A Few Key Sunnydale Alum

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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nomorekaraoke

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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The bat's sharpened end fouls in his leather coat and doesn't get through, but it's still like being punched in the ribs. Jordie tries to dodge around him, doesn't make it, and dives for him with a snarl.

Sara, meanwhile, has hit the ground rolling.

And comes up wielding the practice Scythe.

(Andrew swears under his breath, in Klingon.)

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It's a bloody good thing he doesn't need to breathe, but the impact of a snarling Slayer isn't any too pleasant on a maybe fractured rib either (or a smiling Slayer either, he remembers. Good times.)

Sheer habit and his little walk down memory lane has Spike rolling the pair of them over so he's straddling a hundred-mumble pounds of pissed off Slayer. He runs his tongue over suddenly longer teeth. He's got a stake in his hand, heading for her throat. Stupid weapon for this fight but it's whats in his pocket these days.

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"--Spike, no!"

Andrew's trying to edge around Sara (while Gunn tries the same thing from the other side), and his voice is clear and horrified.

"No deaths!"

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Spike is answering Andrew but he never takes his eyes from Jordie. "That's up to her."

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"Nobody dies here tonight," says Angel, flat and grim.

And then he moves, closing on Sara and grappling for the axe, keeping its edge away from him long enough for Gunn to dive around one side and tackle Tricia before she can stake Spike in the back, for Andrew to dive around the other side --

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-- and come up next to Beth, grabbing her by the wrist.

"By order of the Watchers' Council," he shouts, his voice pitched to carry over the fight, "I hereby take you into custody until such time as --"

"What?" That's Jordie, suddenly (potentially lethally) distracted from her fight with Spike.

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Spike catches her face in one hand and her hair in the other. He doesn't break her neck -- doesn't even pull her head back to expose the throat -- but he could.

Reluctantly he lets the fangs fade. Whatever Andrew's on about, it seems to be working.

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"-- until such time -- stand down, Slayer," and that's much sharper, an order barked at Tricia as she ducks under Gunn's arm and makes for Beth. "She's in the custody of the Council and is not to be injured, do you understand me?"

A quick flicker of his gaze back toward Beth, who's staring at him in terror, directs the question at her as well.

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And Beth -- well, she's still frozen. His grip on her wrist isn't tight, and even if it were, she knows she's stronger than he is ... but he's arresting her. Out of the middle of a fight.

And ... they're stopping, all three of the Council Slayers, and staring at him.

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Good. Andrew's heart is still triphammering, and he can't show it, not for a second; this move depends on them recognizing his authority, which means he's got to believe in it utterly.

"Are we all very clear on this? Ladies?" Looking around to give each of them a hard stare.

He knows it's going to work when Tricia's bat slowly starts to sag toward the floor, when Sara looks down with her jaw setting. Jordie's eyes flick from one to the other, and settle on him.

"You can let her up, Spike," he says quietly.

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It takes a couple seconds to make himself slowly unclench his fingers. Couple hundred years of instinct and history shouting Kill the Slayer Bitch in his ear are almost as loud as Andrew's bloody heartbeat.

Fortunately Spike was always shite at listening.

He half-shoves the bint free of his grip and stands, dusting a couple strands of hair free to fall to the floor. There will be bruises on her jaw in the shape of his fingers. For a few minutes, anyway.

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Jordie gets to her feet, and doesn't give Spike a second look; she's staring at Andrew with enough intensity to punch holes in a paper target.

"You're arresting her?" she says, her voice scraped down to a bare thread of sound. "Now?"

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