2012
London, England
Pratt's Residence
Exhausted from the long day at the museum, all that Buffy wanted to do was take off these Christian Louboutin beige apostrophe pointed red-sole pump that she had spent a fortune on.
Entering the home, Buffy took off the long black wool designer peacoat and hung it on a wooden hook by the front door. She then hung up the pocketbook on her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her ears.
Spinning the watch dangling loosely around her wrist, Buffy eyed the time and determined she had about thirty minutes before she had to run to pick up Liam from school.
Walking up the stairs heading straight to the bedroom to change, Buffy heard a muffled voice.
Frowning at the voice she had immediately recognised as Spike's, Buffy continued down the hallway and paused, standing outside the partially closed door.
Ready to open the door and surprise her husband, Buffy dropped her hand and listened.
"Dru, luv, you know I can't do that."
Buffy heard Spike say. Pinching her brows together, Buffy stepped closer to the partially closed door.
"Pet," Spike released a heavy breath, "if she ever found out… if Buffy knew how I feel about you, it would break this family apart. I'm not ready for that, luv. No matter how much I love you or I want you…"
The shock of his words seemed too much. Buffy couldn't move. She had to remind herself to breathe. Dru… Dru… it was then her mind flashed back to the beautiful dark-haired woman that had appeared at the Bronze during the party to celebrate Buffy's accomplishment. Drusilla, she knew it. In her gut, she knew there was something between Spike and that woman.
The anger and the rage began to simmer inside of her as everything settled in her mind and processed itself out.
Pushing the door open, Spike whirled around with a deer caught in the headlights eyes.
He froze, holding the cellphone to his ear.
Buffy watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he nervously stared at her with shocked eyes. "B-B-Buffy," he immediately hung up the phone call.
Calmly, Buffy pursed her lips and turned away, heading back down the hallway.
Spike chased after his wife.
He ran down the stairs and raced to the front door where Buffy was putting back on the black peacoat.
"Buffy, stop, please, let me explain," Spike begged.
"I'm not ready to talk to you yet." She said with a low cool voice.
Spike reached out, catching the peacoat as she began to put it back on. "We have to, luv. Please, let me explain."
Nervously, Spike put the coat back on the hook and stepped back from her.
Buffy stood eerily quiet with her back facing him. Her arms crossed over her chest and mentally counted to five before facing him.
With impatient raised brows, she waited for him to speak and grovel at her feet in efforts to explain himself.
"I…" his voice fell, unsure how to explain what she had witnessed.
Scoffing at his cowardice, Buffy began to turn away when Spike gripped her elbow. "We have to talk, Buffy."
Pursing her lips together, Buffy grew more irritated by the second. "And say what, Spike? 'What were you thinking? How long have you been lying to me?'" She dropped her arms at her sides. "Fine. Tell me. How long has this been going on? A month? Two months?" By the guilted expression on Spike's face, Buffy knew the answer was longer… much longer. "A year? Years?" She felt the air in her lungs deflate the longer his silence lingered.
Spike lowered his head, stagnant.
Holding back the tears hazing her eyes, Buffy masked her venerable emotions with blind anger, "Nothing you say right now is gonna make this better."
They stood in silence.
Needing to move, Buffy walked past him and into the spacious living room.
Spike stood in the entryway watching his wife pace back and forth for a moment. He wanted to tell her everything and fall to his knees begging for her forgiveness.
But to his surprise, Buffy moved past him and headed for the door.
Spike turned and watched as Buffy threw on the peacoat and pocketed the car keys. "W-w-where are you going?"
"I have to pick up Liam from school." She pulled her long blonde hair from under the peacoat and reached for the doorknob.
"No, Buffy, we have to talk about this." Terrified of her walking out that door, Spike reached for her when Buffy whirled around, startling him. He took a step backwards, recognising the hard piercing glare set in her green eyes which shook him to his core.
"Fine. Fine! Tell me about your whore!" She angrily raised her voice. "Tell me what on earth she could give you that I can't. Do you love her?" As soon as the question left her lips, Buffy regretted it. With a small defeated shrug, Buffy didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "Your silence speaks volumes."
Running a hand through his slicked-back hair, Spike shook his head, "No, Buffy, it isn't like that."
"Then what's it like?" She yelled with aggravation and heartache. "Are you bored or just malicious?"
"You keep me at a distance, Buffy!" Spike refused to be only one to be blamed in this. The struggle and the hurt of her detachment became unbearable. He could no longer stay silent.
