Broken Wings

[Casi]

Title: Broken Wings (WIP)
Rating: R for violence, sexual situations, and character death
Disclaimer: I own all of this and make loads of money. Oh wait...that was my hopeful voice. Yeah, not mine.
Summary: What if the army of the senior partners was just a warm up for something much more subtle, but a million times worse?
Setting: Immediately after Not Fade Away
Feedback: yes please
Awards: Judge's Choice
Best Original Character Runner Up
Best Work in Progress Runner Up
Best Crossover
Best Original Character
Best Villian



Prologue

Demon carcasses lay in pieces all around them. The alley reeked of death and destruction, not to mention a few less than pleasant smelling creatures. Layer upon layer of demon flesh oozed different colors of blood on the pavement. The blending of hues might have seemed artful, even lovely under normal circumstances. But the decay of hundreds of demons was anything but artistic. The heroes, or what was left of them, stood amidst the chaos and waited tensely, as though the bodies of their foes could yet rise up to strike them down.

The sound of a metal lighter flicking open broke the silence. The amber glow of the flame illuminated a blood smeared face, contorted into the mask of the vampire. Spike growled appreciatively as he lit his cigarette and took a satisfying drag. He held it for a moment before blowing it out slowly, relishing the feel of it.

“Now that was fun.” His voice seemed loud in the darkness and the others flinched. They were beyond the point of exhaustion, and wounds, both large and small, complained bitterly.

Gunn sagged against a dumpster. For a moment, he was grateful that the stink of the garbage covered the choking smell of the demons. At least this stench was something familiar. Something safe. “You call that fun? We’re lucky to be alive.”

“Gunn’s right.” Angel stood stock still, staring down at his fallen enemies. “I’m amazed to be here, to tell you the truth.” He spoke quietly, without emotion. “The senior partners must be losing their touch.”

“Balls. They haven’t lost anything. They just didn’t know what they were up against.” Spike strutted as best he could, the effect being somewhat marred by a rather pronounced limp. Blood dribbled from many other small wounds, leaving a trail behind him. He stood up straight, not wanting to seem quite so much smaller than his sire. He smirked at Angel, blowing smoke in his face. “You don’t mess with the Big Bad. I reckon they’ve learned they’re lesson, they have.”

“Spike, don’t be a fool. This couldn’t be all they had to offer.”

A cool, feminine voice suddenly spoke from the shadows further down the alley. “Couldn’t be all?” Illyria walked calmly out of the darkness to stand beside Angel. With the exception of a rather large gash across one cheek, she seemed relatively unharmed. “They wasted their army. Threw them uselessly at our feet. They are peasants. It demeans me. They have insulted my strength by showing such a meager opposition.”

“Meager opposition?” Gunn stood as best he could, wincing and clutching at his side. “Okay, call me crazy, being the only super-powerly challenged person here, but that was not what I’d call meager opposition. I’d call it a damn good attempt at wiping us out. I mean, we lost Wes, isn’t that enough? And I notice none of you are exactly doing back flips right now.”

Illyria cocked her head to one side. “Back flips. Is that the appropriate thing to do after victory? In the old days, we would eat our enemy’s heart right from their chest.”

“’Ello to the imagery there, Big Blue.” Spike chuckled. “I’d settle for a bottle of tequila and a nice shag right about now, but maybe that’s just me.”

“Shag? What is the meaning of that?”

Spike grinned in a feral way. “Maybe I’ll show you some time.”

“As fascinating as this discussion is,” Angel interrupted, “I think we should really be going. If nothing else, I’d like to get out of the stench for awhile.”

“Party-pooper,” Spike grinned.

“I’m with Angel,” Gunn said, grunting with effort as he moved away from the dumpster. “Besides, I know I can’t handle a second wave right now, so, if it’s coming here, I’d rather be elsewhere.”

Angel nodded. “You have a point. Alright, let’s get moving.”

Limping and stumbling, the four moved slowly down the alley and out towards the main streets. They knew they couldn’t go home. That would be too obvious. But there were always places to hide, and that was what they intended to do for the time being. They all needed time to rest and heal before they went into whatever their next battle would be.

None of them noticed the single shadow on top of the building overlooking the alley. Even if they had looked up, there was no way to tell for sure if the shape was that of a gargoyle, or something more sinister, until it moved. Opening its wings, it glided from building to building, following its prey as quietly as the wind. When they reached the more populated areas of the city, the hunter paused. It now stood a good chance of losing them, as they moved through the crowds. No human bothered to look at the four struggling, bleeding individuals. So much easier for them to pretend not to see, and continue on in their hopelessly normal lives. The creature had no choice but to follow on foot.

It jumped from its perched and floated quietly down into the dark alley beside the building. Lowering into a catlike crouch, the demon grunted with effort, and its wings melted away into the flesh of its back, as though they had never been there. Small horns on the top of its head shrank down until they, too, had completely vanished. Slowly, it stood. With hurried steps, it exited the alley to continue the chase. A light from a street lamp fell, for the briefest moment, on the creature’s figure. She was a young woman, clad in black, from the tips of her toes to the base of her chin. The only skin showing was that of her face and a large diamond on her back, through which her wings had sprouted. Her short brown hair slid forward to hid her eyes as she glanced around, seeking her prey. They had not gone far, and they stank of blood. Her targets in sight, she melted into the limited shadows surrounding the street and followed.

[Casi]

Chapter 1: Lady Death[/u]

The building had seen better days. It was the kind of place even bums steered clear of. The façade had decayed to such an extent that the windows looked like shapeless holes which revealed nothing of the interior. It was to this decrepit building that the four exhausted champions turned their steps.

Gunn balked at the stoop.

“Yo…I don’t know about this. I mean this place looks about two steps from death anyway. What’s to stop the partners from just sucking the whole place into the ground?”

“Nothing,” Angel replied quietly. “But we need a place to stay. I’m hoping they won’t notice us here.”

Spike sniffed the air in a predatory way. “That’ll be easy enough. The whole bloody place smells like three week old piss. If nothing else, that’ll keep all but the most mindless of demons away.” He shook his head. “And even those will have trouble sniffing us out.”

Angel looked down at Gunn. The young man had only been able to go so far before his wounds made it impossible for him to go further. Angel was practically holding him up, and the smell of his blood was thick in the vampire’s nostrils. Gunn would not survive the night without help.

“Spike, take Gunn,” Angel said softly. “I’m going for help.”

Gunn blinked blearily. “There’s no help for it, man. I’m not a fool you know.” He clutched his side in sudden pain and inhaled sharply. “It’s not looking good. Can’t say this is how I pictured it, though. I always thought I’d go out fighting.”

“You will,” Angel said harshly. “But not if you don’t let Spike help you inside, while I go get a doctor.”

“You actually think you can get one into this hovel.” Gunn tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“More than a few of them owe me favors. I’m sure I can find one or two who’ll be willing to help.” Angel shifted Gunn into Spike’s waiting arms. Spike, said nothing, but refused to look at Gunn. He held the man up as though he were a sack of garbage that was best not touched.

“Right, you three get inside. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

Illyria stood mutely in the door way and nodded.

“Pick up some beer or something, huh big guy? We should at least celebrate.” Gunn chuckled a bit, but sagged in Spike’s arms.

“Just hang in there.” Angel touched Gunn’s arm lightly. “We’ve lost enough today.” And with that, he turned and moved swiftly down the street towards the more brightly lit areas of town.

“Right,” Spike said, disdain in his voice. “We sit home and wait like the good little housewives we are.”

“You know that’s not what this is about,” Gunn said quietly.

“Look, you can follow the poofter like blind little kittens if you want to, but I’ve been around long enough to know better.” Spike hauled Gunn roughly up the short steps of the stoop, making him yelp in pain. “Always playen’ the hero. Bloody bastard. If he gets himself killed out there and leaves me to defend your worthless hide in this rat hole…”

“You’ll do what?” Illyria asked calmly. “There is nothing any of us can do now save rest. It would be wise to go inside now.”

“Whatever, Blue. But you can’t tell me the thought of going out like that doesn’t get under your skin.” Spike snarled as he roughly guided Gunn up the last few steps.

“I have no intention of dying.” She turned and walked through the gaping hole that had once been a doorway, and cast her final remark over her shoulder. “And you are already dead, so what is there to fear?”

Finding no way to argue with her, Spike merely growled and followed behind her, supporting Gunn at his side.


* * *

The room at the top of the stairs held a tangible darkness, made all the more menacing by the smell of blood and impending death. It did, however, have several discarded blankets, and other bits of rubbish, which would serve as a much more comfortable deathbed than the hard floors downstairs. Spike lay Gunn down on a makeshift bed of old, moldy blankets. Many of his wounds continued to bleed freely, making shiny puddles which twinkled in the darkness.

In the corner of the room, Spike lit another cigarette.

“Un-uh, man,” Gunn wheezed. “Take that shit outside.

“Then who would be here to hold your hand and say things like ‘Oh, you’re looking fine’ and ‘everything’s gonna be tip top in no time.’” Spike rolled his eyes in the darkness.

“Don’t patronize me. Aren’t you supposed to not smoke around dying people or something?”

“That’s only if they’re on oxygen.” Spike puffed with relish. “The way I figure it, a little more smoke isn’t gonna make any difference, far as you’re concerned.”

“Anyone ever tell you that your bedside manner is terrible?” Gunn attempted to raise his arm, to emphasize his point, but lowered it quickly with a sharp inhalation of pain.

“Not like I’ve had a lotta practice now is it? Most people are me are just…” he shrugged and smiled wickedly, “dead.”

“You’re very comforting.” Gunn breathed deeply through his nose, straining to keep his voice normal. “Just take it outside, will ya?”

“Awwww, you afraid of the Big Bad, are ya?” He leaned over Gunn’s prone form and smirked.

“No! You’re just pissing me off, now get out!” Gunn struck at Spike’s arm feebly.

“Fine by me,” he growled. “I’ll just be disappointed when I don’t get to watch you die.” He jabbed Gunn sharply in the side, causing him to cry out, as stars burst behind his eyes.

Spike slammed the door behind him, leaving Gunn moaning and whimpering in the darkness. Lancing pain ran up and down his side, renewing pains that had begun to diminish ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, Gunn wished he would just die. He could think of nothing in his life worth enduring such pain for. He couldn’t even blame Spike for his hatred. Each attack the vampire made on him was entirely deserved, and he knew it. He closed his eyes, welcoming Death.

A piece of the darkness separated itself from the wall. It moved across the floor with feline grace, radiating power and tension with each quiet step. It crouched over Gunn’s body without disturbing his repose.

Gunn drew in a remarkably calm breath and held it for a moment. Letting it go, he whispered quietly, “Death…”

A deep, yet innately feminine voice spoke close to his ear. “I am here.”

He gasped and opened his yes. A young woman gazed back at him, her face grim. Her eyes shone brightly in the darkness. “I am here for you,” she whispered.

Gunn grunted slightly as he felt a blade punch into his stomach, and let out a strangled grown as she twisted it. So close to death already, blackness gathered around his sight almost instantly. He watched as the figure stood, wiping his blood from her weapon on a bit of refuse from the floor. He smiled, intending to thank her.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Spike strode resolutely into the room.

“Look alive…or, well, as alive as you can. Our fearless leader has returned.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he walked briskly across the room. “Got a doctor and everything.” The vampire froze. The smell of death was even heavier in the room and Spike could see the glow of eyes looking back at him, widened in surprise.

Without warning, the creature attacked. She launched her blade at Spike’s head with amazing accuracy and force. As he moved out of its path, he felt its passage across his cheek. A loud thud resounded through the room as the weapon embedded itself in the wall behind him. In the meantime, the stranger had fled to the window. Spike stared, open mouthed, as wings sprouted from its back. With one backward glance, the creature leapt from the window and escaped.

Almost as an afterthought, Spike leaned over Gunn. He could smell the fresh blood leaking from his gut, and could almost see death stealing over the young man’s features. And yet, still, he clung to life.

“What was it?” Spike asked urgently. He gripped Gunn’s head, forcing him to focus. “What did this?”

Gunn smiled. “Lady Death,” he whispered. His eyes closed and he exhaled. He did not breathe again.

Angel walked in quietly and eyed the tableau in front of him. He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t have much hope for him, but I had thought if he could just hold on until a doctor could get here…” He trailed off and fell silent for a long moment.

“He was stronger than I thought, I’ll give him that,” Spike admitted grudgingly, releasing Gunn’s head and standing with a dissatisfied sigh. “And he might have made it, but it would seem someone had other ideas.”

Angel shook his head, in a confused sort of way. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Spike said, “he didn’t die. He was killed.” Spike sauntered over to the wall, still limping slightly. Even advanced vampire healing could not erase the traces of the battle in so short a time. He stopped just short of the place where the attack’s knife protruded from the wall. Gripping it tightly, he heaved it free of the plaster, and held it up for inspection.

“But who? Was it one of the senior partners’ demons?”

“Dunno,” Spike said, noncommittally. “Barely got a chance to look at it before it was out the window.”

“Wait a minute,” Angel growled. “Are you telling me you weren’t in here? What the hell where you doing?”

“Look, I am not here to play nursemaid to some waste of space backstabber!”

“What are you here for then, Spike? No one forced you to be in this fight. You don’t even care about any of this. I have lost friends tonight, and you’re acting like it’s nothing more than some goddamn inconvenience!” Angel drew in an unnecessary breath to calm himself.

“Well it is a bloody inconvenience, if you ask me. It’s not like he was going to make it anyway.” Spike huffed indignantly, gripping the knife in his hand tightly.

“That’s not the point…” Angel shook his head in frustration and walked slowly to Gunn’s side. He knelt beside the young man’s body. “It just doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I don’t smell even a whiff of demon in here. How could it be possible?”

