Chapter 8: SAM
I don't know how it happened, but I suddenly have a knife stuck in my left thigh. And it hurts like a mother. Ry's beside me, with blood running down his cheek from an open gash beneath his eye. It looks like he's dancing with the Tamultae, so much so he's got this thing under wraps. The Tamultae seems to be on its last legs, but I could be wrong.
"Sam!" A rash clipped tone calls out to me, but the pain in my thigh is near blinding, and I can barely make out who's calling out to me.
Ry jumps and lands a right kick into the Tamultae's stomach, making it fall back a bit, giving him a bit of a break.
"Sam!" There's my name again, and this time there's more urgency laced in its tone. "Sam!"
Xander suddenly comes into view and a sigh involuntarily escapes my lips.
"Spassiba." I mutter softly. My eyes dart back to where my husband should be and I notice that he's not fighting this thing alone anymore. Spike's holding onto the demon while Riley gets the tranq gun ready. He makes the shot and the demon and Spike fall to the ground in a very ungraceful manner.
Two arms are struggling to get me up now, but my body's not cooperating and Xander stifles a grunt. "Go limp." He instructs softly into my ear as his grip tightens around my waist. "Sam! Go limp!" He says again, and it sounds like he's so far away.
"Xander?" I manage, and the last thing I see before everything goes dark is his ANYA tattoo at the base of his neck. And it makes me wonder why it's Xander coming to my rescue, and not someone else.
"Can I ask you something?" Manny asks Sam as the latter changes the dressing on the watcher's hurt leg.
They reached the little beach house a few hours back, and only settled after Sam and Faith effectuated a few patrols around the area while Gravis and Manny set up the protection shield around the vicinity.
The sun set a few minutes ago, and Manny and Sam are taking the opportunity to regroup out in the rustic living room while Faith and Gravis put Teresa to bed.
"Shoot." Sam answers systematically, warily eyeing the gash on the Louisianan's leg. "Gonna need some stitches."
"Forget the stitches. Just bandage it real good." Manny says through clenched teeth when a shot of vodka is poured over the wound. "It'll heal. I've had worse."
Sam rolls her eyes before emitting a small smile. "Yeah, I can tell." She says. "Like, what the hell is this?" She asks, pointing a roll of tape to a blunt scar near her kneecap.
Manny chuckles and nods her head back to the back room. "You'll have to ask the boss. She tells it better than I can."
"I bet."
"Yeah. A bit more colourful." Manny sighs as she lays her head back against the top of the couch and eyes Sam from the corner of her eye. "Thanks."
Sam holds her gaze for a bit before swatting the watcher's leg. "No prob. How's your head?"
"Okay. Nothing a little ASA won't fix."
Sam nods briefly and wonders when it was exactly that things became so complicated. When you decided to go along with this crazy plan, she thinks over sullenly. The air between them grows stale as they both keep their eyes locked on the bandaged leg, and listen to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.
The house is actually an abandoned shack that Riley and Sam own under names that only they know, that they use once a year, if they ever have time to celebrate their wedding anniversary. It's located in the middle of nowhere, by a gorgeous strip of white sandy beach. When Manny discovered that Seychelles' magnetic field was ideal for a hideaway, Sam brought up the cottage idea.
"Hey." She breaks the looming silence before slowly getting to her feet. "Come have a smoke with me?"
"Sure."
The air is warm and heavy as they sit out in the back, in full view of the ocean. Sam's been thinking that in different circumstances, she'd be at ease right now, but that's not the case. She's on edge, what with the whole shenanigans that have been going down. Spike and her husband are off in a different plane, her best friend's been attacked and hurt, someone's after an innocent little girl, and if that doesn't cut the cake, she thinks that her feelings towards the closest people in her life have been changing.
There was a time when she thought that her undying love for her soldier boy would be the last thing she would ever experience. But that time has long past, and Sam can't help but experience that some things are just meant to change. She doesn't really know why exactly, and after months and even years of trying to understand, she's left that for people who know better.
