Fic; Bitter Business(1A/?)

[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

In a message dated 7/7/02 2:16:01 AM Pacific Daylight Time, 
mcronin24@xxxxxxxxx writes:


> 
> Glad you're intrigued. How about I come out with it the same day 
> you post the first chapter of Bitter Business.
> 
> ;-)
> 

Okay, you have twenty-four hours, I want to see part two on my desk.  

Oh, and the chapter's a little long, so I'm dividing it into two parts. Part 
1B should be in your mailbox shortly.




Disclaimers;
Joss made Buffy and crew, UPN broadcasts them and Paramount owns them. Disney 
owns the Gargoyle characters.

Rating;
PG for now. But Spike's involved, and he's spoiling for some action, so that 
rating could go up soon.  

Feedback;
Oh you know I want it! JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Author's Note;
This is the Fifth story in my Defenders of the Night story arc. You may want 
to check out the previous chapters; 'A Prelude in Five Parts', 'Along Came a 
Spider', 'Her Little Secret' and 'Encounter'.  

Summary;
Buffy wants to help Willow, and ends up dealing with an old enemy, more 
dangerous than ever.


Defenders of the Night
Bitter Business
By Kirayoshi


"Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and Hell breaths out
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on."
--William Shakespeare
"Hamlet"


James Marsters voice over; "Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Defenders 
of the Night;"

That night, before entering the stone sleep at sunrise, Goliath made a silent 
vow; should he ever encounter this Slayer, or any other Slayer in the future, 
he would do all he could to aid her in her cause. No one should have to 
shoulder such a burden alone.

And as long as there was breath in Goliath's body, the Slayer never would.
--A Prelude in Five Parts

<<>>

Buffy narrowed her eyes as she looked toward the skies where Demona had 
vanished. "You and Xanatos weren't kidding, Goliath," she breathed. "She's 
one mean mother."

"Over a millennium of blaming humanity for her own actions," Goliath answered 
sadly, "has burnt the love out her heart, and now all that is left is the 
hatred. And she will strike again, Buffy, and soon."

"Then I'd better be ready for her," Buffy spoke with quiet determination.

"We will be ready for her," Goliath corrected Buffy. "As long as her threat 
remains, you may count on my assistance."

"Well then," Buffy smiled, as she offered her hand to Goliath, "Welcome to 
the Scooby Gang." Goliath shook Buffy's hand, sealing the pact.

She had a new threat to contend with, but now Buffy also had a new ally.

<<>>

Tara gulped hard, gazing upon the woman who stood before her. Not since she 
encountered the insane Glory had she known such fear in her soul, but she 
kept a stranglehold on that fear. She had to know. "Who-who are you?" she 
stammered.

The older brunette regarded her warmly, with a motherly affection. "I am 
Morgan Lafayette, child. A priestess of the Goddess."  

<<>>

Willow became aware of tears welling in her eyes and trickling down her 
cheek. And while she was saddened by the realization that she had lost her 
love, she did not despair. For she knew with an absolute clarity that it was 
right. She felt a closure she had lacked when Oz had left her. A chapter of 
her life had ended, but a new one was about to begin.

"Goodbye, Tara," she whispered to the night.

<<>>

With his left hand, he reached behind Spike's other ear, and this time, 
produced a small object for Spike to inspect.
Spike's eyes widened as he looked at the small microchip in the magician's 
hand. "You had this lodged in your brain stem for nearly three years, 
haven't you?"

Spike's jaw dropped at the implications. If this was true...

"What do you want?" Spike asked.

"What do I want?" the magician laughed, his ominous chuckle echoing past the 
alley. "I want you to be true to your nature!"  

--Encounter


Chapter One
You're My Best Friend

"Buffy! Willow!" Dawn shouted from the kitchen. "Breakfast!"  

Willow emerged from her bedroom and stepped lightly down the stairs, asking 
"Dawn, you still borrowing my clogs?"

"Uh, try my closet, left-hand side, next to my CD collection," Dawn offered.  
"But first, sit down and eat something."

"Something smells good," Willow announced as she sat at the kitchen counter.  
Dawn was happily monitoring the fry pan, using a pair of tongs to flip 
something over. Willow was relieved to see that Dawn wasn't trying to use 
her fingers for that purpose; in the short time that Willow had been living 
under Buffy's roof, Dawn had developed a reputation for being a dare-devil 
chef. It had taken some conniving on Buffy's part, along with some burnt 
fingertips, to convince Dawn that spatulas were indeed NOT for wimps.

