Opportunities: Opportunities
by Heroes Team
A young woman with long black hair braided into two severe pigtails sat tensed over a crystal. It was a still, dark shard about four inches tall, resting near a squat, half-melted yellow candle.
"C'mon, then," the woman whispered. "Fuego... fuego... inciente!"
The crystal remained dark.
Sighing, the woman sat back, slumping in her chair and resting her clammy palms on her knees. "Never get this bloody thing right," she muttered. "Why do I even bother?"
Suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through her head, and she clutched at her temples with a shriek. The pain stopped almost as abruptly as it began. After taking a moment to recover, she leaned forward, grabbing a pencil and paper.
"Box," she scrawled hastily. "Power... dark... forces aligned... tower... guardian..." She wrote down a few more notes, then stood and crossed the room.
Pulling a business card from her pocket, she squinted at the number printed on it as she dialed the phone. "It's Kristy. I need to speak to Matruska," she said to the party on the other end. "Got a bit of something, I think." She paused, listening. "Yeah, I'd say this is ruddy well one for those Watcher blokes to keep an eye on."
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"Now you're thinking of majoring in the whozit wha...?" Buffy blinked at her sister across the table. "What happened to ancient languages? You're changing your mind, like, every day!"
"I think you got a little orange juice on your chin," Dawn said, smiling.
Buffy plucked up a napkin and rubbed furiously at her face. "Look, it's not that I'm not happy for you, being big scholar girl and all, but we've talked about this. I just think --"
"I'm studying myself into a corner, I'm working too hard, you worry about me doing Watchery stuff, blah blah blah," Dawn interrupted. "Yeah, we've been over this how many times? Not gonna change my mind anytime soon."
There was a cough across the room, and Buffy turned to see Xander in the doorway. "Ye olde changing of the guard at the hospital," he said. "Your turn, Buff." He waved a cell phone at her. "Apparently, Willow has had enough gin rummy to last her into the next millennium."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "You don't just play cards with somebody in the hospital. It's so boring. Magazines are such a better way to go." She stood, frowning slightly. "Unless he doesn't like magazines. Does he?"
Xander shrugged. "Not like we know him. Dawnie? What's he like when he's conscious, this Gunn guy?"
"He asks a lot of questions," Dawn replied. "And he's pretty much gonna be bored no matter how you try to entertain him. I get the idea he's used to being way more in on the action part of stuff."
"So... magazines about... kung fu movies?" Buffy mused lamely.
Xander cringed.
"I'll take that as a stupid idea." She gathered up her jacket and purse and headed for the door. "I'll think of something on the way, I guess. Dawn, try not to --"
"Burn the house down, got it. God, you always say that whenever you leave!"
Buffy stopped and turned to her sister. "I was actually going to say try not to study too hard," she said quietly. "But, you know, burning down the house? Also bad."
After she heard the front door latch, Dawn looked up at Xander. "I'm really way beyond not a kid anymore," she said pensively.
Xander shook his head slowly. "Sorry. You know she just worries."
"Yeah, well... This isn't even her house," Dawn muttered bitterly. She exhaled a deep breath and gave Xander a sad smile. "You wanna hang out today? Tell me all the juicy stuff about Africa?"
"Africa's not very juicy," Xander replied. "There's some bug species in Djibouti that are sort of squishy, but that tale of mega ick will have to wait. I have the grocery list from hell burning a hole in my pocket. Feeding multiple humans, two vampires, and a former demon overlord takes a little creative shopping."
"Can't I come with?" Dawn asked brightly.
"Sure, if you want, but I've gotta head to the DMV first."
Dawn screwed her face up. "Ew, no. Hourlong lines standing behind people who haven't bathed in a year."
"Yeah, sorry," Xander said sadly. "Not high on the fun meter. Wish me luck, though." He squeezed her shoulder as he headed out.
Dawn looked down at her place mat, curling her fingers around her coffee mug. "Alone again," she said, her voice unconsciously taking on a lilting, singsong cadence.
"Naturally."
Her head shot up.
Spike stood in the doorway, visibly tense. His hands were shoved deep into his jeans pockets, and his head was slightly bowed. He and Dawn regarded each other silently for several long, heavy moments. When Spike finally dared to speak, his voice was pitched so low Dawn had to strain to hear.
"You, uh... up for a chat, niblet?"
