Entangled
by Mariner
Spoilers: Season 4 BtVS through "Who Are You." This story is set between "Who Are You" and "Where the Wild Things Are."
Disclaimer: All characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy and Fox Television. I'm using them without permission, for my own evil but strictly non-profit purposes.
I
"Is it me," Riley muttered, "or have all the demons gone on vacation tonight?"
"Maybe they're baseball fans," Forrest suggested. "And they're all sitting in their crypts watching the Dodgers' home opener. I know I wish I was."
Graham blinked at him, deadpan as ever. "You don't have a crypt."
It was good to have the banter again, Riley thought. Good to grin at Forrest every now and then, and get an answering grin back. Good to see that look of permanent worry disappear from Graham's eyes. Whatever trouble he might get into for reinstating the patrols without proper authorization, it would be worth it.
After Walsh and Angleman's deaths and Adam's escape, Riley had phoned Washington for orders and been told to sit tight and do nothing until the new commanders arrived to "assess the situation." Which was all very well, but time had passed and no one arrived, and now Washington wasn't even taking Riley's calls anymore. He was beginning to feel like the leader of a lost platoon in some old World War II movie, which was a stupid way to be feeling in the middle of a college campus in Southern California.
The rest of the guys hated it too. He could see them growing a little more stir crazy with every passing day. Riley scheduled extra workouts for everyone, but it wasn't enough. They were getting harder and harder to deal with, particularly Forrest, who had acquired a habit of sitting around muttering snide comments about Buffy in a voice just loud enough to be audible. In the end, Riley decided it was either patrol or murder, and murder would be more paperwork. So he gave the order and watched morale improve instantly as the men anticipated a chance to kick some Hostile ass.
Problem was, no Hostiles were presenting ass to be kicked.
They were patrolling the jogging paths on the east side of campus. There wasn't much of interest in the area -- just the Chem Lab building, the campus laundromat, a lot of grass, and some shrubbery. A great place to lurk, except that no one was lurking. Well, he and Forrest and Graham were, but that didn't really count.
Riley sighed and admitted defeat. They hadn't seen anything bigger than a squirrel for over two hours, and all the other patrol teams were reporting equal boredom throughout the town.
"Come on, guys, let's call it a night."
"Oh, good," Forrest said. "Maybe I can still catch the game highlights on the late-late news."
"You have a one track mind," Riley told him. "Sports or sex, all you ever talk about."
"Hey, man, that's two tracks."
The shortest way back to Lowell House lay northwest across the lawn, so that was the direction they took, despite Forrest's snarky remarks about what a rebel Riley was for disobeying the "Don't walk on grass" sign. Snarky Forrest was a great improvement over hostile and resentful Forrest, and Riley was so glad to have his best friend back to normal that he didn't even react to the teasing. It did distract him, though, so he didn't notice anything wrong until something yanked his feet right out from under him.
He landed on his back, hard, and felt himself being dragged across the ground. Something had him by the ankles, something really strong. Something that felt like a tentacle. Riley was fairly sure he didn't want to see whatever it was, but he lifted his head and looked anyway.
Not tentacles. Vines. Dozens of them, bursting out of the ground in a slithery, leafy mass, raining bits of dirt in all directions. Some were pencil-thin, some-- like the one that was currently coiling its way up his legs -- were thicker around than his forearm.
Riley fired his taser at the thing, aiming low to the ground where the vines were thickest. They twitched and flailed in response, but maintained the crushing hold on his legs. A few of the skinnier tendrils rose from the ground to grasp at his arms, pulling him flat on his back again. This is so not good.
Something grabbed the back of his collar, and he let out a very non-military yelp before realizing that it was a human hand. From the corner of his eye, he could see Forrest crouching next to him, frantically sawing at some vines with a knife. The crackle of an electrical discharge told him that Graham was firing his own taser somewhere nearby.
None of it was doing any good. He was still being pulled forward, and now the ground beneath him was turning soft and squishy, more like a bog than a lawn. Riley could feel him himself sinking into it, borne down by his own weight and by the inexorable drag of the vines. He could hear Forrest swearing and Graham shouting his name, but he couldn't see them. All he saw was an explosion of green just before the mud swallowed him.
Under normal circumstance, Buffy would've said that a boring patrol was a good patrol. Not now, though. Not with Adam still out there doing whatever it was that psychotically redundant biochemical demonoids liked to do when they were off by themselves. He was no longer draping dissected corpses over the shrubbery, which was a big improvement in Buffy's book, but she was sure he was doing something equally gross and anti-social somewhere. The thought was making her twitchy.
She had followed her usual nightly circuit -- first the Bronze, then the cemeteries, then the UC Sunnydale campus -- and aside from a couple of really lame vampires in the parking lot behind the Bronze, nothing had bothered her. Still, she kept both her guard and her crossbow up as she trudged back toward the dorm. The Hellmouth had this annoying habit of throwing nasty things at her at the tail end of a patrol, just as she was starting to think longingly of bed, hot cocoa, and Mr. Gordo.
Like now. Buffy rounded the corner of the Chem Lab building and stopped, blinking at the surreal scene that was unfolding on the East Lawn. Two guys -- correction, two Initiative commandos, decked out in all their macho camo gear -- down on their hands and knees in the grass, digging up the lawn with their hands.
