Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Seven: Night Visions

Maps, files, pictures, scraps of paper, plates of food, cups of coffee, and mugs of blood lay scattered on the lobby desk of the Hyperion. Five chairs surrounding the desk supported the five humans and nonhumans poring over the mounds of gathered information: Angel, Fred, and Gunn, the remaining members of Angel Investigations, as well as Spike and Faith, former enemies taken in by Angel because of his belief in their redemption. The band of unlikely allies had spent the entire day analyzing the leads, notes, and hunches collected over the past few weeks in the search for Connor. Nothing had panned out. All leads led to dead ends or to information they had already gathered. Desperation was increasing as time passed.

Gunn dropped a stack of papers on the desk and rubbed his eyes. "Maybe we should talk to Lilah again. Sources at the club said she was talking to Wes. He might've told her something about Connor, or she's figured something out on her own." From under his hands, he peered at Angel. "She's hiding something. Just don't know if that something is Connor."

"If Lilah does know something," Faith said as she stood, "she's not going to blab it to you. Especially if you not knowing suits whatever scheme she has going." She raised her arms above her head and stretched.

Angel glanced at Faith, then at Gunn. "Still, it could be good to put some pressure on her. Let her know we're not kidding around." He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Gunn, could you and Fred talk to her again? If she did have anything to do with Connor and Holtz, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to let her know I'm ocean free."

Gunn nodded. He went to the weapons cabinet and pulled out an ax. Brandishing the steel weapon, he looked at the others and said, "Just in case."

Fred grabbed her bag and followed Gunn out of the hotel. "Just in case what?" She decides to hit you with her four inch heel?"

Silence descended on the hotel. Angel sat in his chair with his head down in his hands; he shook his head slowly and stood. Pacing the room, he said, "We aren't getting any closer to finding him. He might not even be in this dimension anymore."

Faith plopped back into her chair and put her feet up on the desk. She locked her arms behind her head and said, "You'll find him. Even if you have to kick ass across dimensions."

Angel slouched into the plush sofa. He stared at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of Cordelia and Connor and even Wes. His ex-friend and partner, his estranged son, and his… love. Not love. His potential love who had ascended to somewhere in the middle of the LA freeway. There hadn't been any time for love before the bottom dropped and all hell broke loose. All three were gone, and he didn't know how to get them back.

He glanced at Spike and Faith, who sat across from each other bickering over the last spicy buffalo wing. His two former enemies had formed a truce of sorts after their stake-filled first meeting: Faith wouldn't kill Spike, and Spike wouldn't kill Faith. After the truce, they had focused all their energies into helping Angel search for Connor while building the courage to return to Sunnydale and right their respective wrongs. He wondered how much longer the pair would stay in L.A. He didn't think his sanity could handle much more.

The elder vampire sighed as the bickering escalated into the makings of a full fledged brawl. Running a hand over his eyes, he stood and said, "Why don't you two…" He froze at the sudden appearance of a woman near the front door. She wore a pair of pinstripe black pants and a silk burgundy top; her blonde hair framed her face in wild ringlets. She spotted Angel and waved.

"Hi, Angel."

"Anya?"

Nodding, she walked over to Spike and Faith and snatched the buffalo wing from between their hands. Dropping it into the nearby garbage can, she smiled brightly and sat in one of the chairs surrounding the lobby desk. She waved to Faith and Spike as she said, "Hello."

Spike glanced from his hand, to the garbage can, and then to Anya. Eyes narrowing, he growled, "What in the bloody hell possessed you to do that? That was a perfectly good buffalo wing."

The blonde vengeance demon shook her head and replied, "No, it wasn't. It was all smooshed and gooey from you and Faith fighting over it. Would you have wanted to have eaten a smooshed and gooey piece of dead animal flesh?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's in the trash can if you're hungry."

Spike looked at Anya aghast. "I'm not going to eat it after it's been in the trash."

"But you would have eaten it after it had been crushed?"

"Yes."

