Summary: When an unforeseen evil once again threatens to destroy the world,
Buffy and the gang, along with some unexpected help, join together to
release a reluctant champion from the clutches of hell. But will he be the
prophesized savior or will he destroy them all?
Notes: Contains spoilers from BtVS seasons one through three.
Feedback: Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.
Chapter Five
She ran blindly, her tears a liquid shield against the darkness of the night. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care as long as it was away from the mansion. As long is it was away from her Watcher and her friends and anyone else who had ever loved and trusted her. She felt as though she was crumbling inside, falling hopelessly apart at the seams. Witnesses were the last things she needed.
The night air burned through her lungs, searing her throat. Panting and gasping she came to a halt, catching her breath against a cool brick wall. Her cheeks blazed with exertion as her chest heaved. She looked around grimacing; her feet had led her to Angel's apartment. After all this time she still came here whenever she felt troubled.
Sniffing hard she blinked back the tears. She needed a distraction, needed to hurt something, maybe even herself. Looking around frantically she found what she was looking for. A dark grin creased her face.
"Not my best appearance ever," she murmured to herself as she stepped into the Bronze, "but it'll do."
She walked inside with the confident stride of one who knew how to draw attention. She slowly made her way to the dance floor, her hips swaying in time with the music. Flashing lights and smoke blinded her as she moved, pressing her way through hot undulating bodies. She took a deep breath, inhaling smoke and sweat and cheap cologne. The hard music beat a steady rhythm that echoed in her chest.
She began to dance, rocking gently at first then gaining momentum as the music whisked her away. She kept her eyes open, to a stranger it would seem a subtle defiance to flashing neon lights and stinging smoke. To her it was fear of what she would see should she keep them closed.
She moved wildly, erratically, uncaring of those that bumped into her along the way. Indifferent to bodies grinding up against her, she moved with her eyes wide open, her mind concentrating on nothing but the music, the dance, the heat. Reaching for a place where senses were dulled and thoughts were nonexistent, she lost herself to the music.
Bodies pressed up closer against her, some hot and damp with sweat, others cooler, dry as a grave, all sensing her weakness, predators to her distress. She barely felt the hands as they began to caress her waist, too far gone to notice the thighs as they rubbed against her body. She kept on moving in time with the music as the hands climbed up to her breasts and the thighs pushed forcefully against her hips from behind.
A hand snaked around her wrist pulling her roughly out of the heated throng. She allowed herself to be pulled dumbly, like a lost child, her vision wavering as dark shapes loomed from the lights and smoke. They leered at her, beckoning her to rejoin them, become one with the dancing mass of those who wished to loose themselves to the music.
But the hand held strong pulling her through bodies that stank of sweat and smoke and alcohol, ignoring her need to loose herself, defying her wishes to be dulled into nothing. She was finally pushed into a side booth and got a look at the body attached to the hand still holding on to her own.
"Spike," she hissed.
"You look like crap, pet," he observed as he sat down opposite her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "they didn't seem to think so," she said, motioning towards the undulating throng.
He dared a glance and choked out a harsh bark of a laugh, "they," he purred, forcing her to look back at the dancing mass, "are made up of teenage boys and fledgling vampires. They couldn't care less if you were Miss bloody America or a scratching-post as long as they can rub up against you."
She could feel the anger begin to boil up inside her and shook her head, this wasn't why she came here, "fine," she muttered as she began to rise from her seat. "Then they won't mind if I'll join them." He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to a sitting position as he pinned it to the table. "Spike," she started to hiss a warning.
He didn't let go of her hand, "usually I wouldn't mind letting a Slayer with a death wish have her own way," he hissed in her face, glaring into her eyes, denying her any means of escape. "But special circumstances demand different approaches." She tried pulling her hand from his grasp, grappling with him as he held strong, "stop it!" He growled as they shook an ashtray hard enough to earn the attention of the people sitting in the next booth. "And start acting like a Slayer!"
