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Wordsmith
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Lilah almost growled as her secretary-of-the-week scurried out of the office
after leaving the carafe of black coffee. If Lilah got her hands on Gavin before
Linwood did, she would skin him alive - literally. That fool's
pitiful attempt at 'surveillance' had cost them five personnel, two of whom
had been with the special security unit. Linwood was livid over the morning
news. Instead of discreetly disposing of his hirelings, Gavin had made an amateur
attempt to rattle Angel.
She swallowed two aspirin and washed them down with the coffee. It had been a long night and the coffee had been a peace offering from the assistant to cushion the news that the Diva was bored - again. Maybe she could kill two birds and send Gavin to entertain her, if he didn't survive the experience - no harm done.
She had spent most of the wee hours of the morning going over every scrap of information in both the Glorificus project and the Angelus scenarios. The precogs were unsure why a portal would be necessary to facilitate his changing sides but were making dire predictions that Darla's return to L.A. would herald the need to either bring in or remove a major player, and that whoever this random factor was, killing them wouldn't make Angel's fall as probable as sending them to another world.
Lindsey was what was most troubling. He had shown an unparalleled ability to
shake every tail that the firm put on him. As whatever information he had left
with became less and less timely, his attempts at extorting his own
safety should have failed. Unfathomably, the senior partners were insistent
that he be 'persuaded' back into the fold, rather than eliminated. This odd
response to his defection from their consortium was definitely not a whim.
Somehow, McDonald must have transformed from a lackey to a major player in the end game. The fact that he was alive and that all of his records were not sealed but nonexistent spoke volumes. A newcomer to the firm would never know he had worked here. If Lilah had not kept her own notes of their time as co-managers of the Special Clients Division she might have conveniently forgotten the smarmy bastard too. It was only through a careful review of petty expenditures that she had been able to piece together the efforts the firm had made to turn McDonald's path away from the city of angels - or would that be, she thought, the city of Angel?
Putting on a headset attached to the jack in her personal laptop, Lilah keyed the first of many files recorded in the Hyperion over twenty-four hours prior to the surveillance cutting out. Maybe there was something salvageable from Gavin's train wreck.
* * * * *
Cordelia dashed toward the sound of the crash, and stopped in the doorway of
the lounge. The small television, which normally sat on a counter off of the
employee kitchen, had been tuned to the local news, although she
hadn't been listening to the chatter. Angel apparently had been, as he had just
hurled it into the wall.
"What is your damage?" she said, to cover her shock at his behavior.
"You saw?" Riley asked as he and Graham came up behind her. Angel's response was to shift back out of game face.
Graham elaborated, "It's all over the news. The guys from last night were found drained down by the wharf."
"What?!" Cordelia whirled to look toward Angel, confusion clouding her face.
"You know I didn't..." he started.
"Of course you didn't," she said. Sitting down on one of the straight back chairs next to the dining table she paled with shock. "I can't believe this."
"Where was Spike?" Riley asked.
"Spike never left his room after we released the captives. And for God's sake, if you want to keep your kneecaps intact, don't even think that question too loud near Xander," Angel said, as he stopped behind Cordelia and stroked her hair.
Graham stepped closer to Riley and placed a hand on his shoulder. He said to Angel, but watched Riley intently, "We knew that whether they talked or not Wolfram and Hart would consider them compromised. This 'message' is only an efficient use of resources."
"What message?" Cordy said.
"That they can frame him at anytime. The Initiative, the Watchers - they're
not the only ones who know about vampires. A few strategically placed corpses
and we'll have a mob of villagers with torches out side this place."
Graham's frank statement and utter lack of concern in his voice made the words
more chilling.
"No," Angel said, as Cordelia grasped his hand and looked up with concern. "This... incident, it's... this doesn't feel right. There's something off."
"It's a new player." Lindsey's soft drawl preceded him into the kitchen area. He was barefoot and shirtless, in a worn pair of soft blue jeans. "Whoever it is knows that you're the target," he continued, leaning his shoulder against the door frame and hooking his fingers in his belt loops, "but they either don't know, or have lost sight of, the objective." He laughed softly, "Lilah must be venting steam from her ears."