Let me guess. It's the Initiative Rotary Club and Gardening Society. Buffy took a step forward, then stopped, tucked the crossbow under her arm, dug out her pocket mirror, and gave herself a quick once-over before advancing. She was too far away to make out who the commando-boys were, but there was a decent chance that one of them might be Riley, and the likelihood would approach certainty if she had a mascara smudge on her face or a twig caught in her hair.
By the time she reached the edge of the grass, she had recognized Forrest and Graham. That was awkward. Graham was okay, but she wasn't at all sure about Forrest. Not that she knew him well enough to pass judgement, but in the little time they'd spent together, Buffy had sensed a definite lack of warm fuzzies from him. In fact, cold slimies would be more like it. She considered just walking off -- they still hadn't seemed to notice her presence -- but curiosity was getting the better of her. She cleared her throat to attract their attention and stepped closer.
"Okay, don't tell me. You fought the lawn and the lawn won."
Forrest jerked his head up, and Buffy wished she'd held off on the comedy routine. He looked like a vamp about to go into game face, all snarly and wild-eyed. For a moment she actually thought he might go for her throat. But then the fight seemed to just go out of him. He sat down in the middle of the dug-up dirt and put his head in his hands. Behind him, Graham just knelt there, not moving and not looking at her.
Buffy was beginning to get a queasy feeling about this. "What happened? Where's Riley?" Now that she thought about it, it was worry-making not to see him. Didn't the three of them usually come as a set?
"Riley's gone." It was Graham who spoke. Buffy stared at him, brain refusing to process the information.
"What do you mean, gone? Gone where?"
"Gone as in dead." Graham's voice choked on the last word. He still wouldn't look up at Buffy. "It was some new class of hostile. Never seen anything like it--"
"It was a fucking plant," Forrest growled. "Came out of the ground and dragged him under. One minute he's there, the next he's not, and there's nothing left but grass and dirt, not even a fucking hole in the ground, and what the fuck am I supposed to tell his family?"
"No," Buffy said. It came out as a croak, so she tried again, with more emphasis. "No." There was a rapid, painful pounding in her chest and a dry tightness in her throat. Riley couldn't be dead. Not like that. Not on a boring, ordinary night when the world wasn't even ending. She circled around unsteadily to stand between the two commandos and looked down at the ground where they'd been digging. It was just like Forrest said, nothing but grass and dirt. No great big demon claw marks, no blood. Nothing at all to show that a man had been killed. This was all wrong. It had to be. It just wasn't the way things happened in her life.
She sank to her knees between Forrest and Graham and scooped up a handful of earth. It felt like normal dirt, not evil or demony or anything. Again she told herself that this couldn't be right, that it was all too normal, that if Riley was dead she'd know somehow. She dug up another handful, and another… In a few moments she was up to her elbows in the dirt, digging as frantically as Forrest and Graham had been earlier. They watched her for a minute, then resumed their own efforts.
She wasn't sure how long they kept at it, attacking the earth as if it was a particularly nasty enemy. Forrest even pulled his knife and stabbed the ground over and over, cutting the soil into loose clumps for Graham to brush aside. By the time they stopped, exhausted, they had turned their section of the lawn into a rectangular pit that looked unpleasantly like an open grave. Buffy pushed that image aside as soon as it arose, and struggled to her feet, brushing her hands off on her jeans.
"This is pointless," she muttered.
"Yeah." Forrest's voice was flat. "He's gone."
Buffy ignored him. "Giles. We have to go to Giles. He'll know what to do."
"Hello?" Forrest climbed to his feet. "Did you miss the point here? He's dead. There's nothing to do. You can't help a corpse!"
He was standing way inside her personal space, looming in that emphatic way that all tall guys seemed to have, and that was only cute when Riley did it. Buffy would've happily slugged him, except that even in the bad light, even with her head craned back to look up at him, she could clearly see the grief in his face.
"I don't see a corpse," she told him. "And I'm not writing him off until I see one. Now I'm going to go see some people who can help. You can come along, or you can stay here and finish your gardening. I don't give a shit."
Then she turned on her heels and marched off in the direction of Giles' house, not waiting to see if they would follow.
When the ground had closed above his head, Riley had been a hundred percent sure he was about to die. There had been just enough time to think well, I guess Forrest won't catch the game highlights after all, and to feel really stupid for going out with that for his final thought, before everything went dark. Everything was still dark, but he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. For one thing, he was breathing, though it hurt, and something seemed to be squeezing his chest so he couldn't inhale all the way. For another thing, he was lying on his back on a damp, chilly surface, his mouth tasted of dirt, and his left boot had a pebble in it. And his nose itched. If this was the afterlife, he'd been badly misinformed.
He wasn't alone, either. There was someone crying somewhere nearby, soft little whimpers and moans interspersed with an occasional sniffle. Riley turned his head in the direction of the sound, but it was just as dark there as everywhere else.
"Hello?" he called out, wincing at the scratchiness in his throat. "Anyone there?"
No answer, just more whimpering. Riley wasn't even sure if it was a person or an animal making the noise. He wished he knew where his flashlight was. The darkness was beginning to unnerve him.
