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: Italics designate a flashback. I do not own Purple Haze or Mandy. Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my story. And many thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Saints, Souls, and Scars

By: Wynn

It flowed out of her like water slowly spinning down a drain. Inescapable, inevitable, a slave to fate and gravity. Faith could feel the warmth spread beneath her, counteracting the cold that seeped through her, as her blood leaked out of the gash on her throat. The too bright fluorescent lights dazzled her dry eyes. Maybe it was the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel, although Faith doubted she’d be allowed into heaven after all of the sinning she had done.

She dimly heard hushed voices near the door and then a flash of red crossed her line of sight. Willow. Great. Tweedle-Dee arrived to catch the front row seat in her demise, probably thanking all of the goddesses she could think of that the ‘Queen Slut of Sunnydale’ was biting the big one.

“Xander, she’ll be dead before the ambulance gets here. I have to do this.”

“But-”

“You said you trusted me. Trusted that I could maintain control.”

“I do.”

Faith wanted to ask what the big plan was, whether they were planning on dumping her body somewhere so they didn’t have to deal with the incompetents at the Sunnydale PD. Her eyes flickered over to Willow, widening slightly at the pure black orbs covering the usual green. Willow glanced down at Faith and lifted her hand, her palm skimming across her face down to her throat. A flash of green exploded through the room and Faith screamed, her cry echoing in her mind as the world swirled and faded into black.

 

* * *

Her skin was damp with sweat, causing the pale blue sheet surrounding her to stick to her skin. Faith opened her eyes, the dream memory slipping back into her subconscious. Peeling the sheet away from her, Faith swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The Wicked Wicca of the West had saved her life, and Faith couldn’t understand why. Willow hated her, Xander hated her, and she lay dying before both of them. All they had to do was wait, tell Anya and Giles there was nothing they could have done to save her, and that would have been the end.

But it wasn’t the end.

Faith sighed and pushed off the bed. She crossed the bedroom, stopping before the vanity, and stared into the mirror, at the silver white scar stretching across her neck. Her fingers shook as she lightly traced the length of hardened skin. Her eyes were wide, her skin was pale, her hair a tangled mess around her face. Faith froze at the sight of herself in the mirror before reaching for the wood jewelry box on the vanity and hurling it at the glass. Her reflection shattered into a thousand pieces, tumbled across the dressing table, and fell to the floor.

“Did that make you feel better?”

Willow. Fuck. Faith moved away from the broken mirror, maneuvering around the shards of glass, and walked to the window, peering through the slats at the moonlit backyard of the Summers’ house. “Get out.”

“Why? So you can destroy more of Joyce’s furniture? I don’t think-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think. Get out before I get really mad.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Faith cocked an eyebrow and turned from the window. Willow stood next to the door, her arms folded across her chest, face impassive, bright green eyes locked onto Faith. “Why? Cause you got a few tricks up your sleeve? Can plug right into the black magic mojo and skin me alive if I get a little frisky?”

A shadow of a smile crossed Willow’s face. “Something like that.”

“Something like that? Or something like what you did to B?” She smirked as she walked towards Willow. “Kicked her ass all across Sunnydale. Feel like taking on the other Slayer?”

“I didn’t come here to fight you, Faith.”

“No? Then get the hell out.” She returned to the bed and sat down upon the tangled sheets, her back to Willow, her head bent towards the floor. Faith drew a hand through her tangled hair as she stared at her bare feet, all the while feeling Willow’s eyes steady upon her, boring twin holes into her back. Jumping to her feet, she whirled and stalked over to Willow. “Is there some reason you’re still here? Are you waiting for a thank you? I didn’t ask you to save my life. You did that all on your own.”

Willow raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, I did. Would you have rather died?”

“Or maybe you want something else? Some sort of… reward for your troubles?” She licked her lips and dragged her dark eyes across Willow. “I don’t usually swing that way, but I know it’s what gets you off.”

“I didn’t save you because I wanted something in return.”

“Oh yes. Saint Willow. Treading on the dark side not satisfying enough for you? Returning to your holier than thou, innocent do gooder routine?”

“Pretty much.” Willow shrugged and walked around Faith, crouching near the vanity and picking chunks of glass off the floor. “There’s nothing in the dark but pain and misery and an empty ache inside you where your soul should be. You’ve got the world at your mercy, the power of life or death in your hands, but that’s it. And that’s nothing.” Dumping a handful of broken glass into the trash can, Willow turned back towards Faith. “You know this. That’s why you came back to Sunnydale. To get something other than nothing.”

“Do you have a point somewhere in all this? Or are you just trying to bore me to death?”

Willow sighed. “You wanted to know why I helped you. You’re trying to do good, and I wasn’t going to let some second rate psycho take that away. That’s all.” She paused. “That and Anya would have turned me into a toad if I hadn’t helped you. And frogs are just icky.”

A few moments passed. Faith peered at Willow, dark eyes locked on green, her quiet words floating through Faith’s mind, and she slowly nodded. Willow shook her head in return and made her way to the door. As Willow crossed the threshold, Faith said, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends now.”

Willow glanced over her shoulder at Faith, a wide grin appearing on her face. “Oh god no. I still hate your guts as much as I ever have.”

One corner of Faith’s mouth curved into a smile. “Good.”

“Good. Scooby meeting in ten.” Willow entered the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.

Drawing in a deep breath, Faith rubbed her hands across her face and brushed her wild hair out of her eyes. She turned to the vanity and began picking up the remaining shards of glass, tossing them into the trash; she retrieved the dented and scratched jewelry box and set it on the dressing table, replacing the scattered rings, necklaces, and bracelets into the velvet lined cavity.
 

* * *

“So?”

“Hold on a minute. I’m still recovering from all the Purple Haze in my brain.”

Spike sighed and continued pacing the lobby of the Hyperion. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched Lorne sit down on the circular sofa. The green skinned demon stretched the muscles in his neck and shoulders as he turned towards Spike.

“And may I just say that you have much better taste in music than Angel. I’m still scarred for life from his rendition of Mandy.” Lorne shuddered. “That’s something I could have gone a few lifetimes without experiencing. Anyway, when I read Angel during that particular horrendous karaoke disaster, I was reading two different entities. The demon and the soul. Granted the soul is dominant within Angel, but the demon is still there, lurking beneath the tasty surface, just waiting for the soul to go bye-bye so Angelus can come out and play.”

“And me?”

“And you… there was only one entity. Soul and demon combined together into one spiritual substance I’ve never seen before. Do you remember what happened when you got your soul back?”

“Pain. Lots of pain. Felt like I had been hit by a truck a few dozen times.”

Lorne nodded. “Makes sense. Your soul is bonded to your demon, and it probably altered you physically, changing your body so holy water has no effect, you have a reflection-”

“A blurred reflection.”

“A blurred reflection but still a reflection which is more than all of the rest of the evil dead can say. And I doubt crosses would be a problem for you anymore. Basically, all of the things that would harm a soulless vampire are no longer an issue for you.”

“What about sunlight?”

Shrugging, Lorne said, “I’m not sure. You’re still a vampire, albeit a new and excitingly different one, but my best guess is that sunlight and stakes and fire will kill you just as good as they could have pre-soul.”

“So basically I’m an un-unholy vampire?”

“Yep.”

“Wonderful. Just call me Saint Spike.” He should have known something unexpected would happen. His plans never went how he wanted them to go. Why should he have expected the ‘Get-Spike-A-Soul’ mission to be any different? Not that this turn of events was unwelcome. As long as these were the only events that had turned and no other changes had been performed by Lurky the Wonder Demon. Sighing again, Spike plopped onto the circular sofa next to Lorne. He groaned, a grimace of pain shooting across his face, as his still tender insides collided with the couch.

“You should probably get back to bed.”

“Yeah. Probably should. I’d rather not be carried back by Buffy. That would be bloody embarrassing.” Spike paused as he ran his fingers through his hair. Turning his head, he looked at Lorne and said, “Although you’d think she’d lay off a bit. I’m not going to dust if I walk around the hotel. Been around a century and a half. It’ll take more than one sodding wood bullet to turn me into a big pile of dust.”

