Chapter Sixteen: The Men in Black

By: Wynn

Buffy leapt into the air and flipped over the heads of the eight men surrounding her, landing outside of their closing circle. She turned and aimed a kick at the closest attacker, her boot colliding with his temple, causing him to fall to one knee. Buffy dodged a punch from another man, and she darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the gleaming tip of a third man’s sword. She moved backwards a few steps, her eyes flickering between the remaining seven men. Her gaze locked on the one furthest from her, the one who had given the signal to attack. A faint smile curved his lips as his grey eyes met hers.

The door to the Bronze crashed open, ripped from its hinges, and flew across the alley into the smirking leader, knocking him into the hard stone wall. His forehead collided with a jagged edge of stone, and blood streamed down his face. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed unconscious onto the ground, the broken door falling on top of him. Spike rushed out of the club, followed closely by Faith, Anya, Dawn, and Clem. Buffy moved next to them as they maneuvered into flanking positions behind her.

The six men scattered, forming a line opposite the Scooby Gang. Two held swords, one clasped a knife, and one grasped a stake. The seventh man staggered to his feet, hand pressed against his temple, and rejoined his fellow assassins.

Buffy glanced at her sister. Voice low, she said, “Dawn. Go. Now. You know where to go. Find Giles.”

“No,” Dawn said as she stepped closer to Buffy. “I’m not leaving you.”

Eyes trained on the seven men before them, Spike said, “Dawn, do what your sister tells you and go. Clem, get her out of here!”

Nodding, Clem grabbed Dawn’s hand and pulled her down the alley. The man at the end of the line jumped in front of them, cutting off their escape route, his sword glinting in the moonlight. Clem pushed Dawn behind him and faced the black clad attacker. The man thrust his sword at Clem, barely missing as the floppy skinned demon sidestepped the cold steel; he held his sword in the air and attacked again, twisting as Clem dodged and shoving the long blade deep into Clem’s chest.

“NO!” Eyes widening with shock and fear, Dawn watched the assassin remove his sword from Clem, its blade stained dark red with blood. Clem glanced down at his chest, then at Dawn, his face contorted in pain and horror. His knees buckled and he fell onto the hard concrete. The man looked at Clem briefly before stepping over his prone body and moving towards Dawn.
 

* * *

“Dawn!” Buffy rushed towards Dawn and Clem, but she was flung away from them as the remaining six men charged. She rolled as she crashed against the ground, jumping into a fighting stance as two of the men broke from the group and walked towards her.
 

* * *

Faith looked from one end of the alley to the other. Anya stood opposite one assassin with a sword, and Spike faced the man with the stake. Two men surrounded Buffy; one stalked Dawn. Faith bounced on the balls of her feet, fists clenching and unclenching, breath coming in rapid, shallow pants as fighting broke out all around her. Her lips curved into a wicked smirk as she stared at the two men circling her, the one on her right holding a curved knife in his hand. She reached down, lifted the hem of her black pants, and grasped the catch of the ankle holster attached to her boot. She slid her knife from its leather casing, twisting it in her hands, watching the light of the night reflect off its smooth surface.

Faith kicked at the man on her left as her arm swung out, her blade driving the assassin with the knife away from her. She spun in a circle, her free arm lashing out in a brutal punch. The first man blocked the blow and sent a kick towards her wrist, attempting to knock the dagger from her hand. Faith darted back a few steps, turning just as the man behind her slashed with his knife. She stabbed, the curved tip of her dagger digging into his forearm, sending a surge of blood down his arm. Moving the blade from his injured right hand to his left, the man threw the knife at Faith. She dove to the side, wincing as the sharp steel sliced into her upper arm. She heard a hoarse cry from behind her as she tumbled to the ground. Springing to her feet, Faith turned and saw the first man lying on the concrete, the knife embedded in his chest.

She stared at the fallen man, mouth open, dark eyes fixed on the rapidly expanding pool of blood beneath him. Images flashed into her mind. Visions of wielding her own knife, of cutting, slicing, and stabbing her victims, of the thrill of violence rushing through her veins. Screams, pain filled howls of anguish, rang in her ears.

Her knife slipped from her hand, unnoticed and unwanted.

Her reflection was broken as she was hit from behind, knocked to the ground from a blow to the back of her head. Faith turned over and found the second man standing above her, his wounded right arm clasped tightly against his chest. She scrambled backwards, attempting to stand as he lashed out with his foot, brutally kicking her ribs. She doubled over, gasping for air, as he aimed another kick at her head. Faith grabbed his foot and yanked, pulling him down to the concrete. She arched her body and wrapped her legs around his neck. She squeezed, the muscles in her legs becoming as hard as steel. He clawed at her legs with his good hand. A few minutes passed before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped against the ground. Faith stared at his prone form for a second, torn between the bloodlust crying within in her to finish him and the horror associated with her deadly sins of the past. She drew in a deep breath and slowly removed her legs from around his neck, watching with tear filled eyes as his chest began to rise and fall in measured breaths.
 

* * *

Anya faced the man across from her. He lifted his sword and took a step towards her, forcing her back to the brick wall. Golden brown eyes focused on the shining steel, she bumped against a set of metal garbage cans alongside the alley wall. Her gaze darted to the left and right, looking for any escape route and finding none. The man paused and smiled before he stabbed with his sword, the tip of his blade finding nothing but air as Anya teleported. She reappeared behind him and sent a hard kick to the back of his head. His sword lodged deep within one of the trash containers as he stumbled forward, crashing into the metal cans.

Anya pounced, grabbing the man and lifting him into the air. She twisted and threw him across the alley, smiling slightly as he collided with a dumpster. She grabbed one of the trash cans and flung it towards the man; the metal container smashed into his face, breaking his nose. His fingers gingerly touched his crushed cartilage, mouth tightening as his fingertips came away coated with red. The man fumbled with a dark casing attached to his hip and removed a slim dagger as Anya grasped the handle of the sword and yanked it free.

Weapons in hand, they circled each other in the moonlit alley. He moved towards Anya, dagger high in the air, and she swung with her sword. He danced out of range of the gleaming steel and darted towards her again. She thrust the sword, crying out as his boot smashed into her wrist, knocking her arm to the side. The man spun into her and plunged the dagger into Anya’s chest, piercing her heart. Mouth open in shock, she dropped the sword from her hand and stared at gash on her chest. A cruel smile twisted the man’s lips as he watched the blood pour from her wound.

Her hand shot out, wrapping around his throat, and she lifted him a few inches off the ground. Eyes bulging, the man watched Anya wrench the dagger from her chest, face pinched in pain, tears streaming down her face. She held the knife between them as she said, “Swords and knives… they don’t kill vengeance demons.” She turned the dagger in her hand, looking at the stained steel, and then locked eyes with the captive assassin. Anya released her hold on his throat, her hand lashing out as he dropped to the concrete. She watched him grasp for his neck, trying to staunch the blood flow from the wound across his throat. “But they kill humans fine,” she said as she moved away from the dying man. She slid down the brick wall, hand pressed against her heart, and released the crimson colored dagger from her grasp.
 

* * *

Spike watched the man move before him, the stake passing back and forth between his hands. He could see Dawn in his peripheral vision, could see the man with the knife pursuing her; fury flooded his system as her scent, overwhelmed with fear, reached him. He refocused on the assassin, and they circled each other, their movements slow and smooth with the natural grace inherent in predators. Simultaneously, they rushed each other, a flurry of punches, kicks, jabs, elbows. Spike grabbed the stake-holding arm of the man and wrenched it upwards, above their heads, and twisted it violently, attempting to loosen the hold on the wooden weapon. The man kneed Spike in the gut once, twice, two brutal blows that caused Spike to lose his grip on the assassin’s wrist. Passing the weapon from one hand to the other, the man brought the stake towards Spike’s heart, his speed shocking the blonde vampire. Jumping to the side, Spike grimaced as the stake plunged into his shoulder. He tumbled across the concrete, leaping to his feet and facing the assassin again. Grasping the stake protruding from his shoulder, Spike pulled, stifling his roar of pain with a clenched jaw. Left arm dangling uselessly, he glanced at the glistening column of wood held in his hands, watching as a dark drop of blood fell from the splintered tip, before he threw the stake into the air and onto the roof of the Bronze.

