Chapter 15
Buffy ran to her husband, covering the distance in a heartbeat.
"What have you done?!" she cried, the pain of betrayal resounding in her voice.
Angel looked at his wife's tearstained face, gently took her hand and placed the sword into her palm. "Trust me," he begged in a near-whisper. "Do it."
Buffy looked confused, her fingers closing around the hilt of the sword. The memories crowded into her mind, battling for domination. It was like the past and present overlapping in front of her eyes, seeing a younger, more innocent version of herself standing in her place. She saw then-Buffy kissing her beloved. She saw her past self whispering a choked-off apology and then she was drowning again in the pain and fear of those dark soulful eyes as she drove that long ago sword through Angel.
"Angel…" she said breathlessly, begging him not to make her do this. Not again.
"Do it, Buffy. Trust me. I love you and nothing will ever separate us again. I will come back to you.," Angel lifted Buffy's numb hand, lifting the sword. "Now do it. Quickly."
"I love you," Buffy said, the depth of that simple statement mirrored in her hazel eyes. She drove the sword through her husband's body for a second time and watching him disappearing into a vortex leading to unending torture.
Buffy crumbled into herself, weeping inconsolably. She only vaguely registered her daughter's fists pummeling her.
"What did you do?! You killed him! You killed my father!" Aurora's angry grief-stricken words sounded a million miles away.
Spike dragged the young Slayer away from the shaking tiny body on the floor. "No, pet," he was saying. "Stop. Your mum had no choice. Your dad knows what he's doing. He'll be back."
Aurora turned on the vampire, whose heart was torn between comforting the young heartbroken girl in his arms or the older heartbroken woman sobbing on the cold stone floor.
"My father is never coming back!" Aurora screamed. "He's dead and she's responsible!"
"Well, that's never stopped him before," Spike quipped, instantly regretting his words when the flash of agony crossed the young Slayer's face. There was still so much she didn't know or understand about her own bloodline, it would be impossible for her to understand this now. 'When I don't even understand myself,' Spike thought to himself.
"He'll be back," Buffy said softly. She swallowed her tears and stood. "He said he'll be back and he will." She was desperately trying to convince herself and pleading with Spike soundlessly to give her argument conviction, to lessen the guilt and grief she felt over what she had just done. 'Again,' her inner voice taunted. 'What you had just done again.'
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Angel was being whipped by winds from all sides. He's done this before, and had to focus all his concentration to get where he needed to, but the pain radiating from his gut and the ache in his soul from being ripped from his world and his love was making it very hard. "And these winds aren't helping much either," he said aloud.
He knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to mentally still the interdimensional winds and then redirect them to send him to the dimension where Acathla's corporeal form lived. But to accomplish all this before he was quite literally torn to the four winds, he had to concentrate.
Angel took a breath and, closing his eyes, banished all thoughts of his wife and daughter who he had left behind without any explanation at all. 'God! Buffy must be dying inside!' he thought, his heart aching.
"No! Concentrate!" the vampire admonished himself and tried again to clear his thoughts from all the images demanding his attention.
With sheer force of will he reached out to the hurricane around him and ordered it to be calm. The wind dropped with stops and starts as his concentration faltered and returned until, at last, it was dead quiet. Angel was sweating and breathed hard.
'If I still had a heartbeat, it would be thundering right now,' he thought, catching his breath.
Again, Angel closed his eyes and listened. Silence assaulted his ears, but he wasn't listening to the quiet outside him. He was totally focused on the whisper in his blood that was slowly building to an ear-splitting scream as his entire being honed in on Acathla.
The wind started howling again, pulling and pushing at Angel. He flew through Oblivion to a destination of his choosing; not knowing what he would find when he finally reached it.
"I'm coming for you, and this time you'll stay dead," Angel promised the wind, willing himself to greater speeds through the perpetual night.
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"I'm going after him," Buffy said determinedly.
She looked at the blood still covering her hand from the last few battles and at the sword once again protruding from Acathla's stone body. She grasped the hilt and pulled with all her might, but the only thing that moved was her when a magickal force flung her backwards.
Buffy grunted as she climbed back to her feet. She wiped her numb hand on her pants and, with the dagger lying at Acathla's feet, opened her palm. Again she tried to pull the sword from the stone and again she was flung across the room.
"Argh! Why won't it work?" the Slayer cried frustratedly, completely ignoring her deathly pale daughter begging her to stop.
Aurora felt woozy and the feeling was getting worse. She lost a lot of blood, the young Slayer knew, but she had to hold on. Her mother was acting crazy and somehow she had to stop her from leaving her all alone. 'She may have murdered my father, but she's all I have left,' she thought miserably.
Spike grabbed Buffy by the arms and yelled, "Stop it, Slayer! There's nothing you can do!"
"I have his blood in my veins. Why won't it open for me?" Buffy asked Spike, pulling at his powerful hands.
"Are you in such a hurry to die?" Spike demanded. "Angel is immortal. You're not."
"I'm the Slayer!" Buffy countered, her hazel eyes spitting anger. "He needs me!"
"Your daughter needs you!" Spike was furious with Buffy. He shook her, screaming in her face, "Are you going to sacrifice your daughter just so that you can feel better about sending your demon hubby to Hell again?!"
Buffy blanched, but Spike didn't give her time to speak. "Aurora is going to die here if we don't get her to a hospital real fast. I will not have another Slayer's death on my hands!
Buffy looked at Aurora's slumped body. Her face was near white and her lips were turning an unhealthy tinge of blue. Blood stained the stone beneath her from wounds that weren't closing up.
"Oh God," Buffy prayed-gasped. "Aurora," she called, lightly shaking the girl awake again. "You have to stay awake for me, baby. Can you do that? Just until we get to the hospital?"
"…tired…," Aurora mumbled. Her tongue felt heavy and opening her eyes seemed like the hardest thing to do on the planet.
"She's not going to make it to a hospital in this condition," Buffy said. "What do I do, Spike? Help me save my daughter. Please!"
Spike's mind raced. Under any other circumstances he would have suggested giving her blood, but if Aurora took his blood, it could turn very ugly very fast.
Buffy's blood was also tainted with the super Warrior cocktail she shared with Angel earlier. It would probably save Aurora and then some, but there was no telling what the blood would do to her. So that idea was also out of the question.
The vampire watched the young Slayer's blood ooze out of her tiny body and had an idea. He grabbed Buffy's cut palm roughly, opening the fast-healing wound. Buffy yelped, but didn't pull her hand back when Spike held it over Aurora's wounds, letting the blood drip into and over the wounds.
As he hoped, Aurora's body accepted the blood and immediately the wounds started scabbing over. "The wounds won't heal fast enough without her taking some of your blood, but…" Spike started.
"So give her my blood!" Buffy cried, thrusting her wrist at Spike.
Spike swallowed hard to banish the sudden thirst for the elixir flowing through those delicate veins and said, "But after that swapping of bodily fluids you and Angel did, I don't think it's safe. Having her drink from you has to stay our very last emergency option. We have to hurry and get her to a hospital."
He lifted Aurora in his arms, worry sneaking across his immortally youthful features. She weighs less than nothing, Spike thought. "Keep your hand over the wound. Let your blood mix with hers to keep the wound closed."
Buffy nodded. Together, they left.