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Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground	By : cousinjean Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2581 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground

by cousinjean

Chapter Ten -- Bed of Lies

RATING: R
PREVIOUSLY: THEY GOT CONNOR!!!

A/N: Title courtesy of Matchbox 20 and fenwic. Let's all thank her for bringing more musical variety into my life. Also, massive thanks to all of my betas, who went above and beyond and worked really fast when I told them I needed it back, like, NOW dammit!

~*~

"Mr. Angel." A uniformed operative
greeted him as he got out of his car, then nodded to
Wes as he exited the passenger side. "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce."
"Report," said Angel, already
scanning the area. The parking lot and surrounding woods were lit up
bright as day with all the
floodlights and the spotlights from the helicopters overhead. His heart sped up
with anticipation and hope when he spotted the motorcycle parked in front. It
matched up with the few eyewitness
descriptions they'd gotten. "Do we have them?"
"No, Sir. We intercepted calls to the
sheriff's office about an hour ago, and within twenty minutes we had the place
locked down and conducted a thorough search. They were already gone."
"Of course they were. Twenty minutes
is too slow. Get there faster next time."
"Yes, Sir. We'll try, Sir."
"What's your name?"
"Wilson."
"Listen to me, Wilson." Folding
his arms, Angel stepped closer, then poked the kid in the chest. "Next time, you'll
do it. Or I'll get people who can."
Wilson swallowed. "Of course,
Sir."
Wes cleared his throat as he joined them.
"What about a perimeter search?"
The guy relaxed a little, clearly relieved to be talking to Wes instead. "We've got ground and air sweeping the area with infrared. If they're nearby, we'll find them."
"Don't bother," said Angel.
"They're long gone by now. Sun's up soon. They know we're on their
tail, so they're not gonna hang out around here hoping they don't get caught."
"Then what do you propose we do?" asked Wes.
Angel ran his hands through his hair and
gave it a frustrated tug. "Tell the teams to fan out and concentrate on the roads. Back roads, highways, whatever. Look for vehicles with
blacked-out or covered-over windows, semis, RVs… anything they could
ride in without being exposed to the sun."
As Angel spoke, Wilson repeated his orders into a walkie-talkie. When he
finished, Wes asked, "What of the victims?"
"We counted nine. The bodies have
already been dealt with. We found one survivor hiding under a desk in the back
office. She's giving her statement now." He pointed to a black van with
the back doors open, where a young, dark-haired
girl sat huddled under a blanket.
"Did you check her?" asked
Angel.
"Found her myself, Sir. Ascertained a pulse, first thing."
"Good work," Wes told him.
"That will be all."
Wilson looked uncertainly at Angel, who nodded and waved
him away.
"I'll speak with the witness,"
said Wes. "Perhaps she'll recall something that will provide a clue as to
where they're headed."
Angel nodded. "I'm gonna have a look
around." As Wes headed over to the van, Angel crossed the parking lot to the bike.  A team had probably gone over it already—they
better have—but he checked anyway, going through every compartment looking for maps, notes,
receipts… anything that might clue him in on their plans. If they had
a plan. But the bike told him nothing, other than that it no longer
served its purpose for some reason. It could just be that they needed cover
from the sun, but Angel wondered if there was more to it as he headed inside.
The scents of blood and piss hit him
as soon as he opened the door, so
strong he didn't need vampire senses to pick it out from the sawdust and
smoke.  No surprise there. Spike had always been wasteful, never caring how
much blood he spilled so long as he got to break things. By the look of
the place, he'd gotten to do
plenty of that.  They were
still bagging the bodies, and the few Angel could see looked like the types to
have put up a hell of a fight.  Broken furniture and shattered
glass littered the bar… it had
been a brawl, all right. Before it turned into a slaughter.
Angel weaved his way through the workers,
stepping over corpses where necessary, and headed over to the billiard room.
Nobody greeted or tried to talk to him—they'd all learned by now that these scenes put him in a mood
where it was best to keep their heads down and stay out of his way. He
paused outside the doorway, an inexplicable feeling of trepidation seeping through him. He sniffed the air but smelled only air. Not even blood; he'd already become acclimated
to it.
