Here you are Kittens... Part 61.
BTW... I find myself requiring Faith's surname. I know that it was never specified in canon so any interesting or fun ideas would be appreciated... otherwise you might find it is 'Smith.'
Have fun!
Katharyn
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Title:
The Sidestep Chronicle – Assessment (Part 61)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome.
katharynrosser@hotmail.comSpoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Following on from Part 60 there is an assessment to be carried out.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: None
Notes: TAKE CARE with this one. At one point there is a scene, written around December last year, that
imagines something unpleasant. Needless to say this is toned down.
Thanks To: Xita who rendered much appreciated judgement, Jo for her wonderful beta and Kerry for a number of invaluable ideas in a storming of brains.
The Sidestep Chronicle
Assessment
By
Katharyn Rosser
Who the heck was he? Or she? Or they? Quite possibly ‘it.’ Tara hurried down the back streets of Sunnydale, avoiding the more public places – and those places were getting more public as the days went by. With the Master dust and the local vampires leaderless she had been cleaning them out at an accelerated rate. Pretty soon, with Faith back on her feet, there would surely be very few left. The Master had certainly held them all together. Without him they died in droves. They were practically throwing themselves onto her stakes. They had nowhere ‘safe’ to hold out. There was nowhere they could stay during the day that she, or Faith when she was back, would not attack. They had no ‘easy’ supply of food. The Bronze was closed to them. They were homeless and being forced to fend for themselves.
Poor little things.
But this wasn’t a vampire that was following her. Her pendant had never even twitched until she had gone past the local, newly established, suck club – which she would have to do something about soon. But not now. Now she had something else on her mind. It was not a vampire and nothing that was on just some mission to crush, kill and destroy. It was trailing her, even when she had allowed it the chance to close in it had chosen to hang back. Opportunities when she had left herself vulnerable had come and gone. And she had not been attacked. So far, in fact, she hadn’t even been able to lay eyes on it. It was moving quietly and she wasn't sure exactly where it was.
But it was there. She knew that.
She could feel it watching her. It had been the same since she’d emerged from her apartment building earlier, something had made her just stop, dead, looking around the area and wondering why she was having to do that. There was nothing there. Every one of her five senses told her that. But something else said that there was. Somehow she knew she was being watched, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, whatever it was out there.
Unable to pin it down she had just tried to carry on, hoping to lure it into making a mistake. She had started her sweep through the area around her apartment even though that had long been an unproductive hunting ground. It was one that she knew well though. One that she felt comfortable in and that would help with whatever was watching her.
She could use the territory to her advantage.
Since she had arrived in town the vampires had learned to avoid certain areas, the ones that she – and later Faith – had patrolled most often. Still something kept calling them back - so there was a point to the patrol. As the locals realised that an area was safer more of them would take a risk by being in those places after dark. And that was like ringing a dinner bell. Vampires wouldn’t respect the fact that someone had worked to clear out that area. They just kept coming back after the easy food. Especially now. Especially after the Bronze. They were more and more desperate. So the patrol did serve a purpose.
Really though, she was focused on her pursuer.
For a while she had thought that the presence might have been Willow. The vampire was giving her the big sulk about being denied the chance to bring a bird into the apartment for Miss Kitty to chase. The fact that ‘it isn’t a mouse’ was so not the point to Tara. She’d really thought that Willow had got it. And sometimes she seemed to have. It was more like Willow just had to keep testing the boundaries. Pushing Tara. Whether that was to affirm her own nature or to test Tara, she wasn’t sure.
Maybe Willow wasn’t either.
But it wasn't Willow that was following her. The pendant told her that. Knowing Willow told her that. Willow didn’t bother playing this game anymore. In her annoyance the vampire might sulk, or seek a violent kill, but Willow no longer bothered following Tara. Especially as now that there was Faith to consider.
So whom did that leave?
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He squeezed his finger on the trigger as he gazed at her through the sight of the rifle, gradually increasing the pressure until the trigger clicked home. The working of the weapon took over the job - ultimately propelling a bullet from the muzzle. Then physics took over and the bullet, faster than the speed of sound, down towards the witch in the street below.
Well you could always dream… or plan. Practice made perfect and he was as near to perfect with this weapon as anyone he knew of.
The Maclay witch kept walking and the sight of the rifle remained fixed upon her even as Weatherby shifted from his prone position, the night sight revealing the details of the witch’s movement. They’d been told they couldn’t kill her, not yet at least. Not until they had more information, but the act itself – when it came – was not going to be too taxing. There were lots of nice open kill zones and sight lines around this town, it might even have been built for stalking prey.
And he, personally, had no doubt that they would be asked to kill her after the report was in. It was just disgusting what this witch was doing. He’d watched her kill two vampires tonight – magically – but he’d also watched her kiss another one the previous night and she couldn’t have been unaware of what it was. There was no way that a person who hunted vampires could fail to recognise one. And it had been with tongue.
What she was doing was worse than a suck club. It was just sick. He squeezed the trigger again and the bolt slammed home on another empty chamber with a snick, which she might even have heard in the still night air. Shit. He froze, blending into his surroundings between the rails that held the neon sign aloft. She was looking right at him, he could watch the expressions play across her face through the sight as she realised where he was.
