Chapter 17: Betrayal

Angel looked thoughtfully at the girl who once was his sister.

She hadn't hesitated when she'd seen him, there had been no doubt, no fear. Had he not changed in over two centuries? A haircut, less of a tan, a few lifetimes and nothing to show for it. To her, he was still Liam, her beloved brother, the same man she'd seen as little as a few days before. For him, she was a painful memory, something to seek repentance for, part of a life he wished he couldn't remember.

Which led him to his other train of thoughts, facts that he was still absorbing.

The truth.

Nobody had interfered with his memory, Angelus had repressed the memories, the painful, gnawing humanity which haunted his birth. Painful, raw, he'd buried it deep enough that it was never expected to see the light again. An entire history; gone. He'd drenched the memories with blood.

When Angel had been born, in the glittering light of a fresh soul, it was his own transgressions he remembered. He spent so long brooding over what he'd done as a vampire, so long trying to hold back his urges, that the already distant human memories solidified as little more than forgotten fossils.

Angelus had remembered Faith; it's why he'd killed the Beast instead of letting it kill her. If he'd embraced his evil-alter-ego more, then this might have all be avoided, he might have been prepared. He could have prepared Faith. He could have grabbed her and held her and appreciated every second they had before he had to let her go.

Would he have let her go?

Instead, he had taken the cowards way out. And the fact that Faith was lost in time, with no way back, no warning and no foreknowledge was entirely on him.

It was hard to really brood when he could remember her fresh-faced and smiling, or sweat-slicked and moaning. Not when he could remember how she felt against him, nor the passion with which they had clung. Liam had loved her, with everything he was, remembering that love was bitter-sweet. He wondered how much of his initial attraction to Buffy had been subconscious because she reminded him of the first slayer he'd loved.

No, Buffy had been so different to Faith. His love for Buffy had been born of purity, the desire to protect her. His love of Faith had been born of destruction, forged in fire and passion. Their love had been obsessive, dangerous, all-consuming. The love of a man and a woman. Not of a demon trying desperately to be worthy of a shining hero who was better than them all.

In retrospect, his heart ached for Faye. All of the secrets she'd kept from him, her fear, all the times she distanced herself. He with the desire to explain to her that it was all okay, he'd never hated her for the distance, it had made him love her more, that untouchable spirit. Angel knew that he couldn't, the memories might be his but the life and the relationship belonged to them. A man long dead and a woman he might never see again. The haunting feeling that they were wasting their time occurred to him, his memories coupled with his father's books, he couldn't help the sickening notion that she died fighting the Master.

Trying to save his life.

Angel brought himself out of his brooding as Buffy laughed in the distance. Trying to work out Faith in retrospect was pointless, he knew who she was, and it meant a lot that even with the pitfalls of their past, she had still been trying. They hadn't lost her when she fell. She had been trying to be good. Trying to repent. She would never be the perfect slayer, she would never make the right choices easily, she had to fight for her humanity, constantly, just like he did. She stumbled as he did. They were the same. Imperfect. It was why they had fit so perfectly.

"Angel?" Buffy spoke.

For the first time since she'd arrived Angel allowed himself to really look at her. She'd changed a lot; her eyes weren't as bright as they used to be. He noticed lots of subtle changes. Her entire aura was much stronger, she held herself with a confidence that he'd never seen before. Power emanated from her, and the weight of the world on her shoulders had aged her. He had loved her so, so much. Once. But now, although his heart still yearned for her, it yearned for the Buffy he'd known. Not this slayer who stood in front of him. Her lust for life had gone and she looked tired, resigned. Angel sighed.

After a long fight between the girl and the slayer, the slayer had won.

Then there was Faith who never fought being a slayer, who accepted it with open arms and used it to sculpt who she was. A killer. But then, wasn't he? Was that because he had known her first? Had Faith turned him into a killer? Had his entire personality sculpted on the long-forgotten obsession, desire, love? Passionate, dangerous, impulsive. Evil. No, Faith was a lot of things, but he never had and never would believe that she was evil. Or blame her for the choices he'd made as Angelus.

"I should be going," she looked to the window, parting was as heart-wrenching as ever.

"You've said that about three times now." Angel pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.

"I know," Buffy pursed her lips a little, "I hate leaving whilst Faith is still lost...but Sunnydale-"

"Needs you." Angel finished, "what do you need?"

"A vacation," she smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. The conversation was clearly making her a little uncomfortable. "I'm going home without a potential and a slayer. I've lost Willow too. Forget the Hellmouth I'm starting to think LA is a black hole."

