False Claims

A couple of brief author's notes:

One: First of all, I know that I suck with the updating thing. That's why I have to say a super duper ginormous thank you to FlameFlirt. If it wasn't for her help I wouldn't have even dragged this out until after I moved next month. No pun intended here, but she was an angel to go over the first two thirds of this story and whip it into shape. It was pretty much a big blob of words made up of a few sentences and a bazillion plot holes. I swear this part only makes sense because she was nice enough to point out all the WTF moments. And she fixed the grammar and spelling. too. She's like Word but she works! So huge smoochies to her.

Two: There is some dialogue taken directly from the show. You can find said dialogue at [URL=http://www.buffyworld.com]Buffy World[/URL] where all the Buffy and Angel transcripts live. I own none of the original scripts and here's the general rule of thumb – If the dialogue seems witty, clever, or plot advancing it was probably lifted from the transcript.

The Best Laid Plans

Chapter Eighty Seven


Sunny California was living up to its name and Quentin Travers couldn’t have been more pleased. Even though they were working, however reluctantly, with Angelus at this time, he didn’t have any intention of trusting the vampire. Although they would have to meet that night to make the exchange that would ensure the world’s continued safety, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t take advantage of any and all protection of which he could avail himself in the meantime. Thus the landing at the previously used, private airstrip in the scorching sunlight; the greatest protection against the demon they were facing.

As he stepped off the plane he spotted the unremarkable black limousine that would spirit them discreetly to the nondescript safe house where they would pass the hours until the night’s meeting. He had been very specific in his orders that the car that met them have extremely dark tinted windows. It wouldn’t do to alert the Chase girl that they were back in Sunnydale. They certainly didn’t need the hysterics at this delicate time and there was no need to cause any excess distress for the young woman; after all, he wasn’t a monster.

Turning he saw the object of his musings leaving the aircraft. She was amazingly stable given the circumstances, although she still leaned on Worthington for support.

Worthington. There was a problem all its own. Travers knew that the man had lost his objectivity in this matter; their earlier conversation had made that clear. He had proved, as had Rupert Giles, that he could not be trusted. As soon as this matter was settled and the new slayer was found both men would find themselves stripped of their positions and no longer a part of the Council. The only reason that he had allowed the younger watcher to accompany him was that the girl would have been suspicious traveling without him. Of course there was also the added benefit that Matthew’s effect on the girl had been startling and it could only be to their advantage to return Angelus’ pet in the best condition possible to minimize the vampire’s wrath.

Following the pair were the three mages maintaining the spell that was obscuring the bond. The amount of mystical energy produced was immense and would create a signature that eventually Angelus would be able to identify. But even with the resources of the Hellmouth at his fingertips it would take him about two or three days to pinpoint them. By then the trade would be made and they would be safely back at the Council's Headquarters.

As they drew close to the car the driver’s door opened. But instead of the man he had assigned, Quentin found himself facing a petite slayer, coiled for a fight and vibrating with anger.


Every day she was feeling stronger; however Cordelia knew that without Matthew’s steadying presence she wouldn’t have even made it out of her room in England much less all the way to wherever the hell they were.

And frankly, that last thought bothered her. She understood that the last time they’d spirited her away she'd been in no position to question it, but she’d been recovering by leaps and bounds since her altercation with Matthew and she was more than ready to start making her own decisions again. After all, she was Cordelia Chase. She was no weak willed wallflower to be dictated to by a bunch of self-righteous bastards. She had survived the Scourge of Europe! She’d be damned if she’d let a paper pusher like Quentin Travers boss her around. As soon as she figured out where she was she’d start weighing her options. While she acknowledged that their blocking of her bond with Angelus was certainly beneficial, if worse came to worse she could always fall back on her original plan of moving from place to place, staying one step ahead of the vampire and relocating before he could get a fix on her whereabouts.

Stumbling slightly, she felt Matthew’s arm tighten around her waist and she smiled up at him gratefully. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without him. As soon as she’d begun crying on his shoulder the morning he’d confronted her she’d realized his true intentions. Usually she’d resent being manipulated, but she understood that she'd needed something to shock her out of the traumatic fog her separation from Angelus had thrust upon her. The fact that she was up and moving, albeit with assistance, bore out that her Guardian Watcher had made the right choice.

Since she’d managed to gather her wits about her once again she found that she was hyper-sensitive to her surroundings. Although she trusted her friend to protect her, she knew that, ultimately, it was up to her to take care of herself; and while she was in no way physically capable of doing so right then she could maintain her constant vigilance, knowing that her vastly underrated intelligence was her greatest weapon.

It was this awareness that had her head snapping around at the sound of a car door opening. Although Matthew had taken another step forward Cordelia had stilled in horror of the sight before her. Buffy.

Her dread increased as the back doors opened and Giles and Xander quickly made their way to the blonde’s side. The frozen form of Quentin Travers put paid to any hope that her friends had arranged to visit her at some neutral location. No; they were back in Sunnydale.

As Buffy surged forward in a blur of motion to attack the guards who had exited the plane behind them Cordelia realized that the bond between Council and slayer had obviously been severed. She knew that of the two groups currently locked in combat only her friends could be counted on to have her best interests at heart. They were obviously here to save her, which meant that the Council had become a threat. They’d betrayed her and the only way to have done that was to have made a deal with Angelus. They were giving her back.

Although she had initially begged to be returned to the vampire she knew that she was now lacking vital information to make an informed decision as to what to do. When in doubt she’d choose to place her faith in her friends every time and this was no exception. Heart breaking at the thought that Matthew, her rock during her time away, had plotted against her she jerked her body away from his, determined to make it to her friend’s sides even if she had to crawl there.

But before her stumbling step could land her on the ground she felt strong arms surround her, pulling her close as warm lips rasped over her ear.

“Calm down. I’m working with the slayer. I won’t let anyone give you back to him.”

As she met the fierce, hazel eyes above her she knew that he was sincere. Stilling her movements she allowed Matthew to swing her up into his arms and weave his way through the fighting, slipping inside the hanger and into the waiting van.

“Hi, Cordelia.”

Willow’s cautious greeting and friendly wave brought a smile to the brunette’s face. It was something warm and familiar. It called to her memories of a simpler time and she cherished the brief moment of normalcy.

“Hi, Willow. So, come here often?”

The quiet girl seemed startled by the humor, not doubt having had it impressed upon her the dire straits in which Cordelia would be returning to them. But after having a minute to rebound a lopsided smile tilted her lips.

“Actually, more than I would have imagined.”

Cordelia’s grin softened as a look of gratitude passed across her face.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s too quiet without you around, so what else could we do?”

Even with all that they’d done on her behalf in the past months, Cordelia still wasn’t used to such selfless interest in her welfare. At a loss with how to proceed she nodded and turned, tucking her head into Matthew’s shoulder.

That move didn’t go unnoticed by either Willow or Jenny who was occupying the driver’s seat. The two exchanged silent looks as they pondered the ramifications of this unexpected development.

The quiet that had descended over the vehicle was broken as three people threw themselves through the side door.

“Go!”

The van lurched forward as Jenny slammed on the gas peddle and raced through the narrow opening in the large hanger doors. As they swerved onto the road leading away from the airport they left the fuming watchers behind, missing Quentin Travers’ livid demand.

“Restore the bond.”

Chapter Eighty Eight


There was an awkward silence in the close confines and it occurred to Cordelia that life was indeed weird when Willow was the most socially adept of a given group.

Suddenly all thoughts of small talk were wiped away as a burning sensation, missing for weeks, burst through her.

Although the full brunt of the bond had been somewhat obscured, the pain of separation had never fully left her. But even that pain, which initially had been sapping away her life, was nothing compared to the feelings flooding her as her bond with Angelus was completely restored, connecting them once more in a fiery explosion of love and loss.

Held hostage by forces that would not be denied, Cordelia’s body shuddered violently and she clung in desperation to the solidness of Matthew’s muscled form, the only stable presence she could process at the moment.

Xander watched, half in fear and half in envy, as the new watcher stroked Cordelia’s hair, whispering soft words of comfort into her ear. He knew that this was about Cordelia and not him, but he couldn’t help the piercing longing to be the one that held her, the one that soothed her pain.

While Cordelia’s dysfunctional family had pushed her to be the epitome of social perfection, his home life had resulted in a pariah status he hadn’t been able to shake. People judged early on in life and were reluctant to admit they might have been wrong despite the intervening years. Xander would blame it on the ignorance of youth, but those opinions hadn’t been confined to those of his own generation. Instead he’d found that they encompassed the adults in his life; his family and teachers making clear, sometimes in subtle and sometimes in overt ways, that they felt there was something lacking in him.

Although both Buffy and Giles had embraced him as a being of worth, Cordelia had been the first truly “normal” person to say that he had value. And, trusting her expertise on all things popular, he borrowed some of her belief in him as a salvageable person and had begun to rebuild the self-esteem his family had so brutally extinguished.

For that, no matter how the rest of their lives played out, Cordelia would own an abiding place in his heart.

Immune to the glare being tossed his way by the young man across from him, Matthew instead locked eyes with his fellow watcher.

“Son of a bitch!”

The silent communication between the two men did not escape Buffy’s notice and the coarse words coming from Giles’ normally cultured mouth were enough to pull her out of her shock and horror at Cordelia’s current condition.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s the bond.”

It was Matthew who answered her, and though she knew he was on their side she wasn’t sure that she was ready to fully trust him yet. Up until that morning he’d been with the Council and they had definitely lost all credibility with their slayer. But Giles trusted him and she trusted Giles, so until he proved himself unworthy of their faith she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Still, a little healthy skepticism never hurt anyone and Buffy turned to Giles for conformation.

“That fast?”

Whatever explanation Giles was about to offer was cut off by Cordelia’s low moan.

“They want him to find me. Oh God, they’re giving me back.”

Matthew’s arms tightened convulsively around the trembling brunette as if somehow sheer force of will could hold the bond at bay.

“But you’re not with them any more, Cordelia. You’re with us and we’re not letting you go anywhere. I know it hurts, sweetheart, but we have a way to block it, just hold on.”