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"Don't be lookin' so relieved just `cause you got your replacement." Gunn smiled weakly at Willow, who had stood quickly as soon as Buffy entered the hospital room. "That's enough to hurt a man's ego."
Willow laughed weakly. "No, no, it's just that I'm tired, you know?" She smiled at Buffy. "He's in a better mood, mostly. I think he might be possessed."
"I think that's actually the goal, better mood-ness," Buffy replied.
"No, the goal is gettin' my organs to stop this whole `internal bleeding' deal they got goin'."
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "That's hugely vivid. Thanks."
"Aw, c'mon, you're all head slay girl. You've seen your share of blood and guts, heard about all kinds of nasty crap in your day." Gunn pushed himself up higher on his pillows, wincing in pain. "Don't even tell me hearing about my liver gushing bile gets you all grossed out."
Buffy sat down on the spare bed. "Well, no, but it's also not exactly on my top ten list of conversation topics."
"I'll see you crazy kids later," Willow said. "If I don't motor, I'm gonna be late for Applied Optics."
"Don't have too much fun!" Gunn and Buffy both called after her.
They glanced at each other and exchanged a smile.
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Dawn jumped, startled, when the phone rang in the next room. Spike took a step backward. "If you're expecting a call, I can..." He jerked a thumb toward the den, but Dawn shook her head.
"No, it's okay. It's probably just Buffy checking in." Dawn cast her eyes downward. "I don't really feel like talking to her just now. She's --"
"Bein' a mite controlling as of late?"
Dawn gripped the handle of her coffee mug tightly. "It's none of your business," she said brusquely. "Not anymore."
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Angel hadn't intended to stay in the house longer than necessary, but he'd overslept, waking only when he heard the faint jingle of a phone ringing. When at last he'd peeled his eyes open to stare at the unfamiliar ceiling of the guest room, he realized there was an unhealthy amount of sunlight already shining outside. There goes the plan to check into a motel before dawn, he realized with disappointment.
Padding quietly down the hall, Angel heard voices coming from the kitchen - tense mumblings that didn't sound like anything he wanted to get mixed up in. Skirting carefully around the deadly rays of light splayed out across the living room floor, he began to pick his way toward the bathroom when the red flash of the answering machine caught his eye.
Somebody'll check it, he assured himself. Somebody'll find out soon enough if it's bad news.
A lightning-fast image of Gunn lying in his hospital bed assaulted him, followed swiftly by the horrific memory of nearly being killed by the demon mob in Los Angeles.
The girls won't care if I got nosy if it means I saved somebody's life, Angel decided.
Daring one final peek toward the kitchen, Angel turned the volume down slightly on the answering machine before playing the message.
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Willow was crossing the hospital parking lot when she felt a buzzing in her pocket. She let out an involuntary squeak of surprise before fishing her cell phone out of her jeans. Note to self, she thought, her face flushing, do not set phone to vibrate, especially when your girlfriend is out of the country.
She flipped open the display panel, across which a slightly garbled text message was scrolling: "willow, come back home asap. andrew called. black box. magick, bad. that kid makes absolutely no sense, sometimes i wanna kick the sh --"
Willow blinked, stifling a grin. The callback number was a different area code. She hit the "send" button, willing herself not to laugh. Who else would not only be irritated with Andrew, but also so woefully inept at textspeak?
"Angel? Yeah, I'll be right there."
So much for Applied Optics, she thought ruefully.
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"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it was... well, I mean, it really isn't any of your business, but..." Dawn cleared her throat. "Um, yeah, anyway... it's fine, really. Whatever."
"Let's start over, perhaps a touch less personally," Spike said, walking further into the kitchen. "How goes school, eh?"
Dawn shrugged. "It goes," she replied tersely.
"If you'd rather be left to your own devices..."
Dawn looked up at him, took in the way his shoulders sagged, and felt a pang of guilt. "Oh, hey, no, um... it's okay. Stay. Really."
The vampire's face softened slightly, taking on a look of mild relief. He sat down in the chair across from her and placed a small, poorly-wrapped box on the table between them.
"What's this?" Dawn asked, studying the gift. "Is this for me?"
"Just open it, `bit."
At the sound of the all-too-familiar sobriquet, Dawn set her mouth into a thin, angry line. "Spike, I just... please. Don't call me that, or anything that... you know..."
