The Soulmate Series

This Machine Kills Slayers (Chapter Forty-Seven of Soulmates)


Willow is dying and it’s all his fault.

Angel is nearly undone by self-hatred and if it weren’t for the fact that there’s a good chance she can be saved and that he’s essential to the achieving of that salvation, he’d be somewhere dark and cold and lonely right now, wallowing in grief and pain.

There’s no time now, however, for the luxury of self-pity, or any emotion, for that matter, not even for gratitude that he’s got help - Buffy is keeping pace beside him as they make their way with purposeful haste to their destination. They have a job to do and they are going to do it. Later, however, Angel knows there are many questions he’s going to be expected to answer.

“Killer of the Dead.”

Blank looks greet Wesley’s announcement, at least from everyone but Angel. He has a sick feeling in his gut.

“That’s the poison that was used on Willow. It’s a mystical poison that is only harmful to vampires.” Wesley comes as close as he’s capable of to a glare as he looks at Angel.

“Okay, for those of us who aren’t losers and who realize that Willow is actually alive and not a bloodsucking fiend, would you like to explain just how a poison that only hurts *vampires* is currently doing a whole lot of harm to my best, and very human, friend?” Every once in awhile, Xander actually says something useful.

Giles chimes in. “It’s...at least, I’m reasonably sure given that we haven’t had time to research and study what all the ramifications are yet, but...”

“Could you just give us the Cliff Notes version, okay?” Thank you, Buffy.

“It seems that...well...when Willow did the restoration spell, there were some unforeseen consequences and...”

“This year, maybe?” Even Cordelia is impatient now. Oz is staring daggers from the doorway, but remains silent. Typical.

Angel decides to intervene. At this rate, the Mayor will ascend before Giles gets to the point. “Our souls are bound.”

“Your soul is bound to Giles?” Xander’s stock plummets lower than ever. Is he truly this dense?

“It’s bound to Willow’s.” Buffy’s voice is flat and the look on her face is that of a girl who’s just lost everything.

“Oh my God.” A chorus of voices speak as one.

“What exactly do you mean ‘bound’?” Oz asks, after a few seconds.

“When she restored my soul, she must have done something different because her soul and mine are now connected, entwined. Obviously, that also means that what can hurt me can hurt her. I’m...I’m so sorry.” The apology is absolutely sincere. The idea that Willow is in horrible agony right now solely because of their bond...it’s a terrible thing.

He wishes that opening up their connection might comfort her, but it won’t, so he keeps it closed off. Besides, were he to share her pain, he probably would be no help at all.

“How long have you known?” Oz again.

“Since the Mayor tried to take my soul.”

“Yes, the sorcerer who was supposed to do so informed me that Angel’s soul could no longer *be* removed by the usual means, as it is now bound inextricably to Willow’s.” At last, Giles says something coherent and intelligible.

“And the reason you didn’t feel the need to share this with anyone is because...?” Cordelia looks rather miffed. Angel’s more than a bit sick of her ‘best friend’ routine. It’s long past time she learned her place - in a closet with Xander Harris and well out of Angel’s way.

“Because we didn’t want to upset Willow. We were waiting to tell her until after we knew more about it.” Angel’s content to maintain the lie. It should at least shut everyone up.

“So Willow doesn’t know.” Buffy’s voice is still flat and devoid of inflection.

“No, she has no idea.” Giles sounds sad, and Angel can tell he’s mulling over everything, uncertain if he made the right decision. Let him stew.

Everyone else seems mollified, though Cordelia makes an annoyed, humphing sound that makes Angel’s fangs itch to drop.

By way of maintaining control, his mind travels back to the poison...Killer of the Dead, he’s heard of it, knows a bit about it... But let’s see what Wesley has to say.

Oz beats him to the question. “What’s the antidote? How do we save Willow?”

“We don’t,” Wesley says, devoid of any concern and seemingly surprised at the horrified gasps he hears from around the room. “I’m sorry, but the Council informed me that there is no antidote. I’m afraid that, well, Miss Rosenberg is going to die. But we seem to be missing the point here.”

“And what *is* the point? Because I sort of thought that the point was you and the stupid Council sentencing Willow to death.”