Dodging a punch, Spike lashed out, his boot clad foot connecting with the man’s jaw. He followed the kick with an uppercut to the gut, then an elbow to the face. He kicked at the man again, but the blow was blocked and countered. Spike’s head snapped back from the force of the jab, blood trickling out of his mouth and down his jaw. The man kicked, his leg arching towards Spike’s head, but the vampire with a soul caught the leg and lifted the assassin into the air. With a primal growl of rage, Spike threw him into the cold alley wall, flinching at the sickening crunch of impact between flesh and stone. He swallowed as he watched the man slump against the wall, his faint heartbeat echoing in the vampire’s ears. Spike staggered backwards, his hand pressed firmly against the gaping wound in his left shoulder.

His mind was numb with the realization that the chip had never fired.
 

* * *

Hazel eyes narrowed, fists clenched, and mouth set in a grim line, Buffy looked at the two men approaching her. The one on the right rubbed the side of his head, fingertips gingerly caressing the developing bruise on his temple. His eyes darted between Buffy and the assassin beside him, and his tongue darted out and licked across his lips. He faltered in his approach, body trembling slightly, and focused his gaze on Buffy. He stared at her for a moment before turning and fleeing the alley.

“Your friend has the right idea,” Buffy said. “Coming after me and my friends was a mistake.”

The man smirked. “He’ll soon regret his foolish decision.”

“And why is that? I doubt he’ll regret skipping out on the ass kicking he would’ve gotten.”

“Our employers don’t accept failure. Of any kind.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t feel like dying tonight.” Buffy ran towards the man, jumped into the air, and sent a flying kick to his chest. As soon as she landed, she kicked him again, her foot smashing into his nose, then aimed another kick at his stomach. He blocked, grasped her ankle, and pulled her off her feet, tossing her into a pile of cardboard boxes next to the Bronze.

Buffy crawled out from beneath the cardboard, breathless from the impact. She craned her neck and watched the man stalk over to her. As he approached, her leg swooped out, swinging in a low circle and knocking him to the concrete. She jumped on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to the ground with her legs, and rained punches down on his face and chest. He bucked, struggling to flip Buffy off him, but she held firm, the muscles of her legs squeezing his chest and crushing his ribs. The man twisted beneath her, eventually freeing one hand. He clutched her throat, fingers digging into the already bruised, tender flesh, as shoved the blonde Slayer off of him. Gasping for air and blinking away the tears pooling in her eyes, Buffy stood and turned towards the assassin, slipping into a fighting stance as he picked himself up off the ground.

His faced was a bruised and bloodied mass; one eye was swollen shut and blood poured from a cut above his brow. He charged, his fist lashing out and swinging above Buffy’s head as she ducked. She used his momentum to fling him over her shoulder and send him flying through the air. He landed, the back of his head colliding with the unforgiving concrete, and lay motionless, a tangled heap of arms and legs unconscious on the ground.
 

* * *

Heart pounding in her chest, Dawn slowly backed away from the man, glancing from the stained crimson sword, to the fallen form of Clem, then to the cold, hard eyes of the man advancing on her. She turned and sprinted down the alley, panic screaming through her as she heard him chase after her. His hand grabbed her wrist, his grasp tightening, sending bolts of pain shooting up her arm. She felt the bones of her wrist crack under the pressure and she cried out. He spun her around, forcing her to face him, and brought the sword before her. Her wide blue eyes, brimming with tears, watched the blade dance back and forth in front of her face, a swaying column of burgundy signaling the immanent arrival of her death.

“Say goodnight, girly.”

Dawn looked into his eyes, frozen with fear, and gasped as his head twisted viciously to the side, the vertebrae of his neck snapping. The sword fell to the ground as he crumpled onto the concrete. Shaking, Dawn focused on her savior, eyes widening at the sight of Clem. He wobbled, managed to flash Dawn a small smile before staggering a few steps and collapsing again.

“Clem!” She rushed over to him, pressing her hands against the blood flowing from the wound on his chest. She stared into his eyes, watching in horror as his form went slack beneath her blood soaked fingers. “Oh, god! Clem! Answer me! Clem!”

A movement out of the corner of her eyes caused Dawn to look up. A woman with long silver hair kneeled next to Clem and pressed her hand against his forehead. Her large violet eyes flashed, shining brilliantly, briefly illuminating the shadowed alley, and her faced hardened. She looked at Dawn and said, “He’s fading. Help me get him inside the Bronze.”

Nodding mutely, Dawn helped the woman pull Clem to his feet. She slipped under one of his arms, supporting his weight as the violet eyed woman moved to the other side of him. The two drug Clem across the alley, stumbling as they neared the entrance to the Bronze. A man with slicked back red hair slipped out of the club and hefted Clem onto his shoulders.

“Take him to the back,” the woman said. “Grab the supplies… and some Taymon root a-and a bottle of Fesut oil. I’ll be there in a moment.” She turned towards Dawn as the red haired man disappeared within the Bronze. “Are you alright?”

“Dawn!”

Racing towards Buffy, Dawn flung her arms around her sister, sobbing, half hysterical. “Clem! He-he saved me… but he’s h-hurt. Bad.”

“Are you Ok? Are you hurt?”

Dawn pulled away from Buffy and held her wrist in the air. “I-I think it’s broken. But o-other than that I’m Ok.”

Smoothing a hand over Dawn’s hair, Buffy said, “I need to check on the others. Stay here. Don’t move. I-”

The violet eyed woman stepped next to the Summers sisters. She looked at Buffy and said, “I can take her inside the Bronze, if you wish. My partner took your friend Clem to the back. He’s gathering some supplies that may help save him.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Emilia. I own the Bronze.”

Staring at the silver haired woman before her, Buffy hesitated. She held onto Dawn’s healthy hand, reluctant to release her baby sister into the care of a stranger.

“It’s Ok, Buffy. She’s a friend.”

Turning, she saw Spike standing behind her, right hand pressed against his left shoulder. Her hazel eyes locked with his blue. She lost herself in the sapphire depths, body and soul trembling with relief at the sight of him. She tore her gaze away from his face and focused on the wound, concern furrowing the delicate space between her brows.

“It’s not bad. Had worse before. Though that isn’t necessarily a good thing, now is it?”

Buffy looked into his eyes, still trembling. She shook her head softly, blinking tears from her eyes, and turned back to Dawn and Emilia. “Stay with Emilia until I come for you, Ok?”

Dawn nodded. She gently removed her hand from Buffy’s as she glanced at Spike and said, “You Ok?”

“Yeah. Just a scratch, Bit.”

Blue eyes traveling from Spike to Buffy then back again, Dawn drew in a deep breath, the panic and fear that had captured her mind subsiding at the knowledge that her family had survived. She turned and followed Emilia into the crowded club.

“Two attacks in two nights,” Buffy said to Spike, body tightening with anger as she surveyed the alley behind the Bronze. “Think they’re connected?”

“Don’t believe in coincidences much. Demons last night could have been looking for fun, but these blokes here sought us out. Someone wants us dead.”

Within a month, the Hellmouth will be ours. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Someone wants more than that.” Her gaze darted to the two approaching figures of Anya and Faith. Buffy’s eyes dropped to the wound on Anya’s chest; the blood flow from the gash had ceased, leaving a nasty red slash along her chest. Buffy raised an eyebrow.

“It looks worse than it is,” Anya said. “I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

“Good. I need you to get to Giles and tell him what happened. Gather any books that could help us discover what those brown, thorn-y covered demons from last night were, then meet back up at my house.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

Hazel eyes flickering to Spike for a moment, Buffy said to Anya, “Yeah. Hang on a sec.” She turned towards Faith, frowning slightly. “I’m tired of not being in the know. The leader of the Welcome Wagon’s under the door. Can you get him back to my house and into the basement? There are some chains you can use to tie him up.”

