Enemy IncognitoBy Wynn
Chapter Thirteen: Silent Observers
The night air was crisp and cool, a welcome departure from the stifling heat and humidity of the past month. Buffy drew her hooded sweatshirt around her as she stepped out of Mossino's and onto the sidewalk. She had worked for the past five hours, teaching various groups of men, women, and children the basics of self defense. Her patience was thin and her muscles were sore; all she wanted was to be in a luxurious hot bath surrounded by scented candles with-"Buffy!"
Sighing, Buffy turned back towards Mossino's. She saw Tyler standing next to the glass doors, a piece of paper dangling from his right hand. She smothered a frown and said, "Yeah?"
He moved closer towards her and extended his hand, fluttering the paper at her. "Paycheck. Figure you'd want it."
Buffy's brows drew together. "I thought I didn't get paid until tomorrow."
"I got some stuff I need to do tomorrow, so I won't be in to give this to you." Tyler ran a hand over his short black hair and walked back towards the building. "Of course, if you want to wait for your money, I can always-"
"Give."
Tyler smirked and passed the paycheck to Buffy. He stared at her for a moment, grey eyes burning into her with fierce intensity, before he smirked again. "I got to admit it, honey, you're doing a mighty fine job. You weren't lying when you said you knew what you were doing."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Still wondering how I was able to beat you so fast?"
"Yeah."
One corner of her mouth quirked up as she folded the paycheck and slipped it into her coat pocket. "Trade secret. Goonight, Tyler." Buffy pivoted on her heel and continued down the sidewalk, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head. She felt Tyler's hand on her arm and stopped again, jaw clenched in frustration.
"Wait! What's the rush?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black pants as she turned towards him. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Am I that repulsive?"
A small smile curved Buffy's lips. She folded her arms across her chest and said, "No. You're only slightly repulsive."
"Thank you."
Buffy drew in a deep breath and forced her jaw to relax. Being rude to the boss was not of the good, especially if one wanted to be paid again. "My sister's waiting for me to get home so I can beat the crap out of her."
"What?"
Buffy laughed at his confusion. "I'm training her how to fight. It's only basic sparring now. I thought I'd wait another week or two before we broke out the weapons."
Tyler narrowed his eyes at her. "Weapons?"
"Weapons. You know, crossbows, swords, stuff like that." She grinned at him as she felt a slow tingle spread through her stomach. Buffy straightened, her blood beginning to pound through her veins, and searched the shadows enveloping the surrounding buildings. Her eyes strained to pierce the darkness but failed to discern anything in the murky black.
"Something wrong?"
Buffy's head whipped back towards Tyler. She had forgotten he was standing with her. "What? Oh, no, nothing's wrong. Just thought I heard something." She shrugged and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Must have been the wind. Um, what were you saying before the, uh, wind?"
Tyler glanced at her and raised one eyebrow slightly. After a few seconds, he said, "I asked if your sister was as strong as you are."
Buffy shook her head. "No. Only one freakishly strong tiny person in the family. She didn't eat her Wheaties as a kid."
"So… only your sister waiting for you at home? No boyfriend?"
Buffy remained silent. Her gaze flickered from Tyler to the shadows and back again. "Not really. My sister's waiting for me. Goodnight, Tyler." With a small wave, she turned and walked down the bare sidewalk. She reached the end of the block and rounded the corner, disappearing behind the building.
* * *He watched her glance towards him, then back at the lug standing before her. Her murmured goodbye drifted on the cool winds, softly swirling around him, as he leaned back against the rough brick wall. His eyes followed her as she sauntered down the street and vanished into the night.
Spike sighed, attempting to stifle the jealously flaring within him. There was no reason to be jealous. Buffy was his friend. He was Buffy's friend. Nothing more. After all, they had only seen each other a few times over the past three weeks. She had always arrived after sunset, knocking softly on the front door. They would sit on the porch and talk. Talk about poetry, about the nasties roaming the Hellmouth, about Spike refurbishing the old farmhouse. She hadn't mentioned anything about a tall, massive, black haired lump of flesh named Tyler.