"French waffles," Dawn explained. When Willow flashed her a dubious look, 
Dawn explained; "It's something Janine showed me the last time I slept over 
at her place. They're frozen waffles, dipped in egg mix, and pan fried like 
French toast." Dawn removed the cooked waffle from the pan, transferred it 
to a plate and placed it in front of Willow. The red haired witch noticed 
that Dawn had already set out a stick of margarine and a bottle of pancake 
syrup, and helped herself.

"So," Dawn asked anxiously as Willow sampled her first bite, "what's the 
verdict?"

Willow smiled, saying, "Hey, this is pretty good. There's hope for you yet, 
Iron Chef." Dawn dimpled warmly, enjoying the praise.

"If breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Buffy grumbled as she 
emerged from the shower, wearing a thick terry-cloth robe and patting her 
hair dry with a towel, "why couldn't they give us some incentive to eat it?  
Like say, having it later in the day, when more people are up?"  

"And a good morning to you, Grumpasaurus," Willow greeted her friend as she 
dragged herself down the stairs. Dawn had finished a second waffle, which 
she served to her sister. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg did much to 
silence Buffy's half-asleep mutterings, and one taste of Dawn's creation led 
to Buffy smiling generously. "Good stuff, Dawn. My compliments."

"Thanks, Buffy," Dawn answered as she served her own waffle and joined the 
others at the counter. As Buffy passed her the syrup, Dawn turned to Willow 
and asked, "Oh, I just thought of something. You have Tara's email addy? I 
wanted to invite her over for Thanksgiving. I know it's not your favorite 
holiday, Willow, but I thought that you two would like to be together for the 
long weekend."

"Thanks, Dawn," Willow answered. As Buffy glanced over to her friend, she 
couldn't help but note that her voice was tinged with a gentle sadness all of 
a sudden. "But you won't be able to reach Tara now."

"Oh, is she cramming for midterms?" Dawn quizzed through a mouthful of 
waffle.

"She's not at Berkeley anymore."  

The simplicity of Willow's statement shocked Buffy more than what she said.  
Buffy put down her fork and stared hard at her friend. "Not at Berkeley?  
Did she transfer or something?"

"No," Willow said simply as she poured herself a glass of orange juice, 
"she's just gone now. And we, well, we kinda split up."

Buffy sat slack jawed at Willow's announcement. She instinctively reached 
her hand to Willow's shoulder. "Oh my God, Willow, I'm so sorry. When did 
this happen?"

"It was while you were talking with Mr. Xanatos and Goliath," Willow said in 
a conversational tone that unnerved Buffy. "She contacted me, told me what 
was happening and we said goodbye. No big deal."

"No, Willow," Buffy argued, "this is a big deal. The woman you love just 
left you. Deals don't get any bigger than that. Why didn't you tell me 
sooner?"

"Like I said, Buffy," Willow answered, raising her voice slightly, "it's not 
that big a deal. I'm okay, Buffy. Really." Washing down the last bite of 
her waffle with the remains of her juice glass, Willow grabbed her book bag, 
and headed for the door. "Well, guys, I'm gonna locate my clogs, then I 
gotta go chase my diploma. You need a lift to school, Dawnie?"

"Uh," Dawn started, as shocked as Buffy by Willow's announcement. "No, 
Buffy's taking me. You sure you're okay, Willow?"

"I'm fine," Willow said in a slightly annoyed voice, smiling for their 
benefit. "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. G'bye all." She ducked into 
Dawn's room, emerged quickly with her clogs and rushed out the back door. As 
she closed the door behind her, the latch of the door bolt was the only sound 
to pass through the breakfast nook.  

Buffy's mind raced at a thousand miles a second, attempting to process the 
information of the last few minutes. Tara was gone, and Willow didn't even 
seem to miss her. Something strange was going on, that Buffy was sure of.  
Something that didn't make sense. Something Hellmouthy.

"Dawnie," Buffy asked, "would Janine's folks let you sleep over at her place 
tonight?"

"Well," Dawn answered, "it's a Friday, so no school tomorrow, so they should 
be cool."

"Good," Buffy answered as she reached for the phone. "I'll square things 
with Janice's parents."