He tried to sit up, but couldn't do more than lift his head. This led to a moment of gasping panic before he realized that the same vines that had dragged him under now held him fast. Only his right arm was free -- he remembered Forrest cutting away the vines on that side. Well, at least he could scratch his nose.
With that distraction out of the way, he could concentrate on more important things, like where he was and how he was going to get out. In an ideal world, Forrest and Graham would grab a couple of shovels and dig straight down till they found him, but this was Sunnydale, and he wasn't going to hold his breath waiting for a lucky rescue. He could be miles underground for all he knew. There was a tracer in his watch, but he had no idea how far the signal would carry through the earth. You never knew with Initiative equipment. Sometimes it was like being in Starfleet, other times you wound up using your shiny new rifle as a club while a pissed-off seven-foot demon bore down on you.
They probably thought he was dead anyway. Forrest was probably back at the compound right now, filling out the paperwork, thinking up lies to tell his parents. Would anyone even bother to call Buffy? It hurt to think that he might die here in the dark without her knowing, and that the one time he'd told her that he loved her, it was really someone else. He should've said something the last time he saw her, should've…
Quit sniveling, Finn. This was no time to get maudlin. If nobody was coming for him, then he had to try and get himself out. His radio and taser were gone, off keeping company with his flashlight, no doubt, but there had to be something…
He could get at some of his pockets, if he thrashed around a bit and didn't mind twisting his spine into a pretzel. Amazing, the amount of crap a guy could accumulate without noticing. Screwdriver, pack of gum, spare battery pack for the taser, a plastic laminated card that was probably his student ID, tether line, grappling hook, half a candy bar, some loose change… Aha! Swiss Army knife.
Getting the blade open in pitch dark with just one hand and his teeth proved an interesting challenge, but he managed eventually. Having a weapon in his hand made him feel a lot better, and he tried hard not to think about the fact that he was about to use a three-inch blade to attack a giant demon that had shrugged off multiple taser hits. Here goes nothing. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, and stabbed down at the thick coil of vines around his waist.
There was a sudden burst of rustling noise all around him, like a gust of wind in a forest. The vine he'd stabbed shuddered once, then contracted so abruptly Riley thought his spine would snap. He yelled, jabbed down again with the knife, and found his arm entangled in a knot of thin but unbreakable strands that slithered up his sleeve and around his wrist, squeezing until his hand went numb, and the knife fell from his weakened grip.
The damn vines were everywhere. They snaked up his arms, looped around his throat, slithered in his hair. He cried out, and they went into his mouth, too. He couldn't spit them out, and biting produced no effect except for a trickle of thick, bitter sap on his tongue. One thin tendril wriggled down his throat, making him choke. He struggled, no longer rational, just thrashing around in a blind panic until he couldn't breathe anymore, and the pain and fear both faded to nothingness.
IIGiles, bless him, didn't bat an eye when Buffy showed up at his doorstep in the middle of the night with two surly, dirt-covered commandos trailing six paces behind. He nodded politely while Buffy made introductions, ushered everyone into the living room, put a kettle on the stove, and told them to get comfortable while he went upstairs to "make himself presentable." Buffy sat in the recliner and made quick phone calls to Willow and Xander, both of whom said they'd be right over. Graham laid his taser rifle on Giles' kitchen counter and perched on a stool next to it. Forrest paced.
Giles came down again, jammies and robe replaced with trousers and shirt. He was still unshaven and bleary-eyed, and his hair stuck out in all directions in a way that Buffy would've considered highly amusing under different circumstances. Forrest and Graham were giving him dubious looks, clearly doubting his ability to help. Buffy didn't care. All she wanted from those two was a decent description of the thing that got Riley, and if she had to beat it out of them -- well, she was actually kind of in the mood for that. And after that, they could take their toys and go home.
"Riley was taken by a demon," she told Giles. "These two saw it happen. We have to find him. So you get to be Super Librarian and tell us where to go."
"A librarian. That's fucking great." Forrest punctuated the last word with a slam of his fist against the counter. Graham's rifle bounced and slid a couple of inches, and Giles' dishes rattled ominously inside the cabinet. Graham looked as if he was vaguely considering the remote possibility of maybe changing facial expressions one of these days. "Riley gets carried off by the Kudzu from Hell, and you drag us half-way across town to consult the friendly neighborhood librarian? 'Cause it's really important to get all your demons properly catalogued, right? Screw this shit. Come on, Graham, let's go."
Okay, that's it. Buffy pushed herself up out of the recliner, vaulted over the couch, and placed herself squarely in Forrest's path. Grabbing a double handful of his vest, she swung him around and slammed his back into the wall, hard. He tried to push back, but she planted her feet and held him in place.
"Let's get something straight," she growled in her best Cranky Slayer voice. "I didn't drag you anywhere, I let you tag along out of the rapidly-waning kindness of my heart, because you claim to be Riley's friend, and I figured you'd want to help. So now you're going to help by telling Giles everything you saw, 'cause if you don't, I will drag you outside and drop-kick your camouflaged ass from here back to campus. Are we clear on that?"
Forrest glared down at her, his expression an uneasy mix of hostility and fear. After a few seconds, the hostility won.
"You want to step outside?" he sneered. "Fine by me. Just lead the way."
