“I should’ve known.”
Two bags of blood and a short rest had done wonders for Spike’s appearance – not to mention his attitude which was back to being as cocky as ever.
“Known what?” Wesley wasn’t really listening. He was focused on working through his memories of the recall codes, trying to identify one that would override the shuttle’s programming. He’d just punched in another one and it had been rejected with the same contempt as all the rest. He reached to scrunch up the top page of the notebook and toss it away, leaving a blank sheet for his next set of scribbling.
“About the heart thing. Six months of being chased through time and space by Glory – living in that weird ship o’his … Learnt a lot more about the Watcher than I probably wanted to. But knowing it and seeing it … Guess I never really bought all that regeneration shit. Least – not until today.”
“You thought I was human.” Wesley’s pen jerked across the pristine whiteness, leaving a trail of ink and history behind it. He hadn’t used the Gallifreyan script since he’d before he’d been sent to Earth; hadn’t, in fact, ever expected to need it again.
“You were human. Far as I could tell, anyway.”
“That’s what my father thought.” A stray memory surfaced to distract him; a stark recollection of pumping bullets into his father’s body and watching it fall. He’d known that that thing wasn’t his father almost as soon as the last bullet had left the gun. That much damage should have triggered the regeneration cycle …
“Then your father was a freaking arsewipe.” The vampire savoured the phrase with relish, grinning around its delivery. If he expected Wesely to protest or deny the suggestion, he was going to be disappointed.
“Probably. Not that it matters.” Another code. Another failure to respond to it. The paper crackled as it was scrunched under his hand. “He’s dead. I’m not. Actually … they’re all dead. All but the Watcher … and me.”
“Nah,” Spike denied, perching himself on the edge of the desk and unfolding one of the abandoned pages so that he could study it quizzically. “Don’t believe that for a minute, mate. I know the Bringers were hunting them down round here but … it’s a big universe.”
Wesley’s head jerked up, a moment of anger surging through him at the vampire’s casual callousness. Then he realised that Spike had no idea what he was talking about, and let the anger go. There probably hadn’t been much opportunity for the Watcher to tell anyone about the Time War before the defeat of the First, and Spike hadn’t been around to catch whatever he had said afterwards. Not much, Wesley suspected. He’d been honest enough in that grim phone call – but that had been a matter for the two of them, a family matter in a universe where family had been reduced to a single guilt burdened survivor and a lowly half-breed.
Spike’s grin had resurfaced with a wicked twist. “That Doctor bloke – he’ll be out there somewhere. I kinda liked him. Got the impression the Watcher did too.”
The Scholar shivered. He’d never met the Doctor, but he knew the renegade Time Lord’s reputation; in the war between his kind and the Daleks, he’d have been on the front line for certain. Besides, the vampire was fishing, and he had no intention of rising to the bait.
“I trust there’s a point to this conversation, Spike, because if not, I don’t have time to … damn!.” He reached to snatch the crumpled page from the vampire’s hand, staring at the parade of symbols it displayed with a mixture of victory and self annoyance. Spike’s curious manipulations had turned and re-turned the page, inverting the symbols and presenting them from a completely different perspective.
“What?” Spike questioned, bemused by his reaction. “You missed something?”
“I missed everything,” Wesley shot back, keying a completely different command into the beacon. The slow pulse of the locator symbol flickered, vanished for a moment, then leapt back into life with vibrant brilliance. “I am such a fool.”
He got to his feet and headed for the foyer. Spike frowned and followed him. “Not arguing with you mate, but … uh … you … um …”
“I was going about the whole thing the wrong way entirely.” Wesley’s spirits, which had been sinking deeper and deeper into helpless gloom, were now dancing somewhere close to the ceiling. No. Higher than that.
Dancing back towards the stars.
“Success?” Angel asked, as the two of them strode into view. Spike shrugged. The Scholar nodded, his attention focused on the device in his hand.