Dawn regarded her sister with a thoughtful expression. "You gonna be late 
out tonight?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered quietly. "I'm long overdue to visit an old friend…"

<<>>

"And that's the story," Buffy explained to the man sitting across from her, 
as a young woman with a timid Texas accent offered her a cup of coffee. "I 
know that Willow loves Tara passionately. I mean, when Tara suffered her 
mental loss a few months back, Willow went medieval on Glory. She would do 
anything for Tara. But now she acts like it's nothing. And I tried to call 
Tara at Berkeley, but someone else had moved into her dorm, and her e-mail's 
been disconnected. I contacted the admissions department, and they told me 
that she officially dropped out three days ago. It's like she fell off the 
face of the earth." She sipped her coffee without really tasting it, her 
worry for both Willow and Tara clouding her senses. "I'm sorry," she 
apologized, "I just want to know what happened to Tara."

"Hey," Angel answered as he stood up and strode toward his former love. He 
took her hands in his, offering what comfort his cold hands could provide.  
"If there's anything I can do for you and the gang, just name it and claim 
it. Cordy," he turned to his aide, "open a case-file."

"Right, Boss," Cordy answered as she headed for her desk. "May I assume this 
is pro-bono work?"

"Uh, hey, guys," Buffy interrupted, "if money's an issue, maybe we can work 
out an installment plan or something?" She started to reach inside of her 
purse, but Angel stopped her with a curt wave.

"Don't worry about paying us, Buffy," Angel assured her. "We've got enough 
regular business to get by. We're not hurting here."

"Besides," Cordy added, "friends do for friends, right?"

Buffy glanced at the former cheerleader. "Okay, someone check the attic for 
pods. Cordy's been body-snatched."

Angel chuckled as Cordy booted her computer to set up the case file. "When 
Cordy moved to Los Angeles, she left the Queen C in Sunnydale."

"Maybe Cordy and I could question some of the staff at Berkeley," the shy 
Texan offered. "Find out if they know what happened to Tara. You have a 
picture of her, Miss Summers?"

"Right here," Buffy fished a photo of Tara and Willow in a friendly hug and 
showed it to the girl. "Tara's the blonde. And please, call me Buffy."

"Only if you call me Fred." Buffy glanced sidelong at the woman, who blushed 
prettily. "Short for Winifred," she added.  

"Buffy," Angel asked, "do you know the names of any of Tara's friends on 
campus?"

Buffy thought for a second before answering. "She mentioned something to me 
about the campus Wicca group. It's headed up by a Miss Lafayette, I think."

"That's a good place to start," Angel answered calmly. "Cordy, can you and 
Fred mingle with the students tomorrow, find out about this Wicca group?"

"Sure thing, Boss," Cordy answered, and Fred nodded in agreement.  

"Is there anything else I can do here," Buffy asked, "or should I head back 
to Sunnydale?"

"Well," Angel offered hesitantly, "there is one more place we can check out…"

<<>>

"Chris," the sickly yellowish-skinned gentleman in the sharkskin suit asked 
his bartender, "where's that Seabreeze I asked for?"

"Just a second, Boss," Chris answered as he scanned the shelves behind him.  
"I can't find the grapefruit juice."

Lorne rolled his eyes, before joining Chris behind the bar. "Chris," he 
spoke in calming dulcet tones, "you're new here, so let me explain something 
to you. Y'see, Nature, in her infinite wisdom and variety, has provided us 
with the perfect vessel for the storage, transport and dispensing of 
grapefruit juice." He reached an elegantly manicured hand into the 
mini-fridge under the bar. "It's called…now wait for it…" he withdrew his 
hand, holding the object in question and displayed it to Chris. "A 
grapefruit! You understand now; I abhor canned juice. Now, for the 
cranberry juice, I'll make allowances, because it's damnably difficult to 
juice a cranberry. But it is easy to extract juice from the grapefruit.  
Therefore, as long as you continue to draw a paycheck from me, you will use 
only fresh grapefruit juice. Comprende?"

"Gotcha," a duly chastised Chris answered.  

"Good boy," Lorne answered. "Now, with that spirit in mind, may I expect my 
Seabreeze shortly?"

"Right away," Chris nodded as he picked up a knife to cut the grapefruit.  
Lorne smiled, confident that his bartender understood his instructions, and 
turned his attention to the front door. A familiar and welcome customer had 
just entered Caritas, with an attractive blond guest. This piqued the host's 
interest, and he immediately left to greet them.

"Angel," he announced, his arms wide open as though greeting a long-lost 
beloved relative. "How's the hero business, bro?"

"Same as usual, Lorne," Angel answered. "Still helping the helpless. Oh, 
and this is Buffy Summers. Buffy," he turned to his companion, "this is 
Lorne, the Host here at Caritas."

