Chp 20 Just you wait and see
We Will Remember Them…
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Chapter 20 - Just you wait and see
1943 – Somewhere in the county of Hampshire, England.
Sir Philip Travers, the newly appointed head of the Watcher’s Council, looked up from his book. His assistant was standing in the doorway of the Watcher’s Library, looking worried.
“We’ve had a coded radio message from France, Sir. Apparently the vampire and Slayer are on their way back to England.”
Sir Philip raised an eyebrow. “Good Lord, he’s managed to rescue Joy, has he? I’d like to know how he’s done that. Thought she’d have staked him on sight. When are they due? We need to inform the anti-aircraft batteries on the coast. The last thing we need is for him to be shot down just as he reaches England.”
“Yes, Sir Philip. The message was rather confused. Not sure who sent it. The wireless operator was certain it was from Joy herself, but I told the man he’s a fool because she couldn’t be on board a plane and sending Morse on the ground at the same time! Something about a fight, an attack on a castle of some sort, many dead. Usual Resistance hyperbole, of course, but we reckon it’s genuine.”
The head of the Watcher’s Council closed his book and ran his finger gently over the gold imbossed cover. “Hmm, we’d better send a welcoming committee to greet Joy. You go. I’ll see her myself when she gets here. And Angus, don’t tell the vampire about his doxy. He’ll find out sooner than later and we don’t want a fuss where civilians might notice. Oh, one more thing, our brother Watcher, Colonel Monroe – the one who sent the vampire to France in the first place - is he still agitating about this whole affair?”
“Yes, Sir. But to be honest, the general opinion is that he’s close to cracking up. Grammar school boy, you know. Not even a decent prep. Keeps insisting that the fate of the world depends on the Slayer returning to England!”
Sir Philip allowed his mouth to twist slightly in disgust. He hated men who couldn’t control their feelings. “Well, well, we mustn’t judge him too harshly, Angus. We can’t all see the bigger picture. Anyway, he’s got his wish, it seems. Although how he thinks Joy is going to save the world, I have no idea. I’ll have a word with Wyndham, an old school chum of mine; get Monroe transferred somewhere quiet for the rest of the War.”
“Yes, Sir Philip.”
The door closed behind his assistant and the Library sunk back into gloom. “Yes, indeed. We need to keep this very low key. But at least the wretched girl is out of France and can get back to work, killing vampires in England where she belongs. The French can deal with their own problems. They never thank us for our help, anyway. And as for the vampire – ” He shrugged and opened his book again. He’d made no promise himself, and anyway, events had moved on since William the Bloody had flown to France to save his lover.
1943 - A field on the south coast of England.
Somewhere a child was crying – no not crying, whimpering. Buffy could hear it through her dreams – through the pain that was pounding in her head. Why didn’t someone go to the baby? It sounded so upset – God, she had such a headache –
Suddenly memories flooded back and with a whimper of her own, she struggled to open her eyes, terrified at first that she’d gone blind, that she was back in her coffin in Sunnydale and that all of France had been a dream. Then, with a wave of sickening relief, she realised she couldn’t see because her lying face downwards on the ground with something heavy on top of her.
Now it all came back – watching in frozen horror as Spike killed the soldiers guarding the Tiger Moth, the struggle to start the engine, then - just as they’d almost given up and Spike had begun to talk of using a vampire escape route across Europe to Spain and had she ever seen a bull fight because hey, enormous amounts of free blood - something had worked, the plane had spluttered into life and they were airborne, lifting away from France, the Chateau, Slayer Joy.
The baby was crying again, louder this time. Aurora! Oh God, Joy’s daughter. Buffy knew she’d been holding her in her arms, wrapped in Spike’s leather flying jacket to keep her warm as they flew across the Channel. Then, suddenly, the engine started to splutter, she’d heard Spike yell something about no fuel and just as she’d shouted back that she’d heard all the lame excuses about running out of gas before, the little plane had started to falter.
With a violent heave, Buffy pushed down with her arms and curved her back. The heavy object slid to one side with a crash. Groaning, she staggered to her feet.
She stared around her at the scattered wreckage of the plane. They had landed in a ploughed field and Buffy could recall Spike cursing as he fought to keep the nose of the plane upwards as they skidded along the ground towards a fence.
“Spike, answer me. Where the heck are you? I know you’re not dead!”
She gazed round her, wiping blood from her eyes. Oh god, Aurora, where the hell was she? The crying sounded again and Buffy stumbled through the debris, following the sound.
The noise was coming from the biggest pile of wreckage. Ignoring the pain in her hands as the torn metal jagged into her flesh, Buffy tugged and pulled the remains of what looked like a wing away from the baby. And there she was, still securely wrapped in the leather jacket, her face red, cross and wet with tears, telling the world in no uncertain manner that she was not happy.
“Thank God!” Buffy knelt and gently picked her up.