“Yeah. What about you?” Faith asked.

“Dawn needs to get to the hospital and have her wrist checked out.” She glanced at the wound slicing across Faith’s arm. “First aid kit is in the bathroom on the first floor.”

Nodding, Faith walked away, kicking the broken door off of the still unconscious leader. She bent down and lifted the man, swinging him over her shoulder and heading towards the exit of the alley.

Buffy looked at Spike again and sighed. “Clem is in the back of the Bronze. I don’t know how bad he’s hurt, and I don’t think I’ll be able to get Dawn to the hospital unless she knows someone is with him. Can you stay and help Emilia help him?”

“Yeah.”

“As soon as you can, get back to the house. Preferably with Clem. I’ll need you when I question this assassin guy.”

“Right.” Head tilted, he stared into Buffy’s eyes, his own blue an emotional storm. He raised his arm, fingertips lightly caressing the curve of her cheek and the calloused pad of his thumb brushing across her plush bottom lip. He held the faint embrace for a moment before lowering his hand and silently entering the club.

“What else did you want, Buffy?”

“I want you to tell Giles to stay away from Spike.”

Anya arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“He’ll understand. I doubt he’ll confront Spike now, but just in case… Tonight is not the time for testosterone posturing.”

“Did something happen?” Her question met with silence, Anya rolled her eyes and said, “Ok. Didn’t want to know anyway.”

Anya teleported, vanishing without a sound, leaving Buffy alone in the alley. The six men in black remained on the concrete, some dead, some unconscious, all conspicuous in the dimly lit alley behind the thriving club. She felt a presence beside her; out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Emilia walk up to her.

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of it.”

“How?”

“I doubt you really want to know.” Her violet eyes, glowing in the moonlight drifting into the shadowed alley, focused on Buffy. Silence permeated the night as the two women gazed at each other, understanding passing between them. A small smile appeared on Emilia’s face. “You should go to Dawn now. She’ll need to have her wrist x-rayed.”

“Yeah.” Buffy sighed again, then walked out of the alley battlefield into the Bronze, leaving Emilia with the mysterious men sent to kill her and her friends.

Answers were going to be found tonight, about the men, about their employers, and about the demons, one way or another.
 

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Preconceptions and Pretense

By: Wynn

Pale streams of sunlight shone on Sunnydale and crisp winds blew wispy white clouds across the cerulean sky, signaling the dawn of the new day. The Summers house was quiet as Buffy moved up the stairs to the second floor, a steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands. She glanced into the living room, hazel eyes focusing on the sleeping form of Giles. He lay on the couch, an open book resting on his chest, revealing his failure to follow his own command. He had taken control last night as everyone straggled in, beaten, battered, and bloodied, and slipped into Watcher mode, ordering everyone to get some rest before investigating the two ambushes. No questions had been asked about the night battle behind the Bronze, not even about the half-conscious man in black shackled to the concrete pole in the basement. Only a deep sigh had been uttered by Giles before he told everyone to go to bed.

Buffy reached the second floor and silently moved down the hall towards her bedroom. She nudged the door open with her elbow and entered the dark room, softly closing the door behind her. Placing the mug on the nightstand, she looked at the still, bandaged swathed form in her bed, concern pinching the delicate lines around her eyes and lips. Bending forward, Buffy examined the multitude of bandages, making sure they had not shifted during the night.

“I really am Ok.”

Jumping slightly, Buffy smiled sheepishly at Clem before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just wanted to make sure. Slayer’s prerogative.” Her eyes flickered to the mug on the nightstand. “I brought you some tea. It has some of those herb things Emilia gave you for pain.”

Grasping the mug, Clem inhaled the rich, earthy aroma, a wide smile appearing on his face. “I would’ve gotten stabbed in the chest long before now if I knew I’d be served tea in bed by a beautiful woman.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking up at Clem’s infectious joy about hot tea. “Hmm… this is a one time deal, Ok. No more demon pin cushion for you.” Face sobering, Buffy said, “I wanted to thank you… again. For saving Dawn. If there’s anything I can do-”

“You’ve already done enough. Like I said before, I’m fine. One advantage to having all of this skin is I heal fast. Regenerative powers of the Dermola demon and what not.” Clem peered at the bandages covering his chest. He frowned slightly and said, “I used to be faster than this though. In the old days, I would’ve been able to dodge and block and knock the guy flat without breaking a sweat. Too much time spent watching TV, I guess.” He shrugged and looked at Buffy again, dark eyes twinkling. “Not that I’m complaining though. Life before TV was pretty dull. All ancient power rituals and ridiculous plots to take over the world. Two hundred years of that is enough to make anyone, demon or not, wish for a little mindless fluff.” Clem set the mug back on the nightstand and said, “How’s Dawn?”

“She’s Ok. Her wrist was fractured again, and the doctor put her in a sling, which she is not happy about. She says it itches. But she should be right as rain in a few weeks.”

“What about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Kind of sore and a little cranky. But that’s from Dawn. She’s a kicker and a cover hog.”

Buffy’s gaze drifted over the bed to floor, onto the figure resting beneath a pile of blankets. The curled ends of Spike’s ash blonde hair peeked out from the layers of cotton quilts. She stared at the soft strands, mind mulling over the fact that he was now a vampire with a soul. Shock didn’t begin to adequately express her feelings. Nothing could. They were a whirlwind within her, a torrent of feeling threatening to overrun her mind and spill out into the world.

“He told you,” Clem said quietly as he watched emotions flit across Buffy’s face. “Didn’t he?”

“Yeah. I- I just… Dawn said he fought for his soul because he loves me. So he could be something more than just an evil, soulless thing.”

“I think she’s right.”

Silent, eyes still trained on Spike, Buffy said, “I… I knew… he loved me. I just… never imagined that it was… deep enough, strong enough for him to change everything. To give up everything he knew… everything he was. To go against the demon. For me. I… I don’t think anyone has ever done anything like that for me before.”

A hushed contemplation fell over Buffy as her admission sunk into her, burrowing through her preconceived notions of love, of good, and of evil. Buffy blinked, a faint blush staining her cheeks, and looked at Clem. Her hazel eyes were filled with tears. “Sorry about that. You’re all wounded and here I am going on and on about me. I should go now.” Standing, she walked to the door and glanced back at Clem as her hand closed on the knob. “You should get some more sleep. Do you need anything? Cookies o-or another pillow or anything?”

“No. I’m good. Thank you.”

Buffy nodded once. Her eyes darted back to the blanket covered form of Spike. He writhed beneath the quilts, a low pain-filled moan echoing through the bedroom. Brows drawn together in concern, Buffy stepped away from the door, halting after a few steps when Clem spoke.

“He’s dreaming. He’s not in pain. His shoulder started healing last night and he made sure he got all of the wood splinters out before turning in for the night.” Clem glanced at Spike and said, “He’s been having a lot of nightmares.”

“I-”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be Ok. He’s strong. Stronger than he thinks he is.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“You already have. You forgave him and let him back into your life.”

“He was never out of it. He just left town for a while.” Buffy watched Spike for another moment before flashing a small smile at Clem and returning to the door. She twisted the knob beneath her hand and quietly left the bedroom.
 

* * *

As one door closes, another opens. That’s what everyone says when failure hits hard and knocks you on your ass or life throws a curve ball that smacks you dead in the forehead. The grass is always greener on the other side, every cloud has a silver lining, and all of the other optimistic bull that’s written on the inside of a Hallmark card. But sometimes the happy hope of something else, of something better than what you have, doesn’t exist. Sometimes all you have is pain.

From the doorway to the master bedroom, Faith watched Buffy disappear within her room, a cup of healing foul-smelling brew clutched in her hands. Faith’s dark eyes hardened as she moved to the stairs, leaving the bedroom door open, oblivious to the fact that Anya was still inside the room asleep on the bed.

She knew there was no magical cup of crap that would cure all of her ills.

