Many Shades of True Heroes
Chapter 8/9
By L Mouse
* * * * *
“No, Xander, no sign … no clue … Andrew’s deploying about a dozen of the girls from Cleveland but they can’t spare more than that …”
Willow sat at Lois’ kitchen table. Her stomach hurt with worry for Giles. She listened, hugging herself, as Buffy talked to Xander -- in Africa, a world away, and unable to get to Metropolis in under a week. As if he could do anything more than the rest of them were doing. They had no leads, no ideas, not even a hunch to work with.
A knock sounded at Lois’ front door. Willow said, “I’ll get it!” and ran to the door.
The First stood there. It had to be, because Spike was dead.
Clark stood behind him, looking curiously over his shoulder. No -- not Clark. The man was several years older, a few pounds heavier, and the look in his eyes wasn’t Clark’s at all. This was definitely not the man who’d reacted with such confident calm when he and his desk chair had been yanked out of another dimension and dropped into the midst of fight with vampires. Clark had his meek moments; this man looked downright timid.
“Xander, I’ll call you back. I’m going to slay a vampire -- I did mention Spike’s back, right?”
From clear across Lois’ kitchen and living room Willow heard Xander’s squawk. It sounded like an obscenity. Buffy hung the phone up and walked to the doorway. Given the look on Buffy’s face, Willow decided this was the genuine article and not The First. Buffy obviously knew that Spike was alive; she hadn’t bothered to tell anyone.
“I suppose you want an invite in,” Buffy said, folding her arms.
“Would be nice, Slayer,” Spike said, without much of a smile. Willow saw genuine -- fear? -- in Spike’s eyes. And it wasn’t fear about what Buffy was going to do to him; if she was going to kill him she’d have done so many years before. It was something else unrelated to his relationship with Buffy.
Buffy looked mad -- as mad as Willow had seen her in quite awhile. Forestalling Buffy’s likely attempt to slam the door in Spike’s face Willow reached out, grabbed Spike by the wrist, and said, “Get in here, Spike.”
And then she surprised even herself by hugging him. “We thought you were dead!”
“I was,” Spike said, his English accent as warm and familiar as the smell of cigarettes on his duster. He also sounded surprised -- why, because she‘d hugged him? Well, she‘d missed him -- not in lost-a-true-love sense that Buffy had, but in the lost-a-friend sense. He‘d saved their butts often enough to have earned her regard.
Somewhat awkwardly, he patted her back, then stepped free. He regarded her for a second with his head tilted and a curious look in his eyes. Then the fear was back. “Long story, pet. Tell it later. Big trouble now.”
“What do you want?” Buffy said, shortly. There was hurt in her voice. Deep, fresh hurt.
Willow mentally winced and wondered what they’d done to each other this time. Obviously, Buffy had reasons for not mentioning Spike. Buffy tended to keep her own council when it came to her boyfriends, though, particularly when she was pissed off or when she thought her friends might not approve.
Spike was silent for a moment. Then he said, his voice choked, “Dawn. Where is she?”
Buffy blinked. “I talked to her yesterday. Why?”
“Trouble. Key trouble.” Spike said, expression deadly grim. “Her name’s Illyria. She’s an Old One. She’s looking for The Key.”
Buffy sucked in a sharp breath and went several shades paler. When she exhaled she said, carefully, “Someday I’d like to go at least a week without my friends and family being targets.”
“Where is she?” Spike said, voice surprisingly gentle. “Illyria’s trouble and I know for a fact I can’t stop her myself but you know I’ll help.”
“Yeah,” Buffy gave him a level look. “I know I can count on you. You‘re the one person in this crazy world who I can completely count on.”
Both of them were silent for a moment, a measuring silence full of unspoken hurts and old pain. Spike nodded once, “I’ll go, then. Be good to see the niblet anyway.”
Buffy shook her head. “Not alone. I’m not risking you *or* Dawn against an Old One.”