Spike dropped his gaze to the floor. "Dawn. Sorry. Yeah, I didn't mean..."
Dawn nodded at him curtly. "It's okay. But what is this? Seriously?" She held up the small box he'd handed to her.
"Late birthday present or what have you, I s'pose," Spike replied.
Dawn regarded the package dubiously. "That's not what this is, and you know it."
Dimly, Dawn heard the front door open and close, and a blur of red hair streaked around the corners of her peripheral vision. Still, Dawn didn't move, nor did she tear her eyes away from the package even when the kitchen door closed softly, blocking out the sounds of activity from the living room.
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"Do you need me to rewind it?"
Willow looked up from the notepad where she'd transcribed the pertinent parts of Andrew's message. "Uh, no, that's okay. I don't really wanna hear the part about the new `X-Men' comic again."
Angel leaned against the desk and folded his arms in front of him. "So, what's this black box?"
"I don't think even the Council is totally clear," she admitted. "I mean, there's rumblings of mystical whatever-ness, but --"
"It's the Senior Partners," Angel interrupted. "Gotta be. That oracle was wrong, they're still active, and they're after me. With a black box. Or maybe this is that mouse and cat and strings rhyming prophecy thing..."
Willow opened her mouth to speak, but Angel continued to rant before she could get a word in.
"They've had it in for me since day one, probably even before day one, seeing as how they're hooked into interdimensional evil. What if they have an office in a dimension where everything in this dimension has already happened? Then they'd have known every move I was going to make, and --"
"Angel!"
A vein was bulging out of Willow's neck. Angel flinched when she threw her notepad onto the end table hard enough to make the lamp rattle. He looked down, somewhat embarrassed.
Willow took a deep breath. "I'm going to scream if you say the word `dimension' one more time. And Angel, as much as it pains you to hear this, not everything is about you."
"Well," he mumbled, "some things are. You gotta admit that."
Willow rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but this one, I'm thinking not so much. Look, it's been weeks now. Where's your big demon hordes?"
"I, uh..."
Willow gestured wildly at the window. "'Cause I'm not seeing any demon hordes. Shouldn't they be breaking down the doors by now?"
"Um..."
"They're not regrouping, converging, or getting their evil groove on," Willow said sternly. "You did it. These Senior Partners guys are gone. Done. Go you. Now, shut up about yourself already."
Angel's eyes widened. "You've really come along way from the first time I met you."
"Wish I could say the same," Willow retorted, but her tone was gentler than her words.
"I have, really," Angel said. "I don't, you know, lurk as much."
Willow gave Angel a suspicious look before continuing. "Anyway, why'd you call me instead of just calling Andrew back?" she asked. "He's in town now, and he's obviously willing to help with anything that needs this kind of attention. He's got connections to Giles and big books and all that good stuff."
"I didn't want to call him back," Angel admitted. "He talks too fast, and I don't understand all the Tolkein stuff. You guys are better with handling people like him."
Willow shook her head and smiled gently at Angel. "You're showing your age big time, mister."
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The nurse breezed out of the room, and Gunn let out a shaky breath. Buffy frowned at him worriedly.
"She said you were improving. You're gonna be out of here in no time," Buffy assured him. "Are you really feeling any better, or are you pushing yourself too hard?"
Gunn shook his head. "Naw, I'm better. Things don't feel so messed up, `cept for my leg... stitches itch like I got fire ants crawlin' on me." He paused, clenching and unclenching his fists tightly. "I mean, God, I was torn up pretty bad," he finally went on, "so anything's progress, I guess. It's just..."
"Frustrating?" Buffy offered.
"That'd be the word," Gunn replied. "I'm not used to bein' so caged up. You know, this is the second time I've been in the hospital this year, and it doesn't get any less annoying."
"What were you in for before?"
Involuntarily, Gunn touched his abdomen at the memory of Wesley stabbing him. He glanced at Buffy warily. "Just, you know, fight stuff. Got on the wrong end of a knife."
"That'll happen in this line of work," Buffy said. She squared her shoulders and plastered on a phony grin. "I got skewered through the stomach by a sword-wielding Turok Han once!" she said proudly.
Gunn blinked at her. "A Turok what?"
Buffy giggled. "Imagine a vampire that's sort of half gremlin, when they're in the feeding-after-midnight phase."
"That sounds incredibly unpleasant."