Well, well, Buffy really *does* have her priorities straight. She’s not as self-absorbed as Angel had been wont to believe. His regard for her goes up a few notches in consequence.

“Look, everyone, I’m as broken-hearted about what’s happening to Miss Rosenberg as any of you...”

“Why do I somehow doubt that?” Xander’s sentiment is echoed by everyone else in the room.

Wesley continues on as if he was never interrupted. “But she knew the dangers she was facing when she foolishly decided to take part in a battle which she was ill-equipped to fight. The point however, is the *reason* she was poisoned. Obviously, if her soul is tied to Angel’s, then if she dies, Angel’s soul will be lost.”

“Which is all the more reason to save Willow, even the Council has to see that.” Buffy is pleading now, sure that the Council knows a cure and that Wesley is simply holding out on them out of spite. She’s wrong, but Angel’s going to find a way to use his knowledge without tipping off the enemy.

“No, what they see is that it’s all the more reason to...well...” Wesley turns to Angel, his face a mask of what he imagines reason to look like. “Surely, Angel, you must see that this is for the greater good. With your soul gone, you would surely ally with the Mayor and all would be lost.”

Angel can scarcely believe it. Is this little toad actually suggesting that he volunteer to be staked?

“So, let me get this straight: The Watcher’s Council is going to let Willow die because they’re mad at me over my choice of boyfriend?” Slightly off the mark, but close enough for Angel to respect her.

“May I remind you that you work for the Council?”

“Not anymore.” Giles almost beams at her words. “I quit. I’m self-employed now. The Council’s benefit plan sucks. You can tell them that I said they can shove their bright ideas up their asses. I’m going to save Willow, I’m going to save Sunnydale, and I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to London if you’re not out of Willow’s house in, oh, say, ten seconds.”

“Buffy, I...”

There’s a growl and it’s not Angel. A quick glance at Oz reveals...hair growing on the back of his hands. Oh. Not even a full moon and...

“Wesley, unless you want to become a nice big helping of Purina Wolf Chow, I suggest you run squealing like a girl right about now.” So Cordelia noticed, too.

Xander goes over to Oz and speaks soothingly to him. Wesley doesn’t waste a moment; he runs like a rabbit out the door. Angel would laugh if this situation weren’t so serious. He hopes like anything that Willow didn’t hear any of the so-called Watcher’s callous words.

Oz gets himself under control in a few seconds and Giles speaks up. “Unfortunately, we still don’t know of an antidote and time, well, it’s not on our side.”

“I didn’t want to say it in front of Wesley, but I know an antidote.”

A cacophony of voices erupts.

“You do?”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“What is it?”

Angel answers as soon as the noise permits. “The blood of a Slayer.” That at least should tell them why he didn’t want to speak in front of Wesley.

More gasps. Frankly, Angel’s a bit disgusted at how easily shocked these people are after everything they’ve done and seen.

One of them, however, is completely unaffected.

Buffy’s smile is cold and cruel. “Well what do you know? It just so happens we have an extra one lying around.”

Buffy’s resolve hasn’t faltered in the least; Angel has to give her credit for that. She really does seem to have Willow front and center in her thoughts. While there have been moments where she’s looked at him and that cow-like softness has tinged her mien, she is, for the most part, all business - and that business is saving her best friend’s life, no matter what the cost.

Of course, when this is over, he knows he’s in for it. After all, Buffy’s sure to piece it together that Angel’s known for some time that happiness won’t cost him his soul, and when she does, it’s not going to be pretty. He has a feeling that even the Ascension won’t save him from the tears and pleas and recriminations.

But at least he won’t have to deal with them right away. Because now, here they are: Faith’s apartment building.

As much as he hates to be beholden to Oz, he is grateful that the boy is nearly as skilled on a computer as Willow. It had taken him barely five minutes to track down the address of Faith’s deluxe new digs - obviously, being the Mayor’s pet turncoat comes with a better paycheck and benefits than being a Slayer did.

