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Buffy stared up at the building. The huge, dark, deserted building. The suddenly incredibly creepy building.

OK, this was getting ridiculous. First the park, now a building that she went into every day...she was turning into the worst kind of coward.

But it wasn’t really the building she was scared of. It was more what she’d find inside the building. For better or for worse, the truth of this whole thing lay inside those filing cabinets.

She took a deep breath. “You can do this, Buffy,” she muttered as she strode up to the building and began to work on the lock on a side door. “If you can survive a gunfight in LA, you can break into a building.”

It only took her a few minutes’ fiddling with the lock before it opened with a soft click. Buffy turned the knob silently and eased herself inside.

For once she was glad that the entire first floor was one big room. If she’d entered a hallway or something, she would have gotten completely lost. As it was, it took her a few minutes to find her desk.

She turned on her desk lamp before slipping behind it and crouching down. She wasn’t really sure where to start, so she just opened the drawer that held files ‘A-H’.

“Auto insurance...no. Automated appliances...no.” Buffy flipped through the files, trying to decide which ones to read. She did have limited snooping time, so she needed to select files that would give her maximum information.

A lot of the files had names: Calendar, Jenny; one that just said ‘Lily’; and one that said...

Buffy frowned. “Giles, Dawn?” she said out loud. They had a file on Dawn? Well, since they had her working the streets for them, that made sense. But since Dawn was definitely part of the not-quite-right-ness of the company, she decided to check out the girl’s file.

The first page was just commonplace statistics: name, birthdate (unknown—Buffy pitied the girl for that), age (approximately 15), and a brief description. The second page was what caught her eye. She blinked twice, unsure that she was really seeing what her weary eyes told her she was.

The page was labeled “Case History.” Was that what they called their child prostitutes? Cases? There was some sick irony in that...

She leaned against the desk and proceeded to peruse the page. It read: Found in alley between Main and Revello April 15th, 2003. Case’s age approximated at13. Both parents found to be dead. Case fostered with Cordelia Chase for six months, then placed in night position with Doublemeat Palace. Case tithe is 5% per year...

Buffy stopped reading. It was too hard to focus on the letters when her head was swimming with complete, utter disbelief.

Where was the child prostitution? Where was the drug sales? Not that she wanted to read a description of Dawn whoring, but what was up with all the good deeds? Dawn was a prostitute...

Wasn’t she?

Buffy tried hard to think back to Dawn’s comments on her job: Taking orders was hard at first, and sometimes the customers are a little snooty, but if I’m extra fast and super nice, I get tips! She’d thought that Dawn was talking about whoring, but she hadn’t been. She’d been talking about carrying food to people’s tables!

They might be lying, but who would lie in classified files? The cop in her knew that what lay in those files was pure, undiluted truth.

But if that was the truth, then what Captain Rayne told her had to be a lie.

No. She set the file aside resolutely and resumed searching. It must be part of their cover business, the one they ran to keep the police off their backs. Either that, or the Captain had made a mistake. He would never deliberately lie.

And yet, in the back of her head, she heard a sneaky little voice say, would a cover business really take in a homeless girl?

She needed more answers than these opaque files could give her. Wait—there was a file she knew would hold the information she needed to prove to herself that this corporation was just as rotten as Captain Rayne and Harmony had said. Almost every day, someone gave her something to file under ‘lap-dancers’. She’d long since stopped taking it at face value; they probably ran strip clubs, but who needed that much data on the entertainment?

Whatever was the big secret about Jenkins’ Employment, she’d be willing to bet it was in that file.

She shoved Dawn’s file back in its place and opened up the next drawer. Itineraries...insurance...labs...lap-dancers!

She pulled out the desired file and lay it on the floor, too eager to see its contents to bother with sitting at the desk. The file was thick, almost too full, just as it had been that afternoon when she’d put that last packet of papers in it. For more than two weeks now she’d been dying to go through it. Now, this was her chance.

With almost trembling fingers, she slowly opened the file, lifted the top packet of papers up to the light, and began to read.

Two minutes later, the papers fell from her numb fingers. One thought and one thought only dominated her mind:

Oh—

My—

God.

At the top of the paper, emblazoned in huge, black letters, were the words: Los Angeles Police Department: Weekly Report.

LAPD. LAP-Dancers.