Riley and her have had a rocky relationship at best, what with them risking their lives practically everyday and all, but that's not what has slowly torn them apart. She's come to the conclusion that where both of them live for their job, Riley however will always dwell for it. He never talks of kicking back someday, and spend the rest of his golden age days in a secluded little town where no one knows the abc's of teaser guns and Kevlar and Teflon vests. And she doesn't get why he doesn't. Isn't that what everybody wants in life?
"Hey, what was that you wanted to ask me?" She asks, suddenly remembering Manny's question.
Manny sways her head in the Russian's direction and lets her head slip a bit.
"Just wondering if you were worried about Riley." She says slowly, before she shakes her head. "But hey. I know you are, it was a stupid question. Forget about it."
"It's not stupid." Sam answers, under her breath. "I'm not. Worried I mean. I'm not."
She sees Manny wince her eyes and shake her head, effectively loosening her ponytail, and making a few strands of jet-black hair fall in front of her face, and suddenly everything that was murky becomes crystal clear. At least, to Sam's point of view.
"Hey chicas." They both turn around to see Faith drag a chair next to them, effectively breaking the growing apprehension between the two. "This a private conversation, or can I crash?"
Sam smiles before leaning back against a wooden pillar holding the porch up. She glances over to Manny before softly punching Faith in the arm.
"Matter of a fact, this was an A and B conversation. So why don't you C yourself out of it?" She says, cracking a grin, and stifling a few chuckles.
"Nice one. Been waiting long to pull that one out of your sleeve?" Faith laughs before handing them each a glass. "Found this in the cabinet underneath the sink by the way." She says, holding up a bottle of amber liquid before filling the respective glasses to the brim. "So if it's a cleaner of some sort, well… you should let me know like… now."
Sam smiles and nods before taking a sip and making a face. "S'good. Mr. Clean ain't got nothing on this."
All three of them share a chortle, before keeping the silence for a bit as Sam lights up once more.
"Terry asleep?"
Faith nods before draining her glass. "Yeah. Gravis'll be keeping first watch. I got dibs for seconds, so you two birds fight out the rest."
They stay silent again, Sam stealing a glance Manny's way every once in awhile, while Manny does the same. It's not lost on Faith and although she suspects there's been something going on between the two, she refuses to interfere.
"This place ain't that bad, yanno Sam. Kinda wish we had a place like this back home."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, to just lounge and shit? It'd be nice. Don't know if B'd like it, but I could make her come round."
"I'm sure you can be pretty persuasive."
Faith whistles a bit in the air, as Manny rolls her clear blue eyes. "You have no idea, Sammy."
The silence comes back but it doesn't last long. Sam's been staring at her worn combat boots and finding the laces of extreme interest. She's thinking of Ry, out there, doing what he does best, and how she knows he'll succeed. She's thinking of Manny's question and wondering why exactly she's not worried about him. Shouldn't she be? After all that would be the wife's duty, right? He's off, far and away, fighting for god knows what and for some reason, she's more worried about the people surrounding her than anything else.
"You worried about Buffy?" She asks suddenly, still staring at her feet.
"A bit. Kinda happy she's not off to Disney Land like Blondie and Ry. But yeah. Worried. She's been out of the game for a bit so she's gonna have to shake the rust."
"Worried she's lost a bit of stamina and resilience?" Inquiring minds want to know.
Faith smirks their way before swaying her head a bit. "Oh, hells no. Nothing to be worried about there."
"Well, you should know." Sam says cockily, taking the last drag of her cigarette.
"She'll be fine." Manny says, locking eyes with Sam. "Ry too."
Sam nods a bit and tunes out the new conversation that Faith and Manny have started. Something about running water and wishing Xander was around to fix the plumbing. Hey eyes land back to the front steps, where their feet are collectively resting, and studies them unconsciously. Faith's wearing her usual Chanel motorcycle boots that were a gift from some maharajah of some kind, Manny's wearing her familiar Stan Smith Adidas runners and she's got on desert combat boots, laced all the way up to the top of her shins, as they should be.
