Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Post WWIII and 250+ years on from the Black Thorn. Highly refined, purpose bred ‘Companion’ Alexander is ‘liberated’ by feral humans, consequently rescued by the Suzerain Spike’s forces, the head of which decides to ingratiate himself by presenting his Sire with a boy reminiscent of one of the former Scoobies.
Spoilers: Canon is AU - very post S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here!
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
Suzerain = feudal overlord to whom fealty is due. Ruler of a large region with international boundaries but allows domestic sovereignty in exchange for loyalty and payment.
Six weeks later Sean was dust. They had received a frantic phonecall from Sean who claimed to be on his way out of the country (something that was later proved to be true – given that his ashes were being washed out to sea mere minutes later) and begging that the Suzerain rescue the witches. The panicked description of the vehicle and vague details as to where he would be, seemed plausible. And for Spike and Angelus it was the last of Sunnydale Willow’s line other than Lillie. There was no question. Angelus and Lisbeth moved as one, an armoured air vehicle took they and various minions to the location within seconds.
Even as Sean dusted he knew that his two remaining terrified females were on their way in a transport blindfolded, gagged and caged, doomed but also the perfect bait for when the refrigerated truck was intercepted. Hanging from a butcher’s hook, trussed and blindfolded, his final desperate call had secured the lives of the humans he had cherished for a few more hours and the promise of a swift end. In his last moments, he knew that it was merely an interlude to their death and mourned, then silently wished for forgiveness of the Suzerain as he accepted his own fate.
They had easily subdued the driver and the guard in the old fashioned refrigerated vehicle. Angelus flung open the doors, ignored the stench of stale blood and the site of headless bodies, gutted and hung ready for market (heads and internal organs set aside in various vats), and sped toward the whimper from Kerryn – now within weeks of delivering, and muffled cry from Estelle. Only later did Angelus realize that one of the hanging headless bodies had a tattoo indicating he was Sean’s personal guard, and the near inaudibly high ‘inngggg’ had been the wine of a tiny camera monitoring everything. They had walked into a trap.
Lisbeth waited at the door of the vehicle, now surrounded by the Suzerain’s minions also, a fact not lost on the assassin observing the interception. It was enough, the Suzerain might not be there, but his ‘family’ certainly was. There was no sound as the sniper released two deadly darts in quick succession.
Just as Lisbeth assisted the hypothermic Kerryn from the truck into the safety of an armoured car, she felt a painful needle prick in her left arm holding the door, and as she pulled back to examine the cause, another sting occurred at the base of her right calf.
Annoyed she made sure the two red haired humans were being cared for before turning to her Sire to confirm all was well. She made it half way around before a strange buzzing in her ears and odd images started to occur then…
Angelus moved with vampiric speed as he saw his beloved Childe falter. Not caring the reason for the distress he felt through the Childe/Sire link, in a single motion he collected her falling form into the van and ordered the driver to move. The two darts aimed at the First were later found embedded in the rubber of the bumper bar of the vehicle and the padded wall inside – had Kerryn not been lying down it would no doubt have hit her.
Angelus could smell it, the darts were poisoned. He removed his belt and Lisbeth’s and made a tourniquet of both for her stricken limbs, one just above the elbow and the other below her knee. He then drained the limbs of as much poison laden blood as he dared below the bindings, spitting out the fouled fluid of his precious Childe. He then fed his beloved a little of his own blood before demanding a break neck speed for the return to their home.
At the compound, the two pregnant women now wrapped in silver space blankets, were gently urged into matching wheel chairs and taken to the Suzerain’s own specialist breeder medicos for a full examination and necessary treatment. A warm, welcoming enclosure had been prepared in anticipation of their rescue and all had gone to plan, with one very serious hitch. The Suzerain’s spies were wrong regards the method of attack and the timing. where and how and now there was a far greater problem for the household.
Alexander knew there was something amiss, but his was not the place to question, and so he waited, curling around the tiny Lillie as she slept on. But when his Claimer yelled at him to “Bloody well heel!!” and sprinted toward his Childe’s suite at breakneck speed, he knew there was something desperately wrong. A young human female servant moved forward to care for the little girl as Alexander responded to his master’s demand.
Alexander skidded to a halt at the door, the Suzerain was already holding his adored Childe in his arms feeding him as the Suzerain’s wiccans and vampire medico’s attended the stricken Lisbeth. Spike growled aggressively at his claimed but Alexander recognized the sentiment for what it was, panic and anger. He dropped to his knees and slowly moved over to the bed of the unconscious Lisbeth, taking her free hand in his, kissing the back of it, then meshing the inert fingers with his own to kneel waiting while the team of experts analysed her condition.
Angelus was frantic to the point of Spike subduing his distressed Childe with a savage bite and draining him to near unconsciousness. The Suzerain left the brunette in the capable hands of Mistress Janet who arrived within minutes of the crisis erupting, and moved to establish the state of Lisbeth.
Alexander listened with distress as the gravity of the situation was explained. The aging mage – and leader of the team of experts – had seen similar poisonings in the past, but this deadly designer cocktail was something else. With elements both magical and non, the cure was always going to be difficult. There was a combination of four ‘killers of the dead’ class, and two flesh rotting venoms and two chemicals that attacked regenerating cells.