“I don’t know. I was in here before it even got out, and I couldn’t smell it. But I saw it, just before it jumped out the window.” Spike tossed a glance over his shoulder, expecting Angel to disbelieve him. His sire merely shook his head again.

“Did he say anything?”

“Yeah,” Spikes face took on a confused look. “I asked him what the demon was. He told me it was Lady Death.”

Angel reached out his hand and Spike laid the knife on his palm. He gripped the handle tightly and stared at it for a long quiet moment.

“I guess there really isn’t a place to hide then,” he whispered. “They’ll find us wherever we go.” He sounded defeated. Even desperate. He looked at Gunn’s body, sprawled on the floor and said, almost to himself, “Lady Death…”

[Casi]

Chapter 2: Stolen[/u]


Angel sat alone in a quiet corner of the dark house, brooding in silence. Gunn was dead. Wesley was dead. Lorne was gone forever. Fred was…he still couldn’t think about it. Every thought of the lost young woman he had so haplessly stumbled across filled him with and ache that he couldn’t bear. He had seen too much death in his time. Too many lives had been cut short. He’d seen them wither away, and he’d seen them plucked suddenly from existence before they’d truly had a chance to grow. And too many of those deaths had been his fault. He might not have inflicted the killing wounds, but his friends were dead because of him. He had walked in guilt for so long, Angel was actually surprised that he had room in his soul for more.

He gazed at Spike, dozing fitfully on the floor in the other room. Most of his body was blocked by a defiant section of the crumbling wall, which steadfastly refused to give in to time, but Angel still had a clear view of the younger vampire’s face. He shook his head in despair as he saw what was unmistakably a smile steal across Spike’s features. Whatever his dreams were, he found them pleasant. Angel cursed him silently. His own dreams were steeped in the blood of the innocent, and the knowledge of deeds to dark to ever be truly forgiven, let alone forgotten. For what seemed like the millionth time, Angel wished, secretly, that he could be more like Spike. Always so close to his humanity, Spike had acquired his soul with barely a hitch, as far as an immortal being was concerned. Angel wondered what would have happened, had he retained Liam’s humanity when he was turned. Perhaps he could have grown more. Perhaps the curse would not have been as devastating. Perhaps there would have been no Angelus, no Angel, only himself. Perhaps…

“What will we do with the body?” Illyria’s calm, commanding voice interrupted Angel’s musing. She had entered through a door which lead to what might have once been called a kitchen.

Angel ran a hand through his hair. All semblance of order had left the short black locks, leaving them soft and unruly, and highly annoying. For a moment, Angel scolded himself for becoming distracted by such a meaningless and vain observation, and sighed. There would never be a happy medium for him. Spike’s frivolity would never be attainable. Angel knew he could never let himself accept the darkness. As Liam, maybe he could have, but never as Angel.

“He deserves a proper burial,” Angel responded at length. “We owe him that at least.”

“Do we?” Illyria asked coldly. “What of Wesley? No dirt shall cover his bones. Do you mourn for that?” She sounded bitter, a feeling he knew she had become all too familiar with. In spite of herself, she had come to care for the man who had loved the shell she now wore.

“There is nothing we can do for Wes now,” Angel answered. “But we can still take care of Gunn. I’m in and out of the coroner’s office pretty often…at least…I was…before…” The familiar feeling of guilt rose in Angel’s chest. If he had never accepted the senior partners’ offer, none of this would have happened. He shook his head to clear the fog. “I can call in a favor or two.”

Illyria nodded. A strange burning sensation had crept into her eyes. She rubbed the butt of her hand across them and pulled it back wet. This was an anomaly that she had come to associate with thoughts of Wesley.

“Curse this human body,” she muttered weakly.

“It does have its downfalls,” Angel responded, “but it’s not all bad.”

“One wouldn’t know, watching you,” she said with disdain. “All you know of life is pain…” She paused, searching for words. “You are surrounded by it…suffering, guilt…” She glanced over her shoulder to see Spike lying on the floor, “…jealousy.”

Angel remained silent, there being little to say against his own admitted truth.

After a moment, he looked up at her. “It’s really a shame you never got to meet Fred. She could have taught you more about the joys of life than any of us could. No matter how dark things got, she always found a reason to smile.”

“Wesley loved her. It made him weak.”

“But it also made him strong.”

Illyria nodded, a pensive look on her face. “But not strong enough.”



* * *


Spike twitched fitfully in his sleep. His dreams were not quite as pleasant as his sire supposed, but they were, in a way, no more than Spike expected. Just as he did in his day to day life, he focused on the parts that amused him and let the rest fade into blackness. This was actually one of his favorites.

Like many others, this one centered around a small, blonde woman. She looked at him with sadness in her eyes that spoke of a loneliness he could never know or understand, but that she’d be willing to forget about in the circle of his arms…at least for awhile. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warm body pressed against him, marveling at how such a strong woman could feel so frail.

“Buffy,” he whispered, as a smile flitted across his face. He pressed his nose into her hair and breathed deeply. He expected to smell vanilla, and maybe strawberries from her lip-gloss.

Instead, he smelled sulfur, and fire, and, close at hand, blood. He opened his eyes and found his arms empty. White light shone all around him, and something burned deep inside. Buffy stood beside him, an image of power and beauty…a goddess with tears in her eyes. He reached for her, as he always did. She reached for him in return, and he closed his eyes, waiting to hear the words. Waiting to hear her tell him she loved him.

But the words did not come this time. A shadow fell across his face and his eyes flew open. Black wings enveloped him, blocking out the light. Outside the darkness, Spike saw Buffy, tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks. She mouthed goodbye, and left him to the blackness.

“NO!” he shouted, hoarsely. He tried to go after her, but the black wings closed in on him, and he knew no more.


* * *

Spike awoke with a jerk, thoroughly shaken. That was definitely not how that dream usually ended. For long moments, he stared at the water stained ceiling, taking deep breaths. The regularity of inhaling and exhaling had such a calming effect, and Spike needed that tremendously. The last thing he wanted was for Angel to see him all shaken up by a stupid dream. And that’s all it was, he told himself. A dream and nothing more. Clearly his mind was still reeling from battle, that had to be the reason. Putting his hands over his eyes, he chided himself for being childish.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, you awake in there?” Angel called.

“What’s it to you if I am?” he asked. He felt a tad surlier than normal, but he didn’t care.

“We can’t stay here,” Angel responded, striding into the room. “Whatever that demon was, it could come back. We’ve already stayed too long.”

“You’re the boss,” Spike shrugged and rose slowly to his feet. Though still heavily bruised and limping, he was feeling a lot better. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We’ve gotta get…the body…” Angel paused, clenching his fists. “We’ve gotta get him to the coroner.” He stared at his feet and Spike almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

The three heroes walked carefully up the stairs, feeling the structure sway and shudder with each creaking step. Each one approached the darkened room, lost in their own thoughts.

Angel’s mind once more swam with guilt. He thought back on the battle which he had truly suspected none of them would survive. And yet, here they were. Some of them anyway. In his mind, he saw each blow as it fell, marveled at his own speed, and, in the same moment, cursed himself for not sparing a glance for Gunn. Perhaps he could have spared him in some way. When he expected them all to die, the choice was simple. He was intent on taking out as many of his enemies as possible before he was overrun…before they consumed him. Now that he had survived, he could hardly believe his nearsightedness. He had gotten so desperate as his world began to unravel, he had lost all hope. He had forgotten that there is always a chance…

Illyria, too, kept her own council. She cared not what became of Gunn’s body. She had few feelings regarding the young man one way or the other. What she cared about was staying busy. During the battle, there had been such glorious violence, gallons of blood, and screams which rent the air. While the fighting raged, she had found purpose. Now, in such inactivity, she felt stagnant and alone. Fury and sadness waged war in her breast, and she neither knew, nor cared, who the victor would be. The result would be the same. Emotional turmoil was new to her.

Spike on the other hand…

“God, I loathe hearse detail,” he complained loudly. “I don’t see why we can’t just leave him here.”

Angel froze on the top step. He glared icily over his shoulder at the blonde vampire.

“He was my friend,” he ground out, “and he deserves better.”

“Fine! So we’ll set the place on fire! That’s pretty glamorous, right? And a helluva lot easier.”

Angel gripped the banister so tightly it began to crack in his grasp. He glared at Spike, silently daring him to continue.

“It’s not like it matters, either way.” Spike snorted a short laugh. “You and I both know only too well that a body is just that: a body.” He emphasized the word, watching his sire flinch. “He’s dead. I guarantee he’s not going to care if we leave him here or not.”

The wooden banister splintered in Angel’s hand, and he ripped a piece free. In a blinding fury, he spun to face Spike, hatred in his eyes. With one hand, he grabbed Spike by the throat and slammed him into the wall. The dying building complained bitterly, and the sound of falling rubble echoed in the empty rooms. Angel pressed his makeshift stake to Spike’s chest.

“Give me a reason,” he growled. “I have lost too many friends tonight to deal with you. You, I wouldn’t mind losing. In fact, I’m willing to bet that I’d be happy enough to do a victory dance, so I’m begging you. Give me a reason.”

Spike chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mate. I’ve grown rather attached to this immortal coil. Besides, wouldn’t want to deprive our new beastie of picking us off one by one, now would we?”

The two men eyed each other fiercely for a long moment, waging a silent battle of wills. Slowly and grudgingly, Angel released Spike, a snarl on his lips. With barely suppressed rage, he tossed the stake down the stairs. “Come on,” he said hoarsely, turning his back on the younger vampire. “Let’s get this over with.”

Illyria eyed the two men in silence, not sure where her loyalties lay. On the one hand, Angel had the strength. He was a leader no matter what, and that demanded respect. This respect, she, of course, had refused to give him. The very idea that someone as powerful as her would bow down to a lowly vampire was entirely laughable. But he fought with a dedication and a ferocity that she had been forced to appreciate. She did not respect him…not exactly. But she knew his power and followed his lead.

Spike was Angel’s opposite in every way. He flouted his disregard of Angel’s authority and mocked him openly. He was a loose cannon who could not be trusted. But he had been kind to her. Well…perhaps kind wasn’t the word, but he had accepted her. He treated her as he treated everyone else. The times when he spoke of Fred, he spoke warmly, but without accusation. She hated herself for being softened by it, but the knowledge that at least one person did not look at her as nothing more than the girl’s murderer was a balm to her failing spirits. Even now, he turned smiling eyes on her, as though sharing a private joke at his sire’s expense. Still undecided, she could do nothing but follow them both to the top of the stairs.

The room where they had left Gunn’s body still stank of blood and death, but it had softened as the night crept on. Part of the reason Angel had been secreted away in such a remote corner of the house was that it was one of the few places he could not smell the body of his friend. Now, as he stood in the hallway outside the room, the smell had grown so faint it had practically disappeared, and Angel thanked the Powers that Be for small favors. His task was a dark one, and any small concession was a blessing. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

The room seemed even darker than the hallway. The windows along the far wall let in weak moonlight that failed to pierce the gloom. With his eyes on the floor, Angel took slow steps towards the deathbed of the man he had once trusted and cared for.

“Uhhh….Angel,” Spike called from the doorway. He had halted at the threshold and stood transfixed. Something bordering on concern contorted his face as he watched Angel cross the room.

“Not now, Spike,” Angel responded. His voice cracked slightly, and he shook his head. Slowly, he raised his gaze to see Gunn’s face…and saw only dirty blankets and trash. Gunn’s body was gone. A smear of blood ran from where the body had been to the window, clearly showing just wear Gunn had been taken. Hysteria building in his chest, Angel crossed the room in three loping strides. There was no sign of the body on the concrete below. Gunn was gone, and Angel knew he had no way of finding him again.

[Casi]

Chapter 3: The Girl in Question[/u]


Buffy Summers twitched in her sleep. For nearly a year, her dreams had been dark, filled with screams, death, and a fire that burned her to the soul, though her skin remained cool. In recent months, however, they had at last begun to fade, replaced by more mundane, ordinary things. Her life had taken on a smooth rhythm that she accepted with relish. Now that her life no longer centered on slaying, she was able to at last have the one thing she’d always wanted, but never though she’d have: a normal life. A life filled with sunshine and laughter; with friends, family and love. Love was still fleeing for her, but she pursued it with the whole of her heart, changing men almost as quickly as she changed her shoes. Each new male face she saw held the potential for Earth shattering love, but they always fell short.

Sometimes, late at night, she’d let herself think of him, but not very often. Thoughts of him were too tied up with a mixture of longing, pain, and rejection for her to cope with on a regular basis. When she had heard that he was alive, she very nearly got on the next plane to LA, but the knowledge that Angel was also at the end of that flight brought her to a screeching halt. Instead, she waited. Every night, she waited. To her, every car or motorcycle approaching carried him to her. Every echoing footstep belonged to him. Every time she opened the door, she had expected to see him there. But he hadn’t come. Month after month passed, and still he didn’t come. Not even so much as a phone call…

Now, she spent her nights trying to forget him. She went from man to man, but each wore his face in her mind. Each one whispered to her in that clipped British accent. Each one drove the pain just a little bit deeper, rather than relieving it.

The morning that Buffy awoke with the knowledge that her dreams had finally stopped had been the brightest morning she’d seen in years. The birds had been singing and the flowers bloomed, and she had been so certain that she had finally let go of the past. But she had been wrong.

She moaned low in her throat and clutched her blanket tightly in sweaty hands, her eyes shut tight against the horrors of her dream, though it did no good.

