A Few Key Sunnydale Alum

Jordie's not looking at Lorne anymore.

"If you don't want anyone else to die because of you," she says, lethally soft, "tell him to step aside. Last chance."

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One unsteady hand reaches out to brace against the doorframe.

Her voice is a thin, shocked whisper. "Boss..."

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"Don't. I'm not letting them slaughter you."

...and suddenly, he realizes something. Something important.

To Jordie, softly, gently. "You're afraid."

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"Not of you," Jordie answers evenly. "Beth? What's it gonna be?"

"I'm sorry," Beth's whimpering, "I'm sorry --"

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"No, not of me. Of what killing me will mean to you." Still watching, never taking his eyes off anything or anyone, but for now his main focus is on the girl with the fabulous hair. "What it will do to you, what your superiors will think. Your friends...what if they know me, if they'd notice I'm gone. What if they find out."

He takes one step closer, the palms of his hands showing at his sides. "Hit me. Shut me up.

"Kill me."

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For just a flicker of a moment, she hesitates; long enough to tell Lorne that his shot struck home.

Then she lifts the axe over her shoulder, her face set in grim resolve. "I don't have to kill you," she grates, "to shut you up."

And she brings the weapon around like a baseball player swinging for the fences, turning it in mid-strike so that it's the flat of the blade, not the edge, aimed at Lorne's head.

From behind him, Beth's voice: "No!"

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One word echoes in his head, one word comes through more clearly than all the rest of them as he literally wrenches himself into a dodge. Coward. He isn't sure if it's aimed at himself or the girl, the Slayer or the lot of them for ganging up on Emma. But there isn't room for thought anymore, especially when one of the others follow their leader's cue.

Something slams into his back but he can't feel pain - the adrenaline rush takes care of that - just the sickly crack of something giving way. He lunges, grabbing for the lamp by the window, swings it around horizontally and hoping it will at least act as a distraction enough for Emma to "RUN!"

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Tricia dodges the lamp -– mostly; it grazes her ribs before smashing into the wall, sending fragments of glass everywhere -– and drives a looping blow with her baseball bat into Lorne's side. Sara stands her ground with the crossbow, waiting for a clear shot.

Jordie darts to one side to circle the fight and makes for the doorway where Beth's still standing frozen, unable to move.

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Fuck it. Damn it, fuck it why isn't she moving, he can't stay over here if she's-- The wall seems to crash into him suddenly, and then the floor. His head spins, but closing his eyes helps against that. Buzzing between his ears, the noise and lack of every other sound is virtually inside his head.

He wants to shout intelligent snippets of advice, but there's no time for talking now, and as much as he'd like to do something more tactically ingenious, he's running out of options. Block, parry, dodge, he's losing the fight but not giving a damn, he's got to get to Emma before it's too late.

"Emma!"

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She's crying. With terror, and sick self-loathing, and furious anger. And the tears are blurring her eyes, but that doesn't stop her from bringing her hands together sharply as Jordie swings the axe –-

-- and stopping the blade, catching the flat of it between her palms, the blow meant to split her skull arrested in midair.

Jordie stares in brief shock, and Beth twists her wrists and jerks the weapon out of her hands, hurls it aside with a convulsive shudder. "Get out of here," she says unsteadily. "Take your, your gang and get out of here. Leave us alo --"

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The roundhouse punch to the jaw cuts off the end of the word, and sends her staggering.

Jordie steps forward, raising her fist again. "Yeah, you know what? No."

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His heart stops. His heart literally stops as the axe starts its downward swing; a crescendo builds from the very tips of his toes but before it can escape, Emma isn't dead, the walls aren't spattered with blood and brains, and all of a sudden his heart starts beating again. It thunders in his head, behind his eyes.

It doesn't even occur to him that throwing himself at Jordie leaves his back completely exposed, there's only one thing on his mind.

Emma shouldn't have to fight.

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Trouble is: this is exactly the kind of thing Sara's supposed to be watching for. There's no time to shout a warning to Jordie, and no need.

The crossbow bolt hits Lorne just below the left shoulder, and goes far enough for about an inch of arrowhead to sprout from under his collarbone.

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Years from now, Lorne will describe this moment as the heat in his chest bursting open like a flower at dawn. He'll indulge his inner poet and storyteller, tell everyone exactly how brave Emma was, how very brave she was in the face of imminent danger and death, how proud she made him.

Right now, right this moment, the world goes out of focus and all blood drains from his face, but neither of this quite stops his forward momentum. He's crashing, and fast.

"Em--"

He can see stars.

Edited Date: 2009-05-10 06:36 pm (UTC)

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Beth's screaming.

Screaming as Lorne staggers and goes to his knees, as Tricia steps in behind him and with brutal efficiency kicks him in the left buttock, a hammerblow to the heart. As Jordie leaps at her again, hands reaching for her throat.

As the bedroom window bursts inward, scattering broken glass across the room, and a pale-haired figure in a long black coat lands in a crouch on the floor and lunges to body-block Jordie into the wall.

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There's no poetry for this. No pretty words to circumvent the horror of the moment and make things seem all right, like there's some sort of silver lining glimmering on the horizon.

Nothing but darkness, nothing but dull sounds enveloping him like water and his breath catching in his throat; his ticker not tocking anymore. He goes down, slamming into the floor like a sack of dirt.

He doesn't get up.

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"Sorry I'm late," says Spike.

He shakes his head and bits of broken glass scatter from his hair in all directions. (If Angel did that it would look like a broken emo halo or something. On Spike it looks like a wet dog.)

Spike digs a knee into the girl on his way to his feet and reluctantly lets go in favor of the primary mission -- getting his undead ass between Beth and everyone else until the bloody cavalry arrives.

From the look of the big green trip hazard, Lorne does not currently count as reinforcements.

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Not so much, no; and the Slayer who took him down is advancing on Spike, sharpened baseball bat at the ready.

"Boy, the hits just keep on comin'," she says sardonically. "Demons and now vampires."

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That's what's passing for Slayer repartee these days? Buffy did it SO much better.

Even still, Spike grins as he ducks the superstake and aims a sweeping kick at her kneecaps. Fighting a Slayer is still the ultimate rush, and now he gets to do it on the side of the angels.

One Angel, anyway.

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She dodges the kick and thrusts with the bat, aiming it like a spear.

Behind Spike, Jordie's getting to her feet; in the bedroom doorway, Sara cocks the crossbow again and waits for a clean shot.

Fighting three Slayers may be a little more than Spike bargained for.

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If it weren't for Beth at his back, fighting three Slayers would be Spike's wet dream. But as things stand ... "get down, pet," he growls. He hopes to hell Beth is listening, because if he stops to check, he's dead.

He grabs the bat with both hands and tries to tug it away from her. If it comes, great. One more weapon for Our Side.

But he's betting she'll hang on for dear life ... in which case it's time to swing her about and bowl her into whichever of her Stepford Sisters is nearest.

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She doesn't do either. She lunges, shoulder leading, right into him; if he doesn't lose his grip on the bat, it means his hands are otherwise occupied.

If Jordie were hitting him from the other side, he could be in serious trouble -- but she's going after Beth again. And stepping in from the bedroom doorway, Sara --

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-- is knocked to the floor, the crossbow skittering away.

Angel moves into the room, with Gunn and Andrew fanning out to either side behind him.

The bloody cavalry has arrived.

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Now then, that's more like it. Spike lets the damn bat go in favor of diving between Jordie and Beth -- with any luck it'll stick in the damn drywall and slow her up long enough for someone else to land a punch. With no luck, well, it won't be the first time, or the 300th, someone's landed a splinter in his anatomy.

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