Title: The Nightstalkers
Summary: When one of the Scoobies is turned, the world goes to hell.
Feedback: In lieu of a Faithbot yeah.
Disclaimer: If I own the characters, why have Faith, Cordelia, and Kennedy escaped? Woe is me. All the chars belong to Mutant Enemy, and I have no intention of making any money from the writing of this tale.
FIC: The Nightstalkers (1/?)
The West Coast ‘01
The sultry beauty sat beside him yawned, stretched, and scratched her head, full locks bouncing at the movement. “How long now?”
He sighed in exasperation. Despite his charge’s many rough edges and trust issues he’d been surprised not to mention a little charmed by her many good qualities. Patience was however not one of them. “Young lady,” he huffed, “if I have told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” he ignored the teen’s theatrical rolling of her ebony eyes, “his spies are everywhere, we have to be circumspect. Caution should be your by-word.”
“Yeah” the brunette shook her head and snorted, expressive eyes filling with an all too familiar scorn. “Boredom should be yours.”
The third member of their group snorted from his position on the back seat, deep bass voice booming out. “Girl’s got you worked out English.”
“K,” his charge shot the back seat passenger an amused wink. He suspected the two had been ‘intimate’ but for reasons of propriety and jealousy didn’t dwell on such thoughts. “So how about you,” suddenly the brunette was shoving her head through the open window to yell obscenities at a passing biker gang heading in the opposite direction before pulling her head back in. The teen smirked at his chagrined expression. “Damn, that was fun, ain’t done that since you limey bores got your hands on my cute little butt in ’96.”
Good lord, he blanched as he did a mental calculation. The child had been hanging out with bikers at the age of fourteen? That answered so many questions about her behaviour that he’d shied away from asking.
“Damn,” the raven-haired beauty shook her head, an almost wistful expression on her face. “Those guys knew how to P-A-R-T-Y!!!!!!!!” The free-spirited teen’s expression sobered. “Anyhow, I was gonna ask. Seeing as you’re borin’ the shit out of us with this drive, how about ya fill us in with what we’re facin’?”
“As you wish,” he gritted his teeth, bile raising in his throat at the bitter memory that was for a number of reasons his organisation’s most shameful period. “In the summer of ’96, Miss. Summers’ previous Watcher, a rather fine gentleman by the name of Merrick, was slain. As a result, Rupert Giles was assigned to be Miss. Summers’ Watcher.” He chose to ignore his charge’s faked yawn. “At first, Mr. Giles and Miss Summers formed an effective if unorthodox partnership. However Miss Summers eventually formed a wholly inappropriate relationship with an ensoulled vampire by the name of Angel.”
“Boning a corpse,” his charge’s delightful nose wrinkled in disgust. “Fuck, even I wouldn’t do that!”
“Angel, or Angelus as his unsoulled persona was known, was one of the most feared and warped vampires in existence,” he ignored the interruption. “For a while though he fought at the Slayer’s side-.”
“Gee I wonder why?” his charge scoffed.
“Then something happened to turn Angel to Angelus.”
“What?” this came from the third member of the team.
He shrugged, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. “We don’t know. At the time the Council was still receiving reports from Mr. Giles. However they were vague on certain points.” He shrugged again. “I’m sure the Council would have followed them up at some point. However events overtook them. In the spring of ’98, Angelus uncovered a demon of awesome power, Acathla the World Ender.”
“Nice,” muttered his beautiful companion.
“But the vampire was unable to decipher the rising ritual and so he kidnapped and turned Mr. Giles for the information.” He sighed. “That was a grave miscalculation on par with Neville Chamberlain’s-..”
“Who?” queried the confused-looking brunette.
American teens. “Never mind,” he shook his head. “Suffice to say when he rose, Mr. Giles or ‘Ripper’ as he chose to be called took over Angelus’ band of cut-throats and -.”
“Whoa cowboy,” the curvy brunette interrupted, a quizzical in her gypsy brown orbs. “Pull up them horses. Ripper just rose up and took over Angelus’ operation? If Angelus was such a bad ass how did he manage it?”
He hid a proud smile. His charge was many things, but despite her lack of education she certainly wasn’t stupid. “To be honest no-one knows how he managed it.” His charge groaned, her patience at his lack of knowledge nearing its end. But I have a theory. Mr. Giles was a man of many skills – an expert in a number of medieval weapons, an archaeologist and anthropologist who’d had a number of papers published, and one of the world’s finest demonologists and one of its leading Slayer historians. In addition,” he smiled wanly, “Mr. Giles had a rather colourful youth and was an accomplished black arts mage and roughhouser of some note. All these many and varied talents would have made him a juicy target for all the demons wishing to re-enter the world, and a result he’d be selected by a demon of quite incredible power.”
“Sweet,” the teen beside him muttered.
“That’s one word for it.” His wry smile disappeared instantly disappeared. “At this point things get somewhat hazy-.”
“’Cause they were so clear before,” the rear seat passenger scoffed.
“But what is clear that Giles immediately turned Angelus’ group’s aim from world-ending to world-domination. He immediately struck out at Miss Summers and her friends-.”
“Wait!” the youngster beside him sounded out-raged and more than a little jealous. “This vampire-humper had friends?”
