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Disclaimer: Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

Part II

No amount of searching could unearth any kind of threat. Which, of course, did precisely nothing to improve her mood.

Maybe it would be different if Giles were here, she thought, returning from the basements. Giles was hardly the man to indulge her every mood, but she couldn’t see him shrugging off her conviction that tonight was one huge honking cataclysm just waiting to rain down on them. When had he ever been the first to look on the bright side of anything? Besides, psychic Slayer forewarning, right? When it came to world-endage, the Chosen One definitely was on the mailing list, and the Watchers knew that better than anyone else …

She let her breath out with a vexed fluttering of her lips that any listener was perfectly welcome to categorize as a rude noise. No, Giles wasn’t here … but Wesley was, with all the Watcher training and (by now) nearly as much experience, and he was boogying down with the rest, not a care in the world. Faith, too: no Slayer foreboding bothering her. It was almost enough to make Buffy wonder if she really was being paranoid —

No. It was there, she could feel it. There was authentic, full-on evil lurking around somewhere. If one of the world’s premier gatherings of demon-fighters was oblivious to it, well, that was a mystery, not a refutation. Whatever else happened tonight, she’d be on the line. Steadfast Buffy. Vigilant Buffy. Seriously-peeved-just-waiting-to-rub-everybody’s-faces-in-it Buffy.

With the basement levels obstinately empty, she took another swing past the lobby, sticking to the periphery and avoiding interaction with the celebrants. Dawn’s costume really was striking, and yes, she was dancing with Gunn, who had the bad-ass Wesley Snipes ’tude down cold. Would it be a bad thing if the two of them actually did get involved? Despite her earlier comments, Buffy truly was on the fence where that question was concerned. Upside, the crew that had gathered around Angel were, hands down, some of the finest people living, and they could definitely hold their own when mystical badness erupted. Downside, they were just as good at attracting supernatural uglies as they were at fighting them. Besides, Dawn was supposed to go to work for the U.N. when she finished at Berkeley, and it wouldn’t look good at all for her to be dating someone who had been implicated (charges dismissed for lack of living witnesses, but still) in the assassination of a U.S. Senator …

She heard the click of the handle on one of the main doors, and was watching it by the time it opened. Poised for combat or confrontation, she was nonetheless flummoxed by the person who walked in. It had been years, she had never expected to see her again, and the once-vapid face showed a maturity she wouldn’t have believed, but it was unquestionably —

“Lily?” Buffy said, in a tone that even to her sounded more disbelieving than welcoming.

“Anne,” the woman corrected her. “I finally found a name that stuck. How are you, Buffy? They said you’d be here.”

They? “Um, you mean Angel or the others hauled you in on this?”

‘Anne’ smiled, and again Buffy was struck by how different she looked while somehow being recognizably the same person. “Yes, I met Angel a couple of years after the last time I saw you. It was actually Charles who invited me here, though.”

Again Buffy could feel herself flashing blank-face, and she shook it away. Unless Wesley was using an alias, Charles would have to be — “Gunn?” she ventured.

Anne nodded. “I don’t actually mix with Angel that much — nice as he is, I’d like to keep his world separate from the kids I work with — but Charles has helped out a lot at the shelter, and we’ve … well … he and I —”

That effortless assurance wavered for a moment, just long enough for Buffy to see a glimpse of the old Chantarelle/ Lily, and now she too was smiling. “You and Gunn,” she said. “He must have a softer side he never let me see.”

“He does,” Anne confirmed. “Uh, I don’t know my way around. Is there some place for me to put my coat?”

“Just hand it to me,” Buffy told her. “I’ll tuck it away in the office.” She had vaguely wondered at the light coat Anne was wearing — the L.A. weather was characteristically mild — but as Anne removed it, she understood: underneath, Anne was wearing a Renaissance Faire gown, and from the bag she was carrying she withdrew a high-peaked cap, positioning it on her head so that the attached veil hung behind her.

It suited her, but if Anne was following tonight’s theme, there was also a meaning attached. “Fairy-tale princess?” Buffy guessed.

“Damsel in distress,” Anne explained. “You saw that a couple of times, and there have been others. I’m still trying to outgrow that part of me.”

Was she kidding? Chantarelle had been a consummate moron, and Lily only just beginning to show potential, but this woman was so together, it required a determined effort to keep from being actively jealous of her. “Let’s get you to Gunn,” Buffy said. “I mean, Charles.”