Darkness. She was surrounded by darkness, and could not see which way to go. She knew she had to hurry, but she was hopelessly lost and afraid. In the distance, a male voice howled in pain. Buffy’s head jerked in the direction of the sound and she locked onto it, her face set in a determined scowl. Without hesitation, she set off at a dead run, all the while, feeling impending doom nipping at her heels. In her hear lurked the ever present fear that she would arrive too late. How many times had she failed to save a life simply because she wasn’t fast enough? Too many, her soul answered, and she ran harder. This time, above all others, she knew she had to make it. This was one life she would not lose.

A light twinkled on her left and brought her up short. She spun to face it, dropping instinctively into a fighting crouch. She carried no weapon, but that was hardly a first. For a brief moment, the intense light blinded her, bringing tears to her eyes. Blinking furiously, she focused on the figure before her, and gasped. It was him. Spike stood before her, breathing light into the darkness of her world. He was heavily wounded, on eye almost completely swollen shut by a large, angry looking bruise. He coughed and shook his head.

“Glory never finds out,” he said with conviction.

“Glory…?” she whispered, and then she remembered. Spike had been captured by Glory. She had tortured him endlessly for information, but he had not betrayed her. She shook her head and realized he was still speaking.

“…anything ever happened to Dawn, it’d destroy her. I couldn’t live, her bein’ in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did.”

She bit her lip in despair. Even without a soul, he had loved her enough to do that. She reached her hand out to touch his cheek, but he vanished before her eyes. She sensed movement at her back, and she spun.

“Spike?!” she called. He was before her again, but he was no longer bruised and defeated. He was resplendent in black leather, a sneer on his lips.

“Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood…” He reached a hand up and clutched his chest. “Blood, screaming inside to work its will.”

She closed her eyes and felt him move behind her. Distantly, she heard another cry of pain. In her hear, she knew it was his voice, but there was nothing she could do for him now. She felt his arms circle around her waist, and she leaned gratefully back against him. His chest rose behind her, and she knew he was inhaling her scent, as he had so many times before.

“You listen to me. I’ve been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine, and done things I prefer you didn’t.” She’d heard the words a million times in her mind, but they hadn’t lost their punch. “I’m not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it’s not because I want you or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me.” A tear rolled slowly down Buffy’s cheek. “I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy.”

“I love you,” she whispered quietly.

“No, you don’t. But thanks for saying it.” Spike’s voice was close to her ear. Slowly, she turned her face towards him, her lips open in anticipation.

Something sharp suddenly poked her in the back. Hard. She heard Spike grunt. Looking down, she was his hands on her stomach turn swiftly into ash and fall away. Shock seized her body, making her gasp a great lungful of ash. With horror, she realized she was breathing all that was left of him, and she nearly heaved. She whirled around, nearly loosing her balance.

A fey looking woman with deep brown eyes, the color of wet earth, stared back. Black wings unfolded from her back and she tossed the stake she held at Buffy’s feet. The girl crouched low and sprang into the air, disappearing into the blackness, her silent laughter echoing in Buffy’s mind.


* * *


“Buffy, are you okay?”

Buffy opened her eyes wide and tried to calm her breathing. S he was making loud gasping noises and she had ripped her sheets nearly into shreds. Andrew stood in the doorway, a robe draped around his slender frame and a look of concern on his face. He had awakened to the sound of crying in the room next to his and come immediately to investigate. He had been truly relieved when Buffy’s sleep had returned to normal, but he remained a light sleeper, always half listening for the sounds of distress. At long last, it had seemed that Buffy was on the path to recovery. She had tried for so long to fool them, but her friends looked at her and saw the pain barely hidden behind her smiles and witty remarks.

For long moments, Buffy stared blindly at the ceiling. She could still feel his hands around her waist…could still hear the mocking laughter. Slowly, the real world swam back into focus. She traced the curves of the crown molding with her eyes, and took long, deep breaths, attempting to calm her nerves. As she had done so many times while in Sunnydale, she looked into her mind, and wondered what the dream meant. Had it been prophetic, or was it simply her subconscious driving one more dagger into her heart? She hoped it was the latter, but knew better than to leave things to chance.

“I need you to look after Dawn,” she said, with only the slightest quaver in her voice. Carefully, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Andrew, true to his nature, nodded obediently.

“Any idea when you’ll be back?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not sure,” she responded, rising from her bed and turning on her bedside lamp. Her bare feet padded softly across the floor to her closet. She knelt and looked back at him over her shoulder. “It could be awhile,” she said, reaching in to the closet. With a grunt, she pulled out a familiar and well used suitcase. She flipped it open and began tossing cloths hastily into the dark bag.

Andrew crossed the room and sat cross legged on the floor, attempting to make some order of Buffy’s clothing. “They’re all going to be wrinkled if you do it that way,” he grumbled to himself, folding a frothy pink tank top. “I notice you’re not packing any of your warm…or modest clothing…” He placed another tank top carefully into the suitcase. “Does this mean you’re going to…”

“L.A.” she cut him off as she pulled a shirt over the sports bra she had been sleeping in. “Yeah.” For a moment, she contemplated putting on real pants, but decided she’d be more comfortable in her pajamas on the plane.

“It’s about time!” Andrew instantly regretted his scolding remark as Buffy spun and pierced him with a challenging glare. But gone were the days when he would have meekly backed down. With barely a falter, he continued. “We all expected you to go a long time ago.” He returned to folding her cloths, trying very hard not to look at her. “I mean, come on Buffy, when I told you he was alive, you cried for like an hour. But you didn’t go, and we thought maybe you just weren’t ready. But he was here! Barely three weeks ago, he was here. I told you, and what did you do? You grabbed on of your boy toys and ran.” A last, he looked up at her, exasperation clear on his face. “Why haven’t you gone to him?”

Buffy’s silence spoke volumes. Tears, which she would never shed outside of dreams, crowded in the corners of her eyes as she dropped her gaze to the floor. Andrew stood and moved swiftly to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my busi…”

“I was afraid,” she interrupted, and jerked her head suddenly up to face him, something similar to her old uncertainties flickering across her face. “I was afraid that I would see him, and I would know…”

“That he didn’t love you anymore?” Andrew studied her face and saw her fear and her loneliness painfully exposed, and knew he was right. Gently, he drew her into a light embrace.

A slight sniffle built in Buffy’s nose as she fought desperately for control of her emotions. “When exactly did you become so smart?” She held on tight to the boy that had slowly, almost against her will, become a good friend, almost as integral to her life as Xander and Willow.

“I’m not smart. If I was, I would have made you get on that plane long before now.” He pushed her away slightly and smiled down on her, brushing an errant strand of hair way from her eyes. With a suppressed laugh, he pushed her back in the direction of her closet. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get packing. I’ll make some coffee.” And without a backwards glance, he turned and left the room.

Buffy stood in the semi-darkness, staring at the floor and pondering the massive changes Andrew had gone through in the short time she had really known him He had been such a confused young man, but now he lived his life to the fullest. He changed partners almost as much as Buffy did. The difference was that he chose to live that way. Every night, he had a different man or woman on his arm, making limitless connections, but never a commitment. And, most importantly, he was happy. Perhaps now, she thought, she was at last making the right choice. The one that would give her that happiness. With a smile, she returned to her packing.


* * *


As Buffy finally descended the stairs into the living room of her large apartment, she found a welcoming committee waiting. Sitting on the couch, Dawn and Andrew watched the sun slowly creeping over the horizon through the enormous bay windows. And beside them…

“Willow!” Buffy dropped her bad with a loud crash and ran to embrace the red headed woman. “I thought you were still in England with Giles!”

“I was!” Willow chuckled as she returned her friends tight hug.

Dawn laughed loudly behind them. “Willow, show her your new trick! It is soooo cool.”

Willows face fell. “Oh, I don’t think I can, Dawnie. It takes a lot out of me. And that was a pretty big trip I just made.” Buffy gave her a questioning look, and she smiled. “I’ve been studying teleportation.”

Buffy stared at her, open mouthed, which only evoked another peel of laughter from the others in the room. Regaining her composure, she fixed Willow with a commanding gaze. “And you just, what…happened to show up just as I’m leaving?”

“That would be my doing,” Andrew said guiltily, rising from his seat. “I called everyone actually.”

“We’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” Willow said, confidentially.

“Seems like everyone was expecting this but me,” Buffy mumbled, feeling exceptionally uncomfortable and foolish. Quickly, her mismatched family moved around her. The familiar feeling of having them close at hand was like a drug. She missed them so much, what with all the traveling they did. She hadn’t even seen Xander in months.

“This is something you need to do, Buffy,” Willow said firmly. “You must go to him.” She smiled. “And I’m going with you, to make sure it happens.”

“But you can’t! I mean, I really shouldn’t even be going. There’s so much we should each be doing…” She trailed off lamely, looking rather cornered.

Dawn, with a slight hug, pierced her sister with a glare that said quite clearly that she better not be thinking of backing out. “I already called the airport. Your flight leaves in two hours, so I suggest you hurry if you want to make it through security.” She hugged her tighter, and then, with an air of disdain, “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

[Casi]

Chapter 4: A Face to Remember[/u]


Spike paced his room like a restless lion. Three days had passed since Gunn died and, despite Angel’s better judgment, they had moved into much nicer lodgings. They now resided in a comfortable penthouse in a building owned by one of Angel’s long time associates. Spike’s argument had been that if he was going to die in his sleep, he at least wanted to be in a comfortable bed. It seemed pretty obvious to him that they would be found wherever they went, so why should they bother hiding?

Angel spent most of his time sitting in the corner of the living room in a moody silence. Spike wouldn’t have cared had it not been so amusing to act as though he did. The easiest way to get Angel all riled up was to intrude on his personal time. IT had always been that way and probably always would be. The only entertainment Spike had found for himself during the long days trapped inside was asking inane questions and seeing just how much he could get away with before Angel stormed off in a very childlike rage. His sire could always be counted on for a quick laugh.

Not today though. Today, at the first sign of Spike’s presence in the room, he had grabbed a newly carved stake and come right for him. Spike wasn’t a fool, though Angel frequently called him one. He had wisely decided to spend the rest of the day in his bedroom, bored to tears.

He glanced at the bed half-heartedly. He was tired and he knew he should sleep. But his dreams had been somewhat less than restful of late, so he had begun to avoid sleep as much as possible. With a sigh, he threw himself onto the bed in angry defiance, hoping to at least give his body some rest, if not his mind. Reluctantly, he began to examine his latest dream. As always, Buffy had played a major roll. But there had also been another woman, one who was becoming a more frequent star of his dreams. HE could never see her face, but the image of large, black wings and small, curved horns told him that this was the beast that hunted them. How he knew she was female, he could not tell, as he never got a good enough look to be sure. But something about the way she moved banished all doubt as to her sexuality. The idea that such a gracefully feminine creature hunted him sent chills down his spine, and Spike cursed himself for being overly poetic. The trouble was, he was more afraid of this girl than he like do to admit. Perhaps it was because of the dreams, or maybe it was something else. He couldn’t be sure. He only knew that this fight, which had to come sooner or later, was one he whole heartedly wished he could avoid.

Slowly, without his knowledge or consent, Spike fell into a light doze. If conscious thought had been possible, he would have thanked the powers that the dreams did not come. Instead, his body and his mind gave themselves over, gratefully, to some much needed rest.



* * *


At first, Spike thought the dream had at last returned. The Sun had set, but the darkness of his room seemed like a living thing. T he smell of a woman was close at hand, and he rolled slowly over.

“Buffy…” he whispered, and reached out for her.

Something sharp plunged into his chest. He grunted in shock and his eyes flew wide with surprise. The woman before him held a stake in her hand, and she kept it steady, embedded in his chest, mere inches from his heart. The curtains fluttered around the window, exposing her point of entrance.

“Who are you, that speaks the name of the slayer as though she were your lover? You are a vampire…” Her voice was oddly deep, and yet still with that unique femininity that made who and what she was undeniable. She moved her face closer to his and she was illuminated by a streak of moonlight that had come through the window.

Spike gasped. This was the creature that haunted his dreams? She looked to be barely out of her teens, with large, luminescent eyes and pale skin. Her high cheekbones cast soft angles around her face, framing a heart shaped mouth that seemed just a tad too large for her face. The poetic side of him wondered what her smile was like. She was dressed from head to toe in tight black fabric, making her part of the shadows. She looked like a weapon freshly drawn from it’s sheath. Gone were the wings and horns. All that remained was that mockingly innocent face, shadowed by her short fall of hair.

“Answer my question,” she whispered softly. “It won’t save your life, but it will prolong your death. How do you know the slayer? Is she near?” There was an urgency in her voice that confused Spike, and he supposed he probably knew its cause. If the slayer was in town, her job would be a lot harder, particularly since he had a connection with her.

But Buffy wasn’t there. She was in Rome and likely to stay there. As far as Spike was concerned, she might as well have been in another dimension. His face darkened as he struggled to keep his pain from showing on his face. As his attacker chuckled in an obscenely musical way, he knew he had failed.

“So that way goes the game. They told me she might become an issue, but they did not tell me why. Now I understand.” She leaned close to Spike’s ear, her weight forcing the stake a fraction closer to his heart. Seductively, she whispered, “You were her plaything.”

Spike’s face shifted instantly as he willingly let his demon side spring forth. Before her voice had died away, Spike had grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders and shoved with all his strength. Her bent position had weakened her stance and she toppled off the bed with a significant lack of grace. Spike plucked the stake from his chest and bounded after her, snarling as he landing on top of her small frame. Using his superior weight, he slammed her into the floor and held her there.

“I may have been her plaything,” he growled, “but I’ll be dammed if I’ll let some pathetic little girl mock me for it.” Rising up slightly, he sneered. “Hey, Angel!” he called. “Come and have a look at our big scary demon!”

