Chapter 4

The Direct Approach (May)

The rising sun's rays had just begun to curl past the half-drawn drapes in Xander's living room when Faith crept downstairs. Sweatpants and a baggy sweater were all she'd had the energy to throw on, and her socks were the same ones she'd worn on the ride into town. The wood of the final step creaked loudly as she pressed her weight upon it.

So much for stealth.

"Faith, is that you?" Xander called out from the dining room.

She'd been hoping he was still asleep, or maybe running errands. She wasn't in the mood to speak with anyone, let alone someone who knew her back then. Back when Mayor Richard Wilkins, the real one, had been terrorizing Sunnydale and using her to do it. Still, there was no hope for it, he'd already heard her.

She ignored the urge to retreat to the surprisingly plush and comfortable upstairs guest bedroom and walked into the dining room. Xander's neat attire of a black polo and blue jeans, along with his crisply combed hair, made her feel even more a mess. His eyes, one light-brown and the other red, peered at her above a somewhat forced-looking smile. On the table in front of him a half-filled bowl of cereal sat upon a tropical-themed placemat.

"I thought I heard you come down," Xander said cheerily.

He's too happy … he's putting on an act for my benefit.

"Are you hungry?" Xander asked as he abruptly stood up. "I can throw on some eggs and bacon? Maybe toast? Everyone loves toast."

Faith gestured for him to sit down. "No, don't worry about it. Cereal sounds great."

Xander nodded and ran a hand through his silver-streaked black hair as he sat back down.

"Help yourself. Milk is in the fridge, cereal, bowls, and spoons are in the cabinets to the right."

She walked into the kitchen and looked around. The pale wood floor and cabinetry gleamed beneath the kitchen lights, and the center island, which bore a rack of knives and several cutting boards, was neat and tidy, as was the rest of the kitchen.

When did Xander Harris grow up?

She opened the cabinet to find that his cereal selections consisted of Captain Crunch, Fruit Loops, and Corn Pops.

I spoke too soon.

She prepared a bowl of cereal, grabbed a spoon, and joined Xander at the table. Xander fidgeted for a few moments, then finally spoke.

"So."

She shoveled a spoonful of sugary cereal into her mouth and chewed in silence.

"So," she replied.

Xander rapped at the table for a few seconds. "The mayor, huh? Well, I guess he isn't the mayor at the moment, or maybe he was in the Anyaverse … I guess that would make sense … I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you are," she agreed.

"I'll just come right and ask it then."

Faith swallowed another spoonful of cereal. "I wish you would."

"How are you doing?"

She put the spoon down. "How am I doing? You mean, am I going to fall apart and get myself killed in a bloody revenge spree? Is that what Buffy wanted you to ask me?"

"C'mon Faith, don't do that," Xander protested. "Nobody's put me up to asking anything, and nobody thinks you're going to go off on a bloody revenge spree." He paused to think for a moment. "At least, we're pretty confident you won't. You won't, right?"

"As tempting as it is, no," Faith assured him. "If Richard Wilkins is giving speeches and running for offices, that means he's ready. It'll take a lot more than one slayer to take him down." She pushed the bowl away.

"It'll take all of us."

Faith shrugged. "So long as it gets done."

"I understand, Faith."

As a pang of hunger gnawed at her stomach, she pulled the bowl closer. "Understand what?"

Xander shook his head. "You don't need to do that."

"Don't need to do what?"

Xander sighed, then stood and carried his bowl into the kitchen. Faith heard the sound of running water, then the clang of a dishwasher opening and closing.

"Where's Emmy?" Faith called out.

"She commutes to downtown L.A. Tuesday through Thursday," Xander replied as he returned to the dining room and sat down.

"That's a hell of a drive."

Xander nodded. "Yeah, hence the 'gone before dawn' routine."

"What does she do?"

"She works at a doctor's office," he informed her. "It's where we met, actually."

"Proctologist?" Faith asked with an impish grin. Her spoon clattered against porcelain; she looked down and realized that her bowl was empty.

"Very funny," Xander replied as he reached for her bowl. "Here, I'll refill that. Motorcycling has to be hard work."

Faith, bowl in hand, stood up. "Thanks, but I can manage." She traipsed into the kitchen, poured out more cereal, then returned. Xander just sat there, staring at her.

"Okay, Harris, this is getting to be a bit much," she exclaimed. "What else is on your mind?"

He leaned back defensively. "Hey, another Wilkins showing up was a big shock for everyone, but I … we … figured it would be especially difficult for you."

"I'll manage," she said frostily. "Maybe you should be worrying about Buffy. Seems to me that if Wilkins has a grudge against anyone, it would be her, and she isn't a slayer anymore." She pointed at Xander's red eye. "At least you've got the whole demon-vision thing going on, what does Buffy have? Hell, she's older than I am. Maybe she should be getting out of town?"

"That last line sounded just like something Angel would say," Xander informed Faith. "Has said, in fact."

Faith shrugged. "He always had a good head on his shoulders." Something occurred to her. "Last time I checked, you and Angel didn't get along so great. Now you're working for him?"

"Working with him," Xander corrected her. "I sold my share in the construction business and I'm trying my hand at private investigating." He smiled. "Been watching too many reruns of Moonlighting, I guess."

Faith shook her head. "What the hell has been happening in this town?"

"You've been gone from Southern California a long time, Faith," Xander reminded her. "Not since that business in D.C. with Lord Carroll, and I'm not even sure how long ago that was at this point."

She did the math for him. "Five years, give or take, and you're trying to change the subject. We were talking about how you should be worried about Buffy."

"Buffy will be okay," he said confidently. "And if she isn't, we'll make sure she is."

"When I first heard about the whole 'Angel and Spike are human,' 'Buffy isn't a slayer anymore,' 'Ethan Rayne is back and now he's gone again' story, I kind of got the feeling that Buffy was going to take it as an opportunity to retire." Faith snorted loudly. "None of the rest of us get that option, so why isn't she on a beach somewhere fornicating loudly and often with her newly warm-blooded beau? She looks like she's robbing the cradle, might as well take advantage of it while you still can."

Xander grimaced. "Thank you so much for that imagery, Faith. Buffy took a few months off, but what can I say, she feels …"

"Left out?" Faith suggested. "Useless? Maybe just plain … ordinary?"