She spared a glance at a sleeping Giles before turning the corner and drifting into the kitchen. Edging around the pool of sunlight shining through the small window above the sink, Faith approached the back door, her fingers grasping the cool metal and turning the knob, bracing herself for the exuberance of the early morning. She grimaced at the harsh light of day, moved outside, and pulled the door to, sitting on the steps leading from the back porch to the yard.

Her eyes traveled over the suburban environment of Revello Drive, at the crayon green grass and impossibly blue sky, and wondered how the morning could hide the desperation and destruction associated with the night. How this frail, shallow façade of light could conceal the rough, all-consuming blackness of dark. The darkness was too brash and seductive, too easy to succumb to when one had no light in life.

Faith thought she had clawed her way out of the soul chilling hold of the dark. She had owned up to her crimes and went to prison willingly, wanting desperately something other than the nothing that filled her to the core. And then she was released, set loose upon the world, slightly bewildered at her newfound freedom but determined to take advantage of her second chance. She followed the rules, returned to Sunnydale, and resumed her Slaying duties. Hell, she even made a friend. But it was all pretense. She had fooled herself into believing she was free when all along the clever tendrils of blackness slithered within her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The perfect opportunity to be unleashed upon the world.

She hadn’t changed. And she never would. She would always be a killer.

“Faith.”

Springing to her feet, Faith spun and faced the open kitchen door, heart racing in her chest. She stared wide eyed at Giles and said, “What do you want?”

Smiling slightly, Giles closed the door behind him and walked to the edge of the porch. He yawned, eyes squinting from the sunlight, and sat on the recently vacated step. “I thought a bit of fresh air would be good. I find, at times, the house to be very stifling.”

Faith glanced at Giles, dark eyes darting from the seated Watcher to the closed kitchen door. “I, uh, I’ll leave. Now.”

“Don’t leave on my account. There’s room enough for two.”

Smirking, Faith crossed her arms and said, “What’s your angle, Watcher? Here to ask me about last night? Impart some sage advice on the finer art of killing? ‘Cause I think I have that down fine.”

Giles stared up at Faith, his hair and clothes rumpled with sleep, his grey eyes clear and alert. “No angle, Faith. I thought you would like some company.”

Faith gnawed on her bottom lip, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other. She stiffly uncrossed her arms and sat opposite Giles, as far away from him as the narrow porch step would allow. Her muscles were tense, her spine ramrod straight.

“Did you sleep last-”

“Slept fine.”

Giles nodded, watching Faith from the corners of his eyes. They sat in silence, serenaded by the lilting songs of birds, and watched the morning unfold before them. Faith moved beside him, bare feet scraping against the splintered wood steps.

“You ever kill anyone?”

His brow creasing, Giles shifted and looked at Faith. She avoided his gaze, fixing her eyes on the ground. “Yes.”

Faith tilted her head and glanced at Giles from beneath a curtain of dark, tangled hair. If he was surprised at her blunt question, he didn’t show it. “Did you mean to?”

“The first time, no. The second…yes.”

Nodding slightly, Faith looked from the ground into the sky, face impassive, carefully covering herself in a tough shell of disinterestedness. “I didn’t. Not the first time anyway. He… It all happened so fast. Didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “Why did you kill ‘em? The second one, I mean.”

“To save lives. The man was a threat, albeit an indirect one, to Buffy and the others. The consequences of leaving him alive were too grave, so I did what had to be done.”

“You feel bad about it?”

Giles shrugged, his gaze perusing the early morning sky. “I did what was necessary, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. However, I am not sorry that the man is dead. He attempted to trade the life of a fourteen year old girl to ensure his own survival and bring about the end of the world.” He turned and looked at Faith, locking his light eyes on her dark. He said quietly, “Did you kill last nig-”

“No! I…” Fidgeting, Faith ran her hands through her black hair, roughly pulling through the tangles. She winced as she yanked a few strands loose. Her voice was low, a soft murmur, as she said, “I… I wanted to. I had him right there. Vulnerable. Beaten. Him and his gang attacked us and he cut me with his knife and I just wanted… I could feel it inside me.”

“What?”

“Power. I could end him, keep squeezing until he died, if I wanted… I had control…”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

“Fuck!” Faith pushed off the porch and stalked across the backyard, crossing her arms over her thin black tank top. “I don’t know why! I just… fucking didn’t alright! Back off, Watcher. Why don’t you go find Buffy and analyze her? Give her your precious advice ‘cause I don’t need it! I don’t need anything or anyone.” Faith slowed to a stop, her shoulders hunched, her face concealed beneath her hair. Her ragged nails bit into the bare skin of her arms. “I’m fine. Five by five.”

Giles stood and crossed the dew-covered backyard. Slowly approaching Faith, he said, “I am your Watcher too. I know that I-I made mistakes in the past. I wasn’t there for you when you needed someone… when you needed me. But I am here now and I will not abandon you. Not again.” He stopped in front of her and gently laid a hand upon her shoulder. She was shaking beneath his palm.

“You weren’t my Watcher then. Wesley was.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was still responsible for you.”

“Why would you care about me? After all I’ve done…”

“Because you returned to Sunnydale and faced everyone when you could have run. Because you’ve dedicated yourself to patrols and to training. Because you made a choice last night. Because you deserve to have someone care about you.”

Faith lifted her head, her dark eyes wide, stripped of all bravado, allowing the frightened young girl to shine through, pleading for help. Begging for acceptance. Desperate. “I… I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t want to be alone in the dark anymore.”

Standing with Faith beneath the brilliant sun, Giles placed his hand on her head, softly smoothing the raven strands and said, “You’re not.”
 

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Answers

By: Wynn

“Generally, I take assassination attempts on my life pretty well. It comes with the territory. All sorts of wannabe Big Bads try to prove their mettle by taking out the Slayer. Some try real hard, too. They get creative; try more than the standard one-on-one duel to the death. There was the time that I got locked in a sewer with a faulty weapon and a bunch of demons. The woman who did that got skewered by her own demonic Frankenstein. Not pretty.

“Then three nerds sent this bank robbing demon in an ugly ass shirt after me because I ruined their adolescent fantasy of becoming the next James Bond. I beat the demon to death with a copper water pipe, and one-third of the nerds was skinned alive and flambéed by my best friend… of course this was after he shot and nearly killed me, so she was a tad pissed. I mean end of the world rage.

“Oh… and then there was one vampire who sent the Order of Taraka after me. You do know who the Order of Taraka was, don’t you? Supposedly wicked assassins dating back to… well, who really gives a shit? They were old, they were tough, and they were taken out in less than a day. And you don’t even want to know what happened to the vampire who was crazy enough to send them after me. His fate… Quite shocking really.”

Buffy stopped in front of the chained assassin. She leaned into him, her hazel eyes sparking with barely restrained rage. She latched onto his jaw, fingers tightening, knuckles turning white, and forced him to look into her eyes as she continued, “You know what the difference is between all of them and you? They didn’t attack my little sister. The only tramp who tried that was a psychotic hell god from another dimension, and she doesn’t exist anymore. You made a mistake when you came after me, my friends, and my family.”

Buffy paused, her gaze dropping down to where her hand gripped the blood caked, scar laden jaw of the man in black. She squeezed, her nails digging into his flesh. One corner of her mouth quirked up when she saw a faint flash of pain appear in his eyes. “The way I feel now I would keep squeezing until your jaw crumbled beneath my fingers. But, lucky for you, it’s the only thing keeping you alive. You will tell me who sent you and your Mafia rejects after me. And if you value keeping all of your parts you will tell me soon.”

She shoved him away from her, causing the back of his head to smack against the concrete pillar he was chained to. Turning, Buffy walked away from the captured assassin, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder, and she ascended the stairs leading from the basement to the first floor. Her eyes flickered down to Giles, who was leaning against the concrete steps, then to Spike, who stood directly in front of the man in black, before exiting the basement.

As the door slammed behind her, Giles pushed off of the stone steps and moved towards the chained man. He slowly circled the assassin, his hands polishing his glasses with a soft cloth. Giles held the glasses up in the air and examined them in the moonlight filtering in through the grimy windows high on the basement walls. “You must forgive her. Matters concerning her sister tend to bring out a very… protective aspect of her personality.”

