The Last Cut is the Deepest

Chapter Three

"Rough night, B?" Faith asked far more loudly than necessary, considering she was sitting right across the breakfast table from her suffering sister Slayer.

Buffy moaned into her folded arms. "Stop shouting and just kill me already." With considerable effort, she raised her head. "I think it’s your turn."

The brunette grinned. "It’s no fun when you ask for it."

"So... the date went well..." Willow changed the subject, obviously fishing.

Her best friend didn’t bother to resist. "Up to the point I remember, yeah. The requisite flowers, restaurant, the usual two-step about the fight against evil... the four billion gallons of really expensive champagne. But I woke up alone in my underwear this morning, so I’m thinking I missed the best part," she reported with a sigh.

"You passed out on ANGEL?" Faith yelped, drawing glances from the girls at the next table. "Man, that sucks!"

"Put an ad in the paper, why don’t you? It’s easier on your voice," Buffy growled. "Nothing happened... I don’t think. Except I lost my new Prada’s."

The missing shoes magically appeared in her blurry line of vision, the straps dangling from a set of very Giles-like fingers. Buffy raised her horrified gaze to the face attached to them.

"Angel’s driver was kind enough to drop these by for you this morning," he informed her dryly. "Fortunately, he also reported that the rest of your clothing appeared to go with you to your room."

Faith burst out laughing. "Oh, MAN! I gotta get the whole story on this from Angel!"

Willow seemed disappointed as she murmured in Buffy’s ear. "So you didn’t get... you know... funky before you passed out?"

"No. But at least I didn’t puke," Buffy whispered back, "I don’t think." She flashed a panicked look at Giles as he sat down beside Faith. "Besides, we wouldn’t do that! The curse! It’d be irresponsible unless we knew it was safe!"

Giles gave her a look. "Angel was quite sober. And apparently, unnerved by running into me in the hall. I’m fairly certain that was all the safety required."

Faith snorted in disagreement, and Buffy shot her a clear ‘SHUT UP!’ look.

"The curse?" Willow asked, confused. "What curse? I mean... I know what curse, but... the curse isn’t cursey anymore, remember?"

Three sets of shocked eyes locked on her.

"What?" Bufhisphispered. "What did you just say?"

"Whoa, hold on there, Glinda. What do you mean, ‘not cursey’? Since when?" Faith snapped.

Giles merely stared at the redhead, who was suddenly blushing furiously as she realized that none of them knew this.

"You mean... Angel didn’t tell you I thought Jenny maybe rewrote the spell without the loophole?" she squeaked in growing horror.

All three heads shook in tandem.

"Oh. Uhhh... oops?" the witch remarked with a sheepish smile.

~

"What do you mean, ‘no loophole’?" Angel asked his new Gypsy employee incredulously for the dozenth time.

"Exactly as I say," she replied patiently yet again, "The text of the curse is not intact as originally created by my ancestors. Whoever translated the ancient language was either very sloppy, or very clever. See here," the dark-skinned woman slid the notes across the table toward him. "These last passages are completely different. The theme of the original text is pain – eternal, unrelenting vengeance, without hope of mercy. But this new one speaks of justice and balance. Of Cosmic Right. The results of the two spells, as well as their underlying intent, are as dissimilar as can possibly be while keeping the core purpose – the restoration itself – intact."

Angel gaped at her, still dumbfounded. He had hoped the staff would find something soon... but he wasn’t expecting this. "There’s... no happiness clause," he recapped foolishly, as if repeating it over and over again would make it more believable. “There hasn’t been since… I returned from Hell…”

The gypsy woman shrugged. "It would appear not. This new spell is designed to permanently ensoul a vampire. Which is the only sane course of action, in my opinion."

Angel blinked at her, hearing the words, but unable to actually absorb the true meaning of what she was telling him.

Someone – either Jenny or Willow – had rewritten the curse. He assumed it must have been the former, because why wouldn’t Buffy’s best friend tell them something so important? Jenny, at least, had the excuse that he had murdered her horribly before she could alert anyone.