"Multiply unpleasant by a thousand," Buffy said. "They're amazingly strong, not to mention being way not big with the dental hygiene."
"You lived to tell the tale, though," Gunn pointed out. "Skewering and all."
Buffy looked off across the room. "Well, Slayer healing and stuff," she murmured. "And I had a little help."
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The hotel room was fairly well-appointed, but its occupant didn't seem to have a great deal of regard or appreciation for most of its amenities. Fast food wrappers were piled up haphazardly on the night stand. The only things missing from the honor bar were three Frappuccinos, the empty bottles of which were stacked up in a pyramid on the air conditioning unit. In the corner, the TV flickered with brightly-colored graphics, a game of Ninja Gaiden left paused on the built-in X-Box console.
"You're so going to have to explain it better than that."
Andrew sighed. This was the part of being a Council representative that he neither liked nor fully understood. Why couldn't there be more gadgets and less mysterious prophecies? "There's a box. It's not good. A seer told the Devon coven, who told Giles, who told me." He grinned. "And you told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on and --"
"We don't have time for this," Angel cut in. "Where is this box?"
"What's it for?" Willow asked. "Why did the seer get concerned in the first place?"
"It's here, it's in Presidio Park, which is why I got the heads up," Andrew replied.
Angel turned to Willow. "If it really is just a box, I can destroy it somehow."
"Whoa, hang on, we don't even know why we're doing this," Willow said. "Besides, we really need to tell Buffy what's going on."
"That message wasn't even for you," Andrew said, pointing to Angel. "It was for Buffy."
Angel shrugged. "We're all on the same team. I don't see why I can't take care of it."
Andrew fidgeted uneasily. "I'm not supposed to be talking to anybody except Buffy," he said softly.
Angel peered at him carefully. "You're not supposed to?" he asked.
Andrew's eyes widened. "You sound surprised."
Willow glanced nervously from Angel to Andrew. "Guys? What's going on here?" she asked tentatively.
Angel turned away from Andrew and began to pace. "I've explained to God knows how many people why I joined Wolfram and Hart," he said gruffly. "And, may I remind you, I fought them."
"You fought them from within," Andrew said. "And... um, I'm sorry, but from what I get, there were, like, a whole bunch of casualties that you didn't really seem to care about."
Angel stalked menacingly toward Andrew, but Willow stepped between them. "Okay, moment of calm here, people," she urged. "Andrew might have a point, but..." She placed a hand gently on Andrew's shoulder. "No one in this room is innocent. Just remember that."
There was a weighty silence in the room for several long moments before Andrew spoke again. "I should talk to Mr. Giles about this," he said. "He'd probably want me along with Buffy on a reconnaissance mission, as, you know, her Council field op."
Willow raised an eyebrow at him. "Council field op?"
Andrew's face reddened slightly. "I don't really have an official title yet. Do you like it? I think it sounds like something Michael Vaughn from `Alias' would do, but only in season two, before Sydney gets brainwashed and --"
"No," Willow cut him off. "Andrew, why don't you let me take a crack at this first, just do some research on the magickal element here, how's that?"
"What about me?" Angel asked. "This is my kind of thing, really, when you think about it."
Andrew glowered at both of them. "I shouldn't be kept in the dark, here, people! There's a whole procedural thingy! I had to read handouts and go to a seminar!"
"I'll keep you in the loop, Andrew, seriously," Willow assured him.
"What do I tell Mr. Giles?"
"If you have to tell him anything, just say it's totally research mode right now," Willow said. "I don't think we can do much else without more info."
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"Beg pardon?" Spike asked. "It's a present, yeah, `s all it --"
"It's a bribe," Dawn interrupted.
Spike's jaw dropped. "It's not a bleeding bribe, Dawn," he said, aghast. "What the devil makes you think..."
She slid the package back across the table to him, leaving it unopened. He looked down at it sadly.
"I know what you're trying to do here, and I'm not the same little girl you knew back in Sunnydale," Dawn said simply.
"That was only a year ago." Spike's voice was low and quiet again. "Can't have changed all that much, can you?"
Dawn found her attention inexplicably drawn to Spike's hands, which twisted together nervously on the table.
