Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Forty: Flight

The day dawned over the horizon, melting the inky darkness into shades of lush indigo, rosy pink, and warm orange. Dawn peered through the tiny round window of the airplane. Outlines of hills and countryside were visible in the light of day, a change from the shimmering ocean water highlighted by the moon and starlight that she had seen for the past five hours. She didn't know much about flight trajectories or the alignment of stars, but from the length of the flight, which traveled over vast expanses of country dotted with brilliantly lit cities and across the moonlit sea, Dawn figured Quentin Travers was taking her and Connor to England.

"So who is this Travers?"

Turning from the window, Dawn focused on Connor. Shortly after her chilling interlude with Travers, Connor had been brought into the main cabin and placed in the seat opposite her. His arms and legs were bound in steel shackles, magically reinforced to counter Connor's superior strength; he had tried prying the shackles apart, but his efforts resulted in electric shocks traveling through his body. Although the shackles hadn't really been necessary as Connor was still woozy from whatever drug they injected into him in order to knock him out and kidnap him.

"He's the head of the Watcher's Council," Dawn said, her blue eyes darting to the closed cabin door before resting on Connor's face. "He's like Buffy's boss, except she doesn't follow Council orders."

He nodded, gaze flickering around the airplane, cautious and alert. "What does he want?"

Restraining her eye roll, Dawn said, "He wants Buffy dead. Big shocker there. That's what the snatch and grab job was for. To get Buffy to follow us so he can kill her. All it's really going to do is piss her off, which isn't a smart thing to do."

Connor nodded again. Leaning his head back against the seat, he looked out the airplane window, his dark features awash in the bright rays of the early morning sunshine. Blinking at the light, he turned his chocolate brown eyes on Dawn and said, "I understand why he took you, to get to your sister. But why does he want me?"

"Because you're unique."

Standing in the open cabin doorway was Lilah. Immaculate in a navy pinstriped suit, she moved through the door, closed it behind her, and walked over to Dawn and Connor, sitting in the seat next to Dawn. Flashing Connor a knowing smirk, she continued, "The child of two vampires. That's not something that happens everyday. Many people are interested in you, Connor, including the Watcher's Council. The opportunity arose to take you along with Dawn, and Travers seized it."

"So you work for the Council now?" Dawn asked, arching one brow as she stared at Lilah.

"Hell no. I wouldn't work for those old stodgy bastards for all the money in the world."

"But you'd work for Wolfram and Hart."

"Yes. There are certain… advantages to working at Wolfram and Hart, advantages only they can offer."

"Advantages? Like your own personal copy of Evil for Dummies?"

Lilah laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that echoed around the cabin. "Something like that," she said as her laughter faded into a ruby red smirk. Eyes sparkling with amusement, she silently gazed at Dawn, who returned her stare, unblinking, refusing to show any fear. Aside from Tyler and his right hook (she was still blood soaked and pissed off from that unfortunate incident) Dawn hadn't been harmed in any way. She knew she was bait to lure Buffy into Travers' trap and needed to be kept alive in order to do so. Lilah couldn't do anything to her, except annoy her to death with her superior attitude and irritating smirks.

"You're not afraid of me," Lilah said after a few moments.

"Not really. After facing off with a hellgod, a stuck up lawyer doesn't exactly cause the shakes and shivers."

"I guess not." Silence stretched through the tiny cabin as Lilah gazed at Dawn, who began to squirm under Lilah's penetrating stare, much to Dawn's chagrin. Dark eyes flickered to Connor before refocusing on Dawn. "You know you're unique, too," Lilah said, breaking the taut silence, her voice subdued, a husky whisper drifting through the confines of the plane. "An ancient mystical key stuffed into the body and blood of a fifteen-"

"Sixteen."

"-sixteen year old girl to open the lock between the dimensions. Did you ever wonder whether all that energy vanished after Glory's defeat?" Lilah paused and arched an eyebrow as her dark eyes bored into Dawn's. After a moment of silence, she continued, "There are other types of mystical locks in the universe that could require opening. It's almost a shame for all that energy to vanish after one failed apocalypse."