"We'll get her back Buffy." Though the fact that he and Buffy averted their gaze from each other, echoed loudly to the fact that neither truly believed it. There was nothing they could do to change the past.

"Be safe Buff," Angel said softly. She tipped her head, watching him. There was so much that could be said between them. He might never see her again, she could die in Sunnydale.

"I always am."

1753

When Liam woke up Faye was gone, unsurprised, he stretched out in the bed lazily. Faye was restless, full of energy and rarely sat still for long. It wasn't until he sat up that he noticed the draft. She'd left the window open? Standing up he padded naked towards it, hoping Faye was out there. The balcony was empty. He stared off at the rainclouds in the distance, the dark sky rolling in. She was getting careless, especially given how often she told him off for leaving the balcony open overnight.

Liam got dressed, reluctantly.

"G'mornin Father" he grumbled, walking into the sun-room. He took a seat and sip from a cup of water. He couldn't remember a time when his father's face hadn't been buried in something he was reading. He paid more attention to Faye than he ever did to his son. Sometimes he wondered if his father had a thing for his fiancée.

"Good morning sweetheart," his mother spoke warmly. Her perfume filled the room, he kissed her cheek and moved from his chair so that she could sit down. Liam had always been a mummy's boy. The light, floral scent personified her as a person. As Angelus, he would kill women simply for wearing it and making him remember, as Angel he wouldn't quite remember why the smell of jasmine made him feel sick, but it would. Every time.

"Have you seen Faye?" He asked his father, taking another seat.

"She's in my office." His father didn't look up, Liam picked at some bread, drumming his fingers against the wood of the table. There was no follow up, and he couldn't sit there and watch his mother toy with a bowl of porridge all morning.

Liam went to find Faye.

He watched her from the doorway for a good while. She wasn't reading the book that was in front of her, instead, she was staring off through the window at the dark clouds rolling in. She got claustrophobic when it rained, she hated being trapped inside. It was just one of the subtle little things he'd learnt about her. 'I'll take you somewhere it never rains, where it's sunny all the time and you're never locked in a dismal little house.' The promise echoed through his memory and made him smile.

"You can't fool me, lass, I've been pretending to read my whole life. 'Course it's far more convincing when you actually look at the book." Her head snapped around to look at him, indignant at first, but then the look dissolved into a tired, enduring smile. He closed the distance between them, dropping down next to her on the couch and stroked her hair tenderly. He'd ask what was on her mind, but he knew she wouldn't share. She never did.

"I was looking at the pictures, but there weren't many..." Faye teased, before confessing "I don't actually speak Irish."

"Ah," he sat down "I could read it to you?" But the brunette shook her head and closed the book.

"God no. Your dad wanted me to read it, I have a feeling it's boring as sin. Distract me instead. Make me forget." Dipping his head and claiming her lips he grinned against her,

"Gladly," he growled.

Present

After he'd finished explaining to Kathy how they were trying to get her home, then convincing her to eat, and finding her some clothes that didn't make her look like a homeless waif, Angel went back to research. It wasn't until she came searching for him that he stopped. He hadn't expected to see her again, not after Gunn had introduced her to the PlayStation. But when queried she'd said something that made his insides knot.

"I feel safer with you. You're like my own Guardian Angel." The simple statement brought back too much; everything came back in a tsunami into his brain.

He was standing in the kitchen, looking at the man that once was his father. He didn't seem half as threatening now. He could just lunge and kill. It would be so easy. He took a step forward and Thomas shrank back, gaze falling on the body of his daughter – his slayer slumped against the wall, with heavy eyes he looked at the monster that had killed his son, the monster sneered,

"She thought I returned to her – an angel."

"Is everything okay?", Wesley asked tentatively. Angel was eager to share his epiphany.

"This, everything, we couldn't have stopped it even if we'd known. This has to happen, everything, every road leads to this," he said, almost as if he couldn't quite believe it,

"Of course," Wesley agreed as if he'd already explained it.

"I think I've just fully comprehended what that meant." It meant that this wasn't a mistake, it meant that he'd always met Faye. That it had always happened. This wasn't a rescue mission. His past had always been her future, from the second he'd first met her. More than that, from the second he'd been born their fates, however far stretched, were entwined. He'd turned her into the person that would go back and help shape his entire life, she'd turned him into a person worth saving.

A never-ending cycle.

Him and Faith.

Locked together.

Ill-fated lovers.

There was a dangerous question floating around in his head now, one he'd dared not think of fully, with all the emotions still running through his head.

Could they finally, have it?

After all these centuries.

The happy ending, they never got?