And that he was here at all. He’d suspected it. That she was leading him around, trying to bring him out into the open and he had avoided that. He’d been careful. Invisible. Silent.
Until now. Until he had let his dreams of terminating her overrule good judgement.
She knew that he was there. She knew he was above her on the roofs and she set off, changing direction quickly and hurrying away. Shit. With Collins off to see his old friend the Watcher again for more information and Smithy off in LA tracking down information on the lawyer that was reported to visit a lot a three man job had just become that much harder. Now that she knew he was here he would have to work not to avoid being spotted but instead to keep track of her. He picked up the rifle and made for the fire escape. Bloody amateurish taking that ‘shot.’ Back in the bush that would have got him killed.
He knew better. He had for a lot of years.
Still it hurried things along. Smithy would thank him, he wanted to get home for his wife and this just moved things on from the observation phase and into the assessment itself.
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Somehow Tara knew that it was above her, watching her from the rooftops. One spot drew her attention though there was no movement within the neon bars of the sign. Nothing to see, certainly nothing to hear. But another direction was as good to patrol in as this one had been and she made off into an alley intending to head over to Sovereign Street.
She was being watched. Carefully. By someone who was very good at it and that could not be a good thing. No one had any reason to watch her – no one who had anything good planned anyway. How long had it been out there? Had it just started or had it got careless in revealing its presence to her now? Was there just the one? Or more. Were they watching other people too? Lilah, the Mayor, Faith and Mr Giles? Should she warn the others?
And what about Willow?
If it was someone who might mean her harm, what would that mean for Willow? What would Willow do if something tried to hurt her? If they succeeded? A part of her hoped that the vampire cared enough to strike back, but only a tiny part that she stamped on as soon as the thought reared its head, not least because she knew that Willow would. Willow would do that and maybe not because she cared at all. She would do it violently, brutally and probably with cruelty in her unbeating heart. That was just Willow.
No, that was just the vampire that Willow had been turned into. But would she be acting out of care and affection or raging just because she had lost a plaything? It came back to the thoughts that whirred around Tara’s mind every time she thought about that vampire. Which was often.
What did she mean to Willow? Really? What was Willow capable of?
She thought about that sort of thing too often to be healthy. Especially now. But more and more often recently. It had always been there. But more now. She had to put Willow out of her mind and quickly otherwise this could get nasty. If it or they meant her harm and they were where she suspected, on the roof at a distance it might mean that they had weapons or powers that could affect her without coming in close. She took a stake from her pocket,
well so do I.But by moving off as she had she’d tipped her hand already, shown them, that she was aware and now they might be pressed into taking action – either to catch up with her or to carry out their plan. Whatever that was. Maybe that was a good thing? She had been trying to provoke them into that by making ‘mistakes,’ but now they had to know. It all depended on whether they meant her harm or not. She had to work on the basis that they did, and that there was more than one of them out there. It was the only way, until the evidence was in, to make sure that they didn’t trap her.
Spotting an opportunity she ducked into a dark, sheltered doorway. No way she could be observed in here. The angles were not right to be seen from above and unless someone walked right past then there was no hint of her down the alley itself either. If they had not seen her go into the doorway then they wouldn’t know at all.
She had her back to the door to the old magic shop, unless she missed her guess. Allan had once laughed as he told her of the quick turnover at the shop, the freehold being one of the Mayor’s diverse personal holdings. She’d thought, at first, that he had meant the takings but it soon became clear that Sunnydale has its own definition of turnover. In this case of proprietors. People had died here, a lot of people. Even before the rising of the Master. And now it was empty once again.
No one took the risk of being there anymore. Besides… where was the profit going to come from?
Running footsteps coming down the street. Her pursuer? Had she provoked it into action and if so what did that mean? And what if it was human? It sounded like boots or shoes but… She’d never killed a human and didn’t intend to start now – that wasn’t what her power was for. Ever.
Never.
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Collins was going to throw a fit at having the assessment started so much sooner than planned. Lying to his team leader never even occurred to Weatherby though. He knew what people outside of the team thought of him. Rat, weasel, ruthless bastard. And he liked that last one especially, even if couldn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion. Butt-kicking for the powers of goodness. He was devoted to the cause - it was his entire life now. So no, he wouldn’t try to cover up his over-enthusiastic mistake.
A failed Watcher candidate – he had been washed out before even Collins started his training. The report had used the words ‘Less inclined to watch and more inclined to intervene for the benefit of any Slayer to whom he might be assigned.’ The reality was that had been considered too viciously enthusiastic to take on the role of killing demons himself and still be a ‘Watcher.’ On his final exercise he’d failed to see why exactly that was a bad thing. And said so. Forcefully. The words they had used on the report were as damning as the Council ever got about one of their own. They were true though – if he’d been a Watcher then his Slayer would have had all the backup she deserved as part of the team. Just like this little missy would - should she become a part of that team. Until then she was the enemy.
Pretty much everyone was through ignorance or deliberate intent.