That got her attention. Her eyes widened with outrage, "don't you dare tell me how to do my job," she hissed.
"Then do it!" He demanded. "Get pissed off and bossy and bloodthirsty. Go and kick some ass!"
She choked out a short bark of a laugh, "whose ass, huh Spike? Whose ass would like me to kick?" The people in the next booth were definitely staring. "The demons who did that to Angel? They're in hell and even I have my limits." They had also begun whispering. Well let them, Buffy thought, they'd be dead soon anyway. They all would. "Or how about that cloaked guy thing? It took a dozen of us to bring him down and there're many more where he came from. Or how about Cirta herself, wherever she's at." Anger and frustration were rolling off her in waves, but he was unimpressed. "Tell me whose ass to kick, Spike."
He shook his head, opened his mouth as he started to say something when a polite cough interrupted him. "Hello, Buffy," Scott said acidly as two blond heads turned toward him with surprise. "I'm not intruding, am I?"
She groaned inwardly, the guy had such unbelievably lousy timing. Then she noticed her hand was still in Spike's and groaned again in growing consternation. She tried to pull herself free, but to her alarm he wouldn't budge. Oh shit, she thought as she saw the slow, wicked smile spread across Spike's sharp feature's, the son of a bitch was going to have fun with this.
"Actually, you sort of were, mate," Spike drawled, calmly ignoring the seething Slayer. "See, Buffy and I were having a private conversation. Right, luv?" His cool hand began to fondle hers, the slender fingers caressing her suggestively. She swallowed, at a loss for words. Spike gave her a great big encouraging smile as her mind gibbered for something to say.
"You know, Buffy," Scott said, his voice trembling slightly, "if this was the 'thing' you've been doing the past few nights, you could have just told me and I'd have left you alone."
Spike chuckled quietly as Buffy finally freed herself of his hand to rise to her feet with rage. This night was just too much, she thought as she recounted the past few hours. She'd almost been killed and to save herself she joined forces with a bunch of vampires. She struck a deal with Satan, as she lovingly referred to Spike these days, she'd learned that the love of her life would die and now it was being implied that she was doing Spike. After all she'd been through she didn't need this kind of aggravation.
"How dare you?" She demanded, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?" Scott took a startled step back. She'd been subdued in all the weeks he'd tried to get close to her, he knew that, but he didn't know how much more than her usual self. With her eyes flashing and her fists clenched she was a force of nature, a being to be reckoned with. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Her voice climbed an octave. Those who weren't already staring with amusement turned their heads to look.
Scott shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "look, Buffy," he started, imploringly.
She shook her head, she wasn't about to look at anything, and as far as she was concerned she'd seen enough. "It's over, Scott," she said coolly, quietly, acknowledging his discomfort. "There was never really anything there to begin with." He swallowed hard, obviously speechless he turned to leave.
"See you around mate," Spike called at the boy's receding back. "Now there's the Slayer I've come to know and intensely dislike," he said as Buffy slowly turned to glare at him. "Come on," he said, grabbing at her hand again, "let's get out of here. People seem to be staring for some strange reason." Chuckling at his own joke he dragged her out of the nightclub.
* * *
The skies turned a light gray as dawn slowly spread across the heavens. The city below was nearly indistinguishable from the valley it stretched across as electric lights dimmed with reverence to the new day.
Between it all, hanging perilously between hope and despair, the crucified man awaited his death. An awareness he had never experienced before overcame him as he watched the birth of day. He listened with wonder as the earth sang glory to the rising sun, he watched the heavens blush in preparation with awe.
The wind blew coolly across his wounded body, bringing with it a freshness that he had never noticed before. His head raised proudly to watch the sun rise, his eyes shining with acceptance and relief, his features stretched with ecstasy.
To an onlooker he would look much like a different man that died nearly two millennia ago. But there could never be onlookers on that particular cliff and the earth and heavens accepted him for what he was.
