The Incursion Chapter 4 (BTVS/DW)
Title: The Incursion
Author: rat_hospital
Characters: Ace, Faith, Willow, Giles, Xander, and the 7th Doctor
Rating: PG-13 for language and mild content
Summary: The time has come at last. They have waited for so long. The new Watchers Council will need all the help it can get. Luckily a young woman called Ace seems to know what’s happening but can she be trusted? And who exactly is Dr. McCrimmon? Buffy xOver
With thanks to my beta, idontlikegravy .
Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four: Déjà vu
The vampires shifted slightly, shooting nervous glances at each other. They weren’t particularly smart by any stretch of the imagination, but they recognized power. They could smell it on the air. Hear it sing as it flowed through the man’s veins. Power, glorious, wicked, poisoned power. Like nothing they’d ever sensed. Jeremiah was the oldest, almost a century now. As a fledgling he’d survived an encounter with a Slayer. When the others had attacked the seemingly weak little girl, he’d felt something indescribable a nameless fear and so he’d run. Run so hard, so fast. He hadn’t stopped until the sun rose. The others had laughed and laughed, but they were dust now and he was not. Jeremiah felt that same instinct now. Flee! Escape! Hide! But this time he couldn’t. The song, the call of blood, sweet delicious blood held him in place.
Magic emanated for the warlock in thick invisible clouds. It brushed against Jeremiah’s skin causing his stomach to clench in fear, and in hunger. It seeped into the concrete and filled the air with its promise. The whole world seemed to come alive. The air was crisper. The colors were more vibrant. One of the fledglings collapsed to the ground, quivering. “Leave him,” said Jeremiah. “We have a job to do.” But as he glanced around he saw that most of the others were faring hardly any better. The sudden onslaught of hyper-reality overwhelmed them. He could hear the water rushing loudly through the pipes in the ceiling. Hear the echoing footsteps of the ants as they marched across the floor. The air seemed heavy as if it wanted to drag him down to the waiting floor. Jeremiah shook his head, and straightened his shoulders. He took a deep unnecessary breath, felt the air explode into his lungs. Every sinew, every bone, every muscle in his body called for attention. A screaming jumbled multitude of information swarmed through his head making it hard to think, hard to move. But one fact was clear. Every molecule floating in the air, every dead cell in his body, every square inch of ground, every sound was waiting. The anticipation was almost as overwhelming as the sensations. Jeremiah fell to his knees. Gasping he could feel the particles of his body being torn apart, as the others turned to dust around him.
Mr. Beech did not stir as his bodyguards fell around him. He did not notice the ants and the flies come to a halt. The pigeons ceasing to peck at the breadcrumbs. All was quiet, all was still and in the center stood Mr. Beech his eyes shut tightly, his mind far away wading in the river of time. Time was not an actual river, of course, but his teacher had urged him to visualize the journey. This was the easy part. Allowing the stream to pull him along to his destination. The return journey would be another matter entirely. Swimming against the current bringing back those who did not belong. Time would protest. Mother Earth would rage. His lips twitched into a half smile. The Powers within him uncurled in giddy anticipation of the contest. Thy will be done.
***
Giles looked out upon his dominion, as Buffy insisted on calling it. She had also tried calling him the king of the castle, but he had to draw the line somewhere. After all, the new Council was not the old one. Travers had come to see himself in just such a light, and Giles refused to fall into that trap, even in jest. The main hall was filled. Slayers and Watchers-in-training mingled together. The dull roar of their voices comforted Giles. Glancing around the staff table it was easy to discern who had been a supporter in the Old Council. Disapproval burned in their eyes no matter how much they tried to hide it. Watching and Slaying were sacred duties, and this infernal noise and giggles was not at all appropriate. Giles took a sip of wine. He disagreed, of course. The friendships and bounds of laughter would keep many of the students before him alive. Even if it was only just a little longer, than it was worth it.