"Guys!" Graham didn't exactly raise his voice, but there was a definite edge in his tone that made both Forrest and Buffy turn their heads to face him. "Can we prioritize here? As in Riley now, macho bullshit posturing later?"
"Prioritize. Right. Sure." Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this. Unclench fists, lower arms, step back. There. No problem.
Forrest squared his shoulders and ran his hands down the front of his vest, trying unsuccessfully to smooth out the creases left by Buffy's grip. "Sorry," he grunted, but he was looking at Graham, not at Buffy. Before Buffy could decide if she should apologize too, and to whom, the teakettle gave its usual pre-boil cough, followed by a piercing whistle.
"Oh, good," Giles said brightly. "Now I can have something to drink while you two decide if you want to kill each other. Do try not to get blood on the books." He went into the kitchen and began rattling cups and saucers around with just a bit more emphasis than Buffy thought strictly necessary.
"Nobody's killing anybody," she said firmly. "Graham and Forrest are just going to sit here and tell you all about what happened. Right, guys?"
"Right." Graham patted the stool next to him and looked at Forrest until Forrest stomped over and sat down.
"Okay, here's the deal. We were just about to head back to Lowell after a patrol…"
Buffy perched on the corner of Giles' desk and tried not to fidget as she listened. It was difficult. Her mind kept conjuring up images of Riley buried alive and suffocating. She wondered if it felt anything like drowning. The thought made her stomach heave violently, and she wrapped her arms around her middle in an effort to keep the evening's pizza and Twinkies down where they belonged.
"…as if the ground turned liquid," Graham was saying. "Riley just sank right down into it. We tried to grab him, but there were vines everywhere."
"I had him by the collar," Forrest muttered, "but the thing smacked me, and I went flying about ten feet. Hell of a punch for a vegetable." He pressed one hand into the small of his back and winced.
"Was there a central trunk?" Giles had a notebook in his lap and was taking notes as he listened, alternating scribbles with sips of tea. "Or visible roots? Did the vines have thorns?"
"No thorns." Forrest held up his ungloved, undamaged hands. "I didn't see any roots or trunk. The leaves were… I don't know, leaf-shaped."
"Long and narrow." Graham hopped off the stool and grabbed a pencil and pad from Giles' desk. "With smooth edges. Thick, like cardboard, but more flexible. Like this." He drew a shape on the pad, tore the page off, and handed it to Giles.
"Thank you." Giles stood, tucking the notebook under his arm. "That should be enough to get us started." He picked up an apparently random pile of books from the floor near the stereo and thumped it down on the counter between Forrest and Graham. "Why don't you gentlemen go through these. See if any of the illustrations look familiar."
"Oh boy, homework." Forrest took a leather-bound volume from the top of the pile and blew on the cover. A thick cloud of dust billowed upward. "And this is going to help Riley how, exactly?"
"We need to identify the demon." Buffy grabbed one of the other books and went to sit on the couch with it. "Find out stuff about it -- like, what's its favorite color, where does it like to hang out, why does it go around messing up lawns and kidnapping perfectly good boyfriends. Oh, and how to kill it. That's always good to know."
"And you actually have that info here?" Forrest leaned over to peer at the titles in the pile. "Shit. This is, like, the reference library of doom."
"So start referencing," Buffy snapped.
They were just getting started when Willow arrived, Tara trailing behind her like an awkward blonde shadow. There was a time-out for explanations and introductions, during which Xander and Anya showed up. By the time everybody was finally settled with a musty book and a place to sit, Buffy was ready to start smashing furniture. This was always her least favorite part. As far as she was concerned, there was a reason why she was called the Slayer and not the Researcher. She had the nagging feeling that she should be out there beating something up. Anything. Maybe she could go look up Spike. He wasn't nearly as much fun to beat up these days, but he was better than nothing, and hey, he might actually know something useful.
She was just about to suggest this plan to the gang when Tara raised her hand.
"Uhm…was it s-something like this, m-m-maybe?"
Buffy, Forrest and Graham all shot out of their seats at once, nearly falling over each other in their rush to get a look over Tara's shoulder. Tara wilted visibly under their stares, hunching her shoulders and sinking lower and lower into the couch until Willow reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Yeah, that's it." Graham gently took the book from Tara and held it up so that both Buffy and Forrest could see. It was open to a full-page engraving of a creature that looked like a cross between a giant squid and a potted plant, all loopy tentacles and wriggly, finger-like leaves. The illustrator had managed to suggest an impression of slitted eyes and a toothy mouth lurking in the tangle without actually drawing those features in.
The creature held several tiny humans in its tentacles, dangling them above the ground like broken dolls. Their limbs were twisted at odd, painful-looking angles, and their faces held expressions of tortured horror rendered in loving black-and-white detail. Buffy's stomach started doing backflips again.
"That's it, all right," Forrest muttered, "but what the hell is it?"
"I don't know." Graham frowned at the page of text opposite the illustration. "I can't even tell what language this is."
"Allow me, please." Giles took the book from him. "Vinranka demon… yes, of course. I should've remembered."
Buffy stared at him. "What, you know this thing?"