Faith and Angel stood off to the side and watched the two blondes. After a few seconds, Faith stalked over to the desk and waved her hand between the pair. "Hey! The wing is dead. Get over it."

Anya inspected the brunette Slayer. Not noticing any weapons in Faith's hands, she said, "When did you break out of prison?"

Faith glanced at Spike and Angel before answering slowly, "I was released. A few weeks ago. Why? Are you going to run off and tell B that I'm out?"

Anya arched an eyebrow. "B?"

"Buffy."

Anya laughed. "No. And even if I did, she wouldn't believe me. Are you going to return to Sunnydale?"

Sitting across from Anya, Faith said, "Eventually. Why? Is there some big nasty terrorizing the Hellmouth? "

"Not anymore."

Spike stood and peeked into the garbage can. "Did someone finally put an end to the Loser brigade then?"

Anya was quiet as she watched Spike poke around in the garbage can. After a minute of silence, he looked at her. Off the solemn expression on her face, he dropped the metal can and faced her. "What happened?"

Tears pooled in her golden brown eyes. She tugged on the edge of her shirt and told the trio about the chaotic seventy-two hours in Sunnydale in which Tara died, Giles returned, and Willow killed Warren, then hunted the other two Nerds, fought Buffy and Giles, terrorized Dawn, destroyed the Magic Box, and tried to end the world. She finished with a summary of Willow's tension filled return.

Silence rang through the hotel. Spike stared at Anya, attempting to process her news from the Hellmouth. Whistler had told him big things were happening in Sunnydale and that he might be needed. But he had thought that the "big thing" was the downfall of the Nerds, not the fight to save the world from a trusted ally and friend.

Sitting in his chair, Spike said to Anya, "Is… uh…everyone Ok- um, Dawn, is she Ok?"

"Everyone is physically fine. Well, Giles got hurt but he's healed. And… uh, Dawn is fine, too."

Spike nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. The four sat silent in the hotel.

Anya cleared her throat. She faced Spike and said, "I wanted to get out of Sunnydale, after everything, Willow coming back and Xander, and you had disappeared after… well, after what happened. And I was worried about you, so I decided to find you. And I found you. I also wanted to avoid Xander, too, but that was just an added bonus to leaving Sunnydale."

Faith leaned forward. A sly smile appeared on her face. "Sounds like a story there. A story that requires a few drinks first." She jumped off the chair and headed for the kitchen. Glancing over her shoulder, she said to Anya, "You could have had some tequila, but Angel drank it all. Do you want scotch or whiskey?"

Glancing at Spike, Anya blushed slightly and followed Faith into the kitchen. "Scotch, please."

***

"So, then he leaves me standing in the church in my wedding dress and takes off for… for somewhere. He left and I had to tell everyone the wedding was off." Anya stopped and lifted her glass of scotch. She gulped the last remaining drops and slammed the glass back on the table. The slightly inebriated vengeance demon and rogue Slayer were on the couch in the Hyperion's sitting room while the two vampires with souls sat in the hotel's office flipping through case files. Facing Faith, Anya continued, "That's when I became a demon again. D'Hoffryn took me to Arashmaharr and offered to elevate me. Again."

Faith shook her head. "Men are evil. Simple as that."

"Men *are* evil. I should have known this. I was a vengeance demon for scorned women for eleven hundred years. I witnessed men break women's hearts in every possible way and crush all of our hopes and dreams… and I still let it happen to me." Anya stood, reached for her empty glass, and moved towards the kitchen. She slowed to a stop. In a quiet murmur tinged with regret and sorrow, she said, "I still loved him."

She entered the kitchen and set her glass down on the counter as she stared out the small window above the sink. Her reflection shone on the dusty pane of glass, a pale glimmer among the darkness of the night. A soft sigh escaped her lips. "I still love him." Anya shifted slightly and picked up her glass; out of the corner of her eye, she saw a faint blur pass behind her in the smudged window. Twisting around she saw Spike crouched in front of the refrigerator, scrounging for another beer. Her gaze flickered from Spike back to the window. She jumped slightly when the vampire slammed the refrigerator door.