That wasn’t necessary, however. As she turned, she saw Gunn spot Anne; his face lit up, and he hurried in their direction, deserting Dawn (Buffy noted) without hesitation. Buffy headed for the office to put away Anne’s coat, shaking her head. Apparently she wouldn’t be needing to make any decisions about the advisability of a match between Gunn and her baby sister. Not that it would keep her from having to deal with Dawn and somebody in the near future; it was a wonder, in fact, that no major entanglements had arisen by now. After all, at Dawn’s age Buffy had already — with Angel —

Bad brain! Bad, bad brain! Go to bed without supper, bad brain!

It actually wasn’t too surprising that Dawn had remained boyfriend-free, Buffy thought as she again skirted the party in the lobby. Having to stake the first guy to ask her out must surely have put a hitch in Dawn’s attitude toward dating, and the mortification of her subsequent crush on enchanted-jacket-R.J. wouldn’t have done much to improve it. (Not to mention the further damage from her catching Buffy straddling the guy of her dreams on top of a desk.) And after that, things had just gotten too hectic to allow much thought for romance, what with the First starting to manifest and the Potentials beginning to trickle in —

Anguish crashed over her with startling intensity, and Buffy struggled to jerk her mind to a different set of thoughts. Later, focus on later, the task of setting up the temporary headquarters at the Cleveland Hellmouth with the survivors of Sunnydale — no, not helping! Later yet, then, farther ahead: coordinating with Giles and Robin to go international, working up a large-scale training program for the new girls who kept coming in —

God! God! God!

She broke from the office, running with blind instinct for the nearest stairs, heedless of the others in the lobby beyond the need to get away from them, find a safe place where she could shut out the world around her and just huddle into herself —

There was someone at the top of the stairs, she tried to dart past him but he caught her by the wrist, swinging her around. She struck at him in the same instant her eyes registered long, curly hair, a penciled-in mustache, some kind of tunic over a puffy-sleeved shirt … He reacted before she could pull the punch (he shouldn’t have been quick enough), blocked it (his arm should have broken), and even as she was struggling to adjust to this unexpectedly capable opposition, he spun into a crazily disjoined aerial cartwheel that whipped a kick into her face.

She went tumbling down the stairs, the multiple impacts meant little to her but she couldn’t grab any purchase to recover her balance. At the bottom she turned her momentum into a roll that brought her back to her feet, her assailant was almost on her but she was ready now, except that years of ingrained reflex snapped her around to face something behind her. She’d heard the release of a taser dart, she swatted the barbs aside but even the partial charge staggered her for a fraction of a second, what the hell that was Fred with the taser! Willow was behind Fred, hands raised and glowing, Angel and Faith were coming at her from either side, fast and focused and determined. The doom, the doom was upon her, she’d been looking everywhere except in them, and she had barely begun the shift that would allow her to face them one at a  time instead of simultaneously, when shockingly powerful hands closed on her from behind — the mystery guy, the whoever-it-was with the poofy sleeves! — immobilizing her for a crucial instant. One of Faith’s trademark axe-kicks scythed down at her, Buffy jerked her head out of the way but the booted foot smashed into her shoulder with awful force, and Angel was right behind it, his face set with resolve. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then his fist filled her vision and bright light filled her head.

*               *               *

Voices. Loud and angry, controlled and forceful, rushed and conciliatory, they ran the full gamut. Her filters were fuzzed, she couldn’t tune through the static or remember why she wanted to, and then the tone behind a short, harsh phrase snapped her into focus, Xander Xander oh God if Xander was against her too she’d just have to die, and she summoned all her will and did a dead-lift of her eyelids, she had to know if she was pierced by that last devastating lance of doom.

Xander. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was facing Angel, set square with every muscle tense, and Gunn was watching him warily from one side while Willow babbled from the other, Fred and Wesley were in the background (no sign of Andrew or Dawn), and Faith was hanging far back, face completely without expression.

“— think I’d want to know?” Xander was saying, and she could remember exactly when was the last time she’d heard that hard burr in his voice (— If they hurt Willow, I’ll kill you. —). “Didn’t you think I might want to offer my opinion before you all ganged up and ambushed her?!!”

“There was no time,” Willow insisted, her eyes pleading for understanding. “We only got the warning at the last minute, we had to pull something together fast, we’d have told you if you’d been here or if we could have reached you, but she was all over the place and I could feel it getting stronger, we couldn’t wait. I’m sorry, but we couldn’t wait.”