"Well," Lorne's smile was broad and generous. "I didn't know we were 
entertaining a celebrity tonight. You wouldn't happen to be the famed 
Slayer, would you?"

"That's what my Watcher keeps telling me," Buffy answered. She regarded Lorne 
dubiously; the yellowish complexion and hooklike nose set him apart as a 
demon, and even Xander during his sophomore year at high-school would have 
been embarrassed to own a jacket like the one Lorne was currently wearing.  
On the other hand, his friendly nature, while flamboyant and a trifle 
overbearing, was genuine. Plus, nothing about him tripped her Slayer alarms. 
She decided to trust him, at least until he gave her reason not to.

"A pleasure, milady," Lorne took Buffy's hand and kissed her knuckle.  
Ushering the two into a booth, he sat opposite them as a waitress handed him 
his Seabreeze. Sipping the beverage, he asked Buffy, "Now then, to what does 
my humble establishment owe this honor?"

"A friend of mine's gone missing," Buffy answered. "She's a witch. Angel 
seems to think you might be able to help."

"Well," Lorne hemmed and hawed for a second. "You wouldn't happen to have a 
picture of the girl in question, would you?"

"Right here," she produced the photo she had shown Fred earlier. Lorne 
examined it briefly, then asked, "The blond or the redhead?"

"The blond," Buffy answered.

"Hmm," Lorne mused. "They've both got good taste. I'll keep my eyes and 
ears open, see if any information makes itself available."

"I was wondering," Angel added hesitantly, "whether you might be able to 
provide any special…insight." He held the last word in his teeth for a 
second, providing it with just the right amount of emphasis for Lorne to pick 
up Angel's meaning. The Pylean host nodded.  

"Okay, guys," Buffy glanced between the demon and the vampire. "For the 
benefit of those of us who left our secret decoder rings at home, what're you 
guys talking about?"

Lorne regarded Buffy for half a second, then spoke; "I can see things.  
Special things. Past, present, sometimes future. Maybe I can get a reading 
off of you, see if there's something in your aura that can help you out."

Buffy pursed her lips hesitantly, turning her eyes toward Angel. "Actually," 
he offered, "that might not be a bad idea. His visions have helped me out a 
few times. Especially earlier this year, when I was near the end of my 
rope."

Buffy regarded the gregarious demon warily for a moment, then said, "What the 
Hellmouth? Okay, Lorne," she challenged the host. "What do you see?"

Lorne arched an eyebrow at the Slayer. "Uh, no, Buffy, my insights don't 
work that way. In order for me to 'see' you," he paused slightly, his 
expression suddenly serious, "you must stand exposed to me."

"OKAY!" Buffy shouted suddenly. "That's my cue to leave. It's been a 
pleasure, Banana Boy, but I have to be going now." She grabbed her purse 
hastily, then stopped as Angel and Lorne started to chuckle.

"Please, Buffy," Lorne replied soothingly, "I apologize for my ill-chosen 
words. I didn't mean that you must strip for me. I meant 'stand exposed' in 
a metaphoric sense."

"Sorry, about that," Buffy answered as she returned to her seat. "I had a 
bottle-blond vamp sniffing my underwear drawer last year, so I'm a little 
touchy about that sort of thing."

"Understood, Buffy," Lorne answered. "Trust me, you're not my type. Don't 
get me wrong, for a homo sapiens you're quite dishy, but you don't quite do 
it for me. I'm talking about something else entirely. There's a moment, 
dear Slayer, when your soul stands absolutely naked and exposed to the world. 
The moment when you sing, you stand revealed to everyone who sees you. It 
is that moment when I can properly read your soul."

Buffy took a furtive glance at the lounge, and for the first time noticed the 
small stage that dominated the area. A leathery-skinned demon with a 
microphone in his hand was belting out a slightly off-tempo chorus of Gloria 
Gaynor's "I Will Survive". "That one, for example," Lorne observed as Buffy 
watched the performer, "is secretly gay, and has a passion for Monty Python.  
He just doesn't tell his buddies about it, because he's proud of his fierce 
image."  

Buffy turned away from the odd sight of a singing demon, and back to Lorne.  
"So you're saying that, in order to read me, I have to get up there and sing 
something." She furrowed her brow in thought, and answered, "Okay. You got 
a playlist?"

"Right here," Lorne produced a sheet of paper, and handed it to Buffy. "Just 
pick one you like, go up to the stage and hand it to Lenny at the control 
panel. He'll set you up."

