Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Why do you choose to live this way
I can dig those games you play
Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.15
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


It was almost as if Quentin had been waiting for their return. His gaze trailed over the slayer, her sister and their dog with no little disdain before settling on the spiky haired youth with black nail polish who carried their bags.

"I see that a mere apocalypse is insufficient to curb your yen for retail therapy."

Buffy returned the council head's gaze with a saccharine smile. "But isn't that the best time to shop... when the world's going to be sucked into hell before you need to pay the credit card bills?" she commented disingenuously.

Quentin's only rebuttal was a brief snort. "Is this yet another of your entourage? He certainly has the look of one of your paramours... or he would if it weren't for the fact he's openly walking around in daylight."

Dawn scowled at the older man and linked an arm through Brandon's, impeded slightly by the bulky bags he carried. "I guess good taste just runs in the family."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she attempted to stare the watcher down. "I would say that I hate to be rude, but I think Spike's beginning to rub off on me, so how about you just get to the point instead?"

"Then, perhaps, if it won't prove too great a strain for your sister and her... young gentleman to take care of your shopping on their own, you would accompany me to my office?"

"I wouldn't care to go anywhere with you without knowing why I'm doing it."

"I simply need you to sign some paperwork to finalise some of the arrangements that your Mr Giles stipulated as the price of your co-operation in these matters." The watcher frowned as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "That and one other small matter."

---

Buffy looked at the cheque and its accompanying sheet of calculations in disbelief.

"I can assure you it's perfectly correct," the watcher insisted, not realising that her expression stemmed from the fact that Giles had neglected to mention the few little perks he had added onto the list of things Buffy had requested. "A salary, calculated at the same rate as a watcher in charge of a slayer, plus an additional clothing allowance to cover wear and tear, all backdated to the time you were called, minus some deductions for that period when you were retired from active duty."

"Why don't you just say what you mean? Dead is so much shorter."

The watcher continued on regardless as if Buffy hadn't spoken. "I know that taxes and other deductions whittle it down somewhat, but I assure you that it has all been fairly calculated. I simply need you to sign to say you have received the cheque."

"And Faith?"

"Faith's earnings, for the brief period where she wasn't actually incarcerated or attempting to help bring about an apocalypse, have been offset against the cost of certain services we are to provide on her behalf, though perhaps once this particular situation is resolved we may write off any remaining debt on her part."

"And what services would those be?"

"We have had to go to considerable effort on your colleague's behalf, to not only arrange her continued freedom, but to ensure that she need not go through a lengthy appeals process but instead be a free woman with almost immediate effect."

Buffy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Ya, right! So you can do the whole red tape thing, like when you threatened to have Giles deported, but the only way she'd walk straight away was if you got her a presidential pardon or something."

Quentin's eyes narrowed at her scathing tone. "That was the agreement that Mr Giles insisted upon. As a former employee, he, perhaps, is more aware of exactly what the council's capabilities are than a young girl who failed to even complete college."

Buffy scrawled a signature to say she had received the cheque and lifted it and the accompanying paperwork from the desk. Her tone was icy cold as she asked, "Are we done, yet?"

"Almost."

Quentin held open the door of his office for Buffy to go through and then pulled open the door opposite which turned out to be a small cupboard. As soon as the door opened a loud yowling struck up from a wriggling pillowcase on the floor. "I would be obliged if you would take this animal back to its owner and make sure that it does not return to the library."

Buffy unceremoniously pushed past the older man and undid the cord which held the top of the sack closed, freeing the Siamese. "His owner is elsewhere and, as far as I'm concerned, Rupert is one of the team. If he wants to be in your mouldy old library, he can go where he pleases. Get used to it. You're in my world now... and, okay... maybe I can't hit someone who's practically a senior citizen, but I'm sure if you upset Bee by abusing her cat again and I asked Giles really nicely he would do it for me."

Even as Buffy gave her opinion, the cat strolled back to sit outside the nearby library doors and, when one of the watchers pushed the door open, it slipped between his legs. Soon the haughty feline was strolling from table to table, checking what progress the various researchers had made in his absence. Then, he insisted on curling up in Giles' lap as the watcher read through his piles of ancient texts, occasionally kneading at the most uncomfortable areas possible. After all, it was Giles' decision to combine a visit to Dunkin' Donuts with a brisk walk to clear away the stuffy feeling from being in the library all morning, which had allowed Quentin's minions to imprison the cat ...and the watcher hadn't even sought him out on his return.

---

The fact that the confrontation wasn't entirely unexpected did little to make Spike feel more comfortable. The demons were pointing sharp, potentially lethal objects in the direction of at least one of his friends (and part of Spike's brain still stuttered in reluctance over his use of such a word in respect to a watcher, even a rebel one). He had more than a sneaking suspicion that if there were three sentries, rather than two, a trident would be pointed in his direction, too. Even though he knew the weapon couldn't harm Wes as long as he carried the orbs, the vampire's first instinct, his every instinct, was still telling him to fight first and worry about it later. The fact that one of the demons seemed intent on bowing down to possibly literally kiss the feet of Madame Glowy-Arse, who was largely responsible for the headache that was contributing to the vampire's less than pleasant mood, in no way improved matters.

