The Crypt: Enemy Incognito by Wynn

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.

AN: Please read: There is graphic violence and language in this chapter. Please be cautious if you are squeamish about such things.

Enemy's picked up a new nomination at the Shades of Grey Awards for Best Conventional Drama for Round 8. Many, many thanks to whoever nominated EI.

A huge thank you goes out to SpikeLover7 for her encouragement regarding this chapter and for this entire story. Her support has been invaluable.

Feedback is a wonderful and much appreciated thing.

Chapter Forty-Nine: Mercy is for the Weak

By: Wynn

Lilah waited for the last of Wesley's footsteps to fade before she slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and removed the electronic keycard she had stolen from Quentin Travers' office while he indulged in his fantasy of persecuting the Slayers and their friends. His office safe held all sorts of interesting goodies Lilah would have loved to go through, but the lure of the extraneous blackmail supplies held no permanent sway over her. She was a woman on a mission, albeit Wolfram and Hart's mission and not one of her own devising. Nonetheless, she was still determined to see it through. Especially if she wanted to return to Los Angeles alive and with all of her parts intact and attached to her body. So she grabbed the keycard and the set of brass keys next to it and waited for the chaos to begin.

Luckily, Travers didn't disappoint.

Lilah sighed. Men with their bombs. They were always so preoccupied with blowing shit up. All bang and flash, and no substance and class. But in this instance, Travers' bomb did have its use for Lilah. It made the surveillance system haywire and emptied all the hallways and staircases from prying eyes. Except for Wesley, but one appeal to his chivalric side sent him running.

All in all, perfect conditions for a little espionage and theft.

The steel door loomed before her, grey and imposing in the fluorescent light of the hallway. Behind the twelve inches of metal, and accompanying reinforced concrete walls, was the object of desire for Wolfram and Hart, something the Senior Partners searched the entire world over ever since its existence became known to them. But, appearances to the contrary, the Council of Watchers were no dummies. Not completely. They knew exactly what they possessed, how dangerous it could be if fallen into the wrong hands. Hands like Lilah Morgan's. Hands like Wolfram and Hart's. But in all the confusion caused by Travers' shenanigans, concern for their precious commodity had wavered and a brief window of opportunity for thievery had opened.

Lilah seized the moment. She always did.

She slid the card through the swipe box. The tiny red indicator light flashed a few times before switching to a solid green glow. Lilah smiled as the locks clicked open and returned the keycard to her pocket. Like taking candy from a baby. A middle aged balding baby with a Napoleon complex, but a baby nonetheless. Grasping and twisting the smooth handle, Lilah heaved on the heavy steel, managing to create a foot wide space between wall and door to reveal the dark and stifled interior of an eight by six cell.

Thick bars separated the cell into two sections. One florescent light on the ceiling of the anterior cell section, a sliver of the room, barely spanning two feet in length, was the room's only illumination. Next to the right wall sat a battered wood chair beside another swipe box. Lilah stepped up to the bars; the stale air filling the room tickled her nose and throat. Narrowing her eyes against the glare from the overhead light, she attempted to pierce the gloom at the far end of the cell. At the edge of the halo of light cast by the florescent bulb, Lilah saw the outline of a rickety cot bolted to the floor and a tiny steel sink. Attached to the left wall were a set of iron rings and a connecting thick chain, which disappeared into the blackness cloaking the far end of the cell.

"You're not a Watcher."

Lilah smiled at the raspy voice drifting from the left corner. "No, I'm not a Watcher."

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm a friend."

"I don't recall having any friends. Care to enlighten me as to what your name is? Maybe you'll jog my memory, and I won't have to kill you."

"My name is Lilah Morgan. I'm a representative from Wolfram and Hart."

Lilah could hear the smirk in the seductive, underused voice. "You're a lawyer? How quaint. Lilah Morgan, now that we're such good friends, maybe you can tell me why you're here."

Holding up the keycard and brass keys, Lilah said, "I'm here to release you." Lilah's smile widened at the silence that followed her declaration. "Not quite the response you were expecting."

"Not really, no. But I like surprises. I've received so little of them the past few years."

Lilah nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure the conditions of your stay here at the Council have been appalling. All that can change."

"Only if you release me from my bondage, correct?"

"Something like that."

"And what exactly am I expected to do for you in exchange for my release?"

"Nothing."

