Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys made my day (which is a nicely mature way of saying that I spent approximately twenty-four hours wandering around with a huge-ass grin plastered to my face and tripping over stuff). This chapter doesn't include a lot of action, but that'll probably be balanced out by the next chapter.
25. The Brotherhood
By the time she'd made it into the well-lit warmth of the mansion's front hall, Buffy was fairly sure that she was teetering on the verge of madness, or at least a minor mental breakdown. After the brief moment of silence that had followed Narigh's untimely demise, Angel and Spike had kept up a non-stop verbal sparring match as they made their way through the otherwise quiet streets of uptown Sunnydale. Buffy still shuddered at the thought that any of Sunnydale's calmly respectable (and stubbornly ordinary) inhabitants might have overheard their argument, which included such choice words as 'murderer' and 'demon'.
Having outstripped them long ago, she waited for them to make their way up the mansion's garden path as she stood in the front doorway. Even though she was well prepared for what she'd see when they came striding through the garden gate, they were still a strange sight.
From a distance, Spike appeared to be a broad-shouldered, dark-haired figure who moved with the easy, careless lope of a smaller man accustomed to a shorter stride; and beside him Angel was a leonine, lean-limbed creature whose movements had the studied deliberation of a physically imposing man and the unconscious grace of a gentleman – although, with his dyed platinum hair and black leather outfit, he was apparently neither.
She'd been hoping that their spat would have ended – or at least simmered down a little – by the time they came within earshot, but to her dismay they were still going at it. If anything, the argument had only become more heated and spiteful. It didn't take long for Buffy to decide she didn't want to hear any more of it; and having come to that conclusion, she stepped back briskly into the hall and shut the front door.
When the vampires heard the distinct sound of the front door being locked, they stopped dead.
"Did your girlfriend just lock us out?" Spike asked, staring blankly at the door.
Angel silenced Spike with a swift icy glance and tapped cautiously on the door. "Buffy?" When there was no response, he knocked again. "Buffy?"
"You guys can come in when you've stopped acting like Sid and Nancy," she called through the door, firmly. "Until then you're just gonna have to rough it, smurf-style. Okay?"
"No, not okay!" Spike bellowed. "I haven't got the faintest sodding idea what you're on about, Slayer!"
"I'm pretty sure I wasn't stuttering," Buffy responded crisply. "But if your rusty 19th-century brain seriously can't deal, here's the simple version: either the kindergarten attitude goes kaput, or you two are spending the night outdoors re-enacting most of The Edge."
Spike turned to Angel helplessly. "Was any of that even in English?"
Angel sighed. "Basically, she said she wants us to stop arguing," he explained simply. "And she refuses to let us in until we start acting more civilized."
Despite himself, Spike was faintly impressed. "I can't believe you actually understood that bunch of naff girly mumbo-jumbo."
"Yeah, well, I happen to be a huge fan of the girl behind all that 'naff girly mumbo-jumbo'," Angel said, with a calm defensiveness that belied his fierce, almost automatic urge to protect Buffy from anything that might hurt her – even one of Spike's slight, careless verbal insults.
"Now there's a stunning news-bulletin," Spike said dryly. His expression was an odd mixture of envy and scorn as he looked at his grandsire. "Y'know, you're even starting to talk like her."
Angel shrugged, smiling faintly. "Guess she's rubbed off on me."
"Yeah, I bet she has," Spike snickered.
Angel rolled his eyes. "And the Shining Example of Maturity award goes to…"
"See?" Spike crowed triumphantly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. I give it a week before you two poor sods are wearing matching polyester outfits and spending your days feeding pigeons in a park somewhere."
"I'm not even going to ask what that means. If you've got a point, get to it."
"I'm just sayin', you two have got 'old married couple' written all over you." He paused. "Except of course that you'll never get old, and she'll never get married."
"Run that second part by me again," Angel said slowly. He didn't want to appear too interested in anything his grandchilde had to say, but Spike's comment had definitely caught his attention.
"Well, it's obvious, innit? Now that the pair of you have gone all starry-eyed and Shakespearean, the poor bird won't want to tie herself down to anyone else. And we both know the chances of her ever sauntering into a bloody chapel with you are less than nil, so Goldilocks in there is headed for spinsterhood. She just hasn't cottoned on to it yet."
Having finished his surprising soliloquy, Spike lapsed into silence. And despite his best efforts, Angel found himself unable to respond to the other vampire's words – because for once in his less-than-exemplary life, Spike was right.
---
The vampires were surprised when, less than half an hour after Buffy had delivered her ultimatum, the front door slid open and a familiar pretty face looked out at them. "I guess you can't actually stay out all night," she said reluctantly, leaving the door open before disappearing indoors again.
Spike sauntered through the doorway easily, but when Angel tried to cross the threshold he found himself being held back as though by an invisible wall. The mansion was barring him from entering, and it didn't take long to figure out why – although his body technically counted as an inhabitant, Spike's body didn't. And Buffy's words apparently weren't specific enough to count as an invitation.