His gaze snapped back to the mirrored building. The lug was locking the door; he placed his keys within a brown messenger bag slung across his chest and looked around the street. Spike could sense his heart beating quickly, adrenaline flooding his system. He watched Tyler glance down the street in the direction Buffy had traveled, wipe the palms of his hands on his pants, and head in the opposite way.
Spike frowned at the boy's nervousness. He emerged from the shadows and followed Tyler, keeping close to the buildings. As long as the boy was traveling in the same direction as Spike, a little recon wouldn't hurt. Especially if this guy was involved in Buffy's life. The lug turned down a side street and headed into the gloomy alleyways of Sunnydale; he looked behind him a few times but never stopped. He exited the alley and walked down a vacant road, sparsely lit by street lamps, and dotted with rusted, windowless cars. Tyler halted in front of a massive brick house and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a tiny scrap of paper. He glanced from the paper to the building and shoved the scrap into one pocket of his pants. Sighing softly, he peered at the darkened windows and gothic stonework before moving to the tiny side alley stretching alongside the building and walked to the back of the house.
Spike heard the sound of a door opening. A mumbled conversation followed and then the door slammed shut. He waited, covered by the darkness of the night, senses trained on the oppressive house for any sign of life. After five minutes, the blonde searched for the street number of the brick building, eventually spotting a small brass sign with an elegantly carved 2403 upon it above the pale blue door. 2403 Mulholland Rd. Spike stared at the house, mind swirling with jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and ran his hand over his light brown curls. They were just friends. He had no reason to be following one of her… acquaintances. They were only friends.
Yeah. Like her and Angel were just friends. Spike looked at the building once more before slipping back into the shadows and continuing to his original destination.
* * *Spike walked into the dark and smoky interior of the Bronze. The strobe lights and colored lasers flashed in time with the pulsing and sensual beat of the music; the club was half-filled, some people venturing onto the dance floor while others crowded around the pool tables. He maneuvered through the patrons and approached the bar. Sliding onto one of the stools, he signaled for the bartender. A tall man with long red hair slicked back into a ponytail sauntered over, a white towel grasped loosely in his hands. His eyes, suspicious and cautious, scanned Spike as he placed a thin paper coaster in front of the vampire.
"I don't want a drink," Spike said. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and removed a torn shred of newspaper. Handing the paper to the bartender, Spike continued, "I'm looking for Smith."
The bartender smirked. His eyes inspected Spike again. He handed the paper back to the blonde and pointed to a small room adjacent to the bar. Spike glanced at the room, noticing a beam of light escaping from the closed door. Nodding his thanks, he jumped off of the stool and moved to the door. He knocked once, opened the door, and entered the small room. A muted glow illuminated the room from a series of circular lights on the ceiling. A woman with long silver hair sat behind a battered metal desk; a stack of papers were balanced precariously in front of her, and a sleek laptop resided on the corner of the desk. She looked up as Spike shut the door behind him and smiled.
"Hello, William."
Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at the woman. She stood and edged around the desk; she wore strapless silver top and a silk cerulean skirt. Her eyes were large and violet. Spike looked down at the paper in his hand, then at the tiny woman before him. "I'm, uh, looking for Smith. The large, mute bloke behind the bar pointed to this room."
The woman smiled again. "I'm Smith. Emilia Smith. I assume you're here about the job opportunity, William."
"Why do you keep calling me William? I haven't told you my name yet."
Tilting her head to the side, Emilia said, "Would you prefer Spike? Neither Spike nor William is quite appropriate now, are they?"
A stony mask descended onto Spike's face. He backed towards the closed door and said, "Well, Emilia, it's been swell but if you don't mind, I'll be going now." His hand groped for the doorknob and he stiffened when Emilia walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She gently moved him into a dented metal folding chair and resumed her seat behind the desk.
"I didn't mean to frighten you-"
"You didn't."
"Most are alarmed upon first meeting me. I have… a tendency to speak without thinking. And in my case, that isn't always such a good thing."
"And why exactly is that, luv?"
