Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.

AN: A lot of the scenes occur simultaneously; all can be coordinated with one another by the mechanical voice message about the bomb. As always, many, many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I love all the feedback, so please keep it coming.

Chapter Forty-Six: Spontaneous Combustion

By: Wynn

Patience was not one of Spike’s virtues. Sure, he had gained a modicum amount of control over his urges, both demonic and human, during his hundred years’ existence, and the moderating influence of his soul helped somewhat calm his impulsive nature, too. But they were about as effective in instilling true patience within Spike as Xander was in a crisis situation. Meaning: they were about as useless as useless could get. What patience Spike had could only be stretched so far before it shattered into a million tiny pieces, and his breaking point was rapidly, rapidly approaching.

It didn’t help that Spike was locked inside a box the size of a matchbook. No space to burn off excess energy by pacing; no windows to look out of to distract him or loose panels to pry apart and escape through; no Watcher minions to beat the living crap out of for putting him and his family in this situation to begin with.

Bloody fucking asshole wankers.

Spike paused before the steel door and forced himself to unclench his fisted hands. Working oneself into a red, ripe rage was only conducive either in a fight, moments before one became completely and severely pissed, or while watching a sports program, preferably soccer. In situations such as the one Spike was in, raging against four bare walls accomplished nothing but further increasing his already intensely pissed off mood. So Spike breathed ineffectual soothing deep breaths and tried to think pleasant thoughts in an effort to stifle his anger.

Buffy in combat mode, face flushed pink with exertion, lush mouth spouting particularly caustic puns at whatever evil nasty was primed for slayage.

Angel embarrassing himself with his perfectly poufy hair and repressed prissy manner whilst hopelessly attempting to be suave and sophisticated.

Dawn avidly discussing with him the romantic entanglements of Dawson’s Creek, voice rising in mock outrage as Spike advocated Pacey and Joey over Joey and Dawson, the epitome of white bread lunks.

But all of Spike’s pleasing thoughts reminded him of where exactly these people that meant so much to him were, and his rage returned threefold.

So much for think happy thoughts.

A crackle of static pulled Spike out of his wrathful reverie. Moments later a thin mechanized voice pierced the heavy silence of the room.

“Emergency. Emergency. An incendiary device has been activated on Council property. Everyone calmly proceed to the nearest exit. Fifteen minutes to activation. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Frozen before the door, Spike blinked up at the ceiling, at the nearly invisible speaker implanted within the wall. An incredulous giggle escaped his lips at the unexpected turn of events. So he was to be blown to bits by a bomb in the Council. Bloody wonderful.

His gaze dropped to the door as he faintly heard footsteps pound away from his cell. His personal guard had rabbited, leaving him stranded in the sardine can from hell. Fueled by his pent up frustrations, Spike flung himself at the steel door, kicking, punching, and clawing at the solid, immovable surface.

“Someone let me the fuck out of here! Now, damn it! I have to kill a short, bald man, and I can’t do it while locked up like some sodding animal! Let me out, you tweed wearing pricks!”

The locks to his cell door clicked, startling Spike, causing him to stumble backwards and fall to the ground. He sprung to his feet as the door slid open and slipped into a fighting stance, readying himself for whatever lay beyond the steel prison.

But nothing Spike could have done would have prepared himself for the sight before his eyes.

Dawn moved into the room, relief washing over her face as she locked eyes with Spike. Both sides of her face were caked with congealed blood; one purplish lump the size of a golf ball marred her temple; another lump swelled the crimson skin around her jaw. Half her long brown hair was plastered to her head with dried blood; the other half was knotted into frizzed tangles. Her clothes were torn, dirty, and streaked with blood. She clutched a taser in one shaking hand and a baton in the other.

“Oh, god. Dawn…”

Bottom lip trembling, she attempted a carefree grin and said, “I heard you. That’s about fifty buck in the swear jar, mister. You wouldn’t want to corrupt… the… minor… would you…?”

Spike rushed forward as tears began to cascade down Dawn’s face and she sunk to the floor, weapons dropping unnoticed out of her hands. She curled into a tight ball within his arms, fingers latching onto his black t-shirt, body shivering with sobs.

Smoothing a hand over her tangled hair, Spike murmured, “It’s alright, Nibblet. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Dawn sniffed, wiping her nose off on the back of her hand, and buried her face in Spike’s chest. Her voice muffled, she said, “I-I tried to get away but he-he caught me again and they took C-Connor and I don’t know where he is but I thought he w-was in here so I made the guard tell m-me how to open the door before he ran away.” She sucked in a last few gasping breaths and pulled away from Spike, enough to be able to look up into his face. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. “You came. You came after me.”

“Always.”

“W-where’s Buffy?”

“She’s here. Somewhere. With Faith and Rupert. Angel and Red and Anya are all here too.”

Dawn nodded. She slowly climbed to her feet, shoving stray brown strands of hair away from her eyes, and she held a hand down to Spike, helping him to his feet. Retrieving the two weapons, she handed the baton to Spike and said, “Did you here the message? The one about the bomb?”

“Yeah.”

“We have to find her. We have to find everyone and get them out.”

“We will.”

Dawn nodded again and grasped Spike’s free hand with her own. The taser was clutched in her other hand. She followed Spike to the open door and peeked over his shoulder at the empty hallway. “Do you know where they took her?”

“I think up,” Spike said. “They split us up and took all non-Council related people down here. I figure they herded everyone else upstairs.” He turned to look at Dawn, a swell of feeling rushing through him at the sight of her determined face. It was almost… fatherly pride. No matter what the world threw at the Summers women, no matter how hard they were knocked down or cast aside, they always picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and carried on, more resolute and focused than ever. “Ready?”

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

He flashed a reassuring grin, and they moved into the hallway, on the hunt to find their own, no matter what nook or cranny or steel trap they might be locked in.
 

