The Hunters
Author: Patrick
Phillips
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
It was hot. The dry kind of hot that makes
you think of the desert.
The bar, of course, wasn't air-conditioned.
Not too many were in that part of
The bar only served two kinds of beer. One
was brewed locally and only the locals would drink it. The other beer was
imported from
Xander tipped the bottle and poured the last
of it down his throat. The local custom was to serve beer warm. It had taken
him some time to get used to that, but he had adjusted.
Putting the empty bottle on the table, Xander
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and considered whether or not he
should have another one. The Kenyan beer was expensive by local standards, but
dirt cheap by American or European standards. He could drink himself insensible
and it would barely make a dent in his monthly stipend from the Watcher's
Council.
Xander blinked in surprise as a familiar
figure walked in the door. Xander was sitting where he had a view of the only
entrance -- a habit that had saved his life more than once.
Like Xander, the other man was white. In
fact, they were the only two white men present.
The question of whether or not Xander should
have another drink was settled by the newcomer. He bought two beers. Then he
walked over to the table and put one in front of Xander.
The other man was over average height, with a
strong build and short, dark hair. And he was handsome in a solid kind of way.
But it wasn't his appearance that made the
other man distinctive. What made him stand out was a certain, undefinable attitude. Although he wasn't obviously
belligerent, you could tell at a glance that he was familiar with violence --
and wouldn't hesitant to use it if needed.
"Harris, how's it going?" he asked
quietly.
It had been more than a few years. And Xander
hadn't really known the other man very well. And yet...
"Fine, Graham," Xander finally
replied. "What brings the Initiative to lovely and scenic
Graham shrugged, "Actually, I'm looking
for you. Okay if I sit down?"
Xander nodded and used his foot to nudge a
chair out from the table. As Graham settled into the chair, Xander
automatically noted the bulge beneath the other man's loose shirt that
suggested a handgun in a concealed holster. For his part, Graham had already
cataloged the wooden stake that Xander had tucked into his right boot, and the
well-worn knife carried openly on his belt.
The soldier grabbed his beer and drank as
Xander picked up the other bottle and took a slow, careful sip. Xander had no
intention of getting drunk. He might have some business to take care of later.
"Last I heard, you and Riley were back
down in
"We were," answered Graham.
"But things changed after 9-11."
"I wondered about that. So you're back
in the real Army? Hunting for terrorists instead of demons?"
Graham shook his head. "Sort
of. Actually, we're looking for terrorists and demons."
Xander let that process for a second. Over a
decade of on-the-job training with Giles had made him good at recognizing
patterns in the midst of minimal information. He quickly saw where Graham was
going.
"You're saying that Al-Quaeda..." Xander let it hang.
Graham nodded and took another drink from his
beer, "Who do you suppose wins if Osama's little
jihad starts something a lot bigger? Like something that involves a nuke going
off in
Xander said nothing, he just eyed Graham.
That didn't seem to bother Graham in the least. He let the silence between them
stretch out as he nursed his beer and unabashedly examined a cute barmaid as
she cleaned off a nearby table.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Xander finally asked.
Graham glanced back towards Xander,
"There's this thing called 'back channel communications'. It refers to
making a connection when the folks doing the connecting don't want to be
officially talking. Usually a couple of lower-ranking guys act as go-betweens.
Supposedly they're just shooting the bull, but they're really carrying messages
to and from their bosses. And the whole thing can be denied or dropped if it
doesn't go the way either side wants. Read up on the Cuban Missile Crisis
sometime. There was some of that going on back then. It may have prevented a
war."
Xander rubbed the patch that covered his
missing eye with his thumb. It was a habit he had picked up over the last
couple of years.
"Got any proof that what you're saying
is legit, Graham? A cynical, suspicious person, like -- say -- me, might be
inclined to think that you're just trying to trick us into working for
you."
Graham shrugged, "The Watchers used to
have a lot of contacts in the British government. If you guys still have those
kinds of connections, use them to find out what happened during a combined SAS
and Delta Force mission called Operation Copperhead. It was a raid on an Al-Quaeda mountain complex in
Xander nodded, "So what'll Giles find if
he does that?"