Suddenly, she starts to unlace them, slowly taking her time as she removes them one foot at a time.
"… maybe check the well and grab some buckets or something. Getting the corrosion out from the pipes won't be a party I'll want to attend." Faith says as Sam turns her head to look at them once more.
"I got third, okay?" She says, cutting in. "Watch, I mean."
Manny glances her way and nods. "Sure thing." It's said with warmth and understanding, and Sam gives a little smile her way.
Faith stays silent as she watches both of them with growing interest. Sam's got her hair loose and looks tired and fed up. So does Manny, but she on the other hand, looks content. Like she's exactly where she wants to be.
"Hey." Manny says as she gently taps on one of Sam's bare feet. "You okay?"
"Yeah, babe. I'm fine."
Faith's eyes grow wide, matching Manny's and Sam's. Word slip? Word slip or not, she doesn't want to stick around to find out. As gracefully as she can, she slowly gets up before making her way back inside.
Sam sighs as she takes yet another look at her watch. She's only been keeping watch for three quarters of an hour, but it feels like a lot longer. Teresa's sound asleep, softly breathing in and out in a regular pattern that Sam feels soothing. There's just something in basking in the presence of a child.
"Yeah, babe. I'm fine". Babe. You said babe. To your best friend. Softly, and careful not to wake Terry, she lets a lone groan escape her throat. What killed her the most was Manny's response.
"What did you say?" Manny's voice was edgy and threatening.
"Nothing. I call you babe all the time." Sam answered, this time on the defensive: something she'd practically never experienced before.
"Never like that." Manny voiced out, "It sounded like you…"
Sam had just shut her eyes and stretched her legs in the sand, and Manny took that cue to get up.
"Sam."
Sam didn't answer. She just opened her eyes and let them fall on the beach lying in front of them.
"Sam." Manny tried again. "What did it mean?"
"I don't know yet." She turned to look at the watcher, and instantly regretted it.
Manny's youthful face was strained in the shadows and full of… hope? Was that what it was? No… Couldn't be. Are you that clueless about her feelings towards you?
"Okay. Okay. I'll be waiting."
Sam sighs again, and watches the moonlight fall generously through the window and onto Teresa's sleeping figure. Outside, there's a slight breeze making the leaves rustle a bit, and thus, making soft moving shadows in the room.
Morosely, she thinks of Faith and Buffy, and how their love created something amazing in Teresa. She thinks of Dawn and Andrew, loving what they do, and loving whom they're doing it with. She thinks of Spike and Xander, two people who used to despise each other, who've now tentatively come around to something beautiful. Finally, she thinks of herself and Riley, and wonders what they've accomplished together. No house. No kids. No family. No strings. Just a job. That's the only thing keeping them together. A stupid job.
Subconsciously, she thinks of Manny, and what they could accomplish together. It's all very fantasy like, but she knows, just knows, that a life with someone like Manny, could prove to be, in the end, mighty interesting. Oh, who am I kidding?
Chapter 9: SPIKE, take two
The doorbell feels cool beneath my finger, as it lingers on the buzzer. These Californian winter nights are decidedly refreshing, especially for us. Sam and Ry are side by side, holding what is supposed to be some sort of poor man's pudding, whilst Harris is slowly losing his grip on the scalloped potato dish. Pot Luck Christmas. Is there any other kind? Apparently not.
"Little help here Human Wonder." Harris whines as the pan slowly slips from his grasp.
The door opens as I take the dish away from him, before following Crew Cut and GI Jane indoors. The inside smells like Christmas: cinnamon, spiced mulled wine, roasted turkey and fruitcake. Something that brings back painful repressed childhood memories that apparently, make me "more human". Load of bullocks is what it is.
Through the plethora of "Merry Christmas!", "What time did your flight arrive?" and "You should have called! Andrew could have picked you up.", we finally manage to shed our coats and slowly make way to the living room where the little one is softly sleeping the young night away in her bassinet.