Although she couldn’t make out the words, the gentle tone eased the discomfort slightly; but nothing short of either the resuming of the spell or a reunion with her bondmate would truly end her suffering.

“I feel him. He’s all over me – inside of me.”

Drowning in unfamiliar feelings of helplessness, Matthew pulled her in even tighter looking to Giles for some kind of guidance with these disturbing feelings.

Wearily Giles shook his head at his friend. “It never gets any easier.”

“Can’t we give her something?”

As a slayer Buffy was, above all, action oriented. Watching Cordelia suffer without doing something to stop it was just another torture for which she had to thank Angelus.

With a sympathetic look Giles explained their dilemma.

“If we give Cordelia any type of sedating substance she looses whatever small ability she has to fight the bond. Although it isn’t enough to keep him from finding her it will allow us a small yet precious window of time in which to restart the spell.”

As they finally pulled into the driveway of the small house in which they were currently hiding, Buffy couldn’t hold in her sigh of relief. She’d seen a lot of pain during her short tenure as the slayer, but she didn’t think she could stand the suffering in the van much longer.

Cordelia’s pain, Xander’s fear, Giles’ guilt, even the new guy’s protectiveness were overwhelming and oppressive in the small space.

Upon entering, a brief sense of optimism filled the group as they saw a small circle of wiccans from a local coven in the beginning stages of the ritual that would once again inhibit the tie between Cordelia and Angelus.

Apparently the spell was nearly instantaneous as Cordelia’s body fell limp within seconds of the whispered incantation.

“He’s gone again. He’s gone.”

It was hard to tell if there was gratitude or regret in the pained mutterings, and Matthew found himself uncaring which it was, as neither emotion seemed to calm the girl’s mental sufferings. Making his way upstairs to the bedroom to which Giles had directed him, he sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Carefully arranging Cordelia against him he gently kissed the top of her head murmuring words of solace in hopes that sleep would overtake her, granting her the brief respite they could not provide.

So intent was he on the welfare of his charge that he once again failed to notice her young suitor who stood framed in the doorway, fists clenching in helplessness and anger before he turned and stormed back downstairs.

Chapter Eighty Nine


The ringing in Giles’ pocket drew curious stares from the young people around him. Pulling out the small phone he ignored the shocked expressions that were bordering on an insult to his intelligence and refrained from informing them that the contraption belonged to Matthew who had left it in his care so as not to disrupt Cordelia’s rest when the inevitable call came.

“Hello, Quentin.”

“Rupert. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop this madness and bring the girl back before it’s too late.”

Giles’ bitter laughed seared across the connection.

“You didn’t really think that after all we did to rescue her we’d just give her back to that monster did you? Dammit man; she’s a girl, not some anonymous pawn in your twisted game.”

His former boss seemed less than impressed.

“I would hardly categorize the ending of the world as a game.

You are aware, of course Rupert, that even if we somehow manage to avoid disaster, if you don’t return her you’ve effectively ended your career.”

Giles struggled to speak around the rage clogging his throat.

“You unbearable ass! Do you honestly imagine that I’d continue any association with an organization that would throw an innocent to the wolves? That’s precisely what we were created to prevent.”

He wasn’t alone in his anger as Quentin’s voice also crackled with volatile emotion.

“Our job is to stop evil. Don’t delude yourself. If Acathla is awakened that girl will perish with the rest of the world.”

And the insults to Giles’ intellect just kept coming.

“Do you really think we haven’t considered that you pompous pillock?”

Without warning Giles found both hands free as Buffy relieved him of the phone to vent her own rage and frustration.

“Look, you may have time to waste on some pissing contest but we don’t. In case you haven’t noticed we’re not taking our marching orders from you anymore. Where my watcher goes, I go; and if he says he doesn’t work for you anymore then you can consider yourself slayerless.

Quentin was furious at Giles’ blatant insubordination, but he’d be damned if he’d accept a dressing down from a seventeen year old girl.

“You’re not the only slayer, Miss Summers. It’s only a matter of time before we find Kendra’s successor.”

Buffy’s snort was an inelegant yet clear sign of how unimpressed she was by the implication of her redundancy.

“That’s just peachy with me, but until then I’m the only Chosen One you’ve got; and believe me, I was chosen by beings with far more power than you.

You want action, Travers, here it is – If you come near Cordelia, make any move towards her, or conspire in any way with our enemies against her, I’ll kill you; human or not. Believe me; my conscience is as burdened as it can possibly get. The death of a man who would make a young woman into a demon’s slave – it won’t even touch me.”

Barely restraining herself from crushing the small device she snapped it closed on the voice still sputtering through the small speaker and tossed it back to her watcher. Shaking with rage, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down as Willow moved to her side to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Cell phone, Giles?” Xander asked with raised brows. “Aren’t you the same technophobe who struggled to master the mechanical pencil?”

Giles rolled his eyes at the inane comment but it had done its job and the tension had, for a moment, been broken. However, seeing the doubt in Buffy’s face brought it rushing back and he hastened to assure her that their course of action was sound.

“We’re doing the right thing by not going after Angelus tonight, Buffy. I know that you want to do something to fix this, but we have to remember what happened the other times that we’ve underestimated Angelus and the resources he has available. And he’ll be sure to arrive with everything at his disposal for the meeting tonight.”

“Keep in mind that Angelus felt the break in the spell as strongly as Cordelia did. He knows that she’s close and he’ll attempt to find her before he does anything rash. We only have to hold on for another two or three days until Jenny has finished translating the spell.”

Quiet up to that point, Jenny cast an anxious glance at the computer in the corner before turning regretful eyes back to those depending so heavily upon her.

“If I could make it any sooner…”

Seeing her overcome with the same sense of failure burdening them all, Giles put his arm around her, reassuring her as he had done his slayer.

“It’s alright. You’re doing everything you can. We all are.”

Chapter Ninety


Giles' steps slowed as he neared the room he’d readied for Cordelia. He wanted to go to her, to assure her that they had things in hand, that they would protect her; and yet how could he possibly expect her to be comforted by any promises he might make no matter how sincere. After all, he had promised to protect her from Angelus, and then, when they’d finally managed to secure her release, it was less of a rescue and more of a minor stay of execution. He shuddered to think what would have happened had Matthew not grown so attached to Cordelia that he was willing to betray the council to save her.

Kind thoughts of his friend dwindled as Giles paused in the doorway, startled by the sight of the handsome young man reclining against the headboard with the beautiful young woman curled up against his chest.

He could tell that Matthew was less than impressed with his stern and disapproving look as he returned it with a steady and remorseless gaze of his own. Nevertheless, he gently eased Cordelia away from him and slipped out from underneath her, tenderly lowering her down to the mattress.

A small startled cry caught the attention of both men and a frown drew Giles’ brows together as he watched Matthew calm the young woman's sudden fright with soft shushing sounds. He was in no way happy about this apparent turn of events. Things were complicated enough for all of them without yet another man falling under the sway of Cordelia Chase’s considerable charm.

“We’ll speak about this later.”

Giles’ warning to the departing Matthew was purposely hushed to avoid creating any more upset for Cordelia then the day had already brought.

Once they were alone Giles turned back towards the bed surprised to see a slight smile alighting Cordelia’s face. It was a welcome sight that fanned the minute spark of hope within him that had nearly been extinguished when he had seen her frail form collapse in the van.

He returned her smile as she arranged herself in a seated position and motioned him over to her. Glad to have the chance to finally speak with her and assess her unexpected recovery for himself, he pulled a chair up next to the bed waiting for Cordelia to speak so he could take his lead from her.

Once again she surprised him as she reached out a slightly trembling hand and placed it on his own.

“I’m so sorry, Giles. I didn’t mean to make it so hard to get me away from - ”

Without conscious thought his hand turned in hers, their fingers entwining.

“Cordelia, no. I won’t hear another word of this. We all know why you wanted to stay. No one could ever possibly hold any of this against you, we know that you were just trying to protect us.”

“Pfft. Great job I did; now we’re all going to die.”

At first Giles had been inclined to chuckle at the familiar sound of dismissal that was so unique to this girl; but on hearing the rest of the statement he found anger crowding out any amusement.

“Matthew told you about Acathla.”

Cordelia was still tired and feeling slightly disconnected from the earlier resurgence of the bond, but even she could pick out the subtle signs of Giles’ rising irritation.

“The guy who’s planning to have the world as a bedtime snack. Yeah, he told me. But come on Giles; did you think I wouldn’t want to know why the people who were supposed to be keeping me far away from Sunnyhell were suddenly bringing right back into the lion’s den? Don’t be mad at Matthew. You wouldn’t have fared any better if it had been you I’d been interrogating.”

His smile reappeared as he both acknowledged the truth of her words and rejoiced to see the return of the fierce spirit that was such an integral part of her. He’d been so afraid that they’d been too late, that even if she lived she would simply be a shell of her former self; traumatized beyond all repair. After months of misfortune at every turn, Giles chose to interpret this near miraculous recovery as a positive omen; that the winds of fate were finally shifting in their favor.

Cordelia was relieved to see the anger fade from Giles expression, replaced by a look that, under any other circumstances, she would describe as hope. As she pondered the oddness that was Rupert Giles, her eye was caught by a movement at the door. Wondering when the room had become Grand Central Station, she turned her head and nodded to Buffy who was waiting hesitantly, as if unsure of her welcome.

“Giles, Matthew said he needed to talk to you. It sounded important.”

Nodding to Buffy, he gave Cordelia’s hand a final squeeze and left the two girls alone in an uncomfortable silence.

Cordelia’s mouth tilted slightly at the ridiculous reluctance to speak that they were both exhibiting. Of all the problems they’d had during their time in each other’s company having nothing to say was never one of them. If anything, most of their problems came because neither one of them could seem to stop talking.

Although the chair Giles had abandoned was still next to the bed, Cordelia tucked her legs underneath her in a silent invitation for Buffy to join her.

Watching the blonde’s uncharacteristically uncertain movements, Cordelia barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at their shared timidity. Tentative actions didn’t become either of them and it was all she could do not to use her minuscule amount of strength to grab Buffy and hurry up the relatively short journey to the bed. Superspeed was clearly wasted on this slayer as her gallows pace finally brought her close enough to sit.