For a moment, just the briefest of moments, Faith thought she saw a red flash spark from Xander's left eye.

What the hell was that?

Xander sat and stared at her. Faith examined his face more closely; the flash, if there had been one, was gone.

"I kind of feel like I should be asking if you're okay," she finally said after a long minute of silence.

Xander inhaled deeply before answering. "It's been a rough time for Buffy, for everyone. Her life is different, and she needs our support … maybe now more than ever."

Faith shrugged. "Fine with me. It's her neck on the line." She stretched and cracked her neck. "I assume that the egghead crew is busy finding out what's going on and we're all going to meet later?"

Xander nodded. "If you mean Willow and Giles, yeah, something like that."

"Have we called every slayer on the west coast yet?"

Xander shook his head. "We're going to strategize all of that today."

Faith fought down a surge of impatience. "When?"

"High noon at Moonridge Investigations."

She nodded and looked around. "Great house, by the way. You've done okay for yourself, Harris. Actually, a lot more than okay."

Xander smiled. "Thank you. I'll have to give you the full tour soon."

"Maybe after I get dressed," Faith replied as she raised a hand to stifle a yawn. "One more thing, that eye is rocking. Does it work the way Buffy says?"

Xander grinned and nodded. "It does indeed. You're all glow-y with slayer magic. It's pretty cool."

Faith smiled, the first genuine smile Xander had seen from her. "I glow? Wicked."

She idly ran her hands along the table. "So, this new Buffy, I heard she's been patrolling with Giles and Spike."

"Where'd you hear that?" Xander asked.

Faith shrugged. "Around. Is she shacking up with Spike yet?"

"Faith!" Xander yelped.

"I'll take that as a no." She winked at him. "I give it another month. Two at the most."

"Classy, Faith."

She laughed heartily. "Hey, he's still got that jawline, right? And she looks like Buffy, but tighter? What, you think Spike hangs around her cause he wants to be helpful? He's Spike."

"Faith, you've been traveling alone a long time, haven't you?"

. . . . . . . . .

With Eric at work and the kids at school, the house felt empty. The carpeted stairs led to an empty set of bedrooms, the lingering smell of breakfast had vanished from the kitchen, the dining table had been cleared of dishes, and the living room sat quiet and empty. She felt completely alone … except for whoever was watching through the window.

I'm pretty sure that car has been parked there all morning.

Dawn surveyed the dark blue SUV with tinted windows for a few more seconds, then twisted the blinds closed. She sat down on the couch and stared blankly at the stairs. A cabinet was tucked beneath the steps, and its cubbyholes were stuffed with shoes, books, toys, art materials of one sort or another, and sports equipment. The items were orderly sorted to the point that they didn't look used at all. She'd found herself keeping busy with cleaning, with straightening, with anything, in order to keep her thoughts from turning to recent events.

He's dead. I know he's dead.

The problem was that no matter how many times she tried to reassure herself that Richard Wilkins hadn't returned from the grave, she knew what she had seen. He had been there, in a store parking lot, and he was very much alive.

Buffy had called, of course. And texted. The texts had gone unread, and the calls had gone unanswered. She wasn't ready to handle whatever Buffy had to say. Or maybe she was just afraid to hear what Buffy had to say.

She was beginning to fear that she was losing her mind. Everything was wrong, had been going wrong, and it felt as though the walls were closing in and stifling her in a reality that no longer made any sense, that didn't feel real, at all. The worst part was that she couldn't talk to Eric. Every day he came home, smiling, and every day she could feel herself grow more distant, more of a pale shadow rather than a living, breathing person.

Even if Richard Wilkins is back, Buffy can deal with it.

The recollection that Buffy wasn't a slayer anymore twisted in Dawn's mind like a snake.

. . . . . . . . .

"And just where might my elusive personal assistant be this morning?" asked Richard Wilkins in an overly friendly and chipper tone. Joshua was not fooled; his boss was undoubtedly irritated at his absence. "Need I remind you that we have a rather important meeting that, despite my lack of an appointment, I wish to begin on schedule?"

Joshua turned the key in the ignition, pulled away from the curb, and maneuvered the cobalt SUV towards downtown Moonridge.

"I was running an errand," Joshua explained. "I'm on my way now."

The silence echoed through the interior for what seemed an interminable length of time before Richard Wilkins's voice crackled once again through his phone speaker.

"Well, no harm done, I suppose. Are you dressed for the occasion?"

Joshua glanced down at his gloves and the thick sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt, then sought his reflection the SUV's rearview mirror. He frowned sheepishly as he realized his mistake. He had the unsettling impression that the demon coiled around his soul was laughing at him.

"I'm dressed," Joshua replied.

"How long until you arrive?"

Joshua glanced at his phone. "About twenty minutes."

"You're a bit ahead of us, so drive slowly. We'll meet you there."

Joshua was about to respond, then he realized that his boss had ended the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and allowed himself one last glance at the house he'd been watching all morning. He mouthed a promise in the direction of the home.

I'll kill you myself.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy cracked her eyes open and realized that it was dawn. The green, burning glow of the Hellspot throughout the cave remained unchanged, of course, yet nevertheless she was sure it was morning. As she straightened her sore back, the image of a hot, bubbling bathtub sprang to mind. Spike was already awake; he was standing by the cave's opening peering through a thin crack between the stone of the cave wall and the membrane covering the opening.

That was a long night.

She brushed away a few fragments of Vesparis eggshell, then realized that her head no longer rested on solid rock. She reached down to find a folded leather jacket had been neatly tucked beneath her as a pillow.

I am not going to thank Spike for that.

Buffy sat up, wiped away a small puddle of drool that had collected on the sleeve of the jacket, and tossed the garment over to Spike. He snatched it out of the air and slipped it over his shoulders.

"Chivalry isn't dead after all," she muttered as she rose to her feet.

Spike released the translucent veil and turned towards her. "Oh, chivalry died, but maybe it was resurrected. Along with me."

"How is it looking out there?" she asked as she pulled the membrane back a few inches and risked a peek into the massive central shaft that formed the bulk of the hive. No signs of movement greeted her eyes; the spiral stone walkway that twisted upwards along the walls of the cave was bereft of activity and her ears did not detect the sound of chitinous wings flapping against the air.

