by Rob Sorenson 

Chapter Twenty-one

A millisecond of brilliant flashing light appeared in Yankee Stadium. Dawn found herself with flashes in her mind that had picked up the imprint of her surroundings in the all too brief period of clarity upon her arrival.

Now she stood in inky blackness. She'd managed to gather enough information during the tiny flash to achieve a rudimentary understanding of her immediate surroundings.

Willow had taken no chances; she'd placed Dawn in the absolute center of the old building, trusting Dawn to find her way.

One thing neither had considered was the time of day. Yankee Stadium wasn't exactly flooded with light at 4 am. Therefore Dawn was momentarily frightened on a lot of levels.

She was alone, and rescuing Xander most probably fell to her and her only. She took a deep breath and waited patiently for her eyes to adjust. After about thirty seconds she realized she was standing on the pitcher's mound.

Yankee Stadium had, on this night, became the equivalent of the ancient Coliseum, where many a needless slaughter had occurred at the whim of the powerful, providing entertainment to the masses in the form of barbaric combat.

At last, faced with unknown odds and nothing to rely on but herself, Dawn came to fully understand the terrible burden of her sister.

Alone. Surrounded by darkness. In Dawn's case, it was quite literally so.

She indulged herself with a brief prayer of thanks for those who stood with Buffy, despite all the pain and loss that their association had caused them.

The prophecy had said "She alone will stand against the forces of Darkness."

<Not so fast there, seers.> Dawn swore to herself that she would defy the prophecy. Buffy would not be alone in this life as long as she drew breath.

It was the same internal oath taken by Giles, Willow, Cordelia, Spike, Oz, Angel, Tara, Anya...and Xander.

Wonderful Xander, who amazed them all with his total commitment to their mission, armed with nothing but love. He represented what they stood for. The Scooby Gang was, in the end, all about Love, with the emphasis on the capital L.

Love standing against Hate, sometimes staining their own souls so that others could love without fear, blissfully unaware of the forces that conspired against them.

In the midst of her epiphany, Dawn again was struck with the notion that she, at this crucial moment, was alone.

Xander, however, was just inside. She would die before she allowed him to leave this world.

This was the moment of decision that Xander had spoken of in her otherworldly journey into Willow's consciousness.

This was Dawn Summers's moment, and by God she was going to come through, by any means necessary. She took a deep breath, and began to consider her options.

She had to track him in virtual darkness. This made the course of action rather simple. She sat on top of the mound, forming her legs in a lotus position. She closed her eyes and began.

"Goddess Hecate, work thy will..."

******************************************************************

Five Minutes Earlier

<Fuck it.>

Faith had run like the wind, but it still didn't satisfy her desperate need to get to Xander. She'd sprinted with amazing speed and endurance through 2/3 of Manhattan.

Her enhanced instincts were on overload. Something bad was happening to Xander, and it was about to get worse.

She didn't have the emotional mind-meld of Xander and Buffy, but she was still a Slayer with a powerful emotional connection with him.

Somehow she just knew.

She stopped in the middle of the street and scanned her surrounding area with wild, dangerous eyes. She needed wheels, and she would have them.

By any means necessary.

Briefly she'd considered attempting to commandeer a vehicle like a TV cop. Unfortunately Slayers weren't given badges, and the words "We need your vehicle, Slayer emergency," had never crossed the lips of a Chosen One, past or present.

At least she hoped not, because that would just be sad.

Moments after she'd begun her search for a speedier means to the Bronx, she was yanked into the past for a second time that night as a rather sallow looking young man was approaching her in a fully restored El Camino, horn blaring obnoxiously.

"Hey baby, where you goin?"

Faith simply stared, first at the guy who'd probably been a preferred potential client in her previous incarnation. Secondly her eyes fell on the immaculately maintained classic vehicle.

<I wonder if I've still got it.>

Her stare was immediately transformed into a leering smirk as she walked to the door of the car, adding a little extra swivel to her hips.

She leaned over slowly, not sparing him a full view of the delicious merchandise before him.

His mouth went slack. He'd noticed a certain something about this girl, but upon closer reflection he quickly updated his internal files.

This woman was on a whole different level than any hooker he'd seen on this corner before. He could feel his mouth water. This girl oozed sensuality like hot fudge fresh from the microwave and onto the ice cream.

<Yup. Still got it.> "What are you planning to do with a helpless little thing like me?"

"How much?"

Faith smiled seductively. "Ooooh. I like a man who doesn't beat around the bush. I tell you what...it's been a good night already, and you're wicked cute."

She moved behind the vehicle and slung one lithe, leather clad leg over the tailgate, straddling it for effect.

"You take me right here, right now, and if you do it good"--she winked to close the deal--"this one's on me."