She waited patiently for Buffy to tire of the fascination she apparently had with her hands and meet her gaze. When the slayer's eyes finally locked with her own Cordelia almost wished they hadn’t as the raw pain swirling in their depths seared her.

“Cordelia, I’m so sorry - ”

No, no, no. Cordelia couldn’t handle any guilt but her own.

“Don’t.”

To her absolute horror, the anguish contained in Buffy’s expression grew and Cordelia realized that the girl thought she was rejecting her apology. Her face took was a contrast of compassion and wry amusement as she considered the high maintenance of slayers.

“Buffy, believe it or not I know what it’s like to love someone inappropriate. Of course I used to think that meant Xander. My parents said I couldn’t possibly do any worse.” She couldn’t stop the bitter laugh from bubbling up. “Shows what they know, huh?”

She could almost see Buffy turning the words over in her head. She was clearly considering their meaning, the ramifications, and her response.

“Do you hate me for loving him? If I'd listened to everyone and stayed away from Angel...”

As the words trailed off, Cordelia gave her answer the same careful reflection that Buffy had.

“Sometimes. But not because Angel lost his soul. You couldn't have known. Maybe I hate that you had more of him than I did, that you had the soul and not just the vampire. Maybe I hate that you have the excuse that there was some good in him – some part of him that could see people beyond their usefulness to him.”

Her voice grew softer as if shying away from the confession of so great a sin.

“Maybe I just hate you sometimes so I don’t have to hate myself all the time.”

Before her eyes slid away in shame, she saw her own previous kindness on Buffy’s face.

“But you didn’t really love him; it was just the bond.”

While Cordelia longed to avail herself of the absolution being offered, she wasn’t dishonest enough, with herself or others, to allow Buffy to continue to place herself in the middle of this situation with so clear a misunderstanding of its workings.

“Do you know how much I wish that was true? I don't know what Giles told you about the bond, but it creates love in both parties. For him, it's a vampire's love – it's selfish and it's about possessing what he needs to be happy. But for me it's a human's love; giving and generous. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted him to be happy, too. It's simple to say that it's not real, that I just feel it because of the bond, but Angelus told me once that love's just a feeling, and since we were both feeling it that made it real, no matter what caused it. I know it’s not love like you think of it; still…I miss him. I’d never want to live through that again, but it wasn’t what you think it was.”

She gave a weary sigh but continued.

“There were times – many times – when, if I just could have forgotten how I got there, things would have been perfect; times when his behavior and the bond were in complete harmony and I felt like the most beautiful, precious thing in the world.

It's so hard to explain, but the stalking, the kidnapping, the terror – those weren't the worst things that happened. No; the awful times were the times that weren't awful at all. How messed up is that?

Angelus knew things about me. So many things. And he used them; not to hurt me, but to please me. He gave me tulips to make me smile, he got hold of Winky, the orange kitty my dad won got me at the carnival when I was seven, to cheer me up; he took me to the movies, for God's sake.”

Cordelia hadn't been able to talk about these things with anyone, not even Matthew, and she couldn't help wondering what was compelling her now. Maybe it's because Buffy was the only person who had even the slightest chance of understanding, or maybe it was because she seemed willing to listen. Well, not willing so much as compelled; like when you can't tear your eyes away from the scene of a car accident.

“I didn't want to like the things he did for me. I'm not stupid, I knew he was doing them for his own selfish reasons, to manipulate me. But with the bond getting stronger and stronger, every time he did something wonderful his selfishness was easier to ignore. It's like the bond made me love him, but his affection made it seem almost rational to do so.

Don’t get me wrong; I never would have had any thoughts other than the staking variety about him if it hadn’t been for the bond. I know that I didn't have a choice, that even if all he’d ever done was hurt me, I still would have loved him eventually. But it wouldn’t have been like this. I wouldn’t have felt like this.

It’s not love like you know, like you’d understand; but he told me once that when he loved it was real, it was passionate, and it hurt when it was taken away. I don’t have the kinds of feelings that you’d normally associate with love. It’s not hearts and flowers and it’s definitely not what you had with Angel; but it is real, and not only do I not know how to make it go away, sometimes...I just don't want to. Sometimes it's all I can do not to run back and feel like, for once, I'm everything to someone. And maybe it makes me horribly weak, but sometimes, just for a few seconds, I thought about staying because he was bound to me, too, and it felt almost good to be with someone who couldn't leave me.

Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Buffy moved forward and for one wild instant Cordelia thought she was going to attack her for loving Angelus. That thought and most others fled as Buffy’s strong arms wound around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. And before she knew it, Cordelia found herself returning the warm hug; clinging to the girl who had once been her nemesis in silent acceptance of the fact that they were the only two people in the world qualified to understand each other. And in a break from all they had been before this moment, they each relinquished their right to judge the other and held instead to the cold compensation that at least they weren’t alone in their tragedies.

In a voice choked with tears Buffy whispered a desperate plea to the now shaking brunette.

“Please; please don’t hate yourself. You were so strong. You stayed alive and protected us all when I couldn’t. Now it’s my turn to protect you. If you don’t hate yourself then it will give me hope that soon I won’t have to hate myself either.”

Cordelia pulled back, detangling their limbs. While she cherished the shared comfort, the emotion-laden atmosphere was making it hard for her to breathe.

“So, I’ll like me and you’ll like you? With our history that would probably work better than us trying to like each other.”

Buffy’s small smile told Cordelia that she hadn’t been the only one being crushed by the oppressive sadness in the room. Still, it was nice to hear the humor that laced the slayer’s retort.

“Yeah, no need to press our luck.”

A dark brow arched.

“We have luck?”

A blonde brow followed.

“I guess we’re due.”

Chapter Ninety One


A boundless fury surged through Angelus as he gazed at the fossilized demon before him. His rage had been growing unchecked since he’d been informed by the Watchers Council two nights before that they’d lost Cordelia when the slayer had attacked them at the airport. Not that he’d needed them to tell him something was wrong. As soon as he’d felt their bond flare briefly to life he’d known that the watchers’ plans had somehow gone awry.

Those all too short moments when he could feel Cordelia once more had been a double-edged sword. Having her fill him again, knowing that he was filling her had created an ecstasy he hadn’t felt since he’d last been buried deep within her. Unfortunately experiencing that rapture once again only emphasized the terrible emptiness that was constantly clawing at his insides.

There was a sort of hollow joy in threatening the watchers who had delivered his property into his enemy’s hands. Though a part of him feasted on the fear he could feel, even through the phone line, he knew his words were wasted. He had, at his fingertips, the resources of the entire demon population of the Hellmouth; if he couldn’t find his wayward pet it was unlikely that the bumbling group of men who’d lost her to [i]their own[/i] slayer would be able to make any headway in her recapture.

His frustration was growing in concert with his outrage as every lead resulted in a dead end. Without the bond to follow he’d been forced to resort to tracking down the large spurts of mystical energies that would surround the casters of such a massive spell. It was a relatively easy concept, and theoretically he should have had Cordelia back before the sun had risen. But in the last forty-eight hours there had been more than a dozen upsurges of magickal power spread out across town. He was fairly certain he had good ol’ Rupert to thank for the overabundance of false leads, and on their next meeting thank him he would.

But even thoughts of bloody retribution were not enough to stave off the pain and longing that were slithering through his mind like twin serpents spitting a poisonous venom at each other that was little by little dissolving his tenuous hold on reason.

Sometimes, when the fog in his head thinned, he wondered if madness was contagious. Lately any being with a modicum of sense avoided being in his presence and in the resulting quiet he could swear that he heard Acathla calling to him; whispering his name, like a siren to a hapless sailor, as Dru had claimed.

The sounds scorched through him like a rain shower of holy water and the longer he was kept from Cordelia the more he was drawn to the petrified demon in her place; and if absolute love were to be denied him he would have nothing less than ultimate hate.

Angelus wasn’t the only vampire searching for the lovely brunette. Slipping silently through the darkened alleys of Sunnydale, Spike was questioning and killing informants as he went; not merely to conceal the proof of his returned mobility, but also to work off some of the roiling temper that had consumed him ever since he’d learned what the slayer’s little gang had done. All their endless struggles to save the world and for once the solution was not only simple but right at their fingertips and they were going to let an entire planet die just to have their own way. Self-righteous pricks.

Worse, he’d seen Angelus skulking around Acathla more and more with a nearly maniacal look on his face. The white hats had made this a contest in the older vampire’s mind and Angelus wasn’t one to settle for second place, no matter the cost, even to himself. Spike knew, with an almost unnatural certainty, that they were all down to the last grains of sand in their collective hourglass.

Chapter Ninety Two


Another scream echoed through the cavernous room, and a malevolent smile cut into Angelus’ face. The relief he felt was so heady that it was almost smothering him in an intoxicating cloud of delight.

His head, formerly laden with desolation, was now brimming with the beautiful agony of Acathla’s vast power.

Another shrill scream pulled him from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the vampire before him. He was rather unfamiliar with the fledgling he faced and bore no personal grudge against him. It was simply the young vampire’s misfortune to be sent by the older, wiser minions to deliver the disappointing message that they’d hit another wall in their search for Cordelia.

His sanity, stretched progressively thinner as the hours without her drug on, had finally given way, unable to withstand the emptiness of the bond interrupted. As the mental dam had broken, the abyss left in its place allowed, near instantaneously, the presence of the sleeping demon to rush in, filling him completely.

In the mood to celebrate his newfound sense of peace he had decided to indulge in a little 'me time' and had proceeded to chain his unsuspecting follower to the wall. Having sent for his entire clan, he had nothing but time and a minion to kill and he used them both wisely, entertaining himself by carving breathtaking murals of the upcoming apocalypse into the young demon’s flesh.

Angelus frowned as he realized that his hard won cries had dwindled to muted whimpers which were hardly satisfying to the demented vampire. With a vicious wrench the chains snapped in his hands and, grasping the jagged links, he pulled the barely conscious underling across the room, regretting that his hideously frightening smile was wasted on the pathetic being at his feet. With one modest heave he lifted the flaccid form and flung it into the large, stone fireplace.