A snort of disbelief echoed throughout the cell. "Nothing? Absolutely nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing. My bosses at Wolfram and Hart feel your presence would be better felt out in the world and not locked inside this cell. If you accompany me willingly and without conflict-"

"You mean without me killing you the second you release me from these chains."

A tight smile appeared on Lilah's face. "Yes. As I was saying, there's a car waiting for us a block away. It will take us to a plane destined for Los Angeles. There you'll receive everything you desire, clothing, a fabulous apartment, anything you want, no strings attached."

"There's always a string. Or in my case a chain." There was a pause followed by a faint rattling of the chains. "I don't think I'll be accompanying you, Lilah Morgan. I may be a captive, but I'm not stupid. Nothing comes for free. Ever."

"If I told you that a bomb was scheduled to detonate in three minutes, would you still want to remain in your cell? You'll die in the explosion."

"I don't fear death."

Lilah pursed her lips and resisted the urge to glance down at her watch. Time was ticking, and it was time to pull out the big guns, the one piece of information guaranteed to whet the appetite of the Council captive. "Well, since you've made your decision, I guess I'll be going." Lilah pivoted on her heel and took a step towards the open steel door. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder at the shadows and said, "Since you're determined to remain here, I guess the fact that Los Angeles is only a mere hour away from the current Hellmouth would be of no interest to you whatsoever."

The next few seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow for Lilah. If she failed in her task, she would probably be better off waiting for the bomb to blow than to return to Wolfram and Hart empty handed. The Senior Partners entrusted this task to her personally, and failure was not an option. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine and pooled in the small of her back. Her breath caught in her chest as she began to turn back towards the door. But then a smile broke out across her face as the prime captive of the Watcher's Council stepped into view.

The girl was tall and emaciated from malnourishment. Her skin was toffee brown and long jet black hair stretched down to the middle of her back. She wore a simple grey tunic and pants made of coarse cotton cloth, and her feet were bare. Long, luscious lashes framed vibrant green eyes; an aquiline nose ran down to a bow shaped mouth. The girl grinned and held out her shackled hands towards Lilah.

"Your proposal is an interesting one, Lilah Morgan. You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

A light rain began to fall as Spike escorted a shaking Dawn out of the Watcher's Council. The night sky was hazy with streetlight illuminated clouds, and the stairs connecting the twin front doors to the sidewalk were slick. Simmons' massive van sat half on the street and half on the sidewalk, headlights blazing in the black of the night. Both of its side doors were open and in the vehicle Spike could see four or five huddled Watcher shapes in the back row. Angel's tyke sat in the doorway, head propped up on the doorframe, woolen blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders. On the sidewalk, crouched before Connor, were Angel and Cordelia, heads bent towards one another in discussion.

Connor straightened as he caught sight of Spike and Dawn. He shrugged off the blanket and slipped around Angel before Angel could stop him. He wavered on his feet for a moment but remained upright and met Spike and Dawn halfway to the van. A blue-black bruise colored his temple, and his face and neck were coated with sweat.

He spared Spike a quick look before locking eyes with Dawn. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" Connor turned on Spike and took a step towards him, brown eyes flashing with anger. "What did they do to her?"

Spike cocked an eyebrow at the boy's indignant rage and opened his mouth to reply, but Dawn stepped smoothly between them and laid a hand upon Connor's arm. Her shaking abated, and the tension lodged within her shoulders eased somewhat. "I'm fine. Really. I look worse than I feel."

"You look horrible." Connor blinked. His cheeks flushed as he ducked his head, running a hand through his tangled hair. "I mean... I don't think you look horrible. You just look horrible now. But not, um, you know, usually." He shot Spike a pleading look.

Spike smirked. Apparently a brooding scowl wasn't the only thing Connor inherited from Angel; he also received Angel's penchant for foot in mouth disease. Easing a hand behind both their backs, Spike nudged Dawn and Connor towards the van as he said, "What the boy means Nibblet is that normally you are the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but right now you look a bit worse for the wear and he wants to go pummel the bastards that did this to you."

Dawn rolled her eyes at his translation of Connor's ramblings, and Spike felt some of the panic brewing inside him fade away. If Dawn could summon the patented Summers' eye roll now of all times, when she was bruised and bloodied, she would be alright. She'd bounce back from the horrors bestowed upon her by the Wanker Brigade, a bit tougher, a little less innocent, but still Dawn.

