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Coercion 33 The Spy Who Loved Me
The following night, Spike and Xander lazily twined
together on the couch, eating from the same bowl of popcorn, and watching what
ever came on. Other than Xander thanking Spike for changing the bed the night
before, no mention was needed to be made of the fantastic evening they’d
shared. Xander felt Spike suddenly tense. “What is it,
Spike?” “Company,” Spike sighed. “None to worry about,
I’ll get it.” Spike grabbed Xander’s head, pulled him in, and gave him a
sloppy kiss before untangling himself from the sputtering boy and strolling to
the door as a knock sounded. “Who is it?’ he called in a shrill voice. “It’s Buffy.” “Buffy who?” Spike asked in the silly voice again,
making Xander laugh. “Buffy who’s going to kick your ass if you don’t
open up!” Spike grinned at Xander before opening the door.
"Yep it’s…” he fell silent, the smile fading when he saw the Slayer. Buffy pushed past him and went to the kitchen sink.
She splashed water on her face, snagged a cup from the shelf, filled, and
drained it. Her hair was wet and disheveled, her clothes torn, and a long
scratch marred her forearm. “Buffy? What happened?” Xander asked. Willow and
Tara had added a little signal-scramble to the safety spell. Cell phones
wouldn't work in the house, but it was worth it for the ability to speak freely. Buffy turned off the water and collapsed in the chair
Spike pulled out for her. “They set me up, tried to kill me.” She met
Xander’s eyes, then Spike’s. “You were right. The Initiative wants me
dead. Maggie Walsh, she’s head of ops there, sent me out. She claimed there
was a small, elusive demon they’d not had luck in catching. She told me all
troops were out elsewhere, gave me a zap gun, and sent me off.“ Buffy shook
her head. “I should have known something was up. She had me wear this little
camera-slash-heart monitor thingie. Turns out it wasn’t a small demon, it was
three big ones. And lovely castle-like gates that trapped me in.” Xander sank down into a chair and Spike stood supportively behind him, one hand on his shoulder.. “You sure, Buffy?” Xander asked. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure. I took down one of them with
a piece of pipe I pulled from the wall. The other two I got with the zap gun
that went pop. I tossed it in the puddle they were standing in. Along with the
camera. I’m sure she thinks I’m dead.” “Don’t take this wrong, but was Cornfed in on
this?” Spike asked. “Who? Riley? No… no… I doubt it. He was nowhere
around.” “You say everyone else was gone, Slayer? Is this our
chance?” Buffy straightened up and thought it over. “There
wasn’t a soldier in the place. Guys, I think we should act now.” “Now? As in Now, now?” Xander panicked. “She thinks I’m dead. Everyone’s out on patrol.
It’s our best chance.” “Slayer’s right,” Spike said, earning a
surprised look from them both. He glanced at the clock. “Normal patrol isn’t
over for two hours yet. We should move now.” Xander huffed out a breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ll make
the calls.” Buffy ran a hand through her hair and made an ick
face. “Um, Slayer. If you want to wash up, we could probably find you
something clean to wear. It’ll take Xander a couple of minutes to make his
calls, and you’ll fight better refreshed.” Buffy looked up at him curiously.
He shrugged. “Of course, if you want to announce yourself by smelling like
sewer…” “I’ll go. I’ll go.” She headed for the
bathroom. “I’ll leave your kit outside the door.” Spike went off to dig for something small enough to
not swallow the little blonde as Xander picked up the phone and pressed speed
dial for Giles’ number. “Hey Giles. … I know it’s late, but, you know
Spike’s cold? … I think it’s pneumonia, I’m taking him to the hospital.
Right now. … Don’t worry, Goldilocks
knows. I’ll call you once we know what his treatment plan is.” Xander made a second call. “Oz? Spike’s cold.
It’s worse. Pneumonia, maybe. … So we won’t be at the Bronze tonight. …
Later, man.” Xander hung up and stood with arms locked, leaning against the
table. Spike dropped a small pile of clothes outside the bathroom door.
“You’re clothes are out here, Slayer.” He went to his lover and wrapped
his arms around him. Xander turned and buried his head in Spike’s neck.
“I’m worried, Spike.” “We all are, Love. We all are.” They’d been over
it all before and just took comfort in one another, not looking up the first
time the bathroom door opened. “Let’s do Italian tonight, okay, Spike? That nice
place toward the interstate?” “I’d like that. Bet on it.” The bathroom door clicked again and the two stepped
apart. Buffy had accepted their relationship, but they saw no reason to torment
her with it at this point. Buffy came out dressed in a
long, loose black t-shirt that hung to mid-thigh. One of Spike’s long
belts was wrapped twice around her waist. “It’s got a hole in it,” Buffy
distantly said, fingering the tear on the hem. “It’s the smallest one I’ve got, ducks.” He
caught Xander’s pout behind Buffy’s back and kept down a grin. “Besides,
you’re likely to wreck whatever you wear.” “I don’t even want to ask about these, do I?”
She lifted the shirt to reveal shiny black bike pants that reached to mid-calf
on her. “Again, the only thing we got that’d fit you.”
He saw Xander’s pout deepen and turned away before smiling. “I, uh, would
like those back intact if possible, please.” “Yeah.” Buffy took a deep breath, visibly
switching to Slayer mode, crossed to the weapon’s chest, and selected a sword.
“We ready? All calls made?” Xander picked up the axe he favored, tucked a stake in
his belt for good measure, and nodded. “Operation Liberation is under way!” Spike swung on his coat and selected his own sword.
“Let’s storm the castle!” They
headed toward the rendezvous point, walking silently. Xander was very aware of
the night coming alive around him. Shapes moved in the same direction here and
there. Spike had spent numerous nights out in Sunnydale working as diplomat,
hammering out details between the demon factions and, oddly enough, relaying the
Slayer’s side of things. The Mafia, the Citizens (as Jerry’s wife, the
spokesperson, named them), and the Slayer worked out an amnesty plan for the
takedown and the days after. No one was to kill anyone unless
it was in self defense, or a particularly nasty doctor or soldier who had
been cruel. Buffy had been stubborn about that one, resisting until Spike
brought in a book of Holocaust atrocities. At first, Buffy had rolled her eyes,
making remarks about Spike’s choice of reading material, but when Spike had
forced her to listen to some of the things he’d seen, and Giles reminded her
of the innocent humans in there, she’d agreed. The Mafia was to pull
operations out of Sunnydale for the next ten years. Everyone knew someone or
something would fill the vacuum, but it should lead to a quieter Sunnydale for a
bit. Several blocks down, a battered van pulled up beside
them. Oz stuck his head out, pink streaks highlighting his black hair. “Need a
ride to the revolution?” Buffy sat up front, and Spike and Xander got in the
bench seat behind her. Spike twisted around and looked at the metal cage that
sat in the otherwise empty back of the van. Solidly welded bars formed a cage
some five feet square. “Nice custom job.” “It’s best to have a safe haven in case something
happens. I’ve been keeping music gear in it, but I emptied it out last week.
Everyone should be in place. The girls are positioned in the woods with the mage
on the ley line.” “It was lucky you finding him, Spike,” Xander
said. “How did you?” “He came to me. Once word got out what was
happening, it all pulled together. No one likes the soldiers at all.” “The radios should be at your feet, Xander.” Oz
said, eyes on the road. He too was aware of the nervous energy around town. Xander opened the bag and passed out the wide-range
walkie-talkies one of Spike’s pawn-shop contacts had donated. They turned
theirs on and were met with a fuzz of static. Xander met Spike’s eyes, took a
deep breath and keyed his on. “This is Mr. Brown, check in? Mr. Red?” Willow’s voice came back. “Mr. Red, Check.” “Mr. Orange?’ Tara answered. “M… Mr. Orange, check.” “Mr. Gray?” Silence. “Mr. Gray, comeback?”
Xander started to worry until he caught Spike’s amused expression. “Mr. Silver?” “Mr. Silver, check,” came Giles’ prompt reply. “Mr. Gold?” In the front seat, Buffy keyed back. “Mr. Gold,
check.” “Mr. Pink?” Oz answered. “Mr. Pink, check.” Xander turned to Spike. “Mr. Black?” Spike quirked a brow and cupped his balls at Xander.
“Mr. Black, check,” he keyed back. “Mr. Red what is the status of Mr. White?” Came
Giles’ voice. “Everything is go with the mojo.” “Good, wait for signal. Mr. Gold, what is your
status?” Always the Watcher, he had to check on Buffy. “Mr. Gold ready to go, want to remind everyone of
status of Mr. Green.” A chorus of “understood” came back. Riley was Mr.
Green, even if he didn’t know it, and
Buffy was worried about him in the coming chaos. Spike hadn’t promised to
protect him, but he had said he wouldn’t kill him. “Why aren’t you Mr. White, Spike? And by the way,
who is?” Buffy asked. Spike exchanged looks with Xander who shrugged. This
was part of the plan they’d kept from Buffy. “He’s a very powerful mage
who lives here about. Neutral sort. The soldiers took his pet something or other
and he wants it back. Besides, if anything I should be Mr. Platinum.” “Uh-huh,” Buffy said. “So what’s Mr. White
going to do?” “Make a massive version of Willow’s static field.
Knock out their radios and satellites for a bit.” As they drove, they kept catching glimpses of more
activity out on the streets than was normal for a Wednesday evening in
Sunnydale. It was all moving toward the campus. They
reached a central square on campus near the frat house that masqueraded as the
main entrance for the Initiative. Oz parked, turned off the van, and the four
friends exchanged looks. “Go ahead, Oz.” Xander said. He picked up his
walkie-talkie and keyed it on. “The cage is opening, repeat, the cage is
opening.” Oz pointed to Buffy’s feet and she pulled out a slim
lap-top case. With deft fingers, Oz opened programs and sent e-mails from the
wireless laptop. He’d walked around campus until he’d found this spot with a
strong signal that was central to what was about to go down. A chain of e-mails
went out to law enforcement, news agencies, and his pal at the campus radio
station. Oz waited a minute and sent them again. He looked back at Xander.
“Here it goes, hold on, people.” He typed a string of letters, symbols and
numbers, sending out a virus to the Initiative’s central computer. He watched
a red line fill, then turn black. He nodded at Xander again, his eyes dark. Xander keyed his radio and Buffy climbed out of the
van, sword in hand. “The doves are away. I repeat, the doves are away. Cue Mr.
White.” “Cuing Misters White and Orange. Be careful, Mr.
Brown,” came Willow’s worried voice. “You, too.” They gathered their chosen weapons and waited. A
minute passed, then their radios all gave a burst of static and at least two car
alarms started going off. Xander checked his radio, but got only the expected
static. Oz peeked in the van at the laptop and nodded. His signal was gone. Buffy took off to the far side of the square where
they had determined she could best watch for Walsh and other ranking officers
leaving the building, clutching her sword. Xander glanced at Spike and couldn’t help but get a
thrill from seeing him pulled up fierce and tall, sword held confidently. The first figure burst from the bushes to their left. “Here we go,” he heard Spike mutter.
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