Chapter 2: The Tangled Web We Weave

Author's Notes: Again, please bear with Buffy. The truth is coming fast and hard.



Buffy had grown bored in the sewers and made her way to the beach. For a long time she sat just out of reach of the waves that lapped at the shore, then she shucked her shoes, hiked up her pants, and waded out as far as she could without getting soaked. She had brought the remainder of the cognac with her on patrol, safely tucked in her bag, and as she paced through the waves, she drained the bottle completely. She giggled as she stumbled and almost lost her footing, then hiccuped loudly, and burst out laughing.

Anything to keep from crying, she thought as she moved further into the water. It amazed her how close to the surface those emotions were. Hadn’t she spent the past few months closing herself off from everyone? Even Dawn? Not that Dawn noticed since she was always out somewhere with Diego, her newest infatuation.

Buffy was up to her mid-calves when she noted the plethora of small boats rowing ashore a small distance down the beach.

Her senses were on fire and she left the water, not bothering to dry her feet before she stuffed them back into socks and boots. Keeping to a row of dunes, she inched closer and closer to the spot where the inhabitants of the boats were forming a circle. Squinting, she watched as they lit a bonfire, and she shook in anticipation as she saw their demon faces. She quessed that there were twenty demons and as their low murmuring reached her, she assumed that they were summoning something grotesque.
She did what came naturally. Ducking low, she reached into her supply bag and pulled out the neccessary tools, then she crashed the party in true Buffy fashion. She climbed the doon, sprang into the air, and landed next to the fire on her bottom instead of her feet, sending a sand storm flying that blinded the closest demons to her.

Those were the first to die as soon as she found her footing.

Lorne, who recognized her from a photo Angel kept in a drawer, speed dialed Wesley and filled him in. When he hung up, he noted that the Slayer had wiped out most of the group and was making her way closer and closer to him. When she dispatched the Thornx demon closest to him, he held up both hands. “I work with Angel at Wolfram and Hart!” he shouted as she pulled a fresh knife from her boot. “You’re Buffy, right? Angel has told me all about you. All about life in Sunnydale and how you live in Italy now.”

Buffy noticed a pulpy orange demon turn and run toward the boats and she threw the knife in her hand, catching it in the back, not bothering to watch it fall as its scream rent the air. “Let me guess - this was a Wolfram and Hart sanctioned meet and greet?”

Lorne shook his head. “No, this was a book lovers meet and greet. We meet once a month to discuss Oprah’s book club.”
He surveyed the demons around him. “I guess I’ll never know what they thought of ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’.”

“It was probably depressing as hell,” Buffy replied absently. She belched loudly and followed up with a hiccup.

“Are you drunk?” Lorne asked.

“You know I think I could be.” Buffy shrugged and took in the scene around her. It was hard to believe that she had killed so many in such a short span of time. But then again, she understood her power moreso than ever. Something had awakened when all the Slayers were activated. Somehow she was stronger, faster, better than she’d ever been before. It felt good. It fed into the misery and patched the lonliness that surrounded her. “But not nearly enough.”

Lorne studied her closely, mistaking the look on her face for sorrow. “It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it. It was an honest mistake.”

“Mistake?” Buffy laughed cruelly. “The death of a demon is not a mistake. It’s a fucking symphony. It’s a religious experience. It’s an orgasm of brutality. It’s good.”

“Riiiight,” Lorne said, eyebrows arched. “Well, I’m surprised you’re standing at all right now. You’re knees should be buckled, your hands clasped in prayer, and your ears ringing with the good music of death.”

“I’ve still got a couple to go.” Buffy eyed him through glassy eyes. “Then I’ll bask.”

Lorne took a step back. “I work with Angel. Remember?”

“That doesn’t rank highly on my list of good qualities. So you,” Her vision had blurred and suddenly there were two demons where Lorne had stood. When she spoke again, her voice was slow, slurred, and drawling. “and your twin can just hold still and not make this harder than it has to be.”

Lorne glanced behind him, expecting to see someone there, but they were alone. The Slayer was definitely intoxicated and he watched as she staggered and stumbled, patting her pockets and then her boots. He almost felt sorry for her when she stood and addressed him again. “Did you see my bottle of cognac?”

