Chapter Thirty-Three: Love and Hate

By: Wynn

The saying goes ‘There’s a thin line between love and hate.’ The old adage might have held true for Spike’s relationship with Buffy, definitely applied to his relationship with Angel, but there was no line between love and hate for Spike and Xander. That’s because there was no love. There was only hate. Spike always knew Xander hated him, at first simply for the fact that he was a vampire. As time progressed, Xander’s hatred moved beyond the basic difference of species to a more personal and intense hatred cultivated through the constantly fluctuating and complex relationship Spike had with the Scoobies, particularly his relationship with Buffy.

But the look on Xander’s face, the gleam in his eyes, went beyond hatred. Beyond loathing. Beyond revulsion. It was a look familiar to Spike because it was a look he had seen on his own face every time he peered into a mirror since his soul had been returned to him.

“If it’s alright with you, Harris,” Spike said, his blue eyes never wavering from Xander, “maybe we could do this someplace private.”

“Fine by me, Spike.”

Xander uncrossed his arms and pushed off the doorjamb. Spike tried to slip his hand out of Dawn’s grasp. Her fierce grip tightened further, and she stepped between Spike and Xander, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes hard and locked on Xander.

“Let him go, Dawn,” Xander said.

“No.”

“Dawn, Harris and I are just going to have a little chat.”

“Really? And here I thought you were going to have a little staking. I wonder how I got all confused. It’s certainly not because of the stake in Xander’s hand.” Dawn raised her chin in the air as she stared at Xander. “If you want to have a little chat, do it right here, right now.”

Xander tore his gaze away from Spike and looked at Dawn, taking in the resolute tilt to her chin and stubborn glint to her eyes. Sighing, he turned back to Spike and said, “So I heard you got yourself a soul.”

“I did.”

“I bet you think you’re a changed man now. Or maybe you think because you’re an ex-soulless bastard you’re not responsible for everything you did as a soulless bastard.”

“You call Spike a bastard one more time, Xander,” Dawn said taking a step closer to him, fire flashing in her eyes, “and I will throw you out of my house.”

“You’re still defending him? After what he did to your sister-”

“Oh, yes. Let’s talk about that. Do you remember how I found out about that, Xander? Do you? You told me, in the middle of the street, while we were on the run from a psychotic Willow.”

“You needed to know the truth, Dawn.”

“But you didn’t tell me because you thought I needed to know the truth. And you didn’t tell me because you cared about me or Buffy or wanted to protect us. You told me because you hate Spike and you wanted me to hate him, too.”

Spike laid a hand on Dawn’s shoulder and gently pulled her back towards him. “Dawn…”

She looked up at him, her body trembling with anger. “No. I’m not going to let him attack you like this. You made a mistake last year. Just like everyone else made mistakes last year, including Xander.” She turned away from Spike and faced Xander again. “Did you forget about all the bad stuff you’ve done? Have you forgotten about all the mistakes you’ve made? You almost got Faith killed. You left Anya at the altar, broke her heart, and left town without so much as an explanation. You brought that singing demon to town, which killed a couple people and almost got Buffy killed again.”

Xander dropped his gaze to the ground. “Dawn…”

“You want to delve deeper into the past, Xander? You cheated on Cordelia with Willow. Put a love spell on the entire high school that turned all the women into rabid murderous lust puppies. Do you remember all these mistakes you made? Have you forgotten all the mistakes that people have forgiven you for, just like we’ve forgiven Spike and Buffy and Willow and Faith and Anya and Angel and me for all the bad things we’ve done in the past? Spike’s changed and he’s trying to do good, which is why he went and fought for his soul. So there will be no little talk with a stake. There will be no more threatening Spike or calling him a bastard because you feel like it. And if you don’t like it, you can get the hell out of my house.”

“Technically, it’s my house,” Buffy said as she stepped between Dawn and Xander, a tight smile on her face. She reached down, plucked the stake from Xander’s hand, and tossed it over the porch railing. “But I agree with what Dawn said about Spike. He’s changed. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so please find a way to work with him or work around him because we do not have the time to deal with another one of these showdowns.”

A minute passed. Xander glanced from Buffy to Dawn and back again, his gaze softening, the hatred replaced with a wearied resignation. Shaking his head softly, he stepped out of the doorway. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said as Buffy moved by him.

“I do.” She glanced over her shoulder at Dawn, a wicked grin on her face, and said, “I have the absolute perfect embarrassing Angel moment you can use against him. Something Lorne told me, actually. Have you ever heard of the song Mandy?”

An evil smile crossed Dawn’s face. She disentangled her hand from Spike’s as she glanced at him. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook though. You lived with Angel for, like, forever, so I know you have some good ribbing material stored up.”

Spike suppressed the smirk that threatened to form on his face. Nodding gravely, he said to Dawn, “I have one or two particularly gruesome embarrassing moments I’d be willing to share about Peaches. For the right price.”

“No spicy buffalo wings or sour cream and onion chips or anything else resembling junk food on the premises. So it’s gonna have to be hot cocoa with lots of gooey marshmallows.”

“Perfect.” He nudged Dawn into the house. “Buffy’s waiting for you. Go learn about Angel’s horrid singing.”

Blue eyes darting between Xander and Spike, Dawn said, “You are coming in though. Right?”

“Yeah, Bit. Be inside in a sec.”

“Ok. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Xander watched Dawn enter the house and disappear into the living room. He stepped in front of Spike and crossed his arms over his chest. “You hurt her again and I will kill you. Soul or no soul.”

Spike nodded. Maneuvering around Xander, he crossed the threshold and moved into the Summers’ home as he said, “Get in the line, mate. Others have made the same promise. Myself included.”
 

* * *

The sky was clear, dotted with puffy white clouds, and brilliant with sunshine. Willow took a deep breath and knocked on the front door to the Summers’ house. After the inevitable Spike and Xander confrontation, which turned out a lot better than Willow had expected due to the lack of fighting or dustage, Giles had postponed the big discussion about the latest attempt to takeover the Hellmouth. Tempers were short and volatile, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite an inferno of anger and badness, and having everyone in the same room at the same time with an easily accessible pile of weapons in the next room was not of the good. So the group had split for a much needed night of rest, waiting to reconvene at Buffy and Dawn’s the next day.

The front door opened and Buffy stared out at Willow, hazel eyes narrowing from the morning sunshine. Or maybe they narrowed from staring at Willow. Or both. Willow tried to banish the thoughts in her head of Buffy slamming the door in her face or throwing her off of the porch or tearing her arms out of her sockets and beating her with them. Buffy had accepted her back into the fold before she left for England, but maybe feelings had changed over the past few months and Buffy now hated her for what she did, for what she tried to do. Willow mentally shook her head, trying to clear her mind from nervous rambles and wild speculation, and a half-smile appeared on her face as she said, “Hey.”