A wisp of a smile appeared on Giles’ face as he replaced his glasses. “Although I’m sure you know all about Buffy, as well as the rest of us. You don’t seem the sort to enter into a confrontation without knowing everything there is to know about your adversary. In that respect, we are similar.

“However, as of now, we know very little about you. Regardless of whether you decide to talk, we will uncover all of the pertinent information. You can aid us or you can stay silent. I advise choosing the latter. That option is the less painful of the two.”

Giles stared at the man, who fixed his blank gaze on the far wall opposite him, ignoring the presence of the Watcher. With a cool glance at Spike, Giles walked towards the stairs and silently climbed to the ground floor.

The man’s dark eyes flickered to the retreating form of Giles before locking onto Spike. He raised one eyebrow and said, “You going to give me some intimidating speech, too?”

Half hidden in shadow, body casually perched against the concrete wall, arms loosely folded across his chest, a wry smirk twisted Spike’s lips. “No. You may not think much of their interrogation tactics, but those are two of the most dangerous people on the planet.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to do intimidation.”

“It’s not intimidation. It’s a fact. Simple as that.” Spike paused and tilted his head, cerulean eyes piercing the shadowed cellar to examine the man in black. “Watcher was right. Someone gave you information about us. Apparently, it wasn’t very good information. Last night, we were unprepared and unarmed. Still took you out though. Now if I were you, I’d be wondering whether the information was purposefully lacking or just piss poor. ‘Cause I don’t think you’re a bloke that takes too kindly to being set up.”
 

* * *

Letting the basement door slam behind her, Buffy moved down the hall and entered the dining room. Clem, Anya, and Faith poured over a multitude of open books that covered the surface of the old oak dining room table; Dawn sat hunched over Willow’s laptop, eyes concentrated on the text displayed on the screen. Buffy walked next to Dawn and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Found anything yet?”

Dawn nodded. She pointed to a large black leather book next to the white computer. “Is that it? The thing that attacked you guys?”

Buffy leaned over the book and inspected the small drawing of the brown thorn covered demon, a perfect replica of the four demons that had attacked her, Spike, and Faith two nights ago. Her eyes darted down to the caption beneath the picture. “Yeah. What is it? A Larouse demon?”

“Yes,” Anya said. She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes and looked at Buffy. “Generally, they’re pretty stupid. They rank low on the totem pole of power within the demon world. Usually used for grunt work by others. Their only value is the poison in their thorns. It’s deadly when injected into the bloodstream, but they possess limited quantities that need to be harvested over long periods of time.” She handed a small dusty tome to Buffy and continued, “Larouse demons are like most other animals. They gather into large packs, organized around a dominant alpha male. All Id, no Ego there. Desire driven, not ruled by intellect.”

Lips pursed, Buffy glanced at the tiny print explaining the life and times of Larouse demons. “Any word on whether there’s a new gang of these in town?”

Clem shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything about any new arrivals. But then again I’m pretty far removed from the demonic arrivals and departures in Sunnydale.”

Placing the thin brown book on the table, Buffy ran a hand through her gold locks. She gnawed on the corner of her mouth and glanced at Anya again. “Up for a trip to Willy’s? He always knows what’s going down, what sort of new scheme is being concocted by the resident nasties. He’ll probably know where the closest group of these thorny things are.”

“Sure. Want me to question him about the assassins from last night, too?”

Buffy shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. Just try not to do too much damage to his place. A few broken bottles and some barstools should be sufficient in getting the info. I don’t want whoever’s trying to kill us know we’re trying to find them.”

Anya pouted. “I can’t even rough him up? Lay the heat on him a bit? Play the bad cop?”

Buffy stayed silent, slowly arching one eyebrow at the vengeance demon’s enthusiasm for the prospect of beating up Willy.

Sighing, Anya pushed away from the dining room table and stood from her chair. She tiled her head from side to side, working out the kinks that had accumulated from hours of research, and said, “Fine. No roughing. Maybe just an inadvertent push against a wall or something.” She flashed everyone a bright smile and disappeared from the dining room.

The sound of the basement door closing reached the room; Giles strolled in from the hall, a puzzled expression upon his face. “Give who an inadvertent push into a wall?”

Buffy pulled a chair from beneath the table and slouched into it. “Willy. Anya went to question him about the demons that attacked us two nights ago.” She lifted the large black book and passed it to Giles.

“Ah… Larouse demons. Don’t they melt into a puddle of liquid upon their death?”

Faith nodded. “Yeah, nasty sticky shit, too. It’s still stuck to the bottom of my boots.”

A light knock on the front door sounded through the house. Buffy stood and glanced at Giles before looking at the door, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She walked towards the windows surrounding the door, peeking through the curtains at the late night visitor, relaxing slightly as her gaze focused on the two forms illuminated by the porch light. Moving to the door, she pulled it opened and said, “Hey. What brings you here?”

Emilia smiled at Buffy and held up a small paper bag. Standing behind the silver haired woman was the red headed man who had aided her in healing Clem. “I thought I would check on everyone and bring some more medicinal herbs for Clem. I can leave these with you if it’s a bad time.”

Buffy shook her head and moved aside, pulling the door open wide. “No, it’s not a bad time. We’re researching a bunch of demons that attacked us the night before last.”

Emilia moved inside the house and pointed to the man behind her. “This is Charles. He owns the Bronze along with me.” Glancing over her shoulder at Charles, she said, “This is Buffy. The young girl last night was her sister, Dawn.”

Charles gave a short nod to Buffy as she closed the front door. Maneuvering around the pair, she led them into the dining room. She turned back towards Emilia and opened her mouth, preparing to introduce the violet eyed woman and her male companion to the rest of the gang, but she stopped short at the other woman’s expression. Frozen in the threshold between the entryway and the dining room, Emilia’s large eyes were wide with shock and fixed upon Giles.

Blinking once, Emilia smiled shyly and stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving Giles’ face. “Hello, Rupert. Or is it still Ripper?”

Slightly flustered, a warm smile spread across Giles’ face as he said, “No. I left Ripper behind a long time ago. I-it’s Rupert. Or Giles now.” He glanced from Emilia to Charles and nodded once. “Hello, Charles.”

“Ripper.”

Turning back to Emilia, Giles said, “When did you arrive in Sunnydale?”

“I first came here about ten years past and bought the Bronze. I had to return to Europe five years ago to take care of family affairs, so I left control of the club to a supervisor. Charles and I just recently returned, about three months ago. The interim supervisor of the club moved away from the Hellmouth, and we couldn’t find a suitable replacement.” She paused, her lilac gaze traveling over Giles, a small smile curving the corners of her lush lips. “What about you? When did you decide to leave England?”

“Oh, well the Council sent me here six, seven years ago to become Buffy’s Watcher.” His grey eyes flickered from Emilia to Buffy, who stood next to Dawn. Both sisters watched the pair with blatant curiosity, a tiny amused grin on Buffy’s face and a mischievous glint in Dawn’s eyes. Giles then glanced at Faith, who leaned back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, and stared at the two, one eyebrow arched in interest.

“It seems we have an attentive audience,” Emilia whispered to Giles. She moved towards Clem and handed him the paper bag of herbs as she studied his appearance, her eyes lingering on his chest. “How do you feel today?”

Grinning, Clem peeked inside of the bag and said, “I feel fine. The Taymon root was fantastic. Thank you.”

“I brought you some more. I wasn’t certain how quickly you would heal.” She looked from Clem to Faith. Holding out her hand, she said, “My name is Emilia. I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself last night.”

Faith shook her outstretched hand. “I’m Faith.”

Releasing Faith’s hand, her violet eyes lingering upon the young brunette, Emilia murmured, “A Slayer.”

Faith stood abruptly, knocking her chair to the floor, and backed away from Emilia, her dark eyes hardening under the intense examination. “What did you say?”

Giles stepped between the two women. “Faith, it’s alright. She means you no harm.”

Emilia peered at Faith from over Giles’ shoulder. “I’m sorry I startled you. I tend to speak without thinking. I was surprised. I thought there was only one Slayer per generation. But there is you… and Buffy.”