Lorne shrugged. “Rationality goes to the wayside when love is involved.”

Spike nodded and pushed off the sofa. Rationality takes a flying leap out of reality when love is involved, leading to hysterical, frantic pursuits of one’s soul. Halfway to the stairs leading to the second level of the Hyperion, he froze. Spike blinked once and turned back towards Lorne. “Buffy… Love?”

“Mmm-hmm. Although getting shot through the chest really isn’t necessary for fuzzy feelings to emerge. With cheekbones like yours, you can’t fault the girl for falling in love.” The smile faded off Lorne’s face as he looked at Spike. He stood and walked towards the stairs, his eyes widening as he drew closer to the shell shocked vampire. “Oh no. You didn’t know.”

Mute, Spike shook his head as he collapsed upon the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t know. The way you two were around each other I just assumed…”

That was that look. On her face. The one Spike had never seen before. It was love. The constant hovering, checking to make sure he’s Ok; her wearing his shirt and being embarrassed about it, all flustered and flushed; the look in her eyes when she told him not to almost die again. It was love.

Oh god.
 

* * *

“Can we talk?”

Looking up from the book in his lap, Giles glanced at Anya. “Is something the matter? Is Faith-”

“No and fine. Willow’s getting her for the meeting. It’s about me.” Anya looked around the living room, her golden brown eyes darting over the new and old members of the Scooby Gang. A faint frown pulled at her features. “Could we go outside?”

“Yes.” Giles stood, closing the volume held in his hands and placing it on the coffee table, and followed Anya through the Summers’ house, into the kitchen and out onto the back porch. He eased the door shut behind him and turned towards Anya. “Now-”

“Here.”

Giles blinked as her hand shot out towards him. Taking a step back, he looked at the object dangling from her fingers. “Is that…?”

Anya nodded. She twisted her wrist and cupped the silver chain and ancient charm in the palm of her hand. Staring down at the necklace, she said, “My necklace. The source of my powers as a vengeance demon.” The jewelry gleamed in the moonlight. She glanced up at Giles, her eyes hidden in shadow, as she said, “I want you to destroy it.”

“What? Anya…” He took a step towards her, but she backed away from him, turning and staring up at the night sky.

“I can’t do it, Rupert,” she said quietly. “I haven’t even tried. I’ve been a vengeance demon for months now and I haven’t granted one wish. Haven’t sought out one woman seeking vengeance. I haven’t even thought about seeking out one woman seeking vengeance.”

“Have you thought about this decision? I doubt D’Hoffryn would elevate you again if you destroyed your necklace. You would be human, without the strength a-and powers associated with being a vengeance demon, forever.”

“I know. And don’t think I’m not going to miss teleportation because it is so much easier than walking or running or public transportation.” She paused, tilting her head and looking at Giles over her shoulder. “But the price is too high. I stay a vengeance demon eventually the time will come for me to grant some woman’s wish. And the man she wishes against will probably deserve it. But I can’t be the one to give it to him. I won’t be the one to give it to him. That’s not who I am anymore. I have a life here in Sunnydale.”

“Yes, you do.” Giles stepped next to Anya. She held out the necklace to him again, and he took it, grasping the chain and pendant lightly in his hand. “If I may ask, why me?”

Anya shrugged, a half grin curving her lips. “I don’t know. Irony. Fate. You were the one who destroyed my first necklace. Well, not really you. The other alternate universe you. So you in the trans-dimensional sense. But if it wasn’t for that other you, I wouldn’t be here, living the life I’m living now.” She paused. “And I can’t smash it myself.”

A small smile appeared on his face. He placed the necklace onto the porch railing. The green stone in the pendant glittered from within, the power contained within the tiny gem barely restrained by the delicate silver casing. Giles stepped off the porch and grabbed a large rock from the backyard. Returning to the necklace, he looked at Anya and said, “Are you certain this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once and lifted the stone high into the air, bringing to down upon the necklace on the railing. The charm crumbled beneath the rock, and Giles’ arm shook from the power emission that vibrated through the stone and out into the night. He heard Anya sigh as he tossed the rock over the railing and watched the silver necklace dissolve and fade into nothing.

“Thank you,” Anya said as she moved towards him and leaned into him, kissing him beneath the pale light of the moon. Her lips were soft on his, and delicate, pressing lightly against his mouth. She pulled back, her golden eyes seeking out his grey. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I didn’t-”

“Yes, you did. And ‘you’re welcome’ is a suitable response to my declaration.”

Giles smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
 

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Warning Sign

By: Wynn

“Hi! I’m Buffy. And you’re the evil bitch that’s trying to kill me.”

As far as introductions go, Buffy thought that was one of her best. It wasn’t the cleverest quip ever, but it was succinct and straightforward, laying her feelings about Lilah Morgan out in the open so she could cut through the evasive bullshit the lawyer would probably try to pull about her part in the recent assassination attempts on Buffy and her friends.

A slow smirk pulled at Lilah’s lips as she leaned against the doorjamb and stared at Buffy, Cordelia, and Fred. She was barefoot, dressed in a slim knee length skirt, the top buttons of her silk blouse undone. A crystal wineglass was clasped loosely in her hand, half filled with burgundy liquid. “I am,” she said. “Figured that out by yourself did you? Good for you. I suppose what they say about blondes and natural idiocy doesn’t apply to you then.” Lilah paused, her dark eyes flickering towards Buffy’s hair. “Of course, you’re not a natural blonde, so that might be why.”

“And that, ladies, is the sparkling wit of Lilah Morgan,” Cordelia said as pushed her way into Lilah’s apartment. “One lame ass comment about Buffy’s obvious dye job. Seems like someone’s slipping a bit.”

Ignoring Cordelia, Lilah turned from the door, leaving it open for Buffy and Fred to enter the apartment. “As much as I loathe your company, I’m afraid this little gathering must be quick. I have a prior engagement.”

Buffy followed Fred into the apartment and closed the door behind her. The flat was sparsely furnished, containing a small kitchenette that expanded into a living room with a supple brown leather sofa, gleaming black coffee table, and beaded gold floor lamp. Two closed doors lined one wall, presumably leading to the bath and bedrooms. “And would this engagement have anything to do with, oh, I don’t know, my ex-Watcher?”

Lilah grinned as she sat down upon the leather couch. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t. The thought of you and Wesley having sex is too disturbing for words. But there is something else you can tell me.”

“Really now.” Taking a sip of wine, Lilah watched Buffy stalk across the room over the rim of her crystal goblet. “And what exactly would that be?”

“I think you already know, but I’ll tell you anyway since you seem to be a little slow on the uptake today.” Buffy circled around the sofa, trailing her fingers across the beaded lampshade. She stopped behind Lilah and placed her arms on the couch, leaning close to the brunette. “I want to know why you’re trying to kill me.”

“And I want to know the secret to eternal life, so I guess we’re both out of luck.” Lilah sighed as she placed her wineglass on the coffee table. “Did you really expect I would tell you all of my evil plans if you asked really nicely? Because, generally, evil plans work better if the ‘good guys’ don’t know about them.”

Cordelia snorted. “If you were worried about us not knowing about your foray into Slayer slaying you should’ve been a tad more discreet.”

“You think I give a damn whether or not you twits know I’m trying to kill you?”

“I think you should,” Buffy said as she sat on the sofa next to Lilah. “Because you’ve pissed me off, and it’s never a good thing to piss off a Slayer. But you should know all of this from your dealings with Faith. She’s… intimidating when she’s angry.”

Cordelia shook her head. “More unbalanced and psychotic when she’s angry.”

“And more than a little bit scary,” Fred added as she wandered around the apartment.

Buffy nodded. “True. Which makes Faith impulsive and unpredictable but not really dangerous because it’s inevitable she’ll screw up whatever she’s planning.” Locking eyes with Lilah, Buffy continued, “However, I’m neither unbalanced nor psychotic, so if I were you I’d be very concerned that I know you’re trying to kill me.”