"How's the female bonding? Filled with plenty of man hating, I suppose."

"What? Oh, yes, hating of the men. We have the requisite amount of man hating. Thank you for asking."

Spike nodded. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and twirled the beer bottle in his hands. "Good, good. So… uh… I wanted to… um… say that I was… bloody hell… that I was sorry about what happened. Between us. You deserve better than a drunken one night stand."

"Thank you."

"So, how are you doing?"

"Better, I guess. What about you?"

Spike smirked. "Oh, I'm terrific. Couldn't be better. Big Bad's back in full force."

Anya raised an eyebrow and examined her companion. Dark blonde roots peeked out from behind gleaming curls of platinum. The brash red silk of old had been replaced with a rumpled grey t-shirt. The Big Bad hadn't returned; the Big Bad had disappeared. Spike could no more return to his former life as the Slayer of Slayers then she could return to being Anyaka, the patron saint of scorned women. They were more than demons, but less than human, caught in the limbo of not-quite-evil and not-quite-good.

The door to the kitchen crashed open startling both Spike and Anya. A sheepish grin crossed Angel's face as he entered the kitchen. "Sorry." He moved to the cupboard and rummaged through the contents. "Did you find the potato chips yet?"

Spike backed towards the door. "Not yet. You find them. I'll be in the office." He tilted his head towards Anya, a faint smile on his face, and left the kitchen.

Anya turned to Angel as the kitchen door slid shut. "Do you know what happened to him after he left Sunnydale?"

Angel paused, hand midway to mouth with a sour cream and onion potato chip grasped firmly in fingers. He placed the chip and the chip bag on the counter, face impassive. "Why do you ask?"

Her gaze flickered to the window, then back to Angel. A knowing grin spread across her face. "No reason," she said as she headed for the exit, the door swishing softly behind her. "No reason at all."

***

It was night. The sounds of an elegant party drifted from the elaborate two story house. Pushing open the intricately carved oak door, Buffy entered a large hall, populated with men in silk suits and ladies in satin gowns. A gold chandelier illuminated the marble tiled entryway, and a long curved staircase ascended to the second floor. A dark haired woman glided down the stairs, surveying the guests with a haughty air.

A commotion to her right pulled Buffy's attention away from the elite woman. She saw a man snatch a set of papers from a young gentleman and proceed to read aloud to the gathering crowd.

"'My heart expands
Tis grown a bulge in't,
Inspired by your beauty effulgent.'"

The man sneered as he gazed contemptuously at the papers in his hand. "Effulgent?"

The crowd laughed at the attempt at poetry. Ignoring the partygoers, Buffy focused on the young man slinking off into a corner to approach the brunette from the stairs. He had curly, light brown hair and wore a tan suit and silver glasses. Vivid blue eyes, a full mouth, and sharp cheekbones caused Buffy's eyes to widen in recognition. It was Spike- William. The night he died.

"I wouldn't watch anymore if I were you. It gets quite brutal."

Buffy spun and came face to face with Spike. He had the same sandy hair and silver glasses as William, but he wore the black t-shirt, jeans, and boots of Spike.

"Spike? What are you doing here?"

He smirked at her confusion. "Like I said, I wouldn't watch. It gets quite brutal." He turned and climbed the stairs, gradually fading until he vanished completely.

Turning to watch William and the brunette, Buffy gasped. The warm, rich interior of the Victorian house had been replaced with a cold, dirty alley. Her mouth hardened as she realized her location. It was the alley behind the Sunnydale Police Station. It was the night of Katrina's murder.

"You're dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never… be your girl!"

She watched herself pound on a prone Spike, punching him again and again until the dull thuds of flesh striking flesh reverberated in her ears, a hollow echo that made Buffy cringe and look away.

Glancing back down the alley, Buffy found herself in a dark cave. Spike kneeled in front of her, battered, bloodied, and exhausted. A black entity with fierce green eyes floated out of the shadows, gliding between the two blondes as he said, "We have fulfilled your request." The dark form melted once more into the inky shadows of the cave.