"We haven't been formally introduced, if that's what you mean." Giles adjusted his glasses, frowning in concentration. "But I've seen references. A twelfth-century Slayer named Gertrude encountered a similar creature in Bavaria, if I recall correctly…" He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, somehow not tripping over any of the books that were scattered on the floor, even though his gaze never left the page. "The Vinranka is not, strictly speaking, a plant. Plants need sunlight to survive, while this creature thrives underground in complete darkness. According to this, it ventures to the surface only at night, once every twelve years, in order to-- oh, dear."
"Don't say that!" Buffy clutched the back of the couch with both hands, and fixed Giles with an accusing glare. "I hate it when you say that. It always leads to doom-related events. I can't deal with doom right now, Giles!"
"Buffy." Giles closed his eyes and massaged his temples with one hand. "I'm sorry my choice of exclamations offends you, but please remember that I do not cause the dooms. I merely report them."
"The only thing doomed around here," Forrest snapped, "better be that Vinrotten, or whatever you call it. What's it doing with Riley?"
"It seems…" Giles peered at the book again. "It seems that the Vinranka uses human hosts as, uhm, I suppose you would call them incubators for its, uhm, seedlings."
"Whoa!" Xander, who had appeared to be nodding off over his book through most of the conversation, abruptly perked up. "Seedlings? As in little baby Vinrottens?"
"Vinrankas," Giles corrected patiently. "And yes, by seedlings, I do mean its offspring."
"So it kidnapped Riley to mate with him." Xander folded his arms across his chest and smirked across the table at Willow. "See? It's not just me."
"I don't think there's any actual mating involved," Giles said. "The text is a little unclear here. But there definitely appears to be some sort of parasitic relationship… Apparently the incubation period takes several days. I'm not exactly sure what happens at that point, but I'm sure it's nothing good."
"Is it going to explode out of his chest?" Anya sounded faintly enthused at the prospect. "Xander and I watched a movie where there were people on a spaceship with an alien monster, and one of them fell over while they were eating, and the baby monster explo--"
"It's not going to explode out of anywhere!" Buffy interrupted shrilly. "That was a stupid movie. And what were you and Xander doing watching Alien, anyway? I thought you guys only watched movies where you could have sex afterwards."
Anya nodded cheerfully. "We had sex after than one, too."
"And after Friday the 13th." Xander gave an exhausted sigh. "And The Toxic Avenger. And Arachnophobia. It's hopeless."
"Try Watership Down," Giles suggested distractedly.Forrest shook his head, looking slightly dazed. "Can we get this conversation back on track, please? You said several days -- that means Riley's still alive somewhere, right?"
Giles nodded cautiously. "It does seem likely."
"Does your book say how to kill that thing?"
"Not in so many words, no. But the nocturnal existence suggests it might be vulnerable to bright light. And there are mentions of fire here--"
"Good enough." Forrest clapped Graham on the shoulder. "Let's go." He turned on his heels and headed for the door."
"Wait!" Giles called after him. "We can't just rush out like this, we need to plan a course of a--"
Forrest stopped with one hand on the doorknob, glaring backwards over his shoulder. "We -- as in Graham and I -- are going to go back to the Initiative, and do our planning while we mobilize. You gave us good intel, I appreciate that. But we'll handle things from here." He frowned at Graham, who hadn't moved from where he was standing. "You coming, soldier?"
Graham looked as if he was about to argue, then thought better of it. "Yes, sir," he muttered.
"Wait a minute!" Xander started to stand, looking indignant, but Buffy waved him back.
"Let them go, Xander. We don't need them."
"I'm not so sure--" Giles began, but the door slammed shut with a bang before he could finish. Forrest and Graham were gone.
IIIForrest could feel Graham's disapproval hovering over him like a great big thundercloud. Oh, he didn't actually say anything -- Graham had always been good at knowing when to keep his mouth shut -- but over the years Forrest had gotten a lot of practice at reading his friend's silences, and this particular one definitely wasn't friendly. Forrest successfully ignored it for about two minutes before his patience ran out.
"All right," he demanded, "what the fuck's your problem?"
Graham's expression of wide-eyed innocence would've put Riley to shame. "Nothing. I didn't say a word."
"You were thinking really loud."
"Who, me? I'm an enlisted man, we're not allowed to think."
"That's right, you're not. So cut it out."
"Yes, Sir."
Another tense minute of silence, and this time it was Graham who spoke first.
"She might be able to help, you know."
"We don't need her fucking help! I don't care who she's supposed to be chosen by, or why, or for what -- we can rescue one of our own without some blonde freshman bimbo telling us what to do! We're not amateurs, dammit!"
"I never said we were." Graham sounded as if he thought he was humoring a crazy person. "I'm just saying that maybe--"
"We are not having this conversation!" Forrest stopped and grabbed Graham's arm, turning the other man around to face him. "You want to go back there and work with her? Go ahead. I guess we know whose side you're on these days, huh?"
"I'm on Riley's side," Graham said quietly.
The words felt like a slap. Forrest released his grip and took a step back, his anger deflating under Graham's steady gaze. "I know you are," he muttered. "We both are. So let's just go get him, all right?"
Graham looked as if he still had his doubts, but he nodded and fell into step at Forrest's side without another word.