Emilia sighed and leaned across the desk. Her large, violet eyes gazed into Spike's turbulent blue as she said, "They aren't just a pretty color. I can see the essence… the aura of a person. I can see souls, if you prefer. And I have some ability in telepathy." She grinned at Spike. "Don't worry. I haven't used it on you yet."
Spike shifted on the cold metal of the folding chair and tore his gaze away from Emilia. Her stare was disconcerting; he felt as though he was laid bare before her, all of his secrets and sins exposed in one penetrating glance of violet. He licked his lips and breathed deeply. "What are you? And why are you here in Sunnydale?"
"I'm an Elf."
Spike snorted. "Elves don't exist anymore. They disappeared from this dimension around the time of the Crusades."
Emilia smiled. "Are you always so certain about everything? You are partially correct. Most Elves left this dimension a millennia ago. But some remain. We have merged with humanity and become a part of it."
"What the hell is an Elf doing in Sunnydale?"
"What better place for a supernatural being than the Hellmouth. I own the Bronze."
Spike narrowed his eyes. "*You* own the Bronze?"
"Yes."
Spike laughed, the harsh sound echoing in the tiny room. "Well, isn't this rich. An Elf owns the Bronze. I always wondered who would be stupid enough to open a club on top of the Hellmouth."
"I was looking for an adventure." Emilia frowned, the delicate space between her brows creased with worry. "Unfortunately too much adventure has occurred. That's why I placed the ad in the paper. I need someone to help counter the more… active troublemakers."
"You're looking for a bouncer for the evil nasties of the Hellmouth?"
Emilia nodded. "Yes. Are you interested in the job? That is why you came to the Bronze tonight, isn't it? Unless your only purpose in venturing out was to follow the massive, dark haired lump of-"
"Hey! Get out of my mind! Now."
A broad grin broke out on Emilia's face. Her violet eyes shone with amusement. "Sorry. I couldn't resist. I wouldn't worry too much about him though. She's not interested. So will you take the job, William?"
"You do know what I am, right?"
The grin faded. Her face grew serious as she stared at Spike. "I know what you are. Probably more than you know what you are."
"What-"
"So you'll take the job? Excellent." Emilia stood and walked next to Spike. She reached for his hand and shook it, leading him over to the door. Smiling gently, she opened the door and nudged him into the club. "How about coming back by in two days? We'll work out a schedule, which will be flexible of course, and adequate pay. Goodnight, William."
She nodded to the bartender and closed the door. Spike stood in front of the small office, brows drawn together in bewilderment. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, shaking his head softly. Signaling to the bartender, Spike said, "I think I'll take that drink now, mate."
* * *The warm, sudsy dish water slowly spiraled in the sink, escaping into the metal drainpipe. Buffy opened one kitchen cabinet and lifted the stack of clean plates, carefully maneuvering the still dripping dishware into the cramped storage space. Closing the cabinet door, Buffy reached for the paper towel roll, ripped two sheets off, and dried her soap covered hands. She threw the damp towels into the garbage can and grabbed her glass of orange juice from the corner of the counter.
As she walked to the living room, her mind drifted, replaying the events of the night before. She had felt him, in her gut and in her mind, even though he had remained outside of sight. Buffy shook her head and sighed as she plopped down on the couch. She had never been able to sense Spike like this before. The only person who had had this primal, instinctive reaction within her had been Angel. She sipped her orange juice, mind racing. Something had happened to Spike when he had left Sunnydale. He had changed, changed enough for him to warrant an appearance in her Slayer dreams. But what had changed? Was it the chip? Had he gotten it removed? Or was it…?
Buffy snorted and smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face. That was impossible. He would never want… or would he? How could he-? Buffy started at the sound of knocking at her front door. She set the glass onto the coffee table and moved over to the door. She opened the door and smiled.
"Hey, Giles. Thanks for coming over."
Giles nodded slightly as he entered the Summers home. "It's no problem Buffy. Actually, I also have something I need to tell you."
Buffy returned to the couch and looked at Giles with wide eyes. "What is it? Are you leaving again?"
"No. I'm not leaving," Giles said as he sat across from Buffy. "I heard from the coven last night-"
"Is something wrong with Willow? Is she Ok?"