Lorne was forming a reply when a tiny red dot appeared on Buffy’s neck for a split second, only to be replaced by a dart in the next moment. Her eyes widened and she made a move to pull it out, but her hand fell limply at her sides and her legs crumpled beneath her. Lorne caught her before she landed in an unceremonious heap on top of the Thornx demon and looked out at the water as three of his co-workers emerged from the surf, one of them with the tranquilizer gun slung over his shoulder.

“You do know who you just shot, right?” he asked.

“Yep,” the man replied.

“I hope you don’t mind unemployment.” Lorne tilted his head to his right, where Angel and Spike were making their way down the beach. “Running would not make you a weak man.”

The men all exchanged looks, then moved back into the water. Lorne could hear them swimming noisily to the boat that drifted a short distance off shore. Looking down at the small woman in his arms he was struck by her beauty. He could easily see the physical attributes that caused not one, but two vampires to fall madly in love with her. It was what she had upstairs that made him doubt not only her sanity, but theirs as well.

Spike and Angel both began to run when they saw Lorne on his knees cradling someone. When they were within earshot, Lorne shouted that Buffy was okay, but the realization that it was Buffy caused them both to put on a burst of speed. Angel reached them first, kneeling in the sand. “What happened?”

“Tranquilizer gun.”

“You shot her!?” Spike yelled at Angel.

“Yes, Spike. I pulled an invisible gun out of my invisible ass and shot her while I was running here with you!”

“Your ass is far from invisible since it sits on your shoulders. Dickhead.” Spike growled. “What the hell did you authorize that for?”

“I did not authorize anything!” Angel put his fingers on her neck, checking her pulse. “Wesley must have-”

Spike morphed into his demon visage, stomping agrily. “He signed his own death warrant! That’s what Wesley must have done!”

Angel and Lorne both ignored him. For the first time, Angel took notice of the scene around him. Demons of various shapes and sizes had been gutted, beheaded, disemboweled, and chopped to pieces. “She did this alone?”

“She did this in about five minutes.” Lorne felt her shift lightly in his arms and passed her off to Angel. “I think she’s waking up.”

“She can’t be. That stuff would drop an elephant for about three hours.”

“Well, she’s fidgeting.” Lorne pointed at her hand, which was clenching and unclenching. “She’s really pretty and all, but I think maybe she has a few screws loose.”

Spike, who had been pacing back and forth, closed the distance between himself and Lorne in three menancing strides. “You’re fixing to have a few limbs loose if you keep talking like that.”

“She’s dangerous.” Lorne stood up, brushing sand off his yellow slacks. “That’s all I’m saying. Power like hers should be controlled.”

“That’s why they have Watchers, Mate.” Spike leaned down, checking Buffy’s pulse for himself.

“She doesn’t have a Watcher,” Angel reminded them both.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Lorne said with a sigh. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“She’s not corrupted!” Spike yelled.

Angel shifted her slightly as she moved her head from side to side. “She’s had a rough day.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed. “Very rough.”

“Stop making excuses for her!” Lorne shouted.

“She’s Buffy!” Angel and Spike both said at once, then glowered at each other.

“Fine,” Lorne grabbed the bag he had brought with him. “I plan on being several miles away by the time she wakes up. You two weren’t here when she said that killing, no murdering the way she did, was a religious orgasm!”

Angel and Spike both watched Lorne depart. “A religious orgasm?” Angel asked.

“Must be a Slayer thing.” Spike felt her pulse again. “She’s clammy.”

Angel brushed the hair off her face, pressing against her forehead. “She’s hot, too.”


Buffy whimpered, then moaned. Her eyes opened, remained out of focus for several seconds, then she cried out and was limp again. “Let’s get her back to the office.”

Spike made a move to pull her out of Angel’s arms, but the older vampire shook his head. “I’ll carry her. You drive.”

“I don’t want to drive.” Spike moved to take her again and Angel pushed him away. “Hand her over!”

Angel struggled to get to his feet, then gave Spike a reproachful look. “Can you help me up?” When Spike shook his head, Angel added, “She’s sick! She could be dying.”