* * *

Of all the people in all the world for him to be locked inside a cell with, it had to be her. From across the cell Xander eyed Anya through half-closed lids. For months, ever since his return from England with Willow, Xander had wanted to talk with Anya, just to see how she was doing, to be able to look into her golden brown eyes again, but the opportunity never arose. There was always something. Breaking and entering, explosions, kidnappings. Coupled with her avid avoiding of him, there had been absolutely no good time to approach her. None at all. Except now.

Now there was just the two of them, locked inside a drab grey room, with nothing to distract them from each other. The opportunity for discussion was perfect.

And Xander couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

Oh, he had plenty he wanted to, needed to, tell her. Explanations about why he left her stranded alone at the alter. The changes that had occurred with him during his time spent in England, during his time spent away from her. But he didn’t know how to say them. He couldn’t think of the right words, the correct phrases, to express his feelings openly and honestly without resorting to sarcasm. And Anya deserved more than that. She deserved-

“Would you quit staring at me?”

Xander blinked and focused his gaze on Anya. “What did you say?”

She raised one eyebrow and heaved an irritated sigh. “I said would you quit staring at me. It’s starting to creep me out.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize…”

Anya raised the other eyebrow and stared at him incredulously. “You didn’t realize you were staring at me? You were looking straight at me. Your eyeballs were open. I saw them.”

Xander shrugged, half-embarrassed at being caught unawares. “I was just thinking. I wasn’t trying to creep you out.”

“Well, good. It doesn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t creeped out.”

“But you just said-”

“I said you were trying to creep me out, but you didn’t succeed.” Anya folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the ground. “As usual.”

It was Xander’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Just what the hell does that mean?”

“It means absolutely nothing, Xander. So just drop it. I’m tired and irritable and very much want to get out of this tiny grey prison. Please leave me alone.”

Xander drew in a deep breath and unclenched his jaw. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Fine. We’ll sit here in complete and utter silence for god knows how long, completely ignoring each other instead of trying to find a way out of here, because you have a headache.”

“Like you were really trying so hard to get us out of here before, Xander,” Anya said sharply. “You were just sitting over there staring at me like a big creep.”

Opening his eyes, Xander glared at Anya, pushed himself off the floor, and strode over to the closed cell door. He waved his hands in front of the door as he said, “Look at me, I’m looking for a way out of here. Happy now? I’m not irritating you or creeping you out, am I? Maybe I should just gouge out my eyeballs so I can’t stare at you again. Would you like that?”

“Oh, sure, now you take action. Now you do something. I bet you’re trying to get out of here so you can go rush off after your beloved Buffy or Willow and save them from the horrible tiny man in tweed. And you’ll leave me all alone like you always do.”

Xander turned from the door. “Do you have something you want to say to me, Anya? Or do you just want to insult me the entire time we’re locked in here.”

She shook her head and tilted her body away from him towards the back wall. “I have nothing to say to you, Xander.”

“Fine.” He turned back to the door, vainly attempting to calm his raised ire. He froze for a moment as the proverbial light bulb began to flash above his head. Spinning on his heels, Xander walked over to Anya and sat down before her. “I have something I want to say to you and you’re going to sit here and listen to me, Ok?”

Anya slumped back against the wall, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “Fine. You may proceed to talk. I’m listening.”

Xander nodded. “Good.” He smoothed a hand over his chin. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “Good. I’m here… you’re here… we’re both here.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m here to talk… and you’re here to listen…”

“Yes, this is a fact we’ve already established, Xander. Please move on to whatever point you came stomping over here to make.”

Eyes flashing with anger, Xander said, “I’m trying, alright! I don’t want to screw this up, which is more than I can say for you, Ms. Sarcasm Rally. I’m trying to tell you something, seriously tell you something, something important, and it’s a bit difficult. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly an expert at talking honestly about my feelings. So if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll get to my point and leave you alone.”

Anya’s face softened, the bitter shell of anger surrounding her melting away, leaving eyes filled with pain and heartbreak and a little bit of hope. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be mean. Please continue.”

“I know I hurt you,” Xander began slowly, carefully choosing his words, mindful of the precarious emotional state currently surrounding himself and Anya. “A lot. I never wanted to hurt you. I hope you believe that.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt me. Because you did. I loved you and you left our wedding without saying a word. You just took off. Xander’s here and then whoops, he’s gone!”

“I messed up. I know. I was scared. Marriage… it’s huge. And scary. And I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me-”

“What?!”

“Not because I didn’t love you or want to be with you, but because I wasn’t ready.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Bitterness crept into his voice as he continued. “You don’t grow up in the home I grew up in and come out with a cheery view of marriage. My parents hate each other, and they only stay married… I don’t know why they stay married. They’re insane. But I didn’t want that to happen to us. I didn’t want you to hate me a few years down the road when I inevitably screw up. I want something better than a bitter, hate filled life for you, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to give it to you.”

“Xander…”

“I wanted to tell you this. I did. So many times. But I didn’t know how to say it, or some catastrophic event happened and I couldn’t say it. And time kept moving on and you started looking happy again and I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“You thought I was happy again?”

“Yeah. I mean you became friends with Faith… and Giles, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

A moment of silence passed and then Anya said, “You thought I was involved with Giles? Are you crazy?”

Xander shrugged. “Well, he is kind of sexy, if you’re into that Sean Connery-older man stuff. And my last girlfriend did go for the slightly stuffier, younger Giles, so I thought… maybe… You were spending a lot of time together-”

“We were rebuilding the Magic Box! We had to spend time together!”

“It’s not just then. On the plane, you sat next to him-”

“So I could get the scoop on him and Emilia. God, Xander, did you think I would just jump on the next available walking penis? Besides Spike. But that was only comfort sex, not a relationship. A one-time only thing.” Anya shook her head in disbelief. “Did you think I would dive into a new relationship so soon after the last imploded spectacularly? I was a Vengeance Demon for a thousand years, Xander. I did learn about rebound.”