The guy banged his head on the roof of the El Camino as he rushed out of the vehicle. It took all of Faith's self control not to burst out laughing at this sad sack.

He hurried to the back of the vehicle, only to be met with a half speed jab to the side of his head, plunging him into unconsciousness.

She caught him and gently lay him on the sidewalk.

"Sorry dude. I'd leave you an 8x10 glossy so you could give yourself a happy later, but I'm fresh out."

She leaped into the classic Chevy and peeled out into the street, weaving in and out of traffic like an Andretti on amphetamines.

****************************************************************

Spike and Buffy sat in silence as the taxi moved at a quick pace through Manhattan. The extra hundred bucks from Buffy had significantly increased the driver's resolve to help his ride arrive quickly, though he idly wondered why the Hell anyone would want to go the stadium at ten minutes to 4 in the morning. As most smart New Yorkers did, he kept his mouth shut and did his job.

"Are you sure you're all right, love? Do you still want to rip my heart out?"

"I'm in some pain, Spike, but I'll be ok. And no, I don't want to do anything to your heart." She allowed herself a small smile. "It shouldn't really matter though, should it? Your heart belongs to me, yes?"

"Always."

She moved into him and gently pressed her lips to his.

His hands moved to her shoulders, firmly removing her and scooting away from her. She was momentarily surprised; hurt and confusion crossed her _expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Your lips are bleeding."

"Oh." Buffy self consciously ran her fingers over her face, grimacing slightly at the grisly inventory of her cuts and bruises. She closed her eyes and softly spoke again in the tone of the young woman she truly was underneath it all.

"Can you just hold me?"

He said nothing, moving back to his original position and pulling her head to his shoulder as she continued to speak.

"I've been getting a little better at dealing with Xander's emotional states. When we both feel the same thing at the same time though, the intensity of it can still be a little much. I was pretty out of it there for a minute. In the station, I mean."

Spike just nodded as she looked up to his eyes.

"I could hear you guys fighting somewhere in my mind, but she'd beaten me up so badly I couldn't find the will to do anything. Then something just jolted through me. My head came up, and the first thing I saw was that bitch holding a stake over you. After that...I don't remember very much of the last part of our fight. I was just...beyond reason."

Spike said one word. "Xander."

"He's beyond reason right now too. For a minute there, we shared the exact same feelings, and I went to a place I haven't been before. A place that I don't want ever want to see again."

She stared out the window. A light rain had begun falling, giving a hazy gleam to the streets of Upper Manhattan. She continued hoarsely.

"They're torturing him."

"I know."

She looked at him.

"I left Faith before we started fighting. She figured out what they were trying to do, and pretty much forced me to leave her alone and come to you."

"If you hadn't--"

He shrugged. "Hard to tell. She might have toyed with you a little longer. We Big Bads like to savor the moment."

"You're not bad any more."

"Now that is just low."

"I meant it in a positive way."

"I know." He focused on the rearview mirror, finding nothing in return. "If I were, I might've been of some use to you."

She looked at him with annoyance. "What are you talking about?"

"I froze. Twice."

"When?"

"I came to those stairs, and saw you down there. I thought you were dead."

This hung between them for a moment. Spike's lower lip was quivering slightly as he continued.

"I couldn't move. Then that clone started in on me, and I was ready to let her stake me. I didn't want to live another second without you."

Buffy kissed his hand tenderly. "What made you come out of it?"

"I was taking one last look at you when I saw you move. You were still breathing. The moment I saw that I went for her."

"You saved me. Again."

"If you want to call losing a fight saving you, I'm all for it. She fought exactly like you; her facial expressions were identical. It reminded me of some of our better dances back in the day. Too much, in fact."

She tilted her head in a questioning _expression.

"Buffy, I couldn't give it everything. You know what happens at times like that. If you show any hesitation, you lose. You were still there slumped on the floor...I knew that this girl wasn't you, but--"

"It felt like you were going to kill me?"

He nodded shakily.

She reached around his head and ran her fingers through his hair, stroking him gently as she comforted him.

"Spike, whether or not you want to accept it, you were unbelievable. I know what it took for you to go back down there, and I can't imagine what it must have been like for you to see me that way, in that place."

The cab suddenly swerved to the right, throwing Buffy into Spike's body. They looked up in alarm and saw a vehicle careening past them, just managing to slip past the front fender of their taxi and the rear bumper of the garbage truck that occupied the lane to their left. The driver screamed out his window.

"Asshole!! Learn how to fuckin drive!!!"

He turned to his passengers.

"You guys ok? Christ, I'll never understand how people can be in such a hurry that they get people killed, ya know?" Buffy and Spike nodded that they were indeed ok, and he turned back to his job.