Buffy shook her head, "So this is my fault?" She gestured at herself. "Hey, gee, Buffy's so aloof, I think I'll go out and sleep with another woman."
"Bloody hell, what did you expect?" His threw his arms out.
"I expected you to be faithful! I expected you to be my husband!" She shouted at him.
"Yes, well, I expected to have a wife! Not a shell of a miserable woman!" Buffy eyes widened visibly hurt by his words. "We haven't been the same since you came back!" Spike raised his voice. "This is about how you make me feel when I'm with you! You don't love me!"
Rolling her eyes, she glared him with disbelief, "You are unbe—"
"—You don't love me! And it's not my fault!" He shouted. "Don't put this all on me. I'm not the only one that's been unfaithful in this marriage, Buffy!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Spike yelled in her face. "You've been just as unfaithful as I!"
Flabbergasted, Buffy glared at him, "What the hell are you talking about? I'm here, Spike. I'm right here. I'm not sleeping around. I'm not having affairs!"
Spike shook his head, "You haven't been physically unfaithful but your heart… You think I haven't noticed? You are a lot of things, Buffy, but you're not a bloody actress."
"That is ridiculous," she said through gritted teeth.
"Is it?" Spike raised his brows. "This entire marriage has been a charade. It's always been. You and I are trapped in this relationship!"
Spike stared into her eyes as his panting breaths of anger simmered. He could see it in her eyes, she was trying to create a counter-argument.
He took a step towards her and said, "Tell me that you don't think of him. When you touch me, you're not imagining him with you. That every time you walk through that door," he pointed at the front door, "you're not disappointed that it's me here and not him. For god sakes, Buffy, be bloody honest for once. You're not hurt because I've had a mistress for the last seven years. You're hurt because I have something you don't. Someone I love and who loves me back."
Staring at him in disbelief, Buffy folded her arms across her chest and glared. "You've got it all wrong," she began. "I'm hurt because the man I thought loves me has been lying to me for nearly a decade. I'm sorry I couldn't coddle you or have passionate wild sex with you whenever you wanted because I was—"
"—Wallowing in self-pity 'cause the man you love knocked you up and ran out," Spike spitefully clenched his jaw. "And now you're stuck with me!"
"No, what I was going to say was I was too busy trying to salvage what was left of this marriage that you so eloquently call 'a charade'." Her anger grew as she spoke, "I've been breaking my back to pay for this house, our groceries, the water, utilities, and waste, university tuitions, our taxes, Liam's school, his guitar lessons, your band tours, the downpayment of your 'big dream' of a goddamn nightclub!" Buffy felt a rage release that she had been keep ahold and boxed away for far too long. "Where the hell have you been? I'm the one that has been keeping this family together!" She pointed at herself. "The family that you wanted! I gave you an out and you stayed! I didn't force you! I told you where I was and who I was with and you couldn't handle it." She took a step closer to him, "I'm so sorry if I came back wrong! What else do you want from me, Spike? I've given you everything that I have, I've given you my heart, my body, and soul!"
Spike stared at her for a moment said, "No," he shook his head, "no you haven't. You left all of that in Ireland."
Stunned to where she stood, Buffy slowly processed everything for a moment then lifted her gaze to Spike, "He's gone, Spike! He's not coming back. I'm here with you!" She pinched the bridge of her nose, suddenly exhausted. "I can't do this anymore..." she pushed her hair from her face. "I'm tired of explaining myself and tiptoeing around you. No matter what I do or matter how many times I tell that you that I love you, you don't believe me. I'm telling you, this is it, this is me. This is the package. And if it's so deficient that you need to get your kicks elsewhere… then we really have a problem."
Quietly, Buffy fastened the buttons of her coat as she walked towards the front door, brushing her shoulder. She then grabbed the pocketbook on the hook by the strap opened the front door.
Spike watched her pause before she walked out.
Without fully turning around, Buffy said, "I want you gone by the time I come back." She walked out the door and slammed it closed leaving Spike standing defeated in the foyer.
Buffy briskly stomped down the small stairs and walked down the sidewalk path to the dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee parked outside the home.
Angrily, Buffy got into the Jeep. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled out left onto the road and headed towards the stoplight three blocks away from the townhouse.
The light turned red.
Buffy stared out the front-shield window, watching the cars cross the intersection. She bit her lips as her jumbled emotions settled as the realisation that her marriage was over sunk in. Tears hazed her eyes. She tried desperately not to cry but failed and began to sob. Wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Buffy tried to compose herself but the heartbreak of her failures spilt from her eyes. Her hand went over her face unable to stop the tears.