Buffy raised her hand in the air. “That’s my fault. I have a problem with staying dead, so now there’re two of us.”

The basement door slammed again. A moment later Spike walked into the room, his blue eyes taking in the new arrivals. He nodded to Emilia before moving to the corner of the room and leaning into the shadow.

“Hello, William. How is your shoulder?”

“It’s better than it was last night.”

“It doesn’t hurt? Do you need anything for pain?”

“No.”

Giles turned from Faith and stepped towards Emilia, his grey eyes locked on Spike. Face impassive, he said to Emilia, “You know Spike?”

Violet eyes darting between the two men, Emilia slid away from Giles and crossed her arms across her chest. She looked at Buffy and said, “Is there someplace that I would be able to speak to Rupert in private?”

“Um… sure. You could go in the kitchen or upstairs. Either one.”

“Thank you.” She pivoted on her heel and walked out of the dining room towards the kitchen, looking over her shoulder and arching one silver brow at Giles and his lack of movement. Silently, Giles followed her into the kitchen.

No one spoke in the dining room. Spike stared at the floor, one corner of his mouth quirked in amusement, and Clem intently focused on the book before him, fighting the smile that threatened to spread across his face. Dawn pressed her hand over her mouth, attempting to stifle the giggles welling within her. She glanced at Buffy, whose shoulders were shaking from the effort to control her laughter. The two sisters locked eyes before they exploded in laughter, tears of mirth streaming down their faces.

“Did you see his face when she left the room?” Dawn asked in between gasps for air.

Buffy plopped into her chair, grinning like an idiot. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes bulge that far out of his head before.”

Faith shook her head slowly as a smirk curved her lips. “Man, Tweed is whipped. Makes you wonder what sort of history these two have.”
 

* * *

Emilia stood before the window above the sink, causing her lustrous silver hair to shimmer in the moonlight shining into the darkened kitchen. She tilted her head to the side and regarded Giles as he pushed through the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. His aura was clouded with anger, a broiling black snaking through the greens, reds, and blues. “What is your problem?”

“My problem? There is no problem,” Giles said as he moved opposite Emilia and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yes, there is a problem. Your problem with Spike. Specifically, your problem with my association with Spike. Are you jealous? You needn’t be. He is in love with Buffy.”

Voice cold, Giles said, “I know exactly how Spike thinks he feels about Buffy. He is obsessed with her-”

“No. He loves her. You don’t do what he did for a woman you’re just obsessed with.”

“That is exactly my point. His… love makes him a danger to her. He’s already attacked her once. He-”

“I’m not talking about danger or attacks or anything that may have happened in the past between them. I’m talking about giving up the very essence that forms you, that composes the essential piece of yourself, for an unknown potential. I’m talking about wanting to be more than what fate has dealt you, more than what you think you’re capable of becoming.”

“What are you saying?”

Emilia froze. She stared at Giles, astonishment plain across her delicate features. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“You couldn’t have known. You haven’t looked hard enough. It’s plain enough to anyone that takes the time to look, to really see. But you’re blinded by your love for Buffy. All you see when you look at Spike is a monster who is out to hurt her. You only see the demon.”

“He is the demon. He is a vampire. A demon inhabiting a soulless human body.”

Emilia drew in a deep breath and stepped towards Giles. Her lavender eyes shone in the shadows, as brilliant as twin amethysts illuminated by the sun. Her voice was a soft murmur that sliced through the air like a sharp knife and smashed through the barriers of preconceptions with the heavy weight of the knowledge possessed within her simple, truthful words. “I see more than the demon. I see the man.”

Trapped, rooted to the spot by her fathomless gaze, Giles blinked as he comprehended what Emilia had said, as he processed the ramifications of what she professed to have seen within Spike.

Emilia placed a hand onto his cheek, her smooth fingers cupping the rough surface of his face. “I see his soul. You have nothing to fear from Spike, save for the wrongs that stem from human passions. His soul is not an addition to or a restraint for the demon. It has merged with the demon, altered him in a way I doubt he even realizes. He is not merely a vampire with a soul. He-”

A soft knock on the door shattered the spell that surrounded Giles and Emilia. She withdrew her hand from his cheek and stepped away as the door to the dining room carefully slid open.

Buffy peeked inside of the room, a sheepish, embarrassed grin upon her lips. She took in the overwhelmed look on her Watcher’s face and frowned. “Um… sorry to interrupt, but our captive has opted against the stony silent route. He’s ready to talk. Thought you’d want to know, Giles.”

Giles slowly nodded his head, his eyes clouded with emotion, his voice flat and hollow. “Yes…thank you, Buffy. I’ll be right down.”

Buffy looked from Giles to Emilia, the frown still pulling at her features, marring the smooth space between her brows, before she slipped back through the open door into the dining room.

“You should get down there,” Emilia said as the swinging door swished shut. “Before they start to wonder. And before I open my mouth and spill everyone else’s secrets.”

Giles nodded again. “We’ll talk once this is finished.”

“If it’s about Spike, you need to speak with him. I’ve already jeopardized my friendship with him by saying so much. But if it’s about… other things, you know where I’ll be.”

“Yes. I do.” Giles pulled his glasses off of his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as he moved towards the door, his shoulders hunched and face lined with the confusion stemming from a multitude of questions with no answers.
 

* * *

The assassin’s gaze traveled across the four witnesses to his upcoming revelations. A sultry brunette slouched on the steps, her hard, dark eyes carefully watching his every move. The thin blonde, with green eyes alight with fire, stood before him, the power radiating off her like the blinding rays of the sun. The old man off to his left, a bit worse in appearance, not as calm and self-possessed as before, looking like he might keel over from shock any second. And the vampire, hidden in the shadows off to his right, lazily perched on top of the washing machine, exuding a nonchalance that hid his readiness for action.

The blonde approached him and cocked an eyebrow, annoyance plain on her face. “You wanted to talk. We’re here to listen. So talk.”

Dragging his gaze across her tiny frame, he calmly looked at the vampire and began to speak. “Met the woman in a club in L.A. She handed me an envelope with your pictures, a videotape, and brief biographies on each and every one of you. She slipped a second envelope to me, full of cash. Half of our payment for killing you. We accepted the deal because it was a hell of a lot of money, but we did our own investigation concerning you and dug up a shit load more than what was in her little dossier. Her so-called information was crap, a bunch of surface info that would have appeased only amateurs. Either she didn’t know that she was handing over shitty intel or she didn’t care that she was giving us shitty intel. She didn’t look stupid, so I’m thinking it was choice number two. And I’m not a man who takes too kindly to being set up.”

“Who was the woman?”

The assassin’s grey eyes slid over to the blonde, locking with her stony green. “She didn’t give us a name, but just as we investigate our targets, we investigate our employers. Her name was Lilah. Lilah Morgan.”
 

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Necessary Exposition

By: Wynn

Lilah.

Bitch.

Faith slid off the cold basement stairs, her leather pants softly caressing the rough concrete, a faint rustle of fabric in the silent basement. She inched past Giles and moved into the moonlight, a wicked scarlet smirk on her face, the pale light of the moon causing her dark eyes to glitter. Slipping past Buffy, Faith walked towards the chained assassin, seized his throat with her hand, and lifted him off the ground, slamming the back of his head against the hard stone pillar. “Lilah sent you to kill us?! What were her instructions exactly? Did she single any of us out, or just want us all dead?”

The man struggled against her iron grip, his gaze darting between Giles, Buffy, and Spike. Neither of them moved. He attempted kick at Faith, but she dropped him onto the ground as soon as he lifted his leg into the air. Climbing to his feet, he glared at her and said, “All she wanted was you lot out of the picture. No specific instructions on how to kill you or who to get rid of first. She just wanted all of you dead within the next week.” He looked from Faith to Buffy. “And that’s all I’m going to say. So either kill me or let me go.”

Faith shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t think so, stud. What about this tape you mentioned? Who was on it?”

He met her icy glare and cold questions with silence.