Lilah stared at Buffy for a moment before she burst out laughing. “Is this supposed to be intimidating? I’ve chewed up and spit out people a hell of a lot more intimidating than you before breakfast.”

“And I’ve fought and killed demons a hell of a lot more dangerous than you without breaking a sweat. You’re just a woman who’s decided to interfere with my life, my friends, and my town. You’re nothing but an insignificant nuisance. A little fly buzzing about my head.”

“You think you know what’s after you? Plans have been made, the trap has been set, and there’s nothing you can do to avoid it. You’re out of your league, little girl.”

“Apparently you and whoever the hell else you’re working with have no clue what league I’m in. Those thorn demons you sent? Liquefied in less than five minutes. And the assassins? The one that wasn’t killed or captured voluntarily told us about your involvement. And the ambush at the law firm? Pathetic.” Buffy leaned close to Lilah, her hazel eyes flickering with fury. “You had three chances to kill me and you failed every time, so why should I be afraid of whatever else you have planned?”

“Maybe because we wanted to fail.” Off of Buffy’s silence, Lilah smiled and lifted her wineglass, draining the liquid contents in one gulp. Standing, she said, “Now amusing as this has been, I’m afraid you have to leave now. Unless, of course, you want to continue humiliating yourself with your less than intimidating interrogation techniques.” Lilah walked to the apartment door and pulled it open; she stood off to the side and stared back at Buffy, Fred, and Cordelia.

Cordelia looked at Lilah for a moment before she turned towards Fred. “I think she wants us to go.”

Fred nodded. “Yeah. And sooner rather than later.”

“That’s not very hospitable, Lilah.” Shaking her head, Cordelia walked towards the sofa and plopped down onto it next to Buffy, propping her boot clad feet onto the black coffee table.

Fred joined Cordelia and Buffy on the couch as she said, “I guess they don’t teach manners in evil lawyer school.”

Lilah arched an eyebrow and glanced at the three women occupying her sofa. Sighing, she closed the door again and walked into the kitchen. Placing the empty wineglass on the countertop, she reached for her briefcase and pulled out her cell phone, flipping it open as she said, “If you Girl Scout rejects don’t leave now, I’ll have to call security to throw you out.”

Frowning slightly, Buffy said, “Calling the cops? How cliché.”

“They’re not cops. They’re Wolfram and Hart security. They’ll throw you out and… dispose of you properly. No fuss no muss.”

“I don’t think you want to do that, Lilah,” Cordelia said.

“I think I do.”

“I think you don’t.” Buffy arched off the couch and pulled a folded document out of the back pocket of her black pants. Unfolding the paper, she smoothed the creases and examined the photograph of Lilah and the building on Mullholland Drive in Sunnydale. Pushing off the sofa, Buffy walked over to the tiny kitchenette and tossed the picture onto the countertop.

Dark eyes quickly assessing the photograph, Lilah said, “Nice picture.”

“It is. And guess where we found it? On your desk in Wolfram and Hart.”

Lilah’s surprise was nearly imperceptible, a slight widening of her eyes, muscles clenching around the cell phone clutched in her hand, shallow intake of breath, which was covered in less than a second with casual indifference. It would have gone unnoticed had Buffy not been looking for those subtle reactions to the picture and the revelation about its discovery. Smirking, Buffy leaned across the countertop, snatching the phone from Lilah’s grasp and crushing it in her hand, dropping the electronic dust onto the floor.

“I doubt you would leave pictures of yourself in Sunnydale lying out in the open unprotected. So someone must have left them there for you to find. Or they left them for me to find. Either way it seems someone’s trying to send you a message.” Buffy shrugged as she backed away from the countertop. “So now the question is, Lilah, do you want to go against me and mine along with whoever else you’ve pissed off lately, or do you want to be a nice evil lawyer and stop trying to kill me?”

Mouth set and eyes hard, Lilah moved towards the front door and opened it again. “What I want is for you three to get out.”

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” Fred said with a smile as she slid off the couch.

Cordelia nodded. “No need to go UberBitch on us.”

As Fred and Cordelia made their way out of the apartment, Buffy stopped before Lilah, a broad grin curving her lips. “See what can be accomplished with clear communication. I talk, you listen, and you stop trying to kill me.”

Lilah was silent for a few seconds before she said, “Ever wonder why Faith was let out of prison?”

“Good behavior.”

Lilah arched one eyebrow. “Spare me. She’s a psychotic murderer with superhuman strength and reflexes. There is no way she would be released on her own recognizance for ‘good behavior.’ Not after what she’s done. And not without some sort of purpose… some sort of agenda behind her release. Even then it would take a powerful entity to pull the necessary strings to orchestrate her release. A powerful entity like…”

“Wolfram and Hart,” Buffy finished, her stomach heavy with the knowledge that Lilah had arranged Faith’s release from prison and subsequent return to Sunnydale, her mind running with the possible consequences of this new twist on events.

“Very good.”

Shaking her head softly, Buffy said, “It doesn’t matter why Faith was sent to Sunnydale. Or who sent her. She works with us now.”

“Is that a fact? You tried to kill her. Put her in a coma for months. She hates you.”

“She’s changed. Wants to do good now.”

“Good and evil are a matter of perspective. What’s considered evil for one person is good for another. And what’s good for someone else may be very, very bad for you.”

Buffy shook her head again as she stepped into the hallway. Turning back to Lilah, she said, “You’re saying this to stir up trouble, to make me suspect Faith. It’s not going to work.”

“Maybe not,” Lilah said as she grasped the door knob. “But I bet the next time you see Faith you’ll look at her and wonder whose side she’s really on. Night, ladies.” Stepping back, Lilah slammed the door shut, the echo of impact reverberating throughout the narrow hall.
 

* * *

It was an odd bunch by normal standards, but the town of Sunnydale and its citizens had never existed according to the norms of the rest of the world, which is why the eight gathered for the meeting in the Summers’ living room were not fazed by the eclectic mesh of humans and demons. Faith, Anya, and Dawn resided on the sofa while Giles paced before the fireplace. Emilia was curled up in the armchair and next to her sat Clem. On chairs brought in from the dining room were Willow and Xander.

“Now that everyone is present,” Giles said as he faced the expanded Scooby Gang, “we can commence with the meeting.” Moving to the coffee table, Giles lifted the slim tape recorder and examined it in his hands. “For those who do not know, Anya and Xander discovered this in Tyler’s office two nights ago. They’ve only listened to a brief portion, but that segment dealt with one of the cameras that were used to spy on Buffy and Faith. So far only two cameras have been discovered, one at Tyler’s place of business and one at the Magic Box. Scans of the Summers’ home, as well as Anya’s apartment, reveal no further recording devices.”

“Xander and I didn’t find any more videotapes,” Anya said. “Whatever the little maggot recorded of Buffy and Faith he probably turned over to the psycho’s in charge.”

“Who’s on the tape?” Dawn asked.

“I don’t know,” Giles said. “It seems it was, um, forgotten in the chaos of the last few days. I have not listened to it yet. I thought it would expedite matters if everyone listened to it at the same time.”

Giles placed the recorder back on the coffee table in the center of the living room, turned the volume dial to maximum, and pressed the play button. A burst of static emanated from the tiny speaker before a gravelly male voice spoke.

“Are you sure this thing will get past the detectors?”

“Tyler,” Anya said, glancing at Faith from the corners of her eyes. A brief shudder passed through Faith as her fingers drifted over the thin scar marring her throat.

“It should. The magicks surrounding it should make it undetectable to all electronic and magical devices.”

“Lilah,” Faith said. “Bitch.”

“Spying on your bosses, Lilah? Quite the risk taker, aren’t you?”

“First, they are not my bosses. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement among all parties in which all members of this circle will profit equally.”
“Then why the tape?”

“Insurance. Just because I said everyone would profit equally doesn’t mean people won’t try to increase their take. By any means necessary.”

A door opened and then closed. A brief, low pitched hum drifted from the recorder followed by the sounds of metal chairs scraping across a tiled floor. A few moments passed before Tyler’s voice pierced the silence.

