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 Ten
Stupid vampire.
Willow Rosenberg rotated irritably on her barstool as she vehemently chewed on her straw. Stupid vampire, she thought spitefully, I hope he sits on a stake. Hard, she added as an afterthought as she nibbled on her unoffending straw, shredding it to pieces. She was not an especially malicious person, nor was she particularly violent, but after the conversation she had had with Buffy an hour ago the angry hacker was ready to tear a certain dark vampire apart.
Although the Slayer was obviously on the verge of tears, not the first today Willow suspected, she had firmly denied that anything was wrong and had adamantly refused when the concerned hacker insisted that she come over.
"I'm fine, Will," Buffy had nearly shouted at her worried friend over the phone. "Go to the Bronze. Have fun." It was not so much a request as a command.
Yeah, have fun. Willow snorted, like that was a possibility. Like she wouldn't end up sitting alone, listening to her boyfriend play the guitar on stage and wonder what Angel did now. It had to be Angel, no one else had the capability of tormenting Buffy quite like he did. The straw gave a final satisfying crunch as she bit down hard on it. Pensively, she peered down at the distorted teeth-marked plastic and noticed that she'd managed to finish her drink sometime between straw molesting and mental Angel bashing. The bartender had disappeared somewhere, so with a resigned sigh she went on abusing her straw.
It wasn't that she had something personal against Angel, not when he had his soul firmly anchored to his body, that is. She'd even managed to put the whole grabbing and threatening of life incident back at the school all those months ago behind her. Although she still woke up with a cold sweat frantically checking her neck for bite marks at times. But that was just part of normal life on the hell mouth, it was something she'd learned to live with.
No, it was her friends being hurt that she couldn't tolerate. Pointedly her best friend. She had been forced to watch as Buffy struggled between hope and despair, her pain gleaming from her eyes even when she smiled or laughed. It was unbearable to witness at times. Surrendering to another wave of anger the timid hacker broke her straw in half. She was definitely going to be needing another drink soon, preferably one with a straw. Where was that bartender?
Besides which, she mused, not that she was prejudiced or anything, but humans and vampires simply did not mix. Unless they wanted to make more vampires and less humans, she corrected herself.
Forcing herself to relax to the Dingo's music she looked around. The Bronze was teaming with life, full of rested teens whose biological clocks went awry from too many hours of sleep during the day. Almost like they're already preparing to join the ranks of the creatures of the night, she thought. Then quickly shook her head. Bad Willow, she chided herself, bad negative, self-destructive thoughts. Forcibly turning her thoughts away from death, she concentrated on the life filled teenagers undulating on the dance floor.
In fact, she noticed with a little frown, there were quite a lot of people on the dance floor. Aside from herself and the band everybody was on the dance floor. Missing were groups of lounging teens talking about nothing in particular, gone were the pool players and non-dancing wallflowers. In fact she even spotted her missing bartender shaking it up with the best of them. Her frown deepened as her mind finally registered what her ears had been listening to.
He'll come to your room at night/ to watch you while you're sleeping/ You'll give it all up without a fight/ and all the while you'll think you are dreaming.
Now that wasn't the Dingo's usual lyrics, Willow thought as she glanced at the stage. They usually went with pseudo deep stuff ranging between an ode to a watermelon at worst and boy meets girl, boy gets heart crushed by girl, boy meets another girl who motorcycles away towards the sunset with first girl, running over boy in the process at best. This was a bit on the creepy side.
Make love to the demon/ claw at the devil/ he'll torment you till you scream out his name.
Willow's jaw dropped, this was hitting way too close to home.
Love him or hate him/ it's all the same. / How can you love an angel that's turned your life to living hell?
"I've often wondered the same thing myself," a silken voice behind her murmured. Willow swallowed hard as the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. "Sounds like boyfriend's found himself a different muse."
Oh God, Willow's mind gibbered, he's right behind me, oh God. In a flash of hyperawareness drawn by fear she felt Angel's presence in every cell of her body, they all tingled with their need to bolt. Was this how Buffy felt every time she came across a vampire? Somehow Willow doubted it, this was nauseating and Buffy never looked like she was about to throw up when she was dusting vamps. Pull yourself together, the timid hacker ordered herself as her mind quickly ran over her options. Sadly she concluded that bolting was not one of them, he was just too close, he'd grab her before she made two steps. "Buffy's not here," she said as coolly as she could, trying to retain the last vestiges of anger, which were quickly falling apart into blind panic.
"I'm not here for Buffy," the dark, smooth voice replied, gliding over her senses, pulling at her will. She wouldn't turn to face him, as long as he was behind her he was still human in her mind. "I'm here for you, Willow."
