Chapter Three: Knowledge

An hour later, Spike was dressed and lounging in Angel's office chair with his feet on the desk, while Angel and Wesley poured over the security camera footage they had finally managed to extract.

"Pause it," Wesley said. Angel did so, and Wesley leaned in closer. "Who's that?"

"I don't know." Angel zoomed in on a figure just out of sight of Wesley talking to Fred. "She doesn't look familiar."

"What's she doing on that floor?"

Spike, engrossed in bending a paperclip into strange shapes, only looked up as Wesley said his name. "Spike, isn't that Hannah?"

"The waitress from the casino?" Angel asked.

Spike stared at the screen. "Bloody hell, it is. What's she doin' there?"

"Isn't it obvious? They're onto us," Angel snapped. "Well done, Spike."

"Hey! How do you know it was me who blew our cover?"

Angel just looked at him.

"Oh, bugger off and stop picking on me. We're not in primary school now."

"Spike, leave it," Wesley said, stepping in as always.

Angel scowled. "How on earth did she get security clearance?"

"Face it, Angel, your boys are useless. They'd let in a bloke in a striped shirt and mask carrying a sack marked SWAG."

"It doesn't matter how she got in right now," Wesley jumped in. "Angel, we have a serious problem here. What do we do?"

"I could speak to Hannah again," Spike suggested.

"I think not," Angel replied.

"She's not the enemy in this, Angel, trust me. She's just acting out of fear for her job." Spike stood. "I'll go and talk to her – maybe I can get something out of her."

"Well, for goodness' sake, be careful!" Angel called after him. "Don't you dare endanger this investigation any more than you already have!"

"Angel, don't you think you're being a bit hard on him?" Wesley said after Spike had left. "It's not like he's not helping at all. And he is your brother -" He broke off as Angel sent a glare in his direction.


"Look, I don't know, Dawn," Buffy said, ripping off the standard hotel staff bedclothes with one hand while she held the phone with the other. "I've wiped the server but they still know where I am. Damn it, where are my pills?"

"For goodness' sake, Buffy, forget your pills! You can get some more, just get out of there!"

"I can't!" her sister moaned. "I've just got this bottle and I don't know how long it will take to find another supplier. I can't risk going back to Lewis in case I can be traced there -" She broke off as she spotted the bottle on the floor. "Aha! Found them!"

"Found what?" said a voice behind her.

Buffy whirled around. Leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom was the blonde detective, his arms folded and staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Uh, I gotta go," Buffy said quickly and hung up. "Hello, Joel." Her voice was steady despite her mind whirring. He was blocking the only door and the window was always kept locked. It was only single glazed, so she could theoretically break it, but there was a five-floor drop and nothing to break her fall. "You know, I'm not working at the moment, and besides, I'm supposed to meet with clients in the other rooms."

"Come on, Hannah, you know why I'm here. Care to tell me why you broke into Wolfram and Hart's offices this morning?" His tone, despite his words, was soft rather than accusatory.

Buffy looked him square in the eye, all hope of pretence gone. "Like you don't know."

"Okay, let's try this another way -" he began, but broke off as Buffy pulled out a revolver. His eyes widened and he slowly raised his arms.

"I really don't want to use this, William," Buffy said. "But don't think I won't. Now get back against the wall."

He backed into it sharpish. "Call me Spike. I hate William. And if you think killing me will solve your problems, pet, you've got another think coming."

"Don't call me 'pet', and please. You've already found me, it's not like I can still keep my job, is it? And I'm already wanted for murder, so one more dead body won't change that."

Spike's eyes widened. "You're what?"

Buffy blinked, her aim faltering. "What do you mean – you didn't know?"

"I'm not after you, Hannah! I'm after your bosses! Why would I be after you? I don't even know your surname!"

She slowly lowered the gun. "You're … not … after me."

"No, never was," he replied, seeming to relax a bit now the weapon was lowered. "Happy?"

Buffy swallowed. "No." She raised her gun again, her hands now starting to shake. "You know too much now. I'm sorry."

"Wait!" Spike appeared to be thinking fast. "Look, maybe we can come to some kind of deal here. I've met murderers, okay, and there's no way in hell you're one. I can see that. So whatever mess you're in, please, let me help."

She hesitated.

"I own half of Wolfram and Hart," Spike continued. "My brother's the CEO. If you let me go, I can get one of our best lawyers on your case."

Buffy stared at him. What mess could she possibly end up in worse than this?

She lowered the gun. Spike breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good. Look, come back to the offices with me, we can talk there."

She nodded. "Okay."


Buffy dialled Dawn's number as she climbed into Spike's car with him holding the door open for her. Although she believed him when he had said he wasn't after her – his reaction had seemed genuine – she decided to play it careful all the same and decided to avoid saying Dawn's name on the phone.

"It's me," she said when Dawn picked up. "Everything's fine, false alarm."

"Thank goodness." Dawn sounded stressed, and Buffy's heart ached as she heard Maxie crying in the background. "Is it okay to go back to the hotel then?"

"Stay where you are for now, okay? I'll come and find you two later. Love you."

"So," Spike said as she hung up. "You going to tell me your real name? I take it it's not Hannah."