"Looks quiet," Spike replied. "I see no reason to wait. Do you?"

She retrieved her stake and twirled it absentmindedly in her hand. "I do not."

Spike pulled the amber membrane away from the cave entrance and stepped outside. Buffy followed, then immediately pressed her hand against the stone wall of the shaft as her head swam for a moment. After so many hours in stiflingly claustrophobic environs, she felt a wave of dizzying vertigo wash over her at the sight of several hundred feet of empty space.

When her head steadied, she glanced up to find Spike staring at her.

"Yeah? What?" she snapped at him.

He frowned at her. "Let's go, then."

They felt like otherworldly interlopers as they steadily worked their way upwards around the cavern. The path in places was wide enough that she and Spike could have laid down end to end comfortably, and in other spots the walkway was so narrow they had to press against the wall in order to continue. Worst of all were the areas where the rock had crumbled away. The Vesparis had wings; she and Spike did not. Dealing with angry vampires she was used to, dealing with leaps through empty space hundreds of feet above the ground was something else entirely.

On one of the leaps, she'd stumbled briefly upon landing. She felt irritation instinctively rise at the expectation that Spike would reach out to steady her, then when he ignored her and continued onward, she felt irritated that he hadn't bothered.

Keep your mind on business, Buffy!

The Vesparis, thankfully, appeared entirely asleep. From time to time, she and Spike would freeze at the sight of a shuffling movement within a membrane-covered cave, but none of the demons emerged.

"I think you can put that away," Spike whispered at one point in the slow ascent as he gestured at her stake. She glanced at it, then ruefully tucked it into its sheath.

As they steadily climbed, the light grew brighter and brighter until she found herself needing to avert her gaze to avoid being blinded. The end of the path came upon her so abruptly she almost bumped into Spike. A low ceilinged, but long, cavern had been hollowed out of the rock surrounding the Hellspot. In one corner of the cave, she spied what appeared to be actual sunlight beaming from a narrow passage.

At least we might not have to climb back down.

She stood next to Spike and gazed at the Hellspot hanging in space. No, not hanging, suspended might be the better word, Buffy decided. Entwined around the burning green orb, which was perhaps twenty feet in diameter, were thick ropey, fibrous cords that appeared to be made of the same amber material as the membranes coating the entrance of each of the pockets below. Each of the thick strands was firmly attached by a slimy, glue-like substance to the rock wall. Buffy hesitantly pulled at one of the cords; it didn't budge.

Spike frowned and pointed at the Hellspot. "There it is. How about you go ahead and give Giles a call?"

"That thing must be incredibly heavy," she whispered. As she pulled out her cellphone and checked for a signal, an idea occurred to her. "Cell still isn't working," she informed Spike as she reexamined the cords anchoring the Hellspot to the wall. "But I've got an idea."

Spike glanced at the Hellspot, then at her. "What kind of an idea?"

"You still got that knife?" she asked.

"Two of 'em. Why?"

Buffy made a sawing motion near one of the cords. "Get the picture?"

Spike rubbed his forehead. "Assuming we cut this big glowing thing free, so what? Instead of being up here, it'll be down there," he stepped to the edge and pointed downwards. "Same difference."

"I don't think so," she said with a smile. "I'm thinking when it goes, it'll tear this whole place apart."

Spike shook his head and glanced at the small passageway Buffy had spotted earlier. "That looks like sunlight. Go call Giles and report in. Isn't that how slayers are supposed to operate?"

"It's my call," Buffy snapped at him.

Spike frowned at her. "They definitely assign Watchers to you slayers because you need the supervision."

Buffy bit her lip in annoyance and held out a hand. "Knife, please," she asked. He made her stand there, hand outstretched, for a length of time just bordering on infuriating before he finally gave in and placed the hilt of the knife in her palm. "Let's try it your way," he said dispiritedly as he pulled a second knife from a sheath strapped around his ankle.

"That's the enthusiasm I was hoping for," she muttered as she began to hack at the heavy amber cords anchoring the Hellspot to the wall.

Spike dutifully began slicing at one of the other anchoring spots. The glue-like substance holding the cords to the walls was far too thick and heavy to pull free, but thankfully the material gave way readily to the steel of the knife. In a few minutes time Buffy had almost entirely cut through one of the strands. With a final wrench, she slashed it apart.

The separated cord sprung with terrific force away from the wall, snapped and sizzled through the air, then hung dangling in space. The Hellspot shifted within its sling, then settled once more into stillness.

It's working.

"Keep cutting, she whispered."

Spike nodded, then redoubled his efforts. A few moments later, another severed cord whistled as it flew free. The Hellspot shifted again, this time more noticeably. A few splinters of rock fell from the wall as the remaining anchors were forced to bear an increasingly larger share of the weight.

As she and Spike began to cut free two more of the anchors, Buffy heard a rustling sound from the room beyond. She paused for a moment to glance into the shadows at the far end of the space.

"Buffy …" Spike whispered with increasing urgency. "We aren't alone up here!"

"Cut faster!" she yelped as she abandoned stealth and sawed maniacally at the cord. When she reached the halfway mark, she spared a glance behind her.

The Vesparis that was crawling towards them was profoundly different than the ones she'd spotted within the cave. First, it had no wings, but instead trailed behind its distended, bulging abdomen. Sprouting from its rear were a number of amber-colored threads and clumps of membranous tissue.

Also, it was perhaps ten times bigger.

"Buffy!" Spike roared as the thing approached. Its mandibles snapped and glistened with venom as it emanated an ear-piercing, voluminous shriek that resounded through the entire cavern.

Buffy hacked maniacally at the anchoring cord like a madwoman as the shaft erupted into activity below her. The Vesparis surged onto the walkway and a deafening cacophony of shrill screams and whistles filled the air. A few flapped into space while others, too slow to unfurl their wings, were knocked off the thin walkway. Maybe it was her imagination, but Buffy thought she heard a few thuds as they landed.

The cord snapped apart just as the enormous wasp demon reached her. She dived away from its snapping jaws, flipped the knife around so that she held it by the point, and threw it at the thing's faceted eye. The demon roared a high-pitched shriek of pain as the knife sunk in to the hilt.