Make love to the devil/ cry out for a saint.
She could feel his hands slowly rotating her barstool, gently forcing her to face him. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck were nearly prickling her with their need to escape. Traitors, she thought resentfully, and lifting her chin she resolved not to cry and whimper like a frightened little girl. No matter what he did to her. Oblivious to her plight Devon went on singing as her boyfriend played the guitar.
Don't try to regret it/ it's far too late.
"M-me? Why m-me?" She stuttered. Her resolve to be brave had somehow skipped her voice.
Angel smiled at her, a streak of light fell on his canine teeth, illuminating them in the otherwise dim light. He drew closer, his eyes twin pools of darkness, a glimmering threat to trap those who ventured too near. His fingers lifted to brush her cheek. She flinched as his touch burned her with its coolness. "You gave me my soul back, Willow." Fascinated she watched his tongue roll over her name, shocked at the shivers that ran through her body by his single touch. His fingers traced her jaw down to her chin leaving a trail of electrified cells behind. "There's a special bond between you and me."
Nope, no bond, her mind blubbered. I'm completely bond free. No bonds here. He smiled playfully as if he could read her mind, his fingers gently glided from her chin down to her neck, a cool touch that made her want to scream for mercy.
But there was no mercy in the darkness of his eyes or the wicked sensuousness of his lips. There was no hope of denial as his fingers paused at the hollow at the base of her throat.
Desperately she latched on to the one thing she could think of, the one thing that had been bothering her for a full day, "you're lying!" She choked, her breath catching on her words.
His fingers paused on her throat, but never broke contact as a dark eyebrow arched in amusement, "how so?"
Ignoring the fever/ denying the pain.
"That comment you made," her breath was coming in short gasps now making her dizzy and lightheaded. "That thing you said about the divine comedy," her thoughts were wild and erratic now as blind panic threatened to overtake her. "Back in the library with Spike. You knew what you were saying, that weak act you pulled, you just wanted to get your own way!"
He smiled, a wicked sort of expression, "ah, sweet, twisted little Willow," he breathed, "with a mind like yours, what a vampire you would have made." Her breath came in ragged huffs as cold sweat dripped its way down her spin. "You're mine, Willow," he purred.
You'll worship him blindly/ but never say his name.
No, I'm not! Her mind screamed, but the words refused to escape her lips. Caught, like a deer in headlights, her skin burned with cold fire as his fingers made their way down to her breast. "You know it in your heart," he whispered. Her back arched slightly, instinctively, innocently pushing her breast into his electric touch even as the scream in her mind grew louder. His smile grew wider, the promise of deadly fangs fulfilled. "I know you can feel it, Willow." Her breath was coming in short gasps and a darkness began to swim against the edges of her vision. She was hyperventilating, but she couldn't stop it as the scream in her head grew to a deafening crescendo. A slightly metallic, artificial crescendo that seemed to come from somewhere outside her petrified mind.
In a flash Oz was there, his lips forming an inhuman snarl even as eyes, too animalistic to be human, glinted danger. "She's mine!" He growled, his voice holding an unspoken challenge.
Angel's satisfied smile faded, his eyes glinting golden annoyance at the interruption. "Go away, little boy!" He commanded.
"Mine!" The young wolf snarled savagely, his fangs elongating, demanding blood.
For a moment they stood, vampire facing wolf in the mystical battle that had ever existed between these magical creatures. Golden eyes met dark ones, assessing, evaluating. Suddenly something snapped in the dark vampire's mind, a kind of horror spread across his features as dark human eyes begged denial. "Oh God," he murmured. All around on the dance floor people began dropping like flies, falling in unconscious heaps of young humanity.
"Go. Now!" Oz snarled at him, his body trembling with the sheer effort of keeping himself under control.
"I'm sorry," Angel murmured softly, desolately, the expression of pure agony on his beautiful face almost too much for a human heart to bear. For a moment it seemed to Willow as though he would reach out to her, like a drowning man trying to pull the remnants of his soul from hell. But the self-recrimination in his eyes told her different.
Willow watched him leave, her mind still frozen in terror. Then, suddenly Oz was in her face, his concerned features entirely human as he shook her. "Will? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured dazedly, "I think I'll just pass out for a bit." Her last thought before she finally succumbed to the darkness that had threatened to engulf her was that someone should really move Oz's electric guitar away from the microphone. That metallic scream was simply unbearable.
Fainting was really not all it was cracked up to be, Willow decided as she slowly came to full consciousness. Especially if you're coming to gasping and coughing over something foul-smelling with all your friends hovering over you.