Just another enemy. He slowed as he rounded the corner into the back street, checking his bearings. The rifle had been stashed at the edge of that last roof top as it was not suitable for this work, and he wasn't here to kill her. Not yet. So instead he pulled out the tranquilliser dart pistol. Better safe than sorry and some of the best assessments he had participated in had concluded with the target strapped to a chair in a warehouse far from anybody who could hear them cry for help. Why should this one be any different?
Okay, so the girl had killed a couple of vampires, and he had witnessed the fact that it was by magical means – but the parlour tricks she had used were nothing more fancy than spinning a pencil round your head really. Quicker than fighting tthough. Pretty damn effective but nothing powerful in and of themselves. Once restrained she would be no trouble at all and there was no way he was going to report back and admit that he had lost her. That wasn’t what he did. Even worse would be that she had eluded him.
Weatherby still had his pride. He liked his pride.
He’d catch up with her and he’d restrain her. After that he’d present her to Collins, gift wrapped and ready for a real ‘assessment.’ How were they supposed to discover her suitability, or otherwise, without a decent interrogation? Nothing necessarily painful, just the wonders of medical science. Scopolamine, that would get to the bottom of the mysteries of Tara Maclay far quicker than Smithy sniffing round LA and moping about his pregnant wife rather than the visitor that he was supposed to be looking for, or Mike checking with the local Watcher - again. There was only a 5% chance of brain damage in those with an unsuitable biology. More than acceptable odds.
It wasn’t as if any more than one percent of those assessed proved acceptable.
He heard a tiny snick from up ahead, and slowed once more to a catlike prowl moving deep into what shadows he could find. He had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and those told him that this Maclay woman was not far away.
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The footsteps had faded. Heavy, probably when they were coming round the corner, with distinctly laboured breathing – as if someone had been running to catch up. They had slowed to a walk and now, now their sounds faded away entirely just as she manipulated the lock on the rear security door of the shop. The person, and she was beginning to suspect that it was a person, had slowed and obviously thought that she was somewhere near. They were not wrong about that.
She stepped into the shop and eased the door closed behind her, pushing a cardboard box that was just inside into place behind the door. It wouldn’t stop anyone following her and she didn’t have time to lock the door again, but the box would alert her to the pursuer’s entrance and slow them down a little. Who had taught her that thing with the lock? Janice? Jane? Definitely someone in Chicago… a homeless woman who was used to fleeing from people and things that threatened her. She remembered the city and she remembered the advice, but the name and the face were gone. All she could see of the person was the body, pale and drained of blood.
All dead.
Whoever you were, you might have saved me. Or not… I still might fail to live but that will not be your fault. All mine and the choices that I have made. The shop was pitch black, nothing but the odd chink of light penetrated around the security shutters and she couldn’t risk trying the light switch. Conjuring Teeny Tinkerbell was something that she hadn’t even thought to do in a long, long time but here she was for her on request. She silently gave thanks again to her mother for that one tiny spell as the small ball of light pierced the gloom a little and allowed her to move through the shop without worrying about tripping. She could even will the light ahead of her to get a look at where she was actually going – rather than just where she was already. Using that she made her way through an untidy storeroom and into the shop proper.
There was a ladder leading to a platform lined with empty book cases. At least they looked empty, it was hard to tell from down here. Useful for climbing up, she guessed, to the window above. She had never really been keen on climbing sort of things - even the ladders up to the barn loft where she had found… the thing that had led her into this life.
Or made her run towards it to escape that horror?
She wasn't running from this ‘person.’ She had yet to see it. She was assessing its strengths and weaknesses and then she would deal with it. Whatever or whoever it was. She heard the back door open and the clatter of kicked cardboard was followed by a muffled ‘Bloody Hell,’ which told her, with near certainty that her pursuer was more than likely a ‘normal’ human. What it also told her was that whoever it was definitely was after her. For what reason she didn’t care, but now that it was human she couldn’t kill it. That was one option that she had lost. It made life more complicated but it brought back the black and the white. It eliminated the grey. At least in this situation. She carefully levered the window above her head open and then extinguished Tinkerbell with a word of thanks to the Goddess for her assistance. She sat there in the dark waiting, light coming in through those small dirty windows while she remained hidden in the shadow. Even if he looked right at her she doubted that he would find her there. Not without a torch and the clatter suggested he didn’t have one.
Tough luck.
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So the bitch thought she was clever did she? Slipping a cardboard box into his path? Well it had almost worked he had to give her that and he might have done the same himself – if he had ever run away. She might have some potential for training. But generally she was being sloppy. He guessed that was what you got for years hunting just vampires. They were never the most subtle of creatures either hunting or when being hunted. A person didn’t have to be clever to do that, they just had to trust their senses and they would do just fine.
It was then that Weatherby realised what she was doing. She wasn’t being sloppy at all. She was treating him like she would a vampire – but not with contempt for his skills. This would be how she hunted them. He had seen that. She lured them out. She was respecting what she thought his capabilities might be – though she could have no real idea – and doing what she did best. She was checking him out and trying to draw him into an arena that favoured her. Like the darkness should have done if he wasn’t a vampire. How did she know he wasn’t a vampire?