“Well, isn’t this a cheery bunch.”

“The purpose of this meeting isn’t to entertain you, sir.” A male voice. Smug, superior, snobbish, with a British accent. “If that is what you wish, I’m confidant you can find your way to the door.”

“Who is that?” Emilia asked.

“I don’t know,” Giles said.

“Tyler is well aware of the seriousness of this meeting, Samuel,” Lilah said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “Aren’t you, Tyler?”

“Perfectly aware. Now what seems to be your problem and why do you need me?”

Samuel spoke again. “We want you to pose as the owner of a dojo in a town called Sunnydale. Have you heard of Sunnydale before?”

“Yeah. The Hellmouth. What’s with the undercover?”

“We want you to gather intel about this young woman.” There was a soft scratch of paper being passed across a table before Samuel continued. “Her name is Buffy Summers. She is the Slayer. Do-”

“I know what the Slayer is, Jeeves. Damn… she is fine. Will this be an up close and personal undercover assignment ‘cause, if it is, sign me right up.”

Dawn grimaced at the leer in Tyler’s voice. “Eww. Perv.”

“Lilah said you were a professional, Tyler. If you can’t keep your libido in check and carry out our instructions, I trust you-”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Find my way to the door.’ No harm in asking, is there? So, what do you want me to do besides gather intel? Kill her? Torture her?”

“No,” Samuel said. “We only want you to record her on videotape. In a few months, once your business is established, we will arrange for Ms. Summers to be fired from her current place of employment and come across an advertisement for your dojo. You will hire her, record her while she is fighting, report to us anything she says concerning her personal life, any visitors she has at the dojo, and you will give us the videotaped footage every night, right here at this house.”

“What kind of equipment do you want me to use? Infrared… standard surveillance cameras?”

“Lilah, would you retrieve the device Tyler will use?”

“Sure.”

The metallic screech of chair on floor sounded once more, quickly followed by the sounds of a door opening and closing. “I assume this means you’re taking the job,” Samuel said.

“If the price is right.”

“I assure you, Tyler. You will not be disappointed.”

“Here’s your camera,” Lilah said as the door opened again. “Try to mount it someplace high, preferably near the ceiling. Do you have any questions?”

“No. This chick must have done something real bad to piss you guys off. What did she do? Beat you in the beauty pageant?”

A new voice spoke. Male, British, arrogant and cultured. “What she did is not your concern.”

“Oh my god,” Faith said, dark eyes widening at the man’s voice.

Willow’s brows drew together. “Is that…”

The man continued. “Just do what we told you and bring us any useful footage. We don’t like to be kept waiting, Tyler, so I advise you install the camera as soon as possible.”

“I know I’ve heard that voice before,” Xander said.

“Yes, you have” Giles murmured. “It’s Wesley.”
 

* * *

Lilah refilled her wineglass and crossed the kitchenette to her bedroom. Opening the door, she let her eyes readjust to the soft candlelight and focus on the man casually perched on her bed, his button up shirt open and rumpled, his feet bare, blue eyes glinting in the warm glow of the candles.

“Are they gone?” Wesley asked.

“Yes.”

“Do they know anything?”

“Not really.” She walked over to the bed and placed her wineglass on the nightstand. “Enough shop talk. Now where were we?”

“Right about here,” he said as threaded his fingers through her auburn hair and drew her in for a kiss.
 

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One: Facing Your Fears

By: Wynn

Her nerves were frayed, her temper was short, and a scowl curved her lips. Buffy plowed through the doors to the Hyperion, causing the heavy wood slabs to bang against the wall and rattle in their hinges. Stalking into the lobby, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares from Angel, Gunn, Lorne, and Connor, frustration coursing through her veins, Buffy kicked the circular sofa in the center of the foyer, sending it slamming against the far wall.

Angel edged away from the lobby desk and cautiously approached Buffy, his dark eyes darting to the open front doors where Cordelia and Fred inched into the hotel. He arched an eyebrow at the two women, who shook their heads. Sighing, Angel stepped towards Buffy and said, “Buffy-”

Buffy abruptly stopped pacing and whirled on Angel. “Why did Faith come here first and not go directly to Sunnydale?”

“What?”

“Did she leave the hotel any? Have any clandestine meetings with aggravating bitch lawyers from hell?”

Angel blinked a few times before he spoke again. “Did Lilah say something about Faith?”

“She said something alright.” Buffy drew in a deep breath and drug her hands through her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, Lilah’s words about the circumstances surrounding Faith’s release from prison spinning in her head. Was it all an act, the training with Giles, dedication to patrolling, becoming friends with Anya? Was it a way for Faith to worm her way back into life in Sunnydale so she could kill everyone, fulfill whatever agenda was behind her release? Could Faith be that cunning and ruthless? Opening her eyes, Buffy looked at Angel and said, “Do you trust her?”

“Faith?”

Buffy nodded.

“Yes. Whatever Lilah told you was said so you would react like this and storm off after Faith, looking for blood.”

“I know. I know.” Her shoulders slumped as the sparks of anger faded from her hazel eyes. Buffy glanced around the hotel’s lobby and grimaced. One of the front doors hung crooked in its hinges and the sofa had smashed a sizable dent in the wall. Lorne, Gunn, and Connor stared at her, various expressions of shock on their faces, and Cordelia and Fred remained as far away from her as possible. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” Angel said, a small smirk on his face. “‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said as she walked towards the lobby desk. “But that was beyond ‘a little mad.’ Try unbalanced and psychotic.”

“And more than a little bit scary,” Fred said, stepping close to Gunn and wrapping her arms around him.

A sheepish smile crossed Buffy’s face. “Sorry guys.”

Cordelia said, “No big. At least you’re not sulking like Angel would be.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. I meant pouting.”

Angel turned towards Cordelia, a mock frown pulling at his brow. “Cordelia.”

“Moping.”

“You’re not funny.”

A wide grin appeared on her face. “I know. I’m hilarious. And I think the word I’m looking for is brooding.”

Ignoring the bantering of Angel and Cordelia, Buffy looked around the lobby, gnawing gently on her bottom lip. “Where’s Spike?” she asked, her brows rising as the four men in the Hyperion’s lobby froze at her question. “What? Did he really stay in his room? I thought he would have been up and about as soon as I left.” Her gaze shifted from Angel to Lorne and back again, eyes narrowing as Lorne looked at Angel and tilted his head towards Buffy, carefully avoiding her gaze. Slivers of panic began to wind through Buffy at their continued silence. “What happened? Is he Ok? Angel, where is he?”

Turning towards her, Angel said, “He’s on the roof. Buffy-”

Buffy bolted up the stairs, her heart hammering in her chest, and she sprinted down the hall towards the stair access to the roof, tendrils of cold sweat sliding along her spine. Why was he on the roof? Why was he alone? Had something happened? She kicked open the door and scrambled onto the roof, the cool rush of night air pricking her skin. Her gaze skittered around the rooftop searching for Spike among the shadows cast by the twinkling stars in the sky.

“Spike! Spi-” She saw him sitting on the edge of the roof, his back towards her, head tilted up towards the sky. She started across the rooftop, relief spreading through her at the sight of him. “Spike? Hey, what’re you doing up here all by yourself?” She stopped behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, starting as he slid from under her touch and eased off the stone ledge. Buffy watched him take a few steps away from her. “Spike? What’s wrong?”

He ducked his head, drawing his fingers through his hair. The bleached tips shone under the moon and starlight. He half turned toward her, his face hidden in shadow, as he murmured, “You love me.”

Buffy blinked, her mind struggling to understand what he had said. “What… how…” She trailed off, heart rate accelerating and palms growing damp; she shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew how she felt about him. Her emotions were always an open book to him, laid bare no matter how hard she struggled to hide them. She could deny his intuition as she always had in the past and do her best to distract him and herself from the truth that they both now knew. But before the protestations finished forming in her mind, she said, “Yes.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.” Buffy moved towards Spike, her steps slow and steady. “You’re a vampire. I’m the Slayer. I know the rules, but I don’t care. They’re not mine and they’re not yours, and I don’t want to live by them.”

