Summary: Post "Smile Time." A mysterious entity shakes things up at Wolfram and Hart, fashionable anarchy ensues. Oh, and don't judge a hero by her choice in footwear.
Rating: PG-13
26.
On any given day, the hallways of Wolfram and Hart bore witness to a dizzying array of occupational hazards. Successful employees soon developed the useful skill of keeping their heads down and minding their own business. Survival among the corporate jackals--something taken literally among this nine to five crowd--depended on it.
As a result, water cooler conversation focused not on the often strange clientele or unusual intrigue but on the most recent episode of whatever reality television show held prominence. Demons at ten paces didn't merit much notice but singing, larva eating bachelors locked in windowless houses playing Texas Hold 'Em with hungry supermodels? Now that was something to philosophize over. Not much caught the attention of the handsomely compensated worker bees, but Wesley Wyndam-Pryce red faced in near panic and at a lung busting sprint managed more than a few second glances.
His distress did not register alarm but rather mild curiosity. Instead of 'run for your lives' the silent observations leaned toward restraint. 'My, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is in a hurry' or 'slow down, where's the fire?' expressed most of the anonymous thoughts. There was, however, one silent speculation on the contours of Wesley's muscled thighs and buttocks and how much weight he might be able to bench press. Once Wesley was long gone down the corridor only the sound of shuffling papers and an appreciative sigh were left in his wake.
Wesley cleared the mail cart hurdle with Olympian grace and then barreled down the staircase, past Angel's vacated desk toward Harmony's office. Angel could have used the excitement to boost his uneventful day but he was in the copy room with a technician supervising the dissection of the perpetually temperamental machine.
"We need to talk." Wesley spoke in a flurry as the door to the big office swung open. "This can't wait another second."
"What is it, Wesley?" Harmony looked up from a length of red yarn she wiggled in front of Mr. Pussy. While she valued the together time between herself and the energetic feline, when Wesley whooshed into her office with that wild, breathless expression Harmony knew it was time to tuck the yarn away.
Wesley struck a dramatic pose before speaking. "The Apocalypse is nigh," he announced in a sober voice. It wasn't everyday Wesley Wyndam-Pryce got to say those momentous words and mean them.
"Our schedule is pretty tight this week. Are you sure?"
"Yes. I have information that a shadowy demon alliance has been planning on opening a hellmouth right here in Los Angeles to coincide with the feral equinox of the D'x'tiq confederacy."
"Huh?"
"Tomorrow, after sundown to be precise."
Harmony immediately shuffled through her "Josie and the Pussycats" coil bound day book. It documented meetings, wardrobe fittings, dance sessions, Mr. Pussy's play time and other vitally important, top secret business details, but nowhere was anything apocalypse related penciled in.
"Wesley, that's got to be wrong. I would have heard about that. Hello? I've got my finger on the pulse of demon activity and everything. I've never even heard of a furry equinox and why would the Dixie Chicks be having one anyway?"
"Feral equinox, Harmony," Wesley's pronunciation sharpened, "an annual harbinger of grim tidings." He paused and waited for the scope of his message to sink beneath Harmony's polished exterior. From her blank expression, Wesley thought that might take a while. "I've not five minutes ago confirmed this information. It's solid."
"But...I'm bringing the clans together." A puzzled furrow deepened between Harmony's sculpted eyebrows.
She had hopes of a vast collective of fashion forward demons united under her own billowing pink satin banner: "With liberty and shoes for all." Of course, that motto wasn't finalized yet and technically, not all of her demonic brethren had feet but that wasn't the point. The point was that disenfranchisement--a word Wesley taught her--was yucky. Everyone needed to feel part of something greater than themselves, and shoes just went with that like frosting on cake.
With demons in the mix the possibility of subterfuge was always ripe; however, recent progress toward a unified pro-demon collective had raised hopes of some stability far and wide.
"These are my peeps..." Harmony's voice quieted. "They wouldn't...would they?"
"Not all demons share your visionary abilities, Harmony."
"But I'm working for the good of all and not just the pretty demons either. Why would somebody want to wreck it?"
"Anarchy knows no reason," Wesley spoke tersely. "Whoever is behind this nefarious scheme knows that we would stop it."
"And you're sure this is bad? I mean, we could manage one little hellmouth, couldn't we?" Harmony raised her eyebrows in an almost innocent question.
Running a notorious conglomerate was exhausting even Harmony's seemingly inexhaustible reservoir of strength. Bathing in a little hellmouth mojo couldn't be a totally bad thing, could it? All she could think of was the benefits of an evil sauna to her beleaguered pores and mental health. What she really needed was a vacation but, as her contract stipulated, there was no rest for the wicked.
"Harmony," Wesley interrupted her wandering thoughts. She valued his brain power and knew when he quirked his mouth just as he was doing that she should be paying extra close attention. "Hellmouths aren't to be bandied about lightly. Opening such a chasm where one was never meant to be pretty much defines apocalyptic."
"And that's...bad." Harmony reached for the word, hoping it was the right answer.
"The demise of Sunnydale would seem like a doused firecracker by comparison." Another manly quirk. Wesley hands came to rest on his hips. This was big.
Harmony sat in stunned silence, a sure sign that she was thinking. She could go for mindless destruction just like the next demon, but threatening Rodeo Drive? And all the pretty cabana boys at Augousto's spa? Not to mention her Think Pink team. She'd worked long and hard to assemble her posse and nothing was going to mar that stellar career achievement, not even the allure of a sexy hell spout in her backyard. Further, her vampire status alone was by no means a guarantee that she would be impervious to danger. Fire and brimstone were standard hellmouth fare and vampires didn't mix well with fiery spurts and such.
Typically, she gave little thought to the rest of the hapless citizenry of the City of Angels.
No. This wasn't going to happen. Not today and not tomorrow after sundown. Not on Harmony's watch.
"Get everyone together." She met Wesley's steady gaze. "We've got stuff to do." With a nod Wesley was out the door.
*
Lorne, Fred and Gunn gathered in Harmony's office for the impromptu meeting. Wesley summarized what he knew so far.
"How can that be possible?" Fred spoke after an extended pause. "I mean, the laws of physics are reliable and--not that I know everything about inter-dimensional physics--as far as I know, they're fairly reliable too."
"From a geological perspective it wouldn't be too hard just to make a big hole in the ground." Gunn offered up an unavoidable truth. By the expressions on his friend's faces it was clear no one wanted to be reminded how easy it could be to create a hellmouth. Lorne fought the compulsion to chew his fingernails. "Hey, I'm just saying," Gunn assumed his best don't shoot the messenger look. "We live on some nasty fault lines, people."
"But that's just it, Charles," Fred continued. "A hellmouth isn't a hole in the ground at all; it's a vertex, a specific convergence of mystical axes. These things just don't pop up where they've never existed before. I mean, there'd have to be--"
"My information is quite specific," Wesley interrupted firmly. This was a briefing and not a discussion; the team needed to stay focused. "A new hellmouth in the heart of Los Angeles, and given the geologic instability of the area, destruction could well be measured on a planetary scale." The prospect ahead of them was grim. Wesley let his gaze rest lightly on Fred. She looked up at him and their eyes met and locked. It was enough. He was able to continue. "I suspect the increase in demonic activity of late has been specifically orchestrated to divert our attention away from this matter."
"We have been swamped." Gunn thought of the endless treaties he'd been tackling of late. Honestly, he'd been subsectioned to death and demands for further revisions were still choking his inbox. Could it have all been a conspiracy to divert the attention of the Wolfram and Hart team?
"There was that creepy sarcophagus thing," Fred bristled at the memory.
"And the assassination attempt," Wesley narrowed his eyelids in thought.
"And the whole casual Fridays nightmare," Harmony twisted her lips with suspicion.
"Everything is suspect," Wesley declared and looked at Harmony. She didn't grasp his subtle reference. "The alliances?"
"But...how?"
"Someone knows our every move." Wesley stated the obvious.
Gunn turned toward Wesley. There was only one plausible explanation. "Inside job."
"Of course." A list of suspects began to form in Wesley's mind.
"That's why my big toe has been twitching on overdrive?" Lorne tried to introduce some levity into the somber gathering. "And here I thought it was the gout."
"I hesitate to say it," Wesley began, "but this can be ignored no longer. Spike has been acting oddly. I'm sure everyone has noticed." He didn't think that Spike could have orchestrated the slew of incidents they'd encountered but his persistent and unusual behavior couldn't be accounted for.
