Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Two: Helping the Hopeless

The interior of the Magic Box was destroyed. Mystical books and artifacts lay charred and demolished under broken shelves and tables. The loft had collapsed, blocking the entrance to the training room, and the cash register and the counter it had resided on were smashed. Sunlight filtered into the store through the jagged hole ripped into the ceiling. Giles stepped gingerly through the shop's front door, followed closely by Anya. The pair made their way to the center of their store, surveying the damage. Nothing was salvageable; everything had either been crushed or burned beyond repair, then damaged further by the Magic Box's sprinkler system as it attempted to extinguish the Willow induced fire.

"It's gone. Everything's gone," Anya said to Giles, a distraught expression on her face. She was dressed in a black lace shirt, a pair of grey pants, and black sandals. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt and said, "She destroyed everything."

Giles looked around the store once more. "Well, the actual building seems relatively intact and secure. E-except for the loft. And the massive hole in the ceiling."

Anya walked over to the cash register, lifted it, and examined it in her hands. "The insurance will cover the repairs to the store, right? We can still fix it up, and replace the merchandise, and everything will be good as new."

"Yes, I suppose the insurance will cover the necessary repairs and replacements. I sent the photos of the damage to the insurance company today. Hopefully we'll receive an estimate soon." Giles paused. "It will take a lot of time and a lot of work to fix the shop. But I'm not certain I want to invest the amount of energy and resources necessary to rebuild the Magic Box."

"What?" Anya dropped the register and stared at Giles. "You don't want the Magic Box anymore? I thought you had decided to stay in Sunnydale."

Giles sighed and took off his glasses, wiping them on his denim shirt. A pair of jeans and brown leather boots completed the outfit. "For the time being I will be here in Sunnydale. But it is only temporary. Eventually I plan to return to England." He stared at the destruction, remembering the rage Willow possessed as she laid waste to the Scooby Gang, to the Magic Box, and to Sunnydale itself. "But not until I'm certain everyone here will be safe. As safe as one can be living on the Hellmouth."

"You mean, until you're sure everyone is safe from Willow."

He raised an eyebrow at Anya's bluntness. "Yes. I-"

The door to the Magic Box jingled as Buffy, Dawn, and Xander entered. The friends stopped and gaped at the state of disrepair.

"Whoa," Dawn muttered. "Major damage."

Buffy took a few steps forward, eyes searching the wreckage, mouth set in a hard line. She wore a white button up shirt and a pair of black jeans; her short blonde hair was pulled into a half ponytail. Moving over to Giles, she gave him a brief hug and said, "We came over to see if we could help with the clean up."

"Thank you."

Xander grabbed his toolbox and headed into the interior of the store. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. His eyes scanned over the Magic Box, settling briefly on Anya, before he said, "It looks like an earthquake, a tornado, and a hurricane hit at the same time."

"Yes, Willow certainly was thorough," Anya commented bitterly.

Xander turned towards his ex-fiancée. "An, she didn't know what she was doing. She was out of her mind with grief and under the influence of some powerful magic."

"Willow knew exactly what she was doing. The magic didn't come to her; she went to the books and sucked it up herself."

"She lost control. She couldn't handle the forces she messed with."

Dawn snorted. "It looked like she was handling them fine to me."

"Guys," Buffy said sharply. "Bickering doesn't help fix the shop. What's done is done. Arguing over it is pointless."

Anya arched an eyebrow. "Fine." She pivoted, retrieved the crushed cash register, and began to sift through the debris for pieces of paperwork.

Buffy turned to Giles and asked, "Where should we start?"
***

The Magic Box clean up was approaching its fifth hour. Buffy hefted a large pile of rubble onto her shoulder and headed for the training room; she pushed her way through the door and exited the shop into the rear alley. She threw the wreckage into the rapidly filling dumpster as her gaze settled on a pile of boxes and crates hidden deep in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Buffy closed her eyes briefly, drew in a long breath, and exhaled shakily.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm…" Buffy angled her head and watched Giles approach her. He carried a box of broken bits and pieces; he emptied the box into the dumpster, then faced his Slayer.