He could feel his skin begin to crawl and sizzle as the great golden orb breached the horizon. He laughed, his joy joining with nature's acceptance.
He fell suddenly, the nails he had fought against earlier relented without reason or purpose. He landed on his hands and knees, the soft grass lovingly cushioning his fall.
He closed his eyes as his hands stretched towards the sun, his knees on the ground in silent prayer for the love of God to engulf him. Everything seemed to have stopped, the world was holding its breath as it awaited the burst of golden warmth to streak its skies.
Another breeze rushed past him, this time it brought with it stench and decay like a message from the grave. He opened his eyes in confusion. He could sense the earth's quiet distress, something was wrong, unnatural somehow.
A scream pierced his mind suddenly. A scream of pain and confusion so deep it pushed aside any other emotion. He clasped his bleeding hands to his ears, shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself as he tried to block the earth's pain-filled shriek. But it was to no avail, it surrounded him, drove its agony into him with unstoppable force.
His eyes snapped open forcibly with the natural instinct to understand. At first he couldn't see a thing, then he saw it with a clearness that made him gasp with trepidation. The sun was disappearing so completely as though a giant hand was pushing it back down. The sky was reverting back to its previous darkness, even as it screamed its defiance.
"Do you want to die?" A voice roared in his mind, so powerful he could barely make out the words. "Do you really WANT to die?"
He raised his eyes even though the effort made his head spin. Yes! His mind screamed although his mouth refused to voice the words. Oh my God let me die! He begged soundlessly.
The sky darkened back into inky night, the stars glowing protest as they revealed themselves. The voice in his mind radiated dark amusement, as it spoke, "you were never really given a choice, Angelus. Live!"
His body arched as it began to react to the command.
* * *
Buffy planted her feet firmly on the ground bringing them both to a skidding halt. "Alright, chuckles. What do you want?"
Spike rolled his eyes, inhaling needlessly with exasperation. "Why do all of our conversations start off the same way?"
She grinned mirthlessly, pale skin stretching over tired features, "kind of tells you something, doesn't it?" She said wearily. She was tired, so tired. And there was somewhere else she needed to be, she realized that now. Although he wouldn't even know she was there.
"Yeah," he nodded, "that you don't trust me. You keep forgetting that we're in this together."
"Really? And I was so sure I'd heard that our deal was off."
He grinned, "shall we say it's back on again, and leave it at that?"
She raised her head. Dawn was coming soon, bringing with it a sudden sense of urgency. She needed to be with him now. She turned to leave, her mind focused on her task. She would hold her lover's hand till it crumbled to dust in her own.
Spike was suddenly in her face, his hands clutching at her shoulders, shaking her. "This isn't over!" He cried, his face inches from hers, "Angel's dying, but that doesn't mean we all have to go with him!"
"There's nothing I can do, Spike!" She yelled back.
He stopped shaking her, but his hands still gripped her shoulders, "there is," he said quietly. "There're," he hesitated for a moment, "people," he finally said. "They want to help. They need to talk to you."
She caught the slight hitch in his voice, "people?" She asked, hoping he wouldn't reply. She was so tired, tired of death and danger and secrets.
His eyes suddenly found the tops of his shoes unbearably interesting, "elders," he muttered. "Vampire elders."
She opened her mouth, tried to say something, anything, but nothing other than a throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Vampires, she thought, and they wanted to see her, to help her. Yeah, and Principal Snyder was just moments away from naming her valedictorian. How stupid did he think she was?
He peered into her face, trying to gauge her reactions, "they have as much of an interest in this as the rest of us, pet," he said lamely. "Nobody really wants to die."
She snickered, there were times in her life that she would have gladly died. If only so that she wouldn't have to kill. "Forget it," she said flatly. "It's bad enough that I cut a deal with you, I have no intention to start bringing in any more," she paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly what he was, "help," she finally said. "From now on I fight alone." She looked him directly in the eyes, making sure he caught the seriousness of her mood. "I don't want your help," she said coolly, evenly, "I don't want any more vampire help, whatever age they may be. When Angel dies," she swallowed hard trying to erase the taste those words left in her mouth, "I fight. Alone."