"Hey, that was my favorite," Spike protested as he continued slicing. The Hellspot was more than shifting now, it was swaying and swinging within what remained of its webbed cradle. Rocks were falling from the walls in ever increasing torrents, and Buffy could see the remaining cords began to fray from the increased strain.

When Spike succeeded in cutting through the fibrous material, for a moment Buffy thought her plan hadn't worked. The Hellspot still hung there, and as the demon wasps swarmed towards them, she realized with a sinking feeling that they were out of time.

Then the Hellspot, with a wrenching convulsion almost like a living thing, tore free from the wall and began to twirl and spin downwards like a gigantic marble. As it rotated out of the remaining webs and rebounded from wall to wall, it gouged huge rends in the stone pathway and demolished the caves dotting the walls of the shaft. The creature Buffy had injured twittered in despair as hundreds of demons were vaporized into nothingness the instant they came into contact with the Hellspot.

"Reminds me of those bug zappers people hang in their backyards," Buffy observed as she listened with glee to the sounds of demons frying en masse.

"If you're done being bloodthirsty, we need to leave, now!" Spike yelled as he pointed upwards. Buffy glanced up to see chunks of the cavern walls begin to rip free and plummet downwards. One of the wedges of rock, helpfully, smashed into pulp two demons rapidly flying in their direction.

"That way!" Buffy yelled as she gave the crawling, wounded demon a wide berth and ran for the tunnel in which they'd previously seen daylight. Spike followed closely on her heels as she desperately scrambled upwards through the narrow passage. Not caring about scratches or torn clothing, Buffy pulled herself hand over hand up the rocky cleft until she found herself crouched atop a small bluff that formed part of the Moonridge canyon rim.

Spike pulled himself up alongside her and brushed himself off. The passageway through which they'd just climbed fell inwards with a grinding and groaning noise, and they hastily moved away from the collapse. Buffy peaked over the edge of the bluff and realized that they were standing almost exactly above where they'd first entered the hive.

"That was close," she admitted."

"I don't think it's over," Spike said warily. "Look!"

An enormous crack had appeared on the top of bluff. As Buffy watched in horror, the fissure began to widen and spread.

"This place is coming apart!"

"I think we can outrun it," Spike exclaimed as he grabbed for her shoulder. In annoyance she shook him off. "What, you want to die here?" he asked as he began to back away.

The rock upon which they stood began to shudder a warning that it was about to break free from the canyon's rim.

"Not that way!" Buffy screamed.

Spike looked around in confusion. "Did you have another suggestion? I'm all ears?"

She pointed outwards, into the empty air of the canyon. "We need to jump."

Spike blinked in shock, then screamed his reply, "Are you daft? The fall will kill us!"

Buffy turned and stared downwards. "If you wanted to live forever, you should have stayed dead."

It was only a few quick strides, a leap with all the slayer strength she could summon, and then she fell from Spike's view.

Spike, mouth open, glanced around and realized that the entire side of the bluff was about to slide free of the canyon rim.

"Oh, bugger this!" he screamed as he sprinted towards the edge and leapt.

. . . . . . . . .

"Let me get this out of the way before we get started," Faith announced. "Yesterday, I heard some upsetting news, and I didn't handle it as well as I could, but I'm here today with a fresh new spunky attitude and I'm ready to hear the plan." She glanced around the lobby of Angel's office. "Let's hear it. How are we taking this piece of shit down?"

Xander and Angel had dragged a spare couch into the lobby along with a few extra chairs. Willow and Oz occupied one couch, Giles, Xander, and Buffy perched on another, and Angel leaned on the lobby desk while Faith sat on one of the chairs. The coffee table in the center of the room was laden with ancient tomes, newspaper printouts, and assorted magical paraphernalia.

Everyone stared at one another.

"This would be the part where you guys tell me what the dearly departed Mayor Wilkins is up to and how we're going to stop him," Faith prompted them.

Buffy cleared her throat. "We'll get to that, but first, Willow, Oz, you guys could have just speaker phoned in. I know this isn't your thing, not anymore."

Oz stared fixedly at Willow. "We …" he put a particularly barbed emphasis on the word, "decided that for strategizing, we'd grace you with our in-person presence."

"But we appreciate the thought, Buff," Willow chimed in.

"Is anyone minding the store?" Giles asked.

"I conjured up a demonic slave to run the cash register," Willow cheerfully informed him.

Worried expressions were exchanged amongst the room's occupants.

"Guys … I'm kidding."

Faith raised a hand, "I just realized, I still haven't congratulated you and Oz, Will." She gestured at Willow's abdomen. "A baby, wow. That's amazing. And you're barely showing."

Willow frowned. "It's only about thirteen weeks, I'm not showing at all yet …" She glanced down at her stomach.

"Well … you look great," Faith squeaked.

Angel cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I've got a burning question, how is Richard Wilkins alive?"

"Is it the Anyaverse?" Buffy asked. "Is that where he came from?"

Giles nodded. "It's the only explanation. A resurrection spell of the magnitude required, assuming one exists, would have left mystical traces, and there are none in Moonridge or the Sunnydale Crater. Plus, apparently, he's human. I think that rules out the Mayor Wilkins from our dimension."

"How did this happen?" Xander asked. "The damn portal was only open for a few seconds."

"That must have been long enough," Will said sheepishly. "Sorry guys."

Buffy shook her head. "This isn't your fault, and besides, the Hellmouth reopening for business would have been a lot worse."

"Speaking of guests from the Anyaverse, where is our newest Buffy?" Oz asked. "Is anyone else concerned that no one has heard from her, or Spike, since yesterday?"

"I hadn't thought about Spike at all," Giles replied, "and Buffy does have a habit of vanishing for a day or two, now and then, plus …" his voice trailed off.

"Plus, what?" Buffy prompted him. She knew him well enough to know when he was reluctant to mention something. "Spill it, Giles."

Giles removed his glasses and absent-mindedly cleaned them on his sleeve. "We had a bit of a spirited discussion, and she … well … she stormed out." He put his glasses back on. "But I'm sure she'll return, just as she has before."

"It's not like my younger self would have anything to suggest besides 'let's go find him and kill him,'" Buffy muttered sardonically.

Giles reluctantly nodded in agreement. "She's still young."

"I'm sure she's great," Faith interjected. "Now, about Wilkins, where is he?"

They all looked at each other. "We're not quite sure," Giles admitted. "There's been so much mystical and demonic activity in Moonridge, much of it caused by him, that pinpointing his location is rather difficult. We do have a few ideas though …"

Faith cut him off before he could continue, "Can't Xander maybe scope out the mayor with his eye?" she asked. "Figure out where his troops are, that sort of thing?"

"Like, from a blimp?" Xander asked. "I can't see through buildings, so spotting him might be tough unless he's wandering the streets."

Faith leaned forward and stared at his left eye. "So, the eye isn't sort of an X-Ray vision type deal?"

"That's one of the first things we asked Xander, too," Buffy interrupted. "I was worried he could see through clothes."

Buffy and Willow laughed.

"Oh, I can see through clothes," Xander informed them as he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back. "For example, I know Faith isn't wearing a bra."

Buffy snatched a book off the table and held it to her chest while Willow and Faith immediately crossed their arms.

"Xander," Willow scolded him. "You lied to us! That's an invasion of privacy."

Angel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Guys, he's kidding you."

"He'd better be," Oz said quietly.

Xander chuckled. "Yeah, I'm joking. Your modesty is safe around me."

Buffy slowly put the book back down.

"Then how'd you know I'm not wearing a bra?" Faith asked suspiciously with her arms still folded across her chest.

"Angel likes to turn the air conditioning way up," Xander explained.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Giles intoned as he closed his eyes. "I suppose it's too much to ask for a little maturity?"

Angel stifled a laugh while Buffy shot a venomous glare in his direction.

Faith grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her torso. "Jesus, Harris, I can't believe I ever hooked up with you."

"I still can't believe you kept it a secret," Willow admonished Xander, "even though I told you all about my first time with Oz."

"Will!" Oz yelped.

Giles loudly coughed and rapped the table. "I beg you all to please remember that we are, once again, facing a threat of dire peril. Moonridge's mayor and her family are dead, and I think we can reasonably conclude that the newly arrived Richard Wilkins is responsible. He is running for office, and that means he intends on consolidating his powerbase. In the coming weeks and months, he will undoubtedly move openly against us, so could we perhaps refocus on the task at hand?"

The door to the lobby swung open and sunlight flooded the room.

Angel glanced over at Xander. "I thought you locked it?"

Xander frowned. "I did."

Two large men wearing suits and sporting radio earpieces tucked behind their left ears walked into the room, briefly looked around, then held the door open.

Richard Wilkins, flanked by a tall figure wearing a black sweatshirt, the hood of which was pulled like a cowl over his face, walked into Moonridge Investigations and smiled broadly at all of them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I felt it might be a good idea for us to have a little chat before things get out of hand."

. . . . . . . . .

Spike, in between coughing, a sensation he hadn't missed over the centuries, screamed obscenities as he desperately swam for the far shore of the reservoir. Behind him, plummeting rocks smashed with tremendous force into the water. The impacts sent a steady stream of buffeting waves in his direction, and he was nearly halfway across before he realized that Buffy hadn't surfaced.

"Oh shit," he growled as he fought to reverse his course in waterlogged clothes. He was tempted to ditch his boots and jacket, but he feared they might sink and become impossible to find. He loved that jacket.

He swam a few dozen feet to where he approximated Buffy's landing, then he dove. The first dive, he forgot to hold his breath and immediately spluttered and coughed his way to the surface. On the second attempt, he remembered how his lungs worked as he kicked towards the bottom.

His chest burned from lack of oxygen, a remarkably new and unpleasant sensation, when his hand brushed across what felt to be a tangle of hair. The need for air had become a clawing, stabbing pain as he frantically reached downwards and wrapped his arm around Buffy's waist. Sparkles of light danced on the edges of his vision as he desperately propelled himself upwards. Finally, his head emerged from the water.

He raggedly inhaled a few deep gulps of air, then cradled Buffy so that her head and neck were clear of the reservoir. Adrenalin surged through him as he kicked towards solid ground.

She isn't breathing.

It felt as though a lifetime passed before his scrabbling feet finally found purchase on slick concrete. He slipped a few times trying to find his footing, but eventually managed to haul both himself and his unconscious cargo up the concrete embankment and onto parched, sandy soil.

She still isn't breathing.

"Buffy, I don't know how this works!" he roared as he lay her on her back and propped her jaw open. She stared vacantly upwards with half-open eyes as her mouth lolled insensately. Her skin was clammy, and he hoped it was his imagination that she was already beginning to grow cold.

You've seen this on the telly. How hard can it be?

He put both his hands on Buffy's chest and pushed downward with tremendous force; he felt her ribcage flex beneath the strain. After three forceful compressions, he opened his mouth and leaned forward to breathe air into hers.

A fountain of water erupting from her throat doused him an instant later. Buffy's eyelids fluttered and her gaze focused on Spike's face hovering only a few inches above her. At first, her eyes opened wide in confusion, then they narrowed in anger as she forcefully pushed him away. He sprawled backwards to land heavily on his rear.

"Hey, none of that!" she yelled.

Spike dusted himself off as best he could, considering that he was soaking wet, and stood up. "I think what you meant to say was 'thanks.'"

"Thanks for what?" Buffy asked in between coughing water out of her lungs. "Trying to sneak a kiss?"

"A snog? Seriously?" Spike asked incredulously. "I think you really are daft. You were drowning, I saved you. Again. That's twice now." He held up two fingers at her.

"Did not."

He looked at her in confusion. "Did not what?"

"Didn't save me."

He stared at the heavens and tried to refrain from screaming. When he'd collected himself a bit, he looked back at her. She seemed even smaller, somehow, and very wet. Her hair was a tangled mess filled with green effluence from the reservoir and her lips were flecked with spittle.

But she was alive, and Spike didn't know if he'd ever seen her look more beautiful. He felt at his chest and realized that it was still pumping as though he was running a marathon.