"How are you today?"

One corner of Buffy's mouth quirked up. "I've been better. But considering everything that's happened the past few days, I'm good." She studied her Watcher for a moment, taking in the fading bruises on his face. "How are you?"

"I'm healing."

Buffy moved over to the boxes and perched on the edge of one. "Do you think we should have let her go off by herself? She's not exactly… stable."

"Buffy, Willow needed time to grieve for Tara a-and time to recover from channeling the magics and forces that she used… ah… that she used-"

"To kick our collective ass?" Buffy supplied.

Giving Buffy a half-exasperated, half-amused glare, he replied, "Yes. The magic Willow used put an incredible strain on her body. It-it sucked her energy, her essence, and returned it tainted. In her fragile state, I doubt she could have handled recovering from the magic, grieving for Tara, and facing you, Xander, Dawn, Anya, and myself simultaneously."

The blonde Slayer remained silent. Memories of the past three days surfaced in her mind: Spike's expression of horror as he streaked past her, out of the bathroom into the night; Willow standing over her, black eyed and raven haired, in the operating room; Warren, strung up between the trees, limp and skinless; Willow's cold smirk as she fought Buffy; Dawn sword fighting alongside her; Tara's funeral. "Do you think she's still dangerous? I mean, do you think Willow's still using the magic?"

Giles smoothed Buffy's hair and squeezed her shoulder. He knew that she felt tremendously guilty for everything that had occurred in Sunnydale, especially for Willow's descent into the black arts. She had dealt with so much in the previous year, with her resurrection and Dawn and finances and Slaying, and he had increased the pressure upon her by his early departure from the Hellmouth. He swore to himself that he wouldn't abandon her so completely ever again. "Even if Willow wanted to, I doubt she's physically or mentally able to do any magic right now. She's too consumed with grief and guilt."

Buffy smiled bitterly. "Aren't we all?"
***

The anonymous hotel room was indistinguishable from the million other hotel rooms on the planet with its beige carpeting, beige walls with pastel art, floral drapes, and floral bedspread. A small, unopened suitcase lay at the foot of the double bed. The lights were off, and the drapes were closed, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to creep into the room.

On the bed, Willow grasped her knees and drew herself into a tight ball. After checking in to the hotel, she had collapsed onto the bed and remained there for the rest of the day. She stared blankly at the wall, eyes unfocused and reliving the previous seventy-two hours. 'Your shirt…' 'Two to go…' 'It's time you went back to being a little energy ball.' 'You really need to have every square inch of your ass kicked.' 'I'd like to test that theory.' 'I love you.' 'Your shirt…' 'Your shirt…'

Willow closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying to block Tara's last words from her mind. There weren't any sweet and loving goodbyes before she died; just the tinkling of glass, a splatter of blood, 'Your shirt…', and Tara was gone. Forever. No more lazy Sunday mornings filled with funny-shaped pancakes; no more dances at the Bronze or stargazing on the rooftops. There was nothing left. Nothing but memories. Inconstant memories that would eventually warp and fade, and then Tara would really be gone forever.

And Willow would truly be alone. No Tara, no family, and no friends.

Tears flowed down Willow's face as she cried herself to sleep.
***

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"It's where the witch said to come."

"But-but there's nothing here."

Spike, Fred, and Gunn stood on the beach bordering the Pacific Ocean. The surf crashed against the rocks of a nearby cliff, and a soft ocean breeze brushed past the odd trio. Spike looked down at the note his witch acquaintance had given him detailing Angel's location; according to her directions, the brunette vampire was in the middle of the Pacific. He sighed and scanned the glistening ocean surface for additional clues pointing to Angel. He didn't find any. In his hand, the stone of Kreneuk glowed brightly; it was charmed by the witch with a variation of the locator spell used to find Angel. The closer it got to missing vampire, the quicker the stone would pulse, blinking faster and faster until it emitted one steady pulse as it came into contact with Angel.