“So… it had nothing to do with me?”

Anya pulled back slightly and gazed at Xander through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… that maybe you might still have had feelings for me. That maybe you still loved me.”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I’m still in love with you.”

A myriad of emotions crossed Anya’s face. Doubt, hope, fear, love. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Oh, please. Stop. You’re killing me over here.”

Head snapping to the now open cell door, Xander saw Tyler move into the room, one hand clutched over his heart, the other wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. Anya gasped and scrambled to her feet. Xander rose from the floor and Anya moved to stand beside him, her eyes wide with fear and fixed on Tyler.

“I must say, Xander,” Tyler said as the cell door swished shut behind him. “That was a beautiful moment you two were having there. I almost hate to break it up, but you see, there’s something I got to do and there isn’t a whole lot of time to do it.”

“And what’s that?”

Tyler smiled. His gaze swung from Xander to Anya as he said, “It’s just a little bit of revenge, Xander. A little payback for my near death experience in Sunnydale. Nothing to worry yourself over.” He reached into one of the pockets of his pants, extracting a long, slim cylinder. The end crackled with white-blue electricity. “I just want to kill Anya. As slowly and as painfully as I possibly can before the whole place blows.”

“What-?”

“Emergency. Emergency. An incendiary device has been activated on Council property. Everyone calmly proceed to the nearest exit. Fifteen minutes to activation. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Anya paled. “Oh, god.”

“I know,” Tyler said. “Fifteen minutes isn’t a lot of time to get in a good torturing, but I think I’ll manage just fine. And if I don’t get the job done in time, I’ll leave and let the bomb blow you into little, tiny pieces. Vengeance demons are strong, Anyanka, but not even you could survive a bomb.” He grinned again and held up his weapon as he started moving towards Xander and Anya. “Let the games begin.”
 

* * *

You would think that hearing a message about a bomb about to explode in the building one was in would spur a person to take a little action. Whether that action be trying to find a way out of the building or screaming one’s head off in a blind panic was another story. Regardless of the action, action would be made. But no one moved in the court room. No one spoke. All eyes were focused on the floor or on some indiscriminate point on the wall, and all mouths were firmly shut and pressed into thin, worried lines.

All save those of the man convulsing in the middle of the court room floor.

Yanking herself from her stupor, Buffy raced over to the judge and knelt down beside him. His eyes were open wide with unbridled terror, and his ruddy face was stained with tears. Buffy grasped his hand as she vainly tried to remember his name. It wasn’t Henry or Hinkley or Higgins.

“Henley!” Buffy looked up as Simmons approached and crouched next to Henley. He pressed two fingers against Henley’s throat. “Henley, can you hear me? Blink if you can.”

Henley’s eyes fluttered closed and opened again.

“You’ll be alright in about ten minutes or so. Try to relax.” Glancing at Buffy, Simmons said, “The weapon Travers used induces a temporary paralysis in intended targets. It overloads the nervous system, forcing a brief shut down. It’s usually used as a last resort to get out of tough jams, but in the wrong hands, or the crazy hands, it can be deadly.”

Nodding, Buffy stood and examined the court room. “Is there any way we can get out of this room? Secret doors? Underground tunnels? Anything?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said as she strode over to the side door. She pressed her palm against the wall next to the door handle. A panel swung out, revealing a numeric touchpad. “All doors close and lock in the event of an emergency in hopes to contain whatever’s caused the need for the bomb to begin with. But the override code should let us out. That is if Quentin hasn’t changed it.”

“Wait a minute,” Faith said as she moved next to Buffy. “I thought you said we were trapped in here.”

“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured. Her fingers hesitated over the touch pad. She closed her eyes in concentration as she said, “I was a bit flustered for a moment there. I never thought Quentin would resort to this drastic of measures.” She finished pressing in the override code and stepped away from the door as it inched open. The hallway beyond the door was empty.

“He’s gone,” Faith said softly. “Travers is gone.”

“We’ll find him,” Buffy said as she turned to face the others. “Ok, this is the plan. Simmons, can he be moved?”

Simmons glanced down at Henley and nodded.

“Good. I need you to get him out of here and get the van up and running. Find something else, a car, a truck, one of those double bus things, whatever, if the van’s disabled. I don’t want to make it out of the building only to be caught in the blast radius.”

“Got it.” Simmons grabbed Henley beneath his arms and pulled him to his feet; he slung an arm over his shoulder and eased them out of the court room.

Buffy turned to Elizabeth next. “Will the override code work on the bomb?”

“Possibly. I suspect Quentin probably changed the bomb code if he came to the inquiry already armed with the ignition trigger.”

“Try anyway,” Buffy told her. “If you can’t stop it, that’s fine. Get yourself and anyone else left out of here.” As Elizabeth nodded, Buffy said, “Do you know where Travers took the others?”

“Yes.” She moved away from the door towards her discarded briefcase. Flicking it open, Elizabeth extracted a computer print out, briefly scanned it, and said, “Dawn, Connor, and Christina are all on the first sub-level. All of the Council’s laboratories are down there. Dawn’s in 104. Connor, 115. Christina, 131. Oh. Your friend Spike is also being kept on the first sub-level. Room 109. The rest of your friends are being held on the second sub-level, in the containment facilities. Angel and, um, Cordelia are in room 216. Emilia and Willow, 221. And Xander a-and Anya are in 236.” Elizabeth looked at Buffy. “All doors should open with the override code. Four-six-seven-two-nine-one-three.”

Buffy nodded. She stared at Elizabeth for a moment before she pointed to the second male judge and said, “You- I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”

“Gardener.”