With a guttural war cry, the girl slammed her knee into Spike’s unprotected groin. He cried out in sudden pain and toppled over. The stake he held skittered away and under the bed, useless to either of them. She straddled him across the stomach and dug a finger into the wound in his chest, making him yowl in pain and grab wildly at her hand.

“The others won’t come. Do you think I am a fool?” she asked with surprising calmness. “I came for the weakest when the others were not here to protect it.”

Spike swung his fist wildly and felt it connect with soft flesh and bone. The girl grunted and wobbled, loosing her grip on his chest, but staying firm. The pain cleared slightly and he looked up at her. His punch had landed hard on the side of her face. And angry red welt was already rising high on her cheek and he could tell that, if nothing else, she would have one hell of a black eye. The difference, now, was that she looked angry. She punched him in the face with her right hand. And then again. And again. Blow after blow rained down on him, until his face felt as though it had been smashed, and put back together with shards of broken class rubbed between the joints. His attacker’s fist was coated in blood, both in sprays, and in dense patches where her knuckles had split, to mingle her own blood with his. He fell out of his demon face with a snarl of pain and defeat.

Her weight left his body and he floundered to find purchase on the floor, so that he could rise. He felt her fingers slide into the longer hair on the back of his head and yank. Adding insult to injury, she dragged him across the floor to where a small chair sat beside the door. With one swift kick, she broke the front leg and reached down to retrieve it. With a smirk, she looked down at him.

“I’ll send the lady your ashes and my condolences.”

His fist came up and slammed into her stomach before she could strike, knocking the wind out of her. He clambered up her slight frame and gripped her by the light fabric of her garment. His face was turning black and blue all over, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. With a growl, he head butted her fiercely.

The girl dropped to her knees, clutching her forehead. Spike reared back and kicked her in the face, sending her flying across the room. He chuckled, evilly.

“Now this is what I’ve been waiting for,” he said, oddly confident. “A big, no hold barred fight.” He took a few steps towards her, but stayed safely out of range. “What I don’t get though, luv, is how you managed to peg me as the weakest link” In a sudden move, he lunged at her, gripping her throat tightly, cutting of her air. She clawed at his hand, drawing blood, but doing nothing to loosen his grip as she gasped futilely. “Please, do tell.” He smiled wickedly and loosened his grip just enough for her to speak.

“Of the four of you,” she croaked, “I went for the easiest first. The human was already dead, I just helped him accept it.” She gasped hoarsely for more air. “Then there was you. A vampire, nothing more. And after that, Illyria, a force that has been feared for time out of mind.” A cough closed her throat and darkness crowded around her sight. “Lastly, your leader, and my prime target.”

Spike sputtered in outrage. “I rank that far below the poof?!”

In his sudden distraction, his hold on her throat loosened just enough for her to wrench his hand away from her. She scrambled a safe distance away and sat, gasping for breath, as Spike attempted to focus on what was really important.

“You work for the senior partners then?”

The girl looked up at him, looking suddenly a lot less like a dangerous enemy, and more like a scared young woman. Some small part of him softened at that look, and went out to the poor girl. He moved slowly closer to her, wincing as small injuries made themselves felt.

“You do, don’t you?”

She looked at him pleadingly, but said nothing. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Seemingly defeated, she lowered her eyes, a slight sobbing sound coming from her throat. Spike sauntered closer to her. Now he understood. The girl was as much a prisoner as they had been. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder.

With shocking speed, she brought her fist backwards and slammed it straight into his temple. He collapsed sideways with a howl of pain and the girl made good her escape. She stopped just short of the window and paused. With a grunt of effort, the black wings erupted from the bared diamond on her back, and small, curved horns sprouted from her head. With a final, somewhat defiant growl, she leapt out the window and disappeared.


* * *


Angel returned a short time later, carrying several shopping bags. The smell of the blood he carried in them was taunting, but he hadn’t really been able to force himself to eat for some time. He considered each hunger pain to be penance for his serious lack of judgment. Besides, the pain of hunger was easier than the pain of loss. Matters weren’t helped any by the fact that Spike steadfastly refused to accept his own share of the responsibility. And, Angel couldn’t help but think bitterly, his own share of the guilt. If Spike had stayed in the room with Gunn, like any sane person would, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If nothing else, maybe they would at least know a little bit more about the thing that hunted them.

Angel struggled through the doorway, turning sideways to squeeze his bulk along with the bags he carried through the narrow space. He grunted from the effort, and from an overload of frustration.

“Anyone here?” he called in exasperation. “I could use a little help!”

No answer came and Angel made a mental note that this was one more example of how he was tired of playing the beaten down father role. Carefully, he set down his load in the small kitchenette, and stood up, stretching his back as he did so. Only then did he catch the smell.

It came from the room Spike had claimed as his own and it was, unmistakably, the smell of blood. Angel’s mind reeled and he realized the smell of the pig’s blood must have blocked it out. If the room smelled of blood, and Spike had not answered when he called... Angel felt sure he would know if Spike were dead. Surely he’d be able to smell the ash. But he wasn’t sure. With great trepidation, he moved through the cluttered living area towards the closed door.

“Spike?” he called hesitantly. The sound of movement reached his ears followed by a low moan.

Angel was surprised by the feeling of relief that rushed through him. He searched his feelings for a moment, questioning his own sanity. In his heart of hearts, Angel still loathed Spike wholly and completely. But he knew, very suddenly, that he didn’t want to see Spike die. Some part of him had come to grudgingly respect the changes in the other man, and, though he hated to admit it, he had grown accustomed to having Spike in his life again. With a shake of his head, he opened the door and stepped inside.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness as he attempted to focus on Spike’s prone form. The blond vampire lay in a heap on the floor, nearly curled into the corner. He bled profusely from several small wounds. The fact that they still oozed sluggishly spoke of just how recently they had been inflicted. Angel took an unsteady step into the darkness.

Spikes eyes opened blearily. He gazed at Angel through his right, as it was the only eye that could completely open. The left was swollen nearly shut and had turned a disgustingly unhealthy shade, which matched most of the rest of his face.

“Oh…i’ss you, is it?” he slurred. “Come to take an easy shot at me? Kick me while I’m down?”

Angel’s annoyance returned, and he crossed the room in two large strides. He grabbed onto Spike’s shoulders and heaved him up, making the smaller man breath in sharply pain raced through him. No,” he said with a grunt. “I’ll help you if you can manage to just…not…be yourself for the next ten minutes.”

With shuffling feet, the two men moved into the living room. Darkness had hidden most of the bruises, but now they stood out lividly in the bright lamp light. He looked as if he had been beaten repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

“So, let me guess,” Angel said as he retreated to the kitchenette for on of the blood containers. “You got a visit from the smack down fairy?” He tossed the package to Spike, who bit into it with relish. After a few noisy gulps, he took a shuddering breathe and sank, gratefully, onto the couch.

“Very funny,” he said dryly.

“So, it’s our newest stalker, then.” Angel sank down onto the couch beside Spike and sighed. “It’s nice to see you walked away from the fight.”

“Nice?” Spike snorted. “Angelus, I’m touched! You do care.” He clutched his chest in mock feeling.

“What kind of demon is it, then?” Angel asked vehemently.

“S’not a demon,” he answered, seriously.

Angel stared at him blankly for a long moment. “But I thought you said…”

“She’s a half demon. That’s why we couldn’t smell her coming. She smells too much like a human.” He took another gulp of blood.

“She could be anyone then…” Angel said with concern. “We’d never even know.”

“Oh no,” Spike said, with a slight chuckle. “This bird…I won’t be forgetting her any time soon. And she will come for us again, that much is for bloody certain.”

“Illyria is out there right now... We should find her.”

Spike shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about Blue. She can take care of herself. ‘Sides, I gave our little girl a run for her money tonight. She’ll need to rest for awhile before she comes at us again.


* * *


The darkness breathed. It watched her. It was angry.

The girl knelt in a small circle of light amidst the utter blackness. The left side of her face carried an ugly bruise which crept around her eye and made vision difficult. Purple hand prints encircled her throat where the vampire had choked her. Her wings drooped with fatigue, but she was too proud to draw them in. And besides, she lacked the energy it required. Shakily, she utilized all her remaining strength to keep her knee from giving out and spilling her onto the floor.

“You failed,” a deep guttural voice intoned, echoing in the darkness and seeming to come from everywhere at once.

“I am delayed only,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.

“Failure is not an option. You have never been defeated before.”

“I was foolish. I underestimated my target’s strength. Next time I will be prepared.” She trembled slightly, trying hard not to let it show.

“You expect us to let you continue?” There was mocking in the voice, and she knew they were baiting her. Steadfastly, she remained silent, staring straight ahead, her head lowered in a subservient position. Long moments passed in silence.

“Very well,” the voiced boomed. It sounded slightly amused. “Complete your task and you shall earn our mercy. You must make haste. Already the slayer draws dangerously close. We feel her presence coming nearer. Make haste, or feel our wrath!” The light went out and the voice withdrew. They had left her on her own once more.

[Casi]

Chapter 5: Reunion[/u]


Buffy waited impatiently at the luggage carousel. She had always hated the LAX airport, with its idiotic arrangement. Ordered chaos was not on idea that Buffy thought was particularly effective. People milled around aimlessly, picking up bags that weren’t theirs, and tossing them back with little regard as to what might have been in them. She watched carefully for her and Willow’s bags, silently urging the witch to hurry back. She had stolen off into a darkened terminal which had been closed for construction so that she could do a quick locator spell. They couldn’t be sure that either Spike or Angel would be at the Wolfram and Hart offices, and both had felt uneasy about going into that building if they didn’t have to.

At long last, she saw their bags approaching. She sighed with relief, thanking god that they had not been lost. For someone who faced unspeakable evils and menacing demons on almost a daily basis, Buffy was amazingly afraid of such mundane things as lost luggage. Impatiently, she watched the bags draw nearer, tapping her foot in an agitated manner.

Willow moved quietly to Buffy’s side. The witch looked extremely tired, and Buffy’s mind boggled as she attempted to pin down just how much jet lag Willow was actually dealing with. However, the young woman’s face lit with her usual smile as she looked at her friend.

“We have success,” she said brightly. “I was a little surprised, to tell ya the truth, considering how Wolfram and Hart tend to make my spells go all ka-flooey.” She reached down and helped Buffy wrestle their bags off the carousel. “But I found them.”

“Good,” Buffy said, a worry line creasing her forehead. “The sooner we get there, the better I’ll feel.”

Willow gave her a knowing smile. “I know you will. Let’s get going.”


* * *


Illyria paced the living room. She hated being trapped inside. The vampires couldn’t go out during the day, but she certainly could. However, as soon as she had arrived back at the apartment in the early hours of the mourning, a watch system had been set up. One look at Spike had told her all she needed to know. Vampiric healing was fast, but not fast enough. Now, as the afternoon crept on, he and Angel slept in their respective rooms while Illyria kept watch.

Angel was not, however, asleep. Silently, he watched Illyria. She did not watch TV. She did not eat. She did nothing but pace and occasionally sit stiffly on the soft couch. Not for the first time, he wondered why she stayed. He did not make his aversion of her as secret. She was a valuable fighter, to be sure. But when he looked at her, all he saw was the lost little girl she had destroyed. Spike treated her, for the most part, as if nothing had happened, and Angel hated him for it. He cheapened Fred’s death with every word he spoke to her. Truly, there was no part of Angel’s life that Spike didn’t have the power to pollute.

A knock echoed through the silent apartment, making Angel jump. He had not heard anyone approaching. Gripping a sword which he kept beside the door, he stepped quietly into the room. Illyria had turned towards the door as though she did not know what to do next, and Angel signaled her quickly to remain silent. Step by painstaking step, he inched toward the door. His nerves frayed as the knocking sounded again. The rational part of his mind told him that anyone who was there to kill them wouldn’t knock, but he didn’t want to take any chances. His muscles shook with anticipation as he drew level with the door. Placing his free hand on the cool wood, he leaned in and peered through the peephole.

Angel gasped and dropped the sword with a loud clank. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges as he struggled to pull it open.

Buffy smiled at him, sweetly. She had become such a beautiful woman, and yet something of the childhood innocence she had once clung to so fiercely remained in that smile. Willow bobbed nervously behind her friend, loathe to intrude on the meeting which she knew was going to be hard for both sides.

“Hello, Angel,” Buffy said quietly.

“Buffy…” he whispered softly. He opened his arms and she came into them, filling his world with the sweet vanilla scent that he had so missed over the years. His mind replayed their last meeting over and over again, but he didn’t dare hope she had at last come back to him. Not yet. “I thought you were in Rome…”

“I was, but I’m here now.” She leaned back to look at him and smiled again.

“You heard then?” he asked, seriously.

Her face darkened, and an unnamable fear flickered in her eyes. “Heard what?”

“You haven’t…” Suddenly, all the danger they had existed in for so long came flooding back, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down. “You better come inside,” he said quietly.

“Where’s Spike?” she asked, her spine stiffening in his grasp, as though she expected a sudden blow. Angel’s heart sand as understanding rushed through him. He held onto her for a moment longer, looking at just one more thing Spike had taken from him.

“It’s okay,” he said, no longer able to meet her eyes. “He’s asleep.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of Spike’s room, and let his other hand fall from her small frame. “He can explain everything just as easily as I can, I guess.” Inside, Angel was smoldering, but he’d be damned if he’d let her see it. Not after how she had chastised him at their last meeting. She had treated him like a child. He would show her that he was a man.

Buffy hardly looked at him, ignoring, or perhaps refusing to recognize his inner turmoil. Her focus had shifted entirely to the door of Spike’s room. Behind her, Willow’s heart twinged at the look on Angel’s face. In her mind, she remembered watching the man she had once loved…watching another woman. Thoughts of Oz would always hurt, and she knew, for Angel, thoughts of Buff were the same. How he was going to survive this little visit, Willow wasn’t sure.

