Musical Note: "Dancing in the Dark" is performed by Bruce Springsteen. Lyrics can be found at sing365 com


Chapter Four: Dancing In The Dark

Jubilee sank into the deep, leather padded chair that sat beneath the large, square window in the outer office of Angel Investigation. She kept her hands shoved into the pockets of her yellow duster. Her dark hair was cut short, though a longer shock kept falling in front of her left eye. Her large framed sunglasses, purple this month, were propped up on top of her head like they always were when she was in doors.

The room wasn't small, but it felt cramped to the young girl; with the desks and filing cabinets, the railing separating the staff – Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia – from the client, namely her.

Normally Jubilee wasn't the sort of person to feel intimidated. She had rescued Logan from the Reavers; faced down Sabertooth, fought alongside Ghost Rider during a Brood invasion, help defend the planet against numerous alien incursions, survived encounters with Sinister, Apocalypse, and Onslaught. Such actions didn't lend one to being a quite, unassuming, or retiring type of person.

Angel however effected a quite presence that dominated the room. When he talked, his voice was always calm and controlled. He seemed very reserved to Jubilee.

What surprised Jubilee the most about Angel was that Buffy had dated him. The Buffy she knew always went after the pretty boy, guys with athletic builds who could have stepped off the cover of GQ. She wouldn't have given Angel a second look; a perpetual scowl marring a semi attractive face, a heavy brow gave him a slight Neanderthal look, a small pouch around his waist – just noticeable – with dark hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb since the turn of the century.

The last century.

Cordelia seemed the like the type of person Buffy would have hung out with, although after only knowing her for a few hours the tall brunette seemed a little soft to withstand the blonde's razor sharp jabs and barbs. Everything the older girl talked about revolved her; her aspiring acting career, her out of date wardrobe, her lack of a social life.

The tall brunette had been genuinely surprised to learn that Buffy had been a world class bitch before moving to Sunnydale. As surprised as Jubilee was to learn that Buffy had undergone such a radical metamorphosis after she moved to the small town a few hours south of Los Angeles.

Learning how her life had changed sort of made Jubilee feel bad about how she had immediately jumped all over Buffy. Buffy's life hadn't been any easier then her own; at least that was the impression she got from Cordelia.

What Jubilee was really trying to figure out right now was how Cordelia got the job as Angel's secretary. To be kind her computer skills were non existent and her idea of filing involved paper, a steel trash can, lighter fluid, and a match. The phone was the one area Cordelia excelled in, Jubilee had never seen anybody juggle half a dozen different phone calls with such skill before; only most of the time she spent on the phones was for her personal reasons.

The hardest person there to figure out was Wesley Windham-Pryce. An English academic, more then likely an Oxford graduate with numerous degrees, maybe even a PHD or two. Jubilee knew there had to be a story there just waiting to be told. Every few minutes he would remove his thin, wire framed glasses and wipe the lenses down.

"All in all it will take quite a bit off doing if we are to successfully penetrate Wolfram Hart and retrieve the file we are after," Wesley finished. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket as he removed his glasses with a sheepish look around at the group.

"I can get in and out," Angel declared with unwavering confidence. "A small distraction might come in handy when it comes to getting back out."

Jubilee wasn't sure how much she trusted Angel; she hadn't mentioned the M word yet. She had been outside the law office of Wolfram Hart when Kitty called. According to Buffy the law firm was evil, and not in the, "we're greedy and we are going to squeeze every scent from your cold dead hands we can" – although they still did that – but more in a Sinister or Apocalypse kind of evil.

An Interdimensional House of Evil.

More then anything though, she wanted to know why her parents would have dealings with an institution like Wolfram Hart. "If it's a distraction you want," she holds out her hand as a number of multicolored balls of plasma appear in her palm, "it's a distraction you're gonna get." She tossed the balls into the air where they exploded with little pops and flashes of brilliant lights.


Moira poured over the data she had accumulated over the last few hours. A phone call she received late last night had intrigued her. Rupert Giles, a man whose dismissal from the London Museum had been noteworthy enough to make the back pages of the London papers four years ago, had been inquiring about genetic mutation.

The X gene.

It had taken her very little effort to find out what the man had been doing for the last four years. At times she still marveled at the internet; a few key strokes and a person could find out anything they wanted to know. In some cases it cut research time down to nothing.