A slow smile spread across Faith’s ruby red lips. “Are you looking to be tortured? I can do it if you don’t tell me what I want to know. I can make sure it’s nice and slow and painful too, and none of them would be able to stop me. Hell, they’d probably jump on in and get a piece of the action. So I wouldn’t press your luck with the silence. Now, before I stop playing nice, who was on the tape?”

The assassin’s flat grey eyes shifted, moving from Faith and latching onto Buffy. They rested on the blonde Slayer for a few seconds before returning to Faith.

Buffy moved forward, drawing even with Faith, mouth pressed into a hard line. She glanced at the brunette out of the corners of her eyes then stared at the chained man before her. “Both of us were on this tape?”

He nodded.

“What are we doing on the tape?”

The man sighed, an explosive exhalation of dwindling patience and rising exasperation. “One segment is of the two of you, fighting against each other while the old man over there’s watching you two go at it. Another is just torture lady here training with the junk you call equipment. The last segment has only you, teaching some random people how to kick men in the nuts.” He looked at Spike, boredom and irritation swirling within his grey eyes, and said, “I’m getting tired of the twenty questions. I did my part for the greater good. You got what you want, so either let me go or do me in.”

“How about we do neither and keep you chained to the pillar while we have a little discussion,” Buffy said as she walked over to the basement stairs. She arched one brow and said in a tone full of false sweetness, “Does that work for you?” Without waiting for a reply, Buffy made her way to the first floor, followed closely by Spike.

Faith remained next to the assassin, watching him, an electric current of emotions running beneath the surface of her skin, causing her nerve endings to tingle with anticipation, with excess energy waiting to be unleashed. She moved from one foot to the other and flipped her wild dark hair over her shoulder.

“Getting antsy girl? Looking for some action? How about you let me out of these shackles, and you and me go a round?”

Suppressing a haughty chuckle, Faith cocked her head to the side and said, “You wouldn’t last one second against me.”

“Really, now.”

“Really.”

The man in black slid down the concrete pole, shaking his head softly and regarding Faith through half-closed eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I would,” he said as he closed his eyes completely and laid his head against the smooth stone column.

Giles walked over to Faith and placed a hand on her shoulder. “They’re waiting for us.”

Nodding, Faith backed away from the chained man, slipping out from under Giles’ hand, and turned towards the stairs, slowly ascending to the ground floor. She moved into the hallway and closed her eyes as she slumped against the wall, her hands tightening into fists. She drew in a few quick breaths, working to calm her racing heart as the basement door opened again. Faith pushed off the wall and looked at Giles, dark eyes alight with nervousness. “Did I… was I… was that too much? Should I lay off the threats of torture next time?”

Shaking his head, Giles said, “Maybe, maybe not. In this situation, your threats were applicable. If it had been a-a less dangerous individual, they probably wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Right. Gotcha. So I, um, did Ok?”

“Yes.”

Faith flashed a small relieved smile then slipped out of the hall into the living room. She maneuvered past the gathered Scooby Gang and plopped down onto the couch, sitting next to Clem and Emilia. Charles stood beside the front door, and Dawn sat in the armchair opposite the couch. Spike crouched next to Dawn while Buffy paced the narrow area before the fireplace. Giles moved into the threshold between the living room and the hall and leaned against the arched entryway.
 

** *

Buffy stopped pacing as Giles entered the living room. The answers given by the assassin had only brought forth more questions and another more dangerous, virtually unknown enemy to fight. Buffy pushed her fingers through her hair as she turned to Faith and said, “Who’s Lilah Morgan?”

“A lawyer for an L.A. firm called Wolfram and Hart. They’re not your average, everyday bloodsucking lawyers. They’re straight up evil. Lilah’s the one who hired me to… um… to kill Angel a couple years ago.” Faith shrugged and pulled one leg beneath her. She chewed on a ragged fingernail as she continued, “Pretty ruthless bitch. She’s been after Angel ever since he moved to L.A., but she’s never been able to kill him.”

Spike shifted in his position next to Dawn and looked across the room at Faith. “Isn’t that the bird Peaches said might be involved in Con-” He broke off, mouth closing with a snap, his blue eyes darting towards Buffy.

Crossing her arms across her chest, Buffy raised one eyebrow and said to Spike, “Involved in what?”

Faith spoke, cutting off the vampire’s mumbled reply. “With Wesley. Angel thought Wes may have given Lilah some info about some case he was working on.”

Giles stepped into the room, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce? He is involved with the woman who supposedly sent the assassins after us?”

“Maybe. Angel doesn’t know for sure. He and Wes had a… disagreement of sorts and Wes left the agency a couple months ago.”

Buffy resumed her pacing of the living room, eyes cast downward as she mulled over the possibility of Prissy Wesley sending assassins after them. The concept was almost laughable. “I don’t think Wesley would be involved in this. I mean, I know we all detested him when he was here but not enough for him to want to kill us.” She drew in a deep breath and gnawed on her lower lip. There was only one way to learn more about Lilah and her involvement in the attempted assassinations. Go straight to the source. She glanced at Giles and said, “I should go to L.A. and investigate Lilah and why she wants us dead.”

“Buffy, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“What else can we do? This isn’t some demon we can research in the books, and with Willow gone, none of us are skilled enough on the computer to try to hack into Wolfman and Whatever’s files.” She paused and crossed the living room to stand before Giles. She spoke again, her voice a low murmur. “Giles, she wanted us all dead, but she specifically taped me and Faith. Seems to me like she’s looking to shed some Slayer blood. I want to know why.”

“But-”

“Do you have another idea on what we can do, besides sit here and wait for the next ambush?” She waited for his reply. After a few moments of silence, Buffy continued. “Giles, I want to know for sure if Lilah is the one that sent the assassins after us. And I want to know now before she sends something else.”

Faith stood and moved towards them. She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her leather pants as she said, “I could go to L.A.”

Buffy shook her head. “Too risky. Lilah’s probably waiting for you to resurface to enact some revenge for your failure to dust Angel. She’ll be watching for you. She might not be watching for me.” She faced Giles again. “I’ll be discreet. I’ll ask Angel for help, where to get info on this chick, what he knows about her. I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I don’t want you going alone. It’s too dangerous, especially if this woman is after you particularly.”

“Alright. I’ll go with Spike.”

“Buffy-”

Buffy held up her hand, cutting off Giles’ protest. “It’s too risky to go to L.A. with Faith. And if Lilah decides to attack here again, at least one of the Chosen Ones should be in Sunnydale to fight. I’m not going with Anya. She doesn’t like me, and I don’t completely trust her. Willow and Xander are still in England. And I need you here to watch Dawn and make sure she’s safe.” She paused, her hazel eyes focusing on Spike. She raised an eyebrow, a silent question, asking if he would go with her. His cobalt eyes burned into hers as he slowly nodded his ascent. Buffy stared at him for a moment more, breathless, heart racing, both relieved and nervous about his acquiescence. She turned back to Giles and said quietly, “Giles, if anything does go down in L.A., I won’t have to worry about Spike. He can take care of himself. I trust him.”

Removing his glasses, Giles rubbed his fingers across his eyes, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed, a soft, weary expulsion of breath, as he said, “Fine. Go with Spike. But make sure to ask Angel for help and call me as soon as you discover anything.”

“I will.” She walked across the living room, tongue darting out and running across her bottom lip. Glancing at the bare white ceiling, Buffy asked, “Where do you think a camera could be hidden in the training room? There isn’t much there to hide one in, unless it’s in one of the pieces of equipment.”

Giles shrugged. “Anywhere, I suppose, if the recording device was small enough.”

“I wonder how long it’s been there. The training room wasn’t damaged like the rest of the shop, so it could have been planted a while ago. Can you and Anya search the room tomorrow and try to find it?”

Giles nodded. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and took another step into the room. “What about…”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know. Tyler probably hired me for this, to get information for Lilah and her plan to kill us. More than likely the job was a set up from the beginning.”

Dawn waved her uninjured hand in the air, her mouth hanging open in shock. “Ok, for those of us not clued in, your boss is spying on you?”