A little ways down the staff table, Matthew Abberton was engrossed in conversation with Doctor McCrimmon. Abberton was one of the few from the Old Council that Giles respected. He’d had a Slayer of his own once, who had lasted a respectable two and a half years. Giles wondered if he’d noticed anything amiss with he good Doctor. It would be good to have a second opinion. After all, all he had was a few vague suspicions, which could easily be mere paranoia. Though Giles couldn’t escape the strange feeling that the man was being deliberately suspicious. He leaned forward straining to hear their conversation.
“Well,” the Doctor was saying. “The Chair was established in 1793 by King George III. Apparently he had several pressing questions that needed to be answered.”
“Questions?” Abberton asked curiously. The Chair of Chronology was one of the most obscure.
“Yes the poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards and he might have to re-experience all the bad moments of his life.” Abberton raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear.”
“No I suppose not.” Abberton said. “I wonder if there’s some sort of spell to…”
“There isn’t,” the Doctor stated firmly. Giles frowned. That answer had been a little too confident. Did this mean the Doctor had looked? “In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe.”
“That’s three answers,” Abberton pointed out. The Doctor glanced up with a wry grin. But whatever he was about to say was interrupted as his glass began to shake. Giles saw the liquid begin to ripple. He glanced down at his own bubbling glass. Throughout the hall he could see people gazing about in slight alarm. The Doctor stood quickly and backed away from the table. He glared down at the vibrating glass, as if it was a personal insult. Then swaying slightly he collapsed.
***
Willow approached the crypt cautiously, flanked by Faith and Kennedy. The other Slayers fanned out around them. She could see Vi and Shannon keeping them in formation. Hard to believe they were veterans now with a few apocalypses of their own under their belt. Willow glanced up at the sinking sun. The first tendrils of night were already reaching across the sky. Tracking down McShane had taken longer than expected, and she’d proved to be just as elusive in person. She hadn’t given an inch even when confronted by a bar full of Slayers. That impressed Willow and worried her. This Ace might not be the enemy, and Willow was by no means sure of that yet, but the enemy of my enemy wasn’t always my friend. Willow sighed softly. She missed the simplicity of the early days. See demon. See Buffy slay demon. Go to the Bronze. There was something oddly comforting about that, but then the world became so complicated.
A shudder went through her. The power in the crypt was stirring. She could feel it twisting and writhing. A great shapeless mass lurking just beyond sight, in the gap between what was and what would be. Willow had never felt anything like it. She knew the chalky taste of Evil, had felt the pure bliss of the Light. They were earthy, grounded, and alike even in their opposition. Everything is connected down to the very roots. But the power in the crypt was different, vague, unconnected, of a great nameless Other. Why couldn’t she feel its roots? It burned in her mind without heat. Every step took her closer to the abomination. She saw now the tethers the power had made. Bound to rotted flesh and bone, until it could be whole. She saw too the tendrils of not-light reaching out to caress the Slayers. Light touches that promised more, but the strongest tendril led not to a Slayer but off into the distance disappearing into the twilight. From the crypt the alien power flew down that link in greater and greater amounts. All their will was bent on it. Willow frowned and followed the current with her mind’s eye. She didn’t notice the others stopping or Kennedy desperately trying to get her attention. All that mattered was following the trail of magic, to find out what they were doing.
There. There she could feel it. A man of the earth yet apart from it. The power flowed through him, lending its will to his, its purpose. Together they tore a hole where no hole should be. Not a portal or a gateway, not a bridge or a doorway, but a savage clumsy rupture. Beyond was an earth of metal. The green stifled and it’s ancient cry unheeded. A world that was yet to be, and beneath, wild and primordial greater than a hundred thousand Earths flowed something other. The Vortex. The name came to Willow unbidden, and invited her to behold its infinity. All that ever was or ever could be. She reached out a metaphorical hand. Perhaps just a little peek. But then the Earth screamed in rage and pain, and Willow lent her voice to the cry and then her world went dark.