Spike took a deep breath to steady his nerves and resisted the urge to hold on to Dawn for dear life.

They reached the van. Angel replaced the blanket around Connor's shoulders and ushered him into the van, a worried lecture about sudden movements and Council drugs drifting from the dark interior. Cordelia handed Spike a second blanket, which he eased around Dawn, as she said, "Do you want some water, sweetie?"

Dawn nodded. Cordelia made her way to the rear of the van and returned moments later with a chilled bottle of water. She twisted off the top and handed the water to Dawn.

As Dawn took a sip from the bottle her eyes darted back towards the Council's headquarters, lingering on the darkened windows and open front doors. An unreadable expression crossed her face.

"She'll be fine, Dawn. Buffy's a big girl. She knows what she's doing."

Dawn cast a glance at Spike. Her eyes were heavy with melancholy, aching pools of blue like the color of the sky on a winter day, and they were wise beyond her years with hard-won knowledge gained from too much pain, too much sorrow suffered in her short life. "I don't think she does," Dawn whispered. Her voice was hollow in its sadness, tinged with resignation and reluctant acceptance.

Spike felt his heart clench at Dawn's calm reception of Buffy's abandonment. The rage simmering beneath his skin began to boil again, and his own words were tight and clipped with pain as he said, "Into the van, Nibblet. Shouldn't be standing on your feet."

"Alright." Dawn grasped Spike's hand and squeezed it once before turning and climbing into the van. He watched her slide onto the seat beside Connor; she handed Connor the water bottle as she laid her head upon his shoulder.

Grinding his teeth in an attempt to quell the anger swelling inside him, Spike stared at the Council. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Buffy should be here with Dawn, not gallivanting around the sodding Council. What the hell was so bloody important Buffy felt the need to-? Spike broke his silent ravings with a snort. Travers. Quentin fucking Travers. It had to be. She couldn't leave him be, couldn't let him go crawl back under the rock he slithered out from. She had to track him down and fight the good fight, beat the bad guy, be the hero once more. Spike took a step away from the van but halted as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulders.

"Where's Buffy?"

Spike shrugged. He twisted around and looked at Angel. "I don't have a bloody clue. She said she was going after Willow, but the girl can't lie worth a piss. She's probably gone after Travers, thinking she can track him down in that chaos." He shook his head and pushed agitated fingers through his short hair. "I told you, Angel, something was off with her. I told you. And now she's going to get herself killed."

"Maybe she really is going after Willow," Cordelia said. She arched an eyebrow at Spike's glare and held up her hands in a peace gesture. "Well maybe she is. Just because you're a vampire doesn't mean your instincts are always top notch. Angel's frequently wrong."

"I'm not wrong about this, Cordelia."

"I'm not saying you are, Spike. I'm just trying to give Buffy the benefit of the doubt that she wouldn't be stupid enough to do something, well, stupid."

Angel sighed. His gaze locked on something past Spike's shoulder. "Cordy, I think your benefit's misplaced."

Spike turned and saw Giles, Emilia, and Willow helping a black haired young woman down the Council steps. The girl must be Christina, Emilia's daughter; she had the same long, shiny hair and piercing, glowing eyes as Emilia. The quartet reached the van. Spike darted around Giles and Emilia and up to Willow. "Did you see Buffy?"

Willow blinked at his abrupt question. "What?"

"Did you see Buffy? In the building? She told me she was supposed to rescue you. Did you see her?"

"No. I didn't. Giles came and got me and Emilia out of our cell. Then we went for Christina... why? What happened?"

Spike shook his head. He maneuvered around Willow and approached Giles, who was assisting Christina and Emilia into the van. "Rupert."

Mouth tightening, Giles looked at Spike from the corners of his eyes. "Yes?"

"Were you the one that was supposed to rescue Willow?"

"Yes." Giles straightened and turned towards Spike; a faint frown creased the space between his brows as he said, "Why do you ask?"

"Because Buffy told me she was supposed to find me and Dawn and Willow. She took off instead of coming out here with me and Dawn. And now she's off somewhere in the Council doing fuck knows what. Probably trailing after Travers, trying to get one last showdown before everything blows."