Harmony's incredulous response flew from her lips. "Someone who could sabotage us would have to have, like, a super brain, impeccable style and ruthless ambition. Spike puts on a good act, but let's be serious; he's not smart enough to be an arch villain. Even I'd give him A plus for the talk but, come on, F minus for the follow through. And he's a total grumpy hermit in that stupid leather coat--like that's vintage. It's just old! If I cared at all I'd schedule a style intervention at the spa but he's not my issue, not anym--"
"It's not Spike," Lorne pronounced with confidence. All eyes turned to him expecting an explanation. He kept it short and sweet. "The dude's working through some woman troubles and I've been, uh, counseling him."
"No offense Lorne, but Spike needs professional help or maybe a rubber room." Harmony sat in satisfaction that she'd evaluated Spike correctly.
"Still that greeter girl?" Gunn asked.
"Uh-huh," Lorne confirmed. "Spike's been mucho preoccupado with the personal agenda lately. It's going to be ironed out and then he'll be back to his sunshiny self."
Harmony snorted a huff of disbelief while a collective murmur arose from the other assembled friends. They all knew something of the singular nature of Spike's obsessions. The explanation satisfied.
Just then Wesley caught sight of Marcus Hamilton exiting the elevator. One look at Gunn and an unspoken communication passed between them. The door to the office opened to reveal an imposing silhouette.
"Hamilton." Wesley's deep voice resonated with accusation.
"Is this a private meeting or can anyone join in?" It was a neutral question but a hint of menace perfumed the air.
"Okay gang," Harmony jumped to her feet. "We can pick this up later. Oh, Wesley, find that little video guy. I have a project in mind for him." The group filed out of the office. Wesley shared a quick look with Harmony just as the door closed.
Harmony cast an alluring pout in Hamilton's direction. His regular absences were beginning to annoy her. With an inconvenient apocalypse in the air she needed some calming desk top polishing time with her preferred chamois, Marcus Hamilton, and damn it, she was going to get polished but good.
"What's up, sugar-puss?" Hamilton crinkled his nose in appreciation of Harmony's best vixen pose.
Her hard façade crumbled immediately. "God, where do I start? There was another assassination attempt, accounting still looks like a bunch of skater boys, some idiots are trying to open a hellmouth in L.A. and just look at the state of my nails!" Harmony held up her persecuted fingernails for his inspection.
"Is that all?" Hamilton quipped. "And I thought it was something big. Come tell Hammy all about it." He opened his arms and Harmony snuggled happily into them. "There, is that better?"
"No," she groused. "You know when things get hectic around here my system goes into overdrive."
"I do recall something about that--"
"Nobody knows how hard it is to make all the decisions around here. Yes, no, yes, no all day long. It's very stressful!" The embers of Harmony's neglected sexuality smoldered. The tip of her tongue began to swish mischievously in her mouth as her fingers gripped his chiseled pectorals. "I'm so worked up I could burst!"
"Looks like I got back just in time." Hamilton managed a coy, half smile before Harmony pulled him toward her waiting desk top. Mr. Pussy mewled in protest and jumped out of the way back to his fortress of solitude, the carpeted tower.
*
After Harmony spent some considerable time interfacing with the muscled enigma that was Marcus Hamilton, she wandered into Wesley's cramped office where he, Gunn, Lorne and Fred awaited her.
"How did that go, Harmony?" Wesley inquired as he offered his seat to her.
"Oh, okay," she spoke in the dreamy tones of the sexually satisfied. "He's all skeptical about the making a hellmouth thing though."
"You told Hamilton?" Gunn blinked in disbelief. Wesley didn't appear as shocked.
"Well, he is my boyfriend, and a girl needs support from her honey when the world's about to end."
"Harmony," Wesley began in a soft voice, not wanting to come across as unduly patronizing. "You do understand that Hamilton is most likely the insider behind this diabolical mess and that includes the impending apocalypse."
"Well, technically, the big bad guys have to be the Senior Partners," Harmony rationalized. "Marcus is just their evil eyes and ears and glutes--"
"Just so we're clear on one point," Wesley interrupted. "Hamilton is not an innocent in this."
"But that's what makes him so sexy," Harmony straightened to attention in the chair, practically shivering with zeal. "He's, like, totally corrupt and demanding." A coy smirk tugged at her mouth. "It's really hot."
Wesley feared another repulsive Hamilton centric anecdote was imminent. "Harmony."
"And he does this thing with his tongue--"
"Harmony!" Wesley snapped, already beyond the confines of comfort.
"Well he does." Harmony pouted but soon her lips wiggled at the arousing recollection. "It's not my fault if I'm evil conduit candy!"
Wesley arched his eyebrow to an acute angle. "Can we move on?"
"Okay, I'm over it," Harmony relented. "I'm prepared to consider options. Wesley?"
Wesley took the opportunity to outline what he'd put together so far. Surveillance was required and the clock was ticking. Lorne didn't have time to offer even the few pointed barbs that begged to be spoken. Wesley had a way about him when things got sticky and Lorne knew something big was coming.
Enchantment or no, he was still on the side of the good guys and they needed him. More importantly, Harmony needed him and he wasn't going to let her down. Loyalty meant something to Lorne. If loyalty meant he put himself at risk then so be it. He could be just as fierce a fighter as Gunn or Wesley if he put his mind to it. Of course he'd add his own inimitable fabulousness to whatever was ahead but heroism was definitely doable.
Plans came together quickly. Lorne donned a chartreuse fedora for some in house prowling. Fred suggested using the security video cameras to advantage by investigating their recorded secrets. Gunn volunteered to hit the streets to see what was what among his varied contacts. Angel was brought in to scour the files.
Wesley seemed to have everything under control so Harmony retreated to her penthouse suite for some needed personal pampering and a couple of rounds of discreet pillow pummeling. Duplicitous boyfriends brought out the demon in her. It was a good thing her bottle of bubble bath was full. She was going to need every last drop.
27.
Hours of silence ended the following morning when Buffy finally discovered Dawn, Andrew and Spike in the Wolfram and Hart cafeteria finishing up breakfast.
"Here you are! Where have you guys been? Is there something wrong with your phone, Dawn? I've been calling for hours."
"I turned off my cell, Buffy. I didn't want to interrupt our adventure." Dawn emphasized the last word. She couldn't wait to slap Buffy with every last detail of their outing. "It was way cool and I mean that in the totally restricted kind of way." Dawn chewed a slender piece of bacon held between her finger tips.
"An adventure? Not demon, I hope." Buffy looked closely to see if there were any signs of trauma on Dawn. "You didn't take Dawn to any demon hangouts, did you Spike? Those places are full of germs and demon viruses."
"No worries, love--"
"We went to Vegas!" Dawn announced.
Buffy blinked and looked from Spike to Andrew and back to Dawn. "What? Did you just say--"
"Vegas. Uh-huh." Dawn nodded. "And you know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
"Las...Vegas?" Buffy's mouth tightened. "You took my little sister to Las Vegas?" She let loose a blistering glare for the chaperone and the vampire.
"Now, there's no need to get confrontational," Andrew reasoned. "It was educational. Look..." He grabbed a souvenir bag and pulled out a black rubberized pompadour which he promptly pulled on. "See?"
"I find it hard to believe you're an Elvis fan, Andrew." Buffy's glare did not soften.
"Humph! It's not Elvis," Andrew corrected with a pitying sigh. "Although I can see how the side burns might have confused you." He slipped off the rubber treasure and placed it carefully back in his bag. "Ever hear of Wayne Newton? 'Danke Schoen'? Mr. Las Vegas? Not only is he a show business legend but he's a business, um, business legend too. Dawn absorbed the essence of the entrepreneurial spirit in the heartland of America--"
"We were total maniacs!" Dawn leapt back into the conversation eager to push Buffy over the edge. "Completely out of control. Andrew sang karaoke with this fab drag queen named Lipstick Latour and--"
"AHEM!" Andrew cleared his throat suddenly. "That falls under the stays in Vegas column, Dawn."
Dawn ignored Andrew's plea. "It was great, Buffy. I ran up and down the strip...with scissors! How do you like that?" Her eyes sparkled at the dizzying memories. "It was beyond awesome!"
"I see. If you'll excuse us." Buffy grabbed Spike's lapel, dragged him to his feet and disappeared through a nearby door. She then pushed him up against a wall. "You took her to Vegas?"