Buffy sat down at Lois’ kitchen table and stared up at him. She just looked at him, expression full of a thousand emotions -- more than Willow could identify. There was grief in there, and hope, and horror, and a terrible and infinite exhaustion. The smile that touched her lips was a terrible thing. “Spike, will you promise me one thing?”
“Maybe,” he answered, warily.
“When this is all over, will you talk to me?” Buffy didn’t make a move towards him, but Spike flinched like she’d struck him. “I’ve missed you so very much. I want to know why, what I did wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong …”
“Then come back later, and explain. But now -- Dawn, yes, we need to get Dawn.” Buffy reached for her cel phone. “I’m going to have her come here. We’re better protection than anything else I can think of on short notice.”
Buffy dialed a number on the cel phone. She listened for a second and then said, “Clark, when you get this message come back to Lois’ apartment. I need your help -- something might be after my sister.”
She smiled wearily at Spike.
“You’re sending the alien after her?” Spike started to protest.
“I’m sending both of you. Clark’s got the powers of a minor god, and I’m not exaggerating that in the slightest …” Buffy glanced at Bill, then shook her head imperceptibly. Willow remembered Bill was Clark’s double, and presumably had Clark’s powers. Also.
“Can you trust him?” Spike said, with concern.
“Who, Clark? Yeah, he’s cool. Wish he was one of ours, but he’ll be going home eventually … he‘s got a wife and friends and family to go home to.” Buffy glanced at Bill with a look of speculation. Bill was of this world, belonged here, and Willow was certain that Buffy was already trying to figure out if he was going to be friend or foe.
Bill stared at his toes. At least he didn’t appear to be aggressive.
Buffy glanced at Willow, who shrugged.
“So, Bill,” Buffy said, carefully, “What’s your story?”
He glanced up sharply at her and mumbled something unintelligible.
“Uh-huh. Care to speak in English rather than in tongues?” Buffy said, waspishly. Willow sucked in a surprised breath; she really didn’t want to provoke Bill until they knew more about him.
Buffy’s tactic worked, though. Bill said in a stronger voice, “I’m a security guard.”
“Underemployed much?” Buffy said, eyebrows rising. “Security guard as in walk-a-beat, eat donuts, and smack people with a great big flashlight?”
“Pretty much,” Bill said. “It pays the bills. It‘s honest work. I work by myself -- I like that. I don‘t like crowds.”
Given how he was dressed, Willow noted, his definition of ‘paying the bills’ appeared to be a little different from hers.
Lois’ front door opened and faster than Buffy would have believed, Clark stepped through the doorway. He said, “Buffy, I got your message. What’s …”
He was in his gaudy costume, cape swirling around his ankles, bright as a tropical parrot. Bill turned and simply stared. Clark froze, staring back, eyes gone wide. Quietly, he reached behind himself and shut the door and said, “Wow.”
“Who are you?” Bill breathed.
Clark suddenly remembered his manners, blinked, and held a hand out to Bill to shake. “Clark Kent. You’re Bill Smith, aren’t you?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Bill grasped the proffered hand.
Willow watched, amused, as the tendons stood out on both men’s arms. Not a testosterone challenge, but an experiment on both their parts, she suspected. They were sizing each other up by handgrip strength -- mutually checking for super strength, at her guess.
Both men rubbed their fingers when the handshake ended.
“You’re like me,” Bill breathed, “That’s why they said we should meet. We’re alike.”
“We’re more than alike,” Clark was grinning. “I am you, from another dimension. Though it sounds as if our histories parted at around the time the ship landed.”
“Ship?” Bill said.
“From Krypton.” Clark said. He paused, and said, “Do you know … anything … about your heritage?”
Bill mutely shook his head. He couldn’t take his eyes off Clark’s face.
Clark hesitated. “Short version: We’re from the Planet Krypton -- which was a dying world and exploded. There were only a handful of survivors; we survived because our parents sent us here as infants. I’m assuming your history is the same as mine, anyway.”
Clark paused, and said, “You weren’t abandoned. Sending you here, alone, was a last act of love from your birth parents.”