***
From his perch on the staff table, Giles looked out upon his dominion. Watchers, Slayers and Witches in training were mingled together throughout the hall. Their laughter and ease with each other filled Giles with a new hope. It might save their lives someday, no matter what men like Roger Wyndam-Pryce believed. Giles sipped his wine, trying to take his mind off the developing situation at the crypt. There’d been no word from Willow since the unproductive meeting with Ace. So someone was coming after the Slayers. Giles had presumed as much, but having it confirmed was another matter. There were too many mysteries, too many questions that needed answers and Ace had proved remarkably evasive. Speaking of mysteries, Giles glanced down he table where William Abberton and Doctor McCrimmon were engaged in a lively conversation. This Doctor bothered Giles, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was deliberate. Doctor McCrimmon struck Giles as the sort of man who never did anything by accident. There was something cold and calculating in his eyes, even when he was joking or playing his bloody spoons. Giles had been a Watcher almost all his life, and knew the type. He leaned forward to hear their conversation.
“The poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards,” the Doctor was saying. “Then he might have to experience the bad moments of his life all over again.” Abberton raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear.”
“I suppose not and considering what we face on a daily basis.” Abberton frowned softly. “I wonder if there’s a spell or ritual…”
“There isn’t, “the Doctor said. Then he grimaced. “Well not exactly.” Giles felt the faint stirrings of alarm. The Doctor seemed entirely too sure of himself for comfort. “In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe.”
“That was three answers,” Abberton pointed out.
“Was it?” The Doctor put a hand to his forehead.
“But you only gave two questions.” Abberton tilted his head inquisitively. The Doctor smiled wryly and raised his glass in salute. Then he paled and fell back in his seat. The glass slipped from his fingers and crashed to the ground. “Doctor! Are you alright?” Abberton asked. The Doctor let out a deep breath.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just give me a moment.” Abberton met Giles’ gaze questioningly. Giles shrugged, but he could feel the wrongness, the muffled scream of the Earth, and a curious sense of déjà vu. Some of the witches who were more connected with the Earth had stopped eating as well. Glancing uncertainly at each other, but no one else had reacted like the Doctor. Giles watched the little man excuse himself with a thoughtful expression. Something was very wrong here.
***
Willow stopped at the threshold. The Power was so potent that it struck her like physical blow. She tittered slightly but Kennedy reached out to steady her.
“You alright Will?” She asked concern shining in her eyes.
“Peachy,” Willow said through gritted teeth. “It’s strong.” She doubled over and spilled her lunch.
“Red,” even Faith seemed worried.
“It’s alien. Completely different to anything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Willow whispered. “And it’s touching you, all of you. Ace was right.”
“What do you mean?” Faith glanced worryingly inside the crypt.
“I can see faint tendrils of its power, thousands of them in all directions and I think they all lead to a Slayer.”
“Are you sure you’re ok? Maybe you should stay outside.”
“No!” Willow rose unsteadily to her feet. “I have to go in. We need to know what’s happening.”
“But…” Kennedy trailed off. Willows features had hardened into pure determination. There was no winning this argument. Especially since they really did need to know. Kennedy shivered slightly. She could hear a whisper in the back of her mind: a hundred thousand voices murmuring wordlessly growing stronger and stronger the closer they got to the crypt. Whatever was in the crypt was affecting her, calling her. She shook her head. Bring it on! Then they’ll see what a Slayer really is. And so supporting Willow she entered the crypt defiantly with Faith half a step behind. In the back of her mind the voices seemed to laugh soundlessly, joyously.
***
Mr. Beech smiled. His vampire bodyguards had been unable to withstand the influx of power. He could see the piles of dust. They hadn’t been necessary after all, but it never hurt to be too careful. While he performed the ritual he had been extremely vulnerable, the perfect time for the Meddler and perhaps even the Slayers to attack. But no attack had come. Before him in perfect formation stood 520 of his Bions. Bio-engineered soldiers manufactured to military perfection by his techniques, augmented with magic. Under the Treaty of Santine Bions were strictly forbidden, but the treaty wouldn’t be written for a few centuries yet. Beech smirked in anticipation. The Slayers had an army, but now, so did he.