The inky blackness in here saw that all things were equalised between them. She didn’t know that he wasn't intending to hurt her – or at least not to kill her – and she had sucked him in. She was in control of the environment. That was fatal. It was time to take that control back from her. He paused just inside the back door, then kicked the box in his path hard, feigning a trip and exclaiming “bloody hell!” She had given him time there. He checked his belt and found his light enhancing goggles then slipped them on. They were not as clumsy and large as he had got used to during the chaos of war in Indochina. The vampires who had taken over the lower, hidden, levels of most of the ancient temples in that region and fed upon the casualties of that battlefield had been fiends of the highest order but napalm had been plentiful back then. Happy days, you just couldn’t get reasonable quantities of napalm to deal with a large nest nowadays and making your own wasn’t really the same. The smell was… off.
The goggles sucked in every scrap of available light and revealed, instead of a black mass, shapes and corners – and ahead a green tinged brightness. Without the goggles he would never have seen it, but she was there. She had a light source… magic? Maybe. Ahead and to the right but first… He walked, treading heavily and patting the wall as if he was seeking the way, blind in the darkness banging round the storeroom.
Go on Missy… do your thing. Show me what you can do, that’s what I’m here for. Show me. Having made some noise to mislead her he turned on the spot, something sharp grating the floor under his boot as he did so and headed silently back to where the light, now extinguished, had come from.
Now they would see what she could do.
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The banging gave her no confidence at all. The idea that someone who would want to follow her would be so inept as to keep walking into things again and again, to bang their way along a wall instead of feeling it? No. At first it had raised her spirits, but it went on just a little too long, like some cartoon where the hunter kept stepping on rakes and getting smacked in the face while the rabbit laughed at him. It just didn’t happen. He was being as tricky as she was trying to be she was sure of it. Hardly breathing she squeezed herself back in a tiny ball in the corner, only raising her head enough to be able to see when the pursuer entered this main part of the shop, not moving though – there
were human-looking creatures apart from vampires that could see perfectly well in the dark. And if he was trying to fool her into believing that he couldn’t see then maybe he was one of those.
And in that case…
Maybe extra light wouldn’t be welcome. Some creatures reacted badly to strong light. If his, or maybe its, eyes were sensitive enough to be able to see in the dark, perhaps she could use that to her advantage; maybe see if she could dazzle him? Tinkerbell was not a powerful spell, or a bright light source, but up close, in the face… maybe. It wouldn’t burn him – she had held Tinkerbell in her hand - this was magical rather than heat energy, but it could dazzle – after the darkness anyone would be dazzled. Under her breath she started the incantation, it wasn’t even necessary to whisper, not really and as soon the top of his head appeared from under the edge of her platform she completed the spell, watched Tinkerbell take form and then directed her to the spot directly above him, where he would have to twist to see her, reacting to the light. Even if it didn’t work it might confuse him enough to give her a chance to get out of the window, pushing the ladder away from the platform first so slow him down. It had felt like a big heavy ladder, hard to move when she had climbed it.
Good.
He did react to the gathering light, he did turn and he did –
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“Shit!” The light had been raising as Weatherby turned his head, never thinking what the effect of it might be, and as he turned the light was collected in the goggles and magnified a thousand times before the circuits could compensate and damp it down. The light burned into his eyes as a great green blur, filling his vision so that he lost sight of her, even as he found her there.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Tricky bitch.
There was a bang, wood on wood, heavy on the floor beside him, but he had no idea what it was that had impacted there. Was she trying to attack him? She had blinded him, he couldn’t know how long that would last or what she would do to him in that time. Maybe she was already throwing stuff at him. And she had those stakes too…. Weatherby moved back under the platform, ripping the goggles off his face as if it would help, dimly aware of a tiny light source floating where he had been stood. Bloody magic was it then? But blinded he was vulnerable, to her and the magic.
Gimme a second to clear my vision though Missy and you will pay for that.------------
Tara had shoved the ladder away from the platform and let it fall. She would have preferred to pull it up and away from him but she doubted whether her strength was sufficient to do that quickly enough, before he recovered enough to try and stop her. It was heavy, it would take him some time to actually get it in place again to follow her, and even if he jumped she didn’t think that he would be able to grab the edge of the platform. It was too high off the ground. She had bought herself some time, and she used it to scramble up the empty bookcase towards the high window she had already opened. Up there she looked out onto the narrow ledge of flat roof before the shallow climb up another roof to the area over the storeroom.
As she had clambered through the window, her top had caught on the catch briefly before she heard it rip. It wasn’t the first time she’d have to do some repairs, but at least she was outside again and it was lighter – though Tinkerbell had followed her as the obedient servant that she was – even if there was no need for more illumination now. The little ball of magical light would just give her away now so she dispelled her, remembering the ‘thank you,’ and started to clamber up the rise to the higher roof that was above the store room, realising that she would be cornered when he followed her.
Good.
If she was cornered, or appeared that way, then he would only have one way out as well. That would buy her more time. More time to think. More time to evade him.