She carried her away from the crash, wincing as the myriad cuts and bruises she’d sustained began to make themselves felt. “Where the hell are you, William?” she yelled again, glancing up at the sky. It was still dark, but not dark enough. Dawn was on its way and she could see the clear outline of trees against the sky.
Mid yell, Aurora suddenly stopped crying and in the silence, Buffy heard a faint groan. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift and knew, as she always had from the first day they met, that Spike was somewhere nearby. Following her instincts, she turned and headed back towards the wreckage. On the far side of the crumpled plane, she found Spike, hanging upside down from the smashed cockpit, blood dripping through his hair into the ground.
“Spike!” She put Aurora down on the mud and knelt at his side, brushing the blood away from the cut on her forehead as it dripped onto his face, not sure whose blood was whose as the deep scratches on her palms rubbed against the bruised flesh on his face.
“Buffy!” His voice was no more than a whisper, then he gasped as the blood from her head reached his mouth. “Slayer!” The sound was stronger. “Still alive, then?”
“You got us down safely.” She winced as he tried to move and she heard bone grate on bone. “Well, you got us down, anyway. Aurora’s fine. Came through without a scratch.”
“Slayer’s kid,” came the whisper. “Bound to have some sort of luck going for her.”
Buffy was trying to see where his legs were trapped under the wreckage. “Can you move at all?”
“Yes, of course I can! I’m just hanging around upside down for the sake of it! No, I can’t poxy well move! My legs are trapped.”
“Don’t snap at me. I wasn’t the one who ran out of fuel before we got home. It’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to check, isn’t it?”
She stared in alarm as his whole body began to shake. Could a vampire go into shock? Then she realised he was laughing! Laughing! He thought this was funny! She was so tempted to kill him, there and then.
“I didn’t plan this, Slayer,” the whisper came again. “I’d have ditched the sodding Moth in the sodding Channel if you and the brat hadn’t been on board.”
Buffy fell silent and continued to tug at the metal holding his legs captive. Why on earth would this Spike try to save her and the baby? Her own Spike, yes, that she could imagine, but surely this one, unchipped and desperate to get home safely, he should have let them both drown.
“Slayer – “
“Yes – “
“I’m not imagining it am I? Being upside down and all, but it’s getting lighter, isn’t it?”
Buffy glanced up at the eastern sky and groaned silently. He was quite right; there was a long golden line across the sky where the sun was about to appear. She pulled violently at the twisted, jagged edge that was gripping Spike’s legs across his knees. “We’ve still got time.”
“Slayer, once that sun appears, you’ll be brushing my dust off your face. Look, just take the kid and get out of here. Find the Council and – ”
“Just stop talking and let me – ”
“Are you still bleeding on me?” His voice was sharper now.
“My hands are cut. No biggy. They’ll soon heal.”
Another minute passed and she could feel the strain in her muscles as she fought against the unmoving mass. Spike was silent now, although she thought he was singing something under his breath about blue birds and cliffs, whatever that meant.
“Buffy – listen to me.” Spike’s voice was urgent now and it was light enough for her to kneel at his side and see his face clearly.
“Take the kid and go! Find the Watcher’s Council and see – well, see if you can persuade them to let Dru go. Tell them I tried to get Joy back. Explain about Aurora. Ask them - ”
“You – can – ask – them – yourself!” she managed as she flung herself back at the metal prison.
“No time, pet. Sun’s almost up. At least I’m dying in England and not in some poxy French prison. And I’ve taken a few Nazi goons with me. Not a bad week’s work for the Big Bad. Better than Liam has done, hiding away in the States.”
Buffy realised her face was wet with tears as well as the blood from her cut forehead. This was crazy. She knew Spike couldn’t die here in a muddy English field. Unless – and the fever in her blood froze as she wondered if this was the way it should have been. Was this why she’d been sent back by Quentin Travers - so that William the Bloody died in 1943 and never came to America? Never killed the Anointed One, never became part of the Sunnydale group, never stole part of her life, her heart –
“Don’t ask me to stop. Just – Spike, I have to tell you something – “
“It’ll have to wait, pet.”
“It can’t. You see – ”
“Sorry, Slayer, but you need some help. And I reckon those guys might just be the ones to give it.”
“What?” Buffy spun round, and slowly raised her hands in the air. A few yards away, four men were standing, looking at them with deep distrust. Three were pointing a mixture of pitchforks and spades at her. But the one in the middle had a large and very dangerous looking shotgun
If you are under the age of 17, please use your head and do not read fics that are labeled "NC-17". Parents, I cannot control what your children are reading, so please be advised that the majority of the fics archived here are NOT suitable for those under the age of 17.
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I am in no way making any profit from this site. This is for pure entertainment purposes only.
Concept: (c)bringonthebloodshed.com (2004), Code & Design: (c)Diabola (2006), Graphics: Selene & Always