"Confused? I was. Didn't know what to expect." Spike stepped next to Buffy, watching as his counterpart collapsed into unconsciousness. The dim light of the cave glinted off his silver glasses. He smirked at her again. "It hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought it would."

Buffy angled her head and locked eyes with Spike. "What hurt more?"

"This."

She followed his outstretched hand and saw Spike being tackled by a black haired vixen in leather pants. Faith. Buffy charged forward to push the brunette Slayer off Spike, but as she ran the room blurred and faded away leaving Buffy alone on an empty, dead-end street. On the left side of the road, a high wall enclosed the Sunnydale Rest Haven cemetery; a dense forest grew on the right side. An old, crumbling house sat at the end of the street. Spike stood on the house's front porch; glancing behind him, he turned the knob, pushed the door, and slipped inside the house.

Sprinting down the street, Buffy slammed into the door, which disappeared and sent her tumbling onto the ground. Standing, she took in her surroundings. She was in the Bronze. The interior of the club was dark save for a spotlight that illuminated the second story balcony.

She saw herself staring into space, eyes unfocused and empty. A shock of black crossed the spotlight behind the other Buffy; midnight tipped fingers rested lightly on the balcony, trapping the blonde Slayer.

"What would they think of you? If they found out all the things you've done. If they knew who you really were…"

The door to the Bronze slammed shut. Tearing her gaze from the balcony, Buffy ran to the entrance and burst from the club into the alley. She saw her younger self spin around, eyes squinted in confusion, searching for the now all-to-familiar voice in the shadows.

"What happens on Saturday?"

Buffy looked into the murky blackness expecting to find pre-chip Spike slink into the light. Instead, this new Spike, the strange mix of human William and vampire Spike, emerged from the darkness and walked towards her.

"What happens on Saturday?" The words came out before she realized she had opened her mouth to speak.

Spike stopped. He tilted his head, a lock of sandy brown hair falling across his forehead, and replied, "I love you." Pushing a honey colored curl behind her ear, his fingertips traced the contours of her face. They glided over her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, the curve of her eyebrows. He touched the corner of her mouth and the plush center of her bottom lip. A wistful smile appeared on his face.

She reached up and brushed her fingertips across his lips. She closed her eyes, intensifying the sensation of his cool, calloused fingertips on her lips and icy softness of his lips beneath her fingers. She smiled softly.

"Within a month the Hellmouth will be ours."

***

Buffy's eyes flew open at the sound of the cold, arrogant voice invading her mind. Sitting up in her bed, she ran a hand through her tangled hair and gasped for breath. It was the third night she had awoken to dreams of Spike. The other dreams were just glimpses of their tortured, tangled relationship, a montage of images compiled by her subconscious. This dream was different. She had had a Slayer dream. Visions of the past, present, and future melded together in an incoherent mass of vagueness.

Sliding off the bed, Buffy tiptoed towards her bedroom window and pulled back the drapes. Ivory moonlight covered the outside world, creating pools of blackness that softened the night's harsh edges and hid its dangers.

'The Hellmouth will be ours.'

Shivering, Buffy let the drapes fall back into place. She returned to her bed and wrapped her arms around her knees.

'I wouldn't watch. It gets quite brutal.'

Buffy glanced at her closet door. She closed her eyes for a moment and laid her head on her knees.

'I love you.'

She stood and walked to her closet door. Opening it, she pushed her shirts, skirts, jackets, and pants to the side. She dug her way to the very back of the closet, her fingertips coming in contact with soft black leather. Tugging on the hanger, she grasped the leather duster she had found on the banister of the stairs and wrapped it around her body. She breathed in the scent of tobacco and blood and liquor, combined with just a hint of danger and mystery and undiluted emotion. It was everything that was Spike.

Curling deeper within the leather duster, Buffy climbed back on her bed, closed her eyes, and fell back asleep.

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