A moment passed and then Buffy smiled, moving out of the doorway and gathering Willow into a fierce hug. “Hey. I missed you.”

Willow nodded lamely, blinking rapidly in an attempt to curb the tears flooding her green eyes. She sniffed once and said, “I missed you, too.” Pulling back, she smoothed a hand over Buffy’s now tear stained shoulder and grimaced. “I went all leaky and blubbery on you. I’m sorry.”

Buffy shook her head as she grasped Willow’s hand and pulled her inside the house. “It’s no big,” she said, covertly wiping a hand beneath her eyes. “Do you want something to drink? Dawn complained last night that all we had in the house was water and blood, so we did an emergency stop at the grocery store, picked up some orange juice, soda, some sort of weird tea stuff Giles likes.”

“Orange juice sounds great,” Willow said as they made their way into the kitchen. She sat on one of the stools surrounding the island counter and watched Buffy pull out two mugs before grabbing the juice out of the refrigerator.

Moving over to the counter, Buffy poured the juice into the two cups and said, “You’re here early.”

“Yeah. Xander was a bit cranky last night. I thought it best to give him a little alone time before the big group meeting.”

Buffy grimaced. “Was he pissed about the whole defending Spike thing?”

“A little. He’s more confused than pissed, I think. A lot’s changed since we’ve been gone. Faith and Anya are now best friends, which wigs Xander to no end. The only two women on the planet he’s ever done the deed with are now bestest buds. Spike is back, with a soul he sought out himself. Angel and Cordelia are back in town and are apparently together, and Angel has a kid, a teenage kid, with an un-dead and re-vamped but now dusted Darla. And Wesley’s trying to kill us all.” Willow paused and took a sip of orange juice from her mug. “So confusion is the current state of mind for Xander.” br>
“I think that’s the state of mind for all of us.” Buffy shook her head as she fiddled with the cup in her hands. “But enough of the crazy talk. How was England? Was the coven nice?”

Willow nodded, a bright smile appearing on her face. “Yeah. They were a bit wary at first, which is totally understandable considering, you know, the flaying and burning and almost world endage, but they were still really nice and supportive. I learned a lot about the magic, about the power inside me, how to respect it and use it without going all black eyed and psychotic.” A small frown furrowed her brow. “Well, without going all psychotic. Apparently the black eyes are permanent.” Willow shrugged and took another drink of juice. “I’ve started doing a little bit of magic again. Nothing too serious. Except for that healing spell for Faith, but that was a life or death situation there so I kind of had-”

“Wait. What was a life or death situation?”

Willow blinked. She looked at Buffy, who stared back at her, one eyebrow arched in confusion. “Giles didn’t tell you what happened? How Faith almost died?”

“Faith almost died?! When did this happen?”

“About three, four days ago. She, Anya, and Xander were breaking into Tyler’s and he showed up, got behind her, and slit her throat.”

Realization flashed through Buffy’s eyes. “That’s what Dawn meant about Xander almost getting Faith killed.”

“He kind of distracted her at a crucial moment and Tyler capitalized on that distraction.”

Buffy smiled bitterly. “I guess Wesley and Lilah are serious about wanting us dead. First Spike and now Faith.”

“What happened to Spike?”

“He was shot. With a wood bullet. Right in front of me.”

Willow raised an eyebrow as Buffy abruptly pushed away from the counter and poured the rest of her orange juice down the drain. She turned the hot water faucet and began to scrub the mug, her movements’ quick and fierce, steam rising from the sink as the temperature of the water increased. Willow placed her glass on the counter and slid off the stool, moving over to the sink and shutting off the hot water. “Buffy?”

Buffy jumped and the mug slipped out of her hand, clanking against the steel basin of the sink. A humorless grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as Buffy reached for a paper towel. “Sorry, Wil. I thought… I thought I was Ok with it.” She finished drying her hands and tossed the damp towel in the garbage.

“Buffy? What’s-”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Buffy said, pacing the length of the kitchen. “Which I probably am but not about this. At least I don’t think so because it feels right. It feels normal and sane to me, and I think it does to him too, but then we get back here and there’s stakes and confrontations and now I don’t know. I want it to be right and fine and chock full of happiness and goodness but this is Sunnydale and nothing is ever chock full of anything but horror and misery. And do you think I’m crazy?”

“Quite possibly.” Willow moved over to Buffy and gently led her to the kitchen table. Pulling out a chair, she nudged Buffy into it and settled in the seat opposite her best friend. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it before any coherent words formed on her lips. Buffy’s half-hysterical rambling rants took a few moments to process. A couple seconds passed before Willow said, “Ok. This is about you and… Spike?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want it to be chock full of happiness and goodness… because it feels right?”

“Yeah.”

“And this ‘it’ is about you and Spike being… you and Spike, like together in a couple-y way, you and Spike?”

Buffy’s eyes were large, vulnerability peeking through the tough shell usually encasing the Slayer. She gnawed on her bottom lip as she said, “Yeah.”

“Ok.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, for wanting there to be a ‘me and Spike?’”

“No,” Willow said quickly. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Well, maybe a little. I think that confusion epidemic has spread to me, too.” Willow drew in a deep breath and looked at Buffy. She would not judge or condemn or jump to the conclusion that her best friend needed serious therapy. This was a time to listen and attempt to understand the near incomprehensible. “So you want to be a part of a ‘you and Spike.’ Do you love him?”

“If I said I did, how much would it freak you out?”

“I don’t know. Medium wiggage I guess. Or maybe none at all because I think you just told me you love him in a roundabout, answering the question by not answering kind of way.” She paused. “Does he know how you feel?”

Buffy sighed and stood, drawing a hand through her hair as she began to pace the kitchen again. “Yes. He knows. I didn’t plan to feel this way. It wasn’t like I purposely wanted to fall in love with another vampire. Not after the first go round was miraculously tragic and angsty. It just happened. He just happened. Completely unexpected but feeling totally natural and right and what was meant to happen. Am I making any sense?”

Mind filling with images of Tara, of a love that wasn’t planned, of a love that just happened, Willow nodded, a sad smile crossing her face. “You’re making all kinds of sense.”

“I don’t want to have to hide whatever’s going on between me and Spike. I don’t want him to think I’m ashamed to be with him because I’m not. But I know the concept of a ‘me and Spike’ is strange to everyone here, and I don’t want to freak you guys out or make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not going to say I’m not a little freaked by the idea of you and Spike because I am. The last go round for you two seemed pretty bad. But I won’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. If you think Spike’s changed, and by what you said to Xander last night you do think he’s changed, and if you love him, which you just said you did, then I guess there really isn’t any reason for you to not be with him. Everyone’ll deal. Eventually. Hopefully.”

Buffy let out the breath she’d been holding. Returning to her chair, she reached out and clasped Willow’s hand. “Thank you. For trying to understand.”