“Go with Elizabeth. Make sure she stays safe. There’s no telling what Travers’ll do now. He may try to stop her from disarming the bomb.”

“Yes, Ms. Summers.”

Turning towards Wesley, Buffy said, “Get Connor out. Then Angel and Cordelia. Tell them what’s going on and then get them out of the building, Ok?”

Wesley nodded. His eyes cut to Faith and he held her gaze for a moment. His mouth tightened and he dropped his eyes to the floor before moving towards the door and disappearing into the hallway.

“Charles, you get Christina. Giles, find Emilia and Willow. Faith, I need you to get Xander and Anya. I’ll find Dawn and Spike. Everyone watch your backs. If Travers is crazy enough to blow up his own Council, there could be all sorts of surprises between us and the way out. Get out as fast as you can and meet up at the van. Don’t come back in looking for people,” she said as she cast a glance at Giles. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt, or dead, by trying something stupid.” Buffy licked her dry lips and walked over to the door. She crossed the threshold between the court and the hallway and moved toward the stairwell at the far end of the passageway as she said, “Time waits for no man. Neither does a bomb. Let’s roll.”
 

* * *

Oppressive silence filled her mind. Instead of the usual mental chatter Emilia picked up from random people from time to time through her telepathic filters, she sensed nothing. Nearly all of her normally erected psychic barriers were stripped down, but she still sensed nothing. Nothing except herself and Willow. Everything beyond the small room they were in was a blank slate, similar to the amorphous snow one sees on television sets with bad reception. Beyond the snow, beyond the silence, Emilia felt the faint presence of magic blocking the rest of the world from her mind. Yet as hard as she and Willow attempted to break through the barrier, the mojo surrounding their cell increased, thickening and congealing and hardening to a near impenetrable shell of spells.

Sighing, Emilia opened her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples. Willow sat cross-legged in front of her, green eyes closed, mouth moving slightly in whispered prayer to the gods and goddesses of old. Beads of sweat clung to Willow’s russet hair and lines of exhaustion creased her eyes and mouth. The air in the room was heavy with magic; the walls shimmered in an iridescent gold. Setting her head upon her hands, Emilia breathed deeply and attempted to draw upon the extra reserve of strength she hoped was residing somewhere deep, deep down within her. Ever since the warning about the bomb, she and Willow had doubled their efforts to escape but to no avail. And now exhaustion was creeping into Emilia, sinking into her bones, slinking into her mind, and all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep.

Instead, she lifted her head and said to Willow, “Any progress?”

“None. You?”

“No.”

Willow opened her eyes, her emerald irises blacked out from magic. She stretched her arms above her head as she said, “I don’t know what else to do. Any magic I use within here just keeps adding to the blocking spell. I can’t find any weakness to exploit.” She looked at Emilia, the black clouding her eyes fading back to green. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault we’re stuck in here. It’s vile Quentin’s.”

Standing, Willow walked over to the cell door. Her voice was low and contemplative as she said, “I wonder what happened to everyone else. Whether they’re alive… or hurt… or dead. If they’re still locked inside these cells or if they’re coming right now to get us and any minute the cell door will swoosh open-”

The cell door swooshed open. Willow jumped back in shock. A squeal of happiness escaped her lips and she flung herself towards the person standing within the door frame.

“Giles! You’re alive!”

“Yes,” Giles said. “I am alive, and so are you.” His arms closed around Willow in a quick, fierce hug, and then he stepped back, his grey eyes slowly scanning her from head to toe. “Alive and unhurt, I presume?”

Willow nodded and released Giles from her embrace. “Yeah, the guards didn’t do anything to us. Just pointed us to the cells and locked us in.” She glanced over her shoulder at Emilia. “We’re just a little zonked from trying to mojo our way out of here, but-” Willow broke off and turned back towards Giles. A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth. “How did you get in here, Giles?”

“I used an override code. It bypassed the spells and other devices used to lock you two in here and forced the door open.” His gaze slid from Willow to Emilia. He took a few steps towards her but halted halfway between her and the open cell door. Giles opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then said, “There isn’t much time. We must hurry.”

Willow grimaced. “We heard the message about the bomb. Who decided to blow up the Council?”

“Travers.”

“Oh. That’s a bit… extreme, don’t you think?”

“After what I’ve just seen, nothing Quentin Travers does can shock me anymore.”

A flicker of pain appeared on Emilia’s face as she listened to Giles and Willow talk. So many complications, so much history, existed between Giles and herself that simple communication was stilted at best, completely prevented at worst. There would be time for reparations later. Hopefully. For now, Emilia needed to concentrate on keeping everyone alive. She stood from the floor, smoothed out her skirt, and followed Giles and Willow through the door. “What about Christina and the others?”

Giles paused outside the cell. “Um, Charles went to get Christina. Everyone else-”

“No, he didn’t.” Emilia promised she would remember to chastise herself for her stupidity. Giles’ sudden appearance had flustered her already flustered nerves, and rebuilding her mental barriers went forgotten. That is until she took her first step out of the cell, and then the world, jumbled, cacophonous, panicked, rushed into her mind, assaulting her unprotected consciousness, nearly bringing Emilia to her knees. And in the muddle, she discerned one thought, clear as crystal, repeated over and over and over. It was a thought she herself had had many, many times before.

Revenge. Revenge for Ariana.

She slumped back against the wall and pressed her hands over her eyes. Emilia felt Giles grab her by the shoulders and gently pull her to a standing position, murmuring soothing words of comfort to her.

“He went after him,” Willow whispered. “Didn’t he? Charles went after Travers.”

“Yes.” Emilia forced her eyes open and she locked gazes with Giles. Tears of pain, from the unexpected mental assault, from the knowledge of Charles’ whereabouts, pooled within her violet eyes. “We have to go get Christina. Charles… he can’t. He doesn’t see… We can’t leave her here. I… I can’t lose her, too, Rupert.”