It meant she could lose him and escape. The sounds from inside suggested that he was on his way by the time she reached the higher roof. The wood on wood thud must have been him raising the ladder, or trying to. She couldn’t get too far ahead of him though. She reached the edge of the roof and stood, as if confused, looking back to where he was finally coming through the window. He seemed to be talking to himself.
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Okay girlie. This is it. You and me. Weatherby cleared the window and knew that ‘you and me’ was not totally accurate. Collins was on his way, close now he reported via the tiny earpiece they all wore. Whilst Weatherby was pretty sure that he had her trapped anyway, Collins’ presence would ensure that was the case. He surveyed the roof. No ladders, no fire-escapes. No loose objects for her to play around with.
No tricks. Not unless she was going to violate whatever ‘code’ it was that was stopping her from using more powerful magics. That sodding Watcher better have been right about that, he had no desire to spend any time as a rat or a toad. Or maybe she just didn’t have the power. The Watcher thought she did, but had never seen it. She might be weaker than they had given her credit for.
Or stronger.
Weatherby had the dart pistol in his hand anyway - ready. Held down by his side, rotated behind his leg to help conceal it, but, equally, making it obvious that he was hiding something. What choice did he have? Fast draw was for the movies. No way was he going to beat some bloody witch conjuring at the speed of thought now was there? Even if some people’s thoughts were slower than others. But she wasn't like that. Her record, what he had witnessed the previous nights of watching her told him that she was good. At what she did. Only now had she got herself trapped up here.
She wasn’t used to being the hunted one.
But she didn’t seem too scared as he slowly walked towards her, his best ‘bad guy’ leer on his face. It came naturally because, really, that was who he was. This was no act.
“Wh-who are you?” she called to him, already backed up into the corner. Nowhere to go Missy. What happened now was her choice. She wasn’t going to like it much but it was her choice
how much she didn’t like it.
“That all depends on the time, the place. The person that’s asking.” True enough. To most things he met in his work he was Death incarnate, or at least someone come to take them to that fate. To others he was an angel of deliverance. Slightly less often with that impression though.
“And n-now?” she asked him.
He suspected that the stammer made her appear more afraid than she actually was. He had to be careful, she was watching him carefully. She killed vampires. A lot, reputedly. The Watcher said that she had reached two hundred and fifty just in the short period since she had teamed up with the Slayer. That was good going. Pretty near the rate he had achieved in a warzone. “Now,” he started to answer, “that is up to you. We want to speak to you girly. Maybe offer you a job. But if you don’t want to come – that’s okay too…” he twisted the pistol so that it was plain to her and saw her eyes connect with it as he shrugged and raised it to aim directly at her. No pretence.
“Th-that’s okay too?” she repeated.
He grinned. “Yeah, something like that. You did some good, you did some bad. We’re just trying to decide which team you’re really on. Or could be on.” He gestured at her with the pistol, waving her away from the edge. It wouldn’t do to have her fall off now.
“We?” She needn’t have asked. She must have heard something below and looked back to peer over the edge. Weatherby couldn’t see what she was looking at but guessed from her expression that it was Collins. She was definitely boxed in now. Even if she got past him, back through the window
and could delay him somehow then Collins would pick her up and deal with her with the gentle touch that her resistance would require of him.
“You gonna come quietly?” he was almost tempted to dart her just to avoid any problems, but so close to that edge… It was a fast tranquillising agent, she would be unconscious before she hit the ground. Given the distance she would very likely be dead if she hit it in an uncontrolled fall and he didn’t want have to fill in
that report.
Collins would make him fill it in.
Travers was interested. That meant that they had to deliver.
They always did.
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Trapped.
Or so it must seem to them. She had come out here knowing that she could reach the ground safely, gambling that her pursuer could not, the roof was pretty high up. The other man, down on the ground, complicated things though. Definitely human. She could feel it now that she could see them clearly. The one on the roof with her didn’t have a ‘pleasant’ aura but it wasn’t an evil or soulless one either. Auras were tricky things. So much depended on what the individual believed they were doing. People could carry out magnificent acts of kindness, but if someone got hurt in the process and they carried around that guilt it would be the guilt that she sensed in them – what was uppermost in their mind. It was a matter of feelings and this man clearly felt that he was doing the
rightthing.
He just didn’t care
how he did it.
It relaxed her a little even if the gun had scared her. There were very few occasions since leaving home that she had been confronted with a gun and never so directly pointed at her. It took a while to realise that it was probably not one that fired bullets. It was different somehow and Tara guessed, having watched her TV, that it was a dart gun of some sort and that gave her a chance. A good chance. Darts didn’t move as fast as bullets, nor with the same force. Did they?
It seemed right in her head. If a dart hit with the same force as a bullet, all pointy, wouldn’t it just go straight through the target – through her if she was the target – rather than just sticking the needle in? That was what the TV always seemed to show, a red feather tipped dart sticking out of a persons neck or ass. It was always the neck or the ass.
I don’t want to be shot in the ass… I don’t actually want to be shot at all thank you very much. Was she going to go along quietly as he had asked? No. But she was determined she wasn't going to get shot in the ass either.
