Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Twenty-Three: Reunion Part 2

"Angel."

"Buffy."

Silence.

Buffy shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the hall, down to the floor, then up towards the ceiling, studiously avoiding Angel. She mentally kicked herself for her nervousness and brought forth another strained smile. "Do you, uh, want to come in? Or we can talk right here in the, um, hallway?"

Angel shook his head. "We can talk in your room. That is if you want to."

"That's fine with me." Buffy turned from the door and crossed the bedroom, sitting gingerly upon the suddenly too small full sized bed. She mentally cursed the hotel's interior decorator for not adding another chair to the room. The closer Angel got to her, the more likely it was that he would see what she didn't want him to see and that would be of the bad. She watched Angel move into the room, leaving the door open, his hands clasped behind him, dark gaze roaming around the room.

"Looking for something?"

Brown eyes snapping towards Buffy, Angel quickly said, "No. No. I haven't been in this room in a long time. I'd, uh, forgotten what it looked like."

"Right." Buffy squirmed on the bed, desperately trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of Connor, when the absurdity of the situation dawned on her. Why was she stressing over the 'best' way to talk to Angel about his brat of a kid, who attacked both her and Spike last night, in addition to fighting with Gunn, as well as Angel's extreme lack in judgment in having Spike tell her about the little hellion one hour before arriving in Los Angeles? Angel was the one who should be nervous. Not her. Standing, Buffy slipped into battle mode, placing her hands upon her hips and raising her chin a couple of inches into the air. "I asked you to come and talk because I wanted to apologize for my actions concerning Connor last night-"

"Buffy-"

"However, I have now decided that you should be the one to apologize to me."

Angel blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Unless old age has finally caught up with you and dulled your hearing. Do you need me to repeat it?"

Glowering at Buffy, Angel said, "No, I heard you just fine. And I was going to apologize for not telling you about Connor myself, but suddenly I don't feel like it." He turned and started to walk away from Buffy. As he approached the door, Angel spun and stalked back towards her. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about Connor in the first place. I knew you would overreact."

"Overreact?" Buffy shook her head as she took a few steps towards Angel. "I was shocked, yeah, and angry that you didn't have enough respect for me to tell me myself. But I did not overreact."

"What do you call this then?"

"Being legitimately angry."

"Why are you angry?" Angel began to pace the small bedroom, his brown eyes occasionally darting towards Buffy. "So I didn't tell you about Connor. I'm sorry. There wasn't any time. Spike said you wanted to get here as soon as possible, and I didn't want to fight with you over the phone about this. So I asked Spike to tell you, out of my respect for you, so you would know who the hell this kid was when you got here." Angel slumped down onto the bed, shoulders hunched, and cradled his head in his hands.

Watching Angel out of the corners of her eyes, Buffy felt her righteous indignation dissipate. Sighing, she moved over to the bed and sat down next to Angel. "I'm sorry I smacked Connor around last night," she said quietly.

Angel looked at her, a half smile curving his lips. "Don't be sorry. He deserved it. I probably would have done more than sit on him if you had actually let him up."

"Does he pick fights with your crew often?"

"Just about every single day. Mostly he fights with Gunn and Lorne. He hasn't started in on me yet because he still feels bad for dumping me in a box in the middle of the ocean." Angel paused, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be a parent to a teenager."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm right there with you in the land of not knowing. I'm supposed to be all discipline-y with Dawn, say 'Go brush your teeth' and 'Do your homework.' Most of the time she just gives me the patented Summers eye roll and ignores me."

"At least she's not trying to kill your friends."

"No. Not yet anyway." Shaking her head to clear it of the unwanted images of a bloodthirsty, murderous Dawn, Buffy said, "Why do you let him stay if he's such a pest?"

Angel shrugged. "He's my son. I can't turn him away. Plus, he doesn't have anywhere else to go."

"So." Off of Angel's incredulous look, Buffy continued, "Obviously Connor doesn't respect you or your friends enough to deserve to live here. He's 17. It's time he grows up or gets out."

"Buffy, you don't understand. He had a hard life. He-"

"And who hasn't had a hard life? That's no excuse for his current behavior. You can't take your problems out on other people. It… it took me a long time to learn that." Buffy stopped. A sheepish grin appeared on her face. "And here I go again trying to tell you how to live your life. Sorry."

"Don't be. It's nice to have someone who understands." He was quiet for a moment as he stared at her. He said quietly, "You look good. Better than before."