Graham paused, seeming to look out into
nothing. Xander recognized the expression. He'd seen it in the mirror a few
times. It suggested that Graham was remembering something he really didn't want
to recall.
"By the time it was over," said
Graham quietly, "the local Taliban were fighting side by side with us. We
were all trying to kill the things in those caverns. Not too many people got
out of that one alive."
Xander kept his expression noncommittal.
"Who are you fronting for, Graham? Is it Riley? Or some
General? Or does this go all the way back to the suits in
A wry smile quirked across Graham's face,
"This is coming from Riley. Once upon a time, Riley would never have done
something like this without clearance from the chain-of-command. But... he's
changed. I've noticed that hanging around with you guys tends
to do that to people."
Xander looked into his beer, "Yeah. Tell
me about it."
Graham automatically checked out a pair of
guys who had just walked in the door -- then he dismissed them as no threat,
"So, are you going to pass the message along?"
Xander nodded. He was also examining the
newcomers as they bellied up to the bar and loudly called for service. He came
to the same conclusion about them as Graham. "I'll let Giles and the Buffster chew on it. This is something that gets handled on
their level."
"Yeah, I understand," said Graham.
There was another long silence. Then Graham
spoke again.
"So now you know why I'm here. What
brings you to
"The same thing that
I've been doing for the last few years. Looking for new Slayers. And
keeping an eye out for anything else that might be interesting."
"So do you got
anything interesting?"
Xander nodded in response to Graham's
question, "There's at least one vampire in the area. He's being careful so
far. The locals haven't realized what's going on yet."
"Going after him?"
"I don't know where he hides in the day.
So, actually, I'm waiting for him to come to me. This bar is perfect. It's
isolated and creates a lot of drunks. He can pick off strays without too much
fuss."
Graham's eyes narrowed as he carefully
examined the interior of the building yet one more time.
"Maybe I'll stick around for a
while," he said after he finished his inspection.
"Suit yourself."
There was a moment of silence, as if both men
had run out of words.
A thoughtful look came over Xander's face.
"Graham..." began Xander. Then he
stopped, unsure of how to continue.
"What?"
Xander made the decision to continue,
"How did you get into this?"
Graham cocked his head at Xander before
responding. "I was a Sergeant in the Rangers. The Initiative was looking
for people and they asked me to join. They didn't explain exactly what I was
getting into, but they did say that it was dangerous and important. At the
time, I was looking for something like that."
Xander nodded.
Graham was still looking at Xander, "How
about you?"
Xander didn't hesitate. "My friends
needed help."
Graham thought about what Xander had said,
"That was a good reason. A better reason than
mine."
There wasn't much more to say. But neither
man left the table. In a manner that they couldn't really explain, both men had
found some kind of familiarity in each other's company.
Graham didn't offer to help Xander. Both men
simply understood that he would.
The sun was beginning to drop below the
horizon -- it was a brilliant blood red. Both men looked out at the sunset,
knowing that they should be concerned about the impending fall of night. But
they weren't, because both of them had long since become familiar with fear in
a way that few others would understand.
"Did you ever think of walking away from
this?" asked Graham, his eyes now returned to the bar door.
Xander chuckled, "Every damn day."
Graham grinned wryly. They both knew that
there was really only one way out of what they had become. Some paths could
never be retraced.
They ordered another drink. The barmaid that
Graham had been eyeing delivered the beer. As she put the bottles on the table,
she tried to understand what it was about the two strangers that seemed so
familiar. She hadn't seen either man until today. But there was something...
Ah. Now she understood.
The barmaid had been a little girl when the
great safaris ended, but she still remembered some of those days. These men
were hunters. She could see that now. It was in their eyes and the way they
carried themselves.
Perhaps they were planning on hunting
together.
Xander bought the round. He tipped the
barmaid generously. She smiled in appreciation and walked away, wondering what
kind of prey these two hunters were seeking. The lions were long gone, and
somehow she didn't think these two were interested in hunting anything that ate
grass.
Xander and Graham quietly drank together. And
they said very little as they watched the door and waited to see what the dark
would bring.
-fin-