CHAPTER 21: MORTALLY BELOVED

The mausoleum was perfectly still and quiet just a second after the explosion. Before anyone reacted the silence seemed peaceful. That was, of course, until Wesley grunted in pain and Cordelia had gathered herself enough to rush up to him. It seemed like it took minutes, but really only a few seconds had passed.

"Wesley!" Cordelia yelled as she got down beside him. Gunn came after. Wesley grimaced and sat up, reaching for his glasses – a relived look spreading across his face when he found them intact despite the hard fall to concrete.

"Well, thank heavens," he muttered as he put them back on.

"Man, you should start wearin' contacts instead," Gunn smiled, their spat earlier forgotten.

"Are you okay?" Cordelia looked at him. He seemed fine. She looked at the crate with suspicion. Was that a good sign? Energy exploding? At least something must have happened… but what?

"I'm fine," Wesley replied absently, not taking his eyes off the box when he got to his feet. "Is it… I mean, did it…?"

"Haven't looked," Cordelia said. "But I guess we should, right?"

"I suppose we should," Wesley agreed. Cordelia stepped back and gave him a light push in the direction of the crate.

"Why don't you go first. I mean, you said the words… and if it's not Buffy but a vicious hell beast or something in there, we wouldn't want all of us to be eaten or killed horribly…"

Wesley glared at her. "I'm glad to see that the one who pushed for this from the beginning has the guts to follow through," he said dryly.

"I have guts!" Cordelia protested. "I have loads of guts. Tons. I just like to them where they are." Gunn shook his head and sighed deeply.

"Hey, could you two save the bitching 'til Bingo Night? I'll go."

While Cordelia and Wesley remained at a safe distance, Gunn tiptoed towards the crate, listening carefully, ready to fight, or possibly flee, if something emerged from the box.

Only a few feet away from it he regretted that he didn't have a flashlight, or anything else that he could use to see better. The faint light in the mausoleum wasn't nearly enough to get inside the crate. He stopped in his tracks when he heard a sound.

Someone, or thing, breathing. More like panting, actually.

"There's someone in there alright," Gunn whispered in Cordelia and Wesley's direction. At the sound of his voice the panting stopped for a second before it started over.

"Someone, or something?" Cordelia hissed silently. Gunn gave her a look.

"How am I supposed to know? Should I ask it?" Cordelia frowned suspiciously.

"'It'? You said it. Why did you say 'it'?"

"Because I don't know what's in there."

"So look!" Gunn crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why me? I brought the vamps. I've done my share of possible fatal contributions for tonight." Cordelia snorted.

"Don't be too sure about that."

"I must say, we are really handling this brilliantly so far," Wesley muttered. He shook his head and strode up to the box. Whatever might be in there, they must take responsibility for it. After all, they had brought it into this world… no matter if "it" was a human, breathing Buffy or… not.

"Buffy?" he asked softly. The panting stopped again. "Buffy, is that you?"

"Buffy?" Cordelia echoed Wesley. "Okay, I know you must be confused here, I mean, who wouldn't be, but just so we can rule out you being a flesh eating hell beast, how about you tell us that it's really you." Cordelia waited a second as if expecting an answer. "Buffy?"

After a moment, someone appeared in the bared window. When the faint light fell upon her face, they all recognized her. She was a mess – sweaty, dirty, and seemingly naked with tangled hair and wild eyes.

It reminded Cordelia eerily of what Willow had told her about the condition Angel was in after he came back from hell. Buffy had never talked openly about it, but Willow had gotten at least half of the story, and passed it on.

It struck her that no one knew how Darla had been after her resurrection. Lindsay had only said that Buffy would be weak and in need of care from people close to her… but what did that mean? Was she only weak, or an insane, angry animal that didn't recognize them? She swallowed hard and felt the knot in her stomach grow.

After a moment the uncomprehending look on Buffy's face faded and she looked like she tried to focus her sight. Trembling fingers gripped the bars and she seemed to support herself on them.