"Now let's be fair, love. You took her to an apocalypse. And the scissors thing never happened. Honest. She's just--"
"Spike. Vegas is hardly my definition of a safe place. I've watched CSI. The whole city is practically a crime scene."
"It's hardly the Fifth Ring of Hell."
"That's your basis of comparison? Not really helping your case."
"Look, nothing bad happened. You have my word on that. It was tame, really."
"And karaoke with drag queens? Is that the Vegas definition of tame?"
"Pretty much," he mumbled. "Look, Dawn is not the one to worry about, love, believe me; that Andrew is slipperier than an greased eel."
"Spike."
"There was no gambling at all and no alcohol, as much as it pains me to admit."
"So what did you guys do?"
"We went to a mall--bloody enormous it was too--and ended up at this all night bowling alley."
"Drag queen free, I'm hoping."
"That's were the karaoke bar was."
"And since when do you bowl?"
"Never said I bowled," Spike corrected her quickly. Being the guard dog was okay with him if it meant hanging out with Dawn. She chose their destination after it became clear that millions of pulsating lights tipped Andrew over the edge from ordinary mania into a state of near delirium. "Kept score so Dawn could have a laugh." The corner of his lip quirked sideways.
Buffy tried to keep score once with the gang. Between Xander complaining about being shortchanged on points and Anya trying to wrestle the tiny pencil from Buffy's fist, it was a disaster. Buffy blamed it on a combination of the complexity of the score cards and the demands of quick calculations in borrowed shoes. One thing was certain, keeping score in bowling meant possessing the knowledge of how to keep score and some familiarity with the activity. Creature of the night and competitive by nature? The pieces fell into place.
Buffy's eyes widened with amusement. "You totally bowled!"
*
"Buffy can be demonstrative, can't she?" Andrew's gaze lingered on the door Buffy and Spike disappeared through. "Should I be worried?"
"Nah. It'll be cool. It's simple math. Every once in a while Buffy goes postal when she realizes that no matter what, I'll always be younger than her." It was one truth that never failed to satisfy Dawn. "I thought the Vegas thing would have hit her worse than that. She was almost reasonable. I guess miracles do happen."
"I don't know," Andrew stared at the closed door. "Did you see that crazed glint in her eye?"
"Relax, Andrew. She's seriously premenstrual."
"Ah! Of course. The hormonal slayer surge. I understand completely. Are you going to finish that quesadilla?"
"ANDREW!" Dawn struggled to complete her swallow and then coughed into a wad of napkins. "Stop saying things like that, because...Ew! Buffy is a freakazoid wrapped in that sad dye job. She's lucky we pay attention to her at all."
"Excuse me, folks." A short man with remarkably hairy ears approached the table. "I'm sorry to disturb you but this room has been booked for a group synergy session. Visitors are most welcome to join in. If you'd like, please feel free to do so."
"Are you too tired, Dawn?" Andrew asked. "I'd like to observe, you know, as a representative of the Council."
"Oh cool. What do you think they'll be doing?" Dawn finished the last of her drink and helped push the table against the wall.
"Well," Andrew angled his nose toward the ceiling. It was his latest I'm-thinking-big-thoughts pose. "If I'm not mistaken--and I rarely am--I believe we'll see a glimpse into the executive genius of Miss Harmony Kendall. She's all about creating and maintaining synergy."
"Duh...paging Captain Obvious. What is synergy anyway?"
It was a valid question but Andrew had no clue. As usual, he covered with false bravado. "What shall soon see, my dear. We shall soon see."
"Would you stop doing Giles? You are seriously creeping me out."
*
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Buffy sighed. "I'm usually better at handling stress. I know Dawn's safe with you. I know that."
"That's nice to hear." Spike leaned easily against the wall, no longer held there under threat of interrogation. He reached for his pack of cigarettes.
"Non-smoking building, Spike."
"I was born to rebel."
"Spike!" Buffy grabbed the cigarette dangling from his lips. "There's rules, and rules are meant to be followed and when they're not followed that's when I have to step in and kick ass."
"Have we changed the subject? Because threats of violence are just going to confuse the issue." Spike thought he recognized an invitation for a opportunistic hallway snog. His voice lowered in question. "Unless you're trying to turn me on? Because if that's the case, it's work--"
"Spike! Haven't you been paying attention? We're up to our butts in assassination attempts." Buffy began to pace a worrisome pattern in the floor. "Wolfram and Hart is practically an armed camp and all you can think about is yourself?"
Got it. Not trying to turn him on. Although, she really didn't have to try at all. The image of a flustered and besieged Buffy was positively irresistible. "Buffy, I got eyes. Thought it best to keep Dawn occupied and out of your hair." Spike steered clear of the fact that Buffy practically begged him to watch over Dawn in the first place. "If that was wrong--"
"Oh, just ignore me. I need to vent. I know you meant well. Dawn's lucky you were there for her."
Spike understood Slayer speak, especially this slayer. Buffy stood before him looking tired and simply delicious. Once upon a time he would have jumped her right there and insisted she think about something else for an hour or so. Instead, his eyes softened. "You're welcome."
Buffy slumped against the wall and almost managed a smile. Why did circumstances always align to cause friction between them? Wasn't supernatural drama enough? Her To Do list was lengthy and complicated: save Harmony, get a promotion, make things right with Spike and move out of Angel's. No, wait, there was Dawn and Andrew to contend with, and Andrew, as she was well aware, was a calamity magnet. Dawn's safety needed to be higher on the list.
Of course there would always be the Crisis of Unknown Origin that would swoop in uninvited and push everything else aside until it was resolved. Buffy began to feel that distinctive Slayer uneasiness, half way between an itch and a tingle. It was persistent and growing. Something was bound to pop up and reorganize her To Do list once again.
Why did Spike have to look at her exactly like that? Sweet and mischievous was too distracting, especially when she knew he still disapproved of her vocation. It was another unwelcome dollop of maddening friction when she needed to stay sharp. And when had he started wearing such a big belt buckle? Why not a glaring neon arrow pointing right at his-- Damn. How was Buffy ever to focus on the judicious application of her appointed duties when Spike chose to wear such tight pants?
She took a step toward him. Making things right with Spike deserved to be priority number one. Her personal life deserved to be as remarkable as her future career prospects.
"Spike?"
"Hmm?"
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to sound decisive. "Leaving Andrew and Dawn alone for very long is probably not a good idea. We...better get back."
Honestly, Spike couldn't argue with that logic. "If you like."
"Maybe we could, I don't know, do something sometime?" Buffy had a knack for making vague plans. "After all this excitement dies down."
"Could do. I'll need to check my schedule though. I might have plans," Spike teased.
Buffy rolled her eyes on cue, opened the door and walked back into the cafeteria.
"Another couple! Marvelous! Miss Summers, isn't it? And Mr. Spike. Welcome!" A short man chirped and waved from across the room.
"Bloody hell," Spike recognized the diminutive man immediately.
"All right!" Buffy grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him toward the gathered participants, Dawn and Andrew among them. "I haven't been to an actual group class before. This will be fantastic!"
"I'm not doing this," Spike asserted with indignation. "I bloody well know how to dance."
"Shh!" Buffy scolded a dismissive whisper. "I need a partner and you're it."
"I'll do the introductions again for those of you just joining us." The jovial instructor spoke in a sibilant swirl. "My name is Pood Nudeburger, Demon Whisperer by day, demon on the dance floor by night." He giggled at his little joke and raised a hand to beckon his associate. "Many of you already know my partner, the lovely Francine, a jewel both of the front lobby and the ballroom."
"Oh, Pood, you sweet talker," Francine giggled and waved to Buffy.
"That's Francine!" Buffy hissed into Spike's ear as she waved back enthusiastically. "I know her."
"This is ballroom dancing, people. Find a spot were you have some room to maneuver. We don't want to bunch up. Good. Now, hold your partner firmly, yet gently. Left hand, right hand," Pood demonstrated with polished ease. "Come on. Don't be shy. This is intuitive, deep body communication. Embrace your partner." A hand went up immediately. "Oh, a question already?"
"Yes," Andrew nodded. "I'm a little mixed up, I think. My hand goes where again?" Pood stepped toward Andrew and Dawn.
"You are the gentleman, so your left hand goes here," Pood indicated the correct position. "Your other left hand, young man."
Andrew reddened at his obvious faux pas.
"And your right hand goes here. Not too tight, not too loose. Find a happy medium with your partner."
