Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Hell Hath No Fury

It didn't gush. It seeped slowly down, staining the pale cream of her skin, pooling in the hollow of her throat, creeping into the fibers of her ebony shirt. The blood was beyond red. It was crimson… scarlet… There was so much. Drops fell onto the floor, arcing through the air, a graceful descent followed by the violent collision with the ground.

A faint gurgle jerked Anya out of her stupor. She locked eyes with Faith, the brunette's dark gaze panicked… afraid, her mouth moving but no words coming forth. Anya looked from Faith to Tyler, pure fury beginning to boil within her at the sight of the sadistic grin on his face. He winked as he shoved Faith into her arms and streaked past them, gunning for the exit. Anya's hands slipped across Faith's blood soaked skin, and the two slid to the ground, Faith's eyes fluttering closed as her head lolled to the side.

"No! Faith!" Anya shook the brunette, one hand clamping over her neck to stave off the blood flow. Trembling, she pried open one of Faith's eyelids as she yelled, "Faith! Wake up! Faith!" The Slayer jerked her head out from under Anya's fingers as she reopened her eyes. "You-"

The sounds of a struggle tore Anya's attention from Faith. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Xander grappling with Tyler, attempting to stop him from escaping as well as evading the maroon tinged dagger held in his hand. Xander grunted as Tyler kicked him in the chest and he tumbled to the ground, the tape recorder found during the office search slipping out of his pocket. Tyler snatched the recorder off the floor, kicked Xander again, and sprinted for the doors, crashing through them, disappearing into the night.

Anya blinked once, the sound of glass and metal clanging closed ringing in her mind, displacing the panic over the condition of her best friend with an undiluted, all consuming, desperate need for retribution. For vengeance. She looked at Faith again. Her golden brown eyes were devoid of any emotion; her hand shook as she smoothed a stray strand of hair off Faith's face. Standing, Anya turned and walked to Xander, hauling him off of the floor. "Help Faith. Call someone to help her," she said as she pushed Xander toward the main room and moved toward the exit.

"What-"

"Don't let her die, Xander. Please. I am trusting you to help her."

"Where are-"

Anya spun back towards him, her demon visage surging forth as she screamed, "JUST DO IT!" She closed her eyes, forcing the tears back, pushing aside the terror that threatened to seize control of her mind if she dwelled on the fact that death was slowly approaching Faith and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Anya…" She heard the pleading note in his voice, and she knew that he knew what she was going to do.

"It's vengeance, Xander," she said as she opened her eyes and looked at him, breaking at expression upon his face, shattering with the realization that there would be no turning back from this, that what little hope there had been for a reconciliation between her and Xander would vanish if she left to pursue Tyler. "It's my job. My purpose. Vengeance is what I am." She drew in a deep breath and teleported out of dojo.

* * *

Wood bullet. The concept was unbelievable, an oxymoron in the truest sense of the word. Bullets were metal and wood was wood, and metal was not wood. It was about as far away from wood as a material substance could get. Yet the bullet was wood. It was real. And it was in Spike.

Buffy stared down at Spike, lying facedown on the cold tiled floor, her mind momentarily frozen as she took in his closed eyes and open mouth, his face haggard and covered with pain. Her eyes darted to the pool of blood creeping out from beneath him, and she sprang into action.

"Spike. Spike! Get up! We have to get out of here now." Buffy hooked her hands underneath Spike's arms and pulled him to his feet. She threw his arm over her shoulder and began to move towards the still descending steel gate and glass doors. They were halfway across the lobby; the gate was halfway to the ground. She watched Angel readjust his grip on the metal barricade, the envelope of pictures mashed between his hand and the gate, his muscles taut through the effort to halt its descent. Buffy slipped in the pool of blood that lay beneath her feet and fell to the floor, a ragged moan of pain torn from Spike as he collided with the hard ground.

Hazel eyes darting to the hallway, Buffy saw the armed guards charging towards them. There were ten, maybe twelve, fast approaching the foyer. She clamored to her feet and reached for Spike again, grasping his shirt as she said, "Need to move! Now!"