Times like these, he almost missed being a
vampire. His demon senses would have told him so much: how
long ago they'd been here… if they were still here, mixed in with the sawdust beneath his feet because a would-be victim got lucky. That would explain
the bike out front. But as it was, his human nose told him nothing, other than
that the place stunk, and he couldn't afford not to assume that they were still
on the move.
Even so, when he found the broken cue
stick he almost dared to hope. Somebody there had known what they were up
against, or had made a good guess. Maybe. It could
just be a coincidence, and the stick got broken accidentally in the fight.
His eyes continued to scan the room,
stopping on the floor right in front of him. It was hard to be sure—too
many pairs of military boots had tromped around in here—but he thought he
could see a faint outline in the sawdust where somebody had lain. He crouched
down for a better look. There were partial boot tracks that didn't match
the military pattern of the others…
and a short trail where something might have been dragged.
"Were any bodies found in here?"
he asked nobody in particular, and got no answer. He turned to see a
young operative frozen in
the middle of zipping up a head, looking at him like a deer caught in traffic.
"Well?"
"Um…" She licked her lips.
"N-no, Mr. Angel. Sir."
Angel stood up and dusted himself off. He wasn't gonna find anything useful in
here. He went back outside, where Wes intercepted him in the parking
lot. "Get anything from the girl?"
Wes nodded. "It was definitely Buffy and Spike. She described them to a T."
"I don't suppose they said where they
were headed next."
"I'm afraid not. But there is
something. She said there were three students here from Stanford, all boys her
own age. She and her friends were supposed to get together with them when her
shift ended. One of the boys is unaccounted for. It could be that he was among
those who got away…"
"But?"
"But, according to her account he had gone to play pool with Buffy. They heard
sounds of a struggle and his friend wanted to go check on him. That's what set Spike off."
Angel nodded. "I found a broken
pool cue in the back room.
Makes a good stake if somebody knows what they're doing. Did the girl see them
leave?"
"No. She ran to the office and hid as
soon as Spike killed his first victim. You don't think someone actually managed
to slay them, do you?"
"Somehow I doubt it."
"As do I." With a sigh, Wes looked out at all the Wolfram
& Hart vehicles surrounding the bar. "If he survived, he could
tell us more. We'll have to watch for missing person reports. She said his name
was Connor, but she didn't catch his last name."
Angel nodded absently, busy contemplating
their next move. Then Wes's words penetrated his consciousness and the bottom
fell out of his world and everything went slow motion as he turned to Wes.
"Where is she?"
Without waiting for an answer, Angel
pushed past Wes and ran to the van. The girl was being led around to the
passenger side. Angel knocked her escort aside and grabbed her by the
shoulders, making her gasp. "What did he look like?"
She just stared at him. She was obviously
still in shock. Bracing himself, Angel summoned as much patience as he could,
which wasn't much, and gave her a slight shake. "Please. Describe him to
me."
"H-his hair was bleached," she
said at last, her voice shaking. "He had an English accent."
"Not him!"
"Ow! You're hurting me!"
Wes reached them. "Angel, what are
you doing? Let her go."
He grabbed Angel's arm, but Angel pushed
him away. He took a deep breath and loosened his grip on the girl.
"The boy," Angel said, keeping his voice calm. "Connor."
She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "I
don't know. I only talked to him a little. He had light brown hair… or maybe
dark blond. I can't remember."
"Try!"
"I said I don't know!"
she cried, bursting into tears.
"That's enough," said Wes.
"No, this is important! I need to
know—"
"Enough,
Angel!" Wes stepped
between them. He looked over at an
operative. "Take her home."
"Wes, you don't understand."
"No, I don't. Perhaps you could
explain it to me."
But Angel only folded his arms and turned
away. He couldn't. Not until he knew for sure. "I need to see
Lilah." He looked back at Wes. "Get her here."
"I can't."
"Damn it, Wes! I don't care about you
fucking her. Just get her here!"