"I am the gentleman," Andrew repeated.
"I think we'll be okay if you can just remember that much," Dawn advised.
"There's so many variables to juggle. Maybe I should sit out and take some notes. I'm good at taking notes."
"Stop talking! You're confusing me." Dawn positioned her hands and watched the demonstration.
"It's a count of four," Pood continued in a calm yet authoritative voice. "Men move forward, women backward. Shall we add some music?" Pood nodded toward Francine and she activated the sound system. "Nothing fancy to begin with," Pood opened his arms to embrace Francine. "And slowly...one, two, three, four...one, two, three, four. Feel the music; it's speaking to you, two, three, four. Now everyone together in your own time...slowly forward men...try not to look at your feet if you can...good, good...looking at your partner. Not so close, Mr. Spike. Let the lady breathe and a gentleman's hands don't wander!" Pood broke from his partner and approached Spike. "Shall we try again?"
"We're fine, mate, really."
"Let's review. I will be the female," Pood stepped between Buffy and Spike. "Take me in your arms."
Spike responded with low growl of warning. "Said we were fine."
"Save the theatrics for the dance floor, Mr. Spike," Pood smiled and then winked. "We'll need to spread that machismo around."
Spike did not move. Steely eyes stared straight ahead unblinking. He could dance just fine and he didn't need some twat in scuffed saddle shoes telling him the right way to hold a woman, let alone demonstrating it.
Another tactic was needed to bridge the impasse. Pood motioned to Buffy. "Step forward, Miss Summers." Buffy did so. "She is a delicate flower needing the proper presentation," Pood explained. "That's your job, Mr. Spike. I trust you're taking it seriously."
"Right. A flower. All delicate and petally and such." The eyebrow said it all.
"You don't sound convinced." Pood had plenty of experience with reluctant students but the flower imagery never failed to get results.
"Don't screw this up," Buffy hissed. "Listen to the instructions. I want to dance."
Fine. Spike hardened his jaw and his resolve.
Pood continued his instructions. "Do not be concerned, Miss Summers. I sense untapped potential in your dancing partner. Mr. Spike, think of Miss Summers as a fragrant rose bud ready to burst into bloom. Now take her in your arms."
"Bloomin' rose bud. Got it." Spike stood erect and took hold of Buffy.
"I was an orchid!" Andrew spoke from a short distance away.
"I'm the orchid, Andrew," Dawn corrected. "You're the vase."
"All right, let's continue. Just, uh, watch the pelvis, Mr. Spike. Nice and easy everyone. Music please, Francine." Pood returned to his partner while the lilting rhythms filled the air. The couples soon moved around the room with some measure of ease.
"You heard Pood, Spike," Buffy responded to an obvious nudge. "Watch the pelvis."
"Would you stop complaining? I'm being intuitive."
"Is that what you call it?"
"I'm following that bloke's instructions to the letter, and bloody well stop trying to lead! I'm the man," Spike's embrace tightened. "The man leads. That means you follow my lead." He leaned forward and nailed Buffy with a pointed glare. "Ballroom dancing ain't nothing like that sloppy crap that passes for dancing in the clubs, pet. It has rhythm, rules, and precision. Sorry to burst your bubble, Slayer, but you're not in charge here. I am. If you want to do this right you better follow me and...obey." Spike had to admit there was something about this formal dancing that he quite liked.
"Spike." Buffy's eyebrows knotted severely.
"That's right, give me some attitude," he whispered. "The nastier, the better. But stand up straight and stick out your tits. Posture is everything."
Before Buffy was aware of anything beyond the sexy flare of Spike's nostrils, he twirled her expertly in his arms and brought her back tight against him.
"Oh my," Pood praised from across the room. "A twizzle! Excellent, Mr. Spike! It seems we have a couple of naturals there."
"What was that?" Buffy stared up at Spike with a dizzy grin.
"That was you listening very carefully, pet," Spike smirked. "Glad to see that's possible. Are you still listening?"
"Um, I can't really hear the music."
"Then you're not listening." Spike lunged forward taking Buffy into a slow, sensual dip. "Do you hear me now?"
"Mmm..." Buffy purred.
"Excellent, people," Pood continued to offer encouragement while he danced with Francine. "Feel the flow. No jerking moves. Gentle yet masterful...Men...display your partners...flowing, flowing..."
"Can you believe that guy?" Dawn giggled.
"I think I'm finally feeling the synergy," Andrew spun Dawn out beside him.
"I think I am too," Dawn pivoted back into place in Andrew's arms.
"Excellent!" Pood's voice rose in praise in the background. "Improvisation is always encouraged. What a dynamic group we have today, Francine."
"You're so light on your feet," Andrew commented without interrupting his counting.
"You too, Andrew." Dawn glanced toward Buffy and Spike. They were moving to a rhythm of their own invention. "Don't look now, but Buffy's totally humping Spike's leg. God, can't they catch a clue? Dirty dancing is so 1999."
Andrew tilted his head at a dreamy angle and spun Dawn across the room in lazy spirals. "Mmm...Patrick Swayze..."
28.
It didn't take long for the Think Pink team to discover that Hamilton was not a one man demolition team. He had a couple of familiar and unstable allies on board the hellmouth express. Video surveillance revealed a number of clandestine stairwell meetings between Hamilton and Archduke Sebassis that, according to Angel, cross-referenced exactly with the Archduke's meetings with Harmony.
Hitting the streets wasn't as successful as Gunn had hoped. For once, the forces of evil managed to keep their big mouths shut. Rumor and innuendo ran rampant in the seedy underground where Gunn's more aromatic informants plied their greasy trade, but unfortunately, no pertinent information was to be found. There wasn't even so much as a whisper of hellmouth on the breeze.
On a hunch Gunn turned to an investigation of the smaller real estate properties within the Wolfram and Hart portfolio, reasoning that any potential hellmouth location might be on company property. A few properties immediately tweaked Gunn's suspicion by virtue of the seller listed, Cyvus Vail, a long time Wolfram and Hart associate.
Harmony sat in distress as rage and depression fluctuated within her. Not even the furtive purring of her esteemed companion, Mr. Pussy Galore could assuage her restlessness. The team assembled around her with two excited additions Wesley finally located.
After a first hand connection with the synergistic strategies of Wolfram and Hart, Andrew launched into an inspired stream of consciousness rant about how Giles in particular and the Watcher Council in general could benefit from learning to dance. When Wesley approached Andrew and informed him that Harmony needed his expertise, it was all he could do not to faint from the sheer ecstasy of the moment. A furtive toe stomp from Dawn quickly brought his thoughts into sharp focus. This was exactly the kind of opportunity Andrew needed to prove to Giles once and for all that he was more than a goofy kid who could recite risqué limericks in proto-Tawarick as a party trick. He made a quick case for Dawn to be included. He would not shirk one responsibility for another but shoulder them both with determination and fortitude.
Wesley didn't have time to argue. He was working on a deadline. He looked Dawn up and down and spoke with dispatch. "You had best come along too, then." It was the most awe inspiring sentence Dawn had ever heard.
Wesley's office continued to operate as a makeshift central command for the daunting task ahead. It was cramped and smelled a little stale but held that gut clenching vibe of heroic anticipation Dawn remembered so well from Revello Drive. Andrew stood nervously clenching a tiny video camera while Dawn picked idly at her nail polish beside him.
All eyes focused on Harmony. She sat slumped in a chair with the corner of her lips quirking intermittently in thought. It was all true. Betrayers to the left of her. Betrayers to the right. Back stabbing, spotlight stealers as far as the eye could see. Well, nobody was going to rain on Harmony's parade. Not only was she a corporate visionary, but she had CEO written after her name and that had to mean something.
Truthfully, she could use a little he-done-me-wrong time but the clock was ticking and she had an audience. The assembled team stood patiently with shoulders straight, chins up and eyes sharp. Two curious additions stood out among her team. Their presence puzzled her for only a moment.
"Oh, yeah. The video guy." Harmony nodded at Andrew. A camera always lifted her spirits. "Edward, isn't it?"
"Um, actually it's Andrew. May I say this is a great, great honor for me, Miss Kendall."
"Yes, I'd imagine it is." Harmony sighed. "Glad to have you on board. You too, Dawn. You're going to be our good luck charms."
"This is so unbelievably cool," Dawn couldn't help but gush. Being personally invited to an apocalypse by the one and only Harmony Kendall was, as Dawn noted, unbelievably cool.