This is what it's like to have a working heart. I'd forgotten.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She slowly stood up. Ever the slayer, she checked to make sure she still had her cross and stake before she answered him. "I'm fine." Then she smiled … she actually smiled. "That was fun."

Spike tilted his head and fixed her with an icy stare. "I once told the predecessor to your name that all slayers were at least a little bit in love with death. Well, Buffy, you're head over your heels for the grim reaper. Are you crazy? Suicidal? Well, goddamn it, knock it off, cause you're going to get someone else, preferably not me, killed, too!"

"Knock it off?" she said incredulously. "The risk of death comes with the job, skippy. I didn't sign up for this, I was chosen. One gal in all the world." She paused a moment. "Though they've been recruiting as of late."

"Stop!" he yelled in a raging fury. "This has gone on long enough, so let's have out with it. I have one simple question for you and you're bloody going to answer me."

"What's that, Spike?" she spoke his name through clenched teeth.

"Do you want to die?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Well, do you!" he roared.

She glanced away for a moment, then looked back. "What if I do? Could you blame me? Look, you have no idea …"

"Blah blah blah, no idea?" he interrupted her. "No idea of what? What you've been through? I have every bloody idea. This is nothing except variations on a theme, love, I saw what kind of hell this world gave Buffy Summers and I'd wager you never had it any easier. You think Buffy never told me she wanted to die? Well, she did. More than once, but she got through it and so will you."

Buffy stared at the green water of the reservoir. "You had no right," she said quietly.

"No right to what, keep you from drowning?" Spike asked.

She shook her head. "That isn't what I meant."

"Then no right to do what?" he asked in confusion. "No right to talk to you like this? Since apparently nobody else has the stones to do it, I not only had the right, I see it as my duty."

"No," she said so softly he could barely hear her. "You had no right to bring me here. To this world."

"Oh," he replied. He looked around a bit sheepishly. "That."

Her eyes glistened, and not from their recent swim, when she looked at him. "I would have just … ended … like everyone else in my reality. Now what? I go on slaying and fighting until something meaner and stronger kills me? You brought me here just to suffer?"

"Suffer?" Spike asked. "Didn't I see you having a laugh over pizza and a vanilla shake last weekend?"

She scowled at him and clenched her fists. "Don't pretend you don't understand so you can make this easier on yourself. You know what I mean … you always know what I mean. When you look at me, sometimes it's like you're inside my head, and I can't fucking stand it."

Spike couldn't meet her eyes as he replied. "I guess I do understand you." Silence hung for a long moment before he forced himself to meet her gaze. "You'd rather I'd let you end, as you so delicately put it, in that other world? Is that it? No chance for something better, no chance for a fresh start?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

Well at least it wasn't a 'yes.'

"Buffy," he said, "You may not care about yourself, but a lot of people care about you, and more to the point, a lot of people need you. In case you haven't noticed, in this world, the slayer line is broken."

"What am I?" she asked mournfully. "An echo of someone else, from a world where I kept failing and everyone I knew kept dying?"

He shook his head in regret. "If you think I'm going to say it gets easier, I won't. Death is easy, but life isn't a song, it's hard. You say you don't have a right to live? Maybe you haven't been paying attention to the people who are trying to help you, but a lot of us could make the same claim. As for failing, hah … at least you failed trying to help the world. What about guys like Angel and me? If I do a good deed every day for the rest of my mortal life, however long we half-breeds live, it won't even come close to balancing out all the wickedness I've done."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You didn't have a soul. That wasn't you."

"Enough," Spike said flatly. "You've had your drowning and your bit of whining and hopefully you've gotten what you needed off your chest. You need to get your head on straight, cause if something were to happen to you …"

"What?" she snapped. "What if something happened to me? What would you do? You've been creeping and staring and stalking from the second I arrived. Would you fall to pieces if I died, Spike? Am I your second chance to get it right, or something? I'm my own person. I'm not her."

Spike grinned. "That last bit is the kind of thing I've been waiting for you to realize for months." He patted his pocket and ensured that his car keys hadn't sunk to the bottom of the reservoir. "Tell you what, maybe it's time for me to clock out from this thankless job." He forced his voice to grow firm. "I've done what I can to bring you here, try to make you understand that you're among the first slayers in history who don't have to go it alone, but nevertheless you push everyone away. You think you're strong like steel, but you aren't. You're hard, like stone. Steel bends but holds an edge, while stone shatters."

"Nice metaphor. What were you, a poet or something?"

"Well … yeah?" Spike spluttered. "And this poet is done."

"Done with what?"

"Done with all of it. I'm not a bloody slayer," he reminded her. "You take unnecessary risks, you're unappreciative, you don't take advice, and … and … you were just plain mean to me a few minutes ago."

"Are you going to storm off in a huff?"

"I've walked this walk and I've danced this dance before, and I'm not doing it again." Spike began to stalk towards his car. The squelching sound of his boots and the trail of mud he left in his wake robbed his dramatic exit of the gravitas he was hoping to exude.

"Well, good. Nobody asked you to," Buffy called out to him.

He ignored her and kept walking.

At some point Buffy must have remembered that Spike represented her ride back to Moonridge, because he could hear her shouting in the distance.

The walk might do her good.

He opened his car door, looked with sadness at the leather he was about to drench with dirty, green-tinged water, then resignedly sat down. The sound of his wet clothes compressing against the car's leather irritated him immensely.

Buffy was still screaming something he couldn't make out when he closed the door and started the engine.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy finally reached the spot where the Challenger had been parked. The car was gone, and so was Spike. She checked her phone again; the waterlogged device wouldn't even turn on. She contemplated the long walk back to Moonridge.

"Shit."

. . . . . . . . .

Richard Wilkins brushed at the lapels of his light gray suit and continued beaming his ingratiating smile at them. The two men with earpieces released the door and a slim, short man with thinning brown hair snuck in just before the doors closed.

"What, you didn't expect a visit?" Richard Wilkins asked with a benevolent twinkle in his eyes. "Surely you must have imagined that your names would be on my lips just as mine, I am sure, are on yours." He glanced around at the couches and chairs spread around the room. "Rather than you hunker down and try to find me, or even worse, launch a futile attack, I figured my coming to chat would be easier. Maybe we could clear the air a bit and come to an understanding."