Never breaking his steady gaze, Wes took a
deep breath. "As a matter of fact, I haven't seen
or spoken to her since we left the Hyperion."
"Well good for you. But now would be
a good time to start talking to her."
"I couldn't agree more. But the fact
is that I don't know how to contact Lilah. She always comes to me."
"Great," said Angel.
"Perfect." He turned to the van behind him and slammed his fist
into its side, then clutched it as he doubled over in pain. "Fuck!"
Wes came over to examine his hand, but Angel held him back. "It's
fine."
Wes shoved his hands in his pockets.
"We're not far from San Francisco. Perhaps someone at Wolfram & Hart's branch office will know how to summon her."
Angel mulled this over. "The other
branches are still controlled by the Senior Partners. Do you think anybody there will
cooperate?"
"Possibly, if they
have any ambition to relocate to Los Angeles. At any rate, they won't harm us for asking. Not
without risking the Senior Partners' wrath."
Angel nodded, and shook out his hand.
"Then let's go." He started for the car.
"I don't suppose you want to tell me
what this is all about?"
"No," said Angel. "I really
don't."
***
Spike sighed as he leaned back against
a pallet of kegs. This
was a pretty pickle they were in—waiting out the Angelic Avengers in the
back of a refrigerated beer truck. It was risky, but Angel's crew was about as
predictable as those Initiative bastards, and just as prone to relying too much
on technology and computer-generated senses instead of the five that nature
gave them. Which worked out just fine for him and his, as
computers were much easier to fool. Must've worked,
too. He figured if they were going to be found, it would have happened
by now.
Shame they couldn't have found a more
comfortable hiding place, though. Not that the cold bothered him. Not really.
It was just that he'd become accustomed to warmth. He looked down at Buffy,
curled up at his side. The cold certainly didn't seem to bother her.  Slept like a baby, dead to the world. 'Course, it didn't
much bother their companions, either, who were just plain dead. Least for the time being.
He leaned over and grabbed the truck
driver's watch—still attached to his wrist. Half past sunup. Looked like they'd be there a good long while. Spike glared
at the spot at the back of the trailer where a door into the cab
wasn't.  Would've made
things a hell of a lot easier, that. He might be able to make a run for
it beneath his coat if not
for the fact that it was currently serving as Buffy's pillow. Just as well, he
supposed. Not like he had anything to cover the windows with, anyway, and even
if he did, wouldn't that be a dead giveaway?
Long as he was stuck, he might as well get
some sleep. He slid down and stretched out beside Buffy. As
he draped his arm over her waist, he thought about how nice it was to see her looking so peaceful,
without any of those tiny worry lines that never used to quite disappear, even
in her sleep. He didn't think that it felt strange and
alien for her to be so cold and still, nor did he remember holding her and
feeling her heart beat against his chest until it felt like his own. He didn't
remember being so attuned to her rhythms that he always knew the exact moment
she fell asleep or woke up, no matter how deeply asleep he was at the time.
He didn't think about chilly nights
spent on patrol, with her wearing insensible clothing and bitching about the
cold until he gave up on ignoring her not-so-subtle hints and handed over his coat, only to have her bitch instead about the
cigarette smell. And then pull the coat more tightly around her and breathe in
deep when she thought he wasn't looking.
He didn't miss that Buffy, or mourn her
passing. Why should he? The one before him had all the
brains, beauty and sense of humor, with none of the moral hang-ups. She
expected him to aspire to nothing except new heights of evil. With this Buffy,
he was free to be exactly what he was—a monster. They were finally
equals, a perfectly matched pair.
He didn't miss the way she'd always made
him feel like a man. Not at all.
Spike shifted, unable to get comfortable,
refusing to think about other things as well. Like promises he'd made about
little girls with silken hair and big, blue eyes that looked at him with
complete and utter faith that he would protect them. Who were now in danger
because of him.  From him. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the
ceiling. And stared, and stared, and didn't sleep. And as he didn't sleep, he
continued to not think about the way things used to be.
And he absolutely, positively did not
think about ways to change them back.