1760
Galway, Ireland
Tavern
Entering into the boisterous tavern the band was playing loud in the corner. Doyle and Wesley exchanged a look as they walked further into the tavern between the crowds of men surrounding tables, slapping their hands on the tabletop as they tried to look up the women's skirts as they danced on the table.
The thunder of laughter and low voices singing along to the old Irish folksong.
Every inch of the wall space of the tavern was filled with guns and the Ó Conchobhair clan crest over a roaring fireplace.
Searching over the heads of the crowd, Doyle's blue-eyed gaze fell on the face he had been searching for. With his hand, Doyle nudged Wesley to follow him towards the bar.
For two years they tried to collect some sort of evidence to prove that Buffy was somehow taken from Galway against her own free will. All roads pointed towards Lindsey but they knew he wasn't smart enough to execute this plan alone. Nor did they understand his motive for why he would break his oldest friend and the love of his life apart.
Lindsey sat on a stool, miserable as he sipped the pewter of ale.
"Lindsey," Doyle slapped their old friend on the back gaining his attention.
Shaking his head from his misery, Lindsey shifted his gaze to Doyle and Wesley. "Oh, what are ye doin' 'ere?"
"Looking for you… actually," Wesley cleaned the spectacles in his hand and placed back over the bridge of his nose.
"Why?" Lindsey drank a healthy gulp of the ale in the pewter then slammed it down getting the bartender's attention. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the empty pewter.
Doyle leaned an elbow on the countertop and asked, "Cad atá ar eolas agat faoi na rudaí a tharla do (What do you know about what happened to) Buffy?"
"Buffy?" Lindsey slurred with disinterest. "Más féidir liom dul an chuid eile de mo shaol gan an t-ainm wench sin a chloisteáil arís ... bheadh sé ró-luath (If I can go the rest of my life without ever hearing that wench's name again... it would be too soon)."
Wesley and Doyle tossed each other a look of piquing interest.
Leaning in closer as if others standing around them with clear disinterest would listen to the conversation, Doyle asked, "Cén long a rinne Buf—ar bord chuig na Coilíneachtaí? (What ship did Buf—she aboard to the Colonies)?"
Lindsey chuckled, "Colonies? Nay, níor thug sí ar bord loinge ar bith... (she didn't aboard any ship)…" he lifted his gaze to Doyle, "… thug an Dealan Dhé uirthi imeacht (the Yellow Butterfly made her go)." He revealed.
The frown on Wesley's face deepened recognising the name Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly). But he couldn't place his finger on where he had heard it before.
Grinning wildly in a drunken haze, Lindsey beamed as he explained, "Bhí sé éasca an soith sin a dhéanamh imithe. Chuir mé ina luí uirthi go raibh Angelus marbh tar éis na tine gunna. Chreid sí mé. Ansin mé ... dúirt mé le Angelus (It was easy to make that bitch disappear. I convinced her Angelus was dead after the cannon fire. She believed me. Then I... I told Angelus)," Lindsey laughed harder remembering that night when he sent Buffy back to the future, "nach raibh grá aici dó. Riamh! Agus chreid an eejit sin mise freisin. Ní dhearna mé ach mar a d'iarr sí (that she didn't love him. Ever! And that eejit believed me too. I only did as she asked)."
"Who?" Doyle raised a highbrow of interest.
Turning his gaze from the ale in his hand, Lindsey smiled, "Dúirt sí liom ... fáil réidh leis an wench agus go mbeimis ... sásta. Ní raibh sí riamh uaim. Is féidir liom í a mharú as a bhfuil déanta aici. Is féidir liom é a mharú freisin (She told me to... to get rid of the wench and we'd be... happy. She never wanted me. I can kill her for what she's done. I can kill him, too)." Lindsey drunkenly slumped in a pitiful depression. "She's all I wanted." He admitted.
Doyle opened his mouth to ask another question when Wesley laid a hand over his shoulder.
"I think we've gathered all that we need," Wesley said suggestively.
Reading his thoughts, Doyle nodded in agreement and looked at Lindsey. He patted a hand on the drunkards back and said, "Good luck, boyo. Ye're goin' to need it." He said as a smirk tugged at his lips.
Leaving the tavern, Doyle whispered into Wesley's ear, "Why did we go? We need to get t'a her name. Lindsey was just about to tell us."