Tara moved a little away from the edge of the roof, seeing her movements being tracked by the second person below. Not directly below her, probably in case she fell, but close enough. The main thing was avoiding being shot by him, though she hadn’t seen a gun of any sort in his hand. She couldn’t deal with both of them trying to dart her. She needed to see the one that did. See the dart and to do that…. She started to take long deep breaths.
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Oh just sodding great, now the girl was starting to hyperventilate or something and Smithy, the only one with more than basic combat medical training was off watching some lawyer bint’s apartment. “You okay?” Still it might mean she was close to giving up. He hoped so, he had no desire to carry her down from here.
She didn’t react to his question and wasn’t looking worried about her breathing either. Her eyes were fixed on the dart gun and he felt the slightest tug at his arm. She was trying to get the pistol off him with magic. This was the sort of the thing that they had been sent here to discover. Just what she was capable of. The Watcher had told them that she killed vampires. Well fine… what else could she do? He maintained his grip on the pistol but didn’t fight what she was doing. Not yet. Then there was a definite tug on the barrel of the pistol.
Not bad. Might have distracted someone or diverted their aim at a critical moment. But not him. Weatherby knew how to maintain his aim and straightened it then, taking careful aim at exposed skin. He didn’t want the dart to get caught in clothing and give her another chance. “You know,” he said. “That’s a neat trick. You give it away with concentration. But if it were me… I’d be using it to crush someone’s windpipe instead. Maybe squeeze their heart.” Which she might just get to. His finger tightened on the trigger, her movements had carried her away from the edge, far enough that she wouldn’t fall over it.
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His words were almost moans to her, almost undecipherable as time seemed to stretch out. She focused on the pistol in his hand seeing every miniscule wavering as a huge jump across the three dimensions. Nudging at his arm to affect that aim. Aggravate him, but focusing only on the dark, hostile opening of his weapon. Peripherally she was aware of his comments but they were tough to work out and she had to keep her focus. The tightening of his trigger finger though, she couldn’t miss that shift at this speed. She kept her focus on the barrel of the pistol and there it was. With a long CLAAAACK the weapon was fired and for the longest time nothing seemed to happen. Then there was a WHOOSH like someone dragging a million feathers along a metal surface. Long soft scratching and there it was. The shining tip of the dart started to reflect the light even before it left the barrel of the pistol.
She watched it, having time to notice how the feathering at first splayed out when the dart finally left the barrel then how air pressure forced it back into what must be a more aerodynamic shape. And it wasn't aimed at her ass which was good – if this didn’t work. The dart crept towards her. This was the tricky time. While she was this focused time seemed to slow down, it seemed as if she could reach up and catch the dart, but that perception of time would affect her own actions too. The dart could have crossed that small gap between them, even moving so slowly, a dozen times before she could even raised her hand to it. Let alone caught it.
But she had no intention of catching it, or dodging it. Nothing like that. She wasn't even sure it could work. She knew too little about aerodynamics to guess at what might be the ‘correct’ way to do this. If she had altered the consistency of the air then she might have been able to divert the dart. But even that would not do. How could it? She needed it to hit her attacker and that was going to be tricky.
Focusing, the control of the elements came to her a hundred times faster than her body could ever have reacted and, with the dart halfway across the distance between them she thickened the air, but not so much that the dart would hit an invisible wall. She just wanted it to slow – and it did, maintaining its original course until she started to nudge it round with a different kind of control.
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The clack as he fired the dart brought a small smile of satisfaction to Weatherby’s face. He always loved this bit, the look of surprise on their face as they realised that they were going down and could see it coming. Sometimes a hint of doubt as to whether they would ever get up again. And there was the look on their face as they looked around to see it stuck in them. Incredulous was the word usually. The dart was nothing more than a blur… and then it got clearer.
Either my vision is improving, he thought,
or that dart is getting slower and that was something that was not supposed to happen. He looked at her. She was sweating and her eyes were fixed on the dart… and then they were fixed on him. Not his eyes, his neck. The dart was still moving forwards but forwards was now a different direction. Forwards was just pointy end first. She was turning it. “Shit,” he exclaimed once more. It had twisted in the air and then was pointing straight back at him – though still moving towards her. He saw her hand flicker dismissively and knew that the dart was about to be thrust back at him.
He moved, saw the dart adjust its aim, heard Collins’ queries in his earpiece – wondering why all the ‘shits’ no doubt. He tensed, ready to move - She wasn't the only one who could dodge things.
He’d realise later that it must have been a hell of a thrust, he hardly saw even a blur as the dart accelerated towards him. It seemed to have reached a speed that was greater than his weapon could have managed. No chance to worry about that now. He was reacting to the gestures of her fingers that seemed to be guiding the dart – or were at least linked to its movements – so he was able to dive to one side as the dart came at him feeling it whiz through his hair. She had been aiming low and he had dived lower hitting the rim of the roof, looking down to see Collins below – looking right back at him. Giving him a smile as he contemplated just what he was going to do to this girl to make her pay for this one.