“You won’t lose her. She’s in room 131, one floor up.” He grasped her hand, and the three of them, Giles, Emilia, and Willow, took off down the hall, the remembrance of the ticking time and ticking bomb hurrying their already fast pace.
 

* * *

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.

AN: Please read: The last section of the chapter contains graphic fighting and violence between Xander, Anya, and Tyler. Please be cautious if you are squeamish about such things.
Quote used from Orpheus. Enemy’s picked up a new nomination over at the Watching You Awards. Many, many thanks to Eurydice for nominating EI!

Chapter Forty-Seven: Ashes to Ashes

By: Wynn

When in doubt, follow your nose. Especially one equipped with enhanced vampire senses. Cordelia followed Angel up stairs, down hallways, and into rooms in the search for Connor, their meandering path guided by his lingering scent in the subterranean levels of the Watcher’s Council, and with each step Angel took, his pace increased until the two were sprinting through the barren passageways, all Council personnel having abandoned the building after the uber-polite and ultra-creepy bomb threat.

Angel came to a stop from a flat out run. Cordelia barely dodged slamming into him, careening off into the wall instead. That was going to leave a mark. Super sharp reflexes unfortunately did not come with the higher being package. Sure, Cordelia could manipulate the elements of the earth, a skill that came in handy with soul cleansing and escape from tiny steel cells, but there had been a choice between the fancy reflexes and the sparkly teleportation, and Cordelia had asked herself why would someone need to run fast and dodge quickly if they could just teleport any and everywhere? So, immensely pleased with her logic, she chose the sparkles.

But apparently there were situations that called for enhanced super being reflexes, and Cordelia had the massive bruise to prove it.

Rubbing her elbow, Cordelia turned back towards Angel. He stood before a plain grey door. No numbers or signs adorned the door, and there was no handle or key pad or anything else that indicated how it could be opened or closed. “Is he in there?” Cordelia asked.

“Yes. His scent’s the strongest here. It doesn’t continue down the hall. Just some residual traces, stuff that’s drifted from here.” Angel ran his hands along the door frame, palms pressing lightly against the wall, but no secret panel popped open. Sighing, he took a step back and said, “I don’t see a way in. Maybe we could pry the door open. Or you could melt a hole through it like you did before.”

“Maybe. There’s probably an easier way though.”

“What?”

“They wouldn’t have a door that nobody could open. That would be stupid. And these guys may be candidates for Psychos Anonymous, but they’re not complete morons. So this door probably opens from the inside. I can just pop in there, see if Connor is inside, and if he is, I open the door and we get him out.”

Angel glanced over his shoulder at Cordelia. “What if they have guards inside?”

“I am a higher being, Angel. I can take a couple humans.”

His gaze dropped down to her elbow and he raised an eyebrow. “You just ran into the wall.”

“Thanks to you, Mr. Bat Stop. Next time we’re involved in a life or death race against time, a little notice before you go sixty to zero would be nice.” Cordelia crossed the hall to stand next to Angel. She laid a hand upon his arm as she said, “I’ll be fine. If there was anybody inside, they probably left already. No one likes getting blown to bits. Trust me.”

She stepped away from Angel and flashed a reassuring smile. Her gaze turned towards the door. Cordelia concentrated on the room beyond the door, on the space behind the door, and felt the familiar warmth stemming from trans-dimensional travel spread through her body. The air shimmered before her, opalescent sparkles gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light illuminating the hallway, and the world dissolved around her, melting into abstraction like those clocks from the Salvador Dali painting Cordelia saw in her high school art class. Her body slid forward, passing through the wall effortlessly, and the room behind the door materialized before her eyes.

The room was large, twenty by twenty feet, and devoid of light, save for one lamp beside a rickety cot. The bulb shed a faded yellow glow upon the form huddled on the mattress, the light strong enough for Cordelia to recognize the curled body as Connor. A thick chain connected Connor’s wrists to the legs of the bed, which were bolted to the floor.

Cordelia resisted the urge to run to Connor, instead turning towards the door, where she saw a flat screen about the length and width of a human hand about halfway up the wall. Moving next to the screen, Cordelia pressed her palm against it. The door remained closed. She examined the screen, fingers prodding along the edges, eyes scanning the rest of the room. She pressed her palm against the screen again, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Reaching out with her mind, Cordelia coaxed and caressed the elements surrounding her to move and slide against one another. Crackles of electricity formed around her, and she drew the energy into her body and directed it through her arm, down to her palm, and into the flat panel. The controls short-circuited, sending off blue arcs of electricity, and the door swished open.

Angel cautiously stepped into the room, eyes fixed upon Cordelia. His brows were drawn together in concern. “What did you…? Your hair…”

Grimacing, Cordelia gingerly patted her hair, now frizzed and standing slightly off her head. “I made a build up of static electricity in the air and used it to short circuit the door controls. Hence the scary hair.”

“Are you alright-” Angel spotted Connor and ran over to the bed. Crouching next to it, her brushed a few damp strands of hair from Connor’s face and whispered his name. There was no response. Angel leaned close to Connor and shook him, the tinkling of rattling chains echoing in the room. A low, groggy moan escaped Connor’s lips, and he opened his eyes, peering up at Angel through half-closed lids.

“Dad…” His voice was slurred and shaky.

Relief washed across Angel’s face. “Yeah, Connor. I’m here. Cordy and I are here.”

“Cordy…”

“Right here, baby.” Cordelia walked over to the bed and crouched next to Angel. She grasped Connor’s hand with her own; his palm was cold and clammy. “Can you move, sweetie? Did they hurt you?”

Connor shook his head. He struggled to a sitting position, his body held steady by Angel. “Drug… they… a drug.”