"Oh dear Lord." Giles swore. He rubbed a hand across his mouth and jaw as his grey gaze bounced from the Council to Spike then over to Willow. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened with worry, and recrimination laced his voice as he said, "I should have known she would do something this rash. I should have-" He broke off abruptly and shook his head. Locking eyes with Spike, Giles said, "Before everyone divided up, Buffy told us not to come back in the building under any circumstances. She... she told us not to do anything stupid."

"And you let her go off on her own! What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Rupert?"

Eyes flashing with anger, Giles snapped, "Nothing is bloody hell wrong with me, Spike! Why did you let her go off on her own if you knew she would do something like this?"

Angel stepped between the two men, placing palms on their chests and easing them apart. "Everyone just calm down. Fighting won't help anyone right now."

Shoving Angel's hand off his chest, Spike spun on his heels and stalked towards the Council front doors. Emerging from the interior of the building were Faith, Harris, Wesley, and Anya, who was cradled within Faith's arms. A hand clamped onto Spike's arm and forced him to turn back towards the van. He snarled at Giles and yanked his arm from the other man's hand.

"You are not going back in that building, Spike."

"The fuck I am, Rupert."

"Buffy said-"

"Buffy said? Buffy said what she said so she could go get herself killed! So she could play the martyr without feeling any guilt for getting the rest of us killed. You seriously want her to die because of Travers?"

"No, I don't-"

"Neither do I." Spike turned away from Giles and sprinted up the steps leading to the Council. He ignored the shocked gazes of Harris and Faith and continued towards the doors. He was going to track Buffy down and drag her out of this goddamn building if it was the last thing he ever did.

Spike felt another hand latch onto his arm. He growled at the contact and ripped his arm away. "Rup-"

"Spike?"

The rage blanketing Spike's mind fractured, cracked, and dissolved completely at Dawn's tremulous voice. He spun towards her. She stared up at him, blue eyes liquid pools of panic and fear. "Oh, god, Dawn, I didn't know it was you." He reached for her; his hands trembled as he cupped her face. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"N-No. Where... Are you going in there? After her?"

"Dawn-"

She grabbed his arm with both of her hands. Her grip was fierce. "You can't. You can't go back in there."

"Dawn-"

"No! You can't leave me here all alone! What if you don't get out? Then you and Buffy will both die and I'll, I'll, there'll be no one. No one left... Mom's gone... Tara... Buffy..." Her pleas trailed off into rasping, gasping breaths. The fat, crystalline tears pooled in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks, creating pale pink trails through the dried blood on her face. Softly, she said, "You promised. That you wouldn't leave me again without saying goodbye. That you'd protect me. You promised, Spike."

"I-I know, Nibblet. But..."

"Please... Please don't go."

Spike gazed down at Dawn's tear-stained face. Realization swept through him like a swinging sledgehammer, knocking him back down to reality. He was about to do the same thing Buffy did, become so embroiled in his rage that he ignored all else save for the object of his anger, that he cast aside Dawn to indulge in his own roiling emotions. Spike swallowed the rise of nausea in his throat. Buffy chose to stay in the building; he couldn't save her if she didn't want to be saved. Dawn needed him. Buffy didn't. "I won't. I won't go in there." Spike wound his arms around Dawn's shoulders and drew the trembling girl into a desperate, comforting embrace. "I won't leave you."

Dawn nodded against his chest. Spike shifted her in his arms and led them away from the Council towards the van. Harris, Anya, Willow, and Cordelia were already inside the vehicle; Giles, Angel, Faith, and Wesley looked at Spike and Dawn expectantly. Eyes dropping to Dawn's face, Spike murmured, "Everyone get in the van." He laid a kiss on the top of Dawn's head and eased her into Giles' arms. Giles held his gaze for a moment before he nodded and climbed into the van with Dawn.

Spike drew in a deep breath and pressed his fisted hands against his eyes. A couple seconds passed in which he gathered control of his turbulent emotions and then he dropped his hands. His eyes skimmed over the passengers housed within the van. He frowned as he said, "Where's Charles?"

Wesley pointed at the Council. "Inside. Emilia... said he was dead. Travers killed him. She, she also sensed that Buffy was there with him. With Travers."

"Oh." Spike paused. His teeth gnashed his lower lip and he said, "I guess that's everyone then."

Faith took a step towards Spike. "But B's still inside. There's two minutes left."

