"Knock, knock." Spike’s voice drifted into break the gloomy silence that had settled over the interior of the Magic Box. Buffy had been pacing the floor, wearing a groove in the wood and marking out territory with an almost feral insistence. Willow and Tara had been feverishly pouring over the scribbled notes Giles had made, in case he’d stumbled on something, had found in his translation something that the Malumbra would not have wanted known – or worse, some spell or incantation, words which, spoke inadvertently, might have summoned the shadows that had spirited him away.

Dawn had been trying to make herself useful, brewing hot coffee and offering hopeful, helpful suggestions until the restless, uneasy reactions of her sister had reduced her to wary silence and she’d retreated to the sanctuary of an unobtrusive chair.

Xander and Anya had arrived shortly after the calamitous discovery; Anya’s response to the emergency had been to submerge herself in domestic, day to day detail, picking up scattered post, checking the telephone for messages, and muttering about lost orders and missed suppliers. Xander, more focused, less creative, had simply strode across the floor to wrap Buffy in a supportive embrace. It had been no more constructive than anyone else’s response, but it had been a welcome gesture all the same.

They’d gone over all the options, rehearsed the possibilities and finally, inevitably, subsided into gloomy silence, faced with an unfaceable conclusion. Their friend, their mentor, their guide and their guardian was gone – abducted by creatures out of a demon’s nightmare to who knew where – or why.

"Little early to shut up shop, ain’t it?" the vampire enquired cheerily. "And why all the long faces? Bloody hell!" He’d stepped in through the door and his nose had wrinkled in instant disgust. "What’s with all the – brimstone?" The final word held puzzlement. He frowned, taking a step back, then one forward, an odd look settling on his face. "Did you know there’s blood on the door handle?" he asked bemusedly.

"Blood?" Anya stared at him. So did everyone else.

"Yeah. Blood. Smells like librarian to me …"

Buffy was pushing past him in an instant, hunkering down to stare at the faint, red brown stain that marked the door. "Oh god," she breathed. "They hurt him. Did they kill him?" she demanded, standing up and rounding on Spike with vehemence. He put up his hands to ward her off.

"Hold on a mo, love," he requested. "Fill me in, will ya? What’s happened here?" His glance raked across the company. "Where is good ol’ Rule Britannia anyway?"

"He’s missing," Buffy snapped, pushing him back against the wall with decided force. "The Malumbra were here, and now he’s not, and I’m asking you again, did they kill him?"

"Malumbra. Right." The vampire’s cocky attitude became a look of deadly seriousness. "That’d explain the brimstone … No," he answered hastily, catching Buffy’s furious look. "Least, I don’t smell death. Just the blood. Late last night, I’d say. And just on the door. Not in here. What in the nine hells would the Malumbra want with Giles?"

"We don’t know." Buffy’s fury dissipated as quickly as it had been spawned, born from frustration, anxiety – and fear. "We thought it might have something to do with the translation he’d been working on – but all that seems to be is a history text. About some – fallen Angel or other."

"The first among the Grigori," Willow volunteered glumly. "He made the Malumbra – from the other angels, according to this."

"The Grigori were teachers," Dawn piped up. "Sent to instruct and watch over mankind. Kind of – celestial Giles’s, sort of. Watchers, I mean. Only not his sort of Watcher, exactly. I wondered if that was why they’d picked him – kinda. Only I could be wrong," she finished lamely. Xander reached across the table and patted her hand with sympathy.

"Couldn’t have put it better myself," he said.

"Celestial Watchers," Spike mouthed, working at the concept with a thoughtful frown. "Now where did I – oh, Christ!"

"You know what’s going on?" Buffy asked hopefully. He gave her an arch look.

"No, I bloody don’t," he said with feeling. "But Dru – god’s sake, sometimes she made sense even when she didn’t. The Watchers. The Grigori. It’s a myth she used to spout from time to time. The war of the Incandescent. The destroyer that took on heaven and hell, murdering and corrupting demons and Angels both. He’s supposed to have cut a swathe through all the hell dimensions before they stopped him. But it’s just a story – just something demons tell their kids to make ‘em behave. He doesn’t exist."

"The Malumbra do," Buffy pointed out. "And they’ve taken Giles. He’s in trouble Spike, I know he is – and I don’t know how to find him, how to help. I don’t even know where to start."

The vampire stared at her for a moment or two, his eyes considering her anxious expression and the unspoken fear that lay behind it. There was too much loss in that look; the loss of the mother she’d loved and hadn’t been able to save; the loss of her innocence and her youth, sacrificed on the altar of her destiny – and the final, impossible loss, of the light that had welcomed her, and from which she had been dragged, back into this dark and painful world. To lose her friend, her Watcher – the man who had always been there for her, who’d patiently instructed the girl, guided the slayer and supported the woman she’d become – that would be too much for her to bear.

"I do, love," he said softly, nodding at the bloodstained door. "He practically left me a note."