"Are you telling me that you hadn't figured it out yet?" Wesley asked as they exited the tavern.
"Figure out what?"
Releasing a heavy sigh, Wesley stepped closer towards Doyle, away from the prying ears of those standing outside, basking in the brisk air. "We know Lindsey lacks the sheer intelligence to come up with such an elaborate scheme but who, pray tell, has our drunk friend always been in love with?"
Doyle frowned running through the names of all the women he knew in Galway. "Well, obviously, it isn't Buffy."
"Think of the other blonde. A particular blonde with her own 'infatuation' towards Angelus. The blonde that's been in … contentious relations with Angelus for two years now…"
As if a lightbulb went off in his mind, Doyle's blue eyes widened, "Darla. Ye t'ink Darla did all t'is? Created a distraction to get Angelus—all of us away from the town so it would make Buffy venerable and in the care of Lindsey?"
"He was the last person with her at the time of her disappearance," Wesley smirked. "But he did say something else…" he racked his brain to remember the familiar words, "… Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly). I know I've heard that before but I don't know—"
"—Aye, Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly) is an old legend. Like fairies and t'a pooka…" Doyle explained with a shrug. "It's somethin' 'bout touchin' t'a yellow wings of a butterfly. It would send ye on a journey to another world. One t'at's not like t'is one." Doyle explained. "It's as real as t'a white butterflies bein' t'a souls of dead children." He chuckled then asked, "Are ye sayin' t'at Buffy isn't from t'is world? T'at she's from… I don't know… Another time itself?" He laughed at the absurdity.
Wesley removed the glasses from the bridge of his nose and said, "Yes, Doyle, that is exactly what I am saying."
"ifreann fuilteacha (Bloody hell)," Doyle shook his head, unsure whether to believe all of this or join the other back in the tavern and drink until a stupor.
Ronan Castle
Entering the dark home, Doyle folded his arms across his chest trying to hide from the crisp cold air.
With a frown, Wesley knew there were many rooms of this former home but there were only three that Angelus O'Connor ever occupied on a nightly basis.
He nodded to Doyle to follow him down through the main area of the home and down the hallway heading towards a closed door.
Doyle raised a brow noticing the flickering light visible from the bottom crack of the closed door.
Wesley wrapped his hand around the doorknob and entered the room to see Angelus sitting by the fire with a glass of whiskey beside him.
Walking further into the library, Wesley noticed a red partially burnt book in Angelus' hand.
After a few minutes, Angelus felt another presence in the room. He shook himself from his distant stare into the dancing flames and looked up to see Wesley and Doyle standing by the fire waiting for his attention patiently.
"Oh," Angelus blinked, realising he was no longer alone with his deepening thoughts. "What are ye doin' 'ere?"
"We apologise for the late hour," Wesley began, "but we do have to talk to you. It's quite urgent."
Nodding his head, Angelus outstretched his arm and to the bottle of whiskey beside him on a table and poured himself another glass. "Ye've got my attention," he said.
Clearing his throat, suddenly nervous, "Ahem," Wesley held his hand behind his back trying to form the proper words of how to bring up the sour subject of Buffy. "Yes, well, um… I don't know how to ask you this but—"
"—T'en just ask it, Wes. No need for t'is stutterin'. If ye 'ave somethin' to say, t'en for god sakes, say it." Angelus smirked ever patient.
Wesley raised his gaze to Angelus and asked point-blank, "Angelus, do you know exactly what happened to Buffy?"
Wesley and Doyle watched Angelus' face darken hearing his wife's name. He began to close himself off as he swallowed and controlled his lingering anger that still gripped his heart.
"Aye," he nodded, looking away from his friends, "she left me. Why are we talkin' about t'is?"
"Because," Doyle stepped forward, "it's very important t'at we do, boyo. How did she leave?"
Angelus turned his eyes to the fire and glared for a minute before replying, "Aboard a ship, I reckon."
"Are ye sure 'bout t'at?" Doyle asked and was met with a frustrated look on Angelus' face. "We only ask because we are t'inkin' differently."
Pinching his brows together, Angelus' frown deepened, "How so?"
"Angelus," Wesley took a seat in an empty chair near the fireplace, "are you familiar with the urban legend, Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly)?"
Slowly turning his eyes away, Angelus was in fact very familiar with that particular urban legend.
Reading the sad expression painted on Angelus' face, Doyle and Wesley had gotten their answer without Angelus ever having to reply.