“Thank you,” Buffy said vaguely and moved slowly away from Angel, in the direction of Spike’s room. With slow, deliberate steps, she increased the distance between herself and her former lover both literally and figuratively. Angel’s face was contorted in pain.

A light hand dropped onto his shoulder. “You can tell me what’s been going on,” Willow offered feebly. She tested a smile, and Angel returned it, weakly.


* * *


The door creaked ever so slightly on its hinges as Buffy pushed it open. A small triangle of light flooded into the darkness, but did little to dispel the gloom. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light and she saw him. He lay asleep, on his stomach, strewn across the bed with blankets in heaps all around him. He was fully dressed. He even wore his boots, and Buffy got the impression that he had fallen directly into bed and gone instantly to sleep. What could have happened to exhaust him so?

As quietly as she could, she closed the door behind her. Slipping off her shoes, she padded silently across the room. For a long moment, she stared at his sleeping form. She had long ago grown accustomed to the sight of his stillness. When he slept, he did not breathe…he looked more like a corpse than at any other time. But it was part of who he was, and she knew that she did not want him to change, even in so small a way.

She still wore her sweatpants and t-shirt and, for a moment, she wondered why she hadn’t taken the time to change or even freshen up. But she knew she was looking at the answer. She had been so anxious to see him, but, not that she was here, she hesitated. Closing her eyes, she saw him surrounded by light, with the flames licking his flesh and she cringed. Letting the memory of that sight go was going to difficult, but she knew where to start.

With practiced grace, Buffy slid into bed beside him. The smell that was uniquely Spike washed over her; the smell of cigarettes and leather, and that earthy vampire musk. She breathed deeply, telling herself it was real. His face was turned away from her, but the rowdy curls on the back of his head proved too much of a temptation. With shaking fingers, she touched the soft locks.

He jerked suddenly and violently away from her touch. He sprang up, supporting his weight on one arm while the other drew a long knife from underneath his pillow. The point was aimed at her throat, but she hardly saw it. Her eyes locked on his face and didn’t waver. The shocked expression he wore was something she had expected. But the bruising…the dried blood…

Gingerly, she raised her hand to his face. Light fingers traced the severe angles of his cheeks. They floated over the worst of his injuries before settling, with gentle pressure on the line of his jaw. The point of the blade shook slightly, betraying the trembling hand that held it.

“Spike…” Buffy said softly.

“Spike’s face hardened and the weapon steadied. “It’s a trick,” he said fiercely. He violently threw her hand aside and pushed her down, pinning her to the bed, the knife held high. His voice came out in a harsh rasp. “You think I’m a fool?!”

No fear entered Buffy’s eyes. No slight flinch betrayed her inner confusion. She merely started up at him with large, unblinking eyes, and waited. Long moments passed as they stared at each other, each one weighing the danger of the situation. Slowly, and with seemingly great reluctance, Spike lowered his weapon.

“You’re not her,’ he said quietly. “But I can think of worse ways to die.” He sat back on his knees, spreading his arms wide. “Well? Go on then.”

Buffy rose into a halfway sitting position. She looked as though she were about to cry.

“Oh, spare me your bleeding heart, Luv,” he scoffed nastily. “I know what you’re here for and I’m ready.” His eyebrows rose and he smirked. “I won’t even yell.”

“Spike,” Buffy whispered, doing her best to keep the quaver from her voice. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, so that’s it, is it?” His arms dropped to his sides. “Fine, I’ll play. Nearly died today.” His hands groped towards his chest and, for the first time, Buffy noticed the deep puncture wound which still bled slowly.

“But you didn’t die…” Buffy said, her confusion forcing an annoyed lilt into her voice. “Why are you so ready to now?”

“If you’d come wearing any other face,’ He said slowly, “I might have fought you.” He sank back down onto the bed in a defeated manner. “But you came as her.” He looked at her pleadingly, as if that should explain everything.

At last, Buffy understood. Whatever had attacked him had nearly won, but he had fought back. HE had wanted to live. But seeing her, he had given up. He had convinced himself so totally that she would never come to him that he couldn’t possibly believe it was really her. And that knowledge had broken him. It had taken away his only hope in living. Buffy silently cursed herself for being so selfish. Slowly, she leaned over him, placing a hand near the wound that had nearly killed him.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. Faintly, she recalled another man, in another time, to whom she had quietly spoke those words. But, as Spike’s eyelids dropped to cover the piercing blue of his gaze, Buffy knew that this would be a beginning, and not an end. As she leaned closer, she felt the muscles of his body tense, waiting for the killing blow.

Spike took an unnecessary breath as he felt her draw near. The smell of her surrounded him, and a rebellious lock of soft, blonde hair trailed lightly across his cheek. If this was his moment to die, then he considered it a mercy from the Powers That Be that his end would come in the arms of the woman he loved. Just for this, his last moment, he could pretend it was really her. He felt his heart fill up with the feeling of having her near him, and saw in his mind the look on her face when she’d told him she loved him. Silently, he begged her to say those words again, so that they might be the last sound he heard.

The feel of her lips on his snapped him to attention. His eyes flew open and he pulled away from her, a confused, questioning look on his face.

“Buffy?” he asked, quietly, actually daring to believe for the first time.

“I’m here,” she replied, curving her body around his. She was
careful not to put any pressure on the wounds she could see, but worried mightily about the ones she could not. Mostly, she reveled in the feel of his body next to hers once more. She had always thought they fit well together, physically. Now, she knew they fit emotionally and mentally as well. His very presence made her hear leap and her head spin. Slowly, his hand rose to her cheek, and his cool fingers traced lightly across her skin.

“You’re here…” There was a hitch in his voice and a look of quiet disbelief in his eyes. “You’re really here…” He drew her closer, never letting his eyes leave hers. This time, when their lips met, he kissed her back.

[Casi]

Chapter 6: Hello Little Girl[/u]


The sun had set, and Spike still slept. After the shock of Buffy’s arrival had worn off, he had completely passed out. Buffy had stayed by his side until hunger had forced her out. Now, she sat comfortably in one of the matching arm chairs in the living area with a cup of coffee in her left hand, still steaming pleasantly. Angel had left as soon as it was possible, and Illyria lurked about the room, not entirely sure she was wanted or welcome, but refusing to show weakness in regards to a lowly vampires slayer. Willow had begun pacing with gusto, back and forth through the center of the large room and, after a rushed explanation of the current situation, continued along the tight path in nervous silence, hardly daring to look at Buffy for fear of what she might see. The door to Spike’s room remained open, and Buffy stared absently into the gloom. His sleeping form could be clearly seen so that, if anything did happen, Buffy would know and be ready.

“Well?” Willow asked at last, halting her pacing in exasperation. “Don’t you have anything say?”

Buffy looked up, dazedly, as though she were surprised to see Willow standing there. “What should I say? It’s not like we haven’t faced things like this before.”

Willow moved to Buffy’s side with quick steps and sank to her knees. “But Buffy…” she said, plaintively, “he almost died. And Gunn…it’s not like we knew him personally or anything, but still. This is a big deal. Nothing’s ever come that close to doing Spike in. Not even you.” She said the last quietly, not intending to insult, but knowing the fact probably sting Buffy’s pride a little.

“He did die once already…” Buffy answered quietly.

“That was a sacrifice. He chose. This was different.”

Buffy sighed and set her cup down on a little table next to her chair. “I know, Will… When I think about what could have happened…” She shuddered visibly. “But we’re here now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to him. To any of us.”

Illyria suddenly jerked to attention. “You mean to stay?”

Buffy turned to see the blue haired woman standing in a dark corner of the room, glaring at her. “Of course I do.” She had not liked this strange woman at all. From the moment Buffy had laid eyes on her, she had distrusted her.

“This is not your fight,” Illyria replied with disdain.

Buffy stood slowly, setting her coffee down and turning to face the demon. “I’m making it my fight.” She glanced to her right, through the open window onto the brightly lit city. “And I’m going to make sure that whatever this thing is knows it.”



* * *


Angel stalked down the dark alleyway with impunity. He silently dared any and all potential assailants to try their luck. He could use a little distraction. As it were, the darkness offered nothing to drag his mind away from its dark thoughts. Over and over, Angel saw Buffy’s face as it filled with fear and concern. Not for him…never for him…for someone else. For someone she loved. For the one person who had single handedly ruined every aspect of Angel’s life from the moment he was sired.

“Spike…” Angel growled the name, filling it with all the hate he’d ever felt for the younger man. A sudden realization hit him and made his blood boil. It wasn’t the vampire that Angel hated. As a demon, Spike was a fierce warrior; a fighter that Angel had trusted, at least marginally, and had been proud to have on his side. Both as a hero and a monster, Spike was a force to be reckoned with. No. Angel hated the man in him. He had envied Spike’s humanity for ages, but now he knew. It was the man in Spike which had destroyed everything. If Angel had his way, Spike would be whisked away, never to be seen again. He couldn’t bring himself to wish for the vampire’s death…but if he never saw him again, Angel would be only too happy.

A faint laugh brought him to a sudden halt. The sound had come from behind him, and it was almost swallowed by the night sounds of the city. And yet, Angel knew he had been meant to hear it. Slowly, he turned. A piece of the shadows silently watched him. Her face was such a blending of quiet appraisal and innocence that, at first, Angel doubted his instincts. But the hand shaped bruises encircling her neck made her identity clear. For a long moment, they merely regarded each other. He watched her warily. She seemed nothing more than politely interested and slightly amused. A t last, Angel broke the silence.

“I knew Spike had to be exaggerating. He couldn’t possibly have hurt you as bad as he said.”

“Maybe…maybe not.” Her voice was like a strain of music in the darkness. It held the lightness of a child at play. But it also resonated deep within him, echoing with the deeper tones of womanhood.

“You seem fine to me,” he tested her warily. “Fit enough that you think you can take me on, perhaps?”

“Maybe…” she laughed again. “Maybe not.”

“Look, as cute as this little game of yours is, I’m really not in the mood,” he ground out. “Let’s get on with it already.”

“If I had killed him…” she asked by way of response, “would you have mourned? I watched you cry over the human. Would you cry for your own kind?”

Angel shrank back visibly, entirely thrown by the question. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to expose a weakness. And it was there… She had brushed against it, feather light…but he doubted she realized it. The truth was, Angel didn’t really know the answer. He wanted Spike out of his life, that much was easy to see. But would it have really matter to him if Spike had died? He just didn’t know. The girl nodded and smiled at him kindly as though she had seen nothing more than she expected and was pleased by it.

“I think you would…because you know you could be next.” There was something sinister in her smile which had not been there before.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, little girl,” he said mockingly. “Spike’s a pushover compared to me.” He opened his arms in invitation. “Would like a preview?” He moved suddenly, coming to stand right in front of her, his face inches from hers. “Or maybe we could skip straight to the main event.”

The young woman only smiled at him. Slowly, she raised her face to his. Angel felt a moment of irrational panic, fearing that she meant to kiss him. He could not have been more terrified if she had come at him with an entire arsenal at her disposal. The faint smell of roses invaded his senses and he realized with shock that it came from her. It carried with it an earthy sensuality that he realized at once suited her perfectly. She drew steadily closer, her eyes never seeming to blink, until her lips nearly touched his.

“As much as your offer appeals to me,” she whispered softly, her breath brushing softly against his lips, “it’s not why I’m here.” She slid past him, never touching him, but leaving a residual warmth in her wake. Angel felt as though he had missed a stair going down, and was now grasping wildly to save himself from falling. He turned to see her a few steps away with her back turned, showing clearly that she did not fear him. He could see the pale diamond of skin on her back. He found himself fighting the urge to run his hands over the smooth angles of her shoulder blades and down the lines of her back. He shook his head violently to clear it.

“What are you here for then?” he asked, adding as much venom to his voice as possible, hoping to mask the slight tremble that infected his words.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, as if to say she didn’t believe his ruse for a moment. Instead, she asked him quietly, “Does she love him?”

For a moment, Angel was confused. He couldn’t think for the life of him who she might e talking about. But he wasn’t a fool, and denial could only protect him for so long. For the briefest moment, he lowered his eyes, attempting to collect himself before he answered. A knowing, comforting hand touched his shoulder. He met her eyes, which were filled with sympathy, and she smiled kindly.

“He does,” she squeezed his shoulder gently, “and so do you.”

Angel suddenly couldn’t bear to have her look at him. He pulled away, throwing a defensive arm up between them. “Look,” he cried harshly, “I don’t know what it is you’re playing at, but I’ve had just about enough of it. So, if you don’t mind, let’s cut this little tea party short.”

“You wish to fight me?” The girl sounded almost hurt.

“Well, that’s kind of what I do. Particularly to those who murder my friends.” Angel’s anger rose, and he cursed himself for being taken in by her innocent act for even a moment. This creature was not some lost little girl. This was a demon. This was the beast that had killed Gunn.

“When we fight,” she said slowly, as though she were speaking to a very slow child, “and we will, dear Angel. Very soon. But when we fight, I think you will welcome the release I offer you.” Without another word, the girl disappeared into the shadows, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts.



* * *


The girl watched silently from her hiding place, not daring to move until Angel at last turned on his heel and left. She sighed with relief, sagging exhaustedly against the grimy stone of the alley wall. Hesitantly, she brushed light fingers against her bruised neck and winced slightly as the skin continued to throb.

“How very curious,” a male voice spoke from the darkness in front of her. “If I didn’t know you better, Anne, I’d have thought you were flirting with him.”

“Maybe I was,” she said loftily. And then, almost as an afterthought, “You shouldn’t use my name.”