"Is that possible?" Wesley asked, glancing at Angel. "Can a vampire really follow a air born blood trail that’s a day old?"

Angel nodded thoughtfully. "Dry day, not too much sun – and a lot of blood … It’s possible. And Spike always did have a nose like a bloodhound. You wouldn’t need a detailed trail in any case. Just a hint here and there would be enough to follow. Besides – " He glanced rather apologetically at Giles. "When a man’s been demon touched, he’s easier to pick out from the crowd."

"Now he tells me," Giles noted with a martyred roll of his eyes. "Wish I’d known that a few years ago. Well, whatever the reason, Spike didn’t have any trouble at all tracking me down – or rather, tracking down where I’d been. The trail led straight back to the old Northern Cemetery and the crypt Metcalfe had been using as a base. Metcalfe was still there. So were about a dozen Malumbra."

"The Scoobies wouldn’t match up to that kind of power," Cordelia said. "I mean – Buffy’s Buffy, and Willow’s got a real talent for magic, but these things you’ve been talking about. They sound real – kick butt, leave the good guys in the gutter kinda stuff. Besides - how do you fight shadows?"

"With light," Giles countered softly. "But you’re right. The Scoobies hadn’t got a chance – not even with Buffy’s particular protection. Like I said – help was on the way …"

"I count seven, eight – no, more …" Buffy grimaced her frustration and dropped back behind the cover of the yew hedge where the rest of her team were lurking. "You sure that’s where they took him?"

"Sure as eggs are eggs, sweetheart." Spike took his own careful glance around the end of the hedge and ducked back just as quickly. "This is ridiculous. There’s over a dozen of the things drifting around over there. We couldn’t fight one of them, let alone a whole coven."

"There has to be a way," Buffy insisted, ignoring the look that Willow was giving the vampire. "There has to be. Come on guys. We’ve defeated a god before now. Surely we can deal with a few shadows?"

"Glory wasn’t the Incandescent," Spike pointed out. " Her minions certainly weren’t Malumbra – and you died, remember? We ain’t going through that again."

"So we just give up on Giles? I can’t do that. You know I can’t."

Tara looked at Willow, who looked back with bleak eyes. Xander grimaced helplessly. "We don’t want to give up on him," he said, "but – look at them out there. What can we do against that?"

"We’re not going to leave him," Buffy reiterated firmly, giving her friend a look so fierce that he actually quailed under it’s impact. Spike caught hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him.

"Now, you listen to me, Slayer, and you listen good. That’s not a nest of vampires, or a quadrain of Piltoth demons out there. That’s a portal. A mini-hell mouth. It’ll lead straight into a hell dimension and for all we know there isn’t a way back. You do not want to go there. And he wouldn’t want you to risk yourself like that, either. Buffy – he could be dead, he could be demon meat – hell, he could be a demon himself by now. You just don’t know. You don’t know what those places are like."

"Yes, she does," Willow interrupted anxiously. "She’s right. We can’t leave Giles. We have to get him out. And I – I don’t think we could do it the way we got Buffy out. We - we don’t have a body," she concluded, a little lamely.

"He’s not dead. Not yet," Buffy insisted firmly. "I’d know. Spike’s right, Willow. I don’t know what’s on the other side of that door. I can’t even begin to imagine what Giles might be facing right now – but I know I can’t leave him to face it alone."

"Maybe – maybe we could use magic against them," Tara suggested. "Drive them back, at least."

"Yes," Willow agreed, looking at her girlfriend gratefully. "I could – "

"You could get yourself killed," Spike interrupted pointedly. "Look – this is the big league. This is the kinda stuff that gives demons nightmare. I’m not going in there. Not for all the blood in China. Not even if you ask me, Buffy. I won’t go. I go – I don’t think I’m coming back."

"Like that’s a loss," Xander muttered to himself. "It’s obvious, isn’t it. Someone’s going to have to run interference. Draw them off. Get away from the door and Buffy can – tthp – slide it, grab Giles and get the hell out of there. If you see what I mean."

"Okay," Spike agreed challengingly. "You and me then, hero." His lips twisted in a sneer. "Leave the ladies to face the fire."

"It’s a plan," Buffy said, not sounding entirely convinced. "I mean – I’d prefer the kind of plan that involved me, Mr Pointy and a few piles of dust, but if I have to – "

"I’m in," Willow confirmed nervously. "Tara?"

Tara nodded. "I’m glad we left Dawn back with Anya," she said. "She didn’t need to see this."

"I don’t believe you lot," Spike declared, despairingly. "Its not a plan, Buffy. It’s suicide. Or worse. We take a few days, we research how to deal with these things and we might be able to take them one at a time. But this – this is plain nuts. You’re talking about walking straight into hell – just to rescue one man, who might be dead, or worse … and do you think for one minute, Giles would let you do anything so stupid?"