“It’s what best friends are for. I just want you to be happy.”

“I think I could be with Spike.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Willow held Buffy’s hand for a moment longer before she stood. “I should go. Let you get ready for the big group meeting thing tonight.”

“You don’t have to go.”

Willow smiled. “I know. I have some things I need to take care of before tonight. College stuff. I’ll see you later.” She turned and waved goodbye to Buffy over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.
 

* * *

Spike banged on the door, his frustration reaching epic proportions. He mentally cursed his soul for making him be polite and offer a place to stay at his house for Angel, Cordelia, and the rest of the L.A. gang. He didn’t mind the fact that the bathroom was constantly occupied or that everywhere he turned he ran into someone scurrying about or that he was awaken this morning by Lorne’s rendition of Lady Marmalade. But this was too much. A bloke could only take so much before reaching the breaking point, and this was the final straw that broke this bloody camel’s back.

“Angel! Open the goddamn door! Right now!”

The door to Angel and Cordelia’s room creaked open, and Angel peered out at Spike, innocence plastered across his face. “Yes?”

“Where is it?”

Angel blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, do not even try the innocent act, Angelus. I know you’ve got it. Only you would be stupid enough to take it.”

A mischievous, knowing gleam peeked from behind Angel’s innocent façade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, William.”

Jaw clenched and hands fisted, Spike suppressed a growl and drew in a shaky, calming breath. He mentally counted to ten, willing the urge to launch himself at Angel and rip his head off to retreat to his subconscious. He opened his mouth to speak again but an idea crept into his mind, and he smiled. Evilly. “You don’t give me back my book and I’ll tell Dawn all about Madrid.”

A dark look crossed Angel’s face, his pretense of innocence dissolving in a flash. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Angel growled as he spun away from the door and stalked into his room. Reaching under the bed, he withdrew the poetry book and shoved it into Spike’s hands. “There’s your sodding book, Beer boy.”

Ignoring Angel, Spike thumbed through the book, searching for the few sheets of paper stored between the pages. They were where he had left them, resting between Wordsworth and Tennyson, his first attempt in over a hundred years to compose his own poetry. Glancing at Angel, he said, “You didn’t read them, did you?”

Still glowering, Angel said, “No.”

Spike nodded. “Good.” He walked back to the door, stopping short as Angel spoke again.

“Going to finish making yourself pretty for Buffy.”

“I am not making myself pretty for Buffy,” Spike said through gritted teeth as he turned back to Angel. He ran a hand over his newly shorn locks, courtesy of Cordelia and Lorne, the inevitable curls his hair turned into when it was long tamed by the short length. “I was just tired of all these curls flopping around, getting in my face all the time. It was irritating.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Spike.”

“At least I’m not wearing mass amounts of cologne like you. You smell bloody ridiculous, Angelus. Here’s hoping the cheerleader appreciates it ‘cause everyone else within a fifteen mile radius doesn’t.”

“The ‘cheerleader’ appreciates it very much,” Cordelia said as she entered the bedroom, breaking the tension between the two vampires. “Although it is a bit strong at times.” Cutting off Angel’s growl of protest, she turned to Spike and said, “You have a visitor.”

“Who is it?”

Cordelia pointed over his shoulder and Spike turned, coming face to face with Willow. Great. When Scoobies attack, part two. Sighing, Spike edged around Willow, out of the bedroom and into the hall. He moved down the hallway to his bedroom, flipping on the light switch as Willow entered the room behind him and shut the door.

“Willow-”

She held up a hand and pointed to his bed. “Sit. Please.” As Spike sat down upon the bed, she continued, “It has come to my attention that you and Buffy are more than ‘just friends.’”

“Who-”

“Hey! No talking yet.” Frowning at the interruption, Willow slowly walked around the room, keeping one eye on Spike and the other on his bedroom furnishings. “Now, as I said, it has come to my attention that you and Buffy are more than ‘just friends.’ My question to you, Spike, is what do you plan to do about this extra-friendly status?”

“What? I don’t know just yet. I’ve only known Buffy’s wanted to be more than friends for one day, and most of my attention has been focused on these people that’re trying to kill us.”

Willow arched an eyebrow and glanced at his short, spiky hair.

“I said most.” Spike laid the book of poetry beside him as he said, “What’s the deal here, Red? Are you here to warn me to stay away from Buffy?”

“No. No warning. Well, except for the one that if you hurt her in any way, I’ll do worse than just stake you. And I’ll make it to the head of the line first.” Willow crossed the room and peered at him through narrowed eyes. “I just want to make sure your intentions are honorable. No more chaining Buffy up to walls or building another sex-bot or any of the other bad stuff that went on between the two of you last year.”

Spike leaned back slightly, increasing the space between himself and Willow. He saw her eyes flash black for a second before returning to their normal green. “I don’t want any of that. Ever again.”

Willow nodded and continued her tour of his bedroom. “Good. Now, flowers and chocolates are decent but overdone. I wouldn’t go with flowers at all. Buffy isn’t particularly fond of them, especially not roses. She hates roses. The best bet is to go for original, thoughtful tokens of your affection. And original and thoughtful does not always mean weaponry, got it? Maybe-”

“Willow, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t screw up your second chance with Buffy. She deserves to be happy, she wants to be happy, and you make her happy.”

“Oh.” This was unexpected. Spike mentally amended the ‘When Scoobies attack’ to ‘When Scoobies shock the hell out of you.’ He knew Red was open minded about most things, considering she herself had been one-half of an unconventional relationship, but her helping him in his romantic relations with Buffy was nearly beyond belief. Glancing up at Willow, he said, “Thank you.”

“The way you can thank me is by treating Buffy right. And this is not for you. Buffy’s had enough crap boyfriends who’ve done what’s right for them in their relationship, leaving her heartbroken and alone. You have a second chance to make things right with her, and you can’t take it for granted because it could be gone quicker than you can say ‘bloody hell’ and you’re left wishing you could do anything to go back and make things better but you can’t.”

Spike stood and walked over to Willow. Her gaze was focused upon another one of his volumes of literature, green eyes obscured by a curtain of red hair. “If it’s any consolation,” he said softly, “I’m sorry about Tara. She was always decent to me even after all the rotten stuff I’d done in the past. True compassion like that is a rarity.”

Willow shoved her hear behind her ear. Eyes brimmed with unshed tears, she said, “Thanks. She… she was beautiful. She glowed, you know. Sunshine in nothing but darkness. I-” Willow broke off, a watery smile appearing on her face. “I think it’s time for me to go. I have to get to UC Sunnydale, see if they’ll let me re-enroll after my complete disappearance from classes last semester.”