There's a mighty tree in the corner, and even though it's authentic in a synthetic kind of way, it's sort of making my heart crumble.
Ry and Xander have taken a seat on the sofa and have started pleasant conversation with Dawn and Rupert, whilst Sam has awkwardly tried to join the girls plus Andrew, in the kitchen. And that's where I find myself, leaning against the frame of the door between the kitchen and the living room. Silently listening in as my eyes go over all the food that's been prepared.
They land on Faith, and it makes me wonder if she knows yet. About Teresa. From the looks of her, I'd say she's suspecting something, but has refrained from saying anything. Poor girl. Suddenly, Buffy is by her side, and all is right with the world. Her mood changes dramatically, and her face becomes more animated.
"Blondie! Merry Christmas!" She says as she makes her way towards me, extra beer in hand. "Figured you wouldn't want to try B's botched spiced wine." Her eyes are in mine, studying them, and I just know what she's thinking. Where did Teresa get her chocolate coloured eyes?
A smile involuntarily makes it's way to my lips and I gladly accept the offered bottle before quickly excusing myself. She nods and I make my way to where Buffy is clad in an apron that has never seen the kitchen light of day, holding a turkey baster and asking Andrew when it was last soaked. When Andy swiftly comes along and takes over before any real damage is done, I permit myself to envelop her in a warm embrace.
"Merry Christmas Buffy." I softly whisper in her ear.
"Hey." She whispers back, and I can feel her smile against my cheek. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
She leads me to the porch out back, tightening her sweater vest against herself, and gives me a half-hearted smile.
"I figured it out." She starts off weakly. "But…"
"You still haven't told her." I say, finishing her sentence. "She's a smart girl, Buffy. She already knows something's amiss and that the Little One shouldn't be calling me "Old Man" when she grows older."
She sighs and leans against the siding on the wall.
"I know she knows. We've just been… tip toeing around the issue." She says. "And ‘Old Man'? What has Xander been teaching you?"
"Can I give you a piece of advice? Don't. Tip-toeing always brings a load of trouble along, especially when it's on eggshells."
Her nose twitches a bit and it makes me smile.
"She'll understand." I try again.
"I know, but it's just… Tonight isn't the night for that. Can't you just be…" She trails away again and I find myself nodding.
"Be proud papa for one more night? Yeah." I answer. "But that's it. She has to know, luv. She has to be the one to feel like I felt. Otherwise it isn't bloody fair, and you know it."
The dirt road ahead of them is long, filled with sharp curves and strange shadows. The sky is overcast, and it seems to Spike that it could easily be night time. Something he isn't too happy about.
There are trees, babbling brooks, meadows, stone bridges, castles and cattle all in the distance, and even though they've been walking at a speedy pace for the better part of an hour, they just can't manage to get close to anything or anyone. But if things keep progressing like the way they are, an alternate course of action will be suggested, and Spike knows that he'll be hearing complaints from his companion.
As they keep walking, Riley bends down to pick up a random pebble, and idly starts to play with it in his hands. He throws it around a few times before catching it again in midair, then proceeds to twirl it around through his fingers before throwing it again. But he misjudges the throw and the pebble suddenly finds itself propelled Spike's direction. Without another thought, the blonde's right arm comes up and his hand grabs the small rock before any damage is done.
Riley briefly stops walking to give him an odd look.
"What?! Can't share your bloody nugget?" Spike wonders bitterly, and as he studies Riley's face, he suddenly becomes aware of what the soldier is staring at.
"You caught that too easily." He says slowly. "I mean for a lefty."
"Yeah…" Spike quickly lets the small rock drop to the road and examines his hands.
He flexes them quickly before taking an imaginary golfing stance.
"Oh, balls." He mutters and Riley does the same thing. "Here I am, suddenly right handed? Oh the joys of mirror land. Have you suddenly become a lefty?"