His arms flailed with exasperation, "Then you die alone, you silly tart!" He yelled, "how can you bloody well fight when you don't even know what you're up against?" He demanded. "These people, they can help you."
"Only they're not people. They're vampires and elders to top it off. How old are they, Spike? Were they front row center when Jesus got nailed to a cross? Did they write a patent to the first wheel?" Her voice rose, her tone more demanding, "were they there when fire was discovered?" Her tirade was blowing out of control, "were they born after man came down from the trees," her eyes flashed, "or are they half ape?" Her fists clenched, raised as if to hit something, preferably something blond.
His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. His mouth opened to deliver a scalding retort, but he never got the chance. Softly, subtly, as if she were ashamed to do so, the ground shook under their feet. The vampire and the Slayer stared at each other in stunned amazement. "Bloody fitting that there should be a hell mouth in southern California." Spike muttered once the light tremor stopped. "This place is already hell enough. I hate earthquakes."
Earthquake. There'd been an earthquake before. "Oh my God, Angel!" Buffy gasped as she began to run.
* * *
His body trembled uncontrollably, his hands clawing at the ground. The earth shrieked around him, her pain mirroring his own. In his mind a scream echoed, banging against the walls of his brain, demanding to be released. His mouth gaped open like a bleeding wound, but not a sound came out.
"Can you feel it?" A voice cried in his mind, its ecstasy enough to drive him begging for insanity, "can you feel life burning through your veins?" He felt it, with every fiber of his being he felt it. His skin burned like living flame, his blood boiling through his body.
"Live, Angelus!" The voice commanded, and he could not disobey. Too far lost to pain to resist, fistfuls of ravaged earth and grass clenched in his hands, he thrashed and twisted like a creature insane.
* * *
She ran harder than she ever had in her life. Her lungs breathed fire and her side burned as though a knife had sliced through it. It only made her run faster, holding her side like a woman bleeding to death, gasping like the damned she had only one thought in mind. If Angel were dead she would soon follow.
She didn't notice the figure running beside her, didn't care that he was keeping up with her only by sheer force of will. "Buffy, wait!" He called out to her. But even had she heard him she would never have waited. She had waited too long, wasted too much time.
The mansion loomed ahead like an icon of doom, dark and full of secrets in the steely gray skies of false dawn.
The scream echoed around her as she reached the stairs, bringing her to a skidding halt. Spike slammed into her an instant later sending them both tumbling against the stairs.
They stayed where they were for a long moment, listening helplessly as the sound of pure agony rolled off into the night and died gently as though it had never existed at all.
"Angel," Buffy moaned. She was too late and her lover had died. Somehow she managed to rise up and walk to the door, somewhere she found the strength to twist the knob and push it open. Ashes to ashes, she thought, dust to dust.
She looked over at the cot and stared helplessly at the trembling, bewildered vampire as he raised his head. He looked around slowly, his features betraying his horror. His hair a dark halo over his pale haunted face, "is this real?" He whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse.
They gaped at him speechless, lost to shock. "Yes," Willow finally replied, her voice quivering with awe.
His features crumbled, slowly he curled in on himself as soft whimpers escaped his mouth.
That was enough to pull Buffy out of her stupor. With three quick strides she was by her lover's side, her arms reaching to embrace him.
"Buffy!" Giles snapped.
But she was done waiting. She had waited much too long. If he was Angelus then she would die anyway because she didn't have the strength to fight him again. If he was Angel, she had betrayed him enough. With that thought in mind her arms closed around the suffering man, pulling him into her warm embrace.
She rocked him gently, as she would a weeping child. As he slowly surrendered to exhaustion in the comfort of her arms she vowed to herself that she would never betray him again. For once the world would have to fend for itself.
"How did this happen?" Spike whispered, unable to take his eyes off the couple.