Spike locked eyes with Angel. A slow tremor coursed through his body as he said, "She made her choice." He stepped into the van, sliding into the first row beside Willow. Angel climbed in beside him, and Faith shut the sliding door. A moment later the passenger door opened and Wesley eased onto the seat, inching over to make room for Faith.

But the passenger door slammed closed. Faith reached through the open window into the van and pulled Wesley towards her, planting a brief, fevered kiss on his lips. She released him as she said to Simmons, "Drive."

And then Faith sprang away from the van and raced towards the open twin doors, her black hair a streaming wave of ebony in the white light of the headlights.

"Faith!" Wesley fumbled for the door handle.

Angel reached around the passenger seat and latched onto Wesley's hands. "Wesley, no. No. You'll never catch her. None of us will."

"Let go of me, Angel!"

"No."

"Simmons," Giles said from the row behind Spike. His voice was tight and strained as he said, "Get us out of here. Now."

Simmons nodded. He shifted the van into reverse and backed into the deserted London street. Spike's eyes fixed onto the headquarters of the Watcher's Council as the van sped away, and he watched the forbidding building fade and melt into the night's shadows.

* * *

"Don't move."

Moving was the farthest thing from Buffy's mind. Her eyes focused on Charles' body, on his sightless eyes staring straight at her, on the scarlet blood staining his chest. The pungent, metallic tang of blood invaded her nostrils, and her stomach clenched in revulsion. She had been too late. Too late to save him from Travers. Like so many others in the past she had been too late to save. Her mom. Jenny. Kendra. She couldn't even stop her own house from blowing up or her sister from being kidnapped. Buffy had had a chance to save Charles though; she heard the confrontation unfold in the office as she pounded down the hallway in search of Travers. But the gun had fired before she could force her way through the door, and Charles was dead.

Another one bites the dust.

A harsh laugh escaped her mouth, one tinged with hysteria and laden with grief. Buffy's eyes slid from Charles to Travers. He was crouched over the body, but his eyes and his gun were fixed on her. Buffy felt her lip curl back in a snarl, and a white hot heat of wrath and hatred shot through her body. Travers straightened and shook his head.

"Don't even think about it, Ms. Summers. You'll be dead before you make it halfway across the room." Travers edged around his desk and slipped a hand beneath the heavy structure. Moments later, it reappeared, clutching a metal briefcase.

"It takes more than one bullet to kill me, Travers. I've been shot before. I stayed alive for a long time, long enough for me to kill you."

Travers regarded her for a few seconds. "Is that why you're here? To kill me?"

"That's about the gist of it, yeah."

Nodding, Travers dropped the gun and fired a shot. A bullet pierced her left thigh, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through Buffy. Her left leg crumpled beneath her, and Buffy quickly shifted her weight to her right.

"As you may have guessed, Ms. Summers, I have no intention of dying today, especially not within the next three minutes. Now step back into the hallway and turn and face the wall."

"Why?" Buffy said through gritted teeth. "So you can shoot me in the back of the head. I don't think so."

Travers sighed. "No. So I can get out of this office without worrying you'll try something foolish. I don't plan on shooting you in the head until after I get out of the building. You see, Ms. Summers, you are my bargaining chip, in case any of your mongrel friends try to interfere in my escape." Travers raised the gun and aimed it at her chest. "However if you refrain from turning and facing the wall, I will kill you and shoot my way out."

Jaw clenched, Buffy eased her way out of the office and into the hallway. As she turned to face the wall, her mind raced with a way to disarm Travers. She couldn't let him leave the building, couldn't let him go so he could hurt more people. She had to stop him. Here and now.

Buffy heard Travers approach the office door. He paused on the threshold. Buffy licked her lips and shifted her stance, moving scant inches away from the wall. She lifted her arms and laced them behind her head. Travers' shoes shuffled across the tiled floor of the hall.

Buffy twisted and kicked with her left leg. She caught Travers in the gut and sent him sailing back into his office. He fired; the shot went wild, smashing into the ceiling and sending a rain of plaster on top of Buffy as she entered the office. Travers crashed into his desk. His briefcase flew from his hands and collided with the wall, where the case popped open and vials of blood and stacks of paper slipped out.

As Travers slid to the floor, dazed and shaken, Buffy limped over to the briefcase. She picked up one of the vials of blood. A printed label with Connor's name and vital statistics was plastered onto the glass tube. Buffy dropped the vial and snatched up another one. This one had Dawn's name on it.