"Could you explain to the new guys?" Riley said, indicating Graham and himself with a jerk of his head.
Cordelia seemed much calmer at Lindsey's words and explained, "Wolfram and Hart don't want Angel dead; if they did, he would be. Er, more dead. They want Angelus in the driver's seat and wreaking havoc in the final conflict. Yeah, I know, sounds like some straight-to-video flick, but that's their goal."
* * * * *
Upstairs, Spike lay awake - worried not about Dawn, but about Xander. His mate
slept heavily beside him. Xander was all for heading back to Sunnydale as soon
as the sun set. The boy had always been a believer in overkill as
the best insurance policy, but he was rapidly surpassing Spike in the 'solving
your problems with violence' arena. Before Buffy had died, Xander had made the
perfect second-in-command. Unquestioningly loyal, he had still never hesitated
to point out flaws in her admittedly limited strategies and offer up ingenious
solutions to the threat of the week.
Spike had thought, when Xander had begun to shine after taking up not only leadership of the Scoobies, but acting as Master of the Hellmouth, that the boy was simply growing into his own. More and more though, he noticed the fine cracks that the unimaginable pressure was putting in Xander's iron will. The young man felt so responsible, for all of them. Truth was, no matter how good Xander was at protecting them, they would die - they would all die eventually.
Buffy had understood when Spike had pointed out that eventually the tide of evil seeking to take her down had to succeed. Xander had never accepted that his love wasn't enough to protect his friends. Losing Buffy had almost broken him, and Spike didn't want to contemplate what losing one of the girls would do to his boy.
Last night, Spike has suffered one brief moment in the lobby where he couldn't
have said with any conviction that Xander was just playing the part of the crazed,
let's-kill-em-all human to frighten the intruders. Spike had
played along. On their patrols where he was forced to act as interpreter, they
had often adopted roles, with Spike as the reasonable vampire who acted as if
he cared about whatever demon snitch they were roughing up, leaving Xander to
be the wild-eyed human with a hard-on for vengeance. He only hoped that the
fact that it had been their girl who had been frightened by the intruders hadn't
pushed Xander to choose the peace of mind that having them safely disposed of
would bring, over remembering he was a white hat.
Speaking of vengeance, Spike had had a word with Angel, vamp detective, about
tracking down the demon bint. He knew Red could probably do it with a few keystrokes,
since she had been the one to give Anya a paper identity in the human world,
but he also knew the witch couldn't keep a secret from Xander, if the news turned
out bad. Not that it wouldn't be tempting to string Anya's entrails on their
tree this Christmas, but he just wanted
Xander to know she was all right. He wanted Xander to know that where she was,
wherever she was, it was where she chose to be. Then, maybe Xander wouldn't
feel guilt that he was happy without her.
Xander rolled over, slinging an arm over Spike's thighs, since the vampire was sitting up against the headboard. Xander nuzzled Spike's flank and then opened one bleary, brown eye and growled, "You're up? Why are you up?" He accompanied his questions by stretching said arm further across Spike's lap and attempting to pull him back to the glomping hug which was his preferred position whenever their sleeping times coincided.
"Pet, we have to talk," Spike said.
Xander turned his face back against Spike's thigh and bit him.
"Xander!" Spike pinned the human in the blink of an eye.
Xander smiled, and without one ounce of sincerity said, "Uhm, I slipped."
"You slipped?" Spike said. His hold on Xander's wrist was loose but firm and would have been effective if Xander had made any attempt to be released. Instead his clever human simply faked a yawn, and as he stretched his longer arms out to the side pulled Spike down flush onto his chest.
Leaving his arms out Xander kissed and nipped at Spike's mouth until the vampire began to return his attention. Spike released his hold on Xander's wrists and slowly moved his hands along the warm, tan arms, reveling in the feel of Xander's skin and the relaxed muscles moving under it. Xander smiled into his kisses as Spike began to rub against him. As Xander bucked up into the contact he also tilted his head, offering up a mouth-watering expanse of neck, which Spike licked from shoulder to earlobe, stopping briefly to suck over his binding scar. Xander began to make delicious breathless moans in anticipation of a different sort of climax.