“Why not?” I gave it to you, so why shouldn’t I use it?” He sounded smug and amused, the way he always sounded when he spoke to her. She hated him for it.

“You named me after your dead wife. You’re sick and we both know it.” He laughed and stepped out of the shadows, into the pale light cast by the windows above. His pale skin was marred by a long, jagged scar which ran down his temple, all the way across his cheek and down his chin. It looked almost like a claw mark, but slightly more sinister. He smiled at her sardonically, and said nothing. At last, she sighed and lowered her eyes. “What do you want, Varken?”

He nodded in a pleased sort of way. “First of all, I didn’t name you after my wife. Her name was Annerka. As you are only half the woman she was, and probably always will be, you only deserve half her name. I find it highly fitting. Second…I heard you ran into some trouble.” He moved closer and put a hand lightly on her neck. She jerked away with a hiss of pain and something like concern flickered in Varken’s eyes. “Anne…what’s going on? You’ve never failed a mission before.”

She glanced at him in hatred. “Of all people, I thought you would know better. I have not failed. Failure means death and, as you can clearly see, I am alive.” She sneered with disdain and began walking down the alley away from him.

“Of course, I had my doubts,” he said a little louder, “when I heard the news. I had to come see for myself. Surely, not my Anne…the most successful assassin on this continent… Surely she had not been defeated by a lowly vampire.”

Anne stopped walking, her back rigid. Varken knew his barb had hit home.

“And now,” he continued, “I find her slutting it up in an alleyway.” His voice grew harsh and disgusted as he stalked up behind her. He grabbed her arm violently and spun her around. “And low and behold, who does she happen to be doing this with? One of her targets.” He shoved her away from him and backhanded her across the face. She barely flinched. “You disgust me.”

Anne suddenly launched herself at him, her anger pushing her over the edge. Her wings exploded from her back, horns sprang from her head, her teeth elongated, and the irises of her eyes glowed red. She pinned Varken to the ground, growling menacingly.

“Do you think I am a fool?” she rasped. “Do you think I am so easily led astray? I have more to worry about than vampires, or hadn’t you heard? The Slayer, Varken. She’s coming…might be here already. And if she could close the hellmouth, then she’ll have no problem knocking us on our asses unless we proceed very carefully.” She grabbed Varken’s shirt and jerked his shoulders off the ground, bringing his face close to hers. “Don’t you EVER question my methods.” She dropped him hard and leaped fiercely into the air. Grabbing onto the brick of the opposite building, she swiftly scaled the wall and disappeared over the top.

[Casi]

Chapter 7: Waiting[/u]


Angel stood outside the door to his temporary home and steeled himself against what he knew he was bound to find once he walked inside. Images of Buffy and Spike curled up on the couch came to mind. And then, worse, images Angel couldn’t bare to see, images of the woman he loved entwined with the man he hated behind a closed door. He wondered if he’d be able to smell it through the whole house. The smell of sex would probably infect the whole apartment, leaving him no place to run to for solace. He bent his neck to the side, hearing it pop, and sighed in resignation. With lowered eyes, he opened the door.

The room he stepped into was filled with more tension than he had felt back in the alley, which was truly saying something. His body still felt wire tight from lack of action so close to something so clearly deadly. And also, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but be intrigued, and slightly aroused, by the dangerous young girl. He was relieved to see that, at the very least, Spike was apparently still asleep.

Willow smiled up at him encouragingly and Angel nodded his head to her. He was sure that she, at least, felt as uncomfortable as he did, though obviously not for the same reasons. For a moment, Angel marveled that Buffy had even brought her along, but then came to a sudden realization. Willow had probably come along on her own. He looked at her for a moment, but couldn’t decide if she had come to ease any tension in Buffy, or to buffer any tension from him. Either way, he found it both annoyed and humbled him at the same time.

Hesitantly, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. Buffy didn’t even turn around to look at him.

“Willow told me what’s been going on,” she said quietly. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Angel bristled. “Would you have come? I remember quite clearly the last time I wanted us to work together. You shunted me then, so I assumed you’d feel the same now.”

Buffy shook her head and looked up at him. For the briefest of moments, Angel felt a pain go straight through his heart. He remembered the first time he had seen those eyes looking up at him. She had been so young and still so innocent. Now though…

“That was different.”

Angel strode haughtily into the room. “I’m sure it was. Then you didn’t want me around to see…” He waved his hand ineffectually at the door to Spike’s room. “Now I guess you just don’t care anymore.”

Buffy stood, her calmness starting to fray at the edges. “That is not what it was about and you know it.”

Willow stood as well, waving her hands in a futile attempt to attract attention. “Hey, guys…maybe fighting isn’t what we need to be doing right now.”

Angel ignored her and stepped towards Buffy. “What was it about, then?”

Buffy scoffed lightly. “I told you what it was about! I needed you here.”

“Guys…” Willow tried again.

“Yeah. You needed me here, and you needed him at your side.”

“I knew this was going to happen. You couldn’t handle the situation with Spike then, and there’s no reason I should expect you to be able to handle it now.”

“Guys…”

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t handling it very well either. Your whole cookie dough speech? What was that, like code for ‘I’m not done screwing him, let me get back to you when I am?”

Buffy stepped closer. “How dare you! You don’t know a thing about it. We’re in rocky territory right now. I don’t even really know what’s going to happen next. But that does not give you the right to judge me!”

Angel glowered down at her. “You’re in my city now. I do things my way here.”

“GUYS!” Willow crackled with energy and both Buffy and Angel were thrust backwards onto the couch behind them. They stared at Willow speechlessly as she shook off the effects of the magic. “That’s better,” she said, a bit shakily. “I think we all need to just calm down for a moment.”

A low moan drew their collective attention to Spike’s room. He moved restlessly in the half-light slanted across his bed and moaned again. Without comment, Buffy rose at once to her feet and took several quick steps towards the door. A thought brought her to an abrupt stop and she turned.

“Angel, look. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or where this is going to lead. But you need to understand that I came here for him.”

“And you think that’s going to be any better than what happened between us?”

“No.” She paused for a long moment. “I think it could be worse.” She stared at the floor. “I loved you more than anything else in the world. I will always love you. But I love him, too.” She raised her eyes slowly to meet those of her former lover. “I know that now. I’ll never love you any less than I did. A piece of my heart is always going to be for you. But he’s the one who I’m able to give the rest to.”

Angel shook his head. He didn’t want to ask. It was too late to ask. Years too late. But he did anyway. “And you couldn’t give it to me?”

“You never let me.” Buffy looked quietly into his eyes for a moment longer. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked slowly into Spike’s room, closing the door behind her.



* * *


Days passed and the expected attack didn’t come. Spike mended quickly, vampire healing erasing all but the faintest traces of his encounter with the strange young woman. Buffy hardly left his side. As bones knit and bruising dissolved, she watched over him with a mingling of protective watchfulness and grim determination. He took her attention in stride. Both knew that the time for talking would come, probably sooner than either wanted. But that time was not now. And so, they contented themselves with being together: Buffy tending to Spike’s needs, and Spike basking in the brilliance of having her beside him once more.

Willow spent her days attempting to keep the peace in the suddenly crowded apartment. Between Angel’s growing surliness and Illyria’s annoyingly constant presence, Willow was beginning to think she wasn’t quite up to the task. Illyria was something of a rising problem. While Willow had never exactly had any real feelings towards Fred, she had liked the girl when she had heard about her death, she had been truly grieved. However, seeing Illyria every day made the lively young woman’s absence all the more noticeable. But, most disturbing of all, Fred didn’t seem to be quite as absent as Willow had expected.

Perhaps it was because Fred had known Willow but Illyria had not. Maybe Fred memory had sparked something. Maybe it was because Willow had gone out of her way to treat Illyria as just one of the gang. Maybe Illyria was just lonely. But whatever the reason, Willow was certain that the demon was reaching out. She could practically feel Illyria’s icy shell melting with each passing day. The creature became less abrasive every time Willow spoke to her, with one notable exception.

Dusk had finally arrived after a long day spent in the company of a rather grumpy vampire. Buffy and Spike had each made appearances, but mostly kept to themselves. The time had not yet come for them to deal with the realness of their situation.

Illyria came into the apartment, quiet and withdrawn as usual. She had taken to wandering about during the day under the protective image of Fred. She usually reverted to her normal appearance before returning but it seemed to have slipped her mind this particular evening. Her face looked preoccupied.

“Hi, Illyria…” Willow strained herself to sound casual. The strange name just didn’t seem to fit properly in her mouth. “What have you been up to, today?”

Illyria did not even look up. “It’s gone.”

Angel looked up from the paper he had been reading in moody silence. “What’s gone?” he asked tersely.

“The building where he fell,” she answered quietly.

“Where who fell? Did somebody fall?” Willow asked in confusion. Angel said nothing, but gazed at Illyria in what almost appeared to be concern.

“Wesley…” Illyria muttered. Without looking back at either them, she wandered dazedly to her own room and shut the door. Angel merely shook his head and reached for his paper once more.

Willow sat in thought for a long moment. Then, with resolve face firmly in place, she stood and turned towards Illyria’s door. Angel glanced up at her halfheartedly.

“Where are you going?”

“To see if she’s okay,” Willow said simply.

Angel looked incredulous. “Illyria? She’s fine. She’s always fine.”

“She didn’t look fine,” Willow responded staunchly. Without any other words of explanation, she marched resolutely up to Illyria’s door. Once there, however, she found herself a bit more hesitant than she had originally thought. She knocked tentatively.

“Leave me,” came the cold reply from the other side of the door. That tone, if nothing else, convinced Willow that she was doing the right thing.

“It’s just me…” she called, an anxious tremor running through her voice. “Can I come in?”

“I said leave me!” Illyria shouted.

Willow took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. S he didn’t know if Illyria’s room had a lock or not, but it was at least worth a try.

The knob turned easily in her hand and she pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark and growing darker as the last rays of sunshine sunk below the surrounding sky scrapers. Illyria sat at the foot of her small bed. All traces of Fred were once more replaced by the blue tinge of the demon within. But, for the first time ever, to Willow’s memory at least, she looked weak. The curve of her back as she slumped forward, her head in her hands, made her look more vulnerable than Willow had ever thought possible. She looked positively devastated, though Willow couldn’t think why.

“You humans…” came Illyria’s soft voice. “I ask you to leave and yet you come. You never do what is wise. Why?” She turned her accusing blue eyes on Willow. They seemed cold and calculating, but Willow was almost certain that she saw the ghost of a tear running down the other woman’s cheek.

Willow hesitated. “W-well…you just looked…” she trailed off. In a rush she added, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave…yeah.” She turned quickly towards the door. On a sudden impulse, she stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “I knew him, you know,” she said quietly…consolingly…with her back still turned. “He was a nice guy, and I was sorry to hear when he died.”

Illyria was suddenly at her side. With her palm against the center of the door, she slammed it shut. The room was dark, but Willow had no trouble seeing the cold fury in the other woman’s eyes.

“You knew him? You thought he was nice? I was forced into this body, this shell…this THING which once loved him. Both those souls are gone but I still ache because of their folly. I held him as he died. I held him and I cried her tears. And he looked at me and saw only her.” She stalked across the room, electricity seeming to radiate from her rigid frame. She turned to Willow, no longer god like demon, no longer frightened young woman, but something else, locked in the middle. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked in restrained anguish. “I mourn for him with a heart that was never my own. Who am I supposed to be?” Her inhuman monotone broke in the first moment of true emotion Willow had seen from her. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or loss Illyria was feeling most. She only knew that, for the first time, she felt she understood.

Illyria had not chosen Fred. That was someone else’s doing. And they had paid for it. It was pointless to continue punishing her for that mistake. Willow watched her, not sure if she was meant to respond.

At last, she shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

A knock at the door broke the moment abruptly. Angel’s voice floated in from the other side with an authority that Willow felt he had no right to express.

“Everything okay in there? Willow?” It was less an inquiry and more an order to respond.

“Yeah…E-everything’s fine,” she stammered. Her voice sounded absurdly loud in the still quiet of the room. She turned back to Illyria, but the connection was lost. Illyria stood passively in the center of the room, gazing out the window as though Willow was not even there. With a sigh, Willow left the room, wondering, for the thousandth time, what she was supposed to do.


* * *


Buffy was tired. Extremely tired. Had it not been for slayer strength, she would have completely passed out hours ago. The previous two weeks had been a real trial for her. Spike’s injuries had healed well enough and, for whatever reason, hi mysterious attacker had not returned. But, though he no longer bore any outward signs of the attack, he seemed withdrawn and jumpy. Buffy supposed the near staking had been somewhat traumatizing, but she feared that it was more than that. Though she wasn’t willing to voice her concerns anywhere except in the confines of her own mind, she was terrified that his behavior had less to do with potential death and more to do with her very real presence. There were times when he looked at her as though he still didn’t believe that she had actually come. Other times, she was certain that he fixed her with an accusatory glare, silently asking “why didn’t you come sooner?”

But, no matter how tired, or uncertain, or uncomfortable she was, Buffy refused to leave Spike alone. She told herself it was because he might need her. In her heart, she knew it was because she needed him. And, beneath that, was the terrible fear that the moment she left, he would be swept from her.

Fidgeting slightly, Buffy attempted to find a more comfortable position in her chair without disturbing Spike. He had not moved in quite some time which, Buffy hoped, had to mean his dreams were no longer disturbing him. The chair let out a particularly loud puff of air as Buffy attempted to draw one leg underneath herself. She froze for a long, precarious moment, watching Spike for signs of movement. When none occurred, she tried shifting again.