Her thin, pale arms were actually shaking, Cordelia realized. From what? Was she cold? Afraid? Or just so incredibly fragile physically? It was a frightening notion… Buffy so weak. Like that time a few years back when Giles gave her drugs to take away her Slayer powers. But worse.

"Cordelia?" Her voice was raspy and weak, but there was definite recognition on her face.

"Gunn, I have a blanket in the backseat of my car, will you be kind and fetch it?" Wesley asked calmly, careful not to startle Buffy. Gunn just nodded and disappeared. No one said anything until he came back and handed Wesley the blanket. He pushed it in inside the crate through the bars. Buffy disappeared from their field of vision when she bent down to wrap the blanket around her.

"Buffy, can I open the door?" Wesley asked politely after a minute. He waited a few seconds. "Buffy?" When he didn't get an answer he shrugged and opened the door slowly.

"Dear God."

Buffy was lying on the floor, blanket tightly wrapped around her body, her legs sprawled and her face slack and white.

"Oh no, Buffy? Buffy?"

She heard voices. Voices echoing in her ears. The warmth of blankets wrapped around her body. She tried to swallow to moisten her throat, but the effort seemed to make her so very tired.

She fought to keep her conscience, even though she was sure why she wanted to. Where was she? Who was she? Buffy. Yeah, she knew that much. But why… and where?

She remembered… being a vampire. Angel. England. Suffering.

Why was she here? Who had taken her here? She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids seemed glued together. She tried to command her arms to wriggle out of all the blankets, convinced that if she could only move her body she would regain control of her motor functions… hopefully.

She heard Cordelia's voice. Even though she was speaking silently her words cut through her ears and head like a hundred knives.

Her damp hair was sticking to her face, it itched and felt uncomfortable. She just wanted to move, get her body warm and bendy, brush the hair from her face… and open her eyes. She tried to move her legs instead, and it worked out a little better.

She managed to rotate her feet a few times, and it seemed to awaken her system with a start. She felt wonderful body heat spread up her legs and through her body. She didn't even reflect on the fact that she shouldn't have body heat – unless the impossible had happened.

She cracked her eyes open and closed them quickly again when they were attacked by the bright, stabbing light from a ceiling lamp.

"She's awake," she heard Wesley say, at least she was pretty sure it was him, but t was a little hard to tell when his words echoed in her head, repeating over and over.

"Buffy?" Cordelia asked. She tried to say something, but the only sound she managed was a strangled peep. She cleared her throat and swallowed and tried again.

"Where am I?" she managed. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled herself to a sitting position on the couch. She still wasn't wearing any clothes – but the amount of blankets around her made sure she didn't have to expose anything. She looked at the three of them. Wesley. Cordelia. Gunn. All staring at her as if she was the eighth wonder of the world.

"My apartment," Cordelia replied.

"You gave us quiet a scare," Wesley said softly. "How are you feeling?" Buffy didn't answer. She couldn't - partly because she didn't know what to say, partly because she knew whatever she might want to say, she wouldn't be able to utter that many words.

"Can I… can I get you anything?" Cordelia asked. Buffy shook her head once – it stirred up such horrible dizziness she almost had to lie down again. Unconsciously she felt her chest… where the arrow had hit her. There was nothing there. Had it all been a dream? And if that was… exactly how much had she dreamt?

"I'm… You're… How? Who did…?"

"It's a long story, Buffy," Wesley began diplomatically, realizing that she probably wouldn't be able to comprehend the long version right now. "What you need to know is that when you and Angel were in England you… you died."

Buffy nodded. "I… I remember." So it wasn't a dream then. Well, it wasn't like it was the first time she came back from the dead. Only that time, she hadn't turned into a pile of dust when she died.

"Yes. Now, we had a shot at getting you back… and we took it."

"But how?"

"Do you remember Darla?" What a silly question. Of course she remembered Darla. "She was brought back from the dead… as you remember."

"But she was brought back as a human," Buffy murmured. "That means…" she trailed off, realization slowly dawning on her.

"Yes." Wesley smiled. "It does."