"I lost my mother," she said after a moment. "I watched my sister die. I found out I wasn't real, not exactly, and..." She gave a short, rueful laugh. "For a split second somewhere in there, I even thought I was a potential Slayer." She stopped, her eyes darting across Spike's face furtively, trying to get him to look at her. When he wouldn't, she sighed and plunged ahead. "You hurt her so many ways... and then..." A lump started to form in her throat, making her voice crack. "And then you were gone."
Finally, Spike looked at her, the corners of his eyes shining.
Dawn's voice was nearly tender when she spoke again. "She wasn't the only one who mourned."
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Angel peered out carefully from the corner of the blanket covering his head. "When did you start driving so damn fast?"
Willow ignored him, taking a sharp turn as she pulled the car up to the house. "Okay, first, research. Then we call Buffy. And if you really, really want in on this, we all hit Presidio Park tonight, maybe around ten-ish, and --"
"No."
Willow blinked. "No?" she asked. "Which part is a no? I figure you're not vetoing the wait-until-dark part, so..." Something dawned on her, and she began to shake her head hard. "Oh, no, big no. You don't want to tell Buffy, and that's just weird and annoying on so many levels."
Angel scowled and looked away from Willow. "She doesn't want to answer to me, and I sure as hell don't want to answer to her," he explained. "You don't need two leaders on one mission, especially if you're not even sure what the mission's all about."
"But you want me on this, right?"
"Well, yeah, if it's got something to do with magick..."
A slow smile spread across Willow's face. "Well, then, if I'm in, what makes you think you'd be the leader on this thing?"
Angel gaped at her mutely.
"I mean, hello, delusions of grandeur much?"
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Dawn rose quickly and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Spike staring dumbly after her. From behind him, the back door opened. He stood and crossed the room, positioning himself well away from the light leaking in from the outside.
"What're you doing up?" Xander asked, plunking groceries down onto the table as he kicked the door shut.
"Hell if I know at this point," Spike replied without turning around.
Xander began to unpack the bags. "Something's bugging you, and while usually that would give me a happy..." He paused in contemplation. "Huh. Actually, it does give me a happy."
Spike gave a short chuckle. "'Least somebody's cheery `round here."
"Who else isn't, besides you?" Xander asked. "You and the other pasty blood drinker excluded, of course. Pick from among the people staying here that I actually like."
Spike finally turned to Xander. "Who the devil actually is overcome with joy?" he asked. "Seriously, Harris, think on that one a spell. You're certainly not dancin' a jig for one, and I'm bloody well sure nobody's come over with a great wave of contentment `bout much of anything at present."
Xander turned his attention back to the groceries. "I passed my driver's test," he offered feebly. "That didn't totally suck."
Spike opened his mouth, then closed it again and nodded almost amiably. "Good on you, mate," he said, before quietly exiting the room.
Left alone, Xander found himself surprised and slightly dumbfounded. That's it? he wondered. No insult? No scathing remark about how I drive better now with one eye or something?
As he moved items around in the refrigerator to make room for the milk, Xander decided something must be seriously wrong with Spike if he couldn't muster up even one remotely offensive comment.
He failed to notice the small wrapped box still sitting on the kitchen table.
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Buffy stretched, her arms reaching upward languidly. She blinked hard, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim light. "Yikes, what time is it?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Gunn cast his eyes to the clock on the wall. "Gettin' late," he replied. "You been asleep for a couple hours."
Buffy sat up quickly, her head swimming. "Oh, my gosh, I'm sorry!" she said hastily. "I was supposed to be entertaining you, and... Well, it's been a long couple of days."
Gunn waved a hand at her. "It's cool. You were tired. Me, I've had enough sleep to last the rest of my life." He looked at her sadly. "Must be a bitch out there, runnin' around, takin' care of business..."
"I'm used to it," Buffy said. "Kinda part of the job description."
"Yeah, I was used to it, too."
Buffy leaned forward slightly, studying Gunn's face carefully. "You're gonna miss it," she finally said gently. "How long did you work for Angel?"
Gunn shook his head. "I was doin' this stuff, fightin' the good fight way before I met up with your ex."
"How long?"
"How long you been a Slayer?" Gunn asked.
"I was called when I was a freshman in high school," Buffy replied.
"And you're what, now, thirty?"
Buffy's jaw dropped. "Oh, my God, do I look thirty?!" she gasped.
Gunn gave her a sly smile. "I'm just playin'."
"Still, wow, it's been almost ten years," Buffy mused.