"Do you … do you even know us?" Buffy asked. "We've never met before, have we? At least, we haven't met this version of you."

The smile intensified. "Well, that's one of those metaphysical questions that we could sit here trying to chart with strings or maybe draw on flowcharts, but I guess the real answer is, kind of? I mean, I've met some of you. He fixed Xander with a stare. "For example, you were an associate of a partner of mine. But of course, as you put it, that was a different 'version.'" He dramatically rubbed his temple. "It just makes your head hurt, don't it?"

"He is from the Anyaverse," Willow said quietly.

Buffy realized that Faith was staring in mute horror.

Richard Wilkins waggled his finger at Willow. "Now, didn't anyone ever tell you that when someone is in the room, you don't talk about them as though they aren't there." The smile vanished. "I'll do you the courtesy of addressing you directly, Mrs. Osbourne, and I ask that you grant me the same respect." The smile returned as he turned his gaze to Oz. "I owe your wife a debt of thanks. If not for her, my existence would have ended along with everyone else's in that reality I once called home." He gestured towards the thin, weasel-faced young man standing nearby. "Show them your leg, Allan." The man looked at Richard Wilkins hesitantly. "Go on, show 'em."

Allan rested his foot on the coffee table and pulled up the right leg of his slacks. An enormous black brace was strapped onto his knee.

"We took quite a tumble arriving in this universe," Richard Wilkins explained. "Allan broke a bit of my fall, plus I've had a few precautionary enchantments cast upon me, but hand to heart, when I looked up, realized I was alive, and subsequently realized I was in a great big hole where Sunnydale used to be it, it shook me to my core, let me tell you."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dick," Buffy said indifferently.

Richard Wilkins scowled at her, then his face resumed a neutral expression and he rubbed his hands together. "Now then, shall we get down to it? You folks are of the opinion that this town isn't big enough for all of us, am I right?"

"You nailed it," Buffy agreed. "I think that the best solution is that you slither your way back to your home dimension."

He once again waggled his finger at them. "See, that's just plain rude. I come here, in good faith, without an army at my back, and you can't keep a civil tongue in your head." He frowned. "Do you think I don't know my own history? I know you, Buffy Summers." He gazed at each of them in turn. "I know all of you."

Everyone flinched in surprise when Faith leapt to her feet. The hooded figure stepped forward in alarm, but upon seeing that she wasn't advancing, he stopped.

"You know me?" Faith asked defiantly with chin upraised. "I don't think you know shit."

A benevolent grin appeared on Richard Wilkins's face. "Ah, you must be Ms. Faith Lehane. I suppose, perhaps, it would be better to state that I know of you." He looked her over with an appraising eye. "The photos of you that I have in my possession seem to have been taken quite some time ago. The world has robbed you of a certain hopeful sheen." He shook his head. "Pity." He stared at Buffy, then at Faith. "You two seem to have worked out your differences, so maybe there's hope for all of us."

"There's nothing about your being here that brings hope," Angel said quietly.

Richard Wilkins laughed; it was lilting, light, and sounded genuine. "Look at you, Angel, all do-gooder-y. Now you and I have met, and let me tell you, you weren't nearly as big for your britches in my world as you are in this one." He cast an appraising eye over Angel. "I will admit that your vampire-to-human trick is a pretty good one. Never thought anyone would pull that off, least of all you." He shook his head. "Still, whether vampire or human, some things never change. You keep dragging Buffy Summers along with you instead of making an honest woman of her and letting her live a normal life. She isn't even a slayer anymore, heck slayers are on their way out entirely from what I hear." He clucked his tongue admonishingly. "Is it for Buffy's benefit, or for yours, that you keep indulging her delusion that she can stop someone like me?"

"Enough," Buffy angrily interjected. "The last thing any of us need is a lecture on our lifestyles from you. Why are you here, and what do you want?"

"What I want is for all of you to leave Moonridge, but failing that, I am here to remind you that he," he pointed at Angel, "has entered into an agreement. A very explicit one, I might add. All of you have lived for many years under the umbrella of protection provided by that contract, and I expect you to honor it."

"The truce was with Wolfram Hart," Angel objected. "Not with you."

"That's where you're wrong." Richard Wilkins gestured towards Allan. "Show them."

With shaking hands, Allan pulled an envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket. He handed it to Angel.

Angel pulled out a single piece of paper and began to read.

While Angel read, Richard Wilkins glanced over at Willow and Oz. "From what I hear, your store is lovely and exceedingly cozy. Small business owners are the lifeblood of any community, and I commend you both." His expression turned thoughtful. "I don't suppose you carry Vino de Madre? It's such a chore to get."

"Sorry," Willow replied, "haven't carried anything like that for a long time."

"And never again," Oz added.

"Pity." Richard Wilkins turned to find Angel still engrossed in reading the document. "Come now, the language is fairly straightforward. Why don't you tell them what it says?"

"It's a letter of representation," Angel said reluctantly. "From Wolfram Hart." He laid the document on the coffee table. "He's covered by the truce."

Buffy snatched the letter and began to read.

"His truce, maybe," Faith growled as she sidestepped around the coffee table. "Not mine."

"Faith, wait," Angel said with an outstretched hand.

She shook her head and continued moving forward. "I don't think so."

The cowled figure, with shocking speed, stepped in front of Richard Wilkins. Allan cowered back against the lobby door and the two ear-pieced guards also stepped forward.

"Now let's wait a moment," Richard Wilkins pled. "Cooler heads should prevail here."

"Maybe they shouldn't," Xander snapped as he also stood. His eye flashed visibly red despite the glare of the overhead lights. "You're here, we're here, I say why not?"

"Harris has a really good point." Faith stared angrily at the hooded man blocking her path. "Get out of the way."

When she reached forward to push the blocking figure aside, a gloved hand darted out, grasped her wrist, and held it steady. Faith attempted to yank her arm back but found she couldn't dislodge the grip. Surprised, she formed a fist with her other hand and drew it back to launch a vicious punch.

"Joshua," the mayor admonished. "We talked about this."

The tall man released Faith and stepped back. Faith rubbed at her wrist and warily kept an eye on the hooded visage. "Hell of a handshake you got there."