“It’s not that.”

Buffy stopped before him and reached for his hand. He moved his hand away, and she felt fire flicker in her, sparking her anger into a blinding blaze. “So what is it then, Spike?” she asked, her voice low and tight with the tension that seeped into her muscles. “Why shouldn’t I love you? If it’s not because you’re a vampire, then why-”

“You know why!” His head snapped towards her, eyes glittering with fury. Spike held her gaze for a second before he sighed, the fire dwindling from his azure eyes, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his tired protestations. “I… I don’t…”

“What? You don’t deserve my love?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. So you deserve my friendship but not my love. Interesting distinction. Or was the discussion we had in the car a lie? Were you just placating me with talk of us being friends, of you deserving my friendship, until the day you could up and walk out of my life because it’s what’s in my best interest?”

Shaking his head, Spike took a step towards her. “No. I wasn’t placating you or lying to you. I wouldn’t do that. I’ve never done that. Not with you.”

“So it’s alright for me to be your friend as long as there’re no feelings involved?”

“No… yes… ” He growled in frustration and moved away from her, stalking back towards the roof’s edge.

She followed him across the rooftop. “I thought we had moved past this,” she said softly. “Forgiven each other about the past. Decided to move on to the future.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.” She stared at him for a few moments, taking in his white knuckled grip on the brick ledge and the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders, before she said, “You’re scared.”

He spun towards her, mouth hanging open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re scared. Scared that I love you. Scared of what might happen now.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, maybe I am! Maybe I have a reason to be! The last time I tried to love you I almost… I nearly…”

“Say it.”

“I tried to rape you! I threw you down on the ground and… and…” Spike broke off, a sob choking him, constricting his throat around the sins of the past. He bowed his head, tears pooling in his eyes, a few spilling across his dusky lashes and gliding down his cheeks. “I can’t hurt you again, Buffy. I can’t.”

She reached for him and cupped his face. Turning his head towards her, her thumb stroked his cheek, smearing the tears staining his face. “You won’t,” she whispered. “You won’t. You’ve changed. I’ve changed.”

“I haven’t changed so much that the demon isn’t still inside me, Buffy,” Spike said as he moved around her to pace the length of the rooftop. “You love me, you love the demon. I’m not like bloody Angel, pet. You can’t love the soul and hate the demon because they’re one and the same in me. All twisted together in some sodding permanent entity.”

“Yeah, and unlike Angel your demon isn’t a twisted bastard bent on torturing and killing me. Your demon tracked down and fought for your soul because you hurt me. Your demon kept its promise to a dead woman and protected her sister for an entire summer when it could have blown town and never looked back. Your demon did more good last year that three humans with souls, so don’t even try to play the demon card.”

Sighing, Spike faced her again and said, “Buffy-”

Buffy felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I’m not going to force you to love me or be with me just to make me happy. I don’t want that. But just because I love you doesn’t mean we have to go back to the way things were between us last year. That’s not how love is. You know this. You tried to show me last year but I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t let you. But if you don’t want to be with me, or if you can’t for whatever reason, then that’s Ok. I just… I want… Just don’t shut me out of your life. Please. Just don’t leave-”

His fingertips caressed her lips, heat emanating through her from where his cool touch rested against her skin. He shook his head slightly as he tilted her head up and leaned into her. His lips replaced his fingertips and brushed against hers, lightly, feather soft, requesting instead of demanding, asking instead of claiming, and it sent shivers shooting across her skin. Buffy moved into him and deepened the kiss, tasting the tears that clung to his lips, feeling the tremors coursing through him, giving instead of taking, pouring her love, her desire, herself into him and into the embrace. She wound her arms around his neck, fingers curling into the soft strands of his hair, as he placed his palms on her waist, hands sliding against the silk of her shirt. Spike drew back from the kiss and laid his forehead against hers. “How could I leave? I love you, you bloody stubborn beautiful woman. I love you.”

Buffy laughed, a wide grin stretching across her face. She looked into his eyes and saw shame, guilt, and sorrow mingled with love, passion, and hope in his cerulean gaze, and she knew her future lie within those blue orbs if she could say the words she felt, open her heart fully, completely, irrevocably, and risk the pain. Love, give, forgive. Buffy drew in a deep, calming breath and opened her mouth and said, “I love you.”

She felt Spike tense as she heard the soft scrape of shoe against rooftop. Turning in his embrace, Buffy saw Cordelia standing in the broken doorway, a grim expression on her face. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But Giles is on the phone and he needs to talk to you, Buffy. And, Spike, you better get down here and stop Angel from committing Murder One. Now.”
 

* * *

Two days had passed since Giles had fled Emilia’s apartment, terrified of the past, of himself, and of the kind woman who tried to help him. He slowly approached her door, the clothes she had given him to wear in place of his soiled, alcohol drenched ones grasped in a small bundle in his hands. They were clean and folded. He may have renamed himself Ripper and delved into the darkest of the dark magicks, but he still remembered the manners instilled in him by his mother. Giles considered placing the clothes on the doorstep and leaving without having to face Emilia, but the door to her flat opened and she stepped into the sunshine, her multicolored streaked hair shining in the late afternoon rays.

She smiled at him and said, “Hello, Rupert. Feel better?”

“Um, yes, thank you. The, uh, herbs in your tea helped with the inevitable hangover.” He shifted under her steady violet gaze and held the bundle of clothes out to her. “Um, I brought your clothes back. They’re clean.”

“Thank you. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

His stomach churned at the thought of drinking liquor and he grimaced. “No, I had better not. I should go.” Giles placed the clothes into her small hands and stepped off the front stoop. Grey eyes flickering to her lavender, he said, “Thank you, again. I appreciate all of your help.” He nodded once and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black jacket. Turning, he walked a few steps away from her before she spoke.

“What will you do now?”

“Pardon?”

“You can’t go back to the way you were living. You’ll die too. If not from the magic itself then from drinking away your guilt every night.”

“What? How do you know about magic?”

“Your soul is soaked in it, but it hasn’t taken hold of you completely. You still have a chance.”

“Who are you? How do you know so much about me?”

Emilia stepped back inside her apartment, an unreadable smile upon her face. “You’re a Watcher. You figure it out. When you’re ready, you know where I live.” She stared at him for a moment longer before closing the door to her flat.
 

* * *

Giles pounded on Emilia’s door, heedless of the fact that it was three in the morning and all was quiet and still in her neighborhood. He saw a light flicker on in her apartment, and a few moments later her door creaked open and she appeared in the doorway, rumpled from sleep, long hair pulled into a messy bun at the base of her neck.

“You’re not human,” he said.

Emilia laughed as she rubbed a hand across her face. “Hello to you, too. And what am I, Watcher, if I’m not human?”

“You’re an Elf. And don’t call me that. I’m not a Watcher.”

Arching an eyebrow, Emilia said, “Aren’t you?” She stepped away from the door and walked back into her apartment. “I don’t know about you, Rupert, but my brain does not begin to function without a spot of wonderful caffeine laden tea. Would you like some, or have you decided to stand on my doorstep for the entire night?”

Giles crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. The rich fragrance of flowers invaded his senses as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. Emilia stood beside the stove, her eyes fixed upon the teakettle warming on the burner. “Why do you keep insisting I am a Watcher?”

“Because that is who you are, even if you have not accepted it yet.”

“And you’re an expert on who I am, a woman who I met only two days ago while royally pissed in some dank hole in the wall bar?”

The water in the kettle began to boil. Emilia removed two cups from the cabinet and placed them on the white round table in the corner of her kitchen. “I’m not an expert. I just know what I know.”

“And you know I’m a Watcher?”

Emilia shook her head as she sat at the table. “Not yet. But you will be. Sooner or later.”

“So you can see visions of the future? I didn’t know Elves possessed that ability.”

“We don’t. But I don’t have to see the future to know your path.”

“All you have to see is my soul? Or can you discern my ‘path’ from reading my mind?”