Something sparked in Bill’s eyes, something Willow couldn’t define. He said, “This is true?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you more, later -- I need to go be Superman now, it sounds like.” Clark turned to Spike, studied him dubiously, then said, “Will you fill me in on the way? -- I assume you know the details.”
Willow thought that was one of the more logical things she‘d from anyone in a long time; rather than wasting time asking Buffy questions, he clearly intended to get the story from Spike on the way. But Spike ignored him, and said to Buffy, “Buffy, are you sure …”
Buffy cut him off. “Clark, Dawn doesn’t know you and you don’t know her. I want Spike along to make the introductions. Spike knows what the Big Bad we’re facing looks like too.”
Spike said, “I’ll call and get tickets. You paying, Slayer? Be expensive on short notice.”
“No need to call the airport,” Clark said, with a grin.
Spike’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Fastest way, Spike. Do it for Dawn.” Buffy’s voice held just a hint of amusement.
“Are you bloody mad?” Spike took a step away from Clark.
Clark moved in a sudden blur, scooped the vampire up under one arm, and floated in mid air. Spike’s response was downright profane. He thrashed and swore profusely.
“Relax,” Clark said, “I’m not going to drop you. Promise.”
“You’re bloody crossing your bloody fingers!” Spike protested.
Clark had his fingers crossed -- in Spike’s field of view, deliberately, if Willow didn’t miss her guess. Clark laughed, uncrossed his fingers, and said, “I promise. I haven’t dropped anyone yet.”
“This is humiliating!” Spike protested.
Grinning, Buffy opened the balcony doors. “Have a nice flight.”
“**** you, Buffy!” Spike shouted at her as Clark took off.
“Maybe later!” Buffy shouted back, waving.
Spike shut up abruptly. Clark gave Buffy a startled look over his shoulder.
“Buffy, that was mean.” Willow said. “You hurt Spike’s man-pride.”
“He’ll get over it.” Buffy shrugged. “Anyway, if he was really upset we’d have seen some fang. He just had to keep up appearances.”
“I wonder what it’s like to fly like that …” Willow stared after the rapidly disappearing dot that was Clark and Spike.
Buffy looked at Bill again with that keenly speculative look. Willow was certain now that Buffy was giving serious thought to adding an alien to Slayer Central‘s small army of Slayers, freaks and geeks. “So. Can you fly too?”
“I … don’t.” Bill said, shortly. He paused and then said very quietly, “Do you want my help? It sounds as if you might need it.”
Buffy glanced at Willow. Willow shrugged.
“I mean, you don’t know me. I’d understand if you don’t want anything to do with me. I’m kindof a freak and it sounds like you people know it. Most of the time people find out about me and they don’t want nothing to do with me. Most of the time people are scared of me. Really scared, sometimes. They think I’m possessed by demons or that I’m a monster or …”
Buffy held her hand up, and he ground to a halt. His eyes searched her face, then Willow‘s. “Stop there …”
“Hold it there, or Buffy might ask you out on a date.” Willow said, with a snicker.
Buffy gave Willow a mock glare. “Hey. Watch it. Who dated a werewolf?”
Willow grinned.
Buffy turned her attention back to Bill, who was staring at his shoes again. Buffy said in a much gentler tone of voice, “Don’t worry, Bill. Compared to some of the other people I know your weirdness ranking is really low.”
* * * * *
“Why would you waste your insignificant life over a Key?”
The Old One’s voice was pleasant, if monotone. The blow that struck Giles’ face no longer came as a surprise, however.
“I will not tell you,” he said, through swollen and split lips.
“Why not? I do not understand.” The woman regarded him with head tilted a bit to the side and no expression on her face.
“I don’t expect you to,” he tried to focus on her. His vision was blurry and sweat and blood stung his eyes.
WHACK. She hit him again. Though she used the back of her hand the blow felt like it came from a lead pipe.
“Why will you not tell me? I would spare your life.”
“Never.” Giles said. “I would die first.”
Silence. “Killing you will accomplish nothing. I must think on this.”
The creature left, and Giles felt his consciousness slip away. Darkness swallowed him whole, blessedly empty of pain and terror.