“They’ll give you a second chance.” Spike shifted, his eyes flickering from the floor and back to Willow. “Thank you, again. I don’t deserve-”

“You know how you can thank me.” Willow walked to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at Spike, a small smile on her face. “Although cutting your hair helped the thanking process. You looked weird with the soft curls. All Victorian and proper. It was a bit freaky.”
 

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four: Truth Takes Time

By: Wynn

“This is what we know,” Giles said, his grey eyes flickering across the faces crowding the Summers’ living room. The only people who were missing from the combined Sunnydale and L.A. crew were Clem and Emilia, who had both volunteered to make a grocery run for the sixteen humans, demons, and in betweens in the Summers’ house. Clearing his throat, Giles continued, “Wesley, Lilah, and a man named Samuel approached and hired Tyler to spy on Buffy and film her with surveillance equipment provided by them. The same sort of camera found at Tyler’s business was also discovered in the Magic Box and was used to record Faith. We don’t know how long the camera at the magic shop was in place or how it was installed without our knowledge.”

“Long enough for them to learn all about us,” Anya said from her place on the couch. “Tyler knew stuff about me. And more than the fact that I was a Vengeance Demon. He knew about me and Xander, and he couldn’t have learned about it from Wesley. He wasn’t here then.”

Eyes clouded, Giles stared down at the floor. “And our… guest hasn’t been very forthright with information since Xander and I brought him back here. So we must assume that whether by the surveillance cameras or other means these people know intimate details of our lives.”

“From what Lilah said,” Buffy began, pacing slowly in front of the fireplace, “all of these past attacks on us were just tests, ways to assess our fighting skills and how we work with one another.” She paused and a small frown appeared on her face. “Or she could have been blowing smoke about the whole ‘Maybe we wanted our plans to kill you to fail spectacularly’ because she was pissed that they did fail.”

Angel shook his head. “Lilah wouldn’t lie. She’s too confident in her abilities to bow down to simple lying and distractions. So whatever she said to you was deliberate and most likely the truth.”

“You’re probably right. The planned failure fits with what she said about other plans being made, how there was no way for us to avoid them, we’re all going to die, blah, blah, blah.” Buffy shrugged as she ran a hand over her hair. “Whatever. No matter how confident she is in her abilities, she knows someone is after her now. I mean, besides us. Those pictures of her and that house on Mulberry-”

“Mulholland,” Dawn corrected.

“-Melbourne Lane were a shock to her. Whether these pictures were left for Lilah to find or for us to find, either way it means we may have an unknown ally somewhere working against Lilah, Wesley, and the other guy.”

“Samuel.”

Buffy flashed a tight smile at her baby sister. “Yes. Samuel. Thank you, Dawn.” She sighed as a bright grin appeared on Dawn’s face and continued, “Since Lilah’s gone, Wesley’s MIA, Tyler isn’t talking, and we have no way of finding this Samuel guy, our best bet is this house Lilah and Tyler went to. I don’t want to sit around and wait for whatever plan these four have cooked up. We’re taking the fight to them.”

Turning to Willow, Buffy said, “Can you find floor plans for this house? Sewer access tunnels, power line feeds, the usual.”

Willow nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. Also see if you can find any information about who owns the house, if there are any utilities being paid for, and so on. Maybe it could lead us to this Samuel person.”

“Got it.”

Buffy glanced at Angel and Spike as she said, “Feel like a trip to Willy’s? See if there’s any gossip about the house or any big new player in town.”

Spike looked at Buffy, a wolfish grin curving his lips. “No problem, pet. Now, in case he decides to be stingy on the info-”

Suppressing an amused eye roll, she said, “Just don’t do too much damage to his place, Ok? The last time we went to him for information Anya started a bar fight.”

“I didn’t start the bar fight,” Anya said. “I just happened to be there right around the time it occurred. Innocent bystander innocently watching the amusing proceedings.”

“Well, since you’re now an expert at standing innocently and watching, how about you and Faith do some surveillance on Mulholland. Check out the level of activity at the house, who’s coming and going, things like that.” Her eyes darted to Faith, lingering on the scar slicing across her neck. “You feel up to it?”

“All systems a go, B. I think I can handle sitting on my ass and watching a house.”

Buffy watched Faith for a moment longer before she slowly nodded. “Dawn, Fred, Lorne. You guys get started on the research. Try to find anything you can about what sorts of spells or magicks hide electronic devices from detection. Lilah might use the same cloaking spell on any surveillance equipment that could be guarding the house.”

Off their nods, Buffy turned and pointed to Gunn, Connor, and Xander. “Can you three take weapons detail? See what we have already and what else we might need for a home invasion.”
“What are you going to do?” Xander asked.

A cold smirk curved Buffy’s lips. “Giles and I are going to have a little chat with Tyler.” The grin faded off her face as she looked around the room. “Everyone knows what to do. Be back here by sundown. We’re hitting this place tonight.”
 

* * *

“How are you feeling?”

Faith sighed, her dark eyes darting from the brick house to Anya, who looked at her with arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arched in concern. They were on the roof of the building opposite the house Tyler and Lilah had both visited, two hours into their surveillance, and Anya had already asked about Faith’s feelings four times. Each time was met with a strained ‘Fine’ coupled with a murderous scowl on Faith’s face, but Anya wasn’t deterred by the hostile vibes her best friend was emitting. If anything, Faith’s refusal to answer Anya’s questions increased her curiosity and prodded her into asking about Faith’s thoughts, feelings, and emotions again and again and again.

“And don’t say ‘Fine,’” Anya said as Faith opened her mouth to speak. “Willow told me about your destruction of the mirror. She said you wanted Tyler to kill you.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Did she now? And since when is Saint Willow an expert on what I’m feeling or not feeling?”

“She’s not, which is why I’m asking you,” Anya said patiently. She shifted on the shingled rooftop and glanced briefly at the house before she spoke again. “You’re my friend, Faith. Deal with my persistent inquiries into your state of mind because they’re not stopping anytime soon. No matter how much you glare at me.”

“Look, I wasn’t pissed because I was still alive. I don’t have some death wish or suicidal tendencies, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just letting off a bit of steam. So you can chill with the intervention, alright?”

“That’s good. I’m pleased you don’t wish to die. But then why-”

“Anya, just drop it. I don’t feel like analyzing my emotions right now.”

“Why not? It’s not like we have anything else to do. There isn’t anything remotely interesting going on at-”

“Incoming,” Faith said, cutting off Anya’s boredom tirade, as she saw movement at the end of the street. A long limousine turned the corner onto Mulholland Drive, moving down the road until it slowed to a stop in front of the brick house. A burly driver hopped out of the front seat and maneuvered around the car, opening the rear door. Faith heard Anya’s sharp intake of breath as two figures emerged from the shadowed darkness of the limo. Wesley and Lilah moved onto the sidewalk and walked towards the house. Halfway to the front door, the duo stopped.

“What’s going on?” Anya whispered. “What are they doing?”