In Angel’s opinion, it’s high time the Council reconsidered their rather Spartan compensation package. Given Buffy’s resignation and Faith’s turning traitor, he can predict nothing but rough times ahead for an organization unwilling to recognize that the modern world has transformed the game forever. Child abuse and dysfunctional families have changed the girls from whose ranks Slayers are most often drawn, and a social order that now offers girls so much more than just early marriage and a life of drudgery makes the solitary and frugal Slayer existence the Council still prescribes far less appealing than it has ever been.

After all, today’s woman is taught that she can save the world and have a great job and a two-story house in a fashionable suburb. Being a Slayer is in no way as glamorous an option as it once was and girls are nowhere near as willing to accept a life without creature comforts as readily as they once were. If the Council sees Buffy as a rebel and Faith as a rogue, what are they going to think of the ones who come after? Telling a girl that this is her calling and she has no say in the matter isn’t going to work anymore. Angel can only see things getting worse, not better, for the stodgy old men who fight to keep their world from turning.

Shaking himself out of his irrelevant reverie, he refocuses on the here and now, painful though it is. They’re here to bag a Slayer.

His mind travels back to Spike. He wonders if his wayward boy can see him now. Is it possible that William’s soul can somehow observe the one who molded him into a fearsome demon. Is his soul in Hell? The same Hell where Angel once writhed in burning agony? Or did that sweet and gentle poet somehow find peace? And what of Spike, the demon? What happens to demons whose souls are not bound to the evil within?

Pointless existential musings. But he still remembers the taste of Slayer’s blood Spike once shared with him. Though he felt cursed by it then, the memory strengthens him now, gives his demon every reason to fight with everything it is, not that Angel wouldn’t have drawn it fully into the battle anyway. Willow is his and every part of him knows that. Angel will always guard and defend what is his.

The building has an elevator and they decide to use it. Conserving every scintilla of energy for the task of bringing Faith down seems the wisest move. Angel has an idea.

“You go in alone, Buffy. Let her think you’re the only one she has to fight. I’ll be waiting.” Normally, Angel’s all for a pitched battle and fights with a kind of demonic honour, but when Faith elected to get to him through Willow, she lost any claim on even the most demonic and twisted chivalry. Playing dirty seems the most efficient way to win this game, so that’s the way it will be.

Buffy looks at him quizzically for a moment, but then she smiles mirthlessly. He’s pleased that her affection for Willow has trumped her Slayer’s code of ethics. “Got it,” she says as the elevator door opens and they disembark.

But just before they reach the apartment, she stops again. “How are you going to get in?”

He understands her question, but Angel has already thought things through before coming up with his plan. “This place is in the Mayor’s name. He’s not human. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay, but yell if anything goes wrong.”

Angel nods and Buffy takes a deep breath. It’s showtime.

He can hear everything through the door Buffy leaves ajar as she enters the unlocked apartment. Loud music, typical modern garbage - tuneless and vapid and noisy as Hell...literally.

Thankfully, it’s soon turned off. He’s pretty sure Buffy’s responsible for that.

“Thought I’d stop by.” Nice one, Buffy. Good, casual opening. Typical and offering no hint that she’s hiding a secret weapon out in the hallway.

“Is she dead yet?” There’s glee in Faith’s voice and Angel wants nothing more than to rush in and wipe off the smirk he can hear adorning her face. Still, he knows better, so he holds himself in check even as the ridges form and the fangs drop. Soon.

“She’s not gonna die.” Confident, calm...vintage Buffy. Atta girl. “It’s a good try, though. Your plan?”

“Uh-huh. Mayor got me the poison. He got the lowdown on the real situation with your boy-toy and your best pal and I figured, hey why not kill two birds with one arrow?”

He can hear the clomp of Faith’s shoes, only slightly less clunky than what may or may not have been an intentional reworking of an old saw. She’s circling, getting into position. Angel only hopes Buffy realizes that.

“So, is she writhing in agony? The boss said it was wicked painful.”

“There’s a cure.”

“Damn. What is it?”

“Your blood. As justice goes, it’s not unpoetic. Don’t you think?”

There’s an awkward pause and Angel’s keen nostrils pick up a faint trace of fear...and it’s not Buffy’s.

“Come to get me? Gonna feed me to your mousy little geek friend? Though, hey, maybe I underestimated her, seeing as how she managed to bind herself for all eternity to your guy. What I’m wondering is why you want to save her.”