"That would be correct."

"So, what is it?"

Buffy hesitated.

"Oh, come on," he said. "You know mine, and if we're going to help you then we need to know a bit more about each other."

"I agree," Buffy said. "You start."

He sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know a few facts about you, but not much."

"Well, what do you know already?"

"You're real name's William Jeremiah Pratt and you're twenty-seven years old, born in London and have dual citizenship. You own half of the Wolfram and Hart law firm, and you work with, or for, Angel Investigations, and you have a little kid called Connor. I think you might be kinda creative. You smoke. Also, this cannot possibly be your car."

"How on earth do you know all that?"

"You had your passport and a shopping list in your suit pocket as well as your wallet."

He nodded. "Yeah, I just came back from visiting my parents. Not the point though."

"I have a photographic memory."

"Really? I've never met anyone with that before."

"I can remember all the details on your passport and on your shopping list. Your handwriting's quite messy which is supposed to signify creativity. And there was a photo of a kid in your wallet with "Connor" written on his baby blanket."

Spike gave an impressed whistle. "Wow. That's one heck of a gift you've got there. And by the way, Connor is my nephew."

"Ah well, I was close. Cute photo."

"Still don't get how you know this car isn't mine."

"It's a pretty crappy car and you earn enough to be able to afford a real fancy one."

"And you know that how?"

"You were carrying over four hundred dollars in cash and your credit card's a platinum. Doesn't take a genius."

He grinned. "Okay, you win. I get it. Yeah, the car's borrowed from a neighbour while mine's in the garage. Angel's too overprotective of the company cars to let me even touch one, even though technically I own half of them."

"Angel's your brother, right?"

"Yep. Sounds like you know enough about me already."

"Not enough," Buffy said, "to judge the kind of person you are. How do I know I can trust you?"

"All right, that's a fair point. But I'm guessing it won't take you too long to figure that out yourself. You could be a great detective, you know."

Buffy sighed. "I was."

"You were?"

"Yeah. Having this memory's useful but it's also been a curse."

"How so?"

"Two reasons. One, I can remember all the bad things in my life." Buffy paused, a lump in her throat. "In vivid detail."

"I'm guessing that can be painful," Spike said in a soft voice.

Buffy swallowed. "Yeah."

"And the other reason?"

"Being a detective was what got me in this mess in the first place."

Spike looked across at her. "What happened?"

Buffy sat up straighter in her seat. "Turn left."

"Oops." Spike braked and turned quickly into the car park. "Thanks."

Neither spoke as they made their way from the car into the building, except for Spike's "She's with me" to the security man. Once on the top floor, he approached a blonde woman sitting at a desk, absorbed in filing her nails.

"Angel busy, Harm?"

"Think he's waiting for you, Blondie Bear," she replied with a flirty smile. "He said for you to go right in."

Spike strode into the office, muttering something that sounded like "Thinks he's my bloody boss", and Buffy followed.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she asked, sounding more indignant than she had expected. After all, the guy had slept with her.

"What, Harmony? Hardly. Well, maybe once. But that was ages ago, and believe me when I say it didn't last long. Why'd you want to know, anyway?"

A voice saved her from figuring how to answer that question. "You two quite finished?"

Buffy and Spike looked over. The man who had spoke, presumably Angel, was sitting on his desk with his arms folded, frowning at them. He was about as handsome as his brother, although there weren't that many similar features, and his accent was different – slightly Irish.

"That's Angel," Spike said to Buffy.

"I guessed," was the reply.

"So," Angel said, unfolding his arms. "You must be Hannah?"

"This is her," Spike said.

Buffy shot him a glare. "Thanks, I can answer for myself."

"Just trying to solve your problem of whether to answer yes or no, pet."

Angel's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"Hannah's not her real name," Spike explained.

"I see. And?"

Spike dragged a chair out from Angel's desk and motioned for Buffy to sit down. "And she needs our help."

Buffy looked questioningly at Angel, but he nodded for her to sit down, the frown gone. He made his way round to his desk chair while Spike pulled one out for himself.

"So. First things first," Angel said. "What is your real name?"

Buffy hesitated, but now she was here, she felt a lot more comfortable and decided to answer honestly. "Buffy. Buffy Summers."

"What exactly do you need our help for?" Angel continued.

"Well, a decent lawyer would be a good backup," Buffy replied. "But if possible, protection."

"From who?" Spike asked.

"The cops," Buffy said. "The Mayor of Sunnydale. Any hit men or bounty hunters he's sent after me. Shall I go on?"

Angel shook his head. "Why are you wanted by the Mayor?"

"Cause if anyone actually believes my story," she replied, "he could go to prison."

"Wow. No wonder you carry a gun." Spike paused thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, where do you actually keep it? I never saw -"

"Trust me," Buffy interrupted. "You don't want to know."

Angel cleared his throat. "Getting back on track, why are you wanted by the police?"

"For murder."

There was a short pause. "Did you do it?"

"Angel!" Spike sounded near outraged.

"It's a fair question," Angel responded. "Buffy? Did you do it?"

"Well, technically – yes," Buffy replied.

TBC …