Ahh, there were the screams he’d longed for.

Sighing, he took a moment to mourn the loss of such an ornately adorned canvas; but disfiguring vampires generally cursed one’s art to impermanence, and seeing the minion well and blemish free would only serve to remind him of all his hard work lost, so really, it was all for the best.

The noise behind him alerted him that his orders had been carried out. The frightened whimpers of the terrified human being unfortunate enough to have been randomly chosen to be the sacrifice for their little dimension opening filled the room.

“My friends – it’s time.”

Chapter Ninety Three


Spike definitely didn’t like the sound of that. Although he really hadn’t liked the sound of much since Angelus lost the soul that, frankly, the blond was beginning to miss.

As far as he could see the situation was impossible. First, even with the element of surprise that his healed body would provide he would never be able to overwhelm the sheer number of vampiric lemmings that would follow Angelus literally to the end of the earth. Second, even if he could clear out the minions he’d never be able to take on his sire and grandsire. Especially given that, while he was perfectly willing to dust Angelus, he would never be able to seriously hurt Dru. And last on his list of why they were all going to die; if he could somehow manage to eliminate everything that stood between the two of them and face him man to man, figuratively speaking, he knew with utter conviction that he would fail.

Since the last time he’d seen him, Angelus had move past hatred, beyond evil, and now he’d settled into that dark and squalid recess of the mind where madness lived; and somehow, in the brief span of a single day, the zealotry that gripped seemed to make him near invincible.

With a horror that had no place on the face of a master vampire, Spike watched as Angelus reached forward and with the light of the righteous burning in his eyes, recited some ancient gobbledygook, killed the sacrifice, and with the man's blood on his hand, grasped the sword and –

and…

and…

Spike forced his muscles to relax enough to allow him to pry one eye open.

His first thought was that hell looked an awful lot like Sunnydale. That didn’t actually surprise him all that much, but he honestly didn’t believe that even evil was evil enough to leave him to suffer in the same hell he’d been living in for months, so he disregarded that theory.

His next guess was that hell was so truly hideous, like infomercials for spray on hair or a Barry Manilow concert, that his mind had literally shut down to allow him a brief respite from the new and torturous reality. But as the seconds became minutes he realized that something had gone wrong…or right, depending on how many of your marbles you still had.

Although, seeing Angelus’ expression in the face of his failure he began to wonder if they might not have been better off being sucked into hell. It wasn’t the wild look of minutes before; rather it was the calm and serene conviction that only fanatics can ever truly know.

“Well, I can’t say that this isn’t disappointing, but it’s not the end of the world. Of course, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Well, you know what they say – ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself.’ ‘Cause while there may be no I in ‘team’, there’s definitely one in ‘kill’.”

The words were not the acceptance of failure Spike was hoping for, and as Angelus continued he questioned whether things were going from bad to worse. Or, as was more common in his life, from immeasurably horrific to equally immeasurably horrific.

“So if Acathla doesn’t want in on the fun then we’ll just have to let sleeping rocks lie. We’ll bring death to every living thing on this earth even if we have to go door to door to do it. My friends, the Hellmouth is our playground and tonight I feel like breaking some toys!”

Since the focus of the room was on Angelus’ overblown melodrama Spike felt safe in rolling his eyes. Sometimes he felt trapped in an endless episode of Dawson’s Creek…only with more disembowelings. Although he was never a demon given to prolonged bouts of self-deprecation even he could appreciate the sad state of affairs that had led to him somehow becoming the voice of maturity and reason in any given situation. It was disgusting, that. He wanted to enjoy a night of wanton homicide with the rest of the gang. But it seemed that love had decided to share its bitch with fate, and destiny was decreeing that it was his night to serve as the designated demon.

The worst part was that frankly he didn’t give a flying fuck about the good folks who were stupid enough to homestead on the mouth of Hell. But what apparently only he was able to appreciate was that a rampaging mob of demons burning down an entire town and feasting on the human rats that scurried out of the flaming wreckage might, possibly, in the right circumstances, attract the attention of oh, say…[i]everybody[/i]!

He understood Angelus. He’d never run on more than a one cylinder engine and right now Spike could see that even that one wasn’t firing. But what he couldn’t figure out was the rest of the morons surrounding him. True, minions were rarely the yellowest bananas in the bunch, but he was beginning to think that Angelus had a special talent for finding the stupidest people to turn. Of course the promise of a virtual smorgasbord of victims and violence that their master was offering them was tempting, but could he alone see that one of the chief benefits of being a demon of eternal evil was the [i]eternal[/i] part. If they brought this kind of attention down on their heads, forever, for them, would be about a day and a half.

There was little love lost between Spike and the Watcher’s Council, but that was because he thought that it was made up of middle aged gits with stakes up their asses, not because he thought they were powerless. The Council, no matter how inept its members might be, had their fingers in many a pie and their influence extended well past the realm of the supernatural. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least to learn that they had managed to subtly infect various governments with their demon phobia. The overnight leveling of an entire city wouldn’t go unnoticed and even people’s overwhelming need for denial couldn’t possibly stretch far enough to sweep the rubble under the rug.

The heavy doors hit the wall as two vampires came in, a body between them. The sight interrupted both Spike’s hopeless thoughts and Angelus’ sadistic ramblings to his clan; and while he was glad to shake off his despair and doubly so to hear Angelus finally shut the hell up, his stomach dropped to see the price of his peace.

The watcher.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Ninety Four


Consciousness tiptoed its way back into Giles’ head and yet it might as well have barged in like a charging rhinoceros as he was certain his head couldn’t possibly have felt any worse. As one eye cracked open, letting in the muted light of the room, he realized how truly wrong he was – apparently his capacity for new pain was infinite.

“Have a nice nap, Rupert?”

And apparently his capacity for appallingly bad luck was still at full force too, Giles thought as he finally opened both eyes, already knowing exactly where he was.

“I can't begin to tell you how much trouble you've caused me recently. Well, I could, but we'd be here all night and I have more pressing business to attend to.

Speaking of which, how much do you know about our good friend Acathla? I'm guessing quite a bit. I mean let's face it, you have the kind of knowledge that only a guy who never gets laid has the time to gather. So tell me, what's the secret to convincing our slumberous friend to join our little party here.”

A rusty sound that could loosely be called laughter pushed from Giles' throat.

“Please, I wouldn't even tell you the secret ingredient in my grandmother's bread pudding.”

With a good natured sigh Angelus shrugged.

“That works, too.”

And with those words Giles felt blood spew out of his mouth as Angelus' fist slammed into it. And so it began.

Spike quietly left the room. He could swear in seventeen different languages, including eight of the demon variety, and yet he couldn’t think of one word foul enough to fit the situation in which he found himself – he needed the slayer. Feeling vaguely ill at the thought he realized that he might actually prefer being sucked into a hell dimension.

“Ubreheox eposit!”

Spike sighed as he slipped past the minions guarding the perimeter of the mansion. Apparently demon swear words weren’t enough to ease some of the tension twisting his insides. Pausing for a moment he tried to think of where the slayer might be found.

[i]If I were a slayer, where would I be…[/i]

“Govno!”

Russian profanity was a bust too as it certainly didn’t wash away any of the considerable taint of trying to think like a slayer. Deciding to go with the oldies but goodies, he resigned himself to the tedious task of making the rounds of Sunnydale’s oh so many cemeteries.

“Shit!”

Spike would have been pleasantly surprised as that particular word seemed to be somewhat effective in venting his spleen if it hadn’t been prompted by his being unceremoniously thrown against a tree.

Oh well, he thought encouragingly, at least he’d found the slayer.

Buffy took a step closer to the prone figure of the blond vampire. Her body was shaking with barely leashed tension that had little to do with Spike’s sudden appearance.

They were fast running out of time. Over the last couple of days Giles had been going to different locations around town and preforming rituals that would cause spikes of magik to be felt across the Hellmouth. It was their best plan for disguising the location of the safe house. But they knew they were working against the clock; that kind of outpouring of magic couldn’t be sustained indefinitely. And now, to make matters worse, he hadn’t returned from performing the last spell.

Then, as Buffy had finally come to accept that matters in the life of a slayer could never stop at ‘worse’, Jenny was back at the house preparing the ritual that couldn't be preformed if she didn’t find her watcher soon.

Even though she was prepared to do what needed to be done, a part of her had been hoping that they could just restore Angel's soul and it would all be over; that she wouldn't actually have to kill the last chance that he'd ever come back. But if what she feared was true, if Angelus had Giles, then the spell wouldn't matter; she'd dust him in a heartbeat to save her watcher.

Of course, even if none of this mess with Angelus had been happening at all, it was never a good thing for a person to go missing on the Hellmouth. And that’s why, for once in her life, she was happy to see Spike. Grabbing his leather duster, Buffy lifted him from the ground and slammed him back against the large oak.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up, slayer. I’m on your side, remember?”

Spike wasn't remotely surprised at how quickly the girl could wear out her welcome. Barely three seconds before he’d been pleased to have found her and now he just wanted to kill her. Which he wouldn’t; although he tried to console himself with the thought that that decision was based entirely on his attempts to stop Angelus and not on the fact that she was on the verge of successfully kicking his ass.

“Spike, you’ve never been on anyone’s side but your own.”

He almost laughed as she sneered at him as if she’d expected better.

“Yeah, well – vampire here. But it just so happens that your side and my side seem to be one and the same.”

From the roll of her eyes Spike could see that he was going to have to convince her. He bit back a growl at the time that would be wasted with these idiotic recriminations when it could be much better spent introducing Angelus to the sharp end of the slayer’s stake.

“Is that why you tried to send us on a wild demon chase the other day?”

Now that was one decision Spike actually stood firmly behind.

“That was for all of our benefit, slayer, as time is clearly showing.”

He felt himself pulled forward and then pounded once more into the rough wood behind him to emphasize how strongly she seemed to disagree with his assertion.

“Somehow I don’t think Cordelia would agree with you.”

“Well she’s not gonna get a chance to agree with much of anything ever again when your ex kills us all.”

Spike braced himself, expecting more violence with the mention of Angelus, but instead, he found himself stumbling forward as she suddenly released her hold on him.