"I see," Wesley rubbed his chin in disbelief. Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly) was only a theory that could be easily construed as a farce. He had his doubts. "So it's true?"
Angelus silently nodded his head.
"Buffy," Doyle looked at Angelus, "she's not from 'ere, is she?"
Angelus shook his head. "Nay, she is not."
"What is she?" Wesley asked, beside himself in shock.
Looking down at his hands, Angelus took a deep breath and explained, "She's human if t'at's what ye're askin'."
"I apologise if I sound crass, Angelus," Wesley said.
Holding his hand, Angelus shook his head not taking offence. He had mentally asked the same question himself when he first found out Buffy's truth.
"Buffy's a time traveller. She's from t'a twenty-first century," he watched his friend's faces twist with bewilderment. "She was on holiday wi' her… husband."
"Husband?" Doyle frowned.
Angelus smirked, "Aye, he's a decedent of our old friend, Captain Willy Pratt—if ye can believe t'at."
Wesley and Doyle looked at each other.
"Anyway, she wandered off to t'a O'Ciorovane Castle. And a butterfly touched her shoulder and then…"
"… She appeared," Wesley finished the sentence.
Angelus nodded thinking of the love he had lost. "After she told to me t'a truth, I tried to get her to go back. I searched the forest for a butterfly all night until dawn. She refused to go. She told me, t'at she wanted her life to be wi' me and I believed her." He bitterly laughed. "Honestly, I shouldn't 'ave been surprised. I knew—deep inside, I knew t'at she'd leave me. I just didn't t'ink…" he stared at the dancing yellow and orange flames, "… I just didn't t'ink it would be so soon."
Wesley leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees, "Angelus, I don't think she left on her own accord."
"What are ye talkin' about?" Angelus frowned.
"Okay, Angelus, 'ere us out…" Doyle held his hands together and stepped towards Angelus. "We t'ink somehow, Buffy was, err—forced back to her own time. Perhaps she was lied to and—"
Angelus eyed his friends strangely, "—Lied to? Ye're not makin' any sense."
Wesley ran a hand through his long dark tied back hair, "Who was the last person to be with Buffy the night she… left?"
Thinking carefully, Angelus took a quiet deep breath, "Lindsey." Rubbing a hand over his face, Angelus then asked, "Ye t'ink Lindsey had somethin' to do wi' it? What do ye t'ink, t'at Lindsey dragged Buffy to t'a castle and sent her off or he somehow convinced her t'at I was dead? Or can it be t'at she just tired to bein' 'ere wi' me? Because she finally realised t'at she didn't belong 'ere." Angelus stood from the chair and stepped to the fireplace to add another log into the flames. "It's a fine theory, Wes." He scoffed sarcastically.
Shaking his head, Doyle watched his friend, "How can ye t'ink t'at of Buffy? Frankly, boyo, I'm insulted t'at ye've doubted the lass's love for ye at all."
Angelus turned his gaze to Doyle angrily, "Watch yer tongue."
"I also do not think Lindsey acted alone." Wesley turned the rooms attention towards him. "Mr McDonald is a lot of things but a mastermind is not one of them."
"Are ye sayin' t'at he had an accomplice? Who?" Angelus raised a brow.
Wesley crossed his arms over his chest, "Who has always been infatuated with you."
A dark look of anger washed over Angelus' face as the name of the accomplice entered his mind, "Darla."
Doyle nodded, "We t'ink, Darla fabricated a scheme t'at she was taken by the English to get us out of town and left in the ever-capable hands of Lindsey. We spoke to Lindsey. He was smashed at the Tavern. He told us t'a truth. After the cannon fire, he told Buffy t'at ye were dead and t'e English were on t'eir way to take her away. He brought her to the ruins and 'cause ye were 'dead', she saw no reason to stay in a world wi'out ye in it."
"Lindsey told ye t'is?"
"Yes," Wesley said. "You and Buffy have been gravely deceived. I'm so sorry, Angelus."
Doyle took a step towards Angelus, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Masking his anger and strangling emotions, Angelus shook the hand on his shoulder off. The fists at his sides tightened. He was furious at Lindsey and Darla's ruse, but mostly he was furious at himself. He had doubted Buffy's love.
How can ye do t'at? How can ye 'ave ever doubt her? Angelus asked himself.
Rage boiled inside of his chest. He wanted to tear Lindsey and Darla apart. He wanted to cry to the sky begging for forgiveness for doubting Buffy's love.