"I don't know," Giles replied, his face a mask of conflicting emotion. "I wish I did."
Notes: Contains spoilers from BtVS seasons one through three.
Feedback: Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.
Chapter Five
She ran blindly, her tears a liquid shield against the darkness of the night. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care as long as it was away from the mansion. As long is it was away from her Watcher and her friends and anyone else who had ever loved and trusted her. She felt as though she was crumbling inside, falling hopelessly apart at the seams. Witnesses were the last things she needed.
The night air burned through her lungs, searing her throat. Panting and gasping she came to a halt, catching her breath against a cool brick wall. Her cheeks blazed with exertion as her chest heaved. She looked around grimacing; her feet had led her to Angel's apartment. After all this time she still came here whenever she felt troubled.
Sniffing hard she blinked back the tears. She needed a distraction, needed to hurt something, maybe even herself. Looking around frantically she found what she was looking for. A dark grin creased her face.
"Not my best appearance ever," she murmured to herself as she stepped into the Bronze, "but it'll do."
She walked inside with the confident stride of one who knew how to draw attention. She slowly made her way to the dance floor, her hips swaying in time with the music. Flashing lights and smoke blinded her as she moved, pressing her way through hot undulating bodies. She took a deep breath, inhaling smoke and sweat and cheap cologne. The hard music beat a steady rhythm that echoed in her chest.
She began to dance, rocking gently at first then gaining momentum as the music whisked her away. She kept her eyes open, to a stranger it would seem a subtle defiance to flashing neon lights and stinging smoke. To her it was fear of what she would see should she keep them closed.
She moved wildly, erratically, uncaring of those that bumped into her along the way. Indifferent to bodies grinding up against her, she moved with her eyes wide open, her mind concentrating on nothing but the music, the dance, the heat. Reaching for a place where senses were dulled and thoughts were nonexistent, she lost herself to the music.
Bodies pressed up closer against her, some hot and damp with sweat, others cooler, dry as a grave, all sensing her weakness, predators to her distress. She barely felt the hands as they began to caress her waist, too far gone to notice the thighs as they rubbed against her body. She kept on moving in time with the music as the hands climbed up to her breasts and the thighs pushed forcefully against her hips from behind.
A hand snaked around her wrist pulling her roughly out of the heated throng. She allowed herself to be pulled dumbly, like a lost child, her vision wavering as dark shapes loomed from the lights and smoke. They leered at her, beckoning her to rejoin them, become one with the dancing mass of those who wished to loose themselves to the music.
But the hand held strong pulling her through bodies that stank of sweat and smoke and alcohol, ignoring her need to loose herself, defying her wishes to be dulled into nothing. She was finally pushed into a side booth and got a look at the body attached to the hand still holding on to her own.
"Spike," she hissed.
"You look like crap, pet," he observed as he sat down opposite her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "they didn't seem to think so," she said, motioning towards the undulating throng.
He dared a glance and choked out a harsh bark of a laugh, "they," he purred, forcing her to look back at the dancing mass, "are made up of teenage boys and fledgling vampires. They couldn't care less if you were Miss bloody America or a scratching-post as long as they can rub up against you."
She could feel the anger begin to boil up inside her and shook her head, this wasn't why she came here, "fine," she muttered as she began to rise from her seat. "Then they won't mind if I'll join them." He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to a sitting position as he pinned it to the table. "Spike," she started to hiss a warning.
He didn't let go of her hand, "usually I wouldn't mind letting a Slayer with a death wish have her own way," he hissed in her face, glaring into her eyes, denying her any means of escape. "But special circumstances demand different approaches." She tried pulling her hand from his grasp, grappling with him as he held strong, "stop it!" He growled as they shook an ashtray hard enough to earn the attention of the people sitting in the next booth. "And start acting like a Slayer!"
That got her attention. Her eyes widened with outrage, "don't you dare tell me how to do my job," she hissed.