Xander looked from Willow back to Angel, and Buffy could see the deliberate relaxing of his shoulders. “All right,” he said to Angel. “I don’t like it, but you’ve racked up some credit the last few years, and Willow vouches for the story. So, what do we have to do now?”

Angel shook his head. “I’m not in charge of this. The word was passed to me, and this is our turf, so I set up the plan to take her down. Now, though, it’s all up to Willow and Wes.”

“Then get to it,” Xander said. He looked to Buffy at last, and saw that she was conscious again. “Sorry, Buf. We’ll get this cleared up as fast as we can, I promise.”

Willow beckoned to Wesley, who moved forward. He, too, was watching Buffy closely, though he didn’t smile. “This phase must be carried out with utmost delicacy,” he told Willow, in the tone of one re-stressing a point that had already been made several times. “We still have only a vague notion of the nature of this entity, and can’t know which probes might harm her. You’re certain she’s properly immobilized?”

“You don’t get guarantees,” Willow replied, and gave Buffy a little grimace of regret and apology. “But between my spell-bonds, Fred’s inhibitor collar, and all that duct tape … Honestly, Gunn, duct tape?”

Buffy couldn’t see him, but he answered promptly. “You do your kind of magic, I do mine. Man can’t go wrong with duct tape.”

Hell, Buffy thought with bleak clarity. I’m in hell.

“Anyway, together they should hold her while I get some idea of what we’re dealing with here.” Willow held her hands out over Buffy’s body, fingers flexed curiously. “Sorry, Buffy, I’ll be as careful as I can. Try not to resist … if, you know, you still have any control.”

With Willow occupied, Wesley glanced to Xander, and his voice took on a cautious, placating quality. “As I’m sure you understand, separating a possessing force, once it has infiltrated a host, is far more complex than simply killing it would be. We’ll exercise every possible care, of course, and I’m confident that among us we can find a way —”

“Uh-oh,” Willow said.

“What?” Xander pushed forward. “Don’t say that, Wil. You know I hate it when you say that.”

Dawn was there now, and she and Angel started talking at the same time, but Wesley quelled them both with a sharp gesture. “You sense something?” he asked Willow.

Willow shook her head. “No. I’ve got nothing.”

“Well, then, a different form of probe —”

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Willow said. “I’ve got nothing. I’ve run the full scale on her, and zero. If something was there, I’d know. If it were shielded, I’d at least pick up the shields. I’m not getting anything. Zilch, nada, the big blankarooni.” She glanced around at the onlookers. “She’s clean.”

“Oh, is she?” Xander’s eyebrows rose, and his smile was tight and sardonic. “And pretty thoroughly pissed off by now, I’ll bet.”

In the long silence that followed, Gunn said, “There’s some demon snitches gonna be wearin’ their appendages in really uncomfortable places, this time tomorrow.”

“The line forms behind me,” Angel added darkly.

“Yeah, right.” Xander looked around, still with that thin smile. “Does anybody but me think it might be a really good idea to de-spell, de-inhibit, and unwrap the angry blonde girl on the carpet?”

Willow made a little oop! sound, and Buffy felt something slide away from her as her friend sketched a series of no-doubt-magical curves in the air above her. Wesley pulled something from her neck — presumably the inhibitor collar Willow had mentioned — and Gunn knelt next to her, muttering, “Sorry about all this,” and began to work on the duct tape with a short knife from his boot.

“So,” Xander was saying. “Can anybody fill me in on exactly how we managed this … excuse me while I call up the proper Watcher terminology … this appalling bloody cock-up?”

Multiple persons began simultaneously to offer explanations, but Buffy couldn’t follow it, especially when they started to argue with one another over what were the actual facts. Wesley was going on about warnings of subtle but increasing paranoia, with Willow interrupting to point out that the entity they’d been watching for was supposed to make its host especially mistrustful of his/ her closest friends … It was too much, and she tuned it out to concentrate on working some feeling back into her hands and fingers. The mini-cabal that had arrayed itself against her hadn’t spared the overkill; between the several hits she’d taken, and the layers of security they’d slapped on her once she was down, she was needing a scary amount of time to come back to normal. Unfortunately (or maybe lucky, for them) her voice was trailing even behind the rest of her. There was quite a bit she was aching to express — and in vivid detail — but she couldn’t make her throat form words just yet, so she had to satisfy herself with general glaring about while she figured up exactly what she would be saying, once she could.

