AN: Ooooooh! You want me to update? I'm so sorry. I must have misunderstood. I thought you said, "Do your homework and make friends." God, I am so embarrassed. Okay, I'll update.
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Death was her gift.
This, of course, was nothing new to Buffy. For years she had been trying desperately to translate the cryptic message of her spirit guide. She had taken comfort in the answer being her death was a gift to Dawn, who would continue to live if Buffy died. But when she'd been resurrected, that idea had all been shot to Hell. So she'd worked with Spike, her drunken English nightly tutor, to work out a meaning that was comfortable to her. They'd established that she killed things to save other people, and therefore, death was her gift. Neither of them believed it, of course, but it helped her sleep at night…well, not exactly sleep…
Angelus had not heard; she eyed him leaning against the far wall of his cage. She would not tell him.
The Svea Priestesses were dead. It had baffled the group. Connor vomited. Buffy cried.
"You didn't kill them," were Angelus's only words of comfort.
"I might as well have," she whispered.
She was not used to seeing dead bodies. It was still shocking and painful. It reminded her of her mother. It was easier when things turned to dust.
Guilt hung off her for picking that family out of the list she'd been given, and confusion made her dizzy. Who would have killed a group of Wiccans who were not doing anything to offend anyone? Could they really have been fighting against the Beast? What irony. What sick, demented irony.
"I don't see why you're so upset," Angelus shrugged. "This means two big wins for our side."
His soul was missing. It was odd how many things could be done with a soul. One could be lost, returned, bottled up in a jar, stolen, or destroyed. Buffy missed the days when souls were intangible and could mean whatever one wanted them to mean.
"They're not wins," she sneered, "They're coincidences. I don't like coincidences. They're unpredictable. You can't fight a war with luck."
He smiled, "Since when are we fighting a war? There are six pathetic heroes scurrying around the big bad's table, begging for scraps up there." He pointed above him. "They've lost their only lead and have no way of getting their precious General Faggot back."
She hated when he mocked Angel. She never said anything.
"Why are you so fucking weepy?" he smacked one of the bars lightly, making a low, ringing noise. "This is happy time."
"A family is dead, and your soul is missing," she spat. "We don't know who killed them or why, and we have no idea who took your soul or what they plan to do with it, and what if—"
"What if what?" he snarled, moving towards her. "What if the Slayer stays down in a basement blubbering about all the things wrong with her life—"
"I'm trying to help you!" she said.
"Well, if I may be blunt, you kind of suck at it,"
"All right, great then! Help yourself! Stay in the big cage! Call me up when you get your soul back and wanna cuddle," she turned, as if she could leave.
"Fine," he smirked. "Say hi to Spike for me."
She had gotten as far as the bottom of the staircase when she stopped, "If they can't bring Angel back, they'll kill you, Angelus."
"They won't," he said.
"How can you be so sure?" She spoke of many more situations than the current one. He was always, always so sure.
"They still haven't gotten what they want from my head," he smiled at her as she turned back around.
"The Beast," she whispered.
"The Beast," he rolled his eyes. "It's a little sad. That was really the best name they could come up with?"
"Do you really know something?" she shrugged.
"Of course," I crossed his arms over his chest. "I know lots of things. About the Beast in particular, I know what all of them could know if they had working neurons."
"What?" she came closer.
He explained that he'd met the Beast once before, back in the 18th century. She cringed at his jokes about bodies, then looked down when he mentioned his hatred of partnership—Spike's name still fresh in her head. He explained that Darla had come to his rescue, and he had not seen or heard from the creature since. "The Beast I knew was big into smash and slaughter. Had the brawn to be really good at it too, but the big picture—not his strong point."
"So he got smarter?" she shrugged, unimpressed.
He laughed, "Still so young."
"I didn't hear anything particularly funny," she spat.
"Things do not change, Buffy. Of course, they may appear to, but you should never be fooled. A whore can cross her legs and brush her hair, but she'll always be a whore."
"How insightful."
"The Beast did not get smarter. Why would he? He had no problem with his intellect."
"So then how did he figure out how to take the sun away, Angelus?"
He smiled, enjoying her anger as one enjoys watching a cat play with a ball of yarn. "Someone else must be pulling all the strings. Someone bigger, more powerful, more vicious."
Buffy shivered. Someone close, her mind whispered to her.