"What the hell was that thing?"

Spike had a smirk on his face. "You mean the thing you just crushed up against?"

Buffy smirked back. "No, I'm quite familiar with THAT thing, thank you very much." She jerked a thumb to her left. "I meant that thing."

His eyes followed her thumb to the dimming taillights of the vehicle that was currently utilizing the sidewalk as a passing lane. <Nice move,> he thought idly as he responded.

"That's an El Camino. Classic. Looks like mint condition, too. They were big in the Seventies."

"Did anyone ever tell it perhaps it should make up it's mind between being a car or truck?"

He smiled. "They were an acquired taste."

She took another look. "They taste pretty awful."

"What were you saying before?"

"Which part?"

"The part where you were calling me unbelievable."

"Oh, that part." She retook his hand with a smile. "I was about done, except for one thing. You mentioned getting your ass kicked being considered a noble act."

"I don't recall using the words ass OR kicked, Slayer." She grinned at him and kept going..

"According to Scooby rules, getting one's ASS kicked counts as a save if it delays things enough for the Slayer to recover."

"There's a bleeding rule book? No one ever told me that."

"It's a pretty short one. That particular rule is known as the Xander Exception."

The mention of his name sobered them in a hurry.

"How much longer?"

Spike looked out and gauged the distance in his mind.

"Ten minutes maybe."

She sighed.

"Do you have a tissue, love?"

She checked her pockets. "No. What's up?"

"When you ran into me, you left something behind."

She took a closer look and recognized her blood smeared on his chest and throat. Without taking her eyes from his she called out "Driver?"

"Yeah?"

"You have a Kleenex or something?"

"Paper towel ok?"

"That'll work. Thanks."

She tried to give the cabbie a charming smile as she took the sheet, but her bloody, swollen face probably reduced the lust factor. She turned back to Spike and took his hand in hers as he reached for the cleaning material.

"Let me, baby."

He closed his eyes at her tender ministrations on his body. He decided that they should ride in taxis more often.

******************************************************************

Travers was deeply unhappy.

All his creations were dead. He couldn't understand what could have possibly gone wrong.

He quivered with rage and screamed at the ceiling.

"Buffy Summers, damn you to Hell!!"

The boy. His face went instantly from ferocity to satisfaction. The boy must die. The chain could still be broken, especially at it's weakest link. All was not lost.

He picked up his radio to alert Pierre.

*****************************************************************

Xander's adrenaline rush was spent.

Upon reflection, he didn't know where the strength had come from considering how much he'd been forced to suffer; for a few minutes the pain was simply nonexistent.

It was back. Big time. He was slumped in his chains, wishing for death. Jeeves and Pierre had apparently lost the will to hurt him any more.

In a way, he regretted it. One more blow to the head might've been enough to get the job done.

Pierre's cell phone beeped. The Watcher's Council Assistant Director exchanged glances with the Britisher and picked up. Quentin Travers transmitted in a slightly quavering voice.

"Pierre?"

"Go ahead, sir."

"Evacuate all Council personnel to the secondary American headquarters immediately. Once you've done that, kill the boy and report to me and we'll make arrangements for our next phase. Our task is completed for the moment. Understood?"

"Copy that sir."

"Travers out."

Pierre reflected ruefully that the order to kill the boy had been sandwiched between two administrative tasks.

It was as if he was ordering his lunch.

Xander's tormentors exchanged relieved glances; at last it was time.

For his part, Xander had overheard the conversation and closed the eye that wasn't swollen shut. <Finally>, he thought.

Jeeves always kept his Walther tucked into his belt. He reached behind his back and pulled it out. He'd been sorely tempted to use it many times this night.

Finally he'd be able to get his gun off. He spoke to Xander softly.

"I've learned to hate you, boy, but I must throw a little respect your way too. You are one hard bloke. Still, all good things..."

He pointed the weapon at Xander's face and cocked the hammer.

Xander was struck by two things at that moment. First, he had a last moment surge of panic as he thought about how this would break the group apart. He didn't want to die; not so much for his sake but for theirs.

Secondly, he saw a firefly enter the room. This seemed rather incongruous until it struck him that it looked familiar and his good eye widened.

Long ago, Tara had generated something much like it to guide he and Willow out of Miller's Woods on the night of Buffy's second resurrection.

What happened next seemed like it was occurring in slow motion. Jeeves caught his change in _expression and slowly turned his head to the door.

At that moment, Dawn Summers slowly strode into the room, eyes widening at the sight of Xander with a gun to his head.

Jeeves whirled at the intruder, every instinct declaring her the enemy. He fired directly at her from impossibly close range.

He couldn't miss.

- End Chapter Twenty-one -