This should be the place where she would do a happy dance, rejoice and thank them overwhelmingly. They had brought her back to life. Not unlife as a vampire – to a human, living life. The thing she and Angel had fought so hard to accomplish before... before everything. Yet the last thing she felt like doing was cheering and thanking them.

"Why?" she croaked in a broken voice, looking away to avoid their disappointed, questioning faces. She felt tears burning behind her eyelids. She wasn't even sure why she felt so depressed. She looked up when she heard thunder outside. It was cold and raining, and she was feeling like a shadow of her former self.

I was dead – I was relieved of my duty, why did you drag me back into this world, she wanted to scream. But she didn't.

She looked back at them, afraid that they would take her reaction wrong. She must be competing for the title of Spoiled Brat of the Year the way she was behaving, she thought. They had obviously taken a big risk by bringing her back, and she was sitting here on the verge of tears, displaying her ungratefulness.

"Because the world needs you," Wesley said calmly. "And more importantly at the moment… Angel needs you."

It didn't strike her until then. It was weird – he had been such a pivotal part of her life the months before she died, and before that, and she didn't even reflect on the fact that he wasn't there until now. But when Wesley said it, the space next to her where he should sit and comfort her suddenly seemed so horribly empty.

"Where is he?" she asked, afraid of the answer. "What's wrong with him?" Had he been hurt by the Council? Was he back from England yet? How long had it been since she died, anyway?

"Try 'what's not wrong with him' instead, it'll be an easier question to answer," Cordelia muttered. Buffy looked at her, uncomprehending.

"What?" she asked.

"Buffy… when you died. Angel, he… he went quiet mad," Wesley said, grimacing at the lack of finding better words for it. "Completely insane, one might even say. He's killed several people that he blames for your death in one way or another. And… he fired us." Wesley looked thoroughly miserable for a minute.

Buffy frowned. Her head wasn't ready for her to try to figure out what Angel had done to avenge her and what it might mean, so she chose to focus on the second part of what Wesley had just said. "Fired you? Why?"

"He didn't really explain," Cordelia said dryly. "But he clearly didn't think about the repercussions. Now we're all out of a job, out of money, soon out of a roof over our heads. All the while he has the Hyperion all to himself."

"Of course… uhm, we hope… think, that now when you're back, he'll get back on track," Wesley said. Gunn snorted. Buffy looked at him. He seemed tense, annoyed even. There was something more to this, she could feel it. Something wrong with Angel. Something much more wrong than taking blood vengeance and driving his friends away in a time of horrible grief. Because that, the odd ways to express his mourning... she could understand. Relate to. After all, she hadn't exactly been Miss Stable after she sent him to hell years ago.

"How long has it been?" she asked. Was it days, weeks, months? She had no idea.

"Well, you… it happened around Christmas, and it's March now."

Months of her life wasted, just like that. Well, it was certainly progress since her last death. After all that one only lasted a few minutes. She felt her panic grow. What had happened during these months?

She wanted to ask them, talk and question them, but at the same time she just felt so tired… and so uncomfortable. She was sticky, dirty, and naked, and her limbs were shaking from exhaustion. She wanted a hot shower, clothes… and a warm bed. But something told her that this night wouldn't allow her much time to herself.

"What else- what else has he done?" she asked. Gunn frowned. Wesley and Cordelia squirmed uncomfortably. They found it hard to explain what they didn't know too well themselves.

"Well," Wesley began. "Since he lost you, he's done a number of things out of character. I think, when you died, he lost his whole interest in redemption. He… he hasn't behaved exactly like the Angel we knew. It's a long story, really." He glanced at Gunn. "In the meantime… do you think you have any shot at finding him tonight, Charles? We would really need him here as soon as possible." Gunn shrugged.

"I'll do what I can," he sighed as he got up from his seat and left.

"Tell me," Buffy demanded when Gunn had left. "I want to know what's happened."

"Ah, yes. As I said, it's a long story."