No more Mister –
There was a sharp pain and then things started to get blurry as he scrambled to his feet. The bitch had… he twisted looking, yeah incredulously, at the red feathering sticking out of his backside. There had been this chick in Cambodia…
The thought faded with his smile as consciousness dissolved and the dream world came for him. And bit him right in the ass.
---------------
She’d missed his neck first time round but it had been easier to stop the dart the second time, when it was already in her grasp and moving under her control. She had been able to bring it back like a guided missile. She hadn’t been aiming for his butt though. That was just coincidence. Wasn’t it? Maybe the cartoons had something to them. Perhaps it was just a universal law of darts?
Tara couldn’t guess why he was smiling as he started to collapse. He’d seen the dart sticking in him, looked surprised then got this big happy smile on his face and started to fall but his legs were still struggling to operate without guidance from his brain. The man staggered towards the edge of the roof, each step putting him more out of balance and carrying him further. She didn’t need a deck of tarot cards to see what was going to happen to him but it was too late, after a near pirouette on the lip of the building he started to topple.
She had to…
Why did she have to? He had certainly been trying to hurt her at the very least. No she
did have to. That was who she was. She set off towards him as he overbalanced in the wrong direction. Incantations whirling in her brain even as she tried to get to him to physically to grab his flailing arm.
But he had already fallen and she didn’t get to the edge in time to be able to see him heading towards the ground. If she could have seen him she could have softened the landing but blind… Her indecision had, what killed him? After the thud there was still the sound of groaning from down there. And, finally looking over, he seemed to have grown another set of arms and legs… although one of those was twisted at a horrible angle. It made her shudder just to see it.
He’d landed on the other one. The other man. Both were moving, both were alive… and if she left now then neither of them was coming after her. Her own leg twinged in sympathetic pain with the broken limb down below. Its owner moaned as alley-man tried to extricate himself from their tangle. But for the drug, whatever that was, he would surely have screamed. That effort soon stopped though. The man from the alley must have realised what was going on with his friend. But he would find a way from under the other eventually and she couldn’t know if her capture or death was more important than the safety of his friend. Were they friends? Comrades? Hired guns?
They might not even know each other. Or care. They could be devoted to their cause – whatever that was. However she might fit into it.
The window would take too long and so she took a controlled step off the lip of the building. If she had just jumped she would probably have hurt herself. Not like his uncontrolled fall, but it would have risked injury and she had to get away. She couldn’t fight humans. She’d end up killing one of them. People died around her, she knew that. She had nearly killed him already, even if it hadn’t been deliberate. What if he had landed on his head? Then it could have been his neck that was in that state instead of his leg. Thickening the air beneath her she never reached a dangerous dropping speed. It was like stepping off a bus that had not quite stopped. She landed beside them. The man from the roof was still moaning but seemed unaware at least of what he was moaning at. She met the eyes of the alley-man. He had a mark where roof-guy seemed to have struck him on the way down but otherwise he was just tangled up. His eyes were appraising her. She could feel it. Not working out if he could get her, just sizing her up - calmly.
Had she impressed him or something?
She hadn’t impressed herself. She had nearly killed his friend – no matter their motives she had nearly killed a person.
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Collins was stuck. He knew that. There was no way out of this until some trained medics arrived, otherwise they might never get Weatherby sorted. Dumb, overenthusiastic bastard that he was. This was not supposed to have been happening like this. Weatherby wasn’t supposed to have been within fifty feet of the witch who now looked down from high above him. There was no doubt in Collins’ mind that Weatherby had spooked the girl. Tried to assess her in his own unique way. The dart pistol that lay a meter away from them proved that. So did that dart sticking out of his ass. And now he might have ruined the entire operation. That could be costly. Rupert thought the girl had potential despite the problems and Collins had noted the Watcher’s recommendation.
I should, Collins realised,
have laid it all out at the start. It had been too long since they had done this sort of task. How many times had Weatherby’s enthusiasm for the mission saved his life? Smithy’s life? Too many to count. It was not something he ever wanted to curb – but he should just have excluded him from this mission. Subtlety was not Weatherby’s strongest suit. It was going to be tough for him to be subtle with a cast on his leg for the next six months or so. He’d seen bad breaks before and this was one. At least there was no blood though. Just a break.
He’d called for backup immediately it had happened and the communications team should have been summoning assistance – possibly from Rupert – even as he lay there. They’d call the emergency services only if Collins was forced to conclude that he could not safely get Weatherby to a trusted medic – perhaps Rupert would know of one. Watcher’s had to consider the fact that, in this day and age, their Slayer could not report every medical emergency to the authorities without awkward questions being asked.
He’d never thought the wiry Weatherby weighed so much. He could have got out, but feared doing more damage to his mate. Besides it might not just be the leg that was damaged. If Weatherby’s breathing became troubled he’d get out from under him, but until then he would just wait for assistance. And watch the girl.
The girl… nah young woman… was looking down at him, standing on the edge. Oh great. That’s all he needed now. No chance of getting to his gun quickly with Weatherby’s body pinning his arms with the weight across his chest. A pissed off witch. Brilliant. Or a falling witch… even worse.