"It's working!" Cordelia's shrill voice cut through Willow's foggy reverie eliciting a dull ache in the young hacker's skull. Beautiful, a headache, she thought miserably, chalk another one up for staying conscious. "She's coming around."
"Of course she is," Giles' voice sounded slightly smug.
"Well excuse me Mister smelling salts. What, you're waiting around for a damsel in distress with that stuff?"
Willow groaned and rose weakly. Then again, she thought as Oz rushed to her side, there were the idiotic dialogues that would fly right over an unconscious person's head. Maybe there was something to be said for passing out after all.
Or maybe not. "Will, are you okay?" Oz asked softly. The love and concern in his eyes said it all.
"Ah-hum," she groaned back. She was fine, it was the room that kept spinning around. Someone should really look into that.
"I'll take that as a 'yeah, but would someone please stop the banging in my skull' kind of ah-hum." Xander's voice was as upbeat as always, but Willow sensed the uncharacteristic note of concern running through it.
"That will pass in a few moments," Giles promised. Yeah, Willow agreed sullenly, easy for you to say. You don't have a certain mister Woody Woodpecker setting up camp in your brain. "In the meantime why don't you tell us what happened?"
Let's see, the young redhead thought; people danced, Angel came on to me, Oz went wolf and Angel ran away. Yep, that's about it. Oh God, she groaned, how was she going to explain that? This night was going to leave them with some serious repercussions.
"It was all a blur," Oz was saying, "I could see and hear everything that was going on, but I didn't care. I was playing a song I'd never heard before, watching everyone dance to it and I didn't want to do anything else." He shook his head, "disturbing."
"Did it feel like some sort of artificial substance?" Giles asked delicately.
Oz shook his head, "if it was, I don't know how it could have hit all of us like it did. Besides, it's like nothing I've ever known before."
Willow's ears perked up. Drugs? Were they talking about drugs? Did her sweet musician of a boyfriend just admit to experiencing drugs? She tried glaring at Oz, but gave up due to the fact that she was seeing two of him at the moment. There were definitely going to be repercussions.
"I saw Angel talking to Willow," Oz went on, his voice slightly hollow. "And I just didn't care enough to do anything about it." Willow's eyes widened in panic, don't tell them, she tried to signal her usually attentive boyfriend, they can't know about this before I've figured it out. I've got to create a diversion, she thought irrationally. Unable to think of anything she squeaked. No one noticed.
"But when Angel touched her," no, no, no, no! "Everything snapped. I lost it." Why couldn't her sweet, bright and extremely laconic boyfriend have kept his mouth shut just this once? Willow tried delivering a deadly look his way, then thought better of it. Something was wrong. His features were as calm as ever, but there was definitely something wrong. Then it hit her so hard she nearly lost consciousness again. He had almost changed into a wolf and the full moon was over two weeks away. For the second time tonight she felt like driving a stake into Angel herself. Just the thought of the dark vampire sent dangerous tingles down the trail he had created on her body. She felt as though she was going to throw up.
Outside Willow's complicated mind the room exploded into sound. "Angel touched... He, Willow? Touched? He did what?" Xander spluttered, his pallid face contorted with shock. Great verbal skills, Willow thought spitefully, why don't you try simpler sentences next time. She immediately felt the guilt run through her, she shouldn't be thinking of her friends that way.
"It wasn't like that," she tried to explain, defend herself. Oh yes it was, the tiny voice of honesty in her mind murmured insistently, it was exactly like that. Her skin tingled where Angel had touched her just in case she'd forgotten.
"Why don't we all settle down and think this through," Giles suggested. His features seemed calm, but Willow couldn't help noticing the way he steadfastly refused to meet her eyes.
Cordelia had watched this entire exchange in uncharacteristic silence as her mind mulled over the facts. "Angel touched Willow?" She finally murmured to herself, "welcome to the land of the loopy, people. Population - us."
Willow couldn't help but glare at her. Was it so inconceivable that Angel could find her attractive? Wait, what was she thinking? She didn't even want Angel to find her attractive. "It wasn't like that," she said weakly.
"He's dead!" Xander raved, "he's really dead! And I'm not just talking about going halfway with him. I mean really dead, all the way dead. Dust up the vacuum cleaner dead..."
"Yeah, dead. We get it Xander," Willow said irritably, why would he never shut up? She felt another pang of guilt. He was worried about her, really worried and here she was badmouthing him, well bad thinking him anyway. She didn't doubt that he loved her, even if it was in his own special 'never notice you till someone else did' kind of way. It was just the way he expressed that love that drove her crazy.