“Enough!”

His mouth dropped open slightly. [i]She’d[/i] had enough? She’d been the one blathering on and wasting their all too precious time.

“I’m not going to argue about this with you, Spike. You say you’re on our side – prove it. Where’s Giles?”

“Well if you’d let me get a word in edgewise. You know you hero types have the worst manners that -”

“Spike! Where – Is – Giles?”

“Where do you think? He’s with Angelus. And if I know my grandsire, and unfortunately I do, your watcher will be spilling his guts any minute now – figuratively; and then Angelus will be spilling the man's guts - literally.”

Realizing that there was nothing more to gain by wasting time with Spike, Buffy turned to leave. Knowing that she wasn’t lucky enough to have that be the end of their unpleasant interaction, she was unsurprised to hear him call out behind her.

“We’re going to get the cheerleader, right?”

As frantic as she was to get to Giles she couldn’t seem to stop her body from pausing and then turning to face the clearly mental vampire in disbelief.

“Are you insane?” Realizing that she was once more wasting time she resumed walking, knowing that he’d be following close behind. “What am I saying? Of course you are if you think that I’m going to give Angelus anything, much less Cordelia. So be useful or be somewhere else!”

Having believed that she’d made her intent clear, Buffy picked up her pace hoping he’d take the hint that she was through with this pointless discussion when she refused to respond to his further calls. But peace was apparently not to be had as Spike rushed past her, turning to jog backwards so that he could convince her with what she assumed he thought to be the earnest look on his face.

“Don’t be so bloody stubborn, slayer. For all we know the watcher’s already blabbed the entire Acathla owner’s manual. Just give back the girl. You saved her once; you can do it again – after you’ve gotten the demonic garden gnome out of the picture.”

“It’s [i]not[/i] happening, Spike. He’s not getting Cordelia and he’s not keeping Giles; and if it sends us all to Hell well, welcome to my world.”

“Just great. So no matter which side I’m on I’m helping someone send everything to Hell in a handbasket.”

And that was it for the nearly nonexistent reserve of patients Buffy had left after endless months of dealing with the damned Aurelius family. Her arm flew back before she knew what was happening, but once she realized that it was poised to strike it seemed like the best of ideas. Putting all her frustration into the forward motion she connected with Spike’s face with a sickening thud.

Her enjoyment at the sight of the vampire’s form hurling backwards through the air before being halted, abruptly, by the asphalt was interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind her. Grabbing the stake conveniently tucked into her waste band, she spun around prepared to attack.

“Whoa, whoa, Buffy! Here to help.” Xander raised his hands and motioned to the threatening wooden shard. “Which I can do much better without the added ventilation; but thanks for the offer.”

As she was stashing her weapon once again, Xander took the opportunity to peer over his friend’s shoulder, smiling at the sight of Spike struggling to his feet. His grin widened as he watched blond vampire trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose while moaning loudly.

“Far be it from me to interrupt you from your spiking Spike, Buffy, but we’re sort of in a time crunch here. So if you could hurry up and kill him we can get on with the world saving portion of the evening.”

A look of confusion replaced the anticipation on Xander’s face.

“Hey, where’s Giles?”

The young man took no comfort in his friend’s anxious expression. No good could ever come from anything that worried a slayer.

“Angelus has him.”

Xander hated when he hated being right. He was right so rarely that it seemed grossly unfair when the universe conspired to keep him from enjoying it.

“Yeah, Xapper; the watcher’s gone and gotten himself hijacked; so if you’d stop puttin’ a twist in the slayer’s knickers we could go and get him.”

Xander discounted Spike’s words as per usual but took a step around Buffy to spit out, “Ha! Like Buffy would ever buy that you’re really going to help us.”

His words dripped with scorn as he finally basked in the joy of being right…until he noticed guilt and then embarrassment flit briefly across Buffy’s face.

“You’re not, right Buffy? No, no, no! Come on; how many times are we gonna fall for the whole “vampire with a heart of gold” routine?”

“Hey now!” Spike cried in outrage at the slight against his nature. “Don’t be spreading malicious rumors like that. My heart is, and always has been, black - like the darkest night. There’s just a big, inky void - ”

“Much like your head.”

Before Xander could build his initial insult into one of his entertaining but at that point far too time consuming tirades, Buffy grasped his arm and pulled him back, placing herself between the two once more.

“Guys, take your interpersonal relationships to couples therapy. We actually have more important things happening tonight, remember?”

Seeing that she finally had their attention she pushed her feelings aside and let the slayer take control.

“Spike, you go and stall Angelus. If Giles doesn’t come out of there alive neither will you and your girlfriend. Xander and I have to make a quick stop but we’ll be right behind you.”

Giving her a hard, assessing look, Spike was satisfied that her natural instincts were driving her instead of her girlish sensibilities. And while he didn’t care for the threats he didn’t balk; instead taking off for the mansion at a run, never doubting the slayer’s words.

Xander also recognized the shift in Buffy’s attitude and, without another word, followed her lead as she spun on her heal and headed off in the direction of Giles’ house.

Chapter Ninety Five

Buffy looked back to where Xander stood just outside the door, an odd expression on his face. Slayer instincts already on high alert, she pulled a stake from the waistband of her jeans and spun gracefully in a complete circle in a search for some unsensed menace.

“Why do you have a key to Giles' place?”

Buffy looked down at the keys still resting in the lock, slowly realizing that there was no danger here, just stupidity.

“Geez Xander; could you be any grosser? Obviously I have a set of keys in case the forces of evil rise up and I need to get some serious weaponage.”

Suspicion gave way to concern as his brows furrowed.

“You know, I think that we live in the only place where that's actually the most likely answer.”

With a small shrug Xander followed Buffy through the house and up to Giles' bedroom. Throwing open the closet door she began tossing clothes haphazardly to the floor.

“Good thing this stuff doesn't wrinkle.” Xander muttered as he attempted to avoid the tweed carnage surrounding him. A humiliatingly unmanly squeak ended his commentary on the librarian’s wardrobe as Buffy spun around, the point of the large sword she was holding coming dangerously close to what he'd always considered the most important part of his body.

“Hey! I'm not done using that!”

Smirking at her friend’s outraged tone, Buffy allowed the point of the sword to fall gently to the ground.

“I didn't know you'd started using it.”

By the time he'd thought up an appropriately scathing reply to the slur on his manly prowess he noticed that Buffy had left the room. Running out to catch up with her he was distracted by the large, gleaming sword.

“Exactly why did we need this sword as opposed to the seventy three others we have back at the safe house?”

With a look of condescension and a tone worthy of Giles, Buffy began her lesson.

“This was the sword that was blessed by the original knight who…”

“Knight who?” He encouraged.

“Yeah; that’s actually when I tuned Giles out. But I’m pretty sure that at the end he said it would kill our friendly, neighborhood Hell demon. I mean that’s got to be why Matthew went to all the trouble of getting it to us.”

Xander’s face twisted at the mention of the young watcher. He knew he was heroic. He knew he’d turned his back on the council. He knew that he’d saved Cordelia. He knew and he didn’t care. Every time he saw him he was filled with an anger that almost bordered on hate. It wasn’t fair, but that Englishman-come-lately got to comfort Cordelia, hold her when she was scared, so Xander wasn’t particularly inclined to be generous to the man.

As they made their way to leave, the sound of a clearing throat had Buffy pivoting once again in search of danger. Only this time she seemed to find it.

“Slayer.”


Spike wheeled himself into the large room just in time to see Angelus about to do the watcher some serious harm. From what he could see, he'd taken quite a beating, maybe garnered himself a few broken bones, but he was pretty much in one piece. Now he just had to think of how he was going to keep him that way.

The one thing in which Spike had absolute faith in in the topsy-turvy world of the Hellmouth, is that if the librarian was irreparably damaged the slayer would stop at nothing to hunt him down and dust both him and Dru. Luckily, in the absence of a sane sire and thanks to the abandonment of his grandsire, Spike had an uncanny ability to think on his feet...well, in his chair.

“Not that I don't enjoy the senseless violence thing you've got going here, but you know there are other ways to get what you need. Ways that might actually work.”

Normally Angelus would take his time with someone as strong willed as Rupert Giles. In fact, under other circumstances the answers would be secondary; simply a destination that gave the torture context and meaning. But there was no point in dragging out one person's pain when he could awaken Acathla and unleash pain on every person. The infinite destruction that awaited would even be worth listening to Spike.

Sable eyes tinged with madness clashed with wary blue.

“Enlighten me.”

Fighting down a the survival instinct that told Spike that increasing the insanity quotient in the room was a very bad idea, he reached his arm towards the doorway and called out, “Drusilla? Sweetheart? Do you want to play a game?”

As his sire glided in and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, Spike couldn't help but wonder what the hell was taking the slayer so long. As far as diversions went, this one was fairly suicidal. After all, what did it matter if he saved the watcher from being killed by Angelus only to have him killed by Acathla.

Drusilla knew she needed to do. He sang in her head, his words echoing against the stone in which he was encased. He showed her things; beautiful, terrible things and this battered yet unbroken man before her was the key to make those visions a reality.

She circled the bound watcher, coming to stand before him. Gently she touched his head, smoothing her cool hand over his damp brow.

“Poor thing.”

Her voice was soft and her accent conjured up thoughts of home for the weary Englishman. He knew something wasn't right, but he'd been swimming in an ocean of agony for so long that he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Sliding her hand down across his cheek she pulled back slightly to hold two delicate fingers before his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He knew not to; tried to turn away, but pain left him muddled and the passage of time had beaten down his will.

“Be...in me.”

She was sliding into him or he to her; he couldn't tell. All Giles knew was that he was falling; too far, too fast. And then he was caught.

“Jenny.”


Giving Xander a small shove, Buffy placed herself between him and the worst dressed menace she had ever seen.

“Who are you?”

“Whistler.”

Buffy recognized the name. He'd helped Angel, so she wouldn't kill him just yet.

“What are you doing here?”

Letting out a small sigh he returned Buffy's penetrating gaze with a piercing look of his own.