Author: rat_hospital
Characters: Ace, Faith, Willow, Giles, Xander, and the 7th Doctor
Rating: PG-13 for language and mild content
Summary: The time has come at last. They have waited for so long. The new Watchers Council will need all the help it can get. Luckily a young woman called Ace seems to know what’s happening but can she be trusted? And who exactly is Dr. McCrimmon? Buffy xOver
With thanks to my beta, idontlikegravy .
Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four: Déjà vu
The vampires shifted slightly, shooting nervous glances at each other. They weren’t particularly smart by any stretch of the imagination, but they recognized power. They could smell it on the air. Hear it sing as it flowed through the man’s veins. Power, glorious, wicked, poisoned power. Like nothing they’d ever sensed. Jeremiah was the oldest, almost a century now. As a fledgling he’d survived an encounter with a Slayer. When the others had attacked the seemingly weak little girl, he’d felt something indescribable a nameless fear and so he’d run. Run so hard, so fast. He hadn’t stopped until the sun rose. The others had laughed and laughed, but they were dust now and he was not. Jeremiah felt that same instinct now. Flee! Escape! Hide! But this time he couldn’t. The song, the call of blood, sweet delicious blood held him in place.
Magic emanated for the warlock in thick invisible clouds. It brushed against Jeremiah’s skin causing his stomach to clench in fear, and in hunger. It seeped into the concrete and filled the air with its promise. The whole world seemed to come alive. The air was crisper. The colors were more vibrant. One of the fledglings collapsed to the ground, quivering. “Leave him,” said Jeremiah. “We have a job to do.” But as he glanced around he saw that most of the others were faring hardly any better. The sudden onslaught of hyper-reality overwhelmed them. He could hear the water rushing loudly through the pipes in the ceiling. Hear the echoing footsteps of the ants as they marched across the floor. The air seemed heavy as if it wanted to drag him down to the waiting floor. Jeremiah shook his head, and straightened his shoulders. He took a deep unnecessary breath, felt the air explode into his lungs. Every sinew, every bone, every muscle in his body called for attention. A screaming jumbled multitude of information swarmed through his head making it hard to think, hard to move. But one fact was clear. Every molecule floating in the air, every dead cell in his body, every square inch of ground, every sound was waiting. The anticipation was almost as overwhelming as the sensations. Jeremiah fell to his knees. Gasping he could feel the particles of his body being torn apart, as the others turned to dust around him.
Mr. Beech did not stir as his bodyguards fell around him. He did not notice the ants and the flies come to a halt. The pigeons ceasing to peck at the breadcrumbs. All was quiet, all was still and in the center stood Mr. Beech his eyes shut tightly, his mind far away wading in the river of time. Time was not an actual river, of course, but his teacher had urged him to visualize the journey. This was the easy part. Allowing the stream to pull him along to his destination. The return journey would be another matter entirely. Swimming against the current bringing back those who did not belong. Time would protest. Mother Earth would rage. His lips twitched into a half smile. The Powers within him uncurled in giddy anticipation of the contest. Thy will be done.
***
Giles looked out upon his dominion, as Buffy insisted on calling it. She had also tried calling him the king of the castle, but he had to draw the line somewhere. After all, the new Council was not the old one. Travers had come to see himself in just such a light, and Giles refused to fall into that trap, even in jest. The main hall was filled. Slayers and Watchers-in-training mingled together. The dull roar of their voices comforted Giles. Glancing around the staff table it was easy to discern who had been a supporter in the Old Council. Disapproval burned in their eyes no matter how much they tried to hide it. Watching and Slaying were sacred duties, and this infernal noise and giggles was not at all appropriate. Giles took a sip of wine. He disagreed, of course. The friendships and bounds of laughter would keep many of the students before him alive. Even if it was only just a little longer, than it was worth it.