It was all Buffy's fault, Forrest thought angrily. Before she showed up, no one in the Initiative ever had any doubts about their ability to get the job done. They had the training, the equipment, the best scientists in the country backing them up. Every man on the squad had believed without question that he was on the winning team. Until she showed up, and suddenly they weren't good enough anymore. Suddenly, it didn't matter how much they busted their asses, how many times they risked their lives, how many Hostiles they took down -- they were just a bunch of second-string losers, because she had been chosen and they hadn't. And no one except Forrest seemed to think it wasn't fair.
Everyone had fallen for her. Maggie Walsh had handed her top-level clearance at the drop of a hat. Riley trailed after her like a puppy, hanging on every word like it was gospel, ready to abandon his work and his friends at a moment's notice every time she whistled. Now Graham, too, thought they couldn't get along without her. They couldn't afford to think like that, not now, not with the fate of the Initiative -- and Riley's life -- hanging by a thread. And it was Forrest's job to make sure they snapped out of it.
He'd never wanted to lead the Initiative. Leadership meant responsibility, and responsibility was Riley's gig, not his. He had always been willing to kick ass on command and leave the paperwork to somebody else. But the job was his now, and while he wasn't ready to consider the possibility that it might be permanent, he wasn't about to goof off at his post, either. The Initiative needed to remember how things used to be not so long ago, before a skinny blonde chick convinced them they were second-rate. Rescuing Riley would be the perfect way to do it, and Forrest would make sure it got done.
Then maybe Riley would remember who his friends were and where his loyalties lay, and start doing his goddamn job again. And then Forrest could go back to being the team goofball and not have to deal with this shit anymore.
Yeah. And maybe pigs would fly.
"Okay, this is the place." Buffy stood at the edge of the lawn, with Xander to her left and Willow and Tara to her right. They had made a supply run back to Stevenson Hall and were all loaded down with hopefully useful stuff. Xander had a flare gun and a box of flares. Willow and Tara lugged backpacks filled with assorted crystals, candles, little jars and pouches, and a number of other items Buffy really didn't want to know about. Buffy herself carried a machete, a flashlight, and a ratty Denver Broncos T-shirt Riley had left under her bed a couple of days before.
She directed the flashlight's beam at the pit she and Forrest and Graham had dug. "Are you sure this will work, Willow?"
"Uh-huh." Willow nodded emphatically as she and Tara unslung their backpacks. "A tracking spell is much easier than a plain location spell, because you're following a trail and not, like, poking around the universe at random going 'Hello? Is there a Riley Finn here?' And it's not that hard to cast. You ready, Tara?"
Tara gave a tight little smile, shuffled her feet, and mumbled something that presumably signified readiness, because Willow led her over to sit on the ground at the pit's edge. Tara arranged six candles in a circle and lit them, while Willow poured a fine, chalky powder from a small jar, using it to draw an intricate maze-like pattern within the circle. When all the powder was gone, she planted a seventh candle in the center, leaving it unlit, and waved her hand vaguely in Buffy's direction. Buffy, well versed in the ways of interpreting Willow's vague gestures, handed over Riley's T-shirt. Willow dropped the shirt next to the candle, linked hands with Tara across the circle, and closed her eyes.
"Hecate, Goddess of the Crossroads, heed our call. Show us the one true path among many. Help us find the one we seek."
The unlit candle at the spell's center flared to life with a pale blue flame. Tara and Willow opened their eyes and lowered their hands, looking slightly dazed.
"See? No problem." Willow looked up at Buffy. "It'll burn brighter if you point it in the right direction."
"Let's hope it doesn't land us in the middle of the Student Center." Buffy picked up the candle and began to turn in a slow circle. When she faced east toward the jogging path, the flame brightened from turquoise to aquamarine and burned a little higher. "Or the Dean's office." She trotted off in the indicated direction. The rest of the gang trailed behind, hauling their assorted stuff.
The candle led them down the path for a bit, then curved southeast in a wide arc that ended in the faculty parking lot at the back of the Chem Lab building. Halfway across the lot, the flame blazed a brilliant near white and rained sparks like a Roman candle.
"Dramatic much?" Buffy muttered, then added a little louder, "I guess this is it."
"Lively little spot." Xander poked his toe into a crack in the paving. "But I would've thought a giant plant would prefer a more rustic location."
"Giles said the Vinranka isn't a plant," Willow reminded him. "Besides, it's underground."
"Which brings me to my next point." Xander gave Buffy a questioning look. "We've got a whole lot of stuff here, but I don't remember packing a jackhammer. Or even a shovel. Do your Slayer powers include tunneling through concrete?"
"It's probably in that Slayer Handbook Giles keeps refusing to show me." Buffy looked from side to side, searching for an access point. A great big trap door marked "This Way to Vinranka Lair" would've been ideal, but she was willing to settle for a conveniently placed manhole cover. Neither of those things presented themselves, but she did spot a sewer grid at the far edge of the lot. Oh, boy, a sewer crawl. Just what I needed tonight. Buffy sighed and held out the candle to Xander. "Hang on to this for a moment, will you?"
Xander scowled unhappily as Buffy tore the grid from the ground. "This is going to be one of those gross, smelly slayings, isn't it?"