"But we have time," Cordelia cut in. "Let's begin with the upsides, shall we? You won't really be bothered by the Council anymore, I can tell you that much…"

Gunn looked at his watch. It was late. Well, late for humans anyway. For vampires it must be early afternoon. He just hoped that Angel was still out and about – because going in to the hotel alone, with no idea of his state of mind? Not happening.

He parked his car. This was the same area as where he had seen Angel and Drusilla the last time. Maybe they always took their midnight stroll here, he thought, shaking his head to himself. This was madness. Everyone was mad – Angel was, Cordy and Wes was, and he must be too, considering what he was currently doing.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and started off down the empty street. He had a stake there, ready for use if it was needed. It wasn't as if it was for Angel really – he was always precautious enough to have a weapon on him… still, it felt extra good to have it there now. He looked up towards the sky. It was still raining. A lot. He took a right and went through an alley.

There was something about this night, something in the air… something that told him that it wouldn't end as successfully as it had started out. Or maybe it was just the weather. The rain did seem to put a damp cloth over everything. Literally even, since his clothes were soaked.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a sound. A rustling, kind of. He continued forward silently, went around a corner and… There they were.

Well, that went fast. The source of the rustling sounds soon became obvious. Drusilla held two trashcan lids in her hands and slammed them together, making a horrible rustling, metallic sound.

"The King of Cups is hereby announced," Drusilla said ceremoniously. "This is his big night." Gunn was pretty sure he could hear Angel sigh. He walked close to them slowly, knowing that they had probably already noticed him.

"Angel," he said, his voice calm and even. The vampire flinched and looked up. Drusilla stared at him, making a silent hissing sound... like a snake, or maybe a cat. She threw her lids to the ground.

"What do you want?" Angel asked harshly, barely avoiding a snarl.

"Look, man. Just here to talk," Gunn said calmly, moving slowly, careful to keep his hands in sight. Angel eyed him with suspicion and his gaze traced his coat and pants for bulges that might be hidden weapons . When he looked in his eyes, Gunn shuddered slightly under his dark glance.

"First talk. Then kill me?" Angel asked darkly. Gunn shifted his weight uncomfortably. He had probably seen the stake. He wasn't sure what bothered him the most. Angel's tired, worn – downright vicious look, or the fact that he seemed completely indifferent about the fact that he may or may not be killed in a few seconds.

"No, actually the first was the only thing I had planned." Gunn studied him. He had never seen Drusilla this close before – not other than briefly at least. It was interesting. Her big, dark, strangely innocent-looking eyes, they were so full of… yeah, what? Not life. Insight? Yeah, maybe. Childishness. Oh, and the madness, of course. Gunn threw a quick glance at Angel. Madness caused by him… what he had done to her.

Her long, thin, pale fingers traced along Angel's arm, clutching it, blood-red nails scratching it playfully. Whenever she caught Gunn's gaze for just an instant, her wide mouth curled into a sardonic grin, and her tongue went across a row of perfect white teeth. She was a pure predator, and to a man like Gunn it was unbelievable how anyone could ever think that she was a human woman.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Angel stated.

"But I have something to say to you." Gunn swallowed hard. He hadn't put much thought into how he was going to break the news to him. Right here? In the car? Just drive him to Cordelia's without a word?

Angel raised his eyebrows slightly. "So talk," he said.

"I will," Gunn continued hesitantly. "But… not here. I have my car parked a few blocks away. Why don't you come with me?" Angel stared at him blankly for a second, and Gunn could see what was going on in his mind. He was clearly debating with himself whether to trust him or not. It might very well be an ambush. Or it might not be. He might be taken somewhere to be killed, or he might not. Somehow it didn't seem to make very much difference. Finally he looked at Drusilla.

"Go," she whispered. "Go with him. Down and up, up and down – go with him to flip your frown."

Unsure what to do with Drusilla, but realizing that he couldn't reasonably bring her, Angel released himself from her grip and followed Gunn with a stern look at her. He told her not to follow, and she didn't plan to. She stood there happily until Gunn and Angel had disappeared. She smiled happily to herself.

"He will be at his worst before he becomes his best… all over again."