"Willow is fine. In fact, she is doing remarkably well. They said that a-a change occurred within her. Almost overnight. Willow will not talk about it, but some of the others mentioned hearing voices within her room and seeing a bright light."
Buffy frowned. "You don't think it was anything dangerous do you?"
Giles shook his head. "No. It seems to have been a positive force for Willow. The coven said that she has devoted herself to her lessons wholeheartedly and is progressing very well."
A small smile curved Buffy's lips. "That's good. I'm glad she's doing good."
"Yes. Now what is it you needed to talk to with me about?"
Buffy took another sip from her orange juice and examined her Watcher out of the corner of her eye. She was stalling, and he knew it. Sighing, Buffy said, "Spike is back."
Giles straightened. He stared at Buffy, his eyes narrowed in concern, and said, "Spike has returned to Sunnydale?"
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. There's something that I need your help wi-"
"How do you know he has returned?"
"Um, I saw him. One night while I was patrolling." She picked at the seams on the couch, hazel eyes focused on the multicolored threads. "I tracked him down to a place near Rest Haven. Talked with him a few times."
Giles was silent as he absorbed Buffy's information. He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his face. He looked at Buffy again. "How long has he been back?"
"Three weeks. Giles, what's with-"
"Three weeks?" Giles pushed off of the couch. He glared at Buffy; his voice was tight with fury as he said, "Spike has been back in town for three weeks and it is only now that you tell me."
Buffy stood and crossed her arms over her chest; she gritted her teeth and stared at Giles with hard eyes. "Yes."
"Buffy, he is dangerous. To you and to everyone else in Sunnydale."
"No, he's not."
"Yes, he is. He is a soulless vampire who is capable-"
"Giles, the last time you saw Spike, he was dressed in god awful tweed and trying to hide from a loan shark. What is with the 'Let's kill the evil vamp' attitude? You…" Her mouth dropped open as she trailed off. Buffy shook her head when Giles looked down at the floor. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, as she paced the length of the living room. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, "He told you, didn't he? Before he left."
Giles stepped next to Buffy and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Xander told me what happened. He was conc-"
Buffy jerked out from underneath Giles' hand and stalked over to the opposite corner of the living room. "It doesn't matter what he was! Angry, giddy, concerned. It wasn't his place to tell."
"Well, you were not very forthcoming with the fact that Spike almost raped you. I have a right to know."
Buffy shook her head. "No, you don't. You left. You left so that I would become an adult and handle my life on my own. And I am doing that. I'm sorry if you're mad that I didn't run to you-"
Giles sighed. "Buffy, I am not mad. I'm concerned. I don't want you to get hurt again. Spike is dangerous-"
"I know exactly how dangerous Spike can be. I know what he is capable of." She turned and faced the window, arms drawn tight around her middle. "But so does Spike. He knows what he did was wrong. And he's apologized to me. To me, Giles. The only other person who knows exactly what happened between us." Tension and anger rolled off of her in hostile waves. She pulled her shoulders back and faced Giles. Her mouth was set in a hard line, emotions hidden behind an impervious mask. "I have to get to work now. I trust you know your way out." Moving to the coffee table, she grabbed her glass of orange juice and stalked out of the living room.
* * *The sound of the back door slamming, followed closely by the front, echoed through the silent house. Dawn sat at the top of the stairs, body trembling with anger and pain. She had heard Giles knock on the door and had started to descend the stairs when she heard Willow's name. Freezing, she listened to the conversation about the absent redhead turn into the conversation about the present bleach blonde. She slid next to the wall and silently observed the tense exchange between Slayer and Watcher over the return of Spike.
So much for honesty between sisters.
Standing, Dawn ran to Buffy's room and slammed open the door. She entered the dark bedroom, stepped next to the heavy chest at the foot of Buffy's bed, and threw the lid open. She grabbed a stake, shoved it into the waistband of her jeans, and reached for a large wooden cross. Her jagged breaths sounded in the silence and her pounding heart throbbed in her chest as she streaked out of Buffy's bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the house to the Rest Haven cemetery.
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