"Hey, it can't all be glamour and glitz." Buffy took the candle back from him. "Will, you and Tara go tell Giles exactly where we are, okay? And see if you can help him with figuring out how to get Vinranka seedlings out of people without killing them. The people, I mean. He seemed a little iffy on the subject." Actually, Giles had seemed unsure that it could be done at all, but she wasn't going to dwell on that. Really. She wasn't.
Willow hesitated, visibly torn between wanting to come along and help, and not wanting to wade through a sewer. Finally she nodded, gave a little wave, and jogged away across the lot, with Tara following. Which made for at least two people whose safety Buffy didn't have to worry about for the moment. She breathed a soft sigh of relief and slid down through the grid opening into the sewer.
"Ugh." Xander dropped down beside her, one hand clapped over his mouth and nose. "You'd think I'd develop a tolerance by now. Please tell me we're almost there."
"Sorry. This thing does direction, not distance." Buffy gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder and led the way down the tunnel. "Just take--"
"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Take shallow breaths and try not to splash. I got it."
"That's what you said the last time."
"Look, I said I was sorry, okay? I even paid for the dry cleaning."
"Fine, whatever. Just keep that flare gun ready."
They walked about fifty yards, taking shallow breaths and not splashing, before the candle turned into a sparkler again. The glare illuminated the tunnel ahead of them for a few paces, and Buffy saw that they were at a dead end, their way blocked by a wall. Which made no sense, because they were clearly in the right place, all the flying sparks proved it, but there was no sign of Riley or the Vinranka anywhere. Unless they were further down somewhere, in which case the whole thing was screwed, because the Vinranka could've gone to the center of the Earth for all they knew, and Buffy had no idea how to get below the sewers.
Something rustled ahead of her. Buffy took a cautious step forward, squinting through the glare, and realized for the first time that the wall blocking their path was moving.
"Xander."
"Yeah?"
"When I say 'Now,' fire. After that, use your judgement. Just don't let the place go dark, okay?"
"Judgement. Sure. I have a great track record in that." Xander pointed the flare gun forward and up, and gave Buffy a tight, nervous grin. "Ready when you are."
Buffy tossed Willow's candle aside. It landed with a soft splash and went out, leaving only her flashlight for illumination. In its steady electric glow, she could finally get a clear look at the moving wall, which was not a wall at all, really, but a solid mass of writhing greenery. The rustling sound came from the leaves, which were trembling violently and curling themselves up in an effort to get away from the light. The ones in the middle, where the flashlight beam was brightest, had turned themselves into tight, skinny tubes, and were bristling at her like porcupine quills. Buffy unhooked the machete from her belt and stuck the flashlight in her jacket pocket.
"Now, Xander!"
There was a loud pop followed by a blinding burst of light as the first flare went off. Buffy leaped forward, swinging the machete, and felt the blade sink into a tough, spongy mass that parted with a wet sound. Warm sticky liquid splashed Buffy's hands, and she had to yank hard to get the blade free for another blow. A few stray vines reached for her arms, but the light was clearly hurting them. Buffy shook them off easily and swung the machete again.
She got three more blows in before the flare began to flicker out. She started to call to Xander, but he was firing again already, keeping carefully behind her so that the initial flash wouldn't blind her. Buffy gasped out a thanks he almost certainly wouldn't hear, and got on with the hacking and slashing. She was only vaguely aware of the light dimming and brightening every few seconds as Xander kept firing. Bits of chopped-off vine fell squirming to the floor, splattering more sticky goo all over the place. The machete's blade quickly became coated with it, dulling the edge, making it harder and harder to cut through with every blow. Buffy's arms began to ache, but she was definitely making progress.
Until the light went out.
"Xander!" She could hear the vines swishing through the air as they reached for her, revitalized by the darkness. One wrapped around her forearm, trying to shake loose the machete, but Buffy yanked herself free and continued swinging blindly. "What's the hold up?"
"That was the last one!" Xander shouted back.
"A little warning would've been ni--" A ropy coil squeezed her throat, cutting off the rest of the complaint. Buffy tore it off with her left hand, but several more were already grasping at her waist and legs. No matter how many she cut through, more kept coming. Behind her, she could hear Xander gasping and swearing as he struggled. She should've sent him off with Willow and Tara, dammit, and taken the flare gun herself.
The thought gave her an extra surge of energy, and she struck harder and faster as she tried to fight her way over to where she thought Xander was. But the Vinranka was everywhere, and it was all she could do to keep herself from being dragged down. And she wasn't even sure how long she could keep that up. She was beginning to get seriously tired, and the Vinranka seemed ready to keep going forever. Buffy wished she could afford to stop fighting long enough to grab for her flashlight. It would've been nice to be able to see if she was actually doing any damage.
As if in answer to her wish, the tunnel flooded with light. For a moment, Buffy thought Xander had dug out another flare from somewhere, but no, this was much too bright, bright enough so that for a few moments Buffy was as blind as she had been in the darkness. The vines around her legs withdrew, twitching. Buffy blinked rapidly and lifted one hand to shade her watering eyes. She could hear voices all around her, grunts and indistinct shouts. Feet thumped, metal clanged. Something -- no, someone -- bumped heavily against Buffy's side and kept right on going.