Buffy turned and faced Travers. He gazed at her with bleary eyes laced with desperation. He sucked in strained breaths through undoubtedly broken ribs. Voice cold, Buffy said, "What is this?"

"Buffy-"

Buffy threw the glass tube at Travers. It crashed against the desk next to his head, sending blood and glass shards onto his face and clothing. "What the hell is this?! You took blood from my sister? You, you ran experiments on her?"

"I-"

With a snarl, Buffy threw herself on Travers. His head smacked against the desk, eliciting a groan of pain from his blood speckled lips. Buffy slammed him against the unforgiving surface again. She backhanded him; the sound of breaking cartilage resounded through the room. Grabbing Travers lapels, Buffy hauled him towards her and screamed, "She's a little girl, you sick fuck! Not something to study! Not your property! None of us are your property! We're human beings, not mindless weapons for you to use and abuse! We weren't chosen for you!"

Her vision clouded red and black with anger. She slammed her fist into Travers' face. Once. Twice. Again and again and again until his flesh was a bruised and bloodied mass, all purples and blacks and reds. She raised her fist for another blow, but her arm was grabbed from behind.

"I think you made your point, B."

Buffy pushed off Travers and stood. She snatched her arm from Faith's grasp as she turned to face her sister Slayer. Faith calmly held her furious gaze. Body trembling, Buffy said, "You know what he's done. To me. To you. To all of us these past few months. He deserves to die."

"Fine." Faith lifted her right hand and held Travers' gun before Buffy. "Kill him."

Buffy blinked. Her mouth opened and then closed again. The rage consuming her subsided, leaving behind confusion, sorrow, anger, and pain. "W-What?"

"Kill. Him. If you think he should die, do it and stop fucking around."

"I..."

"Isn't that why you came up here? To kill Travers? Isn't this why you left Spike and Dawn? To come up here and kill the man that hurt them?" Faith shoved the gun into Buffy's bloody hands. Her eyes were flat and her voice was hard as she said, "Then kill him. Become a murderer. Become like me."

"What?"

"You kill him you become me. Straight up, cold blooded murderer. If you can handle that pull the trigger. If not, let's go."

Incredulous, Buffy said, "You want him to get away so he can come after us again? Next time Willow might not be around to save you. Next time he might kill Dawn instead of kidnapping her. And you don't care?"

Faith shook her head. "I don't care." She grabbed Buffy's arm and shoved her around to face Travers. He slumped against the desk, barely conscious. His breath came in wheezing, wet gasps. Tears poured from his eyes, skating down his cheeks and dampening his suit. Buffy could practically smell the fear rolling off him. "I don't care if he comes after us again," Faith hissed into her ear. "This isn't a demon, Buffy. Or some all-powerful super-villain. He's just a fucking old man grasping at straws. He's nobody. He had his shot at us, and he blew it." Faith forced Buffy's arm up and wrapped her fingers around the trigger. "So kill him and put him out of his misery. Stop fucking around and make a choice. Thirty seconds left. Better decide quick."

The gun shook in her hand, and Buffy thought it strange that the gun was shaking at all. Then she realized she was the one who was shaking, trembling, shivering. Her eyes remained fixed on Travers' face for a moment longer. And all of the emotions that had been building and building inside her since the night she stood before her blackened shell of a home wondering if she would be able to get her sister back from this tyrant, all of the emotions careening inside her fragile mind propped up by a plank of righteous fury broke through her, and she bit back a sob.

The gun fell from her slack hand. "I... I can't."

"Fine. Time to fly."

Faith grabbed her hand, and the two Slayers vaulted over Travers, onto his desk, and through the plane glass window with its view of the London night sky. The cool, moist night air rushed past Buffy as she and Faith plummeted to the ground. They crashed onto a metal dumpster; the steel structure buckled and warped from their impact. Buffy tumbled to the ground. She rolled across the slick, glass covered pavement of the alley, and her head smacked against the rough concrete. She was hauled to her feet by Faith, and the two women stumbled down the alley. They made it a couple steps when the Council of Watchers exploded behind them.

The heat wave slammed into Buffy and Faith, ripping them away from each other. Buffy slid across the rough pavement; the flesh of her palms and arms shredded and tore. She screamed as she collided with the wall of the nearby building, and then all was black.

* * *