Even as Bee opened her mouth to speak in a language that sounded like it belonged in a middle-eastern bazaar, but which matched no tongue of which Spike was aware, the vampire clenched and unclenched his fists, tightening his grip on the heavy sword he carried. The half demon had only spoken a handful of syllables when the demon facing Wesley lowered his weapon and briefly bowed his head in greeting. Bee, however, continued talking for some time.

When the demon that knelt before her finally got a chance to respond she seemed somewhat taken aback by his reply.

"What's up, ducks?" Spike asked.

"Em, well, nothing really..."

Spike rolled his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"Not really him. More it. They have this whole asexual thing going. Just the usual formal greeting... blessings on its house... live a life of peace and harmony... many strong offspring... spiritual enlightenment."

"And it said?"

"It said verbal communication is unnecessary and inefficient and that The Nezla Khan had already informed it of our purpose. They request that we sheathe our weapons as best we can and follow them."

"Follow them where?" Wes asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

Bee's admirer spoke as it rose from its position on the floor. The men looked to Bee for a translation as the two Nezla demons moved off obviously expecting them to follow and making no move to protect their backs from the visitors.

"They're taking us to see their high priest."

"They understood what I said?" Wes asked.

This time the Nezla's reply was preceded by something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Bee's mouth formed into a perfect O as the demon's words sunk in.

"They understood what you thought," she told the watcher in an awed whisper.

"Wha'? They know what we're all thinking? Or just Percy, here, 'cause he's got the marbles?"

The demon's response brought laughter to Bee's lips, purer somehow in tone than any human laughter. "He says you have no need to guard your mind, Spike. The Nezla Khan has told them that the strength of your heart is such that on closer acquaintance it compensates for the occasional roughness of your thoughts."

"Hmmph. Very nice of him, I'm sure." Spike didn't sound entirely convinced as they followed the demons deeper into the cavern system.

---

Wesley's gaze travelled across to where Bee walked beside him and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he closed it again and kept on walking. One of the two Nezlas looked back toward the brunette and shook his head almost pityingly. After several single file bits of corridor Wes could no longer tell whether it was the demon who had threatened him or the one who had almost seemed to worship Bee. It was that look that finally prompted the watcher to speak.

"Is it normal for demons to fall down and worship at your feet?"

Bee seemed to consider this for a brief period. "It happens occasionally... with the more enlightened ones... Even with an odd human, now and again."

"And this is something to do with what Spike said when he saw you in demon form, perhaps?"

This prompted a snort of amusement from the vampire as he brought up the rear once more. "You might say that," he replied his voice rich with irony. "Kinda thought with that huge watcher brain of yours you'd have sussed all this out."

"Is it really that important?" Bee asked.

"Not if you don't wish to tell me." The watcher tried his best not to sound disappointed but Bee could tell his feelings were hurt by her reluctance to share.

Bee's mercury gaze met Spike's piercing blue and the vampire gave a resigned sigh.

"Okay," he started as he turned his gaze to the watcher. "Apart from our little firefly here, who else do you know as can do the whole Blackpool illuminations bit?"

"We-ell, there's Cordelia. Hers is a bit more golden whereas Bee's is more sort of silvery but-"

"Right, and the cheerleader can do this how?"

"Because she was made part demon, but I don't-."

"An' what other party tricks does step-grandmamma have up her sleeve? Forget the seer thing that predates the rest."

"Well, she did that sort of cleansing thing on Connor-."

"And?"

"She sort of hovered once?"

"Okay, so what do we call a glowy humanoid as can hover in mid-air?"

It seemed like Spike could hear the racing beat of the human's heart as he hesitated to state the conclusion he had inferred from Spike's hints. "A fairy?" The vampire's right hand reached up to cover his eyes but the watcher carried on somewhat uncertainly in any case as if he were more thinking out loud than anything else. "Except she doesn't have any wings but that could be because they're both partly human."

"Watcher, forget the bloody wings. I wouldn't be surprised if our little glowworm could grow herself a pair if she saw fit but that's beside the point. They're only for decoration anyway... Not all demonkind are from the hell-dimensions. Did it never occur to you that if the cheerleader was bein' set up to be home for a higher power that it might not really want to live inside some sort of hellspawn? ...Not that when it comes down to it there's all that much difference except that damn holy light of theirs."

"An angel?" Wes's eyes bulged as he looked at Bee. "You're an angel?"

"Half an angel," Bee insisted.

His eyes widened even further. "Cordy's an angel? Cordy? We are talking about the same person here, aren't we?"