Spinning around on the heel of his boot, Angelus stomped out of the library without a word. Wesley and Doyle looked at each other and hurriedly followed Angelus out of the room and down the stairs.
Reaching the front door, Angelus grabbed the long black leather farmers trench coat. He threw it on and walked purposefully out of the castle home. His eyes were coated in a blind rage.
Tavern
Angelus kicked open the tavern the door.
The band playing in the corner paused mid-song, the laughter and the overlapping conversations came to a halt as Angelus entered the tavern.
His dark eyes moved around the room in search of his old friend that usually haunted the tavern at this time of night.
Spotting Lindsey at the bar with his back facing the room, Angelus pushed between people heading over there.
Without warning, Angelus grabbed the back of Lindsey's head and smashed his face into the bar counter, hearing a crush of bone that was Lindsey's nose.
Lindsey cried and cursed in Gaelic. He held his bleeding nose and looked up at his attacker. His blue eyes widened, suddenly very sober. Angelus knew the truth. Lindsey knew that look in Angelus' eyes. He's seen that look before, Angelus was out for blood.
Gripping a hand at the back of Lindsey's neck, Angelus pulled the man off of the stool and dragged him out of the tavern.
Angelus threw Lindsey to the ground and kicked him into the stomach with the toe of his heavy boots.
"Ye deceived to me." Angelus grabbed Lindsey by the front of his shirt and punched him into the already broken nose. "Ye t'ink I would never find out!" He punched Lindsey again and dropped him.
Lying helpless in the mud, Lindsey began to laugh as he rolled onto his back, "I was wondering when ye were goin' to. Seven years... a bit long, I t'ink." Lindsey chuckled. "It was astonishingly simple. How can a man t'at was so in love fall so easily to pile of deception? I'll tell ye, t'a lass was a bit harder to convince. She was a stubborn lass. She was so set on runnin' after ye, but as soon as the cannon fire…" he spat out a clot of blood from his mouth, "… it became easier to convince her of ye're demise." Slowly, Lindsey climbed back up on wobbly legs. "It was quite a sad scene."
"Why would ye do such a t'ing? I thought… I thought we were brothers."
Lindsey chuckled, "Aye, we were. Darla asked me to. She promised t'at if she got rid of Nest and I got rid of Buffy, we'd be together and I believed her… All my life Angelus, I've lived in yer shadow. My own father preferred ye. Ye were a better fighter, more clever, ye had women at every port. I just wanted one t'ing. And still… she picked ye over me. She deceived me too." He lowered his head, "I ruined our friendship and at t'a time, I held no regrets until I realised I was bein' used. T'is whole time… I was bein' used, brother."
Stoning his dark eyes over, Angelus coolly stepped closer to Lindsey, standing tall and confident, radiating power and confidence. "I am not yer brother. I am not yer friend." He lowered his voice as he caught Lindsey's blue eyes, "I am not yer clan leader. After t'is a conversation, I will forget about ye. I and everyone ye've come to pass will never utter yer name. Ye won't be a fleetin' thought in t'eir minds. Ye are no longer welcome 'ere, Lindsey McDonald. Ye are no longer a member of t'a Ó Conchobhair clan. Leave 'ere now or I will kill ye."
Clenching his jaw as an effort to bite back his emotions, Lindsey blinked away the tears hazing over his eyes and shamefully nodded his head.
"Téigh agus ná fill ar ais (Go and never return)," Angelus swallowed watching the man he's called his best friend and brother for the last thirty years limp away into the darkness, never to return to Galway.
Letting out the breath he had been holding in, Angelus rubbed a hand over his face.
The moment of emotion only lasted for a minute. Angelus straightened his posture and turned his eyes to the dancing candlelight in the window of the cottage Darla once shared with her husband, Nest.
Walking over to the cottage, Angelus felt his rage bubble in the pit of his chest. His fists tightened until his knuckles were white.
Knocking on the front door of the cottage, Angelus waited for Darla to answer the call.
She did a moment later.
Seductively, she smiled up at him and leaned against the door only wearing a shift and a robe. She allured his gaze to her breasts that were threatening to pop out from the shift.
"I was wonderin' when ye were comin'," Darla stepped to the side, opening the door wider to let him in.
Entering the cottage, Angelus tossed his eyes around. For two years he had kept up a solely sexual affair with the Nest's widow. It was a loveless transaction to feel for a little while.