Fred and Wesley were the most volubly apologetic (Fred could out-babble Willow, which shouldn’t have been humanly possible); Gunn was gruff in his embarrassment, while Willow focused half on explanations and half on mystical therapy to speed her friend’s recovery. Angel, too, had his attention split between his own people and his guests … including the person, still unidentified to her, who had kicked Buffy down the stairs.

In fact, he was even now addressing the newcomer. “No, no, Connor, this isn’t criticism. You caught her off-guard — our information said that only a stranger could do that, and you were the only one of us she didn’t know who’d be quick enough to land a strike and strong enough to make it count — you caught her out, sent her down to us, kept her busy while we followed up. You did everything right, believe me.”

“So what’s the problem?” Buffy could see now that ‘Connor’ was younger than she had thought, probably still in his teens, not especially tall but lean and sinewy; he had a face that could easily lend itself to petulance (though he was smiling now), and what she had first thought to be long hair was identifiable as a curly wig. “Come on, I know that expression,” he went on. “There’s something you want to say, but you’re afraid of how I’ll take it. Well, just say it, and we’ll go on from there.”

“It’s not a problem,” Angel corrected. “I’m just … puzzled. We filled you in right after you got here, then we had to position you to intercept Buffy, so there was no time to ask …” He trailed off, shook his head. “Your costume. What’s it supposed to mean?”

Connor’s smile widened. From a sheath at his waist he drew a long, slender sword with a basket hilt, and held it vertically before him in a precise, formal salute. “Hello,” he intoned dramatically. “I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“Oh.” Something passed between them, a fleeting sense of meaning that Buffy couldn’t interpret, and then Angel glanced away. “Well. Okay, then.”

“Hey, lighten up,” Connor said. “Yeah, it’s there, but it’s like your costume. Real as far as it goes, but reality goes farther. I came here to party. We good?”

Angel nodded with obvious relief. “We’re good.”

The last of the duct tape had been removed, and Gunn and Dawn together helped Buffy to her feet. Xander, she saw with an unexpected forlornness, had moved away and was now talking avidly with Anne, some dozens of feet away. She caught a snatch of his words: “— with Team Angel now? How long —?” And Anne was shaking her head in denial, and Buffy looked away, stuffing back feelings she didn’t have the time to try and analyze.

“I didn’t know,” Dawn said, placing her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I’d have helped them — they thought you were possessed, they were trying to save you, you’d better bet I’d have helped them — but I didn’t know. They were afraid I wouldn’t be able to hide it, so they just spread the word among the heavy hitters.” Her eyes held Buffy’s. “I wanted you to know I wasn’t acting, okay? You and me, that was you and me, nothing else. Can you believe that?”

Buffy’s throat made a really disgusting phlegmy rattle, but finally it was working again. “Lucky for me,” she wheezed. “That you weren’t in on it, I mean. You always did fight dirty.”

Dawn’s smile was suddenly as bright as it had been when she was a gap-toothed eight-year-old. “Don’t you forget it,” she said, and hugged her sister.

Angel was back beside her, his voice joining Fred’s and Wesley’s. “This wasn’t what we were planning, I’m sorry —” “— just so mortified, I feel awful —” “We had the best intentions, as I’m sure you understand, but all the same —”

A high ringing sound penetrated the jumble of faltering apologies, and everyone turned to face the main stairs. Xander stood there, halfway up, tapping a spoon against the side of a punch glass in the standard testimonial dinner/wedding reception call for attention. “This wasn’t exactly the party I thought I’d be coming to,” he announced when everyone else had fallen silent. “We’ve done this dance before, though, so I can cope. But there’s one thing I’m hoping somebody can answer …”

Behind them, there was a harsh crackle and a choked gasp, and the assembled party spun to see Faith lurch and fall to her knees, and Anne jammed the handheld stun-gun against the other woman’s ribs and triggered it a second time. Angel started for the two of them, Gunn close behind him, but incredibly Xander was faster, sprinting through the throng to slap the inhibitor collar around Faith’s neck. “Spell her, Wil!” he snapped. “Spell her now!”

Willow was as taken aback as the rest of them, but this was a trust reinforced by years of hard experience: she obeyed, sketching the appropriate gestures over their fallen comrade, and then looked to Xander, and then down at Faith, in growing comprehension.

“The one thing I’d really like to know,” Xander continued conversationally to Angel, “is this: when your demon informants tipped you about the Slayer being infiltrated by this paranoia whatsis, did they by any chance happen to mention which Slayer?”
 

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