sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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A door to elsewhere has opened in the heart of Wolfram & Hart's stronghold, and it's letting in one hell of a draft.

The security guards are discovering, right about now, that their internal alarm system isn't working. And neither are their walkie-talkies. Or anybody's cellphone.

It's really kind of impressive how well they're rallying in the absence of any contact with each other or their own command.

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"No, wait --"

"Bugger."

River's boots are nearly silent on the thick carpet.

Unless you're listening very closely, anyway.

Slow steps; one hand rests on the butt of a gun, fingers trailing lightly over the gleaming wood. There's a snake inlaid, and she traces its curves slowly.

"Nobody's here," she says to the empty air, distant and dreamy. "Don't worry."

Another step, a second, a third; she rounds the corner of the desk, and drops abruptly to a crouch in front of it.

With a tiny, sweet smile, "I can see you."

The face that looks out from under the desk, from behind a pair of drawn-up knees, is white and terrified and streaked with tears.

"Oh god." It's a whimper. "Oh god -- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I never -- "

Never meant this to happen, he finishes the sentence silently. Course she didn't.

Spike steps back into the room, and moves forward until he's standing a little behind River, looking down at her and at Beth.

"Shhhh," River murmurs.

That smile is still there, gentle and sweet and somehow not reassuring in the slightest.

"Yes you did."

"Run scared. Don't worry. That's what they say. We'll help you make it all okay. Just find the dead-end."

"We're doing such good work."

"I didn't know!" Beth's arms, wrapped around her knees, tighten convulsively. "I swear, I didn't know, please...."

River's head cocks to one side.

"What do you know now?"

It's incongruously compassionate.

"Something not very nice," he says quietly, "isn't it, pet."

He remembers a conversation with this one, over too-hot french fries; remembers her vehemence when she said I don't kill vampires. I don't kill anybody.

"What she wanted it for. What she's doing --"

Beth brings up one hand to wipe her eyes.

"I didn't know."

"Just facts," River murmurs.

"Took off the mask. See the lies in the truth."

"Now," she says very gently, looking directly into Beth's eyes (for too long for comfort, too long for courtesy), "you know who killed you. Time to listen hard."

And she stands up, and turns away.

River's bloody unnerving, sometimes. He likes that.

Beth doesn't seem to appreciate it, though: the smell of terror is thick in the room, and it's all hers. River is cold and serene like she was once in a circle of dying vampires, and he can smell the blood crusting on her arm.

It's a frisson at the base of his spine, blood and fear still the same sodding strong cocktail, soul or no. But --

"Places to be, demons to kill," he says -- a diversion for River, he hopes; a not-quite-apology to Beth. There's not time to crouch down by her shaking shoulders and tell her everyone sells out the world once in a while, life goes on if you duck fast enough.

"Live through this," he tells her instead, "and I'll buy you a drink."

Just as well there's no time: Beth cringes back at his words alone, and there's no telling how she'd react if he got any closer.

She doesn't move as they leave the room, just lowers her face into her arms and goes back to praying for it to be over.

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