The scent of his mate's arousal hit Spike like a board to the back of the head
- not that had ever happened. Err, often. It was overpowering, and he shifted
to his demon visage without any conscious effort. The strong man
whimpering underneath him demanded attention. Spike pulled back to appreciate
the sight of Xander's passion. Those soul-filled eyes held only desire and love
as they steadfastly met his golden gaze. Xander laughed and
lifted his head. Forehead to forehead, his eyes dancing with glee, Xander whispered,
"You're such a tease."
Spike laughed through his fangs. Only this man had ever brought him this singular
joy. He kissed Xander almost chastely and lay him back on the pillow. With a
sudden reverence, Spike slowly lowered his fangs to the mark and sank them into
Xander's flesh. Life, fresh and flowing, exploded onto his taste buds as Xander's
semen exploded against his flank. The smell of his mate's spent desire mingled
with the succulent scent of his blood.
Killing a Slayer, pickling himself in Jack, a thousand high-risk moments in
over a hundred years of unlife and nothing - nothing - was as intoxicating as
this connection that just seemed to keep getting more amazing by the day.
He only tasted the blood that rose to his mark. It was the taste and aroma
he savored, as he had no need to feed. Swallowing Xander's warm coppery blood,
Spike came against his panting mate. As the flow quickly stopped,
Spike carded Xander's thick hair and enjoyed the sight of his sated lover. When
it seemed as if his favorite work of art would doze off again Spike prompted,
"Talk, Pet."
"Talk?" Xander whispered, and pulled Spike down to lie beside him. Opening his eyes, Xander blinked in confusion. Spike mentally slapped himself; he had forgotten rule number seven - 'talk first, sex after'. Apparently sex did something bizarre to human brains and made Xander incapable of being coherent. Not that Xander's odd inability to talk during sex, when he could babble on at during just about any other extreme situation Spike had ever seen him in, was news. It's just that Spike was usually the one trying to initiate sex when Xander was trying to sort through the relevant facts of a blatantly unnecessary conversation. Looking into his mate's uncomprehending eyes, Spike had an idea why, at those times, Xander looked so frustrated.
"Yes, Pet, but it'll wait 'til after our nap," he whispered and snuggled down next to his human.
* * * * *
"I'm bored!" Crash. Water dripped down the richly papered wall on to the pile of drenched lilies and shards of shattered crystal now heaped on the credenza. Glorificus had already turned her attention away from the mess. It no more distracted her than had the fizzling crackle produced when she had hurled the serving bowl full of fruit through the wide screen television.
Gavin smoothed an agreeable expression onto his face. He knew Lilah was punishing
him for the unsanctioned surveillance. He had been sure he could show her up
in front of Linwood. Perhaps he still could. She had given
rather vague orders to keep the hell god happy. He could use that. If he succeeded
he would have major influence over this project, and if anything went wrong
it would all be Lilah's fault.
* * * * *
Faith slowly climbed the metal stairs. It was dark, but then it was often dark.
There was a feel to the air, a scent of impending violence and the coiled anticipation
slaying had always brought her. As she reached the top of the stairs she saw
she was on a large scaffolding. Standing at its edge was Buffy. It was then
she knew it was a dream. She had never had the ability to control her dreams.
Way back, when it had all seemed so new and
as if she were some superhero, her Watcher had told her she would eventually
be able to use her dreams. Something about how once she realized she was dreaming
she could focus on the prophetic elements, but that had never happened.
Buffy looked so different from the teen queen of Sunnydale High. Different even from the happy co-ed whose body Faith had borrowed. She seemed pared down, honed to her most basic elements. God, she looked thin; not healthy thin or I-work-out-a-lot thin, but the sparse lean frame of a survivor who had shed all but the most necessary elements.