“Maybe. Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised. The guy gave me the major wiggins, all super-nice in the ultra creepy way.”

“Something’s off with him,” Spike said as he looked at Buffy. “Followed him to this massive brick building on Mulholland Drive. He was looking all around, like he was afraid he was being watched, which he was but he never spotted me. He had a bag with him, too. Clutching it to his chest like his life depended upon its survival.”

Buffy’s mouth curved into a half grin. She tilted her head to the side and said, “So you were there, lurking in the shadows, that night.”

A wisp of a smile appeared on Spike’s face. “Wasn’t lurking. Just happened to come across the two of you on my way to somewhere and decided he looked suspicious, creeping around dark alleys late at night.”

Emilia nodded solemnly, her violet eyes bright with amusement. “Massive black haired lumps of flesh are almost always suspicious looking, especially if they’re creeping around alleyways.”

Spike shot a glare across the room at Emilia before he continued, “The bloke disappeared inside the house and didn’t come back out. I doubt it’s where he lives though. The area isn’t exactly suburbia.”

Faith grimaced. “I remember Mulholland Drive. More demons than people over there. Mostly abandoned buildings surrounded by more abandoned buildings.”

Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, Buffy said to Faith, “Think you can handle a little breaking and entering?”

Faith smiled in reply, a wicked curling of her ruby lips.

“Good. See if you can find any cameras or more videotapes of us at Mossino’s. If there’s nothing there, check out this building on Mulholland. Who’s coming and going, ways to get inside the building, things like that. Just try not to get arrested, Ok? Now-”

Anya strolled into the living room. She had a cut on her right bicep and a bruise beneath her left eye. She brushed her hands across her dirty clothes, coughing slightly as a billowing cloud of dust drifted into the air. Straightening, she flashed everyone a wide smile and waved, golden eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Um, Anya… what happened to you?”

Anya glanced at her disheveled appearance. She looked up at Buffy and said, “Bar fight. Willy said the closest pack of Larouse demons was spotted in L.A. four days ago by a couple of Fyarls.”

Faith leaned forward and inspected her friend, a tiny smile playing on her lips. Raising one eyebrow, she said, “Do any damage? Or were you just an innocent bystander?”

Anya grinned. “Oh, I did lots of damage. I didn’t start it though. It’s a funny story actually. You see-”

“Did Willy know who sent the thorny demons?” Buffy asked.

Frowning at the interruption, Anya shook her head no.

“Didn’t think he would, but at least we know where they came from.” Turning towards Spike, Buffy said, “Are you ready to leave tonight? If the assassin guy was telling the truth and Lilah wants us dead within the week, we don’t have a lot of time. Hopefully we’ll only be in L.A. for a day or two.”

Spike stood. “Yeah. I need to stop by my place and get some clothes and a few weapons. Should only be twenty minutes or so.”

“Ok. Meet me back here when you’re ready.” Buffy watched Spike move across the living room; he slipped out of the house and into the cool night air. She turned to Giles and said, “Can you check Mom’s car and make sure it’s running properly. I don’t really want to ride all the way to L.A. on Spike’s motorcycle.”

“The keys?”

“In the ignition. The driver’s door is unlocked.”
 

** *

Closing the front door to the Summers home, Giles walked to the edge of the porch. He could see Spike at the end of the driveway, the white light of the moon highlighting the pale bleached tips of his ash blonde hair. His ever present duster was missing; he was clad in a torn and bloodied black shirt and a pair of jeans. Emilia’s revelation about Spike’s soul whispered in Giles’ consciousness. He is more than a vampire with a soul. It has merged with the demon. The concept was unprecedented, absurd, and impossible.

“Planning to stare at me all night, Watcher? Or do you have some warning about how you’ll stake me if anything happens to Buffy you want to say?”

Stepping off the porch, Giles walked down the driveway towards Spike, his grey eyes never wavering from the black clad vampire. “When did you acquire your soul?”

Spike blinked once and folded his arms across his chest. Smirking, he said, “You got the wrong vampire, Rupert. The Great Poof is the one with the soul.”

“I wouldn’t lie to me, Spike. The possibility of you possessing a soul is the only thing keeping me from staking you. After what you did to Buffy-”

“Save it. I don’t need your disgusted, disapproving lecture on how much I hurt Buffy or how much of a monster I am.” Spike looked at the concrete, his blue eyes flashing with anger, guilt, and remorse. He spoke again, his voice soft, barely audible. “Everyday, every second, I live with what I did. I can’t change it. Can’t ever make it up to her. But I made sure it would never happen again.”

“The return of your human soul.”

“I see her every night. Hear her crying, screaming at me to-to… feel her trying to push me away. I see what I did to her. The pain in her eyes, the betrayal. The shock and disgust.” He looked up at Giles. His eyes were haunted, pale shells of the brash, cocky, and irritating vampire that had created a hundred years of chaos, violence, and pain with a smile on his face. “I hate myself. More than you ever can. More than you even want to. The only reason I didn’t stake myself after I apologized to Buffy is because she asked me to stay. Her and Dawn asked me to stay. I don’t deserve their forgiveness and I never will. But I will do anything I can to ensure their happiness. Even if that means spending eternity reliving every kill, every bout of torture, every scream of pain. I don’t matter. I’m not important. They are.”

“Yes. They are.”

“If anything happens to Buffy or Dawn it’ll be because I’m already dead. And even then I’ll do everything I can to protect them.” Spike stared at Giles a moment longer then turned and walked into the night, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, face hidden in shadow to mask the raw pain shining from his eyes.

Giles watched him walk down the road and disappear around a street corner, their brief, impassioned conversation replaying over and over in his mind. He closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath.

“Do you believe me now, Rupert?”

Opening his eyes, Giles glanced at Emilia, who stood beside him. Her wide violet eyes were directed in the direction Spike had traveled. She tilted her head and looked at him from beneath silvery-white eyelashes as he said, “Yes.”

“He loves Buffy and Dawn more than he hates himself. They are his family. They are the reason he has not killed himself in retribution for his sins.” She paused, looking over her shoulder at the Summers house. “Buffy’s waiting for you inside. Charles has looked at their automobile and found it satisfactory for travel. It needs some petrol though.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s the least I can do. If you should require anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t.”

Emilia smiled. She locked eyes with Giles and said, “Good. I… I never thought I would see you again. It’s funny how fate chooses to unfold.” She smiled again as she flipped her long, silver hair over her shoulder. Stepping away from Giles, Emilia moved to the edge of the driveway, Charles a few steps behind her, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes.”

As Emilia and Charles walked down Revello Drive, Giles returned to the porch and reentered the house. The living room was empty. Glancing in the dining area, he found Anya, Faith, and Buffy looking through the books covering the oak table. Buffy glanced up from her book as he walked into the room.

“Clem’s going to stay here for a few days. When the basement’s free, he’ll move down there so you can take my room. Clem’s not fully healed yet so I thought it would be safer for him to stay.” Buffy paused. She glanced at Faith and Anya as she stood and walked over to Giles. Sliding past him, she moved into the living room. As Giles turned to follow her, she said, “I think you should call the coven and see if Willow is ready to return. If these attacks keep coming, we’ll have a better chance of fighting back if Willow and Xander are here. Strength in numbers.”

Giles nodded. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Ok.” A faint smile appeared on Buffy’s face as she said, “You’re going to have your hands full if Willow and Xander come back soon. They hate Faith, and she hates them. Xander and Anya are still fighting, and Willow and Anya have never gotten along. Dawn is still angry with Willow, and she’s pretty pissed at Xander, too.”

“Yes, it’s amazing they haven’t all killed each other yet.”

Peering into the dining room at Faith and Anya, Buffy slowly nodded her head, a faraway, contemplative expression upon her face. She bit the corner of her lip as she murmured, “Yeah. Amazing.” Blinking, she flashed Giles a smile as she maneuvered past him and up the stairs. “Got to get some stuff together, clothes and some weapons.” Buffy reached the second floor landing and quickly made her way to her bedroom, opening the door and sliding into the darkened sanctum.
 

* * *

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