“She’s my friend, and that’s something you’ll never understand, Faith. You don’t know what it means to care about someone else, to be unselfish. And you never will. So let’s just get this over with, shall we? I have a friend to save, an Ascension to stop, and a nail appointment I really don’t want to miss.”

“You know you’re not gonna take me alive.” No, Faith, and that has never been the plan. Nice to see that, for once, just once, you’re getting with the program.

“Not a problem.”

“Well, look at you, all dressed up in big sister’s clothes.” For a moment he wonders if Faith really believes she’s the bigger, better Slayer. Because there are medications for that. Of course, maybe she’s just trying to psych herself up for a battle a rational girl would know to be no sure win, even if she were really fighting it one on one.

“You told me I was just like you. That I was holding it in.” Good move, Buffy. Play along. Angelus himself might well admire that cunning, though Angel’s honest enough to admit that the pure demon version of himself was rarely so subtle.

“Ready to cut loose?”

“Try me.”

“Ok, then. Give us a kiss.”

And then it begins. Punches and kicks and the sound of fist and leg meeting flesh. He bides his time, judging the state of the battle by the tenor of the grunts. He’s all predator now, senses keen and sharp. He’ll know when the time is right.

Bodies hit furniture and walls. He can feel the time approaching.

It’s now. Faith has temporarily gotten the upper hand. He can feel the cocky exhilaration even before he sees her with her arm around Buffy’s neck. Getting in was as easy as he thought. He comes up behind Faith, quicksilver fast and demon cold.

“Not getting tired, are you? I’m just starting to feel it.”

Those are the last words Faith will ever speak. The last thing she will ever feel is Angel’s fangs in her throat, tasting the totality of who she is. What he feels makes him almost pity her. She was more surely ash and dust than he will ever be. Does something within her welcome this now that death has come for her at last? Or does she curse fate for not giving her more time? A chance to maybe someday have what deep down she must have known she was never up to getting?

Even as the buzz of her blood thrums through him, there’s a part of him that’s rational. As he’s about to stop after taking just enough blood to leave her insensible, he realizes that carrying the Mayor’s pet through streets infested with his allies is simply not going to work. Getting back to Willow’s house will be far too tricky and uncertain with the second-string Slayer as baggage, and the time it takes to deal with any fights that may prove necessary might allow Faith to regain consciousness and that...well, that would certainly be a spanner in the works.

Angel makes a decision.

He drives his fangs in deeper, tearing through muscle and coaxing one last tortured moan from a Slayer still struggling weakly against that final peace, that primitive survival instinct the most human thing about her. He holds her tightly, his embrace anything but gentle. Buffy’s eyes are wide with horror; she’s too shocked to stop him until that last drop of blood flows from Faith’s body into Angel’s.

“What have you done?” she says weakly.

“I’ve gotten the blood we need,” he answers, the narcotic high he’s riding making him forget for a moment that Buffy won’t understand that all will still be well.

“You’ve gotten it, but what about Willow? You selfish bastard!” she wails, her voice a high-pitched shriek. It’s sobering. Even more sobering are her fists now pounding against his chest.

He grabs her hands to stop her assault. “Buffy, Buffy, it’s okay.” He finally remembers to regain control and make his face human again. “All we need to do is get back to Willow’s house within a half an hour and the blood will still work.”

“Really?” There are tears in her eyes and Angel is struck by how deep her concern for Willow truly runs.

As an answer, Angel heads for the door, leaving Faith’s body amidst the effete designer furniture that seems so incongruous and ill-suited to a rough and tumble wild one like she was. Too bad the Mayor won’t be around to pay for her funeral. Sadly, he’s pretty sure the miserly Watcher’s Council will allow her to be dumped unceremoniously in a pauper’s grave.

Faith Lehane. A Slayer unmourned. A life unlived.

Now that she’s dead and Willow sure to be saved, it’s easy to feel sorry for Faith.

Buffy follows and this time they take the stairs, barely taking the time to ensure that they don’t fall as they head down every flight and then out of the building.

As they emerge onto the street, Buffy stops for a moment. “You’re sure this will work, right?”