***
She was waiting for them in the lobby. "I had a feeling you boys would show up."
"You know why we're here?" asked
Angel.
"I took a wild guess."
Lilah turned toward a conference room. "This
way."
Angel and Wesley both started to follow,
but she cut Wesley off. "Sorry, Lover," she said, placing a hand on
his chest, "this intel's for Angel's ears
only."
"Is that so?" He looked at
Angel, who nodded. Wesley sighed. "Very well."
"Aw. Don't look so glum, chum. Trust
me, it's a boring story." She ran the backs of her fingers along his jaw.
"Besides, I promise to make it up to you later."
Wesley grabbed her wrist and pulled her
hand away, but he said nothing.
Lilah smiled. "Celia!" she
called. The receptionist stood up from her desk and came over to join them. "Show Mr. Wyndham-Pryce around. I'm sure he'd like to
see the archives."
"Actually, I think I'll just wait
here," said Wesley.
"Then get him some tea. Something strong. He's had a long night."
Wesley folded his arms. "I'm
fine."
Lilah shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She turned on her heel and followed Angel into the conference room. Inside, he
stood at the head of the table, arms folded, glowering at her from underneath that thick brow of his.
"What do you want to know?"
"Was my son there?"
"I don't know."
Angel's arms fell to his sides as he
advanced on her. "How could you not know? Part of the deal
was—"
"Was for us to keep tabs on him, not for us
to spy on him twenty-four/seven."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Come on,
Lilah. You really expect me to believe you don't watch every move made by the
human son of two vampires? I'm betting he doesn't take a leak without you knowing about it."
"And you'd be betting wrong."
Lilah seated herself on the edge of the table. "Connor's useless to the
Senior Partners, other than as a tool to keep you in line. The prophecies surrounding him played out years ago, and
even if they didn't, our arrangement rendered them null and void. He's just
another college kid. Really not very interesting, although he
does show some potential. There's been talking of recruiting him when
h—"
"Lilah."
She sighed. "Fine.
Here's what I do know. He's wrapping up his third year at Stanford, so he
was definitely in the neighborhood. Nobody there has seen him or his roommate
since early last night. On the one hand, he's a straight-A
honor student, and that's not something you get to be by hanging out in dive
bars. But on the other, he is in college, and just got through some
particularly tough finals. It's not out of the question that he decided to shake
things up a little, do something unusual to blow off steam."
A muscle twitched in Angel's jaw.
Silently, he pulled out a chair and sank into it. "The whole point
of our deal was to keep him safe. Get him away from vampires and demons
and prophecies… let him be normal. Happy."
"Well, he seemed happy enough. But
he's hardly normal. His super strength has caused him several accidents,
and he's gone to a lot of trouble to hide it."
Angel just stared at the table. Lilah took
in the obvious pain on his face, and rolled her eyes at the sympathy she felt
for him. "Look," she said, leaning over to touch his arm, "if he
was there, there's a chance that his not being normal saved his
life."
Angel glanced at her hand, then pulled away from it. "How much
of a chance?"
She looked down and smoothed her skirt.
"I really don't know."
"Then find out!" he shouted,
springing to his feet. Lilah simply raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed
with his display. He sighed. "Please," he said. "How often do I
say that word to you?"
"Pretty sure that's a first."
"I'll say it again. I'll say it often
as you want. Please, Lilah. Find out if my son is alive."
She stood up and made a show of
considering his request. Then she nodded. "I'll do what I can."
Angel stood there a moment longer, looking
like he wanted to say more, try something else to convince her. Then he simply
nodded, and stalked toward the door.
"Tell Wesley I'll see him
later."
"Tell him yourself," Angel
replied as he walked away.
***
She came to him in the library. He
was making a mental catalogue,
and feeling a bit foolish at his surprise at finding that this branch still had
access to his archives in L.A.
"Thought you wanted to wait downstairs,"
she said, closing the door behind her.
"I did. And when Angel came out, said
he needed to be alone and then left, I waited some more. Eventually I got
hungry. They have a lovely commissary here, you know."
