CHAPTER THREE

As Angel came toward her, Buffy felt a spurt of horror, bitter bile at the back of her throat. Was she going to allow this? Trust The Betrayer? Not trust. Never again, she vowed. She realised that letting this happen was just another rebellion in a million uprisings. Rules, for Buffy, were always made to be broken. So she bit back the horror and gave in to her crazy, go-to-Hell bravado. If she was insane, so be it. Sanity hurt. And the thought in the back of her mind: if she could restore Angel, she would restore the one thing in her life that remained of her old self. God knew, she'd lost everything else, everyone else, because of who and what she was.

And she saw something now in Angel's eyes - those dreadful, dead eyes - that she had believed she would never see again. The dawning of hope.

So she walked toward the bed, sat on it. Laid down the knife on the bedside table. Closed her eyes. Waited.

"Get on with it." Her voice, harsh, a mix of anger at her own weakness, fear of what might happen. If he should kill her… And… No, never that again. Never desire again.

The mattress sank under his weight as he joined her. He hesitated too, still reeking of the certainty that she might change her mind and send him away. But he was close now, and he wanted her too. What she could give him. Buffy felt the change in him. Suddenly he had to have it.

"Won't kill you, Buffy," he murmured. "Promise…"

"Better not. Or I'll come back and haunt you. I know how." Making a joke of it, because she'd scream otherwise. Omigod. If James could see me now…

His breath on her neck then, noxious, smelling of decay, a cold wind in the depths of an Arctic winter. Inside her chest, her heart twisted. Angel had never smelled this way before, felt this way before. Not even at his worst.

His fingers on her throat, brushing away her hair. Cold, clammy touch, touch of death, almost causing her to jerk away. Then he whispered her name, and she knew it was too late. Perhaps it always had been.

Frigid mouth there now. Mouth of a demon, even more removed from Angel than the creature she'd seen tonight. The beast she knew she should destroy, not give herself to. There were rules, weren't there? Yeah. Rules. Rules she always broke.

When it came, the bite was exquisite pain. Pain of first lovemaking. First joining together. Before.. Before…

And then Buffy felt herself slip under the vampire's feeding spell; she remembered what had brought her to this moment. This place.

Dreamed of the past…

Five years ago. She was just eighteen and Angel had just left her. True, she had initiated the original split, saying she needed time to think, but they hadn't been able to keep apart. The heartbreak was worse than she could ever have imagined and she buried it inside herself. It would fester, she knew, grow like a cancer, but she wouldn't let the others see. How could she, when they'd warned her not to get involved with him again? When they'd wanted him dead, and despite his helping them, still wanted it, although they pretended otherwise.

Buffy slayed the creatures from the Dark World with grim passion now. Every evil she destroyed, every vampire she slayed, was Angel in her heart. How many times did she kill him in her mind? Too many to remember.

Giles, her Watcher then, reprieved by the Council after the misjudgement that had almost killed her because of the strong bond between them, and because she refused to co-operate with others they'd sent, knew she was suffering, but he kept a polite distance. He was nothing if not polite, Giles. She and her friends had always laughed - in a friendly way of course - at his British reserve and privacy, but now Buffy was glad of it. If she wanted to talk, he told her, she was most welcome. If not, he understood. And that was the truth. Giles always understood. Didn't he too lead a pre-destined life? A life that, in the end, was isolated from human reality?

So she slayed. And then Giles told her that the Hellmouth was opening again.

Unbelievable, that news. How could it re-open when she had sacrificed Angel to it? Ah, but Angel came back, didn't he? Giles reminded her. Angel was redeemed from Hell, and that returned the status quo. Soon there would be a rising such as none of them had ever imagined. And they had to be ready.

He couldn't pin-point the exact date of this apocalyptic event, except to say it would be around the time they were due to graduate. The news was digested by the group with little enthusiasm.

"You're telling me I might miss my Graduation Night because Satan can't wait to destroy the world?" Buffy complained. Still a child then, still concerned with childish things. Giles shrugged.

"There'll never be another Graduation Night for anyone if we fail to stop it. Besides, it might not happen then. These things are unpredictable."

So they prepared. While Giles gathered the necessary paraphernalia together, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Cordelia and Oz learned the prayers they needed to chant. And fought evil. Because the evil on the streets was increasing with every night. They didn't need Giles to tell them now. They could feel it.

And then the final confrontation - and was Giles a psychic or what, because just as Buffy was putting on her dress - her very expensive dress - the call came.

"Buffy." Urgency in his voice. "We need you. Now. You know where."