Using every foul word he could think of, he hefted Angel to his feet and followed, frowning at the way Buffy hung limply in Angel’s arms. “Support her head, you idiot!” he called out, rushing to catch up. “Do you want to break her neck?”

“No, but I want to break yours. Does that count?”

They arrived at the car still bickering. Angel paused by the passenger door and cleared his throat as Spike made his way to the driver’s side. They stared at one another over the top of the car. Angel sighed and said, “Spike, open my door.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Spike came around the side of the car, yanked the door opened and pompously bowed. “At your service, my lord asshat.”

He waited until they were securely in the seat, then he slammed the door, causing the entire car to shake.
On the bright side, his anger caused them to arrive at Wolfram and Hart in record time.

Buffy stayed unconscious through the entire adventure, but Angel was decidedly paler and walked on slightly shaking legs as they entered the elevator, then deposited the Slayer firmly in the infirmary.



“No! No! No! Absolutely not! Why don’t you shove me out the window!? It’ll save her the trouble when she wakes up! Get her out of here!”

Loud shouting reverberated through her head, pulling her through the blessed calm and making her keenly aware of the pain that was screaming through her various body parts. Her head throbbed, her neck was so stiff and swollen that it hurt to breathe, and the little patches of light she could see through her fluttering lashes caused her eyes to burn and water.

“Get her out of here!” Mort shouted again. “I was here first! Doc said peace and quiet was intergral to my recovery and -”

“Then shut up!” Spike bellowed, yanking the curtains around the demon closed. He rejoined Angel at Buffy’s bedside just as the Slayer opened her eyes all the way. “Buffy?”

Buffy tried to sit up, cringed, and slowly laid back against the fluffy pillows propped against her back. “What happened?” she croaked, rubbed her throat, and accepted the water that Angel was holding in a styrofoam cup.

“Angel shot you!” Spike replied before Angel could speak.

“I did not shoot you, Buffy.” Angel tried to hit Spike across the bed, but missed. He settled with pointing a finger in his direction in an attempt to be menacing instead. “You were tranquilized.”

“Why?”

“Because you were out of control.”

Buffy remembered the beach then and shook her head. “I was doing my job, Angel.”

“You were about to kill Lorne.”

“The green demon guy?” Buffy asked.

“She’s got a thing against green demons, the racist!” shouted Mort from behind his curtain. “The evil racist little troll!”

Ignoring the outburst, Angel said, “We had to bring you here for the antidote.”

She finally realized where she was. An IV had been inserted into the back of her hand and various pieces of medical equipment dotted the room. “You brought me to Wolfram and Hart.”

“You had a reaction to the serum.”

“Since when is it okay to shoot a Slayer for doing her job?” Buffy massaged her neck, which burned with every movement.

“That wasn’t slaying ... that was a massacre.” Angel put the cup of water back on the table and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Buffy turned her face away. “Where are my clothes?”

Spike, who was grinning because Buffy had pulled away from Angel, indicated a closet behind him. “In there. But you have to stay for twenty four hours.”

”Like hell!” Buffy forced herself up, ignoring the ache in her throat as she did so.

“Let her go!” Mort shouted. “I have to have surgery tomorrow and I need sleep.”

“How does eternal sleep sound to you, you freakin’ idiot?” Buffy shouted, yanking the IV from the back of her hand.

“Ahhhh!” Mort screamed. “Are you guys holding her back? She’s not going to stop until she’s killed me dead! Coffin dead! Cemetery dead!”

Spike shot Angel a look and inclined his head toward Mort. With a sigh, Angel moved behind the curtain and talked quietly to Mort while Spike leaned closer to Buffy, lifting her hand and gently blotting it with a washcloth. “You’re bleeding. And now they’ll have to stick you again.”

“I can not believe this day,” Buffy mumbled, more to herself than anyone.

”Tell me about it,” Spike agreed, squeezing her hand. “You scared me to death, Slayer.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone around here stays dead so I wouldn’t sweat it.” Buffy snapped, pulling free and tossing the washcloth aside.

Spike stood up straight and stared at her. “What the hell are you so mad at me for?”

“I don’t know! Because you’re here!” she yelled. “And you’re in my way!”