She feverishly flipped through the report, her eyes taking in fragments of type. Blonde female, approximately five feet tall—formerly LAPD officer—two new stashes uncovered—five clubs in southeastern LA—

The pages flashed by, each one almost exactly like the previous. Information on her, the LAPD, Captain Rayne—it was all there. And though her eyes saw it, her mind refused to believe it.

No, no, no, no, was the mantra running through Buffy’s mind as she slumped down to the floor. It couldn’t be true. All of it had to be lies. It was a trap, they were just putting lies in there because they knew that sooner or later she’d end up snooping, the LAPD couldn’t have crack houses in southeastern LA, they shut down crack houses...

Tears began to stream down her face as she realized—all she’d wanted, all she worked for , was gone. Gone in a pile of papers she knew couldn’t possibly be all lies.

And she, Buffy Summers, ‘one of the good guys’, was lying on the floor, sobbing her heart out, as all that she’d ever worked for, everything she’d devoted her life to, was smashed to bits.

*

Spike gave Willow a call as he made his way to their headquarters. “Hey, Red,” he said, cutting through her rather desperate threats directed at the evil maniac who dared to call her at such a late hour. “We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Problem? What problem? Oh God, is Buffy okay?”

His mind flickered back to that almost-kiss. He winced, inwardly kicking himself for coming on to the enemy. The very hot and definitely shaggable enemy, but the enemy nonetheless. “Um, yeah, she’s doin’ fine. ‘S this ponce who attacked her tonight ‘m worried about.”

“Buffy got attacked? Oh, no!” Spike heard a thump that meant Willow was out of bed and attempting to get dressed. “I’m coming, I’ll be there soon, and then I can, can tell you more about why she got attacked and maybe who did it and—“

“Angel ring a bell? That’s who took a swing at her.”

For a second there was complete silence on the other end, then Willow said, “I’m coming over, Spike. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Spike was surprised, to say the least. Red almost never used that take-charge, serious tone of voice. Generally she was the most timid chit you’d ever find. “’S there something I ought know ‘bout this fellow?”

“Nothing I can tell you over the phone,” was the cryptic reply.

Spike frowned, thoroughly puzzled, but eventually he acquiesced, saying, “Right, then. ‘ll be at headquarters.”

A car motor sounded on the other end. “See you then. And Spike, you should know—“


The line went dead. Spike stared at his cell phone for a minute, completely disgusted with the thing—it could never hold a connection. Sometimes he seriously contemplated just tossing it in the bushes. He hated modern technology.

He slipped through an alley and found himself at a side door into the building. He slipped a key inside and tried to turn the doorknob.

Tried—and failed. He frowned down at it, rattling it none too softly, but still it didn’t move. Did I lock the bloody thing? He stuck his key in and turned it again. This time, the doorknob turned. It had been unlocked when he walked up to it, which meant—

He felt himself grow cold. If the door had been unlocked, then someone was in the building.

When he knew that he was about to face an enemy, he always got much colder, more distant. It was his way of preparing for the physical prowess required for fighting.

Right now, he felt like he had ice running through his veins.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to let even the slightest squeak escape the hinges, and slipped inside. He was about to close the door behind him when he heard something that made him forget entirely about doors.

Someone was crying, sobbing her heart out, more like—Spike could tell that it was definitely a her. And if the lamp on top of the desk was any indicator, they were over by the filing cabinet.

He approached the huge desk slowly, making sure to let his boots tap in order to alert the girl that there was someone else in the huge, mostly dark room. He’d had plenty of experience with this—he couldn’t count the number of child whores he’d approached in much the same fashion as they lay in a dirty alley, crying their hearts out.

“’Lo? Who’s there? You can come out, ‘m not gonna hurt you.”

His only warning was the click of a gun being loaded. A millisecond later, his own pistol was out, pointing directly at his would-be attacker, who in turn was standing and pointing her own weapon.

Buffy and Spike stared into each other’s eyes, shocked hazel meeting wary blue. Guns trained at foreheads trembled in their owner’s hands.

Spike was the first to speak. “Best put that down, luv, ‘fore one of us gets hurt.”

“Too late.” Buffy dropped the gun, only to pick up something else. Spike squinted—neither the moonlight coming through the still-open door nor the weak lamp illuminated the words.

“Having trouble reading it? Let me enlighten you.” Her voice was cold. She held the file up to the light and read in a mocking, heartless voice, “Lap-dancers. That’s what it’s labeled. Funny how I never found that too terribly out of the ordinary. A crime ring would have lap-dancers, wouldn’t they? But this file’s exceptionally thick.”