Maclay stepped off the edge of the roof and Collins was afraid that she was going to hit. And he was bloody certain that she was going to hurt herself. This was the sort of height, as an adult, you never dreamed of dropping unless it was on a military assault course or there was something soft beneath you. Unless they
were the something soft. He shifted, preparing to roll Weatherby out from under her, heard the moan that his movement caused, but knew that it would be a damn sight worse than a moan if she hit them.
But she wasn't falling so much as sinking as she stepped off the roof. It was as if the air had the consistency of water and as he tried to breathe it took some extra effort. She had done… something… to the air. Clever girl. It was acting as a cushion to allow her to sink to the ground, just like stepping off a bus. One foot had gone out and, in the most graceful movement he had seen her make in the days of watching her, she touched the ground beside them with that same foot, metres below without any apparent effort. She used the simple methods to good effect then. That was good. That impressed him more than anything she had done with vampires in the last few days. Get her physically fitter and into pursuit of a target and there was nowhere she couldn’t go or follow, even up a building perhaps.
Always assuming she didn’t start snogging the target. And there was the problem. Or maybe just one of them. Smithy had to check in about the lawyer yet, but that was not looking good. Wolfram and Hart no less. This witch had the damndest friends.
He met her eyes as she stood next to them. He saw her sympathetic pain as she looked closer as Weatherby’s shattered leg. She still feels then. Despite whatever part she had in events – and he intended to find out about that before he wrote his report – she still felt for people. Perhaps she felt that she felt too much. That might be her whole problem. If the positions were reversed he would be delivering a sharp kick to that knackered leg and finding out who his pursuers had been.
She wouldn’t though. She didn’t have that in her. She even, and he saw it, felt guilty for what had happened. She still had her humanity then. She might associate with vampires and lawyer scum but despite that she retained the feelings of a true human. Feelings could be a good or a bad thing for someone in his line of work. His own team… Smithy was a good man but he was weighed down by feelings and Collins preferred to use his skills rather than put him in a position where he had to rely on him being ruthless. Weatherby was the opposite extreme. Drive and determination – and enthusiasm – would get him through the toughest jobs. Collins liked to think of himself in the middle. Already formulating his report in his mind he met the young woman’s eyes once more and he couldn’t tell just where she would fit in. Maybe she was neither black or white. Maybe she was also grey. Like him. But, with her obvious power, if she lost that humanity, she could become incredibly dangerous. That was another concern. The training might even do that to her. Or a mission. That perhaps was too dangerous to be risked. Or, caring as she did, she might be useless to them – unable to do what was necessary. If the training she would receive did not take or she resisted it.
But any middle ground might be ideal. All he had to decide was if she could occupy that middle ground safely.
He met those eyes again after checking on Weatherby and in them was… what? Collins was not a big believer in the eyes being the window to the soul. Not until that moment. But now really looking, appraising her, he saw that despite her youth her eyes were old. And they were tired. She had the look of a weary professional in his own line… right before they made a potentially fatal mistake. He’d seen it in colleagues from the Council and he had seen it on battlefields. He’d seen a lot of eyes just like those in his life. She was getting close to that point where she would make the ‘mistake.’ She might make the mistake but if skill and luck were with you then you could survive it… for a while. Eventually though… she would come a cropper because eventually people with that look stopped
wanting to survive.
“You should stop,” he told her. He hadn’t made up his mind about her and the report that she would feature in, but she needed to take a break, at least, from what she was doing now. She tilted her head wondering what he meant. “Just stop and get out.” And he knew that she understood him.
“I can’t stop. They’re always out there,” she replied. But she didn’t sound convinced by her own words.
“I know. But then you shouldn’t fight alone,” Collins told her, about to give her the recruiting spiel. Couldn’t hurt now. The decision was not his to make but whatever the outcome of his report it would help if she was thinking about it up front. She didn’t let him go into that though.
“I’m not alone.”
Who she meant he didn’t know. That she was fighting alongside the Slayer? The lawyer from Wolfram and Hart was on her side? Did she know what that firm represented? She couldn’t if she was fighting with Faith. Or did she mean her red-haired vampire lover? They connected again and he knew that, deep inside her, perhaps too deep for her even to know herself, the truth of her next words was at the core of it all.
“I’m n-not alone,” she repeated. “That’s the whole problem.” She broke the eye contact and looked at Weatherby who was moaning insensibly. “I’m sorry about that. But…”
“I know. Leave. We’ll sort him out.” On cue Weatherby groaned again. He needed to get rid of her to take care of his team-mate.
She nodded and with a few steps had vanished into shadow even as a car pulled up at the end of the alley and someone rushed towards them. Hail the cavalry. Collins ignored the assistance for a few moments, wondering just what he could put in his report that would dissuade the Council from either recruiting or eliminating the young woman.
Either way it wasn’t going to be easy to get them to leave her alone.
*************
by tommo » Sat Jul 13, 2002 9:17 am 
I loved this one. The hunting back and forth, the suspense of seeing them both maneuver and out-wit the other. And that ending, with Collins wanting the Council to leave her alone. Now that's interesting. 