1753

Faith looked at her dress which was hanging in her room. She looked at her flowers which were all but covering every surface of the house, she looked at the setting sun and could hardly believe that tomorrow she would be marrying Liam. Stepping out on the balcony she felt the winter chill creeping through her bones. Tomorrow she would be escorted to the chapel in her dress with several women from Liam's family that she didn't know. She would marry him and then be his wife. Faith fell on the bed smiling, she had never been so happy in her life. Not because of the stupid wedding, but because by tomorrow night they would be gone. Together. They'd change history.

She'd almost done it.

They were almost free.

A knock on the door made her sit up, she'd thought Liam had gone out. Walking to the door she opened it and almost swore when she saw her soon-to-be-father-in-law standing there.

"I think we need to talk."

"We do?"

"I think it's about we talk about your return. Now we know that the church and tunnels beneath are empty, it's unfair to keep you here indefinitely."

"You can't do this," the disgust on her face was more than evident, "you think I'll honestly let you do this to me?"

"You want to stay?" It wasn't a question but she nodded nonetheless, "and marry my son?"

"I will stay."

"And what if I told you the price for my trade, that my twelve-year-old daughter is currently in your time. Lost and alone. Unable to come back unless you agree?"

Faith baulked.

"My friends will have found her. She'll be safe. Looked after." Her tone was desperate now, trying to convince herself, he could tell he'd hit the right note and made the right decision in keeping this information until now. The slayer was passionate and fiery, but there was a good heart beneath it all, a heart which she'd already proven could love. He'd counted on that. Faith's mind was racing. Angel would surely stumble across his own sister. A young girl from the seventeen-hundreds would stick out like a sore thumb in LA. And Angel Investigations wasn't one to not investigate the weird and wonderful. "How could you just send her away?"

"I told my family that she's safe, that she'd gone to England for tutelage and for safety. To procure her best match in a husband. I have a woman who writes letters and signs them from her, to keep my wife from worrying. I do hope you're right. She's not strong" he steeped his hands together, "I've been hoping for a long time she's not chosen. She is not right for the calling. Weak. Fair-willed."

"None of us are strong until we're chosen, she's a kid." Faith spat, disgusted.

"Perhaps" he looked at her knowingly, "still she is my daughter, and I would like to get her back now it is safe. Whether that is possible, rests on your shoulders. You helped me out greatly, so I will not force your hand."

"What about me, what about Liam? I've done nothing but help you. You didn't tell me you could reverse the spell until now? Just before my wedding day?" Faith spoke to the empty doorway. "I should kill you." She threatened. Thomas waited. Faith didn't. Eventually, he walked away.

Liam was sitting in a pub enjoying his last night as a single man. It wasn't the same, he'd much rather be in a nice warm bed with Faye. Or even here as long as she was, getting thrown out for causing too much trouble. Drinking the bar dry. Spending his father's money. He couldn't wait until tomorrow night, on the run, finally free of this stagnated town.

There was a blonde sitting in the corner not drinking anything, he locked her gaze and she wandered over casually. As if she hadn't been watching him all night.

"Hello," he smiled, merrily on his way to being drunk, his best friend practically devouring the newcomer with his eyes.

"Hello," a seductive grin crept across her lips, Liam raised an eyebrow.

"Can we buy ye a drink?" Liam slurred.

"No, thank you." She purred.

"You haven't had anything to drink all night." Liam pointed out.

"You've been watching me?" Her attention was piqued, eyes coquettish.

"There's not many people here." Liam slapped a hand onto the other man's shoulder "one less now I think, I'm done."

Darla's smile faltered a little, she could easily drag him from the tavern and get what she wanted by force, stop him from leaving. Or follow him home and do the deed there. But she didn't, she wanted to break the slayer and the only way she could do that was if he submitted. Willingly.

How lovely for the slayer to be killed by her newly sired husband. Oh, the plan was going to be perfect. She'd find him tomorrow and sire him and then watch as he penetrated her on their wedding night, watch as those shiny virgin fangs slid into her skin like butter. Her mouth was watering. She was hungry, she looked down at Liam and knew she needed to get away. The plan was so perfectly concocted, so beautifully poetic that she'd hate to ruin it by being impatient.

"Maybe tomorrow then? I'll be here" she looked around and then to him suggestively, "if you want me – maybe to buy the new groom a celebratory drink?"

"Are ye coming to the ceremony then?" he brightened up and was animated for the first time since she'd spoken to him, Darla almost felt sick, such disgusting happiness, she couldn't wait to break him of that.

"I don't think so" she replied distantly, "I don't much like churches."