"Helluva long time to get used to livin' a certain way, huh?"
Buffy didn't reply, but her eyes softened as she looked at him.
"Don't be givin' me any pity, girl," Gunn said. "It's all good. I'll adjust."
"It'll be hard," she told him. "I can't imagine if I couldn't fight anymore. It's part of me now."
Gunn tapped the side of his head. "Got all juiced up with legal know-how while we were working for Wolfram and Hart," he said. "I shouldn't even need to get out there anymore. More useful in the brains department now or something."
"It's not about what you should or shouldn't need," Buffy said. "It's about who you are."
"So I'm not gonna be the same guy I used to be if my body's not gonna cooperate anymore."
Buffy reached across to Gunn's bed and took his hand. "But that can be a good thing, too," she said. "Whoever you're meant to be, maybe this is just another part of that journey. Anyway, what's that thing about the pen and the sword? Which one's mightier?"
"Hell if I know anymore," Gunn replied. "We spent months tryin' to take the big guys down by usin' their own tools, but it took a whole lotta hand-to-hand to actually do any good."
Buffy gave his hand a squeeze. "You're not fighting them anymore, though," she pointed out. "Maybe now... whatever's to come... maybe you're the biggest asset we have. Who knows? Don't sell yourself short, no matter what."
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Willow spread a small stack of papers out across the floor. "This place is in the old part of San Diego," she said, her tone excited. "I did a little digging, and it sounds like the most likely place for any mystical stuff might be here." She shuffled her papers around, producing a map and a fuzzy Xeroxed photograph.
"What's that?" Angel asked, squinting at the picture.
"There's a shed near the main building, right here," Willow said, pointing to a blurry grey shape. "Rumor has it there's all kinds of occult symbols built into and painted on it."
"What is this place anyway?"
"It's a museum commemorating the first mission, San Diego de Alcala." Willow scanned several paragraphs of a long print-out. "The history is kinda hazy, but it was basically a frontier church sorta thing, although I found some data that implies there was some super shady stuff going on there... enslavement of a tribe of Ohlone, rumors of genocide and massacres of the Kumeyaay people, too. Some reports date the mission to as recently as 1929, but others say it's older, like Gold Rush era or even back as far as the late 1700s." She pointed back at the photograph again. "There's an energy circle on the roof, though. You can almost make it out. I think if the box is anywhere on the property, it'd be there, where the circle is probably protecting it."
"Break the circle, destroy the box," Angel said simply.
Willow shook her head. "It may not be that easy," she said. "Depending on what kind of spell was used, how many practitioners were involved in a ritual of protection... It's just not obvious what we're up against."
"So what?" Angel asked.
"You can't just mess around with someone else's spell," Willow explained. "There's protocol involved."
Angel rolled his eyes. "More protocol. Great," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "That sounds way too much like playing by somebody else's rules, when we don't even know whose rules those are."
"That's not what I meant," Willow continued. "See, if I can break through the spell, whatever kind of barrier it's providing... well, if I don't do it carefully, there could be ripples. Whoever set it up might be alerted somehow, and then we could be dealing with a contige."
"A what?"
"Contige. Basically a magick booby trap."
"We don't even know that there's a spell cast there at all," Angel said. "So why worry about some kind of counter measure yet?"
Willow exhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. "Because," she said, her patience clearly wearing thin, "if we don't prepare for every possibility, we could both get killed."
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He watched her for a few long moments before coming into the room. She lay on the floor on her back, her eyes heavy-lidded, appearing almost asleep. He suspected, however, that she didn't truly sleep, not as he did, anyway, and certainly not the way humans did.
"Y'know, they'd probably let you cadge a room with a bed in it," Spike told her as pulled himself from the door jamb and took a few steps forward. "If nothin' else, this lyin' about on the floor routine's a bit creepy."
"Creepy," Illyria repeated, elongating the word as if tasting it. "I do not understand."
Spike sighed. "Didn't wager you would, pet," he muttered.
Illyria sat up abruptly, her hair swinging about her face. "Why have you come here? Do you wish intercourse with me?"
Spike's eyes widened immediately. "Do I wish... Beg pardon... what?!"
"Intercourse. Dialogue. Conversation." Illyria cocked her head to one side. "There are multiple synonyms in Winifred's memory for this term. I have been scanning her verbal reservoirs to enhance my vocabulary in an effort to avoid confusion when I am forced to interact with the lesser beings."