Smiling, she said, “A little bit of both. You can sit down if you want.”

Giles crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the archway between the hall and kitchen. “I’d rather stand.”

“Still paranoid?”

“I am not paranoid.”

“Scared, then?” Off of his silence, she continued. “You have every reason to be scared. You know what you’ve done, what you’ve unleashed upon the world. You know the path you chose to walk. It’s ugly and deadly. But it’s not permanent. You can change. All you have to do is face your fear.”

“Easier said than done. And why should I do what you say?”

“Because it will save your life.”

Giles raised one eyebrow at her declaration.

“You don’t believe me?” Emilia asked. “Have a seat and let me tell you a little story that might change your mind.”
 

* * *

“How are you?”

Looking up from the glass of scotch held in his hand, Giles watched Emilia walk into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the linoleum floor. The Summers’ house was relatively quiet considering the amount of people populating the living room, currently occupied by one of Clem’s innumerable DVDs. Something about a woman that was pretty. After the revelation of Wesley working with Lilah and Tyler, the rest of the cassette tape had gleaned little information, save for the specifics of how the surveillance cameras operated.

“I’m… dealing, to quote a phrase from Buffy.” Giles sipped his scotch as Emilia sat across from him at the kitchen counter. Setting the glass on the countertop, he said, “The Wesley that was on that tape was not the Wesley I knew four years ago. Cordelia said on the phone that he had changed and that there had been a falling out between him and Angel, but I would never have expected him to plan attacks against Buffy or Dawn or anyone else here in Sunnydale.” Shaking his head slightly, Giles turned the glass in his hands, watching the light glimmer off the liquor and glint off the crystal. “I don’t understand his motivations for attacking us unless this is some way of retaliating against Angel.”

“People’s motivations are rarely simple or easily discernable.” Emilia removed the glass from his hands and took a drink of the scotch, closing her eyes as the liquid slid down her throat. “How did Buffy take the news?”

“She was shocked and understandably so. She said Angel reacted rather badly to the news and left the hotel to confront Lilah about Wesley’s involvement. Apparently, Spike is chasing him down now and trying to prevent Angel from doing anything rash.”

“Like killing this Wesley fellow?”

“Yes.” A wry smirk crossed Giles’ lips and he drained the rest of the scotch from his glass.
“What’s so funny?”

“The thought of Spike preventing anyone from doing anything impulsive, least of all preventing anyone from committing murder.”

Emilia arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s changed.”

“I know. Everyone has changed. Spike used to be a soulless vampire and unrepentant murderer, but now he has a soul and is trying to stop Angel from killing Wesley. Faith murdered and tortured people, but she’s attempting to atone for her crimes and was almost killed for it. Willow tried to destroy the world but is now learning how to use her power without succumbing to the darkness within her. Anya was a vengeance demon who has killed and maimed countless men, but she willingly chose to give up that life and live as a human.”

A sad smile appeared on Emilia’s face. “And now Wesley, a former ally, has apparently turned against you.”

Giles stared into his empty glass for a few moments. He shook his head slowly as he stood and placed the cup into the sink. “Sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust when it seems everyone is capable of evil.”

“Yes,” Emilia said. “It is.”
 

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: Sunnydale

By: Wynn

The candles burned low, shedding a muted golden glow on the wrinkled sheets covering the king sized bed and on the two occupants twisted around each other in the cream colored bedding. Lilah groaned as she disentangled herself from Wesley, feeling her sore but satisfied muscles twinge in all the right places. She rolled over and grasped the half filled wine glass sitting on the oak nightstand beside her bed and drank down the remaining claret liquid.

“Who do you think left those pictures of you at Wolfram and Hart?”

“You’re not one for quietly basking in the afterglow, are you Wesley?” Lilah asked as she turned back towards him. His face was cast in shadow, but the candlelight illuminated the thick scar traveling across his neck, stretching from his larynx to just below his ear. It was the death knell of his high morals and helping the hopeless mantra that Lilah had found amusing and pathetic and irritating, and the beginning of his descent into the morally ambiguous greyness in which she lived and breathed.

He tilted his head towards her, his face impassive, eyes devoid of any emotion. “The only glow in the room, Lilah, is the one from the candles.”

“I see your transformation into a soulless bastard is now complete,” she said, a wry smirk on her face.

“Thanks to you.”

Lilah shook her head as she swung her legs off the bed. “No. All I did was show you the path. You willingly decided to walk that way.”

“That I did.” Wesley pushed himself into a sitting position and ran a hand over his mussed hair. He watched her walk across the darkened bedroom to the closet and pull out a black robe. As she slipped the cool silk over her body, he said, “Maybe your colleagues at Wolfram and Hart have picked up on your extracurricular activities.”

“I doubt they would be concerned. I think this is more of an inside job.”

“Retaliation for your arrogant display at our last meeting?”

A wicked smile appeared on Lilah’s face as she conjured up memories of the last meeting of the Inner Circle. Twenty minutes late for a two minute meeting during which she laughed at the so-called power of the secret group, laughed at the ‘man in charge’ and his petty concern with his non-existent authority, and laughed as she threatened to expose the Circle to her bosses at Wolfram and Hart before waltzing out of the hall with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. A little power play to let the group, especially the self-appointed leader, know that she answered to no one and that she was a part of this scheme to take over the Hellmouth because she chose to be, to fulfill her own ambitions and desires instead of the wants and wishes of the other five members composing the Circle.

“I wouldn’t say it was retaliation,” Lilah said, returning to the bed. “More like an attempt to save face after the last meeting. He won’t do anything serious because he needs me for this plan to work.”

“Just as he knows that you won’t expose the Circle to Wolfram and Hart because the second you did so they would swoop down on the Hellmouth, and all of your plans would go up in smoke.”

“True,” Lilah said, leaning against the brass headboard of her bed. Her dark eyes flickered to the open bedroom door as her mind flashed back to the unpleasant arrival of Buffy, Cordelia, and Fred. “So that was Buffy? I expected something more… substantial.”

“Don’t underestimate her. She’s confronted and defeated more evil during her reign as the Slayer than even you can imagine.”

Arching an eyebrow, Lilah looked at Wesley. “If you’re so confident in her abilities, then why are you working against her?”

His smile was enigmatic, his eyes shrouded in mystery, and his voice was flat and level, betraying nothing of his inner motivations for plotting against Buffy and company. “I have my reasons.”

“I’m sure you do, Wesley,” Lilah said as the faint chirping of her phone sounded through the tiny apartment. “I’m sure you do.” She crossed the bedroom, stopping before a slim table beside the door. She lifted the portable phone from the receiver and pressed the talk button. “Morgan.”

“Ms. Morgan? It’s Jeffery. In Sunnydale.”

“Yes?”

“Mossino didn’t check in at the house like he was supposed to yesterday, so I stopped by his place. It’s completely trashed. The camera’s gone and his office was broken into.”

Cradling the phone against her shoulder, Lilah flashed Wesley a small smile and walked out of her bedroom. “Did you find the tape?”

“No, ma’am. The file cabinets had been searched too, and the tape is gone.”

Irritation welled within her as her grip tightened on the phone. She shouldn’t have left the cassette tape with Tyler, but the risk of discovery would have been greater if it had remained in her possession. “Where is he? Have you found him yet?”

“No, ma’am. He’s disappeared. There was an ambulance call to his place a few nights ago. The report says a young brunette woman was treated for minor injuries from a mugging. She was released into the care of Rupert Giles.”

The brunette must have been Faith. So Tyler was either dead or captured by the Do Gooder Brigade in Sunnydale. Lilah sighed. The man always had more balls than brains, so she wasn’t surprised he had gotten himself killed or captured by Faith. “Keep looking for him. And have someone watch Revello. I don’t want anymore surprises, alright?”

“Yes, Ms. Morgan.”

Turning off the phone, Lilah walked over to her couch and sat down upon the supple brown leather. Had Buffy already listened to the tape and known about Wesley’s involvement when she, Fred, and Cordelia traipsed through the apartment? Maybe the interrogation was a ruse to ascertain whether she and Wesley were here, and Buffy would soon be back with reinforcements to try to capture them.