"Then do it!" He demanded. "Get pissed off and bossy and bloodthirsty. Go and kick some ass!"
She choked out a short bark of a laugh, "whose ass, huh Spike? Whose ass would like me to kick?" The people in the next booth were definitely staring. "The demons who did that to Angel? They're in hell and even I have my limits." They had also begun whispering. Well let them, Buffy thought, they'd be dead soon anyway. They all would. "Or how about that cloaked guy thing? It took a dozen of us to bring him down and there're many more where he came from. Or how about Cirta herself, wherever she's at." Anger and frustration were rolling off her in waves, but he was unimpressed. "Tell me whose ass to kick, Spike."
He shook his head, opened his mouth as he started to say something when a polite cough interrupted him. "Hello, Buffy," Scott said acidly as two blond heads turned toward him with surprise. "I'm not intruding, am I?"
She groaned inwardly, the guy had such unbelievably lousy timing. Then she noticed her hand was still in Spike's and groaned again in growing consternation. She tried to pull herself free, but to her alarm he wouldn't budge. Oh shit, she thought as she saw the slow, wicked smile spread across Spike's sharp feature's, the son of a bitch was going to have fun with this.
"Actually, you sort of were, mate," Spike drawled, calmly ignoring the seething Slayer. "See, Buffy and I were having a private conversation. Right, luv?" His cool hand began to fondle hers, the slender fingers caressing her suggestively. She swallowed, at a loss for words. Spike gave her a great big encouraging smile as her mind gibbered for something to say.
"You know, Buffy," Scott said, his voice trembling slightly, "if this was the 'thing' you've been doing the past few nights, you could have just told me and I'd have left you alone."
Spike chuckled quietly as Buffy finally freed herself of his hand to rise to her feet with rage. This night was just too much, she thought as she recounted the past few hours. She'd almost been killed and to save herself she joined forces with a bunch of vampires. She struck a deal with Satan, as she lovingly referred to Spike these days, she'd learned that the love of her life would die and now it was being implied that she was doing Spike. After all she'd been through she didn't need this kind of aggravation.
"How dare you?" She demanded, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?" Scott took a startled step back. She'd been subdued in all the weeks he'd tried to get close to her, he knew that, but he didn't know how much more than her usual self. With her eyes flashing and her fists clenched she was a force of nature, a being to be reckoned with. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Her voice climbed an octave. Those who weren't already staring with amusement turned their heads to look.
Scott shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "look, Buffy," he started, imploringly.
She shook her head, she wasn't about to look at anything, and as far as she was concerned she'd seen enough. "It's over, Scott," she said coolly, quietly, acknowledging his discomfort. "There was never really anything there to begin with." He swallowed hard, obviously speechless he turned to leave.
"See you around mate," Spike called at the boy's receding back. "Now there's the Slayer I've come to know and intensely dislike," he said as Buffy slowly turned to glare at him. "Come on," he said, grabbing at her hand again, "let's get out of here. People seem to be staring for some strange reason." Chuckling at his own joke he dragged her out of the nightclub.
* * *
The skies turned a light gray as dawn slowly spread across the heavens. The city below was nearly indistinguishable from the valley it stretched across as electric lights dimmed with reverence to the new day.
Between it all, hanging perilously between hope and despair, the crucified man awaited his death. An awareness he had never experienced before overcame him as he watched the birth of day. He listened with wonder as the earth sang glory to the rising sun, he watched the heavens blush in preparation with awe.
The wind blew coolly across his wounded body, bringing with it a freshness that he had never noticed before. His head raised proudly to watch the sun rise, his eyes shining with acceptance and relief, his features stretched with ecstasy.
To an onlooker he would look much like a different man that died nearly two millennia ago. But there could never be onlookers on that particular cliff and the earth and heavens accepted him for what he was.
He could feel his skin begin to crawl and sizzle as the great golden orb breached the horizon. He laughed, his joy joining with nature's acceptance.