“Buffy…Luv…” Spike said quietly. He had been watching her through half slit eyes for the last couple minutes, marveling at how someone with such grace when fighting could be so awkward in a simple chair. “You don’t have to do that, you know.” His voice was gruff with sleep.

“Do what?” she asked innocently.

“Sit in that torture device,” he opened his eyes and looked at her blearily. “Come here…” It was a request, though it wasn’t meant to be…and one he wholeheartedly hoped she would accept. For one terrible moment, it appeared as though she might refuse. Then, at last, with seemingly great reluctance, she pried herself out of her chair and took two somewhat faulty steps towards the bed. Gingerly, as though not wanting to disturb him in the slightest, she perched on the edge of the mattress.

With a slight chuckle in the back of his throat, Spike lunged for her. He moved neither swiftly nor with great force, but Buffy offered no resistance. Wrapping both arms around her waist, Spike dragged her onto the bed wither back pressed firmly against his chest. He inhaled the scent of her and knew, if his heart were beating, it would have stopped just then. He felt her relax against him. For a long moment, they lay there. It was Spike who reluctantly broke the silence.

“We haven’t really talked…” he began quietly.

“I know,” Buffy answered, a sigh in her voice.

“You’ve been here almost three weeks and we’ve done nothing but walk on eggshells around each other.” He sighed heavily. “You know what I’m going to ask.”

Buffy was quiet. After a long moment, she nodded minutely. “You’re going to ask why I came back.” She rolled over to face him. “Aren’t you?”

Spike smiled slightly. “Well, I would…but I gotta admit…bit scared a w’at you might say.”

Buffy raised one hand to his face. “I came back because I finally realized something. I realized just how wrong you were.” She moved her hand to his mouth to silence the argument he had clearly intended to make. “I do love you. And it scared me to death to know that. But what scared me more was that I had been so stubborn. I should have come so much sooner.”

“Yeah, ya should’ve,” Spike said in an arrogant tone, but he smiled softly. “I missed you,” he whispered. “I missed fighting beside you. I even missed you yelling at me.”

She smiled. “I missed it to. Particularly the yelling part,” she added lightly. “Cause, ya know Andrew? Not quite so good at taking the abuse.”

“Abuse, is it?” Spike leered and drew her in a bit closer. “I always thought of it as…”

“Foreplay?” she asked tartly. “You really are twisted.”

“Bet your ass,” he said proudly, giving her rump a playful squeeze.

Since she had returned, what few kisses they had shared had been soft, comforting assurances that they really were there…together. This time, however, when their lips met, it was more. It was a promise of things to come. It carried a heat that had not been between them for a long, long time. His tongue plundered her mouth with an authority and familiarity that lit a long dormant fire in Buffy. She pressed herself against him, long for more contact.

A timid knock at the door brought them crashing back to reality. They broke apart with a mixture of disappointment and mild acceptance. Languidly, and seeming much more relaxed than she had felt in days, Buffy rose from the bed and moved to open the door.

Willow stoop on the other side of the door, looking worried. Buffy greeted her with a smile intended to tell her best friend everything she needed to know. The message, however, was lost in translation. Willow only had one thing on her mind. She spoke three trembling works.

“Angel has news.”

[Casi]

Chapter 8: The Realness of the Situation[/u]


Angel had sent Willow to retrieve Buffy and Spike. He had not wanted to be the one to knock on that door. And yet, the sight of them walking out together was nearly as bad. They sat down on the couch, absurdly close, and Buffy’s lips seemed red and puffy. Angel knew what that meant. He had looked down on her in that exact same state enough to know that much more than talking had been going on behind that door. At least they didn’t carry the distinctive smell of sex. Not yet anyway. If he’d come home any later…

“Good to see you’re feeling better,” he said, his tone harsh. He looked at the floor, the windows, anywhere but at Spike, who was now lightly stroking the back of Buffy’s hand with apparent relish.

“Had a damn fine caregiver, din’t I?” Spike responded playfully.

Angel turned his back on the pair, watching the sky lighten in the distance as dawn grew ever nearer. Only a vampire could see the sun’s light so long before dawn, and there were few who recognized the beauty of it, as Angel did now. But this was not the time, he knew, for poetic musings.

“Willow said you had news,” Buffy said, authoritatively. Her clear voice, which he had not heard in person for so very long, drove one more knife through Angel’s heart.

“I do,” he said, speaking through a somewhat unexpected catch in his throat. He turned slowly to face them again. “I found out…” But he could not say what it was that he had found. The sight before him had left him speechless.

Spike had nuzzled up against Buffy’s neck and was planting tender kisses on the exposed flesh. Buffy’s eyes were dreamy and out of focus. A blissful smile curved across her face. She had both arms wrapped loosely around his waist and seemed to be enjoying his attention far too much, as far as Angel was concerned. He vented a loud sound meant to convey both his frustration and his revulsion all in one shot. It seemed to bring Buffy back to attention, though somewhat reluctantly.

“Mmmm…? I’m sorry, Angel, what did you say?”

“You know, Buffy,” Angel began testily, “I expect this kind of behavior from Spike. But I never thought you would be willing to put your own…pleasure…” He said the word with such disgust that Buffy looked away in a slight shame. “…before important matters like this.”

“Oy, Angelus…ease up off the lady.” Spike grinned roguishly. “She just can’t help herself. “Buffy blushed slightly, but opened her mouth to make a defensive remark.

“Spike, you’re not helping. And don’t call me that,” Angel ground out.

“What? Angelus? Oh, I just thought it would be fitting as you’re sounding more and more like your old self everyday.” Spike’s voice had gained an edge that was anything but playful.

“And you’re surprised?!” Angel threw his hands in the air in utter amazement. “You know, maybe I’d have more time to be chipper if we weren’t in such constant danger. Or maybe,” he added with a rise in energy, clearly meaning he had reached the real problem, “maybe I’m feeling a little on edge because the two of you stay locked up in that room doing God knows what when you should be out patrolling the streets every night like me! I’m running risks and you two are…are…” He made the same revolted noise he had made earlier and turned away from them.

Buffy stood, having had just about enough of this. “Wait just a minute,” she began. “Spike was in no condition…”

“No, wait, Pet,” Spike interrupted, standing beside her. “I think it’s time we had this out. It was bound to happen eventually anyway, wasn’t it? ‘Sides, thought you were all for us wrestling it out.”

“Spike, this is not the time…” Buffy tried again.

“No,” Angel said, spinning back around. “For once I agree with him. Let’s deal with this. I cannot keep us safe as long as the two of you are acting like lovesick school children. We could all be dead tomorrow, and neither of you are acting like you care in the slightest.”

“You honestly expect us to buy that?” Spike scoffed, a great deal calmer than the older vampire. “Angel, I’ve known you a lot longer than anyone else here, and you should know by now that I see right through your bloody smoke screen. It’s because it’s me, innit?” His voice took on a goading lilt. “It’s always been about me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Angel asked through clenched teeth.

“Took Dru didn’t you?” Spike said it with little inflection, reserving all emotion aside from a smoldering energy.

Angel stared at him for a long moment. The silence seemed to be a living thing and the air in the room seemed to cracking with the intensity of their stares. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Angel said at last.

“You took her because you could. I loved her, and you took her. And now you can’t stand that we’re together. Tables ‘av turned, Gran’dad, ‘aven’t they?”

“Spike…Dru was different.” He seemed to be losing his patience. “Besides, I didn’t even have a soul then!”

“You took her from me! And now you think I’ve take Buffy from you.” Something of the poet seemed to have stirred in Spike’s subconscious. “Well I’ve got news for you. This…this here…” he gestured from himself to Buffy, laying his hand on his own chest, above his unbeating heart, “it doesn’t have anything to do with you. And the sooner you get over it, the happier we’re all gonna be.”

Angel was the first to drop his eyes. “Spike…we’ve done…unconscionable things together…and to each other. Because we could.” He looked at Buffy. “But this is one thing I don’t think I can deal with.”

A light female voice trilled behind them, her laugh breaking the moment as effectively as an explosion.

“Oh, now this is priceless.”

All eyes in the room turned to the windows. Where before, there had only been the limited view of the city they were afforded, there was now the thin figure of a woman, leaning against the only open section. They could see little of her face, but her silhouette was enough to identify her. Black bat wings hung comfortably behind her. She did not draw them in, perhaps anticipating a hasty retreat.

Buffy felt as though her brain was a little slow on the uptake. She dimly registered the creature, but found herself strangely surprised by the fact that not only was she there, but also that Willow and Illyria were still in the room. She had completely forgotten they were there, so engrossed had she been. Words still failed her. She hadn’t known if there was anything she could have said that might have mattered to either of them. Now…she found she couldn’t even find a thing to say in response to the sudden appearance of their known enemy.

“You know, I had popped by just in the hopes of getting a glimpse of the slayer, in person, but…wow…never expected this.” The girl seemed all together relaxed for all she was standing on the edge of a room filled with people who wished her dead.
Willow responded first. Her eyes flashing black, she uttered a few words in an unintelligible language. A bright aura surrounded the girl, lighting her face. She looked so young as she smiled.
“It’s not a bad try, you know. But you can’t bind me.” She flexed her wings past the boundaries of the spell and Willow shrieked, falling to the floor. “I’m too well protected.”

Buffy snapped out of her daze and dove for her fallen friend.

“Willow!” She put her fingers to Willows neck and felt the faint beat of her heart tremble below the skin. Her body went rigid as she stood and took two deliberate steps towards the creature in the window. “This is your one chance. Leave now.”

The girl leaned one shoulder against the window frame and crossed her arms over her chest. “Aw, that’s sweet. I appreciate your consideration, but I’m fine for now, thanks.” Her eyes twinkled maliciously. “So, to vampires raking each other over the coals because of the slayer. What are the odds? And you boned both these guys, huh? Lucky girl.” Buffy took a few more slow steps toward the girl, the power of the slayer draped over her like a mantle. Angel and Spike stared from her to the creature, not sure what was to happen next. The girl herself seemed to understand, though. Her voice lost it’s teasing tone and became deadly serious. “I’m going to kill them both. And your two little girlfriends there too.” She gestured dismissively to Illyria and Willow. “And then I’m coming for you.”

Several things happened in quick succession. Buffy, apparently having heard enough, ran flat out at the creature. Her movement seemed to break the spell that had hung over the room and Spike and Angel both sprang into action as well. They rushed after Buffy. Only five feet separated them from Buffy as her feet left the floor. With her arms wrapped around the girl’s waist, they both plummeted out of the window.

Angel’s connections had gotten him a place to live…but it hadn’t gotten him a great place to live. The apartment was only five stories above the ground, but it was enough of a fall to kill. Buffy knew it, as she made her leap. But she also knew that the creature was winged, and would fly. But she had no intention of losing her. The weeks of waiting had worn her nerves, and what fear she might have had, had simply died in the face of the girl’s bravado.

Time seemed to slow as they tumbled from the window. Buffy felt as if they were falling through thick syrup. She heard the girl’s grunting efforts to rip Buffy’s arms from around her waist, but she simply locked her wrists and held on for dear life. The beat of the large black wings around her nearly dislodged her once or twice, but she was determined not to let go. Only vaguely did she realize that the flight she anticipated taking did not seem to be happening. The immediacy of her actions began to take effect on her mind and she fought the sudden urge to panic.

But it hadn’t been her imagination. They were falling slower than they should have been. The girl seemed to have righted her position enough to open her wings and slow their descent. But, try as she might, she could not rise. Buffy saw her face clearly in the glow cast by the streetlamp on the corner and she read complete fear in her features. She seemed to have realized if they reached the ground, she was a goner. Buffy would not let her go. Her only escape lay in flight.

Her fingers continued to dig ineffectually into Buffy’s arms and she beat her wings even harder, their fall shuddered to a stop for a brief moment, before gravity won out again. Looking up, Buffy could see the panicked faces of Spike and Angel as they leaned out the window before they were jerked back inside. She hoped they had, for once, come to something they could do together and were rushing down to aide her.

“You fool!” the girl shrieked. “I can’t fly with both of us! You could have killed us both!” Panic fringed her words. She had lost every ounce of arrogance in her struggle for flight. They had now sunk two stories. Four stories still separated them from the ground. Buffy doubted such a fall would really kill her, but knew she wasn’t ready to live with a pair of broken legs. A door slammed below her and she hoped to God it was Angel or Spike. She didn’t dare look down.

“Not so brave anymore, are you?” she asked the girl in a surprisingly calm voice. “You better think of something good, cause I’m not letting go.”

The creature glared down at her in pure hatred. She flared her wings so that they caught the air like small umbrellas and, instead of fighting the fall, surrendered to it. They glided downwards in tight spirals. Still three stories above the ground, the creature pulled back a fist and drove it straight at Buffy’s face. As her fist made contact with the soft flesh, she folded her wings completely. The impact of the punch and the sudden plunge they took as all buoyancy left them was enough to knock Buffy free. She flew backwards with bone crushing force and smashed against the building’s façade. A guttural cry of pain escaped her lips.

One wild grab saved her from falling. With trembling fingertips, she help firm to the concrete edge on the front of the building as, with a rush of wings, the girl departed behind her. She heard a flamboyant curse from below and another door slam. She took a deep breath, assuring herself that it meant help was coming. Steadily, with deliberate calm, she raised her other hand to grip the ledge.

Spike’s face appeared in the window a few feet above her.

“Buffy!” He reached for her, concern, fear, and annoyance warring for dominance on his face. Gratefully, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her up.

Safely inside the stairwell, Buffy collapsed gratefully into Spike’s waiting arms. He stroked her hair with shaking hands, and seemed to be gasping, as though trying to say something but not getting it out. Finally, he put both hands on the sides of her face and held her in front of him.