"Avoid confusion, eh?" Spike grinned at her. "Use that word, and you're goin' to cause all manner of really entertaining confusion, actually."
"In my day, words were simpler."
"And you had to walk three miles uphill in the snow to school both ways and were grateful," Spike said. "Yeah, your day was better. We got it."
"You are older than most here, except Angel," Illyria said. "Why do you never speak of the benefits of the era of your youth?"
Spike shrugged. "'Cause it wasn't better," he said. "Didn't have all the pleasures of the new millennium and whatnot."
"Such as?"
"Oh, y'know, motorbikes and records and miniskirts," Spike replied fondly. "All the little sorts of things I tend to find quite enjoyable."
"Mini... skirts...?"
Spike's eyes scanned Illyria's body up and down. "Look right fetching in such a get-up, you would."
"You make little sense at the moment," Illyria said with annoyance. "I wish to be left alone now."
"So, no scoutin' about lookin' for something to kill, then?"
"Perhaps later," she replied.
Spike nodded to her and turned to leave.
"You have regret about you," Illyria called to him. "It bothers me."
Spike stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Come again?"
"The small one," she continued. "She finds your presence..." Illyria pursed her lips, searching for an adequate description. "It is puzzling. I believe she feels a great sense of loss, but there is something else as well."
"What'd that be, you think?"
"She is pleased that you did not expire as she had thought," Illyria explained, "but there are wounds on her soul that she has difficulty expressing."
"You get all that just by watchin' her?" Spike asked. "My assessment of your behavior as a trifle creepy still stands."
"I receive these impressions by watching her, yes," Illyria answered, "but her chamber is next to mine, and the walls of this dwelling are thin."
Spike frowned. "Who's she talkin' to?"
"Her sister, and sometimes the witch," Illyria said. "And the warrior as well, though she is more vague when she speaks to him."
Spike chuckled. "Harris isn't a warrior, luv," he said. "Not by half."
"You underestimate him greatly."
"Gotten to be a bit of a habit, that," Spike admitted. "Though, er, thanks, I s'pose. Think I ought to talk to Dawn? Try to smooth things over a trifle?"
Illyria's expression remained impassive. "You are asking advice of me?" she asked.
"Guess I am, yeah."
"Intriguing." She held out a hand, studying it as she clenched and unclenched it into a fist. "In matters of dispute, I find it best to kill one's opponent. If Dawn is injuring your mental state, you might consider ending her."
Spike gave Illyria a tight grin. "Right, see, this is why folks don't come to you with their problems."
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"You called that an energy circle."
Willow nodded.
"That's... see, I wouldn't call it that," Angel said nervously. "I've seen my share of these, and that's... well, you know what it is."
"Yeaahhhh." Willow approached the figure warily, skirting the edges of the low wall surrounding the carving on the stone floor. She whirled around to Angel, worry apparent on her face. "I don't know if I can do this now, put up the wards to block the contige," she said, her voice pitched high. Angel was struck by how young she looked in the twilight.
"What, just because..." He gestured at the engraving. "It's a pentagram," Angel said. "You've probably used them before yourself, right?"
"Not in a couple of years," Willow said. "Not since... not in a while."
Angel narrowed his eyes and regarded the pentagram. "The box is right there, Willow," he said, pointing to a small, dark object in the figure's center. It was oblong, resembling a coffin sized for a child, its wood painted over concealing any hint of hinges or locks. "I could just take it. You don't have to do anything." His tone was reassuring, but Willow flinched.
"Let me try some things first," she said frostily.
Angel held up his hands and backed away from her as she began pulling items out of her tote bag.
"Wait, don't you need candles and incense and that kind of thing?" he asked, studying her materials.
Willow powered up her laptop. "There's more than one thing I'm good at, you know." After a moment, she started to grin. "It's emitting a signal," she said.
"A spell?" Angel crouched down beside her. "You can detect spells with a computer?" He blinked at the laptop screen, its display scrolling quickly with nonsensical blips of data. "If that's true, then I really do feel old."
"No, silly, it's not emitting a signal from a spell," Willow clarified. "It's got a built-in 802.11b card." Angel looked confused. "You know, WiFi? Uh, basically, it's being controlled by a remote computer." She tapped a few buttons on the keyboard. "It's not even anything fancy, short range signal, probably less than a football field." She looked up from the laptop, scanning the perimeter around the building. "Whoever set this up isn't far away, which is kind of upsetting, but..." She peeked at Angel, a small, secretive smile playing across her lips. "Defusing this is a cinch."