He fell suddenly, the nails he had fought against earlier relented without reason or purpose. He landed on his hands and knees, the soft grass lovingly cushioning his fall.
He closed his eyes as his hands stretched towards the sun, his knees on the ground in silent prayer for the love of God to engulf him. Everything seemed to have stopped, the world was holding its breath as it awaited the burst of golden warmth to streak its skies.
Another breeze rushed past him, this time it brought with it stench and decay like a message from the grave. He opened his eyes in confusion. He could sense the earth's quiet distress, something was wrong, unnatural somehow.
A scream pierced his mind suddenly. A scream of pain and confusion so deep it pushed aside any other emotion. He clasped his bleeding hands to his ears, shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself as he tried to block the earth's pain-filled shriek. But it was to no avail, it surrounded him, drove its agony into him with unstoppable force.
His eyes snapped open forcibly with the natural instinct to understand. At first he couldn't see a thing, then he saw it with a clearness that made him gasp with trepidation. The sun was disappearing so completely as though a giant hand was pushing it back down. The sky was reverting back to its previous darkness, even as it screamed its defiance.
"Do you want to die?" A voice roared in his mind, so powerful he could barely make out the words. "Do you really WANT to die?"
He raised his eyes even though the effort made his head spin. Yes! His mind screamed although his mouth refused to voice the words. Oh my God let me die! He begged soundlessly.
The sky darkened back into inky night, the stars glowing protest as they revealed themselves. The voice in his mind radiated dark amusement, as it spoke, "you were never really given a choice, Angelus. Live!"
His body arched as it began to react to the command.
* * *
Buffy planted her feet firmly on the ground bringing them both to a skidding halt. "Alright, chuckles. What do you want?"
Spike rolled his eyes, inhaling needlessly with exasperation. "Why do all of our conversations start off the same way?"
She grinned mirthlessly, pale skin stretching over tired features, "kind of tells you something, doesn't it?" She said wearily. She was tired, so tired. And there was somewhere else she needed to be, she realized that now. Although he wouldn't even know she was there.
"Yeah," he nodded, "that you don't trust me. You keep forgetting that we're in this together."
"Really? And I was so sure I'd heard that our deal was off."
He grinned, "shall we say it's back on again, and leave it at that?"
She raised her head. Dawn was coming soon, bringing with it a sudden sense of urgency. She needed to be with him now. She turned to leave, her mind focused on her task. She would hold her lover's hand till it crumbled to dust in her own.
Spike was suddenly in her face, his hands clutching at her shoulders, shaking her. "This isn't over!" He cried, his face inches from hers, "Angel's dying, but that doesn't mean we all have to go with him!"
"There's nothing I can do, Spike!" She yelled back.
He stopped shaking her, but his hands still gripped her shoulders, "there is," he said quietly. "There're," he hesitated for a moment, "people," he finally said. "They want to help. They need to talk to you."
She caught the slight hitch in his voice, "people?" She asked, hoping he wouldn't reply. She was so tired, tired of death and danger and secrets.
His eyes suddenly found the tops of his shoes unbearably interesting, "elders," he muttered. "Vampire elders."
She opened her mouth, tried to say something, anything, but nothing other than a throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Vampires, she thought, and they wanted to see her, to help her. Yeah, and Principal Snyder was just moments away from naming her valedictorian. How stupid did he think she was?
He peered into her face, trying to gauge her reactions, "they have as much of an interest in this as the rest of us, pet," he said lamely. "Nobody really wants to die."
She snickered, there were times in her life that she would have gladly died. If only so that she wouldn't have to kill. "Forget it," she said flatly. "It's bad enough that I cut a deal with you, I have no intention to start bringing in any more," she paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly what he was, "help," she finally said. "From now on I fight alone." She looked him directly in the eyes, making sure he caught the seriousness of her mood. "I don't want your help," she said coolly, evenly, "I don't want any more vampire help, whatever age they may be. When Angel dies," she swallowed hard trying to erase the taste those words left in her mouth, "I fight. Alone."
