The Ravages Of Hell

FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (8/?)

Giles looked around his plush office and allowed himself a contented smirk. It was obvious that there was something very wrong with Xander, but at least all of his four children were safe. However momentary that safety might be.

He glanced out of the window behind him and down onto the keep’s carefully tended grounds. It was a beautiful spring day, the sort that England always seemed to tease before inevitably descending into a drizzly, dour summer. Still, after years of monotonously sunny California weather, it was a welcome change. And his office was rather more spacious than his confined Sunnydale quarters.

The office door crashed open. Giles turned to face from the interloper, his good mood fading as he recognised the older Watcher. “It’s obscene!” Roger began.

“Calm down and take a seat,” Giles ordered, his tone mild.

“A vampire, a werewolf, and a demon!” His older country-man continued unabated, striding back and forth across his hand-weaven carpet. “After centuries fighting the forces of evil, you invite them in the front bloody door!”

Giles slammed his fists into the desk between them and half-rose out of his leather upholstered chair. “I said sit the bugger down!” Once the older Watcher had grumpily acquiesced, he followed suit, his eyes fixed on the other man.

He realised now that the man had so intimidated him thirty years ago, when he’d restarted his training after the Egyhon incident, was a little man. For all his power and influence Roger Whyndham-Pryce was a resounding failure. None of the four potentials he’d mentored as a younger man had been called, Giles wondered idly if the Powers That Be picked the Watchers as well as the Slayer. His son was a great disappointment to Roger, although from what he understood Wesley had accomplished many great things during his time with Angel. Pryce had even failed in his attempts to become Council Head, first Travers, and then himself thwarting him in that.

These failures had combined to define Pryce, making him a twisted, bitter bully of a man. After another second Giles deigned to reply to the older Watcher’s outburst. “I have little love for the vampire, but one would have to be blind or stupid to ignore this efforts over the past few years. The werewolf is a fine young man who fought at our side for two years. And the demon,” Giles shrugged. “There appears little harm in him.”

“Centuries of tradition-.”

“Tradition be damned!” he interrupted the older man’s protestations. “Buffy was the least traditional Slayer in memory,” except perhaps Faith, but her early exploits made a less than ideal example. “Buffy wasn’t brought up in seclusion. She had family. She had friends. Things the Council decreed as detrimental to a Slayer. And yet she slayed two of the three oldest vampires in existence, defeated any number of minor demons, an Ascended, a hell-goddess, and the First.”

“Yes,” by now Roger’s face had reddened and his eyes hardened. “We’re all aware of your emotional attachment to the Summers girl.”

Giles felt his temper bubble at the way Roger had managed to make his fatherly affection for Buffy sound somehow dirty. “Yes, I feel a certain amount of parental pride,” he replied, his tone even and his face set. “Speaking of which,” he reached into his desk drawer and placed five journals on the desk. “I think you might want to read these. They’re rather enlightening.”

His titular second in command glared suspiciously at the neatly stacked books. “What are they?”

“They’re the diaries of a remarkable young man, detailing how he escaped the grasp of his tyrannical father and grew from a weak-willed coward to a hero.” He savoured the confused look on his fellow Watcher’s face for a second before continuing. “Angel brought them with him for the Council library.”

Understanding dawned in his country-man’s eyes. Roger rose, a scowl on his face and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. “That would be a no then?” Giles called out after his counterpart before sitting back and chuckling. “There’s no talking to some people.”

* * *

“Were you even going to talk to me?”

Angel paused in his packing to look up at the tiny blonde stood in the doorway of the guest he’d been assigned. Pushing away the fist clenching at his chest, he replied. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He turned back to his packing only to be grabbed by the arm and spun around to face his ex’s angry face. “Two years Angel! You can’t just ignore me! And,” his girl-friend’s eyes flickered angrily, “why didn’t you tell me about Spike?”

Oh, that was it. Forcing down the wave of jealousy that threatened to swamp him, he shrugged. “Why? Would you have come running? For him?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “You’re jealous?” the blonde finger-jabbed him in the chest. “You lost all rights to be jealous when you walked out on me!”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I left because I couldn’t give you what you deserved. A normal relationship. So what do you do?” now he was unable to prevent the bitterness he felt from entering his voice. “Take up with a farmboy with a Captain America complex, a soulless vampire, and an immortal Italian gangster! Great record there, Buffy!”

“I wanted you!” Buffy’s eyes filled with pain.