Wesley was used to Harmony's whims. In retrospect, videotaping the apocalypse didn't sound all that far fetched and an extra demon fighter or two really couldn't hurt. Some last minute divination provided the final pieces of the puzzle. They needed to coordinate and act quickly.
With a final scratch of her kitten's chin Harmony rose to her feet, steely determination strengthening her resolve. "Okay, team. This is the moment. Open a hellmouth in my town? I don't think so." Harmony took Hamilton's secretive plotting personally. She wasn't just some devastatingly gorgeous speed bump on the road to hellmouth central. "He could have come to me and worked this out. After all, I've personally facilitated a few of the Senior Partners more unusual requests."
This was news to her team.
"It's nothing for you guys to worry about," Harmony glossed over that executive detail and turned her thoughts to her scheming lover. "That dirty, rotten stinker! He went behind my back! If I wasn't so thoroughly insulted right now, I'd be totally turned on." Rage bobbed the incendiary seas of Harmony's eyes and then receded behind her elegant false eyelashes. "So gang, what do we know so far?"
"It's more than just Hamilton," Gunn spoke first. "I've found connections to Cyvus Vail."
"Sebassis is definitely a player," Wesley confirmed.
"I ran across a tasty little tidbit after my squash game," Lorne offered up his information and received several incredulous looks. "What? This kind of wonderful doesn't come in a can, kids. I have to work it."
Fred tried to imagine Lorne on a squash court in regulation footwear. She couldn't get past the image of Lorne wearing athletic clothing, let alone sweating of his own free will.
"What is the information?" Wesley urged Lorne along.
"Agamemnon's scheduled to work tonight. He's driving some mucky-mucks out to the boonies in Hollywood."
"But he's my personal driver!" Harmony protested. "Available at my convenience!"
"Who's he moonlighting for?" Gunn had his suspicions.
"Um, that didn't come up," Lorne winced. "Sorry."
"It's got to be Hamilton." Wesley looked to Harmony.
She'd heard enough. "This is unacceptable! Marcus and the rest of the mouth breathers don't get to call the shots." In anger, Harmony twisted her fancy fountain pen between her fingers, crushing the blown glass unicorn decoration on the cap. "Oh!" She frowned at the twinkling shards in her hands and then something stirred within her. In this big, bad world somebody had to look out for the helpless, little shiny things; if not Harmony and her team of synergistic and stylish super heroes, then who?
"It's time for Think Pink to kick ass." Defiance reverberated in her words.
Gunn feared for her safety. Harmony was an excellent administrator but hardly a callused, battlefield general. "Hamilton's got you spooked, Harmony," he said. "That's just an invitation for trouble."
"Charles is right," Wesley agreed. "It's become personal and that's reason enough for you to back away."
"You bet it's personal," Harmony hardened her jaw. "But my team doesn't get divided." The strength of her corporate mission statement coursed through her. "Synergy isn't just some letters on a white board, gang. We fight for what's right and we're more than a match for Marcus and his boys. Besides, we've got a few secret weapons of our own."
"Secret weapons?" Fred asked.
"Are you forgetting that there's a smiling slayer at our front door?" Harmony's lips curled with satisfaction. "Buffy has learned the meaning of teamwork in her short time here at Wolfram and Hart."
"A slayer in our corner would be unexpected," Wesley mused.
"And Spike's been spoiling for a massacre ever since I told him we were finished for good. I say, let's give him one."
"By golly, Harmony, you're a genius!" Lorne exclaimed, knowing full well that some surgically applied mayhem was just what Spike needed.
"Plus," Harmony continued, "I know a certain executive secretary who's more than a pretty face in tight fitting shorts on a pedestal.
"Angel! It's Angel!" Fred guessed correctly.
"Yes, Angel. He's been spending his lunch breaks honing his skills with a broadsword in the rest room."
"Really?" Gunn sounded surprised. "But I've heard singing. I thought perhaps he was practicing for karaoke night."
"The singing helps him with his timing and the acoustics in there are perfect." Harmony never underestimated the raw material at her disposal.
"He'll be wearing pants, though, right?" Only Fred was brave enough to ask that burning question.
"Shall we find out?" Harmony responded with a mischievous flare of her eyebrows. "Get ready, video guy."
Andrew sprang to attention, his thumb hovering over the record button. "Ready."
Harmony flipped open her Barbie cell phone and activated the pager. She made her way to the door and opened it to reveal Angel, Spike and Buffy striding toward the office, fully clothed and looking every inch the lethal fighters they truly were. Due to the narrowness of the hallway and the billowing swell of leather coats, Buffy found it hard to keep up with the long, showy strides of the strutting vampires. It was all she could do not to be swallowed up completely in the competing leathers.
As they came to a stop in the doorway, Spike and Angel flared their nostrils in militaristic unison. Buffy jumped in the background in an effort to see over their shoulders.
"And...cut!" Andrew pressed the button on his camera. "Really great establishing shot, Spike. Your visceral energy was magnificent. Angel, I'm sorry, I didn't feel anything from you at all in that take and Buffy should really have been out in front. She's completely lost in the coat tails on that one. I hardly even caught her scrunchy."
"Andrew, what are you doing here?" Buffy jumped again before attempting to squeeze through the solid mass of malevolent muscle in front of her.
"Well, after our invigorating dance session, I happened upon Wesley in the hallway. He told me that Harmony needed me and here I am. I have the unparalleled honor of chronicling this historic event as it happens."
"And you're doing a great job, so far," Harmony nodded.
"Thank you." Andrew bowed his head toward Harmony.
"And where's Dawn?" Buffy's questions often sounded like accusations. "You didn't lose her, did you?"
"Relax, Buffy, I'm right here." Dawn waved from inside the crowded office.
Buffy finally stepped between Angel and Spike and saw Dawn standing near Harmony. "Shouldn't you have teleported back to the coven by now? That's what you said you were doing."
"And miss out on the fun?"
"Wasn't Vegas enough fun for you?"
"It was a stick-on tattoo, Buffy! Get a sense of humor, why don't you? God, you're about as much fun as a barrel of decaying monkeys!"
"If you two wouldn't mind?" Wesley interjected tersely. "We've got the end of the world to contend with and a tight time line. Sibling rivalry will have to take a rain check."
"Sorry, Wesley. Harmony," Buffy apologized with a mortified blush.
Harmony addressed her personal videographer. "Did you get all that?"
"Um, no. I wasn't filming then."
"Good," Harmony nodded. "Try to focus on me, unless there's something really, um, you know...oh, forget that. Just focus on me."
"I will!" Andrew nodded.
"Buffy," Harmony warned. "Your tension is strangling our synergy. I wouldn't want to have to cut you from the team. Go with the flow, girl. Think pink."
"I'm really sorry about that, Harmony," Buffy apologized once again. "I'll do that think pink thing. For sure."
"I know you will, girlfriend. That's why you are a valued member of my team. But little sis is too. I feel the positive Sunnydale vibes pulsating through this room. Are you rolling, Eddie?"
"Er...rolling!" Andrew flipped open the compact device.
"I got the job done with those scaly ubervamps in Sunnydale, remember Buffy?" Dawn whispered at an energized clip. "And Harmony said I could come." Dawn pursed her lips at Buffy. "I told you we connected."
"You're sure, Harmony?" Buffy asked.
"My muse tells me yes."
"And then there were ten..." Andrew spoke in a slow, somber voice. His film maker's eye roamed across the gathered troops followed by the activated camera. "I'm thinking of calling this epic, 'Apocalypse Now, You-- Are-- There--'" His voice swelled to approximate an echoing sound effect.
"Catchy title, fella, but I think Francis Ford might still manage a litigious response." Lorne tilted his head in thought. "And ixnay on the adge-bay, sweet cheeks." He whispered in Buffy's direction and pointed to her Greeter tag.
"Oops!" Buffy gasped nervously and pocketed the tag. "Thanks, Mr. Lorne. I wouldn't want this to get scuffed."
"Call me Lorne, little Missy."
Angel stepped toward Harmony. "Thanks for including me, boss. It means a lot."
"You're my right hand man, Angel," Harmony reassured him. "I'd never think of going into battle without you."
The corner of Angel's mouth raised in nervous anticipation. He was under no illusions as to his performance as a secretary. His typing speed was snail slow and he was convinced the copy machine hated him but he knew how to massage that knot out of the middle of Harmony's shoulders. Now he had the opportunity to prove that he wasn't just a pretty face and magic fingers. He also knew how to rend and destroy. He could kick evil butt with the best of them. He could be a champion.