“It wasn't supposed to go down like this. Nobody saw you coming. I figured this for Angel's big day. But I thought he was here to stop Acathla, not to bring him forth. Then you to made with the smoochies and now he's a creep again. Now, what are you prepared to do?”

Quietly fuming, Buffy was rethinking her decision not to slay first and not have to deal with questions later.

“I'll do whatever I have to.”

“Maybe I should ask, what are you prepared to give up?”

The sword twitched in the slayers hand.

“You don't have anything useful to tell me, do you? What are you; just some immortal demon sent down to even the score between good and evil?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. This slayer was smarter than most.

“Wow. Good guess.”

Buffy wondered if that immortal part was set in stone.. Surely Giles wouldn't be too mad if she killed this jerk. He'd probably be more mad about having to pick intestines out of his carpet. Thinking about her watcher pissed her off even more.

“Well, why don't you try getting off your immortal ass and fighting evil once in a while? 'Cause I'm sick and tired of doing it myself.”

Okay, maybe she wasn't that smart.

“In the end, you're always by yourself. You're all you've got. That's the point.”

Taking exception to that, Xander stepped from behind Buffy.

“You're wrong. She has us.”

Buffy cringed. She'd been so caught up in her frustration that she'd forgotten all about Xander standing there as she went off about having to do everything herself.

The demon rolled his eyes.

“Save the sentiment for Hallmark, kid. You're the sidekick here, not the hero. You can walk any time you want and the story goes on, But you,” he turned to Buffy, “without you there's no tale to tell. That's why it will never let you go. No matter what you do or where you go, it's in you. Fate, destiny, shitty luck; call it what you want, but you can't escape it.”

Xander watched some of the fight go out of Buffy at those ominous words. This kind of help they didn't need. Buffy might be the Chosen One, that wasn't all that she was. At the end of the day, when all the fighting was done, Buffy was a young woman, and if she did have to be alone as a slayer she didn't have to be alone as a girl. Maybe he couldn't fight like a slayer and maybe he hadn't memorized a set of supernatural encyclopedias like a watcher, but he could be something Buffy needed just as much. He could be a friend.

This time it was his turn to place himself between the other occupants of the room.

“Well, aren't you just a demony ray of sunshine. You know, there's a reason people shoot the messenger. While we appreciate your underwhelming support, if you done making sure we find the cloud in every silver lining we're just gonna go and actually do the things you just talk about.”

Buffy's spine straightened at Xander's words. He was right; they had real things to do. But once again her exit was stalled by their uninvited guest.

“The sword isn't enough. You gotta be ready. You gotta know how to use it.”


The dark vampiress smiled as she heard a woman's name slip from the bound man's lips.

“Yes. See with your heart.”

And he did. There, in front of him, was the woman who had dug herself a place so deep inside him that even the explosive revelations of a myriad of secrets hadn't been enough to shake her loose.

“Oh Jenny. Thank God. We have to get out of here.”

A small yet firm hand kept him from trying to rise from the chair despite the ropes binding him.

“Slowly, love. Slowly.”

He settled under the soothing touch.

“Jenny, we have to stop him. We have to...we must get get him away.”

Tender lips whispered against his.

“Away from what, my love? How can I help you if I don't know what to do?”

Help; yes, he needed help. Jenny would help him and he was so very tired.

“We have to get Angel away from Acathla.”

He struggled to say more, but reason were fleeting taking words with it.

“Angel himself? He's the key?

He was so glad Jenny had come for him. She'd always understood. With a small sigh of relief he confirmed his thoughts to which she'd given voice.

“Yes. H-h-his blood...H-he mustn't...”

A soft cheek rubbed against his then pulled away. As the chill air rushed to fill the empty space around him, his eyes snapped open. Pain rushed through his body, once again, and yet it was dwarfed by the agony of his soul as his beloved's face faded into that of his enemy and he realized that he'd just doomed them all.


The grinding of Buffy's teeth was almost audible.

“If you have something useful to say then cut the pompous crap and spit it out.”

“Angel's the key.” Whistler waited for a reaction, but the slayer just stared, her grip on the sword flexing in a silent but effective threat. “His blood will open the door to Hell. Acathla opens his big mouth and creates a vortex. Then only Angel's blood will close it. One blow will send them both back to Hell. But I strongly suggest that you get there before that happens, 'cause the faster you kill Angel, the easier it's gonna be on you.”

She'd known it would come down to this, but it didn't make it any easier to hear.

“Don't worry about me.”

He might not have shown it, but how could he not? “It's all on the line here kid.”

“I can deal.” She had to believe that. “The world's about to end; there's nothing left to loose.”

As Whistler watched them stride purposefully through the door he finally let the worry show on his face.

“Wrong, kid. There's one more thing.”


“We have to start.”

“Were can't start without Giles!”

Willow had been listening to this same argument for almost thirty minutes now. About an hour after Buffy left to look for Giles they had all realized that something was wrong. Not only had Giles not returned at the appointed time, but he hadn't contacted them. And if Buffy had found him where he was supposed to have been then they would have made it back twice over.

So back and forth it went. Matthew saying the needed to start and Jenny demanding that they wait. In her mind Willow sided with Jenny. She'd do so out loud, but as the argument grew more and more heated she was afraid of becoming its first casualty. After all, Matthew was needed to help protect Cordelia, and there was no way they could do the spell without Jenny, so technically, she was the only expendable person in the room.

Willow knew that she was probably overreacting, thinking of a ridiculously improbable, worst case scenario; but in a town where teachers were giant bugs, the local teen hang out was infested with vampires, and she and Cordelia had actually become sort of friends it was clear that anything was possible. So in the interest of her continued well being she let the two adults have it out.

They were almost toe to toe and, as Matthew took a step closer and lifted his arm, Willow was afraid that it was going to get physical. That situation she'd get involved in regardless of safety. But as she started to rise from the sofa she saw Matthew's hand come down gently on Jenny's shoulder.

“I know you're worried, Jenny. I am too. Having Giles here is definitely the optimal situation for recasting the curse. But he's not here and we're running out of time. I know that none of us want to entertain the thought, but it must be considered that if Giles didn't return it was because he was prevented from doing so.”

Willow knew that he was right; no one had wanted to mention the fact that Giles might have been taken...or worse.

“I've known Rupert Giles for a number of years now, and he's a survivor; and more than that, Angelus will probably keep him alive for the twisted joy of making him watch the world end. I believe that, wherever her is, he's alive. But I don't believe for one minute that he's safe.”

Willow winced. She'd been reassured by the first part of the watcher's impassioned speech, but the thought of Giles being hurt was unbearable. It was the same with all of her friends. She was a worrier; she couldn't help it. Her parents weren't very, well...parental. For a long time all she'd really ever had was Xander and Jessie, and because she had so few people to care about she lavished all of her love on them. So now, even though she had more people in her life, she didn't know how to care about them any other way but than with everything in her. And considering that they lived on a Hellmouth and were, therefore in constant danger, she was always in a state of worry. She wasn't sure, but she suspected that the recent pain in her stomach might be the beginning of an ulcer. Which worried her. Irony was a bitch.

“Jenny, Buffy says she's ready to take on Angelus, and we all hope she's right, but it's not something on which I'm willing to risk Rupert's life. This spell may be the only chance he has. Of course I'd rather he was here. His experience would be invaluable. But he's not, and instead of preventing us that is the very reason we need to go forward. His life could depend on this. Everyone's lives could.”

Watching as her mentor's shoulders slumped, Willow knew that the arguing was over; Matthew had won. But she still wondered how they'd manage with just two people.

“But we need three people for the spell.”

The young girl smiled as her teacher gave voice to her very own thought. But her grin was wiped away with Matthew's solution.

“Willow can help.”

On the list of really bad ideas that should never be spoken of aloud, Willow thought that might be number one...and number seven...and maybe number fifteen. It was such an incredibly bad idea that it was probably on the list a lot. Sure, once she'd learned of the world of magic she'd dabbled. Who wouldn't? Floating pencils was cool. Invoking ancient spirits to rain vengeance down upon your enemy was...not.

“No way. These are powerful magiks. There are some doors that are better left closed.”

Willow nodded vigorously. She was unspeakably glad that they were on the same wavelength tonight.

“Yes,” Matthew stated dryly. “And chief among those would be the ones leading to Hell dimensions. You know that if there was any other way I'd never suggest this; but we're desperate here. This is dangerous, but do you think that it's any more so than living on the Hellmouth or being best friends with the slayer?”

Jenny was about to argue but Willow broke in.

“He's right. I take my life in my hands just going to the Bronze. You know once I was almost killed by a guy who asked me to dance. Well, not a guy guy – I mean a live guy – and so not the point,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her well-honed ability to verbally stray off course. “Even if it wasn't the entire world in danger, it's Giles. That makes it more than worth the risk.”

Jenny gave a terse nod of her head; acceptance, but not approval of the plan. Willow watched her walk over to where the necessities for the spell were laid out. Picking up the orb, she sat down in the designated circle, motioning for them to do the same.

“Okay, let's get started.”


Buffy and Xander slowed down as they reached Crawford Street. Xander wasn't surprised by the pensive look on his friend's face. Given the circumstances he'd be shocked if she freaking out completely and thinking about what Aruba might look like at this time of year. Oh, wait...that was him.

“I'm not worried, you know.”

He realized that he must not have been all that subtle what with the staring and the concerned looks.

“Really?” he tossed back. “'Cause it sure looks like your wearing your worried face.”

Her lips quirked. “Yeah, well it was the only one I had clean.”

They walked a little further in silence.

“I'm really not worried about this Xander. Go in, get the bad guy, get out. We do that almost every night. What's really bothering me is what excuse I'm gonna give my mom for being home late again tonight.”

Xander understood. It would be hard enough for her to do this once without having to to go over it in her mind time and again. If she needed her head to be somewhere else for a moment he could do that for her.

“So, what are your choices?”

“Well,” her teeth worried her lower lip as if in deep thought. “I think I'm down to a mild case of mad cow disease or a wolf gnawed of my right foot.”

Xander made a show of giving the matter careful consideration.

“Won't she notice that both your shoes are full?”

“Yeah.” Buffy blew out on a long suffering sigh. “I hadn't actually worked that part out yet.”