Pushing off of the bed, Buffy walked across the room and hefted her weapons bag into her hand. "Yeah, well, the last time we talked I was in bad shape." She tossed the bag onto the bed; her fingers trailed across the zipper as she said, "It took a long time to feel better… took a long time to feel anything. I made a lot of mistakes and pretty much tried to kill every single one of my friends."

Angel smiled. "Who hasn't done that before?" He stood and walked towards Buffy. He tilted her chin in the air and looked down into her eyes. "The important thing is that you realized you were hurting and angry and depressed, and you realized you wanted to change. That you didn't want to feel like that anymore. That's not an easy thing to do, believe me I know."

"Thanks," Buffy said softly. She grasped the bag, unzipping it, and removed her crossbow. She set the weapon on the bed and pawed through the wooden stakes and steel knives for the accompanying arrows as she said, "So what happened between you and Wesley? Faith mentioned something about a disagreement and him possibly working with this Lilah chick."

"Possibly. They're… involved."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. "Wesley is sleeping with her? Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is having sex with someone?" Buffy shuddered. "That is just too disturbing for words. Do you think he might be working with her? Giving her information about us?"

Angel shrugged. "He might. Wes has changed since you saw him last. He hates me and everyone working with me, but I don't think he'd take revenge on us by going after you."

"If he's not working with her, maybe he'll help us gain access to her, help us find out whether or not she's involved with the attacks."

"I doubt he would, but if you want to try, go ahead." Angel paused. He glanced down at the bag of weapons then locked eyes with Buffy. "But there is another way."

* * *

He hunched over the bar, heavy eyes staring down into the amber liquid swirling within the small shot glass. He didn't see the bar. He didn't see the hard liquor. He only saw the fierce yellow eyes… He only saw Eyghon.

Rupert Giles sighed. He slipped off the bar stool and moved towards the dark, murky corner of the pub. He slid into the booth, setting his glass onto the table before him, and laid his head upon the table. He could still hear the screams, the demonic wail of Eyghon, the panicked cries of him and his mates as Randall lost control… no, as they lost control of the powerful menacing demon, the last gasping sobbing breath of Randall as the demon took control. Permanently.

Randall was dead and it was all his fault.

They hadn't wanted this to happen. They just wanted to have fun. Go wild. Let go of responsibilities and destiny and say "Screw you" to Fate.

Instead he, Ethan, Philip, Deidre, Thomas, and Randall had delved into something more sinister than fun, more dangerous than a simple game. And it had cost them more than they bargained for, more than they could have ever imagined.

"You look like shit."

Lifting his head off the table, Giles watched the petite woman sit down on the vacant, opposite side of the booth. Her hair was long and streaked every color of the rainbow. Bright red and purple juxtaposed with cool green, blue, and silver. She reached up and removed her large black sunglasses, revealing vibrant violet eyes.

"I don't mean to be rude, Miss," Giles said, throwing back his shot. "But bugger off. Don't want company."

"And what do you want? To sit in your dark corner in this hellhole of a bar and drown all of your troubles in foul piss tasting liquor?"

"That's about right." Giles reached for his glass again, knocking it over. He watched it roll off the table and crash onto the floor, crumbling into thousands of brittle shards. "Bloody hell."

"Come on," she said as she stood, covering her eyes with her sunglasses. She grasped his hand and pulled him from the booth, throwing his arm around her shoulder as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. "Let's get out of here."

She led him to the door, nudging it open, and pulled him into the damp night air. A fine mist of rain fell onto the London alleyway, the cracked concrete slick with water and dotted with garbage. Giles stumbled, gagging as the mixture of liquors raged in his stomach. Tearing his arm off of the woman beside him, he fell to his knees, throwing up the alcohol in the middle of the alley. Wiping his mouth off on his T-shirt, he felt her pull him to his feet again, a short disgusted snort coming forth as she wrapped her arm around him again.

"You smell like a pile of rubbish."

"Thanks." He slowly turned his head, his bleary, blood shot eyes looking at her. "My name is Rupert."

She smiled. "Hello, Rupert. I'm Emilia."

* * *

More than twenty years had passed since Emilia first walked into his life, dragging his drunken, sorry ass out of the bar, out of the pit of depression and self-loathing he had fell into. As they walked out of the alley, Giles hadn't questioned her as to where they were going or wondered why this gorgeous woman was interested in him. He was sucked into the delicate tenor of her voice, the brilliant lavender of her eyes, and her crazy Crayola streaked hair. He followed her without protest, knowing instinctively that she was what he needed.