Cordelia heard Angel’s slow intake of breath. She turned towards him and said, “You need to break these chains so we can get him out. I’ll hold Connor.”

“No.”

Cordelia spun towards the back wall, eyes widening as she saw Wesley enter the room through a door opposite the one she forced open.

Angel stood, setting his body between Wesley and Connor. “What do you mean by no?”

Slowing to a stop halfway across the room, Wesley said, “I mean that there’s a spell on the chains. You can’t break them. If you try, you’ll only hurt yourself and Connor.”

“Then how the hell are we supposed to get him out of here? I am not leaving my son-”

“Calm down, Angel.” Wesley held up his hand and revealed a brass key within his grasp. “I have the key.” Moving next to the bed, Wesley said to Connor, “I need you to lift your hands.”

Bleary eyes focused on Wesley, Connor lifted his hands. Wesley inserted the key into the lock on one of the wrist cuffs and turned; the cuff slipped off Connor’s wrist and crashed onto the floor. Wesley repeated the action with Connor’s other wrist and then stepped away from the cot, slipping the key into his pocket. Angel stepped next to the bed and gently lifted Connor into his arms.

Cordelia looked at Wesley. “Where are the others? Dawn? And-”

“Cordelia, there’s no time. I’ll explain everything once we’re out of the building, but we must leave now. Please be satisfied with the answer that we divided up and everyone will be rescued.” Wesley turned from Angel, Connor, and Cordelia and walked back towards the open door he entered through. “This way is faster.”

Cordelia followed Wesley across the room. She looked back towards Angel and Connor and raised an eyebrow at Angel’s failure to follow. He sighed and followed them out of the room and into the hallway. Wesley stood a few feet down the left side of the hall, gaze directed at the stairs lying at the end of the passageway. He turned back towards Angel and Cordelia and pointed down the right side of the hall. “There’s a staircase at the end of this passageway. It should be the same one you were brought down. Go up one floor and you’ll find your way out. Simmons is waiting outside with the van.”

Frowning, Cordelia said, “Where are you going? What about the bomb?”

Wesley started to jog down the left side of the hall. “Don’t worry about me. Just get out of the building.”

Cordelia watched Wesley move down the hallway. She locked gazes with Angel. A moment passed and then he nodded. “Don’t stay too long,” he said. “The-”

“I know. Go. Get him out of here.”

Angel started moving down the right side of the hallway, Connor gripped tightly within his arms. He stopped after a few paces and turned back towards Cordelia. “I love you.”

She smiled and felt her face warm with a flush of pleasure. “I love you. See you on the upside.” She watched Angel turn and run down the hall towards the staircase. Spinning on her heels, Cordelia took off after Wesley. She caught up with him by the stairs. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” she asked, yanking him to a stop. “I thought you had gotten past your suicidal tendencies phase.”

“I am not suicidal, Cordelia. Now please let me go. I need to-”

“What? To get yourself killed?”

“I need to go after Lilah.” Wesley looked at Cordelia, his blue eyes serious, anxious, and angry. “There’s about ten minutes left. The Council is in chaos. Lilah has something planned, I know it, and whatever it is it can’t be good. I have to stop her.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.” She started down the staircase but was pulled to a stop by Wesley.

“No. It’s too risky.”

“Why? You’ll be out of here before the bomb goes. What’s the danger?”

“Lilah is the danger,” Wesley said as he moved past Cordelia, pushing her back up the stairs. “A danger I can deal with. Alone. You’re needed with Angel and Connor.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, caught in an impasse, before Cordelia nodded and said, “Your butt better be up there in nine minutes or I am coming in here after you, Lilah or no Lilah, got it?”

“Yes, Cordelia.”

She hugged Wesley, her arms latching around his neck as his lightly encircled her waist. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Cordelia pulled away from Wesley and moved back up the stairs. Her eyes followed his descent down the steps and then she turned her gaze towards the ceiling, focused on the sidewalk outside the Watcher’s Council, and disappeared in a shower of light and sparkles.
 

* * *

Willow shivered as she entered the cell. The air was bitingly cold, and it reminded her of the air inside a morgue or a hospital. Stationery and antiseptic. She halted a few feet inside the room, directly behind Emilia, as a pressure built up within her mind, attempting to force her consciousness down into a deep, ephemeral hole.

“What is that? Do you feel it?”

Emilia nodded. “It’s from the event horizon, a device used to imprison telepaths, anyone with any sort of psychic abilities. Normally it’s directed inward towards whatever person is forced to wear it, but some of it leaks out and lingers in the atmosphere… like poison.”

“Psychic pollution.” Willow stepped around Emilia to look inside the cell. A young woman with long black tipped silver hair sat slumped in a wood chair in the center of the room; her arms and legs were tied to the chair with thick leather restraints. A stone of ebony encased within a metal band was perched on her forehead.

“Is that your daughter? Christina?”

Emilia nodded again. Her skin had turned a pasty white, and she trembled. Tears pooled within her violet eyes as she gazed upon her daughter, and she clenched her skirt within fisted hands.

“Is there a way the device can be removed?” Giles asked. He stepped away from Emilia towards Christina, his grey eyes intent upon the metal mental prison.

“Y-yes. You just have to take it off her head. She can’t do it herself. It doesn’t let her.” Emilia shuddered. “It hurts her when she tries.”

Giles approached Christina. He gently grasped the metal ring, slid it off of her head, and dropped it on the ground. Emilia and Willow rushed forward as Giles moved Christina to an upright position. Her face was pale and slick with sweat; dark rings circled her closed eyes. Her hair clung to her head in sticky clumps.