His arms flailed with exasperation, "Then you die alone, you silly tart!" He yelled, "how can you bloody well fight when you don't even know what you're up against?" He demanded. "These people, they can help you."
"Only they're not people. They're vampires and elders to top it off. How old are they, Spike? Were they front row center when Jesus got nailed to a cross? Did they write a patent to the first wheel?" Her voice rose, her tone more demanding, "were they there when fire was discovered?" Her tirade was blowing out of control, "were they born after man came down from the trees," her eyes flashed, "or are they half ape?" Her fists clenched, raised as if to hit something, preferably something blond.
His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. His mouth opened to deliver a scalding retort, but he never got the chance. Softly, subtly, as if she were ashamed to do so, the ground shook under their feet. The vampire and the Slayer stared at each other in stunned amazement. "Bloody fitting that there should be a hell mouth in southern California." Spike muttered once the light tremor stopped. "This place is already hell enough. I hate earthquakes."
Earthquake. There'd been an earthquake before. "Oh my God, Angel!" Buffy gasped as she began to run.
* * *
His body trembled uncontrollably, his hands clawing at the ground. The earth shrieked around him, her pain mirroring his own. In his mind a scream echoed, banging against the walls of his brain, demanding to be released. His mouth gaped open like a bleeding wound, but not a sound came out.
"Can you feel it?" A voice cried in his mind, its ecstasy enough to drive him begging for insanity, "can you feel life burning through your veins?" He felt it, with every fiber of his being he felt it. His skin burned like living flame, his blood boiling through his body.
"Live, Angelus!" The voice commanded, and he could not disobey. Too far lost to pain to resist, fistfuls of ravaged earth and grass clenched in his hands, he thrashed and twisted like a creature insane.
* * *
She ran harder than she ever had in her life. Her lungs breathed fire and her side burned as though a knife had sliced through it. It only made her run faster, holding her side like a woman bleeding to death, gasping like the damned she had only one thought in mind. If Angel were dead she would soon follow.
She didn't notice the figure running beside her, didn't care that he was keeping up with her only by sheer force of will. "Buffy, wait!" He called out to her. But even had she heard him she would never have waited. She had waited too long, wasted too much time.
The mansion loomed ahead like an icon of doom, dark and full of secrets in the steely gray skies of false dawn.
The scream echoed around her as she reached the stairs, bringing her to a skidding halt. Spike slammed into her an instant later sending them both tumbling against the stairs.
They stayed where they were for a long moment, listening helplessly as the sound of pure agony rolled off into the night and died gently as though it had never existed at all.
"Angel," Buffy moaned. She was too late and her lover had died. Somehow she managed to rise up and walk to the door, somewhere she found the strength to twist the knob and push it open. Ashes to ashes, she thought, dust to dust.
She looked over at the cot and stared helplessly at the trembling, bewildered vampire as he raised his head. He looked around slowly, his features betraying his horror. His hair a dark halo over his pale haunted face, "is this real?" He whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse.
They gaped at him speechless, lost to shock. "Yes," Willow finally replied, her voice quivering with awe.
His features crumbled, slowly he curled in on himself as soft whimpers escaped his mouth.
That was enough to pull Buffy out of her stupor. With three quick strides she was by her lover's side, her arms reaching to embrace him.
"Buffy!" Giles snapped.
But she was done waiting. She had waited much too long. If he was Angelus then she would die anyway because she didn't have the strength to fight him again. If he was Angel, she had betrayed him enough. With that thought in mind her arms closed around the suffering man, pulling him into her warm embrace.
She rocked him gently, as she would a weeping child. As he slowly surrendered to exhaustion in the comfort of her arms she vowed to herself that she would never betray him again. For once the world would have to fend for itself.
"How did this happen?" Spike whispered, unable to take his eyes off the couple.
"I don't know," Giles replied, his face a mask of conflicting emotion. "I wish I did."