Frowning, Faith squinted into the afternoon sunshine, trying to get a clearer focus on Wes and Lilah. “They’re fighting,” she said as Wes pointed towards the house, his face inches away from Lilah’s. Even from this distance, the strained muscles in Wesley’s neck and shoulders were visible, as was the scowl adorning his features. Faith saw Lilah roll her eyes and turn away from Wes, saying something over her shoulder to him; the lawyer walked to the front door and entered the house without looking back. Wesley stared at the brick façade a moment longer before he spun and stalked away from the house. He bypassed the limousine and made his way down the cracked sidewalk stretching alongside Mulholland Drive.

Faith inched away from the roofline. “Stay here and watch the house,” she told Anya as she crawled across the tar to the ladder hanging off the side of the building. “Make sure Lilah doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Where are you going?”

“After Wes.”
 

* * *

The doors to Willy’s Bar smashed open, banging against the walls, the vibrations of impact knocking a few of the neon signs advertising various beer, blood, and other liquids onto the dirt encrusted floor. Willy ducked behind the bar, his small, beady eyes peering between the taps towards the entrance. A squeak of fear escaped his lips as he saw Angel and Spike saunter into the silent room, Angel composed and serious, dark eyes drifting around the smoky interior with a measured intensity while Spike strolled around the room with a cocky grin plastered across his face, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Willy sunk to the floor and began crawling towards the exit. First, the Slayer sent the crazy Vengeance Demon to get information, and the broad started a bar fight within two minutes of her arrival. And over the color of her hair, no less. Now, the Slayer sent her two vampires, and Satan knew what these two were capable of. Willy bet the entire bar could be demolished into a big pile of dust in five minutes flat if those two put their minds to it.

He tensed as he heard Spike address the silent crowd. “If you’re not Willy, I suggest you leave. Now. Before Peaches gets really mad and decides to delve into his dark side. Angelus-”

The rest of Spike’s threat was drowned out by the sounds of chairs squealing against the tiled floor and the rush of feet and hooves scrambling for the exits. Willy increased his speed and had one hand over the threshold when he was lifted up and plopped onto the bar. He giggled nervously as his eyes darted from Angel to Spike, and he lifted his hand in a gesture somewhat resembling a wave. “H-hey, guys. Man, long time no see. I have a nice gallon of O Neg in the back if you’re hungry-”

“We’re not here for your blood,” Angel said. “We have a few questions we’d like you to answer.”

“And if you don’t answer them,” Spike said as he leaned close to Willy, eyes darting down to the barkeep’s neck, “we might change our minds about the blood.”

Willy swallowed as he shifted on the bar, vainly trying to increase the space between him and Spike. Word on the street was that his chip was no longer an issue, so Willy knew he could make good on his threat. “S-sure. Whatever you guys want to know. I mean, people haven’t been telling me much, so I don’t know a whole lot, but anything I do know, I’ll be glad to tell you.”

Spike smiled wickedly. “Excellent. There’s a house on Mulholland Drive. Heard anything about it?”

Willy shook his head. “No.”

“You sure you know nothing about it?”

“I don’t know anything. But that’s the weird part. That place used to be a real hotspot for demon activity. All sorts of stuff going down over there. But I haven’t heard squat in the last few months. Demons are steering clear of that place.” He paused, looking between Spike and Angel. “I figured the Slayers added it to their patrol routes.”

Angel placed one hand on the bar and brought his face closer to Willy’s. “So you haven’t heard anything else about why the demons are suddenly avoiding that place?”

Shaking his head quickly, Willy said, “No, man. I haven’t heard nothing else. Nope. Not at all.”

Angel pushed off the bar and glanced at Spike. “Now why don’t I believe him, Spike?”

Spike shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe ‘cause there’s something he’s not telling us.”

“That’s what I thought. Don’t you feel real bad that our pal Willy has decided to lie to us?”

“I feel really, really bad.”

“Me, too. And I don’t like feeling bad.”

“I hate feeling bad. Makes me feel like hitting something. Or someone.”

Willy held up his hands as beads of sweat slid across his forehead. “Ok, so maybe I heard something else. It’s no big really. It’s just that these people at the house sent word through the demon community that there was a reward for the first one to take out the Slayers.” He screamed as Spike grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him off the bar, the vampire’s blue eyes flashing gold..

“If there’s a price on the Slayers’ heads, why haven’t there been any attacks on them?”

“‘Cause no demon in his right mind’ll take these people up on their offer. A human wanting the Slayer dead? It don’t smell right. And that’s all I know, honest. I haven’t heard anything else.”

Tilting his head, Spike stared at Willy, his gaze cold and dangerous. A minute passed, long enough for Willy’s life to flash before his eyes a few hundred times, before Spike released him, sending the barkeep tumbling to the floor. Grinning, Spike ambled away from Willy. “Pleasure doing business with you, Willy.”

“Yeah,” Angel said, moving towards the door. “It was an illuminating experience. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Again? Oh, again. Sure, guys. Again would be great. You two are welcome back here anytime you want.”

“That’s right nice of you,” Spike said. “We find out you’re lying to us or holding out any more information and we’ll take you up on your generous offer. Be seeing you, Willy.”
 

* * *

“Wakey, wakey.” Buffy shook Tyler’s head, lightly jostling it within her grasp until he opened his eyes and looked at her. “No more beauty rest for you. It’s time for a little Q and A.”

Tyler jerked his head out of her hands and kicked at her, growling as she danced out of the reach of his foot. “I’m not answering anything, Goldilocks.”

Tilting her head to the side, Buffy folded her arms across her chest and said, “Don’t call me that.”

Snorting in derision, Tyler said, “Why not? Did I offend you? Heaven forbid I offend the chick who has me chained to a concrete pillar!”

“One, it’s your own damn fault you’re chained to the pillar. If you hadn’t tried to kill Faith, you wouldn’t be here, looking like you had the crap kicked out of you by an entire football team. And two, only one person is allowed to call me Goldilocks, and it’s not you.” Buffy paused a moment before she continued, “Now, Giles tells me that you’ve been less than forthcoming with-”

“I’m not telling you shit, Blondie. And you can cut the threatening crap. You’re not going to kill me. You’re not even going to hurt me, not with you holier than thou good guy sensibilities. So buzz off, Princess. You’re giving me a headache.”

Her jaw clenched, Buffy moved a few steps closer to Tyler and said, “We don’t have to hurt you. All we have to do is make one phone call.”

Tyler cocked an eyebrow. “To the police? And what exactly would you tell them? That I slit some broad’s throat before getting pounded to a pulp by a demon and then captured and chained to a concrete pillar in a goddamn basement? If you did that, you’d have to say how I cut Faith and I doubt you want Sunnydale’s finest arresting you and yours for breaking and entering.”

“The police already think it’s a mugging. Turning you in would remove one more deadly criminal from terrorizing the streets of Sunnydale.” Buffy smirked as she turned away from Tyler and walked over to Giles. “They’d probably give us a medal.”

Tyler yawned. He leaned his head against the pillar and looked at Buffy and Giles through slitted eyes. “You want to turn me over to the cops then do it. At least I’d get to sleep on a cot instead of the fucking floor. Otherwise, leave me the hell alone.”

A minute of silence passed before Buffy stalked across the room and yanked Tyler to his feet, shoving him back against the concrete pole. “We turn you into the cops and it’ll be for a hell of a lot more than a mugging. We have you on tape accepting an offer to-”

“-to videotape you. Oooh, so I get thrown in the clink for a voyeurism kink.” Tyler laughed as Buffy dropped him, causing him to collide with the floor. He slowly maneuvered to his feet as he said, “Face it, girlie. You got nothing. Hell, you don’t even know who’s trying to kill you.”

“I think we have a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah, well I think you have no idea. You think you got the inside goods on who wants you dead because you listened to some cassette tape. For all you know, that tape was planted there for you to find, a bit of misdirection leading you away from the real bad guys.”

“You’re lying.”

Tyler shrugged. “It’s possible. After all, I am a criminal. Lying comes naturally to me. I could be trying to distract you from going after Lilah with the possibility of another threat vying for your death. Or… I could be giving you that vital piece of information you’re so desperately seeking.” He grinned, a wicked, feral twisting of his lips. “Time’s running out. Better figure out who you really should be fighting before it’s too late.”
 

* * *

He disappeared into the alley, drenched in the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. Faith had followed Wesley halfway across Sunnydale, through a cemetery or two, across suburban neighborhoods, and into the back alleys of what constituted downtown Hellmouth. He hadn’t slowed or wavered from his meandering course across the city, but kept a swift and steady pace through the town.

Easing her head around the corner, Faith looked down the alley, frowning when she discovered it empty. The brick walls surrounding the trash covered alleyway were lined with cardboard boxes and dumpsters, plenty of places for Wes to hide if he had discovered her tailing him. Sliding into the alley, she cautiously made her way over broken bottles and crumpled beer cans, past decomposing pieces of food, by yellowing scraps of newspaper. There were no doors leading into the nearby buildings, no fire escapes for Wesley to have dashed up to give her the slip. He had disappeared.

“Hello, Faith.”

Faith gave herself props for not jumping right out of her skin. Even with her enhanced Slayer senses outstretched, she hadn’t heard him approach. She brought a sexy, devil may care smirk to her face as she slowly spun and faced Wesley.

“Wes.”

She wasn’t prepared for the changes that had occurred during the three years since she last saw him. Back then, as he sat tied to the chair, victim to her fucked up mindset and torture therapy, there were still traces of the ineffectual, prissy man who had been her Watcher in Sunnydale. Now, that man was gone, covered in layer upon layer of hardened scar tissue, both physical and mental, and replaced by the tough, cool, and… sexy exterior of mussed hair and an intense blue gaze.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me here in Sunnydale, Faith.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me out of prison, Wes.”

One corner of his mouth curved into a grin. “I shouldn’t be. I’m the one that suggested you be released from prison.”

“The man with the motive. But not with the means.”

“No. Wolfram and Hart was responsible for arranging the necessary paperwork for your release. But then, you already knew this, didn’t you?” He walked towards her, blue eyes locked onto her brown, hands plainly in sight next to his thighs. “Lilah told Buffy.”

“And Buffy told me.” Faith shifted her stance as Wesley approached her, muscles tensing beneath her denim jacket as he stopped before her. “Sleeping with the enemy, Wes? Didn’t have you figured as the kinky, twisted type, getting off on trying to kill us. I mean, me I can understand given our past history. But Buffy? She hasn’t done jack to you, so what’s with the attempted murder?”

His gaze was disconcerting in its steadiness, burning into her with a fierce strength Faith never knew Wes possessed. “Everything is not always as it seems, Faith,” he said softly, the cold arrogance in his voice momentarily replaced with a softer, richer cadence. “They will be waiting for you at the house tonight. You need to be prepared.”

“What?” She watched him turn and walk away from her, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark coat. She took a few steps after him as she said, “Why should I believe you?”

Wesley stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Who do you think left those pictures of Lilah at Wolfram and Hart for Buffy to find?” Off her silence, he continued, “You need to get back to the others. You don’t have much time. It starts tonight.”
 

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Calm Before the Storm

By: Wynn

“Excuse me? Where do you think you’re going?” Sprinting down the alley, Faith slid in front of Wesley, blocking his escape out of the trash covered passageway.

Wes stared at her for a moment, his blue gaze cool and level, before he replied, “I need to get back. I told you. There isn’t much time. If I’m gone too long, they will begin to be suspicious.”

“You got yourself tied to a pretty short leash there, Wesley,” Faith said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t even take a walk by yourself without Mama Lilah yanking on the chain and calling you back home like a good little doggie.” She smirked as irritation flickered in his eyes, a minute crack in the cold, emotionless façade he wore like a tarnished suit of armor. She spoke again before he could compose himself. “There’s something I don’t understand, Wes. You’re banging Lilah. You helped in the fucked up plot to spy on me and B. You sprung me out of prison with a little help from the demon law firm from hell. And… you’re warning me about the ambush waiting for us at Evil Central. Something isn’t adding up here. Care to shed a little light on the matter?”

“And if I don’t, what will you do? Torture me for information?”

Faith stilled at the mention of torture, her mind flooding with memories of broken glass and home made torches, cotton gags and nylon bindings.

“There were five types of torture, correct?” Wesley said his voice flat and his eyes hard. Only the slight trembling of his fingers betrayed the collected exterior of indifference. “Blunt, hot, cold, loud, and…”

“Sharp.” She flinched as he lifted his hand and brushed her dark hair away from her neck exposing the thin white scar stretching across her throat to the hot and humid evening.

“What happened?”

Faith snorted, stepping away from Wesley, turning her back to him as she ran a hand over her throat. “You’re telling me Mr. 185 IQ doesn’t know his golden boy psycho slit my neck? Left me for dead?”

“No.”

“Figured you would’ve thrown a party, popped a few bottles of champagne. Maybe you’re saving that until the day I actually die instead of almost but not quite. You wish hard enough that day just might come.” Shrugging, Faith turned and faced Wesley again. He stared back at her, face impassive, as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket. She tilted her head to the side, dark eyes assessing his lean form, as she said, “Maybe Lilah’s already getting suspicious of you since she’s keeping secrets.”

“It doesn’t matter what Lilah thinks.”

“Really? I doubt she’d agree with you.” Faith brushed a strand of hair out of her face and said, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Wes. I find out you’re playing me, there’s still cold, hot, and loud for us to play with.”

He moved towards her, and she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest, her body tensing in anticipation of how he was going to react to her whispered promise of torture. Would he fight back? Take her down and pound her into the rough, slime coated concrete of the alley? Maybe he would finish the job Tyler started so he could open that celebratory bottle of champagne, make a toast to the heavens for her demise.

“I know what it’s like,” Wesley said softly. He stood so close to Faith she could feel his breath on her neck, smelling of whiskey and complications, could feel his arm brush against hers, hard and unyielding. “To feel powerless and helpless. To feel your life slipping away from you and to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I know what it’s like to feel scared and to hate yourself for being weak enough to feel scared of death and dying and the possibility that no one would care whether you’re dead or alive.”

“I’m not scared,” she said, the softness of her voice subverting the bravado of her words. Faith lifted her chin in the air and stared at Wesley. “But you should be.”

He smiled, a wry grin stretching his lips. Stepping around Faith, Wesley walked to the end of the alley and said, “I probably should be.” Without looking back, he turned the corner and disappeared into the sunlight soaked Main Street.
 

* * *

Faith paused as she approached the dining room in the Summers’ home, Wesley’s warning screaming through her mind. Was he telling the truth about the ambush waiting at Mulholland? She couldn’t read him, couldn’t glean any useful information from his guarded demeanor, and her thoughts were warring within her between the logical belief that he lied to her, that he was playing her, and the instinctual emotion that he was telling the truth, that he was helping for reasons known only to him.

She sighed. Separating the truth from lies was becoming too complicated in the face of contradictory motives, explanations, and information. Moving to the threshold, Faith peeked into the dining room, her gaze landing on Giles. She crossed the room, stopping before him as he looked up at her. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Wes is here in Sunnydale. I think he might be trying to help us.”
 

* * *

“He’s lying.”

Stifling a sigh, Giles rubbed a hand across his forehead, attempting to ward off the headache rapidly blooming behind his eyes. Angel’s anger regarding Wesley’s warning was not unexpected, but there wasn’t time for debate or discussion. They needed to act instead of talking uselessly about past sins and conflicts. Gaze flickering to Angel, Giles said, “We don’t know if Wesley’s lying. We don’t know why he’s working with Lilah against us, so we have to consider the possibility he’s trying to aid us by working with the enemy, especially if he did leave those pictures for you and Buffy to find.”

Angel laid his hand on the counter and leaned close to Giles. “Wesley’s changed. He’s not the same man you used to know.”

“I agree that he has changed and that it is entirely possible he wants us dead. But we are working with fractured information. We cannot ignore the possibility he told Faith the truth simply because you do not like the man.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him-”

“And you tried to smother him with a pillow out of your love for him?” Buffy asked, one eyebrow arched, arms folded across her chest. “Cordelia told me what happened between you and Wes. You tried to kill him while he was lying helpless in the hospital-”

“He stole my son, Buffy.”

“Wesley took Connor because he wanted to protect him. From you.” She pushed off the refrigerator and moved over to Giles and Angel. Leaning against the counter, she continued, “And yeah, he made a colossal mistake. Prophecies are tricky, all worded in ambiguous language and multiple interpretations. But the fake ones are the trickiest though. You knew Wesley didn’t know the prophecy was fake, you knew he was trying to help, and you still tried to kill him anyway.”

“He took Connor without an explanation. I didn’t know what to think. I was angry.”

“You still are. Your opinion is a bit biased concerning Wesley, and your reservations about what he told Faith are not enough to stop us from investigating this house. We have no other choice, unless we want to sit and wait for them to try and kill us again.”

“Buffy is right,” Giles said. “If Wesley is lying, we have no way of ascertaining why he’s lying and what else he has planned. So we can either wait or we can fight back and try to discover who is trying to kill us and why.”

“And we still need to check out this house sometime soon given what Willy told you and Spike,” Buffy said. She straightened, her hazel eyes darting from Angel to Giles, before she turned and walked towards the hall. “And I vote for sooner rather than later.”

Giles spared a glance at Angel, taking in his fisted hands and hunched shoulders, and he sighed. He moved across the kitchen, crossing into the hallway, and walked through the dining room, into the living room. He locked eyes with Buffy and nodded once as he leaned back against the wall.

From her position before the fireplace, Buffy looked around the crowded living room as she spoke, “We’re hitting this place tonight. Giles, Spike, Angel, Cordelia, Willow, Xander, Faith, and I will stock up on weapons and head over to Mulholland. Dawn, Connor, Anya, Emilia, Lorne, Clem, Gunn, and Fred will pack up our supplies, all of our books, extra weapons, blankets, food, and the like and move over to Spike’s house. Wesley knows where I live. It’s doubtful he knows where Spike lives. It’s safer over there. Any questions?” She paused, waiting a few seconds for someone to speak. “No? Good. Everyone knows what to do. Time to do it.”
 

* * *

Time to do it. Meaning time to sit and wait, again, and be left behind, again, while everyone else went out to fight. Not that Anya especially wanted to engage in combat in an ancient, crumbling house, but it was better than packing and moving and worrying. She may not have been a demon anymore, but she had over a thousand years of experience in all things demonic and mystical. She was much more suited for combat than Xander, whose experiences with demons stretched back only seven years, and so what if he saved the entire world by himself? That only happened once, and it was because his best friend went completely black haired and psychotic. The yellow crayon speech did not make for a fierce combat fighter. But was he here, shoving bath towels into boxes? No. She was. Again.

Shoving the last towel into the box, Anya closed the flaps and placed it next to the rapidly increasing pile of boxed and bagged supplies. She glanced around the living room once before slipping into the hallway and making her way down to the kitchen. If she had to do grunt work, she would be compensated with chocolate chip cookies. And maybe some pickles, too. Sweet ones, not the funny tasting bread and butter wrinkled cucumbers masquerading as pickles.

Torn from thoughts of pickles and cookies, Anya paused in the hallway, her eyes narrowing as she heard Emilia’s voice drift from the kitchen. “They’ve left… About twenty minutes ago.” Sliding against the wall, Anya peeked into the kitchen, golden brown eyes focusing on Emilia, who stood next to the counter, a small cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. “No, not all of them… Everyone else is moving to-”

Emilia broke off. Anya retreated behind the wall, brows drawing together in confusion as she listened to the Elf’s conversation. “Everyone’s moving the tables and chairs around, rearranging them among the pool tables. We’re trying to widen the dance floor a bit. Do you need anything else, Charles?”

Charles? Who the hell was Charles? Anya racked her brain as Emilia finished her phone conversation, brow clearing as she remembered Charles, the big hulking red haired guy who owned the Bronze with Emilia. But what did moving tables in the Bronze have to do with “they,” obviously Faith, Giles, and the rest, who left twenty minutes ago for Mulholland Drive? Anya shrugged and brought forth a bright, innocent, non-eavesdropping smile. She didn’t know, but she was going to find out.