A little ways down the staff table, Matthew Abberton was engrossed in conversation with Doctor McCrimmon. Abberton was one of the few from the Old Council that Giles respected. He’d had a Slayer of his own once, who had lasted a respectable two and a half years. Giles wondered if he’d noticed anything amiss with he good Doctor. It would be good to have a second opinion. After all, all he had was a few vague suspicions, which could easily be mere paranoia. Though Giles couldn’t escape the strange feeling that the man was being deliberately suspicious. He leaned forward straining to hear their conversation.
“Well,” the Doctor was saying. “The Chair was established in 1793 by King George III. Apparently he had several pressing questions that needed to be answered.”
“Questions?” Abberton asked curiously. The Chair of Chronology was one of the most obscure.
“Yes the poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards and he might have to re-experience all the bad moments of his life.” Abberton raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear.”
“No I suppose not.” Abberton said. “I wonder if there’s some sort of spell to…”
“There isn’t,” the Doctor stated firmly. Giles frowned. That answer had been a little too confident. Did this mean the Doctor had looked? “In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe.”
“That’s three answers,” Abberton pointed out. The Doctor glanced up with a wry grin. But whatever he was about to say was interrupted as his glass began to shake. Giles saw the liquid begin to ripple. He glanced down at his own bubbling glass. Throughout the hall he could see people gazing about in slight alarm. The Doctor stood quickly and backed away from the table. He glared down at the vibrating glass, as if it was a personal insult. Then swaying slightly he collapsed.
***
Willow approached the crypt cautiously, flanked by Faith and Kennedy. The other Slayers fanned out around them. She could see Vi and Shannon keeping them in formation. Hard to believe they were veterans now with a few apocalypses of their own under their belt. Willow glanced up at the sinking sun. The first tendrils of night were already reaching across the sky. Tracking down McShane had taken longer than expected, and she’d proved to be just as elusive in person. She hadn’t given an inch even when confronted by a bar full of Slayers. That impressed Willow and worried her. This Ace might not be the enemy, and Willow was by no means sure of that yet, but the enemy of my enemy wasn’t always my friend. Willow sighed softly. She missed the simplicity of the early days. See demon. See Buffy slay demon. Go to the Bronze. There was something oddly comforting about that, but then the world became so complicated.
A shudder went through her. The power in the crypt was stirring. She could feel it twisting and writhing. A great shapeless mass lurking just beyond sight, in the gap between what was and what would be. Willow had never felt anything like it. She knew the chalky taste of Evil, had felt the pure bliss of the Light. They were earthy, grounded, and alike even in their opposition. Everything is connected down to the very roots. But the power in the crypt was different, vague, unconnected, of a great nameless Other. Why couldn’t she feel its roots? It burned in her mind without heat. Every step took her closer to the abomination. She saw now the tethers the power had made. Bound to rotted flesh and bone, until it could be whole. She saw too the tendrils of not-light reaching out to caress the Slayers. Light touches that promised more, but the strongest tendril led not to a Slayer but off into the distance disappearing into the twilight. From the crypt the alien power flew down that link in greater and greater amounts. All their will was bent on it. Willow frowned and followed the current with her mind’s eye. She didn’t notice the others stopping or Kennedy desperately trying to get her attention. All that mattered was following the trail of magic, to find out what they were doing.
There. There she could feel it. A man of the earth yet apart from it. The power flowed through him, lending its will to his, its purpose. Together they tore a hole where no hole should be. Not a portal or a gateway, not a bridge or a doorway, but a savage clumsy rupture. Beyond was an earth of metal. The green stifled and it’s ancient cry unheeded. A world that was yet to be, and beneath, wild and primordial greater than a hundred thousand Earths flowed something other. The Vortex. The name came to Willow unbidden, and invited her to behold its infinity. All that ever was or ever could be. She reached out a metaphorical hand. Perhaps just a little peek. But then the Earth screamed in rage and pain, and Willow lent her voice to the cry and then her world went dark.