She paused, flipping through the file in her hands, a mocking smile on her mouth. When she spoke again, her voice was loud and furious. “So I look in it, and guess what? Turns out that lap-dancers is code for the LAPD, which I just happen to belong to!”

Spike licked his lips, frantically trying to come up with something to say. Buffy as his secretary was fiery enough. Buffy as the cop he knew she’d been all along was enough to make him rethink his confrontation idea. “Listen, pet, please, I didn’t—“

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She glared at him, tears in her eyes. “Don’t even start. Are you going to lie to me some more? I know you knew who I was from the beginning. It’s all in here, Spike! You’ve been keeping tabs on me, monitoring where I go, what I do. So tell me—did you know Angel was going to try to kill me? Did you?” She screamed, tears running freely down her face. All Spike could do was watch in horror as her rage and hurt grew.

“Answer me, Goddamn you! What the hell is this? What is any of this?” She grabbed the file and located a page. “Crack houses—brothels—child prostitution—it’s all in LA, Spike. So why was I looking for it here?”

“Wait, Buffy. Please, you don’t understand. We thought—“

”I told you not to tell me!” Suddenly she leapt over the desk, causing the lamp to crash to the floor and illuminate them in moonlight, landing in front of him. She shoved the file in his face. “What answers are in here, huh? Is there something in that stack of papers to tell me why I’ve been working for the bad guys for the past four years? Is there?”

Spike didn’t know what expression was on his face—hell, he didn’t know how he felt inside. All he could do was stand still and stare at the raging woman in front of him. Tears were falling from her face freely, yet she still screamed at him. The hurt in her eyes was breaking his heart.

“Buffy.”

His voice somehow broke through her wrath. She stopped, staring up at him, gasping, trying to control the tears running down her cheeks.

“I thought you knew. I thought you were spyin’ for Rayne and Harmony and that lot. I thought—“

”You thought. Is that all you have to say? Well, what do you think about this?” She shoved him back with all the force she could muster. “Whatever we had, whatever we were, is over!”

She wasn’t just talking about her job, and Spike knew it. “Buffy, wait! Don’t—“

She held up a hand. Such a simple gesture, but it instantly stopped his advance. “Don’t come anywhere near me,” she ordered. Her voice was once again deadly quiet. “You lied to me. You all lied to me.”

He stopped, looking at her closely. She was shaking like a leaf, and though he knew she hadn’t gone completely round the bend yet, she was close. Him pushing would just make her lose that last bit of rationality.

“Please, Buffy, just—“ he began desperately, wanting, no needing to let her know the real truth. He couldn’t let her keep believing that he’d betrayed her, not after what had happened before Angel interrupted.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea: Shut the hell up!” she screamed. “You’re not real. One of this is. It’s all a lie!” She threw the file at him. The papers flew out, fluttering down upon his shoulders and the floor, painting the floor white.

Something in him snapped. He dropped his gentle attitude and stepped toward her menacingly. “Listen here, you idiotic little chit—“

“No! I’m not going to listen! I’m not—I can’t –AUUUGH!” she screamed, before drawing back her arm and punching him.

He reeled back, pain exploding in his head. He could hear her running toward the door. He didn’t want her to leave—knew that if she left, something would be irrevocably changed. She was feeling betrayed, hell she had been betrayed, just not by him. And as he heard the door close, as he was plunged into darkness, he slumped to the ground. The papers that had caused the fallout lay on the cold floor like dirty snow—dirty because of the things written on them, the heinous crimes committed by the people Buffy had trusted and worked for.

Buffy. Oh God, Buffy. Somewhere inside him, he’d known that he would have to tell her someday, but for her to find out like this—it almost broke his heart. She was so innocent, so driven, and he knew that it was breaking her.

And in a moment of clarity, he realized: somewhere along the line, he had developed feelings for her that went far beyond simple lust. And if this night was the end, if she fled from everything in both Sunnydale and LA, he would never be able to survive. She was his, and her pain was hurting him.

He launched to his feet and stumbled toward the closed door. His nose hurt like the devil, but only one thought was in his mind: Gotta find Buffy. Gotta explain, before it’s too late.

A/N: OK, so it’s a little more than 24 hours, but I finally finished the update. Thanx to SoulNyte, Steph, and Shippy for reviewing, you guys are awesome! Oh, and just so you know, Buffy finding out is more of a beginning, not an ending...hint hint ;). Read, review, and I’ll try to post the next chapter tomorrow :)





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