Faith must have made a noise in the dream. Perhaps her footsteps had echoed or she had gasped at the sight of the other Slayer. Buffy turned to look at her. Her eyes were sad and there was an air of defeat about her. Faith started to speak, not knowing what to say, but Buffy gave her a small, understanding smile and turned back to contemplate something over the edge of the metal scaffolding on which they both now stood. Faith moved to stand beside Buffy and looked down into a whirling blue maelstrom. A large portal gaped below them.
"Buffy! No!" The cry came from the stairs that Faith had just come up. Whirling toward the voice, Faith saw a girl, roughly the age she had been when she became had been chosen, clutching tightly to the railing and sobbing. There was something so familiar about her. Faith tried to remember something, like when a word or name was so close that you really understood where the expression 'on the tip of my tongue' came from.
Faith looked at Buffy to see if she knew who the girl was. As their eyes met all the pain and pride, the anger and angst seemed to well up and fall away. "You'll have to help them," Buffy said.
"Wait, B., I..." Faith reached out hesitantly. So often their attempts to understand each other had erupted into violence and that seemed dangerous here above that gaping maw.
"The hardest thing to do in this world, is live in it," Buffy said, and dove off the platform, taking sound and sight with her.
Faith jolted awake. She looked around the rec room. None of the other inmates
currently watching Rickie Lake seemed to have noticed she had dozed off. Hard
to believe she could, with how vocal they all were while shouting
at some no-good ex, who had just been asking for a bashing being on that show.
Slayer strength made her less vulnerable than most; still she didn't normally
doze in the public areas. She'd had a dream, and it had seemed
important. She struggled to hold on to the details before they faded.
She wondered about the girl. Was she the next Slayer? Was the dream sent to her to somehow get word to the Watchers on who to look for? She hadn't been impressed when they had stopped by to see her. She had been paranoid ever since. The desperation in their eyes might have been due to not having a Slayer to watch, but Faith had been expecting them to correct that problem at any time.
* * * * *
Lindsey ducked out of the lobby as he heard Cordelia, Fred and Dawn getting ready to leave. Angel had been shadowing his Seer all morning and Lindsey didn't feel like encountering the thick-headed lunk. The more he saw the souled vampire try to interact with the human world the more he could kick himself for how much he had overestimated him in the past. Angel had almost no interpersonal skills, and seemed to rely on standing around looking deep and thoughtful to cover the fact that he really wasn't that bright. Except for the whole 'Scourge of Europe' rep, Lindsey couldn't fathom why the vampire was at all important in how the final battle would swing. Maybe Angel was some sort of idiot savant and would stumble into a fate that would save the world, Lindsey thought, because if this was their best hope, he'd picked the wrong side again. It had been easier back when Angel, merely being a vampire and having a soul, had been enough to make Lindsey stunned at all the implications and possibilities.
Unfortunately, familiarity had indeed bred contempt. Angel reminded Lindsey of far too many darlings of the campus who found that by standing around and keeping their mouths shut, that people would, if not think they were deep at least not realize how truly dim they were. Good-looking men who had never tried to make conversation or turn on the charm, rivals whose only obligation seemed to be to look decorative - they had infuriated him in the days when he was working two jobs and trying to put himself through school. Angel sometimes seemed the embodiment of those favorites of fate. Being a ne'er-do-well had earned the rebellious son eternal life, being the embodiment of evil had earned the vampire a soul; all the pitfalls that destroyed other men seemed to bless this creature, and yet Angel brooded and sighed as his minions danced around, anxious to make it all better.
Lindsey looked up to find Wesley watching him with quiet amusement. The room he had ducked into was lined with mediocre shelving and had a battered conference table covered with notes and books. The Brit sat in one of the armless straight-back chairs that surrounded the table, looking as if he had been up all night studying for a final he knew he would flunk. Of course, being the brains of this operation must be a high pressure job, and quite frustrating given the candlepower of the rest of Angel's staff. Lindsey wondered if Wesley had to break all his thoughts into Angel-sized pieces or if the vamp just trusted him and realized he wasn't the thinking part of the team.