His hands splayed across the bloodied ground, and he pushed himself to his feet. "Moving." His voice was soft and thin, not even remotely resembling its usual full, rich timbre. A surge of panic coursed through Buffy, and her hands tightened on his shoulders as they crossed the lobby. He will be fine. This is no big. Like a walk through the park, full of puppies and other cute non-deadly things. He will be-

An alarm began to sound through the building as Buffy and Spike neared the front doors, and small holes appeared in the ceiling, along with flashing red lights. Metal spokes poked through the openings, releasing a torrent of water into the entrance hall. Buffy frowned. They had activated the sprinkler system? Why?

A harsh scream rang through the hall. Angel. She looked at the brunette, her eyes widening as the smoke began to billow off the exposed skin of his hands, face, and neck. "Angel?"

"Buffy! It's holy water!"

Her gaze snapped to Spike and time stopped. It was one of those moments that Buffy knew came along once or twice in a lifetime, a moment where everything got flipped upside down, what was insane became sane, and what was once impossible and inconceivable became truth and reality.

He didn't burn. The holy water streamed across his bare skin and soaked into the open wounds on his chest and back, and nothing happened. No blistering, no smoking, no anguished cries of pain.

Nothing.

Buffy blinked as bright, white light flooded the lobby, tearing her from her shock. She peered through the glass doors and could see the dim outline of Angel's car through the glare, Cordelia in the driver's seat. The guards opened fire behind them again, the bullets whizzing through the air, slamming into glass and steel and tile. Buffy continued half-dragging, half-carrying Spike towards the entrance, wincing as a bullet grazed her thigh. She stumbled for a step, her injured leg sliding across the water slicked ground, but remained upright, and Buffy continued their approach to the twin glass doors.

One of the doors was ripped from its hinges, glass shards and twisted metal falling from the ceiling onto Angel. Connor moved into the lobby and shoved the brunette vampire through the jagged opening into the night, assuming his place beneath the steel gate. He tilted his head towards Spike and Buffy and yelled, "Hurry up!"

Buffy ducked under the barricade, her shoes crunching across the bits of broken glass, carefully avoiding the chunks still dangling from the ceiling. She stepped into the night air, Spike by her side, and scrambled for Angel's car. Cordelia opened the driver's door and moved towards them, slipping under Spike's other arm and helping Buffy move him to the car. The back door opened, and Angel reached out, latching onto to Spike and dragging him into the backseat. Buffy slid into the seat and slammed the door behind her.

"Where's Connor?" Angel asked as he inspected the wound on Spike's chest.

"He's coming," Cordelia said, resuming her position behind the wheel. "Got anything?"

Angel nodded and tossed the crumpled pack of pictures to Cordelia.

Through the windshield, Buffy say Connor let go of the steel gate and race for the car. The metal barricade completed its descent, locking the guards inside the foyer. Connor wrenched open the passenger door, jumped into the car, and closed it as Cordelia slammed on the gas and rocketed away from Wolfram and Hart.

* * *

"What do you want?"

"Um… I wanted to talk to you. That is, if it's Ok with you."

"It's not. I don't want to talk to you." Dawn flipped her hair over her shoulder and, glare firmly in place and chin held high in the air, she strode past Willow towards the living room.

"Wait. Please." Willow maneuvered around Dawn, blocking her path out of the dining room. "I, um, it's important. It'll only take a few minutes. I promise."

Rolling her eyes, Dawn heaved a weary, exasperated sigh and said, "Fine. A few minutes. Meaning no more than three, alright?"

Willow nodded. "Ok." She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as Dawn turned and stalked back into the dining room. At least she had agreed to a couple of minutes without Willow having to resort to insane amounts of groveling and pleading. She knew this conversation with Dawn wasn't going to be the easiest, most pleasant thing in the world Willow had ever experienced, but it was necessary. For her and for Dawn's sakes. Willow reopened her eyes and walked back into the dining room, sitting across from Dawn.

"So what do you want, Willow? Got the urge to turn me back into a ball of energy? Want to destroy the world again?"

Flinching, Willow sucked in another deep breath and said, "When Tara died, I lost it. I went into autopilot. Nothing made sense in my head. It was all jumbled and noisy, and all I could focus on was her and the look on her face the second before she died and that she was gone and I couldn't bring her back to me. And I couldn't take it. I couldn't deal. And all I knew was that I hurt and I wanted everyone else to hurt too. First Warren and then Jonathan and Andrew and anyone else who got in my way." Willow paused. She fought back the tears that pricked her eyes and swallowed again, her throat constricted with emotion. "I said some unforgivable things to you Dawn. I said the cruelest things I could think of so you would hurt like I did. And I'm sorry. I know that's not enough. But it's true."

Standing, Willow reached into one pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small ring. The smooth silver band was lined with tiny circular opals. She placed the ring on the table before Dawn as she said, "This was Tara's. It was her favorite ring. She liked opals better than diamonds or emeralds because they had all of the colors inside them and not just one. She said it was like looking into a rainbow." A tear slid down her cheek and Willow hastily brushed it away. She cleared her throat and said, "Um, it's yours, if you want it. She loved you so much Dawn. She planned on giving this to you on your sixteenth birthday, but… Um, I should go now. Thank you, for listening." Willow moved around the dining room table, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her pants, and approached the front door. The telephone rang in the distance, and she heard Dawn push away from the table.

"Opals were her birthstones, too."

It was barely a whisper. More of a muttered mumble, nearly inaudible. Willow turned back towards Dawn, tears once more welling within her green eyes, body trembling from hope and relief and sorrow and guilt. Dawn stared down at the ring held in her hands, face stained with tracks of tears.

"Yes, they were," Willow whispered.

"Maybe sometime we could, you know, go visit her. She's next to Mom."

"I would like that."

Dawn nodded. She wiped her hand across her face, brushing aside the tears, and placed Tara's ring on her finger.

"I-"

"Willow!"

She started at Giles' yell. Moving into the living room, Willow saw him grab his jacket off the armchair and throw it on. His expression was unreadable, but the tense posture of his body sent shivers down her spine. "What is it, Giles?"

"That was Xander on the phone. Faith's been hurt." He glanced at Dawn. "Stay here with Emilia and Clem." Giles strode past Willow and opened the front door. As he crossed the threshold, he said, "We need to go. Now."

* * *

She saw Tyler running from her perch on the rooftops. One hand held the bloody dagger while the other clutched the tape recorder. He kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the dojo as if he expected her to come charging out of the door, hot on his heels, obvious in her pursuit.

Stupid man.

She teleported to the end of the alley, blocking his escape route to Main Street. His eyes widened when he spotted her, and he skidded to a halt and turned to run in the opposite direction. Anya teleported again, this time reappearing directly in front of him. He slammed into her, falling to the ground. He sprang to his feet and stabbed at her with the knife. It slid into her stomach, passing through her shirt and her skin like she was hot butter. Anya looked at the hilt of the dagger, focusing on the crimson fingerprints covering the smooth surface. She glanced up at him, noticed the smirk on his face, and grasped the handle. She jerked the blade out of her stomach and thrust it into Tyler's, a cold grin curving her lips at the pain in his eyes, on his face, at the choked cry escaping his lips.

The tape recorder clattered to the ground as she said, "Evidently someone hasn't studied the proper methods of killing Vengeance Demons. Too busy focusing on how to murder humans, I suppose." Anya yanked the knife out of his stomach, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from him, and threw the dagger onto the roof of the nearby building. "Knives don't really affect me. They're quite annoying and bothersome, and I don't want anything distracting me from the pleasure of killing you." She punched him in the face, shattering the cartilage of his nose and sending him sailing down the alley. He crashed onto the concrete, the back of his head smacking against the ground and causing him to groan again.

Moving over to him, Anya lifted him off the ground and sent another punch deep into his stomach. As he doubled over, she brought her knee up and smashed it into his face. His head flew back and he toppled to the ground.

Tyler rolled to his stomach and struggled to his knees. He swayed as he faced Anya. "Why… why don't you just… kill me now and be… done with it?"

Anya walked around him, her stride slow and steady. "Because you don't deserve a quick, easy death. And I should know. I spent one thousand years giving men what they deserve, enacting the vengeance wished by women who were too powerless to do it themselves. All they did was say the word and I acted."

"Pretty sure… Faith isn't saying… much of anything... right now."

Anya froze before Tyler, her spine stiff, muscles tense. She murmured, "No, she isn't." Anya grabbed Tyler by the neck and tossed him into the brick wall of the closest building. She lifted him again, punching him in the stomach, causing him to double over in gasping pain. "She's lying there in the middle of your store bleeding to death! She's dying, and it's because of you!" Anya took a step back and kicked him in the head, her foot colliding with his temple.

Crumpling to his knees, Tyler said, "Just… doing my job. You know all about that. You do the same thing. Doing vengeance… for someone who can't do it them-"

"Shut up!" She punched him again, her fist smashing into his face. "That wasn't vengeance. It was murder."

"Same thing."

"No, it isn't."

"You're going to kill me in the name of vengeance. That pretty much… supports my point." Tyler leaned back against the brick wall. His nose was broken and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Blood streamed from his mouth and temple. "You kill me she'll kill you. You think that Buffy chick will want an active vengeance demon loose in her town? You think that boy in there will step in on your behalf cause he used to love you? You're a demon. You're nothing to them, less than human and expendable. You're nothing."

"Maybe," Anya whispered. Her hand lashed out and wrapped around Tyler's throat. "I'll take my chances though. I like to play the odds." His hands clawed at hers, desperately trying to loosen her grip on his neck. Her mouth crumpled and tears came into her eyes as she watched him struggle, his face contorting, his eyes widening to panic proportions. He deserved it. It was vengeance. And vengeance was what she was, all she had left.

"Anya, let him go."

Anya shook her head. "Go away, Rupert."

"Oh my god."

"Willow, go inside and help Faith. Make sure Xander called an ambulance."

"Ok, Giles."

Anya heard Willow walk away as Giles moved towards her. He stepped close to her, calmly watching as she choked the life out of Tyler.

"This will not help Faith," he said quietly. "I know you're angry and scared, but killing him is not the answer."

"He deserves it. She's lying in there dying and he did it. And it wasn't vengeance or retribution. He did it because he could. Because he wanted to. Because he's a sick bastard who would chose to kill a girl when he could have let her go." Her fingers shook as they dug into his throat. "He chose death."

"Maybe so," Giles said quietly. "But you do not have to make the same choice he did. You can choose life over death."

"He doesn't deserve life."

"I wasn't talking about his life. I was talking about yours." Giles edged between Tyler and Anya. His face was tense, brows pinched over his pale grey eyes. Eyes that shone with worry and concern and friendship and love. He smoothed a hand over her hair as he said, "He is not worth killing yourself over. And that is what you will do if you continue. The life that you have worked so hard to build here will be nothing if you do this. Let yourself live and let him go. There are other ways to deal with him."

Anya stared at Giles. Her eyes drifted to the contorted visage of the man she held within her grasp, the broken, bloodied, beaten man, and she felt something loosen within her chest, break through the hard shell of vengeance that had descended upon her when she saw the panicked expression upon Faith's face. Complete and utter terror that her best friend in the entire world, the only one who didn't give a fig's ass what she had done in her past or how she always said the wrong thing at the right time, would leave her, and she would truly be alone. She would be nothing. No one to nobody.

Her hand slipped from his neck as the sobs broke through her, and he crashed to the ground, alive but unconscious, and the tension dissolved from her, leaving terrified tremors in its wake. She leaned into Giles, resting her head on his shoulder as her demon features melted away leaving the frightened young woman in its place. "I don't want to be alone."

"You're not," he said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek upon her head.

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