The doctor in charge Aamon, an ancient, rather frail looking human, was just about to launch into a full explanation when the Suzerain, in no mood for a medical lecture, bent the now terrified ‘demon poisons’ specialist backwards over the bed adjacent to Lisbeth’s and pinned him there until a *very swift* explanation was proffered. The terrified Aamon spoke as clearly as he could, given his uncomfortable position.
“Suzerain… Your First has saved his Childe from dust thus far by preventing this dastardly concoction from passing through her system, however…”
The wizened looking individual was instantly released then took the Suzerain’s hand that had so recently subdued him, and drew the ruler around the table until he could view the affected arm of his Grandchilde clearly.
The area immediately surrounding the location of the dart’s entry was raised, red and had black tendril like lines in every direction. The limb already had a withered look to it.
“Left thus she will dust. If we release the tourniquet, the remaining poison from each entry point will be distributed and is still potent enough to dust her. If there is no release, the limbs will wither to skeletal form requiring tighter and tighter binding as they will still hold enough of the potential to poison to dust her. The constriction required is too cruel to contemplate, eventually requiring the bones themselves to be crushed and the limp appendage to eventually fall… Even with physical and magical treatments to ease her torture, it will be years of excruciatingly pain. Suzerain, I would recommend that you agree to a third option.”
Spike was still staring at the horrid wound, the red of the infection and nasty black lines seeming to increase even as he watched. He spied his Companion still clasping Lisbeth’s other hand, looking desperately at his Master vampire for leadership. Spike leaned around the table to stroke his gentle Claimed reassuringly then turned to the concerned leader of the rescue team, “As much of my blood as you want… and my Companion’s.” Spike caught his beloved Companion’s dark brown eyes and registered Alexander nodding without hesitation.
The medico turned an apologetic, then sympathetic gaze toward his Suzerain, as he noted the genuine distress of a Sire with family, and finally continued. “I am sorry my Suzerain, but even your blood cannot assuage the dark forces that drive this torture of all tortures. There is one last option… It is only an eighty percent chance but… um… If… if we remove both limbs just below the position of securing, it will prevent the painful atrophying and any risk of spread. We will do it with anaesthetic… and the new prosthetics will...”
Spike turned on his advisor in full game face at the last statement, “She’s a *vampire*! What do you mean ‘prosthetic’?!! The limbs will…”
“… Not grow back. It’s impossible – part of the spell… I’m sorry.” Aamon’s voice dropped and suddenly Spike saw the true motivation of the man advising him. This was an experienced surgeon, a caring medical researcher, respected male wiccan and magical healer, someone who had the interests of his patient at heart, and who now was staring at Lisbeth with tears in his eyes.
The male wiccan turned to face the Master Vampire, knowing to fall to his knees and bare his neck in the presence of the world leader’s fully distressed demon. Grey eyes met gold splashed with concerned blue as Spike considered all the options and also the choice he would request were he and Angelus’ roles reversed. There was but one path to take. Lisbeth *must* survive.
He snapped from his demon form, hauled Aamon to his feet, stroking the proffered neck where he might have bitten, and simply growled, “Just… save her… do it.”
Alexander had listened and knew… knew that his dear friend would be marred but also immensely, unbelievably relieved that she would survive.
He and his Claimer withdrew with the still rather groggy Angelus who was drained by his Sire a second time as soon as they entered the Suzerain’s suite, just as Lisbeth was being prepared for the drastic measure to try to save her.
Lisbeth’s recollection of the following week was confused. She knew that her Mate, her Sire was there, and so was the Suzerain, and Alexander… but why they were at her bedside and in what order was all too muddled… and she was so very tired. She knew the blood was that of family only and her demon appreciated the potent mix but her undead form required recovery time.
The surgery had been a success, but enough of the nasty poison had seeped into her system to need ‘flushing’ despite the best efforts of the expert team attending her.
Angelus repeatedly drained her then syphoned the blood and his own through his Sire and back to her through the week. Much of Lisbeth’s unconsciousness due to the drainings, but in the end it worked.
On day nine after the attack, the young vampire woke fully, leaned over and took of her vigil holding friend, Alexander’s wrist, before calling for her Sire.
Angelus was there in an instant, as was the Suzerain, but it was only as she lifted her arms for a hug…
The consequent days and weeks would be spent in therapy, and though the limbs themselves healed remarkably quickly, it was the competent use of the prosthetic leg and the strange tingle from touching a handless arm to Sire’s face during love making that was the hardest to come to terms with… that and the incessant itchy foot of the now non existent appendage.
She showed a brave face to all and was the darling of her therapists and pride of her Sire, but still grieved in private. Her leg was from just above the knee though a second operation had given her a prosthetic joint from which to wield a false limb. Her arm had been severed, thankfully, an inch below the elbow, she could at least bend and twist it. They told her it might have been worse… and she remembered from her human days, her mother saying, it could always be worse.
Alexander came to sit with her each afternoon during her recovery – with express permission from his Claimer. She adored him all the more as his treatment of her was utterly unchanged and his sweet attentions reminded her that she was still family… always family. The triumph was Alexander’s suggestion to his Suzerain. He and Lisbeth caddied for their Claimers, the two golf buggies and eighteen holes by Spike and Angelus symbolising Lisbeth’s triumph, the family’s triumph, over their adversaries.
Alexander was worried, at the first major cartel meeting following the attack on Angelus and Lisbeth, the Suzerain had vowed vengeance.
Alexander had been told to watch reactions and so was rather pleased to report the two who were unable to keep their poker faces in place.