"Watch it!" Buffy snapped. Her eyes were slowly adjusting. She could now make out dark blurs in the glare. She blinked some more, and the blurs resolved themselves into human shapes. Initiative guys, at least six or seven of them, maybe more, all wearing dark goggles and swinging big-ass knives, except for two who hung back, wielding spotlights that blazed like twin suns. Behind them, Buffy could see Xander slowly getting to his feet.
The knife wielders attacked the Vinranka, slicing through vines with steady efficiency. Buffy hefted her machete and went to join them. One of the commandos moved over a bit to make room for her. She squinted at him, and recognized Graham. He gave her a quick nod but didn't say a word, just kept cutting. Buffy decided that she, too, could save the conversation for later.
She raised the machete for another swing, and a strong hand caught her wrist in the air and spun her around.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Forrest demanded in a harsh voice.
"Same thing you are." Buffy twisted her arm from his grip and stepped back, keeping a wary eye on his knife hand. "And it will go a lot faster if we don't stand here arguing."
Forrest's grip on the knife tightened and his arm twitched, but he made no actual move, so Buffy held still too. Several slow, tense seconds ticked by. Finally Forrest shrugged, his face cold and unreadable behind the goggles.
"Just don't get in the way," he said, moved to stand next to Graham, and began slashing at the vines.
Amazing how much faster things went with half a dozen buff guys helping out. Bits of Vinranka flew everywhere. Before long, enough vines had been cut to clear a narrow opening.
"We need to get a light in there." Forrest turned to frown at Buffy. "You're the smallest, can you fit through there?" He sounded as if he thought Buffy had made herself small on purpose just to annoy him. Buffy made herself take a couple of deep, steadying breaths before replying.
"I can fit."
Forrest raised his hand, and one of the guys with the spotlights jogged over, carefully angling the beam toward the ceiling so as not to blind the people around him. At Forrest's command, he handed the light to Buffy, who propped it up on her left shoulder. It was lighter than she expected, plastic rather than metal, and gave off almost no heat. Buffy wished, not for the first time, that there was still a way for her to get along with the Initiative. They really did have the best toys.
"Buffy!" Xander stomped over, looking concerned and eyeing the commandos warily. They ignored him, an awkward civilian non-entity in their macho soldier-boy world. "You're not going in there alone, are you?"
"Riley's in there," she told him.
"Yeah, and the rest of the Vinranka is in there too, and I'm thinking we've had enough trouble with it on this side, thank you."
"I have to go." Buffy gave him an awkward one-armed hug, tightened her grip on the light, and climbed through the gap.
The sewer tunnel went on for another ten feet or so past the point where the Vinranka blocked it, before coming to a real dead end. The air here was stiflingly humid, with a sweet rotting smell, like the rainforest exhibit at the botanical garden. More vines snaked along the floor, converging here and there into tight, oblong clumps of greenery. It took Buffy a second or two to realize that one of the clumps had an arm attached.
"Riley!" Buffy dropped to her knees, set the spotlight down at her side, and began ripping vines out of the way. She knew it was him, would've known it immediately even without the torn uniform sleeve and the bulky Initiative-issue watch. She cleared the vines from his face and chest, and patted his cheek lightly. "Riley? You with me?"
He groaned and moved his hand. Buffy was so relieved, she nearly burst into tears. She contented herself with one loud sniffle and a violent yank at the vines wrapped around his waist. Riley coughed, took a gasping breath, and opened his eyes.
"Buffy."
"Hey there." Buffy squeezed his hand and gave him her best reassuring smile. "I've got the cavalry coming right behind me. We'll have you out of here in a sec, okay?"
"Wait…" Riley clutched at her sleeve and struggled to lift his head. "There are o--" He broke off, choking. Buffy barely managed to roll him over and lift him to his knees before he started to vomit.
The Initiative guys picked that moment to finally show up. In typical guy fashion, they milled around looking tough and doing nothing much while Buffy held Riley's head and tried to think of something more supportive to say than "there, there, it's okay." Though Forrest did send somebody running for the med team, which Buffy hoped was standing by somewhere real close.
Eventually Riley stopped heaving and sagged heavily into Buffy's arms. She pulled him down to lie with his head in her lap and brushed strands of sweat-soaked hair away from his face. His skin felt hot beneath her fingers, and his clothes were damp with perspiration. He kept tugging at his collar as if he had trouble breathing.
"Shh. I'll get it." Buffy undid his vest and started to tear at his shirt collar, but he started tugging at her sleeve again.
"Buffy… wait…" He seemed to struggle for each word, taking pained, shallow breaths during the pauses. "Injured…"
"We know you're injured, Ry." Forrest squatted down and began untangling the remaining vines from Riley's legs. "Just hang tight, we'll have you out of here in no time."
"Not me." Riley let go of Buffy's arm to gesture weakly toward the back of the tunnel. "Others…"
"Other what?" Forrest sat back on his heels, frowning. "You saying there's other people here?" He looked up at Graham, who was standing just behind him and a little to the left. "Go check it out."
"Yes, Sir." Graham waved two other commandos over to join him, and they all stomped off to examine the other Vinranka clumps. "Got'em!" he called out a couple of minutes later. "Two civilians, not in great shape, but still breathing."
"Good," Riley muttered groggily, pressed Buffy's hand against his cheek, and closed his eyes.
TBC