An equally hornswaggled Wesley re-read the notes himself, and murmured, "My God."

Myra waved away the sentiment. "Your God, he has nothing to do with this. There are greater forces at work in your lives than that pale ghost, vampire."

Angel flinched involuntarily at her words – no doubt some residual fear of his childhood deity – or maybe of Gypsies.

He took a deep breath, and assumed his customary detached business mask to urge his paralyzed shock under control. "Thank you, Myra. You’ve done a good job here." The woman nodded to them and exited the office without another word, leaving Wesley and Angel staring at one another.

"Angel, this... this is momentous!" Wesley finally cried, his face lighting with a bright smile. "This is incredible! You’re free!"

Angel sat back in his chair, reeling. Free. Free of the fetters that had bound him for eight years. Free to live his life without the terror of Angelus forever hanging over his head. To pursue the ultimate goal of every being – happiness.

The realization was so earth-shattering, so reality-altering, such a fundamental shift in the foundation of his existence, he found himself utterly unable to act or speak at all, but only sat there, staring dumbly at the pages of notes on the table before him.

Wesley chuckled as he rose to pour his friend a Scotch, neat – a triple – at the wet bar. Angel accepted the drink from him, but only continued to gawk, now into the amber liquid.

"It can’t be that simple," he mumbled to himself. "Nothing’s ever this easy."

Wes straightened, a bit disappointed, but not entirely surprised at Angel’s reaction. The habits of centuries were hard to break, and the vampire had cultivated – and rightly so – a rather dark worldview over that time. He, on the other hand, was suddenly unable to stop grinning like a fool. He retook the seat beside his friend.

"We’ll do further research to confirm this, of course," he assured the even paler than usual demon. "It wouldn’t do to simply assume that Miss Myra is correct. But what I’ve read thus far indicates that her observations of the change in text, at least, are legitimate."

Angel shook his head, got up and moved to the wall of glass behind his desk, gazing out at the sparkling daytime skyline of his beloved city.

"I don’t like it," he commented, turning back to face his colleague, "There has to be a catch."

"Why, Angel?" Wesley asked gently, "If, as Myra told us, Jenny rewrote the curse when she translated it? I’ve read the notes Giles made on the matter. It seems clear to me that when she intended to re-ensoul you back in Sunnydale, it was not only an action meant to stop Angelus’ reign of terror, but also an attempt to make amends for the wrong she felt her people had done you. It was a gift to friends whom she felt she’d betrayed. I sincerely doubt that such a gesture would come with strings."

"All this time..." Angel voiced softly, "All that pain. Buffy and I..." His eyes filled. "It was all for nothing."

Wesley got up and approached him, laying a comforting hand on the shaking vampire’s shoulder. "That’s not true. Leaving Sunnydale allowed you to find your own way... your own purpose in the world, independent of your very complicated relationship with Buffy. You’ve told me many times that the true reason it didn’t work between you was your lack of self-worth, and her youth. Now... you have self-esteem in spades, and Buffy has grown into an extraordinary young woman. So in spite of the pain, in the end, this time apart has been the best thing that could have happened to your affair, wouldn’t you say? Without the agony of separation, how could you truly appreciate the jo bei being together?"

Angel finally managed a small smile. "I think you missed your calling as a greeting card writer. Or possibly a therapist."

The Englishman blushed. "I’ve only that talent for those I care about. And even then..." his self-conscious expression became thoughtful, "Even then, I fail more often than not."

Angel considered him carefully. Sometimes he wondered – did a part of Wesley, deep down in some eternal place where the manipulation of reality couldn’t touch him, remember what had happened with Connor?

"I wish that I had been a better friend at the beginning of the Darla debacle," the younger man went on sadly, "Perhaps things might not have devolved the way they had if I was."

"There was nothing else you could have done, Wes," Angel reassured him, "I probably wouldn’t have let you if you tried. That was my cross to bear. Figuratively speaking."