It was odd to see Spike's signature smirk spreading across his own face as the younger vampire realized that Angel needed to be invited in, but Angel managed to quell his irritation enough to ignore Spike's expression. "Buffy, could you come out here for a minute?"
She appeared in the doorway almost instantly. "I'm guessing you're not standing out there 'cause you were gripped by a sudden urge to admire the doorstep," she said.
Angel smiled faintly. "No offense to the doorstep, but no."
The troubled expression on her face let him know what she was thinking before she voiced the thought out loud. "I'm not too sure I like the idea of giving the Peroxide Crusader a free ticket into our house," she said, giving Spike a distasteful look.
"Not like I'd be jostlin' to come back here anyways," Spike retorted, before wandering off down the hall.
"We'll uninvite him as soon as we've switched back again," Angel assured her, ignoring Spike's comment.
Buffy nodded. "You can come in," she said softly. As he passed her on his way in, he lifted a hand to her cheek in a brief, gentle caress that had become a habit during their time together. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and although she allowed the caress, the perfectly motionless way she held her body indicated hidden discomfort. He's Angel, she reminded herself sharply. Angel, the be-all, end-all love of my life. He might not look like himself right now, but that shouldn't matter.
She wished that it didn't, but she couldn't delude herself out of facing the fact that she would much rather be touched by Angel's hand than Spike's – no matter whose spirit happened to be controlling that hand.
"I should be patrolling," she said, still avoiding Angel's gaze.
"I'll come with you," Angel offered instantly, but she shook her head.
"I'm probably going to call Will and the boys," she said, "and I'd really prefer it if I didn't have to explain all this to them. It's just too weird." She paused, unsure of how to continue. "I just think it would be better if you and Spike stayed here until we figure out a way to reverse the body-switch."
Angel nodded, fighting the impulse to argue. She obviously needed to be away from him for the time being, and even though that thought stung, it made perfect sense given his current condition. If she needed space, he'd give it to her willingly. "Be careful," he said quietly.
She smiled. "Hey, you know me. I've got that whole cautious look-before-you-leap attitude down to an art."
He gave her a look of affectionate disbelief, and before she could react he'd leaned forward to press his lips to hers. She felt a momentary sense of disgust at the thought of having Spike's mouth on hers, but it died away as soon as she realized that only Angel could ever kiss her with such tenderness, and that only Angel could ever make her feel as though the entire world had quietly melted away, along with her heart, whenever he kissed her. With her eyes closed, there was no mistaking him for anyone else.
I was wrong, she thought as she returned the kiss hungrily, gripping the lapels of his leather jacket to pull him closer. Angel will always be my Angel – no matter what.
---
She left the mansion in a state of mild dishevelment and almost euphoric happiness. Suddenly she was confident that they'd find a way to reverse Narigh's faulty incantation; any other outcome just didn't seem possible anymore. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Willow's number. "Hey, Will. Are you busy tonight?... Okay, great. So how would you feel about spending the night watching me poke a stick into some undead bodies?"
On the other end of the line, Willow smiled. "I was just thinking that I haven't seen a good undead-body-poking in ages," she said. "Count me in. Would you mind if Jesse tagged along?"
"Actually, I was just about to call the boys and see if they could meet us at Restfield."
"Um, I think Xander might be doing something tonight," Willow said hesitantly. "But Jesse's probably free. You said Restfield, right?" she continued, hoping to divert Buffy's attention from her comment about Xander. "I can be there in twenty minutes."
"Okay. See you then." After she hung up, Buffy spent a moment staring at the phone, her fingers poised to dial another number. She hesitated, slipped the phone into her pocket, and then pulled it out again quickly, dialing the number before she could give herself time to change her mind again.
"Listen, I need a favor," she said, without any attempt at a greeting.
If Rayne was surprised to hear her voice on the other end of the line – or surprised that she even knew his number - he didn't let on. "I'm afraid I'm going to need specifics before I make any promises," he said, in his usual dry unhurried manner.
"It's just some research," she told him quickly. "I just figured I should ask you, since hitting the books is really more your department than mine."
"Did you have a particular topic in mind?"
The thought of asking him about soul-restoring incantations and body-switching crossed her mind, but she dismissed it instantly and decided to stick to her original request. "I need to know about the Brotherhood of the Fang." She felt like spitting the name out, but she forced herself to keep her voice level and expressionless. "History, MO, the location of their headquarters – anything you can find out, basically."
Rayne was silent for a moment. "Very well," he said softly, and for a moment she was afraid he'd suspected her motives in asking. But that's impossible, she assured herself. There's no way he heard Ripper mention the Brotherhood to me.
When she hung up she realized that she was closer to Restfield cemetery than she'd originally thought; by the time she made it through the gates, there was still a quarter of an hour left until Willow and Jesse were supposed to arrive.