"Defusing as in..."
"The bomb."
Angel sprang to his feet. "There's a bomb in that thing?!"
"Shh, keep your voice down. The signal is two-way, so they could have audio here," she said softly. Willow hit a few more keys, her fingers flying, and then sat back against the wall. "Done." She gestured to the box. "You can take it now, if you want. It's not active anymore."
Angel looked warily at the box. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Angel stepped into the center of the pentagram and touched the box experimentally. A spring-mounted hinge popped open, revealing a mass of wires and blank display panels inside. "Huh. That was easy."
Willow laughed. "That was not easy, I'll have you know. I had to hack into their server, delete all their access codes through their firewall and exit the system without leaving anything traceable! I mean, sure, it helped that they'd left a port open, but still!" Angel nodded at her. "Sorry, I didn't mean... I just meant I didn't have to hack anybody up or torture anybody." He looked down at the box again. "Do we know who planted the bomb?"
Willow nodded. "Their tracks are all over their system. I think it's just kids messing around with stuff. The explosive wasn't even that powerful, hardly enough to put a dent in the roof. Gimme a few more hours, and I could even get an address."
They exited the building in silence, the box cradled under Angel's arm. "Willow?" he finally ventured as they approached her car. "Thanks. I was being kind of..."
"A big controlling poopyhead?"
Angel cringed. "Something like that."
"No big," Willow said. "I still like you."
"You like me?"
Willow grinned. "Not like that," she amended. "Still gay, and you're still my best friend's ex, which puts you in the off-limits category even if I weren't hooked up with a hot Slayer of my very own, but yeah." She grinned at him broadly. "I like you."
"You did put my soul back, after all," Angel said with a grin of his own.
"Twice, actually," Willow said proudly. "Oh, yeah, who's the baddest little witch in town?" She blew on her knuckles and mimed polishing her nails on the lapel of her jacket. "Why, that'd be me, wouldn't it?"
Angel chuckled softly. "It sure would."
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The house was silent when she crept out of bed and padded to the kitchen. Everyone was either asleep or out, Xander having replaced Buffy on watch at the hospital, and Buffy having gone patrolling.
Tentatively, Dawn began to open the present, slowly so as not to make noise tearing the wrapping off.
Inside a tiny, velvet-lined jewelry box sat a silver necklace. The charm was in the shape of an ornate key.
Tears welled in her eyes as she withdrew the small note card that had been carefully slipped under the necklace.
"I'm sorry, niblet," it read. "I missed you. Love, Spike."
Dawn sighed. "You big jerk," she whispered.
Reverently, she took the necklace out of the box and put it on before returning to bed.
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A teenage boy dressed neatly in a suit and tie quietly swung open the door to a small, hazily-lit office. Inside, its sole occupant was bent over a desk, meticulously studying a large, leather-bound book.
After a moment, when the older man failed to notice him, the boy coughed politely.
"I know you're there, Brad," the man sighed without looking up. "What is it?"
"Sir, the test results are in," he replied.
At this, the man finally raised his head, though his features were still cloaked in shadows. "Is that so?"
Brad nodded eagerly. "Walt just finished the report." He held up a manila folder. "Everything went as expected. We got a good look at their techniques and methodologies."
The man at the desk snapped his fingers and held out his hand. "Let me see." Brad placed the folder on his outstretched palm quickly, then stepped back to wait in the doorway.
After scanning the report in the folder, the man smiled. "This is even better than we anticipated."
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent work, Brad," the man said, placing the folder on the corner of his desk. "You may go."
"Sir? Does this mean Walt and I get to move to the next phase of the operation?" Brad asked nervously.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You'll move on when I decide you're ready."
Brad frowned. "But the plan is almost set up."
"Don't question me," the man growled. The pair stared at each other for a moment before the man's face lit up with a smile again. "Why don't you take the night off, enjoy the sights of the city?"
Brad bowed his head. "Yes, sir. That would be fun. Thank you."
"No, Brad, thank you," the man replied. "Brilliant work."
The boy left, and the man returned to his book. "The next few months will be most interesting indeed," he whispered.
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