"Actually, I don't. I never visited
this branch when I was alive. And as it turns out, dead girls don't gotta eat."
"That's a shame. Their vegetarian
lasagna is quite tasty." Wesley shut the book he'd been paging through and
set it back on the shelf. "After lunch I waited some more, but when it became apparent
that I'd been ditched, I decided to take you up on that tour." He turned
to look at Lilah, struck anew by her beauty and trying his damnedest not to let
it show. "So did you enjoy watching me sit and stew?"
She grinned brightly at him. "Much as ever."
"I suppose you know what's troubling
Angel."
"I suppose so."
"I don't suppose you're going to tell
me what it is."
"Sorry, Wes."
She crossed the room and draped her arms around his neck. "I'm contractually
obligated to keep that secret."
"So there is a secret,
then."
"Gee," Lilah said, leaning in to
nuzzle his neck, "wonder how I could get you to
stop asking questions." She brushed her lips across his. "I've got a
few ideas," she murmured, and then kissed him in earnest.
Wesley's resolve cracked as his hands
found her hips of their own accord and drew her closer. Even so, he broke off
the kiss. "Lilah, if there's anything I can do to help Angel, I need to
know."
"Then ask him. Doesn't he have a cell
phone?"
"He's turned it off."
She shrugged. "Guess he doesn't want
your help, then." As Wesley frowned, she gave him a look of mock sympathy.
"Aw, try not to take it so hard, Slugger. So Angel's not confiding
everything in you. I'm sure he still loves you best."
"Lilah…"
"Come to think of it, is there
something about you two I should know? 'Cause if he
done gone and broke your heart I don't know if I
really want to be the rebound fling."
Wesley grabbed her arms and shoved her
away. "This is serious."
She rolled her eyes. "I know. You're
always serious these days. Just like you're always all
about Angel."
"That's not true, and you know
it."
"No, I don't. I think I need some
proof." She grabbed his shirt and
tugged him to her. "Come
on, Lover. Angel's off doing
his thing. That leaves me free to do your
thing."
Wesley sighed. Then he took her face in
his hands and crushed his mouth to hers, pouring into it everything he felt but could never say. When at last he
pulled away, Lilah licked her lips and smiled. "That was pretty
convincing."
"I need to know what's wrong with
Angel."
Her face fell. "I told you, Wesley.
I'm con—"
"Contractually
bound, yes. So what? What's the
worst they can do to you for breach of contract? They already sent you to
hell."
Something in her expression darkened, and
for the tiniest fraction of an instant, he thought he saw genuine fear in her
eyes. "They can do worse."
"Have they?"
Her cool fa�ade back in place, she simply
smiled. "Trust me, you don't want to know."
"Yes, I do." He raised a hand to
her cheek. "Tell me, Lilah. What have they done to you?"
Her mask slipped again, revealing a
glimpse of the woman Wesley knew he could have loved. She clasped his
hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. "It's really sweet that
you're up here worrying about me, you know. But that's not what I need from
you."
"Then tell me what you do need."
She lowered his hand, placing it on her
breast. "Just make me feel like part of this world again."
Wesley stared at her, taken aback by the
openness and honesty in her face as her eyes pleaded with him. He knew he had a
mission, but Angel seemed to think it sufficient to put that mission on hold
for personal reasons. And unlike Angel, Lilah clearly needed him right now. To hell with Angel, then. He grabbed her by the waist and
swept her into his arms for a needy, lust-filled kiss that she returned with no
lack of vigor.
Just then, the library door opened.
"Damn, I thought I locked that,"
Lilah muttered as they broke apart.
"Do you mind?" Wesley asked,
turning to see a young woman in professional attire. "We're having a
private meeting."
The girl barely spared them a glance.
"Get a room," she said as she perused the shelves. "I've got a
case to research."
He sighed. "I suppose under the
circumstances that's not such a bad suggestion."
Lilah smiled. "Actually, I already
took the liberty. There's a hotel key waiting for you at the
front desk."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
Wesley asked, grabbing her by the hand and leading her out of the
library.

~*~
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground