smile which had not been there before.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, little girl,” he said mockingly. “Spike’s a pushover compared to me.” He opened his arms in invitation. “Would like a preview?” He moved suddenly, coming to stand right in front of her, his face inches from hers. “Or maybe we could skip straight to the main event.”

The young woman only smiled at him. Slowly, she raised her face to his. Angel felt a moment of irrational panic, fearing that she meant to kiss him. He could not have been more terrified if she had come at him with an entire arsenal at her disposal. The faint smell of roses invaded his senses and he realized with shock that it came from her. It carried with it an earthy sensuality that he realized at once suited her perfectly. She drew steadily closer, her eyes never seeming to blink, until her lips nearly touched his.

“As much as your offer appeals to me,” she whispered softly, her breath brushing softly against his lips, “it’s not why I’m here.” She slid past him, never touching him, but leaving a residual warmth in her wake. Angel felt as though he had missed a stair going down, and was now grasping wildly to save himself from falling. He turned to see her a few steps away with her back turned, showing clearly that she did not fear him. He could see the pale diamond of skin on her back. He found himself fighting the urge to run his hands over the smooth angles of her shoulder blades and down the lines of her back. He shook his head violently to clear it.

“What are you here for then?” he asked, adding as much venom to his voice as possible, hoping to mask the slight tremble that infected his words.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, as if to say she didn’t believe his ruse for a moment.
Instead, she asked him quietly, “Does she love him?”

For a moment, Angel was confused. He couldn’t think for the life of him who she might e talking about. But he wasn’t a fool, and denial could only protect him for so long. For the briefest moment, he lowered his eyes, attempting to collect himself before he answered. A knowing, comforting hand touched his shoulder. He met her eyes, which were filled with sympathy, and she smiled kindly.

“He does,” she squeezed his shoulder gently, “and so do you.”

Angel suddenly couldn’t bear to have her look at him. He pulled away, throwing a defensive arm up between them. “Look,” he cried harshly, “I don’t know what it is you’re playing at, but I’ve had just about enough of it. So, if you don’t mind, let’s cut this little tea party short.”

“You wish to fight me?” The girl sounded almost hurt.

“Well, that’s kind of what I do. Particularly to those who murder my friends.” Angel’s anger rose, and he cursed himself for being taken in by her innocent act for even a moment. This creature was not some lost little girl. This was a demon. This was the beast that had killed Gunn.

“When we fight,” she said slowly, as though she were speaking to a very slow child, “and we will, dear Angel. Very soon. But when we fight, I think you will welcome the release I offer you.” Without another word, the girl disappeared into the shadows, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts.


* * *

The girl watched silently from her hiding place, not daring to move until Angel at last turned on his heel and left. She sighed with relief, sagging exhaustedly against the grimy stone of the alley wall. Hesitantly, she brushed light fingers against her bruised neck and winced slightly as the skin continued to throb.

“How very curious,” a male voice spoke from the darkness in front of her. “If I didn’t know you better, Anne, I’d have thought you were flirting with him.”

“Maybe I was,” she said loftily. And then, almost as an afterthought, “You shouldn’t use my name.”

“Why not?” I gave it to you, so why shouldn’t I use it?” He sounded smug and amused, the way he always sounded when he spoke to her. She hated him for it.

“You named me after your dead wife. You’re sick and we both know it.” He laughed and stepped out of the shadows, into the pale light cast by the windows above. His pale skin was marred by a long, jagged scar which ran down his temple, all the way across his cheek and down his chin. It looked almost like a claw mark, but slightly more sinister. He smiled at her sardonically, and said nothing. At last, she sighed and lowered her eyes. “What do you want, Varken?”

He nodded in a pleased sort of way. “First of all, I didn’t name you after my wife. Her name was Annerka. As you are only half the woman she was, and probably always will be, you only deserve half her name. I find it highly fitting. Second…I heard you ran into some trouble.” He moved closer and put a hand lightly on her neck. She jerked away with a hiss of pain and something like concern flickered in Varken’s eyes. “Anne…what’s going on? You’ve never failed a mission before.”

She glanced at him in hatred. “Of all people, I thought you would know better. I have not failed. Failure means death and, as you can clearly see, I am alive.” She sneered with disdain and began walking down the alley away from him.

“Of course, I had my doubts,” he said a little louder, “when I heard the news. I had to come see for myself. Surely, not my Anne…the most successful assassin on this continent… Surely she had not been defeated by a lowly vampire.”

Anne stopped walking, her back rigid. Varken knew his barb had hit home.

“And now,” he continued, “I find her slutting it up in an alleyway.” His voice grew harsh and disgusted as he stalked up behind her. He grabbed her arm violently and spun her around. “And low and behold, who does she happen to be doing this with? One of her targets.” He shoved her away from him and backhanded her across the face. She barely flinched. “You disgust me.”

Anne suddenly launched herself at him, her anger pushing her over the edge. Her wings exploded from her back, horns sprang from her head, her teeth elongated, and the irises of her eyes glowed red. She pinned Varken to the ground, growling menacingly.

“Do you think I am a fool?” she rasped. “Do you think I am so easily lid astray? I have more to worry about than vampires, or hadn’t you heard? The Slayer, Varken. She’s coming…might be here already. And if she could close the hellmouth, then she’ll have no problem knocking us on our asses unless we proceed very carefully.” She grabbed Varken’s shirt and jerked his shoulders off the ground, bringing his face close to hers. “Don’t you EVER question my methods.” She dropped him hard and leaped fiercely into the air. Grabbing onto the brick of the opposite building, she swiftly scaled the wall and disappeared over the top.