“Hello,” she said cheerily as she entered the kitchen. Crossing the tiled floor, Anya glanced at Emilia, who smoothly slid the cell phone into the pocket of her black satin skirt. She reached the refrigerator and opened the door, rummaging inside the icebox and emerging with the jar of sweet pickles. As she opened the jar, she said to Emilia, “Who were you talking to?”

Emilia blinked at her blunt question, momentarily thrown. Recovering rapidly, she flashed a small smile at Anya and said, “Just Charles. We’re redecorating the Bronze and he had a few questions about the new placements.”

Anya nodded. “Really.”

“Yes.”

“So how do you know Rupert?”

“Excuse me?”

Munching on the pickle held in her hand, Anya said, “Rupert. Giles. Ruggedly handsome ex-Watcher with a split Ripper personality. The man you have some sort of mysterious history with. How do you know him?”

Emilia stared at her, and Anya wondered if the Elf was using her telepathic powers to scan her mind. She bought forth images of her more gruesome works of vengeance, mental pictures of blood, gore, and screams, and she smiled as Emilia flinched slightly and ran a hand over her long silver locks.

“Something wrong?”

Shaking her head, Emilia said, “No. I just have a bit of a headache.”

“So how do you know Giles?”

“Why do you ask?”

Anya shrugged. She replaced the lid on the pickle jar and set it on the counter. “Natural curiosity. Well, that and Rupert trusts you even though he hasn’t seen or heard from you in twenty years. For all we know, you could be some whacked out serial killer carefully manipulating us until the moment you can enact your gruesome but intricately plotted murderous ambitions.”

Blinking once, Emilia cleared her throat and said, “Um, I’m not whacked out or a serial killer.”

“That’s reassuring.” Anya paused and examined Emilia for a few intense moments. “Of course if you really are a whacked out serial killer you would probably lie about it and then kill me so I wouldn’t reveal your secret of being a serial killer.” She smiled, moved to the sink, and turned on the faucet, placing her hands under the warm water to clean off the pickle juice. She glanced out the window, the shadows of the evening deepening and darkening in the advancing night, and she frowned as one of the shadows began to move.
 

* * *

The night was quiet and dark. Eerily so with the quietness and darkness reaching supernatural proportions, sending shivers of apprehension down all spines. There was no movement or light at the targeted house on Mulholland Drive, making slivers of suspicion slither through Buffy. She adjusted her grip on her crossbow and turned back to the group assembled behind her.

“All’s quiet on the evil front,” she said, hazarding another glance at the house over her shoulder. “No mystical barriers up or any other cloaking spells. And technically no one is living at the house, so Angel and Spike should be able to enter. So Angel, Cordelia, Faith, and Xander swing around and approach from the back, aiming for the back door. Giles, Willow, Spike, and I will enter from the front. Be on alert. If this is a trap, then they’re waiting for us inside, armed and ready. We’ll search all rooms for potential baddies before looking for information, Ok?”

Off of their nods, Buffy turned back towards the house. Nothing had changed. No lights. No movement. Nothing. Buffy suppressed a shiver and said, “Here we go.” She eased out of the shadows, soundlessly sprinting across the cracked asphalt of Mulholland Drive, and made her way across the dry grass lining the gravel path stretching from the sidewalk to the front porch. Flattening against the brick wall of the house, Buffy turned and locked eyes with Spike. “Ready?”

“Always, luv.”

“Time to kick a little lawyer ass.” Sliding away from the wall, Buffy climbed the concrete stairs of the porch, eyes darting to the darkened windows. Through the shadows, she could make out the rough surface of plywood covering the dirty glass. Moving to the door, she grasped the handle and carefully twisted the knob. It turned smoothly in its casing, and she slowly opened the door.

The interior of the house was pitch black, and the air was stale and smelled faintly of ammonia cleaning products. Glancing behind the door, Buffy moved inside, indicating for Spike, Giles, and Willow to follow. She eased the door closed and followed Willow further into the house, senses outstretched for any suspicious sight, sound, or smell and finding none. Buffy stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand on their ends. Something wasn’t right. There was no one inside the house. “Guys…”

She heard Spike sigh. “There’s no one here-”

Blinding white light flooded the narrow hall, assaulting Buffy’s eyes and forcing them closed. Metal clinks began to sound through the house and Buffy whirled towards the door. Steel bars dropped down from the ceiling, covering the door and windows, blocking the way in or out of the house. They were trapped, locked inside the empty, barren brick house.
 

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Dawn started across the dining room, taking a few hesitant steps before she quickly backtracked to the safety of the Connor-less living room. He hadn’t spoken to her since his arrival the day before. The memory of his lopsided grin flashed in her mind, and she felt the butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach. Crushing on the spawn of Angel was wig worthy of the highest order. Connor was broody and sullen and less than monosyllabic, but his chocolate eyes were soft when they looked at her, causing her to go all gooey and mushy on the inside.

She peeked into the dining room again, jumping when she came face to face with said goo and mush causer. Dawn felt a blush creep up her neck, staining her cheeks, as she stammered, “Hi. Connor. I didn’t, um, see you, uh, you know, standing there.”

The crooked grin was back. “Sorry.” His dark eyes dropped down to her hand, focusing on the two leather bound books held between her fingers. A faint frown pulled at his brows and he glanced at her from beneath impossibly long black lashes. “I can… do you… the books…”

Dawn stifled a nervous giggle. She lifted the books and handed them to Connor, watching as he spun, stalked back into the dining room, and deposited the books into one of the boxes covering the table. Stepping into the room, she racked her brain for something cool to say, something coherent and non-dorky. “So… Angel’s your dad?”

A dark look crossed Connor’s face. “He is not my father,” he said as he shoved more books into the cardboard box.

“I wouldn’t admit to it either. He’s just too embarrassing for words.”

Connor looked at her from the corners of his eyes. “You don’t like him?”

Dawn shrugged. “Angel’s Ok. Kind of dorky. It’s, like, my job to hate him since he practically screwed up my sister for life.”

“What did he do?”

“Major emotional trauma. Heartbreak. Loss. More trauma. For a while I thought she would be emotionally scarred for life, but Spike’s pulling her out of the land of Angel angst.”

“Oh.” He paused, his eyes locked onto the books stacked in the box before him. “Your sister… She’s… strong.”

“Super strong with a tendency to be a super-bitch.” Dawn rolled her eyes at the mention of her sister’s infamous bitchiness. “She means well though, even if she is a little overprotective-”

Dawn screamed as the lights cut off and the windows exploded, glass flinging across the dining room, sharp shards slicing her exposed skin. She looked towards the window, eyes widening at the sight of the men surrounding her house, rapidly advancing towards the front door.
 

* * *

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