“I hope so. You see – I was trying to get it come to my rescue and it wasn’t doing a thing – and why would it, because it’s just a mark 60. They only have rudimentary self-awareness at best. No sense of loyalty or connection. But what they do have is a healthy sense of self-preservation. I just told it it was in danger – and as I’m the only Time Lord on hand, it’s coming here to ask me what to do.”
“Damn,” Spike said, giving him a look of amused respect. “That’s bloody clever.”
“Bloody well necessary,” Wesley retorted. His eyes darted around the room, assessing the situation. Robin Wood and the more badly injured Slayers were no longer draped over the furniture; Angel had offered to turn the hotel into a temporary hospital, and it was likely that most of them were now safely tucked into bed somewhere on the upper floors. That left a slew of tired and battered young women, sitting around with grim expressions and signs of exhaustion on their faces. Some were sharing cans of Coke, others something a little stronger; there were a group in one corner clustered around a spread street map, and another huddle busy cleaning weapons and restringing cross bows at the foot of the stairs. Faith was leaning back against the desk, a cellphone practically glued to her ear as she issued instructions and relayed good advice. Angel had obviously been pacing, denied the chance to re-enter the fray by the looming promise of dawn – the morning variety, not Buffy’s sister, although Wesley vaguely recalled someone mentioned that both she and Andrew were on their way.
And then there was Illyria, standing in the middle of the room and watching everything with bemused but rapt attention.
It was her head that swiveled first; everyone else turned as the soft throaty groan of an arriving Tardis echoed through the foyer, a grating, wheezing announcement that no-one could ignore.
“Christ,” Spike snorted, “that brings back memories …”
The shuttle materialised with the minimum of fuss; its chameleon circuit kicked in as soon as it registered its surroundings, turning it from a nondescript piece of iceberg into what looked
remarkably like a locked and shuttered information booth. Several Slayers leapt to their feet and grabbed weapons; Illyria dropped into a fighting stance and then slowly straightened up again.
“I feel – strange thoughts,” she reported puzzeldly. “They speak of fear.”
“I frightened it.” Wesley strode across to run his hand down the edge of the booth, wondering how you calmed a terrified Tardis. Especially one that only possessed a rudimentary intelligence. “It was the only way I could get it here.”
“Aren’t you gonna need a key?” Spike questioned. “The Watcher always said – “
“The Watcher’s Tardis is a mark 45. A classic Top of the range. Highly sophisticated model. Been in his family for generations … This is a mark 60. It’s no more than a shuttle.” His reach for the door handle was wary, despite the confidence in his words. The Tardis was frightened – and it might not want to open its doors, despite the directive from the beacon.
“A shuttle?” Angel had moved across to join the rest of the crowd staring at the incongruous sight of the Scholar trying to open a tourist booth that was barely bigger than a phone box. “From where to where?”
“Here to there.” Wesley pushed – and the door popped open, much to his, and everyone else’s, relief. “Earth current century that is, back to an orbit of Gallifrey. That’s maximum range for a vehicle like this.”
”So what hell good is that going to do?” Faith was standing beside Angel, frowning at the poster covered object. “I thought you said this thing could bring Buffy back. She won’t be hanging round a dead planet – besides, Giles wouldn’t have taken them anywhere near the place. He wouldn’t,” she insisted, at the look this earned her from vampires and Time Lord alike. “Guys – you weren’t around for some of his nightmares. He would not go back to Gallifrey. Trust me.”
“I have no choice.” Wesley turned to face the gathering, the echoing depth of the Tardis at his back. “The shuttle is programmed for local travel, short time jumps – and the long haul back to the Riox monitoring station. That’s where I’ll start my search. If the systems are still operational, I’ll be able to track any active Tardis signals – and with luck, there’ll be a mark 50 or a 52 still parked on the station and I’ll be able to go after them. Wherever – or whenever they might be.”
"Lot of if’s in that,” Spike pointed out. “You’re a Watcher mate, not a time technician. Even if there’s stuff still working, you gonna be able to use it?”