Pushing him aside, Buffy yanked open the closet door and pulled her pants and shirt from the hangers. Spike jerked both items out of her hands and threw them onto the floor of the closet and slammed the door. “You’re staying!”

“I am not!” The shout ripped from her throat and she groaned, flinching at the pain it caused. She clutched her neck for the millionth time and glared at the blond vampire. “Shit! Get out of the way!”

The doctor chose that moment to enter the room. “Well, I figured she was awake with all that shouting.”

Buffy shot him a dirty look. “I wouldn’t be shouting if this demon loving cult you call an employer hadn’t put me in here!”

Moving closer, the doctor held out a hand. “I’m Gideon Spencer, Miss Summers.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him, ignoring the fact that he had the most penetrating blue eyes she had ever seen. Or that his hair hung fashionably around his handsome face. Or that a dimple creased each cheek when he smiled at her display of anger. Clearing his throat, he withdrew his proferred hand and flipped open the clipboard her was carrying. “You had quite a bit of alcohol in your system tonight.”

Angel, who had stepped from behing Mort’s curtains, put his hands on his hips. “You were patrolling while you were drunk?”

“I was not drunk. I was tipsy and there is a difference.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Angel asked.

“It’s not like I didn’t handle the situation. What was it you called it? A massacre on the beach?”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Gideon interjected. “The tranquilizer that was injected into you doesn’t mix with alcohol well.”

“It didn’t mix with my neck well, either.” Pressing the tender area on her throat, she grimaced. “Why does it hurt so bad?”

“The entrance area is where the most concentrated levels of the tranquilizer are released. Since your blood was so thin from the alcohol, it’s safe to say that it settled there briefly before it began to circulate into your system.” Consulting the chart again, he glanced back up at her. “How tall are you?”

“Five foot three.”

“Do you know that you’re underweight for your height and build?”

“You can never be too rich or too thin.”

“And you’re anemic, your blood sugar is low, and your white blood cells are elevated. Have you beed sick recently?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, this is baffling.”

“You deserve to be baffled for taking my blood without my permission.” Her heart had begun to beat faster. Hadn’t the gypsies told her that the injections were safe, undetectable? Hadn’t they promised that there would be no ill side effects. She could not stay here and submit to more tests.

Gideon ignored her. “I know that your composite may be different than other people since you’re a Slayer, but I think you should stay here a few days, let us give you some intravenous antibiotics and then check you over again.”

“She will,” Angel said matter of factly.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Buffy counted to ten, then exhaled loudly. “This is absolutely ridiculous. I am not staying.”

“Buffy, you don’t know what’s going on-” Angel began.

Spike interrupted. “And you don’t know what kind of reaction you’ll have. Or if it’s even out of your system.”

She wasn’t in a position to bargain. If she didn’t get back to the hotel and inject soon, there was no telling what would happen to her. “Tell you what,” she said with mock cheer. “I’ll come back every day to have this antibiotic thing, but I really, truly can not rest at all in a place like this.”

“And people can’t rest with her here!” Mort cried. “Think about poor little old me! I’ll have to sleep with one eye open! I’ll need a weapon! A bodyguard! I’ll need --- are you guys holding her back? What is she doing? Why is it so quiet? Oh my god, she’s about to kill me!”

Buffy could only shake her head and glare at Angel. “You sure can pick a winner.”

Gideon cleared his throat before Angel could reply. “If you go, Buffy, you will need to come back here about every six hours for a treatment.”

“Fine, fine,” Buffy replied absently, making her way to the closet where she grabbed her clothes off the floor. She moved into the empty bathroom and quickly dressed. When she opened the door again, the doctor was gone and Angel and Spike were standing side by side waiting for her.

Her skin felt like it had become too tight when she looked at them there. Darkness and light. Both of them wearing identical pained expressions. It tugged at her heart and that just wasn’t possible.

Wordlessly, she grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“Buffy?” Spike called.

She darted around the corner and out of the infirmary like she hadn’t heard.

Spike glanced over at Angel. “You get the feeling that she’s hiding something?”

Angel stared after her for a long while and then he said, “We need to call Giles.”