As Giles worked to release her from her leather binds, Emilia kneeled before Christina and laid a hand upon her cheek. “Christina… Chris, wake up. Please, darling, wake up… Christina…”

Christina jerked, her body straining against the restraints, her back arched high off the chair. Her eyes fluttered but failed to open all the way. Willow slipped around Giles and lifted the event horizon off the floor. Mystical energy pulsed off the ebony stone, sending jolts of dark magic careening through the room. She glanced at Christina and then back at the ebony stone. Head buzzing faintly from the powerful enchantments, Willow held the device at arms length and said, “Can this thing be destroyed?”

Emilia glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. Smash it.”

A wicked smirk tugged at Willow’s lips, and she knew her eyes were black with magic. “Good.” The event horizon lifted off her hands and spun in the air. Her gaze snapped to the far wall and the metal ring flew across the room and crashed and smashed into miniscule pieces. The force of the impact sent black shards deep within the wall. A last pulse of energy shot through the room before the buzzing inside Willow’s head faded.

Christina gasped. Her eyes flew open, revealing confused, panicked grey eyes. She drew in shaky, stilted breaths and struggled against the restraints.

Emilia smoothed her hands over Christina’s hair. “Christina, shh. You’re safe now. You’re safe now, darling. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

“M-mum?” Christina slumped back against the chair. Her breathing calmed and she blinked a few times as she focused on Emilia. “Mum? You… you’re here? For me?”

“Yes. For you.” Standing, Emilia grasped Christina’s hands and slid them from the now slack restraints. “Can you stand? We need to get out of here.”

“I- I don’t know. Everything’s a bit… off. I…” With shaky arms, Christina pushed herself to a standing position, body trembling from exhaustion both physical and mental. Her knees buckled, but Giles grabbed her before she could fall, his hands clutching her elbows and holding her steady. Christina blinked and looked at Giles. She drew in a sharp intake of breath and said, “You’re Ripper.”

Startled, Giles glanced from Emilia to Christina. “Um, yes, I am-”

“We have to go now, Rupert,” Emilia said. She knelt beside Willow and helped remove the last of the leather bindings from around Christina’s ankles. “Time’s fading quickly.”

Willow walked over to the open cell door as Giles and Emilia helped Christina cross the room. As the trio passed by, Christina glanced up at Willow through her tangled hair. “Gold and black and red,” she murmured. Her rich raspy voice resonated within Willow, causing goose flesh to appear on her bare arms.

“What, what is she saying?”

Shrugging, Emilia said, “I don’t know. She probably doesn’t know either, what with the delirium from the event horizon. She-”

“No.” Christina jerked to a stop outside the cell, her gaze directed at the ceiling. Pain flashed across her face, and she bit her trembling lip. “No… don’t.”

“Christina-”

“Charles… no. Don’t.” Eyes snapping to Emilia, Christina said, “We have to go to him. We have to help him.”

“We can’t help him. We have to leave now. There’s a-”

“I don’t care!” Christina pulled out of Giles and Emilia’s grasps and took a couple stumbling steps down the hall. “He’s there. He’s got him and we need to be there.”

Striding forward, Emilia grabbed Christina’s arm and spun her around. Violet eyes flashing, she said, “No, we do not need to be there. Charles doesn’t need to be there either, but he’s blinded by his single mindedness-”

“What are you talking about? This is what all of us, you, me, and Charles, have dreamt of for months. Revenge. Retribution against Quentin Travers for what he did. And it’s finally here. He’s finally here, at our fingertips, and you’re balking. I can’t believe you. She was your sister-”

“Yes. She was my sister. And yes I wanted vengeance. I wanted Travers dead five times over many, many times. But murder is not what Ariana would have wanted. Not against Travers. Not against anyone. And I will not disparage her memory by killing. Travers has already lost.”

“But Charles…”

Emilia sighed. “He knows what he’s doing. He chose to go after Travers. He wanted to. Nobody can change his mind for him.” She adjusted her grip on Christina’s arm and slid it over her shoulder. She led Christina back down the hallway towards the staircase and the exit, Giles and Willow following silently behind. As they passed under the arch of the stairwell, Emilia looked up and whispered, “His fate is his own to decide.”
 

* * *

Anya now understood what it meant to be frozen to the spot with terror. Her mind screamed at her to move, to fight, to do something but stand and stare at an advancing Tyler and his electric cattle prod, but her body chose not to obey, instead obstinately remaining motionless with fright. It was as though she had stepped from her body and was now watching some horror movie featured on late night cable television Xander used to watch. The setting felt unreal, too horrible to be true and completely incomprehensible. She knew she was going to die, painfully, slowly, and she wondered if she too would go to heaven like Buffy had or if her thousand years of vengeance had relegated her to one of the more tortuous levels of hell.

She started out of her stupor when Xander stepped in front of her, coming between her and Tyler. He shoved her back into the corner of the room and turned to face Tyler. Anya slumped against the wall, wide eyes horrified and glued on a smirking Tyler.

“You don’t want to play hero, Xander. Trust me. It’ll only get you hurt, and this has nothing to do with you. It’s between me and Anya.” His gaze flickered over to Anya, and she flinched from the undiluted malice residing in his eyes. Faded bruises still colored his flesh from her attack on him in the alley outside his dojo. Ugly, half-healed cuts and scrapes were scattered across his hands. Looking back at Xander, Tyler pointed over his shoulder towards the door. “If you want I can open the door for you and let you out. You go on your merry way, live your life, have lots of fat children, I don’t care. You leave, and Anya stays, and I have my fun. What do you say?”

“You’re fucking nuts.”

“Ouch. You wound me, Xander. Such harsh language. There’s nothing crazy about this or about me, Xander. This is cold, calculated revenge for a cold, calculated act of vengeance committed by Anya on me.” He paused and breathed in deeply, as if he were savoring the moment, committing each and every detail to memory. Shifting the electric prod within his hand, Tyler said, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m tired of talking. All talk and no play makes Tyler a pissed off boy.”