No one noticed when Mr. Pussy Galore stopped licking his bits and sat to attention.
"I'm ready for my close-up," Harmony indicated.
"Quiet everyone!" Andrew assumed creative control and pressed the record button. "Whenever you're ready, Miss Kendall."
Harmony's eyes blazed with solemn intensity. "This will be the Think Pink team's finest hour..."
29.
A bubble gum pink mini van with purple flames adorning the sides cruised through the quiet streets of the restless city. Fred sat on a swivel seat behind the driver, staring at her laptop and following the blinking beacon of the Wolfram and Hart limousine they were tailing. She provided Lorne with navigating instructions as he drove through the eerily deserted streets.
Andrew and Dawn sat squished in the far rear of the vehicle with Buffy and Angel in uncharacteristic silence. Andrew managed to record a few heroic profiles in the shadowy darkness of the vehicle but the staggering breadth of Angel's shoulders made any elaborate camera movement impossible.
"The streets are quiet." Wesley remarked, breaking the silence within the crowded vehicle.
"Too quiet." Gunn kept his eyes on the road ahead.
"And we're standing out like a bloody neon sign." Spike observed. "This is supposed to be a stealth vehicle?" Clown car seemed a more appropriate descriptor to Spike.
"Shh! Harmony's meditating." Fred spoke in a stern whisper without looking up from her softly illuminated screen.
One glance from Spike revealed the truth. "Harmony's not meditating, she's asleep. Harm! Wake up. Wake up."
"Are we there yet?" Harmony woke with a start, disturbing Mr. Pussy who lay curled on a satin kitty pillow on her lap. The cat's presence was something Harmony insisted upon. There was nothing better than a contented pussy, she reasoned, to remind everyone of the important things in life.
"Not quite," Lorne answered.
Spike swiveled in his seat to confront Harmony. "Now would be a swell time to include us on the specifics of your plan of attack."
He was not the only one who was curious about the mission. Wesley and Gunn turned their attention to Harmony as well, eager to hear her cunning plan. So far she hadn't been too specific regarding their tactical offensive beyond her strategic and rousing speech back at the office.
Andrew tried to wriggle forward in order to record what he could of General Harmony in the trenches--or passenger van as it were--addressing her loyal troops but Angel's massive presence beside him proved a formidable barrier. Each attempt to achieve a little wiggle room earned him a subtle snarl from Angel.
"The plan is simple, super team," Harmony spoke with exuberance. "We get to the secret location, unmask Mr. Marcus Hamilton as the lying, scheming, hellmouth, uh, opener that he is; eliminate his accomplices, foil their dastardly plans and then congratulate ourselves on a job well done."
"Sounds reasonable to me." Angel crossed his arms as a sign of immediate and unconditional support.
"Omph!" Andrew responded to the inadvertent jab to his ribs.
"Andrew, would you stop poking me?" Dawn complained as she also tried to find a more comfortable position. "We should have taken two cars or a school bus. School buses are real handy in a crisis."
"Shh!" Buffy ordered. "I can't hear Harmony."
"What part of that sounds reasonable?" Spike wasn't about to take Harmony's word on this. Buffy and Dawn were involved. "How are we supposed to stop them? What is our plan of attack? What if this isn't even the night?"
"Spike!" Buffy voiced her displeasure. "Stop grilling Harmony."
"Come on! Those are absolutely valid questions. Harmony doesn't have any sort of plan, short of dazzling the enemy with her white teeth and fashion élan. Tell me, who goes into battle wearing a mini leather trench coat, thigh high stiletto boots and a bloody tiara in the first place?"
"I do, that's who!" Harmony stated firmly. "I was going to wear my Police Officer Naughty hat and bring my cuffs but that would totally give Marcus the wrong message."
"Don't listen to him; you look fierce, Harmony." Buffy's muffled voice traveled from the rear of the vehicle. "I've fought plenty of bad guys in sexy outfits."
Harmony sent a saucy sneer in Spike's direction before she responded. "Thanks, Slayer. I always knew we could be friends."
"Yeah, right," Spike grumbled.
"I knew including Spike was a bad idea." Wesley spoke through clenched teeth.
"Spike, Harmony has brought us this far without fail." Gunn had hoped Spike could do the all for one thing. "Now is not the time for one of your woe-is-me stunts."
"Tension percolates through the ranks of the chosen as the imminent battle approaches..." Andrew narrated a strained whisper over his grainy recording.
"Hey, video guy. Take it down a notch." Angel didn't appreciate the intrusive play by play or Andrew's insistence on filming Spike's every nose flick and belt buckle readjustment. Harmony's instructions were quite clear; keep the camera on her.
Spike tried again to let common sense prevail. "Does anyone have the slightest clue where we're going? We're following a soddin' blip on a computer screen. Don't get me wrong, I like a scrap as well as the next guy, but what kind of team dives head first into unknown water?" Being the voice of reason was a new role for Spike but he had to try.
"Pull over, Lorne!" Harmony bellowed and the mini van came to a screeching halt.
"You sound like you want us to fail." Angel leaned forward and cracked a knuckle in warning.
Harmony responded with assertive flair. "I refuse to let my super team be contaminated with your negative vibes any longer, Spike. You leave me with no other choice. You'll have to exit the vehicle."
"Now, now. Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"OUT SPIKE!" The door of the mini van slid open. An exasperated index finger with a rainbow decal on the tip punctuated Harmony's preference.
"An unexpected occurrence!" Andrew squealed. His voice soared to melodramatic paroxysm. "The valiant vampire vaulted from the vehicle!"
"Shush, Andrew!" Dawn's elbow abruptly silenced Andrew's outburst.
"I'm not leaving," Spike vowed.
"Angel?" Harmony didn't even have to bat an eyelash. He was already on the move.
"With pleasure." Angel gripped Spike's collar and hoisted his protesting form from the vehicle. Once expelled, Spike swung around and wrenched himself from Angel's grasp. He took a moment to straightened his coat and reassert some measure of dignity and then sneered right back at Angel.
"And you can just stay here, Mr. Negativity." Harmony scolded with a dismissive wave. "Jeepers, what did I ever see in you in the first place?"
Buffy's voice rose from deep in the van. "I'll see you later, Spike, after I help Harmony save the world!"
Once Angel slammed the door shut and took Spike's vacated seat the vehicle resumed its heroic journey. Buffy blew Spike a kiss as the van pulled away.
Andrew gasped and stared out the window watching Spike's form shrink in the distance. The unthinkable had happened. The team was divided and the outcome was now uncertain. Andrew slumped in his seat and switched off the video camera. Dawn immediately offered him a breath mint. It was a small act of friendship that was much appreciated.
As he sucked on the tangy lozenge, Andrew considered the new friendships he had strengthened since Sunnydale died its ignoble death. Dawn was a particularly thoughtful gal, someone who wouldn't let you face oblivion alone or with questionable breath. Perhaps an opportune moment would arise in which she could offer the same thoughtfulness to Angel, because from his recent proximity, Andrew knew Angel could use some minty refreshment.
Spike stood in shock at the side of the road watching the van putter off into the fathomless night. Something was definitely wrong with this picture. Cursing wasn't much help, but Spike let loose a colorful burst at full volume anyway. Inevitably, panic set in. Buffy and Dawn were headed who knows where to confront who knows what. Fear for their safety set Spike running at top speed in pursuit of the candy colored van and a date with destiny.
*
Eventually, Lorne turned the mini van into an empty parking lot. "Fred, are you sure this is the place?"
"The beacon should be just ahead...there it is!" Fred pointed to the limousine parked in front of a weather beaten and deserted warehouse.
"What is this place?" Lorne asked after he brought the vehicle to a full stop. All of the passengers filed out of the vehicle and stood staring at the edifice before them. A large, faded metal sign read: Parade Nation Amusements, Entertaining America since 1930, C. Vail, Proprietor.
"Parade floats? Cool!" At least Harmony was amused. It brought back pleasant memories of baton twirling camp and the Fourth of July.
"Doesn't look too sinister," Lorne offered a hopeful note.
"Looks can be deceiving," Wesley swept his gaze over the area.
"That's the only entrance from this side," Angel pointed to a battered looking door.