With his credentials he could have procured a job in any number of prestigious institutions the world over, but he had taken the position of a high school librarian in some flea speck town some two hundred – or so – miles south of Los Angeles.

He held the job for two and a half years; until the school was destroyed by an alleged gas main explosion that occurred during the graduation ceremony. The loss of life, while tragic, was extremely light when compared to the number of people in attendance. The autopsy reports she was able to get her hands on were inconclusive to say the least.

Either something other then a gas main explosion had taken place at Sunnydale High School, or something… someone had kept the majority of people from being killed.

The phone call could have been just what he had said it was; an inquiry about a scientific debate between colleagues. Only that story felt wrong to Moira.

He was a high school librarian though, an age when most mutants first manifest their powers. It was far more likely he had discovered one of the students at Sunnydale High School was a mutant.

She picked up the telephone and dialed the transatlantic number from memory. Not surprisingly it only rings once before it was answered. "Good morning Charles, I hope I did not catch you at a bad time?"


"You wanted to see me Professor," Rahne said stepping into Professor's Xavier's study. She spotted Remy Lebeau leaning lazily against the window frame. He had the window partially open allowing a chilled wind to enter and the smoke from his cigarette to waft outside.

"Thank you for being so prompt Rahne," Charles said somberly. The young girl had grown up so much from the child he had first meant more then half a decade ago; strong, bold, confident. While at the same time remaining true to herself, but more seasoned with age.

"You did make it sound rather urgent," Rahne replied sounding a little put off.

"My apologizes," Xavier said simply. "I hope I didn't pull you away from anything."

Rahne gave her head a little shake. "Nothing that would not keep."

"Professor here has a way of doing that, eh?" Remy crushed out his cigarette between his fingers and then flicked the stub out the window. He wasn't sure why he had come here, except that he could use the distraction.

Charles spared the Cajun born mutant with a glance. "I appreciate both of you for coming so quickly," he said as the pair settled in. "Early this morning I received a call from Moira… yes Rahne she's well, all things considered…"

"Something more then a social call?" Remy asked as he removed a deck of cards from somewhere within his coat. Negligently he started flipping through the cards.

Xavier nodded slightly as he said, "Like myself, Moira received a phone call yesterday from a former high school librarian looking for information on genetic mutations."

"So you be thinking he's found himself a mutant dwelling in his little school," Remy said as he made the cards disappear and reappear.

"Is that true Professor," Rahne asked in concern. She remembered how the people of her home had reacted when they discovered she was a mutant.

"Simple, no? You hop on down, hook that big brain of yours up to Cerebro and scan the town," Remy suggested a little annoyed with having wasted his time. Not that he had been doing that much with it.

"Unfortunately things aren't that simple," Charles answered.

Remy smirked mildly as he asked, "When are they?"

"Sunnydale and the surrounding area is blanketed with some type of interference. Even with Cerebro amplifying my powers I haven't been able to break through," Charles explained.

"So you want the pair of us to go and check it out?"

"In a word Remy… yes."

Remy smiled that indulgent grin of his and said, "All you had to do was ask."


Bruce could feel the strain between himself and Dick over the phone. The silence stretched on for a protracted moment. Neither one wanted to dredge up the past. There were too many scars buried there; scars that had simply scabbed over without ever healing properly. Their relationship had been tense for several years now, differences of opinions that have been allowed to take on a life of their own. Still when he needed him, Dick was there. One day he was going to have to correct the mistakes he has made over the years. "How is everything?" He asked over the secure phone line.

There was a slight pause before Dick answered saying, "This is Gothem, Bruce… how do things normally go?" Bruce frowned slightly at the flippancy in Dick's tone. "It's sort of like old home week. Nothing I can't handle."

"Don't get overconfident," Bruce warned.

"I'm not…" Dick started anger tingeing his voice. "You made sure of that," Dick said after a moment. "How's your investigation going?"

Bruce's frown quickly turned into a small scowl as he thought over the last few days. "I'm not sure… If everything goes according to plan I should be back in a couple of days. Think you can hold the fort down until then?"

"It shouldn't be a problem," Dick answered. "If anything major should pop up I can always call in some back up."

"Sometimes there are advantageous to being part of a team," Bruce replied looking out his window.

"So you're finally admitting that?"

"I've always said that… but I've also said there are advantageous to working alone."

"Like calling all the shots?"

"The autonomy is part of it…"

"What about the next board meeting?" Dick asked.