His friend’s demeanor lightened. "Well... that’s the past, isn’t it? Things are very different now. I should think this bit of news goes a long way toward solving the difficulty you faced with Buffy last night."

Wide-eyed, Angel inquired, "What? How did you..."

The head of Wolfram & Hart’s Arcane Resources Division waved him off. "If there’s one thing I remember quite well, it’s the look of an... intimately frustrated man."

The frustrated man in question laughed, then quickly sobered once more. "The physical barrier may be gone, but that doesn’t mean anything is solved between Buffy and I. There are more emotional walls between us than anything, and I don’t want to use lovemaking as a shortcut around dealing with them."

"No, of course not. Perhaps, for the time being, it’s best not to share this news with her," Wes suggested. Before Angel could protest, he went on, "I realize that you don’t like keeping things from Buffy. But..."

"I know," Angel said, "Maybe that safety net is the best thing for us until things are more... stable. I have a lot to think through before I tell her, anyway."

"Indeed," his friend concurred. "I imagine that you do."

~

Buffy, still in angry shock at the news her best friend had neglected to share with her, left breakfast in a temper to go teach her first two defense classes of the day, in desperate need to work off some of her frustration. The realization that the supposedly insurmountabbstabstacle that had driven her and Angel apart all those years ago wasn’t only *not* a brick wall, but was barely even a bump in the grass...

Going for a workout was better than losing it and destroying the dining hall in a psychotic rage.

A crushed and guilt-ridden Willow retreated to the library, where Giles found her after second period. He took the seat beside her on the leather couch. "Willow... stop punishing yourself. What happened is certainly an understandable transgression, considering the circumstances at the time you discovered it."

The Witch shook her head, her sweet features marked with misery. "I thought I told him. I mean... we didn’t really have time to *talk*-talk, but... when I left, I *know* I told him telepathically. And when he said, "Thanks," he had this look on his face... I honestly assumed he heard me. I mean... he and Buffy just started seeing each other again without the curse ever coming up at all...." She heaved a woeful sigh. "I guess that’s why they say assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

"Buffy knows, now," Giles reminded her. "She’ll inform Angel, and what they decide from there is up to them. It won’t matter what happened in the past."

"I tried to call him," she lamented, "His assistant said he’s in meetings all morning. I hope he’s not too mad."

"I’m sure he won’t be. If anyone understands, it would be he. Don’t forget – Angel has never asked you about the spell in all the ensuing time since you restored him. It’s possible this news wasn’t meant to be imparted until now, when the two of them were in a position to... uh... utilize it."

"But it’s not just the sex thing, Giles!" she cried, "Angel’s had to live all this time thinking he wasn’t allowed to be happy! Being *afraid* of being happy! That’s a horrible way to exist! And Buffy might never forgive me for that!"

"Of course she will. Certainly she’s upset right now, but once the shock wears off..."

The library doors slammed open, admitting a glowering Faith. She stomped across the room, threw open the weapons cabinet, snatched out her broadsword, and banged the doors shut again, shooting the redhead a withering glare as she crashed out of the room without a word.

"Buffy and Angel might... but I don’t know if Faith will," Willow groaned.

"Yes, well...you have to keep in mind that she’s very protective of Angel. In time, you’ll see that all of this will work out for the best. This is hardly the worst thing that’s happened to anyone involved."

Willow stared at the door, and hoped that was true. Everyone around here could use some happiness for a change. And no more unpleasant surprises.

~

"So... that’s the long and the short of it," Angel told Cordy as he arranged the bouquet of wildflowers in the new vase he’d brought. "All this time, there was never any loophole in the curse at all. Wesley says it was for the best, but... I’m not so sure."

He finished and stood back to admire his handiwork. Maybe he’d missed his calling, too.

"I’d like to think that if I’d known..." he went on, "Things might have been easier. For me... for Buffy... for you. But... Wes is right. We all had to walk this road to find our destinies." He glanced at his perpetually sleeping friend. One thing he was more than sure of was that, even had he known about the curse back then, things probably wouldn’t have been any different between himself and Cordelia. In fact, it was for the best that he ’d held back from a romantic relationship with her, considering the whole fiasco turned out to be part of Jasmine’s plan. The damage to all of them might have been a hundred times worse had he and Cordy...

Well. It didn’t really matter, now.

He moved to his customary chair beside her and resumed his constant, silent prayer that she would wup.
up.

"Now I guess I have to decide what this means in the grand scheme of my life. In the short term, it’s good that Buffy and I can at least consider the possibility of a physical relationship. I wonder, though... how many times has the curse made me stop and think instead of just acting? Not only sexually, but in general? There’ve been so many occasions when it was the only thing that kept me from wandering away from my mission completely. Is that going to happen now? Am I just going to... I don’t know... forget everything? Let myself get lost in whatever Buffy and I are creating together? It would be so easy..."

And as he often did, he heard his friend’s sharp-edged reply somewhere in the back of his mind. ‘Don’t be such a moron! Your mission is who you *are* now, Angel. You’re a hero, no matter what else is going on. Besides, I’ve been saying for years that what you really need is to get laid. Darla not withstanding.’

He smiled. "Always the diplomatic deep thinker. Maybe I am making too much of this. Really, the bottom line is... Angelus isn’t a threat anymore. To me or anyone. The rest aside, there’s just no negative to that." He heaved a deep sigh. "Okay. I’m just going to tell Buffy and see what happens from there. In the larger sense, of course, since I’m fairly certain what the immediate response will be. And I can’t say I’m not looking forward to it."

He rose and bent to brush a gentle kiss to his friend’s pale forehead. "I forgot to tell you. Your pores look amazing. I hope you can see, wherever you are."

He pulled away and steeled himself for the inevitable storm of emotion his news would wring from Buffy. For surely, she would be hit hard by the knowledge that he had left her for what she might see as nothing. After all, the years when he was gone were filled with little but pain and loss, for her. Most of which she faced alone.

His cell rang as he stepped into the hall. "Angel."

He listened to Michael’s panicked voice on the other line, and a dread he’d completely forgotten in the excitement of the past twelve hours instantly reclaimed his soul. Without responding, he slapped the phone shut and sprinted for the elevator.

An unscheduled portal had just opened in the White Room.

~

In spite of the chaos he found when he arrived, Angel was the only Wolfram & Hart employee granted entrance. He expected to see Gunn in his customary place there, but was surprised to discover Gwen waiting for him instead – standing in the center of a violent electrical storm where the pure nothingness of the White Room should be.

"I think I throw off the dimensional shift polarity," she explained, raising her voice above the din. "But the portal’s still opening, and the ‘Tet thought someone should be here to make sure things were copacetic."

Angel followed her gesture to the ceiling, where what looked like the top of a giant tornado funnel was forming, spitting out thunder and lightning as it grew.

"Where are they?" he asked her, unable to understand why at least Gunn wouldn’t be here to see this.

"They split this dimension a couple of weeks ago. Protecting the sun and all..." Gwen hollered.

He glanced at her, the only other human besides Buffy in his life who had ever made him feel alive – albeit literally. "Protecting it from what?"

She gave him her trademark sultry smirk. "From whatever’s coming that made this happen, I figure."

The funnel expanded until it blotted out the entire ceiling, then exploded in a rain of gore and mud, sending Angel and Gwen flying across the infinite space of the White Room. The storm increased to an all –consuming roar, then, in an instant, ceased entirely. Thick, primordial silence filled the once again pristine white.

A dull, wet thud echoed through the quiet, like some enormous melon plummeting to earth from a great distance. Angel stiffly pushed himself to his knees and looked in the direction his ‘guest’ had fallen.

What he saw lying there made every cell of his being shrink in horror.

"Ow," groaned the crumpled figure on the floor. "Bloody Hell!"

~