An intense light suddenly illuminated from above the door and with it the deep, calm voice of Marcus Hamilton filtered out. "Dumpling! This is an unexpected pleasure. I wasn't aware we had plans for tonight." He betrayed no surprise that Harmony and her team had found him.
"Security camera," Gunn whispered as all eyes zeroed in on the electronic eye above the door. Andrew zoomed in for a close up.
"We need to discuss a few things about our relationship, Marcus. In private." Harmony positioned her cleavage, ensuring that both cameras got a good angle.
"Well, come on in." The heavy steel door opened by itself.
"Oh, that can't be good." Lorne stepped forward and spoke through a frozen smile. "It's bound to be a trap."
"Of course it's a trap," Wesley replied. "Hamilton is nothing if not obvious and tediously so at that."
"Well, I'm not going to pass up such a nice invitation," Angel gripped the thick hilt of his sword. "And we've brought party favors." Fevered anticipation shone on his face.
At that moment Spike ran across the pavement and came to a stop near the group.
"Hey, Spike's back!" Andrew announced. "Everything's going to be okay. Spike's here. The team is united once again!"
"Spike! What part of being kicked out of the van didn't you understand?" Her goodwill finally exhausted, Harmony's eyes fired with golden flares. "I can't deal with your crap right now."
"Hang on," Spike raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture. "Here to help. Honest! Team player here."
"Don't get in my way!" Harmony snarled and stomped away from the van. For the first time Spike could almost believe she actually was a force to be reckoned with.
"If you screw this up for Harmony," Angel tossed in his own quiet threat for good measure. "I swear I'll--"
"What?" Spike challenged. "If this goes bad, I can only hope the fiery pits of hell incinerate me quicker than your breath. Honestly mate, you could knock out a rabid hippo with that stink. Have you been eating road kill or what?"
"That's it--" Angel advanced on Spike.
"Stop bickering!" Buffy demanded. She separated the vampires with a fist full of leather in both hands. "I've got an crazy idea. Try acting like you're both champions for once!"
"He started it," Angel mumbled.
"You really want Harmony to see your true colors, Peaches?" Spike needled. "Might effect your position in the company."
"Angel!" Harmony summoned and Angel obeyed.
"No cowboy stuff now, Spike," Buffy offered him a battle-axe from the weapons cache they'd brought with them. "I like you in one piece."
"Harmony's got this under control, Spike," Dawn assured him. "But I'm still glad you're here."
"Just want to be part of the heroing."
"Stay alert, Dawn," Buffy advised as she tested the weight of a few swords. Finally she handed a light weight weapon to her sister. "And stay close. You have nothing to prove to me or anyone. I know you can handle yourself."
"Got it." The image of Dawn in her corduroy jacket, whiskered jeans and fanny pack brandishing a deadly weapon wasn't entirely incongruous. In no time she became battle ready, looking every inch an apocalypse veteran ready for combat.
"When in doubt, Andrew." Buffy handed Andrew a sword for his use. "You're more important than any video footage. Remember that." Andrew nodded his silent reply while emotion thickened his throat.
Nefarious schemes of world destruction or domination--particularly those involving hellmouths--are often accompanied by showy diversions. Previous experience indicated that the diversion of choice favored by four out of five evil-doers was a rampaging horde of disposable minions brandishing crudely forged metal weaponry. It came as no surprise when just such a horde appeared from the shadows to attack. Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, Angel and Spike settled into an athletic confrontation with the demons.
Harmony paused at the sight of her personal chauffeur clearly siding with the opposing camp. "Agamemnon!" she roared, "this isn't going to look good on your quarterly performance review!"
Wesley confronted the duplicitous chauffeur and made sure no further performance reviews would be required. Harmony then headed straight for the open door to the warehouse, followed closely by Buffy, Fred and Dawn. The ensuing fracas blocked Andrew's path and prevented him from following immediately.
Fists, feet and fangs flew in a riot of movement. Spike and Angel dove headlong into the savage throng with the volcanic zeal of barely controlled madness. Both soon discarded their weapons in favor of a bloody, hands-on approach. No opponent was a match for their redirected animosities.
Although not known for his physical prowess, Lorne proved that he did indeed have skill in battle. One snarling opponent who had the misfortune to claw the hand stitching on Lorne's jacket shoulder found this out soon enough. With an anguished cry rivaling a banshee, Lorne made quick work of the brute.
Andrew clipped his camera to his belt loop before clutching his sword with both hands. Stomach acid bubbled up to the back of his throat as every muscle in his body clenched in response to the imminent threat. In a supreme effort to control his mounting terror he clung to a phrase that had soothed him since childhood. It was something that filled the carefree days of his youth with endless possibilities.
'Use the force, Andrew' echoed in his mind as he flung himself headlong into the fray.
Wesley ignored the swordplay rules he'd mastered all those years ago at the academy. Finesse wasn't required in this crude arena. This was pure slaughter, ugly and rough. His blade swung through the air over and over again, finding both flesh and steel.
Gunn's street fighting instincts came back as he also plowed through demon after demon. He liked the boardroom and the courtroom well enough but it was nice to know he could still throw down like the old days.
Mr. Pussy crouched uneasily in the frame of the open van door while his whiskers and tail twitched a restless rhythm. An agitated yowl rumbled in his throat before his instincts sent him scurrying across the parking lot battlefield toward the open warehouse door.
As the bodies of the vanquished began to pile up an unusual scent permeated the air. Lorne stilled and scanned the sky. Something indescribably foul hung in the air and made his horns tingle. It was a stench from long ago, as familiar and unwelcome as his mother's inedible cooking.
"Heads up!" Lorne suddenly cried out in warning. "Dragon at twelve o'clock!"
30.
With Harmony in the lead, the girls walked swiftly through a maze of derelict parade floats. Feminine intuition and a waft of Aramis among the ruins propelled Harmony toward an inevitable showdown with her soon to be former paramour. Droning, masculine voices were detected as the girls approached the spray of light from an open doorway. Inside the empty, cavernous room Marcus Hamilton stood chatting with the Archduke Sebassis and Cyvus Vail. Beside them stood a towering, curvaceous black machine. It's sleek metal surface appeared to absorb the light instead of reflect it. There was a single molded seat and control panel located under a rudely suggestive, arching protrusion.
"What is that thing?" Buffy asked, her face frozen in a scowl. From her experience, hellmouth openings usually went the more traditional, chant heavy route: the desecrated circle, blood sacrifice, betrayal of the lamb, tears of the corrupted virgin, that sort of angle. This was something new. This was a machine or perhaps even a vehicle. Forward, reverse, neutral, hellmouth? Buffy hadn't anticipated a machine. They could be in trouble.
"It looks like a..." Fred turned beet red and tried her best not to gape at the thing.
"Gi-normous vibrator...cool!" Harmony stared in rapt fascination. Her guy certainly knew how to capture her attention.
"Ew." Dawn wrinkled her nose.
Marcus Hamilton greeted them with a calm and welcoming smile. "Harmony, lovely as ever to see you and you've brought some friends: the curious Miss Burkle and the courteous Miss Summers. Oh, and someone new." Hamilton tilted his head to get a better view of Dawn.
Having this imposing man stare directly at her caused Dawn's throat to tighten. The odd expression on the two demon's faces wasn't very comforting either. She wondered if she should say anything.
"She's with us." Buffy's abrupt tone rippled through Dawn and gave her confidence.
It took a few moments before Harmony finally forced her eyes away from the mesmerizing machine and back to her double-crossing, pheromone bomb of a boyfriend. "I've figured out your evil plans, Marcus," she asserted, "and you won't succeed."
"I won't?" Hamilton offered the girls a tight smile.
"Nope. I've totally worked hard to establish an equilibrium within the demon community in L.A. and you don't get to ruin it."
"An equilibrium you say? Really?"
"Yep. Just ask the Archduke and Cyvus Vail."
Hamilton turned his head toward his companions. "So you're siding with Harmony, gentlemen?"
"Absolutely not." The Archduke tipped his head back in condescension. Apparently he hadn't heeded Harmony's advice regarding the nostril hair.
"What?" Although anticipated, the rejection still stung. Harmony had thought she'd made real progress with Sebassis.
"She's an amusing wench, but her business acumen is suspect." Cyvus Vail added his phlegmatic two cents.
"But my flow chart. You both raved about my flow chart!"
"Your presentation was lavish and colorful, but your ideas lack focus," Sebassis spoke plainly. "Frankly, I found them trivial and amateurish and not worthy of my consideration." This withering opinion of Harmony was as sharp as a punch to her gut.