“Sometimes,” he remembered the day he’d sacrificed his second chance at humanity to ensure he’d still be able to protect her. “It isn’t about what what you want. It’s about what’s right. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that by now.” Buffy stared open-mouthed at him for a few seconds before turning on her heel and storming out, slamming the door behind her. “I love you,” he wistfully muttered after the young woman.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. His sense of smell told him who it was without looking up. “Come in Lorne.”

“Well thanks Angelcakes,” the demon entered.

Angel smiled unwillingly at his friend. “I’ve missed being called a selection of pastries. Tell anyone that and I kill you.”

The Host giggled. “Okay cupcake.” There was a pause. Angel turned to face a suddenly serious Lorne. “You and the blonde pocket dynamo?”

“Never ever let Buffy hear you call her that. Otherwise your mom will be down one disgraced son,” Angel chuckled before sobering. “I love her, but we’re bad for each other.”

“She’s no Cordelia, but hey, no one will ever replace my princess for me,” Lorne shrugged before brightening. “Hey, you and Connor, you’re a regular Mr. Cunningham and Ritchie aren’t you?”

“Things are tough,” Angel smiled. “But we’re working at it.” He turned serious. “Lindsey?”

“Dead and dead, boss.” Lorne sighed. “I didn’t like doing it, but he couldn’t be trusted.”

“Yeah, he’d turn bad again if someone offered him enough power or looked at him wrong,” Angel shook his head. He preferred his enemies like Lillah, sneaky, underhanded sure, but at least you knew where you stood with her. Lindsey had too much knowledge and power to be given countless chances. Unlike Faith who’d made a mistake, sought and stuck to redemption, Lindsey kept returning to the dark side even after the chances he’d been given. He’d never learn.

* * *

“Hi Will, how are you?”

The red-headed Wicca looked up from her studies and smiled at the former Key. “Hi Dawn.”

Dawn’s face screwed up in concern. “What’s wrong? Have you had another vision?”

“What?” Red sounded bemused. “No.”

“Well you’ve been crying,” Dawn accused. The Witch’s mouth opened. “Don’t deny it. I can see the dried tears. And don’t try to wriggle out of talking.”

Willow chuckled. “Giles was right. You are just like Buffy.” The Witch fell silent for a few seconds. “You heard about Amy?” Dawn nodded. “I used her guilt about Sunnydale to make sure she’d look after Xander no matter what. Her protecting Xander got him killed. And,” Willow looked down at the floor. “Xander found out., And you know how he hates it when we try to protect him. Now he won’t even speak to me.”

“Oh Willow,” Dawn took the sobbing witch in her arms.

Faith glared as she watched from the shadows. This wasn’t right. And part of being a Slayer was righting wrongs. Coming to a decision, she glided out of the library, a set look on her face.

* * *

Faith watched through the crack in the doorway as an oblivious Xander packed. She had to admit she was impressed. Gone was the awkward teenager she’d once boned or even the fat young man she remembered from her second run through Sunnydale. In their place stood a tanned, muscled man with an air of competency and danger. “Not bad at all,” she muttered.

Quelling her baser urges, like they’d ever done anything except kept her in trouble, she shoved the door open. “You’re a real asshole Harris!”

The one-eyed man looked up from his packing to glare at me. “Excuse me?” Harris glanced at the doorway she’d just barged through. “And thanks for knocking.” Harris’ lips curled up in an unxanderlike sneer. “Seems you really learnt some better manners in the joint.”

Faith raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the comment. “Sure I have,” she retorted. “You’ve still got both your arms haven’t ya?” she smiled winningly for a second before turning serious. “Red’s really hurting because of y-.”

“And this concerns you how?” Xander interrupted coldly.

“It bugs me when my buds are-.”

Her host interrupted her with a laugh. “Then you should be five by five,” he mocked, his one eye hardening. “Because we’ve never been buds. After all it’s just skin.”

Faith hid a wince at the less than subtle reminder of her inglorious past but ploughed on. “Whatever X,” she shook her head. “But you and Red are the real thing. And you can’t wreck it over some little fight.”

“Little fight?” Xander’s remaining eye filled with disdain that hit her like a punch in the guts. “Someone died because of me. To a killer like you,” this time she couldn’t stop from flinching, “that might not be a big deal, but it is to me. Now unless you’ve got something else to say, get out!”

Defeated, Faith could only stare dumbfounded at the man before nodding. “Sure X,” she whispered. “Good luck with your mission and be safe. See ya.” For want of anything else to say, she left.