"Would ye like some port first or would ye just…?" Darla smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders and stepped around in front of him. Her hands laid flat over his chest and touched the cloth of the cravat tied around his neck. She wanted to unfasten it but Angelus tightly held her wrists. "Ye're in a mood tonight," Darla scoffed, rolling her eyes as she slipped her wrists from his grasp.
She walked into the sitting room and headed to the drink cart to pour two glasses of port.
"What is it t'is time, Angelus? Still mourning t'a loss of yer sweet wife t'at left ye?" Darla sneered with annoyance. "Honestly, my love, it is high time to move on from t'at wench." She turned around, holding the glass in her hand and took a sip, "I understand alright. A man gets a taste of somethin' fresh and he t'inks he's touchin' god."
Angelus reminded silent, watching Darla's every movement as his fury continued to build in his chest.
"T'ere was a time, in t'a early years, when ye would have said I was t'a definition of bliss." Her blue eyes darkened with frustration and jealousy, "Buffy wasn't happiness. She was just new."
Angelus smirked, "She was everythin' ye weren't. I thank god for t'at every day."
Darla's lip curled at his mild dig. "T'en answer me t'is, Angelus, why do ye come 'ere night after night if ye were so devout to yer love?"
"Where else can I get a whore free of charge?"
With widening eyes, Darla couldn't believe her ears. She stared at him insulted by his crass words.
"I know t'at ye killed Nest,"
Darla raised a brow, "Ye can't prove t'at."
"And I know t'at ye swindled Lindsey to finish yer dirty work."
"Is t'at what he told ye?" Darla smirked and sipped the port in the glass. "It was quite simple really. He didn't ask my questions. Lindsey was never as clever as ye. He was always in love wi' me. He would've done anythin' I asked." Darla stepped towards him. She cupped her hands around Angelus' face and stood on the tips of her toes. "It was always ye t'at I wanted, Angelus." She told him sweetly. "Lindsey… he meant nothin' to me. Neither did Nest. But, ye…" Darla gently rubbed the pads of her thumbs under his dark eyes, "… Ye've always had my entire heart, Angelus."
Angelus smirked. Tenderly, he slid the back of his fingers from her cheek and followed the line of her jaw to her chin. He leaned in close. Their mouths only inches away. His hand at her chin suddenly tightened.
She moaned at the violent grip of his hand, "Ye're hurtin' me." Darla grimaced. She rather enjoyed their rough play but this felt different. She could see it in his dark eyes, there was something very wrong. There was a darkness in his brown eyes that sent a chill straight down her spine.
"I could never love ye, Darla. Ye can send Buffy away and try yer best to convince me t'at ye're more t'an just a whore. But ye're not. Ye're nothin'. I never loved ye. It wouldn't be ye, Darla. It would never be ye." He shoved her back and away from him.
Darla stumbled backwards catching her footing. She stared at him in shock at his violent behaviour.
"Ye're beneath me,"
Tears formed in Darla's eyes and her breaths were panted as she forced herself not to cry in front of him.
Angelus buried a hand into his coat pocket and tossed four coins at Darla's feet. "T'is is for yer travels. I never want to see ye 'ere again, Darla. And if I do see ye again, I will 'ave ye killed on sight." He turned away and headed for the door.
Darla raced over to him and grabbed Angelus' wrist. "Nay, Angelus, ye can't do t'is to me! How will I survive? Please, reconsider." She pleaded. "How can ye banish me?"
Angelus rolled his eyes over her for a moment and sinisterly smirked, "T'ink of it as an opportunity to use ye're worldly talents for an income." He removed his hand from her grasp and walked out of the cottage, slamming the door closed.
Ronan Castle
Stepping into his home, Angelus closed the front door and leaned back against it releasing a heavy breath of sudden exhaustion.
He had learned the truth. After nearly a decade what had happened the faithful night came to light. But no matter what, Buffy was still gone. He was still alone and missing her.
The anger that coated his heart during his deception had sudden vanquished. He regretted every breath, every thought, every cruse to God that held discontent for his beloved.
Forgive me, my love. He prayed. Please, forgive me.
"Angelus?" Doyle poked his head out from around the corner raising a highbrow. "What are ye doin' 'ere?"
"I live 'ere," Angelus pushed himself from the door and walked over to his friends sitting in the sitting room by the warm fireplace. "Why are ye still 'ere?"
Wesley cleaned the spectacles in his hand and placed back onto the bridge of his nose. "Oh, we were just reminiscing." He offered Angelus a smile.