***
From his perch on the staff table, Giles looked out upon his dominion. Watchers, Slayers and Witches in training were mingled together throughout the hall. Their laughter and ease with each other filled Giles with a new hope. It might save their lives someday, no matter what men like Roger Wyndam-Pryce believed. Giles sipped his wine, trying to take his mind off the developing situation at the crypt. There’d been no word from Willow since the unproductive meeting with Ace. So someone was coming after the Slayers. Giles had presumed as much, but having it confirmed was another matter. There were too many mysteries, too many questions that needed answers and Ace had proved remarkably evasive. Speaking of mysteries, Giles glanced down he table where William Abberton and Doctor McCrimmon were engaged in a lively conversation. This Doctor bothered Giles, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was deliberate. Doctor McCrimmon struck Giles as the sort of man who never did anything by accident. There was something cold and calculating in his eyes, even when he was joking or playing his bloody spoons. Giles had been a Watcher almost all his life, and knew the type. He leaned forward to hear their conversation.
“The poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards,” the Doctor was saying. “Then he might have to experience the bad moments of his life all over again.” Abberton raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear.”
“I suppose not and considering what we face on a daily basis.” Abberton frowned softly. “I wonder if there’s a spell or ritual…”
“There isn’t, “the Doctor said. Then he grimaced. “Well not exactly.” Giles felt the faint stirrings of alarm. The Doctor seemed entirely too sure of himself for comfort. “In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe.”
“That was three answers,” Abberton pointed out.
“Was it?” The Doctor put a hand to his forehead.
“But you only gave two questions.” Abberton tilted his head inquisitively. The Doctor smiled wryly and raised his glass in salute. Then he paled and fell back in his seat. The glass slipped from his fingers and crashed to the ground. “Doctor! Are you alright?” Abberton asked. The Doctor let out a deep breath.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just give me a moment.” Abberton met Giles’ gaze questioningly. Giles shrugged, but he could feel the wrongness, the muffled scream of the Earth, and a curious sense of déjà vu. Some of the witches who were more connected with the Earth had stopped eating as well. Glancing uncertainly at each other, but no one else had reacted like the Doctor. Giles watched the little man excuse himself with a thoughtful expression. Something was very wrong here.
***
Willow stopped at the threshold. The Power was so potent that it struck her like physical blow. She tittered slightly but Kennedy reached out to steady her.
“You alright Will?” She asked concern shining in her eyes.
“Peachy,” Willow said through gritted teeth. “It’s strong.” She doubled over and spilled her lunch.
“Red,” even Faith seemed worried.
“It’s alien. Completely different to anything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Willow whispered. “And it’s touching you, all of you. Ace was right.”
“What do you mean?” Faith glanced worryingly inside the crypt.
“I can see faint tendrils of its power, thousands of them in all directions and I think they all lead to a Slayer.”
“Are you sure you’re ok? Maybe you should stay outside.”
“No!” Willow rose unsteadily to her feet. “I have to go in. We need to know what’s happening.”
“But…” Kennedy trailed off. Willows features had hardened into pure determination. There was no winning this argument. Especially since they really did need to know. Kennedy shivered slightly. She could hear a whisper in the back of her mind: a hundred thousand voices murmuring wordlessly growing stronger and stronger the closer they got to the crypt. Whatever was in the crypt was affecting her, calling her. She shook her head. Bring it on! Then they’ll see what a Slayer really is. And so supporting Willow she entered the crypt defiantly with Faith half a step behind. In the back of her mind the voices seemed to laugh soundlessly, joyously.
***
Mr. Beech smiled. His vampire bodyguards had been unable to withstand the influx of power. He could see the piles of dust. They hadn’t been necessary after all, but it never hurt to be too careful. While he performed the ritual he had been extremely vulnerable, the perfect time for the Meddler and perhaps even the Slayers to attack. But no attack had come. Before him in perfect formation stood 520 of his Bions. Bio-engineered soldiers manufactured to military perfection by his techniques, augmented with magic. Under the Treaty of Santine Bions were strictly forbidden, but the treaty wouldn’t be written for a few centuries yet. Beech smirked in anticipation. The Slayers had an army, but now, so did he.