They stopped as the mansion came into sight and turned to face each other. The time for levity was over.

“You're not here to fight. You get Giles out and you run like hell, understood? I can't protect you.” She unwrapped the jacket she'd been using to conceal her sword and headed towards the stone edifice. “I'm going to be to busy killing.”

She'd closed down. He knew it was what she had to do to get through this. And just as Xander had assisted her denial so he supported her acceptance.

“Buffy.”

She stopped at his call but didn't turn.

“Kick his ass.”

And with a nearly imperceptible nod, she was gone.


Cordelia had listened to the fight from her somewhat concealed position at the top of the stairs. The part of her that was desperately worried about Giles was angry that the debate had taken as long as it had; but the part of her that was so deeply bound to Angelus wished the matter had never been settled.

As Matthew's loud, clear voice reading the required Latin text signaled the beginning of the ritual, Cordelia felt a cold dread building in her chest. She knew that this was necessary, but as each word passed the crushing pressure grew and though she would do nothing to interrupt it, she began to wonder if she would be able to survive Angel's return.


Spike didn't like being scared. He enjoyed being scary, but since the day he was turned fear just wasn't his thing. Which is why he was sure that what he was feeling at that moment wasn't the first stirrings of terror. But he was demon enough to admit that it was something damn close.

He watched as the creepy smile slid back onto Angelus' face as he leaned over the horror-stricken watcher.

“Your help's been invaluable, Rupert. As a thank you, you can be the first human to greet Acathla on his awakening.”

As Angelus strode past him to begin the ritual, Spike had to shove down the urge to stick out one of his supposedly useless legs, trip his nutty grandsire, and see if the resulting shock would give him enough time to stake the bastard. It was an idiotic plan, most likely destined for failure, and Spike was surprised he could resist. He tended to fly by the seat of his pants most of the time, more because it was fun than effective, but this was just too important for his customary cavalierness. Of course, if the slayer didn't show up in the next three minutes it would definitely be his plan B.

By the time he'd rolled his way into the room Angelus was standing before the entombed demon in preparation for the ritual. Since no one was facing him he felt safe in sneering at the two minions gazing in awe at Angelus as if he was some sort of visionary instead of a bloody lunatic. Even his princess was wearing a look of besotted anticipation; but since she'd never been wrapped to tightly he didn't hold it against her. It was all part of her appeal...except when she was helping to end the world. Then it was mildly annoying.

Vampire senses were greatly enhanced, and not just those that they had while human. Being creatures so deeply connected with mystical forces made them more sensitive to the fluctuations in mystical energy patterns. Spike could feel a shift in the pulsing flow at that moment and the force of it was making him slightly sick. Suddenly Angelus' deep voice filled the room, the dark tones resonating in the vast, stony space.

“Acathla...Mundatus sum...pro te necavi.”

Latin. Nothing good ever came from it's use.

“Sanguinem meum...pro te effundam...”

Spike slowly moved his feet to the floor as Angelus started to move towards Acathla. Slayers were apparently like cops, he thought snidely. There's never one around when you need them.

“Quo me dignum...esse demonstrem.”

He shifted forward in his chair Since almost all of the minions had been sent out to waylay the slayer after the watcher had been captured, and the three that were left were focused on the spectacle before them, Spike had the freedom to maneuver himself next to the fireplace. With no way to sneak up behind him and blunt instruments at his fingertips, it was a strong tactical position. No matter what happened he couldn't let Angelus put his hand to that sword. Now he just had to figure out how to prevent that without getting his head ripped clean off his shoulders; because there was one thing Spike knew for sure – he might be able to delay Angelus, but nothing less than a slayer was going to stop him.

“Now Acathla...”

Keeping his gaze fixed the demon, Angelus held out his hand to Drusilla who reverently laid a knife in it.

“You shall be free.”

The blade slid across his palm, leaving a swell of blood in it's wake.

“And so shall we all.”

The knife fell to the floor as he reached out for the sword.

A muffled choking sound broke the stillness and Spike was covered in a fine layer of ash that used to be a minion. Apparently the slayer had arrived and her voice was as cold and empty as Angelus' had been maniacal.

“Hello, lover.”


“Not dead...nor not of living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call.”


Xander gave Buffy a two minute head start knowing that she'd kill everything in her path and that she was right, in her current mindset he'd just be a distraction. It was fairly easy to find how she'd entered the building – he just followed the piles of dust to a side door.

He went slowly, making sure that it was safe as he moved from room to room. The usual bravado that he worked up to compensate for his extremely rational and realistic fear in the face of never ending apocalypses tended to make him somewhat incautious; but he couldn't afford any mistakes in this, not when it could make the difference in saving Giles.

He might not have ever said it, and goodness knows the poor guy might explode if he'd tried, but Xander truly cared about Giles. He hadn't had many people in his life who honestly believed in him, and certainly no adults, but for some reason, still unknown to him, the older man did. Sure, he probably spent half his time telling him to shut up, but Xander knew it wasn't motivated by the belief that he was inferior, 'cause when the chips were down and the very world was at stake, Rupert Giles believed in him, relied on him. So Xander wouldn't fail him now.

Peering carefully into the next room he saw the watcher and was bombarded with conflicting emotions. He was vastly relieved at finally having found him, but his horror at his condition was immense. Giles was bound to a chair in the middle of the room. His clothes were torn and bloody, obscuring Xander's view of any major injuries he might have sustained. His eye were closed and his head was thrown back, and if not for the clenched muscles of his jaw Xander would have mistaken his pose of pain and exhaustion for unconsciousness.

“Giles!”

Xander rushed to the man who hadn't even flinched at hearing his voice.

“Giles!” He called out again, gently shaking him.

As Xander frantically began untying the ropes binding him Giles managed, with obvious effort, to raise his head.

“Xander?”

The inquiring voice was weak but it sounded wonderful to the concerned young man's ears. The ropes finally undone, Xander began to give thought to how to get Giles out of there.

“Can you walk?”

Giles peered at Xander for a moment before slowly tilting his head back, once again.

“You're not real.”

Okay, not what he'd been expecting. “Sure I'm real,” he assured him.

“It's a trick. They get in your head, make me see things I want.”

Xander realized that Giles must really be hurt because he was usually far more logical. “Then why would they make you see me.”

Giles' head slowly rose as he considered that bit of sound reasoning. “You're right. Let's go.”

Even though Giles groaned as he placed an arm around him to help him rise, Xander found that his relief was beginning to outweigh his horror because if he was able to stand then he might not be as injured as he looked and, frankly, Xander didn't care for their odds of getting to safety if he had to carry the sizable librarian slung over his shoulder.

Xander tightened his arm as the injured man shook with the first step. But although he was obviously struggling, Giles pushed himself to go even faster.

“We need to get back. We have to begin the spell.”

Seeing what had been done to Giles, knowing what had happened to Cordelia, Xander didn't feel remotely bad about the truth he had to deliver.

“The fighting's already started. It's too late for the spell.”

And so Xander kept his promise to his friend – they ran like hell.


Dark circles of blood colored the stone floor as Angelus turned his attention from Acathla to the slayer.

“I don't have time for you.”

His tone was bored, dismissive and it occurred to Buffy that they had come full circle, past all of their conflict and turmoil, to a new meeting of the minds. Except for the fact that she was interfering with his plans, he couldn't care less about her. And finally, if it wasn't for the fact that he was trying to end the world, she could say the same. This wasn't Angel; she'd loved the soul. This was simply the body – not deserving of her love, not worthy of her hate.

“You don't have a lot of time left.”

Her declaration was serious, but simply he smirked at her in a condescending manner as if she were a recalcitrant child. And for once it didn't ruffle her, didn't shake her calm. He was a vampire and she was the slayer. It just wasn't personal anymore.

“Coming on kind of strong, don't you think?” Angelus made a point of glancing at the other vampires in the room before turning his attention back to Buffy. “You're playing some deep odds here. Do you really think you can take us all?”

Buffy smirked back. This was, so far, the politest world ending she'd ever attended.

“No, I don't..”

And then there were still to people in the room smirking, but Angelus wasn't one of them. While he'd been he'd been posturing before the slayer he'd missed the fact that he'd overestimated his allies by one. A fact which came to life a Spike leapt from his chair and, grabbing a convenient andiron, knocked the older vampire into unconsciousness.

“Painful, isn't it?” He spat bitterly at his unmoving grandsire. Months of ridicule and helplessness finally found release as he hefted the heavy metal and brought it down over and over again.

But Spike's catharsis was destined to be short-lived, and a shrill scream rent the air as Drusilla finally clued in to the fact that Spike had aligned himself with their enemies and threw herself onto his back sending them sprawling to the floor. As they climbed to their feet and began to circle each other a soft look filled Spike's eyes.

“I don't want to hurt you, baby.”

She growled deep in her throat and lunged at her traitorous childe, catching him by the throat and slamming him into the wall behind. With a sharp lift of his arm, Spike dislodged Drusilla's crushing hand and with a snap of his right, he drove his fist into her face.

“Doesn't mean I won't.”


“God's bind him. Cast his heart from the...evil...realm.”


Buffy watched with cool detachment as the last of the three minions she'd seen disappeared in a cloud of smoke at the end of her sword. One more and then she could finally finish this. Of course, that was assuming that Spike could hold up his end of the deal and get Drusilla out of the way. From the brief glimpses she'd caught of their battle while she fought her own, she wasn't sure which way it would go. Not that it mattered. If the dead bitch was the one left standing, she wouldn't be for long. Nothing would keep her from eradicating the evil she'd oh so unwittingly released all those months ago.

Ducking a clumsy blow, she swung her leg high, her foot slamming into the vampire's jaw. As he stumbled backwards she followed. An elbow to the stomach. A right cross to the face. A sword arced perfectly to slide through a neck and yet another vampire's dust rained down around her.

She spun back around, ready for the real battle to begin, only to freeze in horror. Somehow while both she and Spike had been struggling with his followers, Angelus had regained consciousness and was stumbling, hand outstretched, towards the waiting demon. So close, and yet Buffy knew that even with all of her strength, all of her speed, she'd never be able to cross the distance in time to keep his blood from that sword.