“If you EVER do something like that again, I’ll bloody well kill you myself,” she said with a shaking voice. Then, gentler, “I just got you back…I’m not ready to lose you just yet.”

Buffy ran her fingers lightly over the sharp angles of his face. “Well I wasn’t ready to lose you either,” she said quietly.

Their lips met in a kiss tinged with passion. But, at its heart, it was a tender expression of need. It brought tears to Buffy’s eyes, being there with him, tasting him, knowing that what she had done, she would gladly do again. Knowing that, for him, it was worth it.

A few steps below them, Angel gripped the stairway’s banister with a white knuckled hand. Silently, with no desire to interrupt them, he turned and left.



* * *


Angle pounded the brick wall. The stink of the alley was a welcome change from the small, cramped home he now shared with far too many people. He ground his cheek against the rough surface of the brick, welcoming the minute pain, but knowing it would do nothing for the pain that hit so deep he thanked the Powers that Be that he had no need of breath. He knew if it were up to him, he would have lain down and given up in that exact moment. He would have stopped breathing and willed his heart to stop beating. But those were luxuries he had not had in over two hundred years, and the thought of them was not exactly helpful. His eyes burned with salt and he shook his head.

He had not cried in ages. When was the last time? It had been about her, then, too. It was always about her. He was certain, now, that every tear he had shed since becoming a vampire was simply in preparation for the many tears he would spill over her. They were all just practice for this great, ultimate pain. The guilt over his actions before the return of his soul had driven him into remorseful hiding. But he had never so actively considered the option of walking into the sunlight. Only she could bring him to that pass. Only the thought of her in his life, and the knowledge that while she was close at hand, she would never be in his arms again. It didn’t matter how long they spent apart. It never would. Other loves would come and go, but he knew he would love her until he was turned to dust. And, if he was cursed to Hell, as he knew he must be, he was sure he would spend all of eternity looking at her face.

“Interesting dilemma you’ve gotten yourself into,” said a commanding, male voice. Angel spun, ready for an attack, but stopped just short of lunging at the man behind him. The speaker appeared to be a man in his late forties. He was heavily scarred across the side of his face but it did little to hide the fact that he was a very handsome and immediately likeable person. He held his hand out toe Angel. “My name is Varken.”

Angel hesitated just a moment before taking the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “I’m Angel,” he said simply.

“I know,” Varken replied. “And let me tell you, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard great things about you.”

Angel jerked his hand from the man’s grip. “Who are you?” he asked, all of his instincts switching immediately back into defense mode. “Who sent you?

“I told you who I am already. But, to be more succinct, I will tell you what you’re really hoping I will. No one sent me. No one is above me. You see, I am a senior partner of Wolfram and Hart.”

Angel almost laughed. “Sure,” he said after a moment. “And I’m
the Easter Bunny.” He turned and began walking away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Varken sounded almost as though he were scolding a small child. Angel found, quite suddenly, that he could not move. Every inch of him screamed in protest, but he remained completely motionless. Slowly, pressure began to build all around him, as though the air itself were trying to crush him. He could hear Varken’s footsteps approaching behind him.

“It’s odd that you would choose to be the Easter Bunny,” Varken commented conversationally. “Why not Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy?” He paused as though expecting a response which he knew Angel would not be able to give. At last, he smiled. “You must be getting dreadfully uncomfortable, little Rabbit. You see, I could just leave you here, waiting for the sun to rise, which won’t be very long now. But don’t worry. I can’t kill you myself. That’s against the rules. But I will make a deal with you.”

He glanced skyward. “The stunt your little slayer pulled was impressive. I give her credit for ingenuity and, to be frank, sheer ballsiness. But it was not our wish for her to be involved. Steps have already been taken to rectify this mistake. As we speak, my operatives are removing her sister and various entourage from their home in Rome. If she returns there immediately, alone, they shall all be returned with no harm done. For every day that she remains here, someone she loves will be permanently take from her. I think I’ll start with her adorable little sister. She’s quite the spitfire isn’t she? I think she’ll make a charming vampire. Rather poetic, all in all. The slayer forced to stake her own sister.” Varken chuckled in a pleasant sort of way. He eyed Angel for a moment and then winked. Angel felt the constricting pressure release instantly and he staggered on the spot.

“She’ll just come back,” he said at once. “once she’s got Dawn and the others, she’ll come back and bring them with her. I know her too well.”

“You really think that?” Varken’s tone remained conversational, but his smile seemed to fade.

Angel thought of the sight he had endured on the stairs and nodded. “I do.”

“Be that as it may,” Varken said brusquely, “it will take her at least four days to return home and retrieve her loved ones.” His smile returned. “And four days is all we’ll need.” He turned his back on Angel and began walking casually away. With a dismissive hand gesture, he called over his shoulder. “Run, little Rabbit. Tell her the news. We expect her on a plane by sunset.” He glanced over his shoulder. She got herself involved in this. It’s up to her to get herself out.”

[Casi]

Chapter 9: The Plan

Dawn stood back to survey the damage. According to the papers Xander kept waving around, the school had been hit too, but only barely. It looked as it if it was really more of a formality than an actual operation. A few of the doors had been broken, and several of the newer girls frightened out of their wits. The others had risen admirably to the task, however, and they were now holding three of the mystery men in custody. The flat on the other hand…

There was no doubt in her mind that their home had been the real target. Every last window was shattered. The furniture had been overturned and two chairs were now completely devastated. The bed rooms had been completely tossed, mattresses slashed and laying on their sides, and closets completely gutted. The men, whoever they were, had come for them.

Luckily, none of them had been there. Well, not so much luck as the fact that they now had a rather powerful Seer studying with Willow’s coven at headquarters. He had seen the entire thing coming, from the moment the men would arrive right down to the types of weapons they would be carrying. And all of that info seemed to be consistent with what Dawn was seeing now. The only problem was that the Seer…Dawn stretched for his name but couldn’t come up with it…hadn’t been able to tell who the men where, or where they had come from, or even who had sent them. That, for obvious reasons, was rather problematic.

Dawn sighed. She’d been spending way too much time with Giles and his old English friends. She was starting to think like them. Watcher training wasn’t exactly what she had expected, but turning into a little Giles clone was not something she intended to do.

The simple fact of the matter was there was absolutely no way an attack like this could have worked, and that’s what really had Dawn puzzled. Even if they hadn’t been forewarned, they slept under so many protective spells they would have known the attack was coming the moment these guys came anywhere near the building. And since, at any given moment, there were two witches watching the flat itself, and at least one slayer on patrol nearby, Dawn couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out what they had hoped to accomplish.

When they had originally heard the news, some of the younger slayers had been all for meeting the attack head on. They wanted to post watches at the flat and patrol in teams of two for the entire week. But Dawn had been solidly against it. And, more to the point, so had Xander, Andrew, and Giles. Faith had even popped by this particular meeting, though her appearances were getting rarer and rarer as she truly threw herself into her new role as teacher and mentor. She’d been traveling so much lately, that Dawn had honestly forgotten she was even in town until she had strolled into the meeting room. But they had all been in agreement that the best possible plan was just to get out of the way. Until they knew exactly what they were dealing with, it was just better not to get involved.

The argument, of course, had been that clearly they were already involved, if they were being attacked. But the slayers, for the most part, were still so young. And they had not lived in this life long enough to understand just what a danger the unknown could be. Most of them still applied to the theory that anything could be killed if you just hit it hard enough, so why should you worry why it’s there or what it’s doing? That was the reason Faith had become a teacher. She didn’t want to see any of the girls walking her path, and she had been far more effective at teaching that particular lesson than anyone had ever dreamed possible.

Dawn practically jumped out of her skin as her cell phone rang loudly from the countertop next to her. The place was so loud, with everyone running around, taking stock of the damage, and arguing about what they should do next. And yet the sound of her phone ringing seemed particularly jarring to Dawn.

The blue screen on the front of the little flip phone read “Buffy” and Dawn sighed with relief. She didn’t know how, but she was sure Buffy already knew, and would have some kind of helpful advice.

“Buffy?” Dawn asked, before the phone had even fully reached her ear.

Across the little countertop island of the kitchen, Xander’s head perked up and he looked away from the papers he’d been poring over for the past hour.

“Is that Buffy?” he asked quickly, making a grab for the phone. Dawn batted his hand away and moved out of his grabbing range.

“Buffy?” she asked again. “There’s a lot of static.”

“You know service sucks in LA,” came Buffy’s tinny voice across the line. She sounded happy, Dawn noted. Happier than she’d sounded in months, actually, and Dawn smiled in spite of her current situation.

“You heard?” Dawn asked simply.

“Yeah.” Buffy sounded resigned, though still slightly amused. “Everyone okay?”

“Of course we are,” Dawn replied lightly.

“Angel seemed to think there was actually something to worry about.” Yes, it was certain. Buffy was thoroughly amused by the situation on a whole. Like the rest of them, she knew that an attack on them in Rome was fruitless.

“We caught some of them. They’re locked up in the holding cells at the school.”

“Good,” Buffy answered quickly. The sudden shift into business mode took Dawn a little by surprise, but then, that was how her sister worked most of the time. “Keep them there. I want to question them myself.”

“You wa…huh?” Dawn asked stupidly.

“My plane leaves in two hours. Cost a fortune to get one that fast,” she added bitterly. “I’ll be there by tomorrow night at some point.”

“But Buffy, you don’t have to come back, you know that.” Dawn struggled to keep up, and waved an impatient hand at Xander who seemed ready to make another try for the phone.

“I know. Don’t worry, there’s a plan.” And that was that. Dawn recognized this voice. It was the Slayer voice. It was the “I’m the law and everyone else just needs to get in line” voice. She hadn’t heard it in a long time…a very long time. She sighed. Buffy would always be The Slayer. Regardless of how many other slayers there were in the world, she would always be at the top.

“Alright,” Dawn said. Her disapproval weighed heavily on her voice. “Call us from the plane to let us know when and where to pick you up.


* * *


Buffy closed her cell phone with a little snap and grinned teasingly at both Angel and Spike. They glowered at her in return, but refused to comment.

“I told you they’d be fine. That place is practically a fortress.”

“I don’t like this plan, Buffy,” Angel said quietly. “It’s risky.”

“As strange as it may be, I actually agree,” Spike said, as though each word caused him physical pain. “This is just asking for trouble.”

“Trouble we’ve already got,” Buffy said succinctly. “A little more isn’t going to cause us too much of an issue.”

“Two of my friends are dead. Wesley and Gunn both lost their lives to this. A little more trouble could claim us all.” Angel sat heavily on the sofa, not sure what else to say.

A ghost of sadness passed over Buffy’s features. She hadn’t known Gunn, but she had known Wesley. And while they’d never exactly been close, the fact that he was dead was not a thought she had really allowed herself to deal with. And now really wasn’t the time anyway.

“Don’t worry. This time, we’ve got the upper hand. Don’t forget that. And with Willow’s help on this, it’ll work.”

Willow perked up nervously at the sound of her name. “I just hope I can, you know, keep the spell going. I mean, I haven’t done anything really huge like this since, well, with the slayers and all.”

“You’ll be fine, Will. We’ve been in worse situations than this. Just have a little faith, and it’ll all be fine.”

Spike stared at her with a multitude of feelings warring in his chest. She was so strong and so certain, but that didn’t stop him from being afraid for her. If this went bad, she stood to loose a lot more than she thought. He could still feel the rough patch of skin over the wound on his chest. It was barely there. He was probably the only one who could even find it. But he knew it was there. He knew how close he’d come to being ended that night. He wondered how she’d feel if she came home to a pile of dust.

“Well,” he said, as calmly as he could, “we’d better get you ready for that plane.” He stared at his boots as he spoke. He couldn’t look up at her, and see how confident she looked, and know how much danger she was putting both herself and Willow in.

“You’re right,” Buffy said with a warm smile. She looked so grateful that he was at least going along with her plan. “Wil?”

“It’ll only take a moment, but it has to be a quiet one.”

“Use our room,” Spike said quietly. Partly, he just wanted to get the whole thing over with. But, mostly, he enjoyed being about to say ‘our room’ and see Angel twitch ever so slightly. Life had its little joys, even in the face of almost certain doom.

Buffy nodded once and Willow rose from her seat. Together they disappeared into the darkened bedroom, closing the door behind them. Spike, for his part, tried not to watch her go in. He didn’t know how long it would be before he was able to hold her again, and he didn’t want to think about it just now. Instead, he sank onto the sofa beside Angel and sighed heavily.

“So…what d’ya make of this?” he asked, trying to make his tone light. One might have thought he were asking, ‘How ‘bout this weather?’

“I hate it,” Angel said simply. “A hundred things could go wrong and there won’t be a thing we can do about them for at least the next twenty four hours. What if they decide to attack the plane?” he asked viciously.

“Well, Red can take care of that. Protection mojo and whatnot. Side’s, you said yourself they weren’t int’rested in her. That doesn’t worry me so much as what we’re gonna do till she gets there.”

“We’ll be vulnerable at least until the plane lands. If they find out what we’re doing…”

“I know.” He couldn’t let Angel finish that thought. They were enemies in a lot of ways, but in one thing they shared a common bond. They could both go to hell and back, but it wouldn’t matter, as long as Buffy was still okay. And Buffy would be okay, physically, that much they were sure of. But what would she do if they really did hurt Dawn? Or Xander? Or any one really… They had gone in once to try and kidnap, but they didn’t have to get to her that way. If the watcher’s council could be destroyed, he was certain a school could as well. What would she do then?

Buffy and Willow reemerged from the bedroom, looking winded, but pleased. It must have worked then.

“Alright,” Buffy said, with a little smile. “Let’s get to the airport.” And, without saying another word, she grabbed her travel bag and headed for the door.