"The Beast has a boss," he nodded once.
An uncomfortable laughing bark escaped from her throat at the image of the Beast in a business suit, punching a time card.
His smile faded, but she did not notice. He often wondered if she was slowly becoming insane. What a beautiful lunatic she would make…
"A boss," she repeated, laying a hand gently—innocently—on her neck. "I should tell the team."
"Now why would you go and do a thing like that?" he tilted his head to the side, as if he were speaking to a small child.
She shook her head, "So that they keep you—"
"Patience, dear," he cooed. "If you give it all up on the first date, he's never going to call you again. We'll just give them a little taste—minimal tongue."
She could not help the chill that ran down her back when he said 'tongue'. "Oh, right. Okay. Just…just a little bit."
"That's it," he nodded then laughed, "God, Buff, please, go upstairs and give it a pinch. You're so tense."
She thought about smiling and coming back at him with some clever retort. "Sorry," she whispered.
He shook his head, "Of course you are."
"I am sorry," she nodded. "I'm sorry for being so…unhelpful. I just…I didn't mean to make you so upset, and I didn't mean to get upset. I just worry." He didn't say a thing. She was venturing too far away from their uniqueness. This was a conversation for people named Jim and Sue. It felt strange and out of place. "I wasn't expecting to feel as…as sure as I do." She was so tired. Words seemed to be coming out of her mouth without permission from her brain. "But I feel so…right…about, you know, us—and I just…I don't know what I'd do if—"
"Shh!" he put a hand up and moved nothing but his eyelids.
"What?" Buffy whispered. "What's wrong?"
"We're not alone," he nearly growled. "Seems there's a fly on the wall."
Instantly, she turned to look at the camera, which was recording without sound—the team was now just making sure Angelus did not escape; they did not think he had anything helpful to say. "Who?" she barely breathed. Who else? Her mind whispered.
"Sorry, sweetie," a stranger's voice hit her ears from behind, and she turned swiftly to find a woman with brown hair and a bloody shirt. "Not quite," she smiled. "I don't do a lot of cavorting with the white hats upstairs."
"Who are you?" she shook her head.
"Buffy," Angelus was gripping the bars of his cell rather tightly, "I'm so very pleased to introduce you to Lilah Morgan, former business suit wearing bitch of the corporate elite."
"What?" she crossed her arms over her chest.
"I'm a lawyer, hon," she smiled and turned to Angelus. "You never cease to surprise."
"It's odd. She speaks as if we've met," he smirked.
"Well, I know so much about you, I feel like we're practically…what's the word? Partners?"
He chuckled outright, "Only in your deepest darkest dreams, baby. You know, the ones with your cousin and your mother and the neighborhood dog."
"You're a lawyer?" Buffy cut in, putting a hand up.
"Former," she was still smiling. "And I wouldn't be so ready to brush me aside—"
"Too easy," he smiled.
"Seems I know things that you wouldn't want me sharing with others."
"You don't know anything."
"Angelus," Buffy whispered.
Lilah smiled, "The Scourge of Europe and the Vampire Slayer. You two just weren't satisfied with the Capulets and Montagues?"
"They would never believe you," he shrugged.
She laughed, "You overestimate them. They're hopeless. They'd love any excuse give up. The way I see it? The Slayer just saying 'fuck all' and sleeping with the enemy? I'd say that's as good a reason as any to send the troops home. Maybe Cordy could get something booked now that natural light is extinct."
He waited a moment, and Buffy stared at him.
"Partners?" Lilah smirked.
"Angelus," Buffy whispered, uneasy.
"Partners," he said.
"Shit!" they heard from upstairs, then the door opened, and the cavalry stormed in.
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AN: Truly, I am really sorry it has taken me this long to update. I've been writing a lot, but it hasn't been fanfiction. I'm writing a book and a bunch of essays for my classes (one about the recent trend in books, TV, and movies to make vampires good—and Angel was a part of it). Also, as I am sure most of you know, writing is REALLY BAD when it is forced, and I don't want to write things that are really bad, so I don't force myself. If you need something to read, I recommend all things by Margaret Atwood. How have I possibly rambled this long? Wow, okay…
I will update. I promise. I wrote the last chapter to this story, and I really like it, so I know I'll finish it. Thanks for sticking with it. Let me know what you think.