"This secret, forces-of-good information or can anybody take a gander?" Lindsey gestured to the scrolls and notes.
"Gander? Umm, yes, feel free, this may actually concern you," Wesley
said. The Brit adjusted his glasses and made a point of lifting the volume he
was currently perusing, but as Lindsey pulled up a chair across from him he
felt the other man's gaze linger on him. If it hadn't been for Cordelia's off-the-cuff
comment the previous night he would have chalked it up to the normal mistrust
Angel's staff seemed to have for an allegedly former 'lawyer from hell', but
now he was uncomfortably glad he had put on a shirt. Soon though, all thoughts
of the ex-Watcher were driven from his mind as he became absorbed in the dark
flowing script on a legal pad offering
translation notes on an obscure prophecy regarding the world wrecker.
* * * * *
Cordelia laughed as Dawn gaped at the tiny, ancient woman, who emerged from the long black limo clad from head to toe in red leather. The delicate grande dame wore skin-tight leather pants paired with a bolero jacket and accompanied by calf-high boots and a jaunty cap which sported silver studs. The woman crossed not ten feet from where Cordy, Fred and Dawn were sitting in the sidewalk cafe and walked into the boutique next door as if she owned the place. Given her dubious fashion sense, Cordelia thought, that was highly unlikely. Cordelia had put the morning news out of her mind and was dedicating the day to schooling Dawn on the secrets of appearing haute couture on a limited budget. After the fashion show, they had spent the day prowling the stores of Rodeo Drive, although they had yet to make a purchase.
Once they had refueled on mochas Cordelia would steer her apprentice to the best second-hand and knock-off shops in LA to apply their current research. She was glad that her previous trip with the witches would enable her to weed out the ones without fresh merchandise. They really needed a couple days to get a working wardrobe for the new school year. Maybe Xander could be talked into staying - they rarely got invaded twice in one week.
The waiter was just clearing away their cups when Dawn went silent in the middle of a story about what a member of the audience had been wearing at the fashion show she had attended the day before. At first, Cordelia attributed this to the presence of the waiter, who was cute in a loser/not-working actor sort of way. Yet when she looked at Dawn she saw that rather than blushing, the girl had turned white as a sheet. Cordelia quickly followed Dawn's wide-eyed gaze and saw a stunning blonde on the arm of a well dressed Asian man.
They had emerged from a white limousine, crossed the sidewalk without so much as a glance in either direction and went into the neighboring boutique. The woman was elegantly understated in a simple blue dress that probably cost at least two months' rent on Cordelia's apartment. She could have been an actress or model but was more likely some trophy wife to a balding, fat, inattentive husband. Sour grapes much, Cordy thought, but pushed her uncharitable jealousy aside and tried to figure out what was the matter with Dawn. The girl was almost hyperventilating and was still staring at the door of the boutique.
Cordelia reached across the small table and laid her hand over Dawn's, "Dawnie?"
Dawn blinked and turned her fearful look on Cordelia but said nothing. She then gasped and looked around frantically. Fred, with survival instincts honed from years of hiding, whispered, "Let's go home."
Cordy wasn't sure if Dawn was looking for someone or for some place to hide. "Dawnie, honey, what's the matter?" Looking back at the limo idling by the curb, Cordelia noticed the vanity plate which read WH666.
"We have to go!" There were tears forming in Dawn's eyes as she struggled to communicate through her obvious terror. "I... We... Xander... Take me back. Take me to Spike and Xander...please!"
"It's okay. Come on." Cordelia quickly paid the check and hustled the girl and a wide-eyed Fred to Angel's car. Everything about Dawn's reactions screamed Hellmouth and she didn't feel ready to deal with whatever it was on her own. Rather than set off their brood of overprotective men with a phone call in which she could convey no details, Cordelia engaged her Sunnydale driving mode.
Dawn hugged her knees to her chest the entire ride home and bolted past a startled Angel and up the stairs as soon as she entered the hotel.
"What happened?" Angel was at Cordelia side before she could blink.
"I'm not sure, but it's not good," she said.
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