Guess I'll just have to keep myself busy 'til then, she thought, smiling as she spotted a single gnarled finger poking up out of a nearby grave. The rest of the hand eventually followed, and within moments a newly-risen vampire was hauling himself out of the mound of dirt piled above his coffin.
"Hey there," Buffy said pleasantly, swinging Mr. Pointy between her fingers. "Welcome to your new life as part of the seedy underbelly of demon society."
The vampire stared at her vacantly before lunging forwards, arms outstretched, his entire focus on satisfying the overwhelming thirst for blood that grips every newborn vampire as soon as they rise.
Buffy punched him sharply on the chin. "Now, that's what I call just plain rude. Here I am, trying to give you the 411 on your extremely short future, and you repay me by trying to pull some old zombie-style attack? That is so lame."
"Yeah – whatever happened to all the cool vamps?"
Buffy turned at the sound of Jesse's voice and smiled at him, just as her arm shot out to punch the vampire again. "You made it."
He stood leaning against a nearby tree, hands in his coat pockets, eyes shining with their usual mischievous amusement. "I did," he agreed, nodding. "It's not like I could let you get your slayage on without an audience. It would be such a tragic waste of high-quality entertainment."
"Aw, that's sweet," she said, backhanding the vampire across the face. "Where's Will?"
"Here," Willow called breathlessly, running up to them just as Buffy sank her stake into the vampire's chest. "I had to stop to tie my shoes," she said, a little apologetically.
"According to every horror movie ever made, you should be toast by now," Jesse said warningly. "The poor sucker who stops to tie their laces always gets beheaded first."
"Thanks, Jesse. Way to creep us all out," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
He bowed. "What can I say? It's a gift. And speaking of cool vamps, where's your own personal Undead Connection tonight?"
"He's patrolling some of the other cemeteries," Buffy said quickly. "We figured we'd cover more ground that way."
"Good thinking," Willow said. There was a slightly uncomfortable silence before Buffy turned, tilting her head as though she was listening to something. "Do you guys hear that?"
Before Jesse or Willow had time to ask what she meant, there was a sudden rustle in the bushes nearby and a figure exploded through the shrubbery, tumbling onto the grass below. It stood up quickly and Buffy only had time to register the fact that it was wearing what looked like black robes etched with some kind of silver markings before it unsheathed a sword and swung it at her.
She ducked, going into a forward roll to avoid the arc of the sword's swing. Righting herself quickly, she managed to tell Willow and Jesse to take cover before the robed figure attacked again. On an impulse she did a back-flip; she landed unsteadily, but at a safe distance from her opponent. "I hate to break it to you, but swords went out of style around, oh, a few hundred freaking years ago," she told him – because it was clear now that the figure was a man, although in the dark it was difficult to distinguish his features.
He didn't respond, but she saw the third swing coming and dodged it easily, aiming a sharp kick at his right wrist. As she'd hoped, the force of the kick was enough to make him loosen his grip on the sword, which clattered to the ground.
"All right," she said grimly. "Now we're on even ground, we can finish this."
But as she moved forward, another loud rustle announced the arrival of two other swordsmen. Oh, crap. Buffy turned to where her friends were taking cover, watching her anxiously. "Guys, get to the mansion – quickly. Tell Angel and Spike I need backup."
"Spike?" Jesse repeated. "Isn't he the guy who –"
"Just do it," Buffy snapped, backing away from the approaching swordsmen. "Go! Now!"
"Aren't you sword-swinging types supposed to be chivalrous?" she said to her opponents, trying to hide her rising panic. "I don't think Lancelot would've approved of a three-to-one fight."
The first swordsman had retrieved his sword from the grass and was closing in on her steadily. "The Brotherhood protects its own," he said grimly. "No matter the cost."
"So you guys are in the Brotherhood of the Fang, huh?" Her tone was light, but now it was masking rising fury rather than fear.
"We seek out those who seek us," the swordsman continued mechanically, almost as if she hadn't spoken. "The scrutiny of lesser beings cannot be tolerated. The secrecy of the order must be protected."
"Whatever, loser. I'm not really interested in hearing your creepy manifesto." Although the swordsmen continued to advance, Buffy had come to a complete stop. She watched them approach with apparent calm, but she could feel a steadily burning anger lacing its way through her body, along with a surge of white-hot adrenalin. It got to the point where she could barely contain herself enough to keep still, and her very fingertips seemed to be buzzing.
"You know, I was going to track down your headquarters and kill every last one of you," she told them coldly. Moving so quickly her body became a blur of speed, she grabbed the nearest swordsman's wrist and snapped it, ignoring his sudden scream of pain.
"But this works too."
---
Author's Note: Okay, so Buffy's having a bit of an Anakin Skywalker moment here, but there's an explanation for why she's decided to break the golden Slayer rule of not killing humans (which doesn't necessarily mean that she will break it, by the way). Scout points and cyber-cookies to anyone who figures it out. :-P