"I'm sorry, did you say Joshua?" Buffy asked. "You don't mean …"

"Joshua Hallett," Richard Wilkins explained as Joshua threw back his hood to fix Buffy and Angel with a flat, angry stare.

Buffy glared at Angel. "Couldn't survive the fall, huh?"

"Buffy, I don't think he did," Giles said quietly. "Look."

"I'll save her the trouble," Xander interrupted. He gestured towards Joshua. "He's glowing red; he's a vampire. He squinted as though trying to make out further details. "And something else, too."

"That would be the slayer part, right," Angel guessed. "Look, Joshua, I'm sorry. I hope you understand that you left us no choice."

"Fuck you," Joshua Hallett replied. The skin of his face began to ripple and bunch, then Angel watched the demon submerge as the youth regained control.

Richard Wilkins rested a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I don't think that kind of language is productive, but just this once, given what you folks have done to the Hallett family, I'll say it might be warranted." He removed his hand and pointed at the letter in Buffy's hand. "You've had a chance to read that correspondence. Go ahead and pass it around if you like, but it won't change anything. Angel made a deal for peace in our time. Any of you break it, it won't just be me you'll be contending with, it'll be the full might of Wolfram Hart." His voice grew grave. "And don't expect the Powers That Be to lend a helping hand. That was a willing contract Angel signed, and any knowing breach, well … that puts you on the wrong side of the law."

"Get out," Giles said quietly.

A frown appeared on Richard Wilkins's face. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me," Giles said as he stood. "There's a truce, yes, and for the moment it appears that we must refrain from killing each other. That doesn't mean, however, that you are welcome here."

"I don't think I've previously had the pleasure of making your acquaintance," Richard Wilkins replied as though he hadn't heard Giles's comments.

Giles removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table. "I wish I could say the same."

The frown on Richard Wilkins face intensified. "Oh, I'm sure our conversations must have been quite spirited."

"We had just the one chat," Giles corrected him. "I stabbed you in the chest with a sword."

"Pity for you it didn't take."

Giles shrugged. "Maybe next time."

"Indeed," Richard Wilkins replied. He nodded towards the two men standing by the front door. Joshua pulled the hood tightly around his face as they yanked the door open.

Allan stepped forward for a moment to stare curiously at Faith. At first, she met his eye, then she glanced away.

"What happened, it was an accident," she informed him. "I swear."

Allan hesitated, then nodded once and quickly stepped outside.

Richard Wilkins fixed his gaze on Buffy. "I'll be mayor soon, and when that day comes, I'll be taking a very hard look at what kind of people are the right fit for Moonridge. The next move is yours, but I think you all should consider leaving town."

"So you can steal the job of the woman you murdered without any interference?" Buffy asked.

The mayor shook his head. "None of my people killed Mayor Ritter, I assure you. And, you might be surprised to know, but I intend on winning this election fair and square." He smiled again. "As a matter of fact, for reasons that I'm not inclined to discuss in detail, I have to win this election fairly. I've got big plans for this town, and now, if you'll excuse me, I won't take any more of your time."

He and Joshua stepped outside and the door swung closed.

Everyone looked at each other in stunned silence for a few moments before Buffy addressed them through clenched teeth.

"There is no way I'm letting him win that election."

. . . . . . . . .

Richard Wilkins glanced around the cab of the SUV at Joshua and Allan. "I think that went well, all things considered, don't you?"

"At least they listened," Allan said in a high-pitched, quavering voice. "With the Osbourne couple there, though, are we concerned that they may not be amenable to our buy-out offer?"

Richard Wilkins considered the question, then curtly shook his head. "They'll sell. The money's too good, and at some point, the reality that she's got a bun in the oven will set in. The bigger question is whether Ms. Summers and her tenacious coterie will take my advice and skedaddle to friendlier pastures."

"They won't leave," Joshua said quietly. "Right now, I'd bet they're looking for a loophole in the truce."

"Could be," Richard Wilkins said with a shrug. "In any event, we've honored the agreement, and the ball is now in their court." He patted Joshua on the knee. "Moving down to the next item on the agenda, I've got some errands I need you to run, and I'm afraid they're going to take you out of town."

"Who am I killing?"

Allan smiled nervously while Richard Wilkins erupted into guffaws of laughter. "Straight to the point, as ever, but not this time, no. I've got some grocery shopping for you to do," Allan dutifully handed a folded scrap of parchment to Joshua, "from some folks who don't do overnight shipping, plus I need you to visit Wolfram Hart to drop off my signed retainer agreement." Allan handed over a thick manilla envelopment.

"Don't they have email?"

"They still don't use faxes or scanners for this sort of thing … I swear, you'd think I'd be the luddite in this dimension given that I'm twenty years or so behind the times, but my attorneys are positively primeval when it comes to technology."

"Anything else?"

"I need you to pay someone a visit."

Joshua smiled. "So, I am killing someone."

Richard Wilkins shook his head again. "No, just a visit. This is a no rough stuff type deal, I just want you to remind him that he isn't under anyone's protection and that it would be in his best interests to remain neutral."

"Who is he and where can I find him?"

"Allan has already texted instructions."

Joshua pulled out his phone, scanned for incoming messages, then frowned. "Is this a joke? Does such a place actually exist?"

"It does." Richard Wilkins silently appraised Joshua for a few seconds. "You know what, this trip represents a rare opportunity for you. Why don't you to take a few days and sightsee a bit. Check out the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. Eat a few actresses. I'm kidding, of course, Hollywood Boulevard is a tourist trap, don't bother. Think of it as a working vacation."

Joshua tucked his phone away and stared at his boss. "Was it weird for you? Meeting her, I mean."

"I assume you mean Faith?"

"Yeah."

Richard Wilkins stared out the window. "I was so sure there would be a spark, a recognition, but there was nothing. Maybe there might have been if she were younger, but by the looks of things the world has hardened her up pretty good." He turned to Allan with a mischievous grin. "What about you? Did your torso start tingling where she stabbed you?"

Allan shook his head. "Can't say that it did."

"Yeah, I thought as much. Still, by all reckonings, she was really important to me once, even though I don't see why." He sighed mournfully. "It's going to be a real shame when I do to her what I have planned."