“That was the unorthodox aspect of the Giles\Summers relationship I alluded to earlier.” He paused. “Apparently Summers’ friends were butchered. Then Ripper took over the running of Sunnydale. In July ’98, the Council sent in Miss Dana Sheridan. She was quickly dealt with. The Council sent Miss Kennedy Lucas in October of the same year with the same result. In March of ’99, a US. Special forces unit led by a Major Riley Finn was massacred when they attacked Ripper’s forces.” He stopped, a dead weight settling on his chest. “In August ’99, Ripper used his knowledge of the Council and its headquarters to have one of his minions lead an attack on the Council base, massacring over two dozen Watchers, ten potentials, and thirty ancillary staff, and burning the building to the ground.” He admitted in his darker moments to having mixed thoughts about the Council’s demise. While he had had lost the few people he considered his friends in the massacre, he’d also been saved from having to apply the Cruciatmen to his charge. Not only was he saved from being part of a ritual that he had grave misgivings about, he felt sure that he would not survive it if his charge did.
“This is whack.” Eyes filling with alarm, the brunette beauty shook her head. “There is no way-.”
“My dear,” he sighed. “It is your sworn duty-.”
“Fuck sworn duty!” Their car shook to the teen’s heartfelt scream. “Council is gone, Jr. Watcher!”
“But vampires aren’t,” he riposted, fighting for calm in the face of the young woman’s mounting panic-fuelled rage. Only one person could dampen her rage and she was dead.
“No way!” The brunette’s lustrous locks danced as she shook her head. “Pull this shit-heap over or I’m leaping out now!” He stared incredulously at his charge. “You know I’ll do it.”
“Fine.” He sighed. The moment the car pulled to a halt on the dusty road, the brunette was out and running.
“White folks and their drama.”
He shot the passenger a venomous glare. “Stay here!” he snapped before leaping out of the car and chasing after the runaway.
He had no chance of getting even close to his quarry but fortunately the girl spun around to face him, eyes blazing. “Three Slayers! The fucker’s taken down three Slayers, built an army, wiped out the Council and a Special Forces unit! How am I supposed to stop him?”
He stared at the frightened teen, unsure as how to answer a question he’d asked a thousand times since deciding they had to strike at Ripper. “You’re different from all three Slayers, Miss Summers had previously proven unable to kill a comrade turned vampire. Miss Sheridan and Lucas were novices, hastily sent into battle. You are a seasoned warrior with a number of impressive kills to your credit. Kaktosis in February ‘99. Drago in New York in May ’99. Blitz in Chicago in September ’99. Peach in Georgia in November ’99. Dark Death in Texas in March ’00. Strong Arm in Montana in ‘May ’00. Fast Draw in Arizona in August ’00. Cutter in Alabama in January ’01.” He smiled reassuringly. “No Slayer in hundreds of years has killed so many notable vampires.”
“Screw this.” The brunette licked her cherry-red lips before stepping towards him, full hips swinging enticingly. “Two and a half years wasted Slaying is enough. Time for some fun now.” The young yet old in the ways of seduction woman slowly trailed her fingers down his chest. “You’re loaded, how about you buy two tickets and me and you fly to the Bahamas?” He felt his cheeks flame as the girl’s hand moved southwards. “Just think about it,” she husked, her voice and gaze combining to become hypnotic. “The day, me in a string bikini lying on the beach beside you, every guy hating you for being with me. And at night,” the Slayer ground herself against him as she whispered in his ear, hot breath tickling his neck, “man the nights. I’d let you do anything you wanted to this body. Things those uppity English gals won’t even speak about, much less do. Hell, I’d enjoy it.”
It was, he inwardly admitted, a more than tempting offer. Raven tresses bounced down onto the girl’s shoulders and framed her cupid-shaped face. Her ebony eyes were luminous and lips full and cherry-red. Her barely-there sleeveless black midriff top displayed several inches of taut, gym-toned belly while only just containing her full, gravity-defying bosom. The leather pants she also wore stuck to her like a second skin, making sure no observer was in any doubt to the pertness of her butt or the lithe muscularity of her legs.
Tempting except he knew desperation and fear fuelled the offer rather than love or even lust. He was not much of a man, as his dearly departed father hand never tired of telling him, but he had his principles. “No.” It was an effort but he managed to pull away from the teen. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” The Slayer’s eyes hardened to obsidian. “You made an oath to Miss Walters.”
“Bel.” The Slayer shuddered. But then finding your Watcher and the nearest thing you’d ever had to a mother defiled and tortured to death was always going to have an effect.
”As you held her head you swore,” he hated to do this, but he had little choice. “You swore to be the best Slayer you could for her, to never stop hunting vampires.”
The brunette fell to her knees, tears rolling down her finely-sculpted cheeks. “I’m so tired of fighting alone!”
Surprised to see the girl’s mask of bravado slip, he was momentarily lost for words. Finally he found his tongue. “You have me.”
“You?” Looking up, the girl shot him a scornful look. “You’re not even a Watcher! You’re just Bel’s research assistant!”
He flinched at the reminder of his previous position before Ms. Walters’ tragic demise. “Nevertheless,” taking the Slayer by her elbows, he pulled her to her feet, “I’ll be with you for as long as you need me.”