Lilah ran a hand through her thick auburn hair. The situation in Sunnydale was spinning out of her control. The incident with Tyler and the tape was unexpected but not disastrous. It just made things a bit more unpredictable. The Slayer and her cohorts knew about her involvement in the assassination attempts; they knew the job at Mossino’s had been a set up from the beginning; they knew about Wesley’s participation in recent events; and they knew about the existence of the house on Mullholland Drive. Lilah pursed her lips as she pushed off the couch. Yes, things were about to get very interesting.

Maybe it was time for her to pay another visit to the Hellmouth.

She walked back to her bedroom, entering just as Wesley replaced his cell phone in the pocket of his charcoal pants. He slid his navy shirt on, buttoning the two halves of the shirt together as he said, “A meeting has been called in Sunnydale. He wants to commence with the next phase of the plan immediately.”

One corner of Lilah’s mouth curved up into a smug smirk as she placed the portable phone onto its receiver. “My thoughts exactly.”
 

* * *

“You know if you keep frowning like that your face will be frozen in brood mode forever.”

Silence.

Suppressing an eye roll, Spike shifted in his seat and stared out the passenger window of the Angel Mobile. The night drenched expressway zoomed past the speeding automobile in a blur of black asphalt and yellow lines. Spike, Angel, Gunn, and Connor were in the monstrosity Angel appropriated as his car, halfway to Sunnydale, with Buffy, Cordelia, Fred, and Lorne following in Joyce’s SUV. Spike’s blue eyes darted to the side mirror, locking onto the reflected form of the jeep, and once again he wished he was back there with Buffy instead of stuck here next to Peaches. But after a quick search of Lilah’s apartment turned up neither the lawyer bint nor the turncoat ex-Watcher, the decision had been made to return to Sunnydale, and Cordelia, Lorne, and Fred had drug Buffy towards the SUV claiming the need for girl talk. Which was a tad absurd considering one-fourth of the party was neither girl nor human, but one death glare from Cordelia had quelled Spike’s need to comment upon the minute technicalities.

Leaning back against the headrest, his thoughts drifted to the conversation on the rooftop. Buffy loved him. She loved him, and she had told him so. She said the words he never thought she would ever say to him, ever thought she would feel for him, and he felt like crying from the exquisite joy of hearing those three simple, complex words come out of her luscious mouth. Despite the mutual declaration of their love for one another, Spike knew the status of his relationship with Buffy was still up in the air. Were they officially ‘together’ now? What did ‘together’ mean anyway? Candy, flowers, maybe regular, normal dates that normal, human couples go on? How would they explain their relationship to Dawn and Rupert and Red and the Whelp? Would they even tell the others about their relationship, whatever it may be?

But instead of sitting next to his love, chatting about the details of their intricately complex relationship, Spike had to sit next to a sullen, cranky, and irritable Master Vampire with a martyrdom complex.

“We have forty-five minutes to go, Angelus,” Spike said, twisting in his seat to face Angel again, “so you had better stop the cave man routine or I’ll be forced to sing One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

More silence.

Spike sighed. He glanced in the rear view mirror. Angel’s kid was slouched against one side of the back seat, his permanently scowling face focused on some undoubtedly uninteresting thing on the floorboards. Spike swore the kid only had one facial expression- seriously brassed off. Gunn lounged on the opposite side of the seat, his arms folded across his chest, giving Angel a run for his money in the ‘meditating intensely’ department. The ex-Watcher’s involvement in the attacks on Buffy, Faith, and the others had pissed off Angel and Gunn more than it had angered Buffy, and they hadn’t even been the ones targeted by this Wesley bloke. There was too much ‘serious thinking’ about circumstances beyond their control, which accomplished nothing save to make everyone completely miserable.

It was time to break the brood bubble encasing the Angel Mobile.

Spike hummed the first few bars of One Hundred Bottles as he glanced at Angel out of the corners of his eyes. The elder vampire’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, so Spike hummed louder. Angel’s eyes narrowed and Spike sang stanzas 98 through 94. As he closed out the 90s, Spike heard Gunn sigh and shift in his seat, his foot not so delicately digging into the back of Spike’s seat. 89, 88, and 87 passed, and Spike swore he could see one of Angel’s eyes begin to twitch. Bottle number 86 came down and was passed around, and Angel exploded.

“Would you please shut the fuck up, William?!? You can be so goddamn irritating! You’re like a fucking kid with ADHD hyped up on speed!”

“You do know that stimulants have a calming effect on kids with ADHD,” Spike said quietly.

“That’s it.” Angel slammed on the brakes and the car slid to a halt in the middle of the interstate. He patted the pockets of his jacket as he said, “Where’s my damn stake?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly as Gunn passed a stake to Angel. Swiveling in his seat, he shot a glare at Gunn and said, “Thank you very much.”

“Should’ve stopped at 90 bottles.”

In his peripheral vision, Spike saw Angel raise the stake. He threw open the passenger door and scrambled out onto the highway as Angel climbed across the front seat and followed him out of the car. Spike backed away from the car, blue eyes darting from Angel to the SUV, which had come to a stop behind the Angel Mobile. Angel lunged for Spike again, and Spike darted to the side, kicking the brunette in the chest and sending him crashing against the hood of the car. The stake fell out of Angel’s hand and rolled underneath the car as Buffy and Cordelia approached the dueling duo.

“What the hell is going on here?” Buffy asked as she stepped between Spike and Angel.

“Anger management,” Spike said, pulling Buffy out of the way and facing Angel again. “Peaches is in the middle of a hissy fit about the Watcher, feeling all broody and guilty.” He grunted as Angel tackled him, and the two vampires rolled across the vacant interstate, smashing against the steel guardrail. Spike shoved Angel off him and climbed to his feet, dodging another one of Angel’s lunges.

“I do not have hissy fits, boy,” Angel said as he stood, wiping the highway grime off of his hands.

Spike raised one eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me. Are you going to stop brooding about something you had absolutely no control over and calm the fuck down? There was no way you could’ve known about this bloke’s part in the attacks, so stop feeling guilty about it. You being an insufferable prat is not the way to help.”

Cordelia moved in front of Angel. “Spike’s right. Wes is his own man. You’re not responsible for the choices he makes.” They faced off for a few moments, arms folded across their chests, faces locked in stubborn glares, silent communication passing between them. Eventually, Angel sighed and uncrossed his arms. Cordelia smiled triumphantly and escorted him back to his car. She pointed towards the driver’s seat as she said, “Now, get back in the car like a good vampire so Buffy can continue telling us all about kissing Spike.” Cordelia shoved Angel into the car and closed the door behind him, then returned to the SUV.

A nervous giggle escaped Buffy’s lips, countering the murderous gleam in her eyes. “That Cordelia. She always knows how to induce maximum embarrassment with minimum effort.”

Tilting his head to the side, Spike stepped closer to Buffy. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So what exactly did you say about kissing me?”

“I said-”

“Buffy! Come on!” Cordelia honked the horn once, her fingers drumming impatiently across the steering wheel.

Relief flooded Buffy’s hazel eyes. “Gotta go. See you soon. Bye.” She turned and nearly sprinted for the SUV. When Buffy was halfway to the jeep, Fred stuck her head out of one of the back windows.

“She said she likes the thing you do with your tongue,” Fred said as Cordelia and Lorne burst into laughter inside the jeep.

Eyes widening to saucer proportions, Buffy’s head snapped towards Spike, and her skin turned a deep shade of red. Struggling to maintain a calm composure, Spike crossed the distance between them and brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. His mouth curved into a smile as he said, “You told them about the thing with the tongue?”

“Um… yeah. I kind of had to because, you see, Cordelia said she thought Angel kissed better than you, so I had to prove her, you know, wrong.” Her eyes flickered down to the ground. When she looked at Spike again, a mischievous glint shone in her eyes and a smirk pulled at her ruby lips. “Cordelia’s all jealous.”