Yeah. She knew where. Sunnydale's church, of all places. As though evil was trying to say: Even a place of God can't keep us out.

She'd shed her dress and gone downstairs, carrying the backpack in which she kept the equipment she needed. Her mother, ready to see her only child graduate, waylaid her.

"Buffy? Aren't you going to Graduation?"

She couldn't meet her eyes.

"Nah. Got something better to do." Trying to make light of it. Her mother knew her better. Bright anger flooded her face.

"Buffy, we've looked forward to this for so long…" A pause, her eyes blazed with unwilling knowledge. "You're going with that unspeakable Englishman, aren't you? To do his work…"

"My work, mom. You know that."

"I wish I didn't know it. I wish…"

"Mom please…" A hug. A light kiss. Had to keep it light because if she got too close, she'd never let go. Then out the door, her mother's pleas and protests ringing in her ears.

Oh, it was out in force tonight, evil. Buffy could smell it. And it was after her. She killed four vampires before she got to the church, which was lit up from inside with a sickly yellow light. Around her, in the cemetery, she saw the earth beginning to move. Saw skeletal hands beginning to push their way up from the gravesites. Not only the Undead rising, she thought. All the dead… She rushed inside.

The others were there, pale faced, shaking with terror. Seeing them, Buffy realised her own fear. No time for jokes or flippant comments, she realised. Had there ever really been time for that? This was no laughing matter. Never had been. But making light of it had been a way of defence, a way of coping. But this was bad. Worse than before, when she had sacrificed him… So bad she wanted to vomit.

"Join hands." Giles ordered. "Begin the chant. It's opening. Can't you feel it?"

"Yes." And she could. How could she fail to, when the stones beneath her feet were trembling, like the beginning of an earthquake?

Giles beginning the prayer. His voice drowned out by the roaring of something that sounded like the attack bellow of an army of prehistoric beasts. They joined in the prayer.

"Light of Love, Light of Life. Light of Eternal Hope." An underlying mantra to the supplication that Giles spoke - yelled - over the ever-increasing din, a tumultuous reverberation that almost scrambled their brains. They were rocked by the activity of the stones beneath them, heard the earth begin to tear open. From beneath, the clamouring of damned souls joined with the sound of the shattering earth. And beneath that still, but climbing, the shrieking of hungry demons.

"It's not stopping!" Xander yelled. "Why isn't it stopping?"

"Shut up!" Giles cried. "Shut up and keep chanting. For God's sake…"

He held aloft the Blood Cross, the artefact they had searched the earth for, that Giles had, Buffy suspected, committed crimes to attain. Crimes for humanity, though. Never against it. As he screamed the prayer, the Crucifix began to bleed. Droplets of blood spattered into the now-yawning abyss, causing the earth to erupt, forcing the circle of friends apart.

"Keep chanting!"

Blood ran from the Cross now. Ran like water from a hose. Into the fissure. The shrieks of the damned, of the demons, turned to howls of agony. It was searing them, Buffy thought with wonder. Searing them. Killing them. She hoped. Then Light, emitting from the Cross in blinding brilliant glory. Buffy closed her eyes, heard more screaming. Then felt herself knocked off her feet. Her last thought as she passed out was that Hell had come to Earth after all…

When she woke, she was in hospital. No-one knew what had happened to her, and she wasn't about to tell them. How were the others? That was all she needed to know. Looks passed from her mother, to the nurses, to the doctor.

"Xander and Willow are fine. Just concussed," her mother said. More looks. Buffy's heart thudded with terror. "Your friend, Cordelia - Buffy - that poor girl…"

"What? What?"

"Her face is burned…"

"Burned…?" Not beautiful Cordy…?

"Buffy…"

"Oz…?" How much more bad news? More shrugs. She cried her question again.

"Oz is…" Her mother's eyes closed.

"He's dead, isn't he?" No tears. Not yet. Not until she knew it all. "Giles?" No answer. "Where is Giles?"

"Intensive therapy. He's… dying... Head injury…"

They couldn't stop her. Tried, but reckoned without her strength, which even now was more than theirs.

He lay corpse-like in a bed, his head swathed with bandaged through which fresh blood seeped. When she touched him, he was cold. Buffy couldn't speak. He opened his eyes and Buffy knew the unknowable.

"Knew you'd come. Killed me… Buffy…"

"NO!" Pain in her head, her chest. Pain of loss… Not Giles. Not Giles…

He raised a feeble, shaking hand.