"I banished Lindsey," Angelus revealed and he plopped down onto the chair. "Well, first, I beat him then I banished him."
Doyle and Wesley easily contained their excitement. Finally able to live in a world without Lindsey in seemed like a wonderful future. Their friendship with him ended the day suspicion arose about his part in Buffy's disappearance.
"And Darla? Have ye seen her yet?" Doyle asked.
"Aye," Angelus nodded. "I didn't beat her but I did banish her, too."
Wesley sat down in a chair adjacent from Angelus and asked, "What are you to do now, now that you know what you know?"
Sitting back in the chair, Angelus felt overwhelmed. He released a heavy sigh and said, "I don't know."
A silence lingered over their heads for a moment but was ruined by the clap of Doyle's hands. He walked over to the hook by the door and grabbed Angelus' sword, a pistol, and a black tricorn hat.
"T'is is what ye're goin' to do." He handed the weapons to Angelus and placed the tricorn hat on Angelus' head. "Ye're goin' to leave 'ere. Ye're goin' to tread up t'at hill to t'at castle and ye're goin' to hunt yerself a Dealan Dhé (Yellow Butterfly)." Angelus stared at Doyle with surprise. "And ye're goin' to get yer lass back."
Angelus smirked, "I like yer thoughts but I wouldn't know where to start. She could be anywhere. I'd have to search every corner of the earth."
Doyle frowned, "Ye wouldn't? Angelus, t'is is Buffy we're talkin' about."
"T'a time t'at she's in is nothin' like 'ere."
"And t'at's stoppin' ye?" Doyle asked. "Answer me t'is, do ye love her?"
"Aye," Angelus replied.
"Do ye miss her?"
Angelus swallowed, "More t'an anythin'."
"T'an what t'a hell are ye still doin' 'ere, man! Go get her! Get her back and live t'at life t'at ye deserve. And ye deserve a good life, boyo. One wi' yer beautiful lass by yer side and maybe a few páistí (kids) runnin' about."
Wesley stood from the chair and stepped beside Doyle, "Angelus, from this very moment we banish you from here. You are no longer welcome. And if you protest and is seen here again, you will be killed on sight." He smirked.
Angelus chuckled for a moment then stood from the chair. He buckled the sword belt and pistol holder around his waist, fixed the front of his trench coat, and adjusted the tricorn hat on his head.
He looked at his oldest friends and opened his mouth to say something when Doyle laid a hand on his shoulder, "No need to t'ank us. Go. Find yer lass and give her a kiss for me, eh?" He winked.
O'Ciorovane Castle
Searching high and low for a yellow butterfly, Angelus felt like giving up. There was not a butterfly to be seen. They all must be sleeping in their shelters for the night.
Dawn was still two hours away.
He stepped into the broken rubble entryway of the castle and tossed his eyes around the area for a moment.
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth remembering the day he first saw the beautiful foreign woman wearing the strangest clothes and glaring at him with disdain.
A vine of blue-flowered plants turned Angelus' attention. He walked over to them and studied their beauty that was reflected under the bright full moon.
Breathing in deep, Angelus could almost smell her perfume that lingered in the air. He closed his eyes and envisioned her face in his mind.
Where are ye? Angelus wondered.
Gently flapping its wings at it emerged from the night, a yellow scaly winged butterfly flew closer towards Angelus from behind and landed on his shoulder.
Angelus opened his eyes with a strange feeling suddenly swirling the pit of his stomach.
A gradual distorted human-like chanting humming noise entered Angelus' ears. Frowning at the sound, Angelus looked around to see if there was anyone else here. He was standing in the darkness alone.
The humming grew louder. Angelus darted his eyes around the ruins in the darkness. But there was nothing in the castle but grass and plant vines.
Angelus felt his heart pounded in in chest suddenly getting a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Searching for the humming that blistered into his ears, Angelus winced as the humming turned into screams. The human-like screams twisted into an unnatural pitch.
The ground beneath his feet began to vibrate and shake.
The otherworldly screams twisted into sounds of a battle and dying croaks. The clanging of metal and loud horns honking pierced into his ears.
Angelus shook his head in vain to clear it from the violent noises. Cuffing his ears, desperate to stop the sounds, Angelus squeezed his eyes closed feeling the world spin.
Angelus' vision blurred into black. His eyes were wide and aware of its dissociation. The world around him burst into white noise when suddenly the screaming hums had ceased into nothing but silence.