"There doesn't have to be anything here," Spike said to Fred. "The stone says Angel's in the bloody ocean."

Gunn stared at Spike. "How are we supposed to get him out of the ocean? We don't have boats or scuba gear."

"We're not supposed to get him out." Spike crouched down and unlaced one boot; tossing it to the side, he removed the other boot. He stood, took off his t-shirt, and placed it on top of his boots. "I am." He grasped the stone tight in his hand and walked towards the ocean. Spike looked over his shoulder and said, "Bring the car as close to the ocean as you can and have a couple of blankets ready. Don't know how long it'll take to find the wanker, but I don't fancy combusting upon surfacing. If I don't come back after twelve hours or so, go to Sunnyhell and talk to the Slayer. She'll help you find Angel."

Fred took a few steps forward and said, "Here, Gunn thought you might need this." She handed Spike a slim black case. "It's a set of lock picks and a multi-purpose tool. We thought that Angel might be tied up. I don't know how you'd use them at the bottom of the ocean, but it's always best to be prepared."

A small smile appeared on Spike's face. "Thanks."

"Be careful."

"I will." The blonde slipped the black case in the back pocket of his jeans, turned back to the crashing waves, and stepped into the cool salt water. He pushed his way into the tide and was soon submerged. The cloudless sky allowed the light from the full moon to illuminate the sea. Small schools of fish and globs of seaweed brushed past the vampire's legs as he descended. Uncurling his fingers slightly, he moved his arm back and forth; as the stone passed to the left side of Spike, it began to pulse faintly. He closed his fist and swam off to the left.

Two hours later, the stone pulsed rapidly, the bright flashes replacing the waning moonlight as underwater guide. Spike vamped out to better search for his lost grand-Sire. He wondered what sort of nasty had got the best of Angel and deposited him into the watery prison. Maybe Dru and Darla had taken their revenge for being set on fire and locked in a room with a bunch of lawyers. He smirked at the mental image of the two female vampires overpowering the hulking, brooding one; the smirk stretched into a broad grin as Spike visualized Angel's reaction to being rescued by him. He would probably dust from shock.

Out of the depths of the ocean's shadows, Spike saw the outline of a large box. He glanced at the stone; it emitted a steady, non-blinking light. Placing the stone in the pocket of his jeans, he swam closer to the box. Metal bars covered a square opening; peering inside, Spike saw Angel floating, wrists and ankles bound with heavy chain. The brunette was emaciated from blood deprivation and unconscious.

Silently thanking Fred and Gunn for planning ahead, Spike grabbed the case of lock picks from his back pocket. There were three heavy locks attaching the two sections of the box. Within minutes, Spike unlocked one of the locks and threw it into the ocean. Fifteen minutes later, the remaining two restraints were gone, and the blonde was wrenching open the box's lid. He pulled Angel into the ocean and quickly removed the wrist and ankle chains. Hoisting the unconscious vampire onto his shoulder, Spike began to retrace his route back to the beach.

The deep blue of the California night sky was partially displaced by the rose light of day when the two vampires broke the surface of the ocean. Standing on shaky legs, Spike dumped Angel off of his shoulder and dragged the brunette by the lapels of his shirt to the beach. Fred and Gunn ran into the ocean and helped pull Angel to the waiting car. Spike collapsed on the sand, coughing out salt water, muscles screaming from over six hours of swimming. Depositing Angel in the car, the duo rushed back to Spike and pulled him to his feet.

"Thank you, Spike," Fred said quietly, handing the blonde a blanket.

"Welcome." Spike crawled into the back seat with Angel as Fred and Gunn piled into the car. Daylight broke as the four sped away from the ocean, beach, and cliff and headed back to LA and to the Hyperion.

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