A murmur ran round the gathered Slayers and Wesley suppressed a wince. He had no idea if there was a chance in hell for any of what he’d just said actually happening – but these girls needed hope and he was all they’d got.
“This man – I mean Time Lord,” Angel announced, “can translate Execian demonic script in the middle of a sword fight. He’s even been known to declaim banishing spells with a book in one hand and a flamethrower in the other. I should think he can figure out a few knobs and dials from the home country, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Faith agreed, cracking a cynical smile. “Walk in the park. It gonna take long?”
“Might take years.” He wasn’t sure if either of them meant their sudden declarations of confidence, but they were nice to hear, all the same. “But we’ll be back almost before you know it. This is a time machine, you know.”
“Would it go back?” Illyria suddenly appeared from behind the Tardis, making Spike jump. Wesley fought down a small smile. He’d seen her stalk round behind it while he was trying to open the door. “Would it go all the way back? Take me back to my world? My kingdom? My people?”
“No freaking way, Blue,” Spike reacted. “Take you back to hellgoddess ville, in a time machine? Hand you back the power to conquer the entire universe? I should bloody well think not!”
“You can’t go back.” The Scholar kept his voice as steady as he could – despite the way that his soul ached at the thought. Go back? Go back to a Gallifrey where his mother still lived and laughed and remembered days among the Sevateem? Go back to the moment when he held Conner in his arms and made the greatest mistake of his life? Go back to the day before Fred opened that sarcophagus?
If only.
Oh, if only …
“Time doesn’t work that way. Intervening in your own past isn’t just dangerous , it’s … potentially catastrophic. You could create a paradox that would threaten the entirety of time – and time has mechanisms to deal with those kind of threats. There were project teams on Gallifrey that spent centuries unraveling the results of that kind of meddling. In fact,” he added with a sudden sense of irony, “you’re looking at an ex-member of one right now.”
“You mean the Watchers were … shit,” Faith exclaimed, grinning with amused disgust. “You saying the Slayers were a mistake?”
“No.” Wesley looked round the room, feeling an odd kind of pride; he was surrounded by slayers, which was just as it should be. Nobody had ever thought it would happen, but it had. “The mistake was only getting one at a time. It’s a long story, Faith and I don’t have time right now. Ask me when I get back. Better yet – ask the Watcher. He’s the one that knows it best.” He paused to take a breath. A long one. It might be a long time before he breathed the airs of Earth again. “I have to go.”
“Not alone,” Angel said softly. “You’ll need help.”
The Scholar gave him a look – a true classic, complete with a raised eyebrow and twist of wry disbelief. “Helping flying a Tardis, Angel? Know anyone round here qualified for that?”
“Well, you know, I – “ Spike began, only to be elbowed into silence by a determined nudge from Faith.
“Not help with the Tardis, Wes.” The older vampire was looking at him with quiet intensity. “Just with everything else. Don’t go alone.”
“I won’t.” Wesley’s voice caught a little in his throat; he hadn’t been expecting that. “You’ll all be with me. You’re …” It suddenly seemed important to say it, no matter how hard it was to put the thought into words. “Family. The only one I have.” He glanced around the room one more time. Angel was right. He shouldn’t go alone. There was no knowing what he might run into on his quest – and while he was perfectly capable of defending himself, his experience with Vale had clearly demonstrated the advantage of having backup. Any one of the younger slayers would do; he could take them under his wing, teach them the way he’d been trained to, back on Gallifrey …
The glance paused on a figure in crimson leather. The goddess was watching him the way she often did, her head slightly tilted, and her expression suggesting puzzled curiosity. For all her ancient power and confident arrogance there was a naivety about her, an eternal innocence that echoed the soul she had usurped. She was the last of her species, the only one of her kind – and in that, at least, they now shared a kinship that no human or vampire would ever be able to understand.
“You are leaving,” she said. “I feel – hollow - when I think of this. I do not like this feeling. I will go out and kill things when you are gone.”
“No, you won’t,” Wesley said, suddenly understanding what he had to do. She blinked at him.
“I will not?”
“No. You’re coming with me …”