Knocking on Emilia's door, Giles shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown jacket and waited. His grey eyes traveled across her small pots of flowers, each ceramic container bursting with every color of the rainbow and beyond. A small smile tugged on the corners of his lips at the sight of her vast array of flora. He remembered her flat in London had been filled to the brim with all sorts of plants and flowers.

* * *

"What's with all the plants?" Giles asked as Emilia let him into her apartment. A crystal vase of lilies resided on a tall, narrow table beside the door. Along the hallway stretching from the front door to the interior of the apartment, small glass vases brimming with flower arrangements hung from a long iron bar.

"They're pretty. And they smell good." She delicately wrinkled her nose as she yanked on Giles' jean jacket, pulling the soiled garment off of him. "Although I doubt they'll be enough to cancel out your wondrously horrid smell. How long have you been drinking today?"

Giles frowned, trying to clear his head of the liquor induced fog. When had he started drinking… "What time is it now?"

"About two in the morning."

"Started about two in the afternoon. So about twelve hours."

"Lovely. I've brought a royal lush back to my place." She pushed Giles down the hall, small hands guiding him around the corner, stopping him before an open door. He grimaced as she reached inside the dark room and flicked on the lights. Bright white light flooded the pale blue bathroom. Maneuvering around Giles, Emilia entered the bathroom and opened the door to the tiny closet. She pulled out a cream colored towel and wash cloth, setting them on the toilet. Turning back to Giles, she looked him over, a faint smirk crossing her lips. "Now, can you muster enough coordination to undress yourself? Or should I finish what I started and take it all off?"

Giles crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to scowl at her. "I can undress myself perfectly well, thank you."

Shrugging, Emilia stepped towards Giles, moving closer and closer until she was a hair's breadth away. Tilting her face upwards, she locked eyes with Giles and said, "Too bad. It would've been more fun my way." She flashed him an impish grin and slipped out of the bathroom into the hall. "There's soap and shampoo in the shower. They're non-girly scented, too. I'll leave fresh clothes outside the door."

She turned to leave. His arm shooting out, Giles grabbed her hand and turned her back towards him. "Why're you helping me?" he asked quietly. "You don't even know me."

"Yes, I do." Emilia lifted her hand and brushed a lock of his hair away from his face. "I know exactly who you are, Rupert Giles, and that is why I'm helping you." She smiled, a tender curving of her lips, as she backed away from him into the hallway. Grasping the doorknob, she slowly shut the door behind her.

* * *

Giles was pulled from his reverie as the front door opened and Emilia stepped onto the tiny porch. She stared at him for a moment, silent, contemplative, a small grin appearing on her face. Moving back inside the house, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Are you coming inside? Or did you come only to look at my flowers?"

"They are very nice flowers." Giles crossed the threshold, his hand grasping the door and closing it. "However, I did come to see you."

"Good."

* * *

"You want to what?"

Dark eyes flickering towards Gunn, Angel repeated, "I want to break into Lilah's office at Wolfram and Hart."

Angel and Buffy had gathered everyone for a meeting in the hotel's sitting room to discuss his idea for investigating Lilah's involvement in the recent attacks in Sunnydale. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne sat on one sofa while Buffy and Spike sat on the other. Connor stood in the corner of the room, alternating between scowling at Buffy and glaring at Gunn.

Angel continued, "If there's any sort of concrete connection between Lilah and Sunnydale it will either be in her office at the firm or at her apartment. Wolfram and Hart has better security, so she's probably got it stashed there." He looked around the room as he said, "Buffy, Spike, and I will break into her office and search for hard evidence. Gunn and Connor will wait in the car, keeping the car running in case we need to get out of there fast and providing extra muscle if we're attacked."

Shaking his head, Gunn pushed off of the couch and moved towards Angel. "Uh uh, man. I am not working with him."

Sighing, Angel looked at Fred and Lorne. They both shook their heads. Closing his eyes briefly, Angel said, "I need someone to drive the car. Connor doesn't know how."

"I'll do it."

Angel froze. He slowly turned towards the front door, his body trembling with shock, with hope, with dread that this was all a dream and when he opened his eyes, she wouldn't really be there. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he opened his eyes and saw her leaning against the wall, one eyebrow delicately arched on her face. "Cordelia?"

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