Ry nods and frowns. "It's weird that we didn't feel it though. I mean, if I had never thrown that rock, we would have never known."
"Guess we have to keep that under consideration."
"Under consideration for what? We don't even know if we're in the right place."
Spike rolls his eyes for show, but knows that Riley is right. He does, however have a strange feeling that they are, in fact, in the right place. There's just something wrong with the whole scenery that makes everything seem so… right. Something's not right when there's nothing wrong. He does a three sixty with his arms spread out as he keeps walking.
"Look at your surroundings! Castles, stone bridges, Holsteins and Belgians grazing lazily in meadows, Lilliputian flowers, endless tributaries flowing nowhere! What more could make this place a little more Sprite-ish?"
"Faerie-ish." Ry corrects.
"Good day to you, sirs." Says a voice, seemingly out of nowhere.
Stopping in their tracks, they slowly both turn around and let their gaze fall upon a stocky man wearing what looks like a burlap cloak. Standing a little over 5 feet, he brings his head back to examine Spike and Riley.
"I thought I heard you fine fellows talk about faeries?" He says, clasping his hands in front of him, in such a way that his cloak closes around him uniformly.
Both Riley and Spike look at each other through eyes of uncertainty and caution before the stocky man politely coughs into his waiting hands.
"Um, yeah." Spike finally starts. "I, uh, mean, why yes. Would you happen to know of them, perchance?" He cringes his teeth when he hears Riley suppress a chuckle at the sudden switch of accents.
It doesn't seem to faze the stocky man however as he beams in delight before clapping his hands together again.
"Well, I do happen to know of a certain gentleman living over the east side of the knolls across the Hillside Meadows, but I'm sure you are aware that information of that value comes at a special price."
"Of course, of course. But tell me more of this gentleman. Would he know how we could contact the faeries?" Spike asks, as he crouches down a bit to be of equal height with the stocky man.
"Faerie." The man is quick to correct him, and Spike sees a vivid glint go through his eyes, as if he is excited to be right for once. "As in one. Singular. And this gentleman would make it his pleasure to show you the way."
"So what's the price?" Riley asks, and the stocky man gives him a frown before turning to Spike.
"Cornwall?"
Spike can't help but snigger before giving Riley the once over. "Iowa, unfortunately. But more about this levy. We carry no purse."
The stocky man seems to accept this before clasping his fat hands together in delight.
"Oh that's fine, fine. Yes, yes, you see, I do not have any monetary interests. I do however, have a son who loves to arm fight, but unfortunately does not get to compete often, due to the fact that wanderers are so sparse in this part of the country, and so I was wondering if you two chivalrous men might want to partake in a little diversion? And if you win, then all of my knowledge is at your service."
After exchanging nods with Riley, Spike gives the stocky man a brilliant smile. "We would love to, Mr..?"
"Oh, Mr. Bunting. Oh! This is so exciting! Come along! Come! Quickly now!" And off Mr. Bunting goes, at a surprisingly quick pace, leaving Spike and Riley to follow behind.
"Kind of weird that he just popped out of nowhere, don't you think?" Riley asks as he rolls up the sleeves to his white shirt.
"Yeah. Something's not quite right."
"Yeah, I noticed that too. He seems too eager to please."
Spike shakes his head before nodding towards a little thatched roof house that wasn't apparent a few minutes before. "No. That's not it. I mean, yeah, there's that, but… we win, we get what we want. But what happens if we lose?"
"Angus! Angus! Oh, Angus! Come out and meet… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names." Mr. Bunting says in his buoyant way.
As Angus, a string bean of a boy, comes out of the thatched roof house and into the yard, Spike extends his hand for him to shake, and Riley does the same.
"William."
"Conrad." Riley says, and Spike gives him a funny look. Riley just shrugs.
"Ah, yes! William and Conrad are here to partake in a little arm wrestling match!"
This seems to go over well with Angus, who remains mute, but motions to the side of the yard with his hand, showing a small table with two already lit candles. Riley and Spike follow him to the table, as Mr. Bunting excitedly follows them whilst explaining the rules.
