Her Cage
Max stared around at her current imprisonment. The room was large, white, had columns every so often to support the arching ceiling. The door, four achingly long feet from her, could not be opened from the inside. She’d spent the better part of an hour trying after the first man to visit her had run through it.
She smiled softly at the memory of the ass kicking she’d given him. Of course, the guy had been too enamored with looking at her naked form to fight. But it felt good to relieve some of the tension and stress she was feeling. She’d spent too many years caged up like an animal. She was damned if she’d spend one more minute than absolutely necessary doing so again.
After the black guy had run from the room, she’d tried opening the door. When that hadn’t worked, she’d resorted to trying other forms of force. Getting nowhere, she’d finally quit. A few minutes after that, a voice had told her to move away from the door. Curious, she’d complied. When she was far enough back, the door opened and a tray of food and water was slipped in. A bag landed just passed the tray and the door slammed shut.
Max had suspiciously inspected the contents of the bag first. Inside was simply a gray tee shirt and black sweatpants. No underwear and nothing else. With relief, Max pulled them on, one of her problems solved. She’d given the tray of food a look of disgust. There was no way for her to know if it was tainted or not, so she wouldn’t take the risk.
After an hour or so, she’d gotten restless and was creeping around the room. She searched for clues, trying to determine where she was. A noise alerted her and she whirled around. The tray slid out the door and slammed shut. Many things registered in Max’s mind in those few seconds. She knew, as fast as she was she’d never make it twenty feet in so short a time, so it was pointless to try. Whoever locked her up obviously had cameras trained on her. And most importantly, if she was in enemy hands, aside from Manticore’s of course, it was better not to reveal her special skills. So with a resigned sigh, she took up the post by the door, every instinct ready to fight for her freedom.
As she sat, she allowed herself to think back over the events that had led her here. The last thing she honestly remembered was the blinding white light that had seared through her being. Before that, pain. She waited and let the sensations pour through her. After she and her family had defeated the threat from the Phalanx in the battle at the Jam Pony offices, she and her would-be lover, Logan Cale had dived headlong into the prophecy that had been implanted in her before she was ever born.
She did remember searching for Sandman, her father of sorts. But the closer she got to him, the more dangerous things had become. Finally, she had found him, but it was too late. He was too close to death to do more than express his love for her. A love she neither craved nor accepted. He’d died; his last breath rattling from his chest as Max dispassionately cradled his head in her lap. "In case…" and then he was gone.
But that was all Max could recall. She had the instinct that it was horrible, both physically and mentally. It reminded her of when she was young and had just escaped from Manticore with eleven of her siblings. Self-preservation kept her moving kept her safe. But understanding hadn’t come immediately. It was a slow and uncertain process. Max hoped that this time would be swift and painless. A foolish hope she knew, but there just the same.
Finally, after hours of reflection, the voice came again. "Move away from the door!" it commanded. Max stayed put, all her senses ready. There was a short wait. "Move away from the door now!" Max glanced up into the room above her, searching out the cameras she knew were there.
"Fuck you," she said sweetly and evenly. There was a short chuckle in response that was cut off abruptly. Max remained at ease, but at any moment, she would spring.
The door creaked open and Max was a blur. She flew at the approaching duo. A man and a woman. He was tall, she petite. He dark and somber, she light and cheer. She catalogued all this as she attacked. She’d centered on the fact that the man had a dagger in his inside coat pocket. She’d seen the outline of it immediately. Max grabbed his outstretched hand and whirled him around, smashing his face into the wall as her free hand relieved him of the dagger. While he was dazed, she turned to the woman. To give her credit, the petite blonde had dropped into a fighting stance. Max launched herself into the air before the woman could react, executing the flip higher than the woman could reach and landed behind her lightly before she could fully turn around.
Angel felt his nose crack as it met the unyielding wall. He bit off a curse as he backed up and turned around. The girl had Buffy. Her right arm was holding Buffy across the chest, her taller form giving her a slight advantage. The look in Buffy’s eyes scared Angel more than anything else could. She was scared. She was downright scared of another Slayer. Not since Faith had she been like this.