"Do what you think is right… I trust your judgment." He took a deep breath and said, "thank you. I know this is pulling you away from your own life… I'm sorry about that."

"I told you I'd always have your back old man, I'm just glad you actually called."

A young woman, no more then twenty-five passed beneath his window. "I'm glad I was able to make the call." Several blocks up the street a trio of men in drab green military garb slunk from shadow to shadow. "Got to go."

"Business?"

"Personal."

"Stay safe," Dick said into a dead phone.

In only a matter of seconds Bruce was in costume. He pulled open the window and pushed the screen up. He stood poised on the sill, a heartbeat away from committing himself to the jump, when a faint crash pulled his attention in the other direction.

The direction the woman had gone.

It could have been nothing; a cat knocking over a garbage can. It could have been, but he doubted it. Even in Gothem, where cats were far more prevalent, there weren't coincidences that big. And Sunnydale – were the death rate was four times the national average – made Gothem seem Mayberryesque.

His decision was made in a heartbeat. Not that there was ever much doubt in what he was going to do.

He pivoted and launched himself into the empty space outside his window. He fired his grappling hook at a stone protrusion, it wrapped around coming taut in a moment, and Batman swung upward. Disappearing into the night.


"There're a few words people use when somebody enters their domicile without permission… They're breaking and entering. So," Kitty began as she looked over the trio in front of her; Willow looked as if she were going to be physically ill, Buffy had a defiant glare in her eyes, and Spike simply looked like he couldn't care less about what Kitty had to say. "Anybody want to tell me wants going on here, or should I forgo campus security and just give Sunnydale PD a jingle."

"Wasn't no breaking," Spike said sounding annoyed with her. "Picked that lock clean," he finished triumphantly.

"You go ahead and tell that to a judge," Kitty challenge pleasantly. Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the steel it possessed.

Buffy tilted her head towards the bed and snorted, "Not like you're in much of a position to talk." The oriental weapons arrayed on the bed spoke volumes.

Kitty shrugged without one once of concern. "I'll take the dorm reprimand for the weapons violation. A class A felony on your sheet will probably make a more… lasting impression on your life."

"Don't know a whole lot about Sunnydale, do you?" Spike inquired cryptically as he liberated a cigarette from his pack. He lit it with little concern for anyone else's desire.

Buffy glared at Spike while Kitty ignored it. After years living with Logan, Remy Lebeau, Pete Wisdom, and Sean Cassidy she actually found the aroma reassuring. Something about Spike nagged at her. It wasn't anything obvious so she pushed the feeling aside while she dealt with the situation at hand.

"Maybe we could discuss this guys?" Willow suggested trying to be the voice of reason before things got out of hand. "Shouldn't we?"

"Spike entered her room Will," Buffy reminded her.

"All of you entered my room… Conspired to enter my room," Kitty responded.

"Without an invitation," the blonde added with significance.

"Kitty's a demon?" Willow mumbled incredulously, trying desperately to figure out another reason why.

"Huh?" Kitty asked succinctly.

"Vampires need an invitation to enter a residence… house, apartment, dorm," she emphasized, "occupied by humans," Buffy explained.

Kitty blinked at the explanation as her mind quickly put the facts together. Spike was a vampire. Spike didn't act like any vampire she had ever encountered, nothing like Dracula. He was also working with humans, something vampires never did, not willingly anyway.

"Dracula never needed an invitation," she said after an extended pause.

"Dracula doesn't exist," Both Buffy and willow say almost in unison.

"Pouncy bugger owes me eleven pound," Spike growled.

Buffy and Willow look at each other and said simultaneously, "Giles said Dracula was a work of Fiction," and, "You asked that first day in the library."

"He's real enough," Kitty guaranteed in a low growl.

Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke as he said, "Done more harm to vampires the world over then the entire line slayers together… not that he cares with all his pansy gypsy hocus pocus."

"How could Giles not know?" Buffy mumbled to herself.

"Maybe the council sort of overlook him?" Willow suggested helpfully.

Buffy shoots her best friend a concerned look. "He's got books written about himself… Blockbuster movies. You don't get much more limelight then Dracula."

"Interesting as all that is," Kitty said cutting into their conversation, "It still doesn't explain why you would bring a vampire into my room?"

"We were testing a theory," Willow explained to Kitty. The redhead then looked at Spike and added, "and Spike's the only vampire we kind of trust."

Spike tossed his cigarette butt out the window as Kitty blurted out, "You trust a vampire?"