Tyler sprang forward and thrust his weapon towards Xander. Xander dodged, batting the staff away with his hand. Tyler spun in a circle and brought the staff back towards Xander. Xander stumbled away from the crackling end into the wall; he pushed off the wall, kicked at Tyler, and caught the side of the prod with his boot. He moved forward into Tyler and aimed a punch at his head, but Tyler sidestepped the blow and rammed his knee into Xander’s gut. Xander grunted with pain as he doubled over, his arms snaking around his body to clutch his stomach.

Tyler raised the stick into the air, high above a defenseless Xander, ready to strike, and Anya snapped out of the cage of terror and acted. “Xander! Move!”

The weapon whistled through the air as Xander dodged. As he tumbled across the floor and clamored to his feet near the door, Anya raced forward and jumped onto Tyler’s back, throwing her arms around his neck in a choke hold. Tyler twisted, attempting to throw Anya off him, but she clung to his body in desperation, a feral, primal need swelling within her to escape this horror show alive.

Xander grabbed onto the electric prod. He and Tyler struggled for control of the weapon for a few moments before Tyler lashed out with his foot and hit Xander once again in the stomach. Xander fell to one knee, breathless; tears of pain pricked his eyes, blurring his vision. Tyler raised the stick again, but Anya latched onto it before he could strike Xander.

“Let go,” Tyler growled through gritted teeth. He half-turned and ran backwards towards the wall. Anya slipped off his back before they collided with the wall, and she moved to face Tyler, her hand still gripping the electric pole. She seized the weapon with her other hand and attempted to yank it free from Tyler. Desperate determination battled with sheer hatred, and Tyler laughed as he slowly pulled Anya towards him. Her feet slid across the floor and she knew she should let go and put distance between herself and Tyler, but the prospect of leaving the weapon in his hands was inconceivable. So she moved towards him as a smile stretched across his face.

“Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting. Someone seems to have lost their super vengeance demon strength. Looks like I did all that research on how to kill your kind for nothing. You’re nothing but a weak little girl.” He laughed again at her futile efforts, wrenched her towards him, and kicked her. His foot smashed into her knee as Xander tackled Tyler from the side. The three crumpled into a writhing, tangled heap on the floor, and the staff skittered across the room, coming to a rest beside the door.

Tyler reared back with his elbow, catching Xander underneath the eye. He crawled out from beneath Xander and scrambled over Anya across the room towards the weapon. As his hand latched onto the smooth cylindrical surface, Xander gabbed his ankle and attempted to pull Tyler away from the prod. Letting himself be pulled back, Tyler twisted around, drove the electric prongs deep into Xander’s shoulder, and fired. Xander froze and started convulsing as charges of electricity coursed through his body. A couple seconds passed and then his mouth went slack as he collapsed upon the floor paralyzed.

Yanking his foot from Xander’s hand, Tyler stood and turned back towards Anya. A slow, menacing grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with her. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.”

Anya pushed to her feet and nearly fell to the ground again as her left leg buckled beneath her. She cried out in pain and shifted her weight to her right leg. Her knee was shot; the slightest amount of pressure sent shockwaves of pain through her. Body trembling with terror, Anya watched as Tyler dropped the electric prod onto the ground next to Xander’s body. He glanced up at her through hooded eyes and said, “Don’t need that anymore. I want to make sure you feel everything I’m about to do to you.”

He stepped over Xander and strode towards her. Anya limped away from Tyler, tried to put as much distance as possible between them, but he caught her by her wrist and threw her into the wall. She crashed into the unforgiving surface and tumbled to the floor. Bright lances of pain exploded behind her closed eyelids from the blow to her shoulder; tingles of numbness spread down her arm to her hand, rendering it useless.

Anya heard Tyler approach. She saw the discarded prod lying a few feet in front of her. Gathering her last bits of strength and resolve, she tried to crawl across the floor towards the weapon, but Tyler grabbed a hold of her hair, dragged her back to him, and tossed her face up onto the ground. The air in her lungs rushed out of her body upon impact, leaving Anya breathless and dizzy.

Before she could recover, Tyler pounced upon her. His legs pinned hers to the floor and his hands kept hold of her shoulders. Through the haze of disorientation clouding her, Anya saw him lean down towards her, his eyes calm and curious as he inspected her sweat slicked face. She turned her face away and dug her fingernails into his face, breaking the flesh of his cheeks into four bloody trails.

“Fuck!” Seething in pain, Tyler shoved her hand away. He gingerly touched the claw marks on his face, wincing as his fingertips came into contact with raw, bloodied flesh. Mouth flattening into a grim line, Tyler reached behind him and removed a knife from a sheath strapped to the back of his leg. He turned the blade over in his hand; the fluorescent lights glinted off the smooth steel surface. Gazing down at Anya, he said, “They got this off the vampire. The blonde one. I’ll be sure to thank him for his generosity the next time I see him.”

Tyler slammed Anya’s wrist onto the ground, forced her hand open, and shoved the knife into the palm of her hand, pinning it to the floor. She screamed a harsh, ragged, horrified cry that rang through the room. The world wavered in front of Anya. The black void of unconsciousness crept into her vision and the deep, soothing pull of sleep called to her. Pain. There was only pain, everywhere, and Anya wanted it to stop, needed it to stop.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Tyler murmured. He back handed Anya and latched onto her chain, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were hard and angry and menacing as he glared at her. “I want you awake for this, sweetheart. I-”

His hand was ripped from her face as he was lifted from her body and tossed across the room. Anya dimly heard the dull thud as his body collided with the wall. She forced her eyes open and relief washed over her as she watched Faith move by her towards Tyler. Faith kneed him in the face; his nose burst into a mangled, red mesh of flesh. Reaching down with her hands, Faith grabbed onto his shirt and slammed him once again into the wall.

“Break me off a switch, son, because there’s about to be a whoopin’.”
 

* * *

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