Buffy half rose from her crouch – and then dropped again, heaving a weary sigh. "No," she said. "He wouldn’t. But a few days … "

"Giles is tough," Xander offered, aiming for comfort and sounding very uncomfortable about it. "He’ll deal with – a little torture. I mean – he did before …" He tailed off under the look Buffy was giving him. "Okay. Bad thought. British guy in the hands of the whole scary army of darkness and - you really think there’ll be anything left to rescue by now? Oh god, shouldn’t have said that. Where’s the cavalry when you really need it?"

"Right here," a soft voice announced, the man it belonged to loping out of the dark and dropping to join them in their huddle behind the hedge. "Sorry we’re late."

"Yeah," a second voice agreed, its owner appearing just as suddenly and silently, almost from nowhere. "We just missed you at the shop."

Buffy’s heart – which had sunk to the depths of her shoes – leapt like a cricket released from a cage. The first voice had been vaguely familiar – but she knew the second instantly. Would know it anywhere – even if the scent of the man wasn’t so distinctive, and the flash of his eyes so unmistakable.

"What the hell," Spike reacted, rearing back at the sudden appearance of two total strangers. "Where did you come from? And who the bloody hell are you?"

The first man grinned at the second. He was a well built, athletically proportioned individual, with a face sculptured to match the rest of him; strong, determined and effortlessly handsome. His companion was much more compact in height and build, although there was a sense of energy about him that more than made up the comparison. Both men were dressed in dark denims, the first with a heavy leather biker jacket hanging from his shoulders, while the second had a lighter weight fabric thing, that might have had sleeves once, although all that seemed to be left of them was fraying armholes. He was carrying something slung over his shoulder, something long and thin and wrapped in fabric. "Like he said – we’re the cavalry. We’re here to close that door, but – your friend, back at the shop – she said the Malumbra had taken someone? Is that true?"

"Yes." Buffy nodded. "They got Giles. He’s a friend – uh …" She corrected herself savagely. Giles was much much more than a friend, and they needed to know that. "He’s my Watcher. He means a lot to me. To us ..."

"You’re – you’re the one that gave Buffy her bracelet, aren’t you?" Tara had been struggling to pinpoint the man’s familiarity ever since he’d arrived.

"Yes," the taller of the two smiled at her. "I am. I’m Hercules. This is my friend Iolaus. We’re here to help. And I can assure you – we’ll do whatever we can to get your friend back." 

"Whoa. Hey. Whoa. Hercules?" Cordelia stared at the storyteller in utter disbelief. "The ‘strongest guy in the world, Greek myth, slays hydras’ Hercules? Or just some guy named after him?"

"Oh, he was the real thing, all right." Giles threw a wry smile at Wesley, who was frowning in equal disbelief. "Not quite what you’d expect, perhaps, but – definitely the son of Zeus. Strong too. Much stronger than he looked."

"Well," Wesley considered thoughtfully, "since we are prepared to accept the reality behind many of the mystical writings that outline a mythical history of the world, I suppose it’s possible …"

Lorne laughed. "Man – he’s talking about fallen angels and the Incandscent, and the wars between heaven and hell, and you’re going to balk at one little demi-god?"

"Not so little," Giles corrected thoughtfully. "He’s – uh – a rather notable figure actually, in more ways than one. The occult world interfaces with the legacy of the Olympians on many levels and in many ways. Greek mysticism is as old and as established as that of the Celts, the Egyptians, the Assyrians, - or the Summarians for that matter. The remnants of that time linger in texts and artifacts, in places and prophecies … why not in people too? The gods abide," he quoted softly. "And sometimes they walk among us. After all, if vampires and demons and the forces of darkness are real – a statement for which we have incontrovertible proof …"

He didn’t really need to complete the thought. Angel nodded comprehendingly. "He’s right, Cordy. I’m a 300 year old vampire with a soul. Most people would think I’m a myth. Why shouldn’t some of the heroes of legend – the original Champions – still be out there in the fight?"

"Well, okay," Cordelia allowed. "Hercules. Tough. Been wandering around for a while. But what on earth was he doing in Sunnydale right at the very moment when all hell was breaking loose?"

Giles smiled at the question – and the questioner, who hadn’t entirely realised what she’d just said. "He was trying to stop hell from breaking loose," he explained. "He and his friend had been on the trail of the Eye of Harmony for weeks. Ever since it had been stolen in Iraq. They’d tracked Metcalfe as far as Sunnydale and then been called away on an urgent matter – that had been when we’d met them that first time. Iolaus helped Buffy out of a jam. And - through some of her issues, although I didn’t know that then. He’s Hercules’ partner," he said, with a small smile that made that simple statement carry a whole load of complications. "He’s a little more than he seems, too …"

Long Sea Crossing - Chapter One, Part Six. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by anyone - Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Buffy the Vampire slayer trademarks or copyrights.
© 2003. Written by Pythia. Reproduced by Penelope Hill