"Not like they got much of a choice in the matter," Spike scoff in disgust. "Bloody Initiative stick a chip in your head so you can't do what you love doing."

"Killing humans?" Kitty growled.

Spike smiled as he held Kitty's glare. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's what we demons do."

Kitty grabbed the hilt of her Katana that was lying on her bed; she spun bringing the sword over her right shoulder as she wrapped both hands on the hilt. Her downward stroke stopped suddenly as Buffy stepped forward grabbing Kitty's wrist. Kitty had a good five inches on Buffy yet her arms didn't budge.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked without any strain in her voice.

"Killing a monster," Kitty growled. She was impressed with Buffy's strength, but found her lack of understanding the subtle intricacies of the martial arts to be a blessing.

"He's helpless," Buffy hissed.

Kitty shifted her stance; bringing her body closer to Buffy's. "I don't care," she hissed. Kitty slammed her right knee into the nerve cluster in Buffy's inner right thigh, just below the juncture of her hip causing the leg to go numb. It was as if the limb just went to sleep. Kitty phased and twirled to the right.

Buffy stumbled to her right as the support Kitty had provided vanished. She reached for the older girl, but her hand passed through her like she was a wisp of smoke. Suddenly she understood how they had entered the room without her hearing the door open or close.

Spike squinted minutely as Kitty's scent disappeared once she went immaterial. He knew he would have to time his move perfectly if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He stepped towards Kitty following her pivot.

The razor sharp blade sliced through the air; he imagined he could hear it whistle, but the fact was it cut the air silently. It practically flew towards him of its own violation, screaming as it closed with his neck. The blade was impossible close when her scent exploded in his nostrils. It was strong and gritty, determined and deadly. He moved with speed graced upon vampires and few other creatures.

He struck like a viper, his fist connecting with her wrist. Her hands flew back; the sword fell to the floor even as Spike clutched his head and staggered back a step with a heartfelt curse of, "bloody hell!" He took another step away as he pressed his right palm into his temple. "Every bloody time," he bit off.

"Sorry," Buffy said not sounding sorry at all.

Both Kitty and Spike glared at her. "What was that?" Kitty demanded pointing at the vampire. She forced the pain in her wrist aside.

"I told you… he's helpless," Buffy answered angrily. "The Initiative captured Spike, they shoved a computer chip in his head that prevents him from harming humans," she explained.

A look of horror settled on Kitty's face at Buffy's explanation. It quickly turned to disgust. "And you're dating one of those Nazis?"

"Riley isn't…" Buffy frowned as she asked, "you know about the Initiative?"

Too late Kitty realized she had blown her cover. She blew out a disgruntle breath, "They're the reason I'm here. Walsh has taken the operation rogue, which might have been her plan all along since none of her research is worth the disk space it takes up."

Buffy rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted to deal with was even more techno babble. "So you're suppose to take down the Initiative… all by yourself?" Her voice was laced with ill concealed sarcasm.

"Of course not," Kitty answered picking up her sword. She eyed Spike warily, what the Initiative had done to him was wrong. Those kinds of experiments, on anyone were wrong. The Nazis had been wrong when they performed genetic experiments on their prisoners. Genosha was wrong with what they had done and so was Magneto for continuing it; and this wasn't the first time America had done something along these same lines. They had been as wrong as anyone. "I'm here to find their base, plant the homing beacons, then kick back and let the professionals go to work."

Concern touched Buffy's eyes as she asked, "What's going to happen to them?" She knew quite a few of the soldiers that comprised the Initiative's fighting force. Almost all of them went to school here; at most they were only three to four years older then her.

Kitty shrugged as she said, "I don't know. Walsh and her staff are probably going to face criminal charges. The soldiers… I just don't know." Kitty kept to herself that Nick was hoping somebody would open fire on his forces so he could save the taxpayers a few dollars. She didn't think Buffy needed to hear that.

Spike had no qualms about sparing Buffy's feelings. "I can take you right to the tree house those frilly little Nancy boy poofters play soldier in."

"I already know what building they stay in, I even have an idea where their base is… only there's an energy field that I can't phase through."

Spike looked deflated. He had really been wanting to see the Initiative go down, more importantly he wanted to watch as Captain Cardboard, the great Riley Finn, get what he's got coming to him. Specifically a horrible, gruesome death… at his hands.

"I don't know the code or anything," Buffy said slowly, "but Riley once told me about a back door."