Max could feel the subtle fear emanating off the pair. She had her arm across the woman’s chest; her hand tucked above the breast and into the armpit in a secure hold. Her other hand was holding the knife across her throat. All of them knew a swift slash and she’d be holding a corpse. In the first moment of capture, the blonde woman had tried to leverage Max over her shoulder. But Max had been expecting that and had drastically lowered her center of gravity, making it impossible. The woman held her wrist at her throat, and she was strong, but she couldn’t budge Max.
Angel wondered how the hell the girl had come into her power so quickly. A few vague theories were forming in his mind, but he brushed them away in an effort to deal with this new threat. He deliberated a few options. Overpowering her was not an option. She was holding a knife, his dagger to Buffy’s throat. And if the Slayer couldn’t overpower her, then he didn’t stand much more of a chance. So he went with the gentle, non-threatening route.
"We’re not here to hurt you," he informed her in a low gentle voice. There was no response but the arch of a delicate dark eyebrow. Angel took a moment to study this unknown factor. She was beautiful, even if he couldn’t quite place her physical heritage. She had long straight, almost black hair that shimmered the same way her eyes did as the light played over her. Her face was small and cat-like. In fact, that’s exactly what he equated her with. A lithe, graceful, dangerous black panther.
"What’s your name?" he tried again, while trying to silently reassure Buffy.
"Why?" Max demanded archly. "You gonna put me on your Christmas card list?" She’d said it before, in another time, her other life. But it was usually good to throw off her opponent. And judging by the surprised chuckle the man let slip, it worked.
"Look, I don’t want anybody to get hurt, so just let Buffy go and we’ll talk this out."
"How about you let me go and I don’t kill her," Max offered easily. Her demeanor sent chills up both Buffy and Angel’s spines. They couldn’t tell for sure if she would carry out her threat. Angel glanced up at the ceiling, to the cameras he couldn’t see, but knew were there.
"Open the door," he commanded. He was obeyed immediately. She arched her brow again and cocked her head to the door. He understood immediately and backed through the open door. His hands were where she could see them. He watched her as she and Buffy moved slowly to follow him. But as he moved back into the office, he heard the natural, automatic response of the Wolfram and Hart employees. At least fifty weapons were cocked, primed and ready to fire. "Don’t shoot!" his voice was slightly higher pitched, a reaction to his fear.
Max and Buffy emerged from the chamber and the taller woman took in everything with one sweeping glance. But she betrayed nothing. ""All this for little old me?" she teased. Angel noted that Gunn had his weapon trained on the woman’s head. But from what he’d seen so far, the woman was too good, too relaxed amidst the danger.
"Put the weapons down now!" Angel thundered. After a moment’s hesitation, the group released their weapons, setting them on desks, or reholstering them. Angel made sure that there were no more threats and then faced the two women. They were so different physically, yet he could almost see the same soul. "Now, let her go."
"Be happy to," Max quipped. In the blink of an eye, she’d removed the knife and had shoved Buffy forward. She was already halfway to the windows when Angel caught the love of his undead life. He whipped his head around, catching the woman’s intentions.
"Don’t!" he yelled desperately running after her. He didn’t even notice Buffy stumble to one knee at his abrupt departure. "We’re on the fifth floor!" But she either didn’t listen or didn’t care. One jump up to a desk and the dark haired enigma launched herself through the air. She crashed through the nacred glass, causing it to spray outwards.
Angel reached the window, thanking The Powers that sunlight wasn’t streaming in on him now. He looked down, his stomach lurching in preparation for the expected gore. But all his enhanced vampiric vision caught was that lovely, impish face smirking up at him from the sidewalk. She was completely unharmed. He watched in disbelief as she ran up the street, heading north.
"Damn,’ he muttered under his breath. Despite himself, he was impressed, extremely so.
Pursuit
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