"Only waited for you, Buffy." A weak smile. "To tell you… We stopped it…. Forever. I have been told… Now I can go…"

"Giles…"

"Promise me, Buffy…"

"Don't talk this way…"

"Buffy… Promise." Final strength in his voice. Final command. Sick, she nodded. "Go to my home in London. Read. Learn. Buffy…"

"I promise…" She squeezed his hand. It was colder. "Giles…" But the light from his eyes was fading. Going. Going. Gone.

After that, it was terrible. No more, she told herself, as she stood by Giles' graveside, watching him lowered into the earth forever. No more. She was leaving. Already she had withdrawn herself from her friends. Her remaining friends, for Cordy had already been flown off to the best plastic surgery clinic in the country.And Willow and Xander were shell shocked and withdrawn.

But "no more", she learned, were not words recognised by the Watchers' Council. She saw him, the living cliché of tall, dark and handsome, a black suited figure, standing some way away from the graveside. When the service was finished, he approached her.

"Buffy Summers?" Another Brit, she heard from his cut-glass accent. "I'm James Harrison. Your new Watcher."

She almost hit him. Only the greatest effort of will stopped her.

"I'm sorry about Giles," he was saying. "He saved us all, no doubt about it, but he's gone now, Buffy, and you must abide by my rules."

"Oh yeah?" She disliked him on sight, this attractive, well presented man. "Says who?"

"The Council…"

"You can tell the Council to go to Hell. I'm quitting…"

"You can't quit, Buffy. You have your Sacred Duty, your destiny…"

"What are you anyway?" she said, ignoring his talk about Sacred Duty and destiny. She'd had it with those things. "A bunch of vultures waiting for the next death so you can swoop in and take over? Jesus, you're disgusting. And how did you know…?"

"About Giles?" A wintry smile. "We always know, Buffy. It's perfectly simple."

"I don't wanna hear it. Thanks." And she turned her back and walked away.

Next day she walked away from it all. Packed a bag and left. No college after all, not for her. No more involvement with her beloved Xander and Willow. Better they forget her. She only brought death and pain on those she loved.

When she was far enough away, she called her mother, who was frantic. Explained why she had gone. Surprisingly, her mother had understood.

"Keep safe," she'd said at the end. But Buffy only promised she would keep in touch.

For a year she wandered, working her way across country. Every now and then, James Harrison would find her. Remind her. There was still evil, he told her. She told him that evil could go to Hell, but without her help. She was through.

She learned, she grew, she matured. Shed the schoolgirl and became a woman. Eventually, she decided that the time had come to keep her promise to Giles, although James had told her it was foolish. She couldn't be Slayer and Watcher at the same time. But James was wrong. She could be whatever she wanted to be. And a deathbed promise must always be kept.

Having saved enough money, she flew to London. Giles' retainers greeted her with a kind welcome. And Buffy began to learn what few Slayers had learned before.

During the day, she led a normal enough life, after all she had to work to live. After doing a series of menial jobs, she landed a position in a City gym, teaching General Fitness, specialising in Martial Arts. This kept her body honed and toned, a fighting machine, even if she didn't fight much these days. At night, remaining aloof from any kind of social activities, she dedicated herself to keeping her promise to Giles.

She learned to summon and bind demons; to exorcise ghosts and possession, recognising the true from the false. The liberation of astral travel soon bewitched her. And the art of spells and curses and the principles of High Magic were eventually hers. She was no master; only a lifetime's work would achieve that, but it was enough. For now.

Of course James was always there now. Buffy had learned to tolerate him and his disapproval of her acquiring this knowledge, which was, he said, for Watchers to understand, not Slayers. Slayers were supposed to kill, and speaking of that, why wasn't she?

No more killing, Buffy replied. Not unless it was necessary. She and the vampires in London had reached an uneasy truce. They didn't kill humans, she didn't kill them. If the truce was broken, she would act. Not until then. She'd seen enough death to last her several incarnations.

And so it went. Until now…

Coming out of her dreamlike state. Angel had fallen away from her, was huddled at the end of the bed, making sounds of pain. She touched her throat; it hurt, and she felt the two holes where he'd punctured her skin. They had, she noticed, already stopped bleeding.

"Angel?" She was worried for him. Her memories, unleashed, had made her determined not to lose him again. Another sound, a choked sound. "Angel…?" He was laughing! Laughing? Why was he laughing?

Then he sat up, turned on the bedside light, and she saw why. Restored. He was restored. Angel with the face of an angel once more. Buffy felt the nightmare past slip away from her.

"You did it!" he exclaimed, delighted. He held out his arms and before she knew what had happened she was in them.

"No," she said. "We did it. We did it together."

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