“Really now.”

“Yep. None of her boyfriends ever did that. Not even Angel.”

“Is that what I am?” he asked softly. “Your boyfriend?”

Staring up at him, hazel eyes wide, illuminated by the headlights of the cars and the streetlights lining the interstate, Buffy said, “I don’t know. Is that what you want to be?”

“Is that what you want me to be?”

“Are you always going to answer a question with a question?”

He laughed and ducked his head, looking at her from beneath his lashes. “Probably.” The SUV’s horn sounded again, closely followed by a blast from the Angel Mobile. Spike tilted his head in the direction of Joyce’s jeep and said, “You should get back before Cordelia drags you off again.”

“Yeah.” She stared at him for a moment longer before she walked to the SUV. Buffy paused by the passenger door and turned back towards Spike. Meeting his eyes, she said, “I think that’s what I want you to be.”

“I think that’s what I want me to be, too.”
 

* * *

Opening the front door, Dawn stared out at Angel. She raised one eyebrow as a small, strained smile appeared on his face and then she slammed the door shut, giggling softly as she heard Angel’s sigh of exasperation through the wood slab. Leaning back against the door, Dawn pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and glanced at the watch adorning her wrist, counting silently as ten seconds ticked by.

“Dawn? What are you doing?”

She looked up at Giles, an ecstatic grin creasing her face. “Seeing how long it takes him to knock again. Once, when he and Buffy were still dating, he waited two whole minutes. He just stood out there and stared at the door.” Her grin faded under Giles’ stoic stare, and she stifled an eye roll and heaved a world weary, tragic sigh. “Fine. Just know you’re breaking a long standing tradition here.” Turning back to the door, Dawn pulled it open again. “Hello, Angel!” she said, her voice bright with false cheer. “How nice to see you again! You’re not evil, are you?”

Angel blinked. “No, Dawn. I’m not evil.”

Cordelia appeared behind Angel, threading her arm through his and grasping his hand. “He’s just a bit cranky today, Dawn.” She patted Angel’s arm with her free hand and rolled her eyes as he growled softly. “You’re not mad. You’re just sulking because Spike kicked your ass.”

“One, I am not sulking. I do not sulk. Why does everyone keep saying I sulk, pout, brood, mope, and have hissy fits?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Ignoring Cordelia’s remark, Angel continued, “And two, Spike did not kick my ass.”

Cordelia nodded. “You’re right. He did not kick your ass. He kicked you in the chest and knocked you on your ass.”

Dawn coughed to smother a laugh as Angel sighed again and rubbed a hand across his forehead. Another person to join the Torment Angel Ceaselessly Club. She had already gotten Faith and Anya to join, with Willow, Giles, Emilia, and Clem politely bowing out, and Dawn knew Spike was a lifelong member, but nobody could snark and annoy like Cordelia.

“Dawn, can I come in?”

Flashing Angel a bright smile, Dawn said, “Sure. Your invite is still valid, so you could have come in at any time.”

One corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk as he and Cordelia crossed the threshold and moved into the Summers’ home. “Thank you, Dawn.”

“You’re welcome, Angel.” Turning to Cordelia, Dawn slung her uninjured arm around Cordy’s neck and gave her a hug. “Hey, Cordy.”

“Hey, Dawn.” Cordelia pulled out of the hug, her dark eyes examining Dawn’s sling for a moment. Her gaze hardened at the sight of the soft cast encasing Dawn’s arm.

“It’s no big,” Dawn said as she pushed Cordelia and Angel towards the living room. “Just a sprain. I should be sling-less in another week or so. Everyone’s in there. Grab a chair if you can find one.” She turned back to the open front door as a thin brunette and massive bald-headed black guy appeared at the threshold. “You two must be Fred and Gunn. I’m Dawn. Buffy’s my sister.”

Fred nodded and held out her hand to Dawn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” As Dawn shook Fred’s hand, she tilted her head towards the dining room and said to Gunn, “You can put your battle-ax in the dining room if you want. We moved all the weapons chests in there so there would be enough space in the living room for everyone to sit.”

“Thanks.”

Dawn moved onto the bottom step of the stairs to allow Fred and Gunn and Gunn’s battle-ax to enter the dining room. As she turned her gaze back to the open door, she saw the coolest looking demon ever. His suit was cerulean and made out of a soft shiny material, and his shirt was scarlet silk. The tie was a swirl of colors, reminding Dawn of the Jackson Pollock paintings she studied in art class a few years ago.

“This must be the enchanting Dawn,” Lorne said as he laid a kiss on the back of Dawn’s hand.

“Yep. That’s me. Enchanting Dawn. And you’re Lorne.”

“You are correct, milady,” Lorne said, moving into the entryway. “You have a lovely home, Dawn.”

“Thank you. My mom did the decorating. She owned an art and antique gallery, so she had access to all sorts of cool stuff.”

His crimson eyes softened as he lightly grasped Dawn’s hand. “Your mother had extraordinary taste.”

Dawn nodded, a wisp of a smile curving her lips. “Yes, she did. Thank you. Everyone’s in the living room. Make yourself at home.” She directed Lorne towards the living room, her blue eyes darting back to the entrance and locking onto a pair of sullen brown. Her gaze flickered to the living room and landed briefly on Angel before returning to the boy before her. Ah. Angel’s kid. It was freaky enough that Angel had a kid, let alone the fact that Connor was a mirror image of Angel, right down to the same brooding scowl adorning his features.

Dawn waved. “I’m Dawn. Welcome to Sunnydale.” Connor didn’t say anything. He shuffled from one foot to the other, his dark gaze flickering from the straw mat on the porch, to Dawn’s face, and down to his hands. Oooo-kay. Buffy didn’t mention he was non-verbal, although Dawn doubted being raised in a demon dimension encouraged sparkling conversation skills. “You can come in, if you want to.”

Silent, Connor slipped inside the house. He frowned as he noticed the sling on Dawn’s arm. His dark eyes peered at her through his long hair; his gaze was intense, his eyes the color of melted chocolate, and Dawn felt a slight flutter shoot through her stomach. “I’m Connor,” he said.

“Dawn. That’s, um, me. But I already said that, didn’t I? Everyone’s right over there but if you’re thirsty or anything, the kitchen’s in the back of the house. We have water and more water and maybe a bit of leftover blood, which you probably wouldn’t want seeing as how you’re not a vampire.” Open mouth, insert foot. Way to babble, Dawn.

His mouth curved into a lopsided grin and he mumbled, “Thanks,” before slipping into the living room.

Dawn forced herself not to blush as she stepped out of the house. Spike stood at the edge of the porch, his blue eyes wide and focused on the open door. She heard Buffy murmur something to Spike and reach for his hand, but he shook his head softly, taking a step back from the porch. Brows drawing together in concern, Dawn wondered why he was reluctant to enter the house. Since his return to Sunnydale, chipless and soulful, he had been inside her and Buffy’s house, staying the night after the attack by the assassins outside the Bronze. Whatever the reason for the current hesitation, it could be dealt with later. Dawn plastered a bright smile on her face as she walked down the porch towards Buffy and Spike.

“Spike,” Dawn said as she laid the teenage grip of death on his hand and began to pull him towards the door, “I am soooo glad you are here. Giles ruined my ritual Angel greeting, so I need to make up for it with lots of snark. I have some comments lined up about Angel’s hair and funny walk, ‘cause you know he sort of looks like Quasimodo, all hunched over and broody, but they are so yesterday’s insults. I need some really good ones.”

Over Spike’s shoulder, she caught Buffy’s eye. Her sister mouthed ‘Thank you’ as she followed Dawn and Spike across the porch. Dawn shrugged and turned her attention back to Spike. “And I know you know something really embarrassing about Angel that would be perfect.” She glanced up at him and found his gaze locked on something in the doorway. Dawn followed Spike’s line of sight and sighed at the man blocking their way into her home.

Xander leaned against the doorjamb, eyes hard with hatred, arms folded across his chest, stake held lightly in one hand.
 

* * *

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