"Angus is a fantastic arm wrestler, as he was born ambidextrous. And so, the rules are simple, and of the following. One of you shall fight my son with his right hand and the other with the left. Simple, no? And if you are both successful, then I'll be most grateful to help you along your journey." He says, not pausing to breathe. "So, shall we commence? Left hand? William?"
Spike nods and draws the chair back before it dawns on him. Willow had warned them about this. You'll most likely stumble upon some puzzle-like challenges where a loss could mean an eternal stay in Bizarro World, so be on you guard and be smart about decisions. How did Mr. Bunting know that he's naturally left-handed? And is the tall lanky man named Angus really Mr. Bunting's son? No matter, there's no time to dwell on it right away.
He shakes his head before smiling Riley's way.
"If you do not mind, Mr. Bunting, I do believe that my companion here, Conrad, would be delighted to start off with the left hand. I hurt my left arm a few weeks back, and it still hasn't recovered. Isn't that right, Conrad?"
Riley forces a tight smile as he takes the offered seat.
"That's right, William." He says, keeping the brilliant smile as he explains apologetically Mr. Bunting's way. "Too boisterous with the goats, he is."
Spike winces his eyes into almonds before giving the soldier a playful slap to the head. "Learn some new big words, Conrad?"
All of this seems to bring Angus out from his mute state, as he slams his hand against the wooden table and gives a little cry.
"Ay! We startin' this thing o'wha'?" He says angrily, and Spike is taken aback with his accent.
He glances a bit to where Mr. Bunting is sitting, and wonders why a man with a clear strong accent from Manchester would have a Scottish son named Angus. But the wondering stops as Mr. Bunting stands and places his hand over Riley's and Angus'.
"On my call, after three." He says, ever in his present excited tone. "1. 2. 3!" And he lets go and watches with amusement, as Angus seems to dominate right away.
Spike cringes his teeth in distress as he witnesses Riley struggle with the power that is slowly escaping his grasp. He shuts his eyes briefly before re-opening them to a scene he's glad to see. Riley has Angus' fist inches away from the lit candle, and before he knows it, the flame is snuffed and melted wax goes flying everywhere.
"Woot!" Ry cries out, in a decidedly non-Conrad way, and gives Spike a flying high five, to a displeased Mr. Bunting, and even angrier Angus.
To keep things quick and short, Spike takes Riley's seat and takes Angus' right hand into his own. He slowly curls his fingers around the other man's fist, and tries to remember Angelus' long lost advice about arm wrestling. It's not something he's done often, and if he remembers correctly, Angelus had whipped his ass every time. But Angelus was big, and very strong, and nowhere near the size of puny Angus. It's all in the technique. Roll of the wrist.
"Think Over The Top." Ry whispers softly into his ear as he crouches down next to the table. Spike just rolls his eyes at the mention and before he knows it, he can feel Angus push down towards the left side of the table, and Spike, just as Riley did before hand, struggles to regain power.
But, he pushes his toes against the soles of his boots, and flexes his leg muscles as he grits his teeth and tries to gain a bit of a lead. When he gracefully Shanshued, he unfortunately lost a lot of strength and stamina, but eventually made up for it after long work out sessions. But he'll never be as strong as he was, and so, he has to rely on what he's come to rely lately: his brain. Something, he noticed, that Angus is sorely missing.
Giving in a bit to Angus' strength, his hand comes down just mere inches away from the open flame. Storing a bit of his left over vigour, he lands his eyes into his opponents haunted ones, before dramatically frowning. Then, without any warning, he tries the old "What's that in the sky?" trick with his eyes. Comically, they grow wide as they suddenly stare out into the sky behind Angus. Within a split second he can feel his adversary flinch, and decides to make his move, pushing forward.
Next thing he knows, poor Angus has both hands coated with wax, looking lost and confused. Spike only smiles.
"Mr. Bunting? I do believe you owe us some pertinent information."