"We had, like, a bunch of meetings," Harmony's tone wavered. "You paid attention to everything I said."
"I never said you weren't a gracious host." The turtle eyed Archduke removed a small vial of alfalfa snuff from his belt and stuffed a portion of its contents up his left nostril.
"Only with trivial and amateurish ideas!" Harmony flexed her face into a disgruntled knot. She'd worked long hours to accommodate Sebassis' every conceivable whim and coax him and his horny hierarchy into the modern age. And to think she was tutoring him on the finer points of her Think Pink system of demonic management.
Cyvus Vail took the opportunity to interrupt. "You are a delicious specimen, and your wardrobe never fails to..." He dragged his dry tongue across discolored teeth while his hungry gaze raked over Harmony's shining stiletto boots and tightly secured trench coat. "Entertain. I'd like to offer you the position of third concubine."
"What? Third? WHAT?" Harmony fumed at the indignation of being offered third place in anything. She didn't exactly know what a concubine was but by the way Vail was wiggling his eyebrows at her, she figured it probably involved laughing at his moldy jokes and calling him Big Daddy. "EW! You're like seven hundred years old. And ew!"
"I can assure you that, outward appearances notwithstanding, I'm an athletic lover," Cyvus Vail made a hissing sound with his lips.
"Guh--" Harmony sputtered, her upper lip recoiling in abject horror.
"Oh please," Buffy interrupted, coming to Harmony's aid. "You're a bunch of needy twerps meeting in an abandoned warehouse, polishing a penis substitute and bigging each other up with homoerotic megalomania."
"Like we've never seen that before!" Dawn snorted and rolled her eyes. "Because we have."
"Yeah!" Fred felt compelled to agree--sister solidarity and all that--but this situation was new to her.
For the Sunnydale sisters it was all too familiar: a troika with testosterone issues, too much time on their hands and delusions of godhood. When were the bad guys going to get their act together?
"Really boys," Buffy agreed, "that's kinda played out as far as scenarios go."
"Yeah! What she said!" Harmony rallied enough to toss in her own angry volley, even though the treacherous barb of betrayal stung sharply.
*
Outside, the situation wasn't improving. Hand to hand combat became more difficult with the addition of a dragon overhead.
On its first pass, the dragon swooped low to the ground. Massive, leathery wings churned the air into a dusty cyclone, coughing up all manner of debris into the air. Andrew swung his sword left and right in single-minded concentration on the opponent in front of him and not the leathery monster above. Indiscriminate in its destruction, the dragon lunged for the first moving target it spied. Luckily for Andrew, the dragon snagged an anonymous foot soldier in cumbersome, oversized robes instead of the wiry auteur. Unfortunately, a gnarled knuckle clipped Andrew and sent him flying toward the van and unconsciousness.
"The forces of evil really aren't the most fashion forward of zealots, are they?" Lorne shook his head with a pitying sigh while staring at the squalling creature in the dragon's clutches. He took a moment to reflect on his fine choice of lightweight battle garb, a paprika, pin stripe suit with an aubergine cravat that afforded ease of movement and, if required, escape. Lorne picked up a discarded wooden club at his feet and moved further into the carnage.
"This Cro-Magnon stuff is fabulous!" Lorne called out to Wesley as the hefty cudgel connected with target after target. "I can definitely see the appeal. What a workout!"
Wesley sidled up to him while engaging two armed opponents in a gritty sword battle. "Duck!" he grunted. Lorne hit the ground just as Wesley executed a tight pivot. He swung his weapon in a sweeping circle and cleanly decapitated both opponents. He then offered Lorne a hand up.
"Ew," Lorne wasn't exactly cut out for the abattoir. It was a temperament thing he'd reconciled long ago in Pylea. "Don't take that the wrong way, Wesley. Totally on board with the apocalypse theme but, you know, ew."
Gunn and Angel soon ran over to join them. The parking lot, now littered with the bodies of unsuccessful minions, was silent save for the sounds of Spike battling a tall, scaly demon some distance away.
"Spike, are you in need of assistance?" Wesley inquired.
"Don't think so," Spike replied while striking a glancing blow to the demon's rough surface. "Bit of a thick skinned lad here." That was an understatement. Street fighting moves had proved useless against the behemoth and only frustrated Spike further. For once he was glad to have a weapon. Spike launched each blow with every ounce of strength he possessed but had failed to elicit even so much as minor annoyance from the beast. "Come on, big fella, they're playing our song."
"Hurry up, Spike." Angel made no attempt to contain his impatience. "Kill it already!"
"Yes, Angel. Thanks ever so for your permission," Spike spat out the words. "Never would have thought of that on my own." The creature swung a wide swipe of its fist at Spike and knocked him to the pavement.
"OW!" Spike howled and sprang back to his feet, bringing a hand to his face. "Buggerin' quills?" A number of painful quills stuck out of his temple. That stung almost as much as the fact that he had a critical audience and wasn't making much progress in the kill-it-and-move-along theme of the moment.
"What is taking so damn long?" Angel shouted his frustration.
"Won't be a minute," Spike avoided another prickly fist and countered with a jab to the creature's belly. It had no effect.
"We don't have time for this," Gunn yelled and launched his battle-axe at the demon. It whizzed through the air and lodged squarely in the bulky demon's skull. Quills were no match for a battle-axe to the cranium and the demon fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
"Jolly good aim there, Charles," Wesley praised Gunn's splendid hand-eye coordination.
"Thanks," Gunn beamed with satisfaction.
"Charlie!" Spike protested. "I had him on the ropes. I was going for the noggin next."
"You're gratitude hits me right here," Gunn smiled and punched his sternum softly.
At that moment the dragon landed between Spike and the others. It let out a foul spray of putrid flame.
"Oh bollocks," Spike swallowed and stared up at the muscled barrier before him. The creature snorted a puff of smoke out of its nostrils and then let loose another showy stream of fire. Spike scrambled as fast as he could, taking a running dive out of the path of the fiery breath. The trail of flames scorched him slightly but his leather covering prevented total immolation.
"Damn!" Wesley hissed. "Let's sort this, now." Wesley, Angel, Lorne and Gunn grabbed every available weapon from the fallen and attacked the dragon.
The skirmish was short lived.
It is a well known fact that dragons are notoriously difficult to kill. They have fire spewing abilities, hideously sharp talons on all four feet, tail spikes and a virtually impenetrable epidermal surface. Add to those attributes a general belligerent nature and love for chaotic plunder and the scales of battle tip reliably in the dragon's favor. Wesley vaguely recalled something about slaying a dragon by piercing its vulnerable heart with the head of a single, swift arrow. Perhaps that was a solution found only in fairy tales. The creature before them was only too real; a leviathan of stunning agility that was looking for snacks.
After a brief and laughably ineffective assault, the dragon considered the flavorful choices offered. Spike staggered to his feet and ran toward his companions only to see Angel shove Wesley and Gunn out of the way of the dragon's drooling mouth. There was an odd, crumpled yelp and then the dragon leapt into the sky once more. Battered and shaken, Wesley, Gunn and Lorne scrambled together. All eyes looked skyward.
"Where did it go? I can't see a thing!" Spike shouted.
"Is anyone injured?" Wesley called out. Gunn and Lorne shook their heads. "Good. Let's continue."
Before he could take the first step, Wesley found himself caught in Spike's unyielding grip. "Maybe you didn't notice, Professor, but that thing took Angel."
"I know, Spike. I saw." Weary resignation bled into Wesley's voice. "Let's hope we'll have enough time to do what needs doing before it comes back."
This response was more like the Wesley Spike recognized, the one with grit and steely determination and no patience for unicorns. This was not a time to falter. The stakes were too high to quibble. For the brave, there was only one response possible. Forward. They were going forward. No matter what the cost.
Spike loosened his grip and looked once more into the vacant night. Dragon or no dragon, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. The battle hadn't even rightly started and Angel was gone.
"Let's go." Gunn took a deep breath to steady himself. Lorne nodded his assent. Wesley focused on the unknown threat ahead. Whatever it was, the women were most likely facing it at that very moment.
Spike stood shoulder to shoulder with these found friends, like gunslingers of old, with one certainty ringing in his head. Angel wouldn't pause. Not for a minute. Not for a second. Not for anything. Angel was a bugger that way.
With renewed conviction and urgency, the men walked silently through the open warehouse door.
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