“Yeah, just...as soon as we get back to the house, send someone to Willie’s to get some human blood for me. I’ve got some blood at Willow’s, but I’m going to need more...and stronger than pig.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Oh great. She wants to talk about this now?

“Buffy, I don’t think this is the time...”

“It’s okay. I mean, maybe it won’t be later, but for now, yeah, it’s okay. Because right now I need to be sure that you’re gonna do everything you can to save her. I love her, too, you know? I mean, not like that, but...” She manages to surprise him. He knew she cared about Willow, but now...there’s more to Buffy than he’s given her credit for.

They embrace. It’s brief and platonic and it feels like the right thing to do. It’s two warriors fighting the same battle offering support and solace to each other before heading straight back into the fray. Which they do.

With better-than-human speed, they make it back to Willow’s house in just a few minutes. Plenty of time, in fact, for him to share with Willow the Slayer blood still making him almost giddy with its power. Of course, first they have to make it through the group in the living room.

“What took you so long?”

“Where’s Faith?”

“Oh my God, is Willow going to die now?”

Giles is silent, but he’s glaring daggers at Angel as he looks up from the musty tome in his lap. Did he have the foresight to bring along a stack of books to research, or does he habitually carry these things around in his car?

“I have Faith’s blood. That’s all we need.”

“Where is it?” Xander’s voice is almost enough to kill Angel’s buzz.

“It’s in Angel.” Buffy is all business now. “Giles, grab every bag of blood out of the fridge and bring it upstairs. Cordelia, take Oz and Xander with you and race to Willie’s. Pick up as much human blood as you can and get back here fast.”

Angel can see the objection forming on Cordelia’s lips and he knows it’s not all because she hates being ordered around by Buffy. He throws her a bone. Reaching into his pocket he takes out his wallet. “It’s for me. I’ll pay.” He pulls out three one hundred dollar bills, handing them to the girl. “This should cover what I need. Oz, make sure Willie doesn’t rip her off.”

He has to admit to getting a charge out of forcing Cordelia to be grateful to him. It’s not quite the same high as Faith’s blood, but it’s good, nonetheless. He’ll take time to savour it later. Right now, he has something far more pressing to attend to in Willow’s room.

“Let’s head upstairs.”

“Wait a minute,” Xander says, stopping Angel and Buffy in their tracks. “You’re not going to turn Willow, are you?”

Angel’s had just about enough of the boy’s stupidity. “No, Xander, I’d have to drain her first to turn her. All I’m going to do is give her Faith’s blood, which is still Faith’s blood for only a short while longer. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to get to Willow in time to save her life.”

With that, he leaves the room and takes the stairs two at a time.

It’s impossible not feel the pain she’s suffering, even without opening their connection. He can smell it in the air. He looks at her face, contorted with the efforts of her body to fight against the death trying to claim it. Her skin is clammy and feverish - pale, so very pale. It almost makes him cry. He would cry if he didn’t know he was able to rescue her from her distress.

“Oh God.” Buffy’s voice is soft but shocked. He can smell her tears even without looking behind him to see them shining in her eyes.

Angel doesn’t say a word. Instead, he opens the bond and sits down on the bed next to his love.

Willow’s eyes shoot open. “No,” she murmurs weakly as she watches Angel bite into his wrist. “No, please, I don’t want to.”

Her fear nearly overwhelms him, but it doesn’t stop him. She’s delirious and obviously can’t feel what he’s trying to communicate to her through the bond - that everything’s okay now, because he’s here and he’s going to cure her.

He puts his wrist to her mouth but she keeps her mouth tightly shut.

“Willow, please! You have to drink. It’s the only way to save you. Can you understand?” Buffy’s choked voice seems to do the trick and Willow’s lips part, allowing the Slayer’s blood to pass.

Her first reflexive swallow gives him a sense of relief. She begins to suckle, helping coax more of the blood out of him and into her. He can’t stop the groan that comes out; the feeling of her drawing the blood from his veins is intensely erotic and his body responds. Her suckling grows stronger and the blood flows faster. The healing is already underway, he can experience her body calming and strengthening as it happens. He closes his eyes and loses himself in sensation; he even forgets that they are not alone.