Buffy scanned the list, looking over the song titles. At first nothing stuck 
out or attracted her. "The things I do for Willow," she muttered half to 
herself as she glossed over the list. She found herself thinking about her 
best friend; how she had stood steadfastly by her side through thick and 
thin. And in Sunnydale, she thought sardonically, things can get pretty 
thick and rather thin.  

Glancing back at the list, she noticed one song title, and the band's name.  
She nodded at the title, smiling. "Okay, I got one." She stood up, headed 
for the stage and spoke briefly with the young man at the control panel.

Five minutes later, it was Buffy's turn. She stood on the stage, took the 
microphone in her hands, and looked out at the half-full lounge. A few 
demonic faces peered out from the darkness amid a mostly human audience, but 
none seemed threatening. Angel had earlier told her that Caritas was a 
neutral area, where humans and demons could drink without fear of 
molestation. She closed her eyes, waited for the recording to begin, and 
started to sing;

"Ooh, you make me live!
Whatever this world can do to me,
I got you, you're all I see.
Ooh, you make me live, now honey!
Ooh, you make me live!"

"She has a good set of pipes on her," Lorne commented as Angel watched his 
former lover perform. "Uh, did she die recently?"

"A few months ago," Angel answered, squirming slightly. "Long story."

"Most of the good ones are," Lorne commented. "I keep getting this running 
theme of her sacrificing herself for others. She does that a lot." Angel 
nodded, and went back to listening to Buffy sing.

"You're the best friend that I ever had,
I've been with you such a long time,
You're my sunshine and I want you to know,
This feeling is true,
I really love you.
Ooh, you're my best friend."

"Hmph," Lorne snorted. Angel glanced at him, asking, "Comment?"

"She's in love with her best friend, y'know," Lorne said quietly. "The 
redhead from the photo, Willow, was it?" He snapped his fingers, adding, "I 
know where I saw her; when we got back from Pylea, she showed up in your 
lobby."

"Willow, that's her," Angel answered slowly. "She was telling me about 
Buffy's death."

Lorne looked at his friend. "You don't seem too surprised that Buffy's in 
love with Willow, bro."

"I always sensed something between them," Angel answered sadly. "When I was 
Angelus last time, I was obsessed with hurting Buffy. And the best way to do 
that was to hurt Willow."

"And now," Lorne observed conversationally, "Buffy's going to help find 
Willow's girlfriend. Even if it means losing her chance with Willow. Whatta 
gal!"

"In rain or shine, you're still by my side,
I'm happy at home,
You're my Best Friend.

"So," Angel asked, "any sign that she'll find Tara?"

"Hmm," Lorne pondered Angel's question, as he stared at the singing Slayer.  
"Eventually, she will, when the Powers That Be decide it's time." He said 
nothing more, leaving Angel slightly frustrated. Whenever the PTB were 
mentioned, he tended to chafe slightly. The Powers tended to be vague with 
their desires, and it was beginning to look as though this was not going to 
be an exception.

"Ooh, you make me live!
Whenever this world is cruel to me,
I have you to help me forgive.
Ooh, you make me live, now honey!
Ooh, you make me live."

"Oh," Lorne said suddenly, turning to Angel. "Unrelated side note; I ran 
into one of your old drinking buddies the other day. Tallish, long jacket, 
annoying British accent, slicked back hair, poster child for peroxide 
abuse."

"Spike," Angel fought back the vague anger that he always felt whenever he 
contemplated his grand-Childe. "What was he doing here?"

"A fair to middling impression of Billy Idol, as a matter of fact." Lorne 
sipped his drink again. "I got the impression that he wanted to put some 
serious hurt on Buffy. And that he'd get his chance soon."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Angel answered. "I don't think there's anything 
that Spike can do that Buffy's not ready for."

"Here's hoping," Lorne answered.

"Amen to that."

"You're the first one,
When things get bad,
You know I'll never be lonely.
You're my only one, and I love the things
I really love the things that you do.
Ooh, you're my best friend.

As Buffy neared the end of the song, she imagined that all the faces before 
her, human and demon, had disappeared, leaving behind one face. That of a 
young woman with red hair, a disarming smile, and a core of pure steel. A 
woman whose outward shyness disguised an inner strength that had sustained 
and saved Buffy more times than she could count. A woman who had won Buffy's 
heart from the first moment they met.

A woman named Willow Rosenberg.

I'm happy at home,
Ooh, you're my best friend.
Ooh, you make me live!
Ooh, You're My Best Friend!"