A bright smile appeared on Lilah's face. She shifted in her seat and gazed out the airplane window. "Almost there. Ten minutes at the most. I know I'm ready to get off this airplane. The company has been… aggravating, to say the least." Smirking, she said to Dawn, "Men with their big plans. Just compensation for other not-so-big parts of their anatomy. Continuous talk about smashing and killing in a desperate attempt to cover their remarkable lack of balls." Standing, Lilah moved towards the cabin door and rested her palm on the handle. Glancing over her shoulder at Dawn and Connor, she said, "You two should get ready. I suspect things are about to get very interesting."

* * *

"So do all Elves have their own private jets, or is Emilia just special?" Anya looked around the plush cabin of Emilia's plane, decorated in vibrant greens and gold. As the dot on Willow's locator spell designating Dawn and Connor had traveled over the Atlantic, questions had been asked as to how the Scoobies were going to follow. Many suggestions on how to mass teleport twelve people over the ocean had been made before Emilia mentioned her plane, which had been readily and thankfully accepted as the mode of travel since the other option had involved a spell that would leave the users covered in thick, black slime. Anya didn't fancy being drowned in dark goo. The stains would be ridiculously expensive to clean.

"Maybe it's one of the options in Elfish powers," Anya continued as she peered out the airplane window, nose pressed against the thick plexiglass. "Instead of telepathy or soul reading, you get a private jet with your own mini bar and entertainment system."

"Anya, I severely doubt every single Elf in existence has his or her own airplane," Giles said irritably from his seat beside her. He stared straight ahead, arms crossed across his chest, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Emilia's family is very wealthy."

"You're probably right," she said as she flashed him a bright smile. "Seeing as how you know so much about Elves." He had been moody ever since Wesley and Charles' revelation about Emilia's involvement in their schemes, borderline sulking during the past few hours on the plane. His attitude was beginning to severely grate on Anya's nerves. Something had to be done, and she was just the woman to do it. "Or maybe you don't know as much as you think," she finished, gazing down at her nails, watching Giles' reaction from the corners of her eyes.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well," Anya said slowly, "you just seem surprised at Emilia's actions. Any idiot knows of the deep familial bonds Elves have with their kin, so it's not at all surprising she worked with Wesley and Charles to bring down Travers. He had her sister murdered. It's natural she would want revenge. I don't understand why you're so angry with her." She continued before he had the chance to open his mouth in protest. "Maybe you're not really angry with her though. Maybe you're just taking your anger over being swindled by Travers out on Emilia."

"I was not swindled by Quentin Travers."

"So you knew he wanted to kill us all, and you let it happen? Thank you very much. A warning would have been nice. I might have rethought that whole giving up immortality and demon invulnerability. Humans are remarkably fragile."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Giles said, "I didn't know Travers wanted us dead-"

"So you were swindled. And you're angry at yourself because you were swindled and because you think you should have seen through the little man's manipulations and you didn't. And you're taking it out on Emilia because you can't get your hands on Travers and you can't fight with the rest of us because we were swindled too." Anya leaned back in her seat with a triumphant smile as Giles gaped at her open mouthed. Humans always made simple emotions as complicated as possible, covering them in denials and rationalizations. It was one of the aspects of humanity Anya loathed, preferring blunt honesty to subtle lies.

"Is this a free session, Dr. Freud, or do you require monetary compensation for your keen observations into my psyche?"

"I require no monetary compensation," Anya said primly. "Just your heartfelt gratitude at my selfless act of analyzing. I am always here to help you comprehend your thoughts and feelings."

Giles arched a brow at her statements. Shifting in his seat to face her, he said, "I suppose your selfless act of analyzing deserves to be returned in full. How are things with Xander?"

Golden eyes darting to the far end of the cabin to where Xander sat with Willow and Cordelia, Anya said, "Perfectly dreadful. Thank you for asking. Now, back to Emilia-"

"Not just yet. I want to make sure you fully comprehend your thoughts and feelings concerning Xander. It's only fair seeing as how you so graciously pried into my personal life."

"I wasn't prying."

"Really."

Sighing, Anya shot an irritated glance at Giles and said, "I'm just trying to help you get over whatever funk you're in so you can apologize to Emilia and commence with the kissing."

"I never said I wanted to kiss Emilia. And she doesn't want to kiss me. Honestly, is that all you ever think about?"

"How do you know she doesn't want to kiss you?" She waited for his response, golden gaze gleaming with satisfaction as he struggled to think of an appropriate answer. "You don't know. You're a man and are ignorant to the inner workings of the feminine mind. It's not your fault. Too much testosterone in your blood creates deficits in nearly all higher cognitive functioning among the male gender in most species. Just because I'm feeling generous and feel the need to illuminate your tragically deficient mind, I'll let you in on a little secret, Rupert." Anya leaned close to Giles and said in a low, confidential tone, "You're attractive in a ruggedly handsome way. A woman would have to be crazy not to want to kiss you."

One corner of Giles' mouth quirked up in amusement. "So does this mean you want to kiss me?"

"I already have. Twice."

"I remember."

A broad grin appeared on Anya's face. "Of course you would. I'm an excellent kisser. But we're not supposed to be talking about me. We're talking about you."

"No, you're talking about me and dragging me along for the ride." Before Anya could answer, Giles spoke again, "And there are more important things to be doing right now than analyzing me."

"Like what? Staring out the window? Flipping through these nice little books on airplane safety?"

"Planning how we're going to rescue Dawn and Connor from Travers."

A slow smile stretched across Anya's face as she said, "I don't see you planning anything. Might it be because those who are planning something include Emilia, who you've been avoiding since we left Spike's?" She pointed to the middle of the cabin where Wesley, Charles, Emilia, and Buffy sat huddled around maps of London and schematics of the Watcher's Council, discussing the best way to bring down Travers and rescue Dawn and Connor.

"I don't want to interfere," Giles said stubbornly.

"Right. Of course you don't. Despite your lame excuse, you're still here instead of there, thus we should be discussing you and Emilia because there is nothing better to do."

Giles stared at her, blinking every few moments and opening his mouth only to close it without speaking. He shook his head slowly as he stood. "I think I'll check on the pilot, see how long we've left on this flight." As he walked towards the front of the plane, Anya heard him mutter, "Bloody stubborn woman. Like a dog with a bone."

* * *

"Would you let it go? I don't want to talk to you about it, so just fuck off, Angel."

Ignoring Faith's request, Angel leaned forward in his chair and said, "Faith-"

"No, Angel. I am not talking to you about Wes, so stop asking."

"You should probably do what she says, mate," Spike said as he shifted in his seat beside Angel, burrowing down into the plush leather. "That is unless you want to be heaved out of the airplane by a brassed off Slayer. You'd probably survive the fall into the big blue sea down there, that is if Mr. Sunshine didn't burn you to a crisp on the way down."

Scowling at Spike, Angel said, "No one asked your opinion."

"Well, I didn't ask for your opinion," Faith said to Angel, dark eyes flashing with anger, "but you certainly gave it to me anyway."

"Someone has to talk some sense into you. Getting involved with Wesley isn't a smart thing to do, Faith."

"Probably not. But if it's what I want to do, then it's what I'm going to do. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Angel. I don't need you making them for me."

"She has a point, you know," Spike said as he crossed his arms behind his head and propped one foot onto the empty seat in front of him. "Besides, this Wesley bloke doesn't seem to be too bad. He's certainly not the unholy leper you're making him out to be."

Turning towards Spike, irritation flaring in his eyes, Angel said, "You've known him for about five minutes, Spike. I've known him for years. I think I know him a little better than you do."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Peaches."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Spike?"

Simultaneously sighing and rolling his eyes, Spike straightened in his seat and looked at Angel, his blue gaze alight with frustration mixed with a dash of pity. "Angel, you're not exactly the master of objective perception. You see what you want to see, despite whatever contradictory evidence might be smacking you upside your thick, over-gelled head. You want to see Wesley as the village pariah because you don't want to admit you were wrong to try to kill him and that he was genuinely trying to do the right thing."

"The right thing? He kidnapped my son. He's been trying to kill us for the past few months."

Stifling a groan, Faith said, "Did you hear one word Wes said? He wasn't trying to kill us. He was keeping tabs on Travers, making sure he didn't kill us."

"Faith-"

"Look, Angel, I get you're pissed that he snatched your son. You missed out on your chance to fuck up your kid and make him hate you. Instead someone else screws up your kid and he still hates you. But Wesley made a mistake. He knows it. Doesn't he deserve forgiveness for his mistakes? Isn't that what you're all about? Forgiveness, redemption, atoning for your past sins. Or is your whole spiel on forgiveness and redemption a lie? 'Cause, if so, I guess I'm screwed."

"No, it's not a lie-"

"Then why don't you start practicing what you preach, Angel, instead of trying to control my life. I'm a big girl. I don't need you playing daddy." Faith pushed off her seat and shoved past Angel. She strode down the airplane and plopped into the vacant seat next to Anya, a murderous scowl adorning her features.

"Well," Spike drawled, "you certainly fucked that one up."

Angel cradled his head in his hands. For once, Spike was right. He had fucked up. Royally. Supremely. In any and all ways possible he had fucked up his talk with Faith. He just wanted to make sure she didn't get hurt by Wesley and whatever motivation was driving him to pursue his former torturer. Maybe Angel should have stayed in Sunnydale with Fred, Gunn, Lorne, and Clem to watch over the Hellmouth, stayed far, far away from the explosive drama that was Faith and Wesley. But he couldn't stay in Sunnydale. He had a son to save and an evil lawyer to kill for her meddlesome tendencies. Sighing, Angel said, "Shut up, Spike."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"No. The sound of your voice grating on my ear drums hurts. I was just-"

"What? Trying to save the fair damsel in distress? Swoop in with your billowing black coat and tortured morals to rescue Faith from what you perceive as a mistake?" Leaning towards Angel, Spike said, "You keep pushing her to stay away from him it'll just make her run towards him that much faster."

"Make who run towards what?"

Lifting his head, Angel watched Buffy sit in the seat opposite Spike, who moved his legs to let her pass, placing them outside her own, encasing her in two slim columns of black denim.

"Make Faith run towards Wesley," Spike said to Buffy, glancing at Angel out of the corners of his eyes. "He tried to have 'the talk' with Faith and she damn near ripped his head off with her bare hands."

Buffy blinked slowly. After a moment her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in horror. Leaning forward, she hissed, "Faith and Wesley? Wesley and Faith?"

Spike nodded.

"Whoa." Slumping back in her seat, Buffy gnawed on her bottom lip and said, "Well, that was unexpected. And also kind of disturbing."

"My point exactly," Angel said. "I tried to talk some sense into Faith about getting involved in Wesley-"

Buffy snorted. "Maybe you should talk some sense into Wesley for getting involved in Faith. She's not exactly known for her warm and fuzzy feelings when it comes to the opposite sex." Shaking her head, Buffy slipped into silence, hazel eyes randomly drifting around the cabin, seeing but not really seeing. As her gaze perused the plane and her mind drifted, she gradually tensed, the muscles in her jaw tightening imperceptibly and her hands clutching the armrests.

Angel watched Spike lean forward and grasp her hands, pulling them off the armrests and clasping them within his own. She smiled at Spike, body relaxing as his fingers gently stroked the pale skin of her hands.

"We'll get her back," Spike said softly.

"I know. I'm just not sure how all this will pan out. Travers obviously isn't playing with a full deck, Tyler's just flat out psychotic, and Lilah has all the resources of hell behind her. They have the means, motive, and opportunity to do something colossally stupid." Buffy shook her head, drew in a deep breath, and said, "Wesley, Charles, and Emilia are going to call people they know in England, people they trust, to keep a watch on the likely airports Travers would use. Willow couldn't find any flight plan logged by him, but Wesley thinks Travers'll land at this small airport the Council uses a lot. Giles thought that was the likely course of action too since Travers wants to be found. Hopefully someone will spot him and follow him back to his dungeon hide out."

"How much longer do we have on this flight?" Angel asked.

"About six hours. Six hours and then Quentin Travers is a dead man."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. Totally. Absolutely. Sort of. Not really, I guess, but can you think of anything else?"

"No," Connor said to Dawn. "Except for the fact that your wonderful idea was given to you by Lilah, who kidnapped us and wants to experiment on us in cruel and unusual ways. She's probably lying."

"No, she's probably telling us the truth to manipulate us so we'll fall right into whatever scheme she's cooked up." Dawn cast an irritated glance at Connor and said, "That just means we'll have to be careful not to fall into her evil scheme. Now shut up. I need to concentrate."

Jaw clenched in frustration, Connor stared out the window of the airplane, watching the airport runway get closer and closer until the plane landed smoothly, air rushing by the windows in a muffled roar as it slowed to a stop. He returned his gaze to Dawn. She held one of her small diamond earrings in her right hand and was digging the steel post into the fleshy tip of her right index finger. A small drop of blood appeared on the pink skin. Turning to Connor, she said, "Hold out your hands."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. But what have we got to lose?"

He stared at her, the determination in her blue eyes making him sigh; he reluctantly shoved his shackled hands in front of Dawn, the muscles of his body tensing as she brought the bloodied fingertip towards the steel bindings. One small droplet fell onto the steel, causing the shackles to glow blue and sparkle, electricity dancing across the metal bindings for a few moments before fading away.

Glancing at Connor, Dawn said, "Try it."

Sighing again, Connor braced himself for the impending electric shocks that were soon to travel through his body and yanked his hands apart. The chain connecting the shackles ripped in two, broken ends dangling from the cuffs still attached to his wrists. His dark eyes flew to Dawn, whose own blue gaze was wide with shock.

"She was right," Dawn said softly. "Lilah was right. I'm still the Key. Wow."

The airplane stopped. Muted movement and hushed voices could be heard outside the cabin door. Springing into actions, Dawn bent over and squeezed another drop of blood onto the shackles binding Connor's ankles. A wave of blue light flashed across the cuffs, and Connor broke the connecting chain in two before he jumped from his seat.

Sliding next to the cabin door, he motioned for Dawn to duck down behind the seat. As her head disappeared behind the grey seat, the sound of metal sliding against metal resounded through the plane as the cabin door slid slowly open. Connor shoved back against the door, knocking the person behind it to the floor and eliciting a harsh cry of pain. Running back to Dawn, he seized her hand and yelled, "Come on."

They tore out of the small cabin, stepping over the unconscious body of Tyler. As they raced down the aisle, Connor's gaze flickered to the right, locking onto Lilah. She calmly sat in her seat and watched the two teens flee the plane without making an effort to stop them.

A guard stepped in front of Connor, taser clenched in one of his hands. Sidestepping the weapon, Connor threw the man into the outer wall of the plane, a hollow echo of impact emanating from the collision of flesh on metal. Still grasping Dawn's hand, Connor ran out of the plane and into the airport. To his right, he saw Quentin Travers standing with a group of guards, huddled deep in conversation about the proper method of transporting prisoners. As they sprinted past them, Connor heard their shouts of recognition and the beginning of a pursuit.

They turned a corner and ran down the hall of the deserted airport. From one of the alcoves dotting the hallway, a hand shot out and latched onto Connor, yanking him and Dawn into a dark room. Connor heard the door softly click shut, followed moments later by the sounds of the guards pounding past the closed door in their pursuit.

Squinting through the darkness, Connor saw the lithe figure of a girl standing before him and Dawn. Her hair was long, a silvery-grey color with jet black tips, and her eyes glowed from the faint light weakly illuminating the room.

"Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"

"Who are you?" Dawn asked, her hand still wrapped around Connor's. "What do you want with us?"

"Oh. My name is Christina. I'm here to rescue you." She smiled at them from across the room. "I believe you know my mother, Emilia."


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