She keeps on drinking, taking more and more. There’s the sensation of ivy wrapping around his limbs. He’s starting to weaken and grow listless, heavy. It’s as if he’s falling, floating

Within seconds, however, he is pulled back to solid ground...and he’s hungry. It’s all he can feel, in fact. There is nothing in the world but this ravenous emptiness that threatens to consume him He hears a roar that he’s dimly aware comes from him and there’s something cool and plastic in his hand. Food.

Fangs plunge through the smooth surface and he drinks. It’s cold and tasteless and weak, but it serves to take the edge off the hunger so he drinks it down. Then another. And another.

Giles and Buffy are staring at him. So too, is Willow.

She’s conscious, and the fever brightness of her eyes is replaced by something that seems infinitely worse to him. Revulsion. He can feel it within her as well. His pain at that must reach her through the bond, because she looks away. Buffy and Giles are at the bed in a trice, hugging her. Giles’s reserve is gone as he thanks every deity Angel’s ever heard of and a few he hasn’t.

Buffy holds Willow tightly, the way Angel longs to do. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say, but it makes Willow smile...and Angel’s heart ache. For all that blood that flowed through him now flows through her, they are no closer, she’s no nearer to accepting the love and passion that fill him so thoroughly Angel’s amazed there’s room for blood in him at all.

Still, something has changed. He’ll need time and human blood to be able to put it together, but a subtle transformation has been wrought.

Seemingly on cue, there’s noise downstairs. The return of the three stooges. Oz is upstairs almost the moment Angel realizes he’s returned.

“I’ve got the blood. Is Willow...?”

“Willow is fine,” the lady herself says, extricating herself from Buffy’s embrace and getting up to greet the werewolf. She’s still a bit woozy and Oz catches her before she can fall. Angel can’t bear the way they’re looking at each other or the emotions she’s feeling for the boy. He picks up the cooler of blood Oz brought and silently leaves the room with it.

He heads to Willow’s parents’ bedroom, the room where he’s been sleeping. There’s no trace of her scent in here. It’s painful, but he closes down the bond as well. He needs to think, and he can’t stand the joy she’s feeling with Oz. Taking out a bag from the cooler, he drains it quickly. After the taste of Faith’s blood, even human tastes stale and nondescript, no better really than the pigs’ blood he’d had just a moment or two ago. It does its work though; he can feel his vitality return.

Unfortunately, he’s not going to get to recover and reflect in peace.

Without knocking, and with only the smell of perfume and Xander to announce her arrival, Cordelia Chase enters the room.

“You saved her.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll bet you think we all owe you some big debt of gratitude, huh?”

Uh-oh. This can’t be good. Angel decides to stay silent and see what happens. What comes next is a bombshell, or rather a sharp slap to the face...literally.

“You rotten undead asshole!”

Angel’s eyes go gold and it’s all he can do to maintain his human facade. “What the hell was that for?”

“She talked, you know? When she was all delirious and half-dead. She said...well, she didn’t flat-out say, but she said things and it didn’t take much for me to put them together. You...you...I can’t even say it. I want to stake you, and if it wouldn’t kill Willow, I would.”

There’s no point in fencing or in playing any games, and trying to explain what is happening between him and Willow is a waste of time with a dense bimbo like Cordelia. Angel decides to cut straight to the chase. “Who else heard?”

“No one. Believe me, Oz would be a big, homicidal furball if he’d heard and Xander would have staked first and asked questions later. Giles was downstairs with his dusty old books the whole time, so...yeah, I’m the only one who knows your dirty little secret. Everyone else thinks you’re Buffy’s brooding, soulful, fang-wearing puppy. Good ol’ Angel.”

“You don’t understand...”

“No, I don’t. So don’t bother trying to give me excuses or tell me how you never meant to hurt her. I don’t care. You hurt Willow. You...you raped Willow. There’s no excuse for that. And if I were you, I’d leave her alone. Or I might just change my mind about sharing what I know. Think about that.” With those words, Cordelia leaves the room, taking her fury and the power she now holds over him with her.

This definitely creates a whole new set of problems. Now, more than ever, Angel has a great deal of thinking to do.

Tbc...