“You almost made it, Buff.”

It would have been a taunt if he'd cared; if this had been about her, or him, or them. But it wasn't, and so it was less of dig at her defeat than it was an statement of his victory.

“It's not over yet.”

No hate filled, slayer-threat, just a steady declaration of intent.

With a nod to acknowledge that they'd both finally embraced their destinies, Angelus curled his crimson hand around the sword's hilt. With a sharp tug and a burst of light, the weapon slid free and became a silver blur as he spun around and pointed it towards Buffy.

“My boy Acathla here is about to wake up. You're going to Hell.”

Buffy watched him as he tested the weight of his sword. She could see that it impressed him. She wondered if he'd be so enthralled if he knew that, while his sword could start this, hers could finish it. She was about to find out.

“Save me a seat.”


“Return. I call on...”

Cordelia watched as the words got more and more difficult for the young gypsy to utter. She could feel the magik building in the room and she was nearly choking on it. Whatever spirits they'd invited in were angry and, although she detested it, her soul whimpered that Angelus would be the focus of so much hate.

“Jenny?”

At the concern in Matthew's voice, Cordelia leaned forward to get a better view.

“Are you okay?”

The fear in Willow's voice told her something was wrong but she knew the spell was working, the force of it was pulsing through her.

Suddenly Jenny's head jerked back. When it jerked forward again Cordelia could make out the utter darkness that had overtaken her eyes even from where she sat. Cold shivers began to run down her spine as words she'd never heard before boomed out in the small room.

“Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.”


Sometimes relative sanity had it's benefits. One of them was knowing that nothing in the universe was more interesting than preserving your own existence.

“Oh...Here he comes.”

Drusilla's shifting attention showed clearly that soundness of mind was not her forte. And in that brief moment of distraction, Spike made his move. Wrapping a hand in the long, silky strands of her hair, he jerked her head backwards, spun her towards the wall, and slammed her into it face first.

“Sorry, baby. Wish there was another way.”

Lifting her slumping body, Spike turned towards the doorway ready to leave this Hellhole behind forever. A flash of silver caught his eye and he glanced outside in time to see the slayer's sword fly out of her grip as she fell into a stone table with crushing force.

“God, he's gonna kill her.”

Even as he said it Spike was turning again to leave. He'd seen his fair share of slayers in his day; killed a few of them, too. As much as it galled him to admit it, this one was different. She had something he hadn't seen before. He couldn't put his finger on it but it made her sharper, better; far more effective than the others of her kind. If this girl couldn't kill Angelus then no one stood a chance. And whether it would do him any good or not, if she did lose, if Acathla did wake up...well, it might not make a difference but he'd prefer to be as far away as possible when it happened.


“Nici mort, nici al fiintei...”


Angelus twirled his sword as he gazed down at the battered slayer on the ground before him. A few months ago she would have been in this position because she'd had the love of a soul. A few weeks ago because she'd taken the love of a demon. Now she was here merely because she stood in the way of the only peace left to him in this world. With a genuine curiosity he wondered if she knew how irrelevant she was.

“That's everything, slayer. No weapons...no friends...no hope.”

He pulled his sword back, ready to end this.

“Take all that away and what's left?”

As he propelled the blade forward for the killing blow he was jolted as the weapon was halted in mid-thrust. With instinct and reflexes that bespoke of her calling Buffy's hands had snapped together, surrounding the sword and impeding it's progress. And so she answered his question with both her actions and her words.

“Me.”


“Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el.”


The fighting had moved back inside, and it was fierce. Buffy had managed to regain her sword, slowing Angelus' momentum and putting him on the defensive. Now that she'd been able to separate her feelings for Angel from Angelus she was able to let her instinct, rather than her heart guide her. Slayers were stronger than vampires, and that gave her an edge.

However, it was always easier to destroy than to protect. While the fate of the very world rested on her every move, Angelus had had his desires, but nothing of real value hanging in the balance. It was an equalizing situation and she wouldn't have put money on who would walk away the victor.

The blows were flying fast and furious, movements blurred by speed no human could possess. Spinning, Buffy slammed her elbow into his face and as he stumbled back, pivoted and sliced upwards with her sword.

The blow tore across the skin of Angelus' hand and sent his weapon skittering off to the side. In his moment of distraction, Buffy's foot crashed into his chest, sending him to his knees. She raised her sword.

Angelus knew he was in trouble, but that had never bothered him before. Vampires were like teenagers; they couldn't truly conceptualize their demise and so they tended to dance on the edge of reason more than was healthy. He'd waltzed clean over that cliff a while ago so he never panicked, even when it looked like the end. After all, he hadn't died yet, and it certainly wasn't because there were a lack of people trying.

He didn't look the slayer in the eyes, didn't watch her face for some sign of her intent. No; he locked his gaze onto her shoulders. Watched the muscles contract as she held her sword a lot. Waited for the slight ripple that would herald it's decent. That's when he'd make his move; a sharp roll to the left and he could grab his weapon and be back on his feet in mere seconds. He'd take some damage; it was an iffy plan at best and he didn't give himself better than one in three odds of success, but it was always his audacity that served him best in moments like these.

He saw the telltale bunching of flesh beneath her skin as the muscles reshaped themselves for the strike. Shifting his weight almost imperceptibly, he waited...waited...just an instant more -


“Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!”

Cordelia's eyes filled with the blinding light filling the orb. This was it. There was no going back. It was finally over.

Acum!


He let out an anguished cry seeming to almost curl into himself.

Buffy knew that, even backed into a corner, Angelus would have a plan; one last, desperate move. She just hadn't suspected it would be bellowing in pain and then almost collapsing to the floor.

Watching the vampire warily as his face lifted, she gasped, her sword slowly lowering as an eerie glow filled and then faded from his eyes, leaving pools of fear and confusion in its wake.

He stood slowly, with none of the tightly leased power that had characterized his previous movements. Tears gathered in those wounded eyes but the slayer maintained her defensive pose. This was to important to play a hunch.

“Buffy?”

It wasn't her name, said gently - y included, that told her. It was the broken sob that followed, so human in its textured tones of anguish and pain, that convinced her that they somehow managed to do the spell, that it had worked. This was Angel.

“Angel?”

It wasn't a question of his identity, but rather a breathless exclamation of wonder at the rebirth of this soul. She reached her hand towards his face, needing tactile proof that this was real, but before she could touch the face once again so dear, her hand was grasped in his.

“You're hurt.”

Everything was so foggy, so muddled that, at first, Angel could only focus on one thing at a time. Buffy. He was with Buffy. As he grew more sure of that fact he allowed himself to really look at her. He could see that she'd been in a fight; she was hurt. Maybe he'd been hurt to. Maybe that's what was causing his confusion and this heavy feeling inside that something wasn't right.

He stepped forward as she did and their arms slid around one another. The disquiet inside of him grew. He rested his forehead on her shoulder. He was so tired.

“I...I feel like I haven't seen you in months.”

As Buffy felt his heavy form lean into her she refused to think that it was finally over. If she thought about the nightmare being finished then she'd have to face that it had happened. She wasn't fool enough to believe this moment would last forever; hat it would push away those less pleasant. But right then it was just the two of them with no vendettas, no bloodshed. They could just hold each other, and he didn't need to kill her and she didn't need to -

It was the slight, crackling sound that caught her attention, that pulled her out of her thoughts and opened her eyes.

No.

No.

She wouldn't believe it. They wouldn't do this to her. Whoever called her, whatever chose her as the slayer, there had to be some small mercy in them. How could they ask this; expect this? When was it enough? Was this cold, hard world with its relentless anguish and death really worth protecting if it wouldn't even allow her this brief moment of joy?

Minutes ago she would have cringed in shame at her next thought, but that was when she had believed in compassion, had faith in grace; now those seemingly childish ideals lay shattered around her like the pieces of her heart. Angelus might have been right. If this world could be so cruel, then why should she care if it existed?

And then Whistler's words came back to her.

“In the end, you're always by yourself. You're all you've got. That's the point.”

Buffy thought about her life. How it was before Sunnydale; how it was now. She pictured her friends' faces and could hear the whispers of their laughter. She remembered an existence of popularity, but not acceptance; where shallow threads of meaningless interactions were all that bound her to the people in her life.

And then she knew. She knew that Whistler hadn't understood at all.

Yes, she alone was the slayer. But that didn't mean that she, as the slayer, was alone. If there was only herself to consider at this moment, she would sink into Angel's embrace and let fate do it's damnedest. She'd steal these all too short seconds of happiness in a world that had never offered her anything more.

But this world had offered her more. When she had felt lost, it had given her Giles; and so she had guidance. When she had felt vulnerable and alone, it had given her Xander and Willow; and so she had friends. When she had felt cheated that her life would most likely end before she'd ever gotten a chance to live it, it had given her Angel; and so she had love. And when every accounting for a thousand years demanded that she walk this path alone, this world had given her a family.

So in the end, her actions wouldn't be motivated by her duty to the world, but rather by her place in it.

She could see the vortex spilling from Acathla growing larger.

“Buffy, what's happening?”

She cradled his cheek in her hand and ran her thumb gently over his lips.

“Shh. Don't worry about it.”

Leaning up she pressed her moth softly to his in a tender caress.

“I love you.”

There was a flicker in his eyes; a swirl of turmoil that she knew hinted at the conflict that would erupt within him given time. But as he refocused on her face it slipped away from him and she knew that, in his shock, he could only manage on thought at a time. She hoped that would make it easier for him.

“I love you, too.”

She wondered how something could feel so good to say but so bad to hear. How could she ever have foreseen longing for Angelus' scorn.

She had to do this but he didn't have to see it coming. She'd give him this one final moment of peace.

“Close your eyes.”

Trusting her to guide him through his haze, she watched his lids fall without a second thought.

She couldn't be sure if an eon or an instant had passed; but when time regained it's natural pace her sword had found its place in Angel's chest as he stumbled back into the sucking void behind him.

In the stillness of the mansion all that could be heard was a broken sob.

Miles away, in a small, unassuming house the same fractured sound fell from another's lips.

And in this dimension, Angelus - in all his incarnations, ceased to exist.


TBC