Xander shook his head stubbornly, "he's going to die, Will. If Buffy doesn't stake him I will."
Buffy! All this and she hadn't even thought of her best friend. Willow groaned with self-disgust.
"Angel had no right to do that, to touch you, " Xander went on, oblivious as always.
"Did he hurt you?" A cool voice from behind demanded. Willow swallowed hard as panic began to flutter through her body. Buffy moved to face her in the suddenly hushed room, her red rimmed eyes flashing and her oversized flannel shirt flowing behind her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes!" Willow nearly shouted, "it wasn't like that!" She immediately regretted her tone, Buffy seemed taken aback, hurt almost. She thinks I'm blaming her, Willow thought suddenly. She opened her mouth, tried to obliterate the harshness of her tone but someone beat her to it.
"This is your fault. If you'd have dusted him when you were supposed to none of this would have happened," Xander hissed coldly. They all stared at him in open-mouthed shock, Xander's cruelty robbing them of any possible reaction.
"I... No!" Buffy shook her head warding off the horrible accusations, but her expression revealed her agreement.
"That's enough!" Giles thundered and Willow breathed relief. "What Angel does is not your fault, Buffy."
"Well isn't this a dreary sort of party," Spike said from the doorway, commanding everyone's attention. "What's daddy gone and done now?"
"None of your business, Spike," Buffy replied almost without thought, her attention seemed to be directed inward.
He laughed wickedly, "I do have my sources, you know. Funny, I always thought that if Angel ever got sick of you he'd go after the big brunette over there. Looks like he managed to develop himself some taste after all."
Willow felt the flush travel down her body even as she watched Cordelia pale with the insult. The angry brunette's mouth opened to shell out a blistering retort, which she never got the opportunity to deliver. A hard fist sent the pale vampire flying out the library doors. An angry Slayer hurried to follow.
"Well?" Buffy asked as she peered down at the dazed vampire leaning against the locker he had landed on.
"One of them is going to meet you at the old Sunnydale church." Spike said irritably. "Did you really have to throw me this hard?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," she replied blithely. "When?"
"Now." Spike answered as he picked himself off the floor, "I wouldn't keep them waiting," he advised as he turned to leave. With childish satisfaction she noted he had developed himself a slight limp.
The old Sunnydale church stood neglected at the edge of town. The few weddings and many funerals having found themselves alternatives to the aging building that seemed to stand outside of time somehow. It still retained its commanding sense of presence, however. The high ceilings and cold marble floor proudly stated that this indeed was the house of God.
Buffy's heels clicked loudly as she slowly walked up the rows of empty benches. She had never liked churches, had never been drawn to the promise of God's favor when she was younger, and didn't believe in it now when she grew older. When she was a child her mother had insisted on taking her to church every Sunday, later on, after a good deal of whimpering and wheedling on Buffy's part, that habit had been broken. The painted glass windows, filled with religious scenes she could barely recall, were dark, unimpressive, illuminated only by stars and a juvenile moon.
She passed by the confessionals and stopped. Had she ever confessed as a child? She couldn't remember. Memory and imagination merged to distort reality. If she did, what grievances could she have possibly confessed to? Her childhood innocence seemed even more emphasized by her present day sins. She had betrayed, destroyed, and lied and her arrogance had allowed others to be hurt and killed. In a flash of misery she recalled the faces of her friends, of those who had died and those that lived and suffered. "Bless me father, for I have sinned," she murmured to the empty church, at the wooden confessionals.
"What sins could you have possibly committed, child?" A sympathetic voice behind her asked softly.
Buffy froze and slowly turned.
Notes: Contains spoilers from BtVS seasons one through three.
Feedback: Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.
Chapter Ten
Stupid vampire.
Willow Rosenberg rotated irritably on her barstool as she vehemently chewed on her straw. Stupid vampire, she thought spitefully, I hope he sits on a stake. Hard, she added as an afterthought as she nibbled on her unoffending straw, shredding it to pieces. She was not an especially malicious person, nor was she particularly violent, but after the conversation she had had with Buffy an hour ago the angry hacker was ready to tear a certain dark vampire apart.
Although the Slayer was obviously on the verge of tears, not the first today Willow suspected, she had firmly denied that anything was wrong and had adamantly refused when the concerned hacker insisted that she come over.
"I'm fine, Will," Buffy had nearly shouted at her worried friend over the phone. "Go to the Bronze. Have fun." It was not so much a request as a command.
Yeah, have fun. Willow snorted, like that was a possibility. Like she wouldn't end up sitting alone, listening to her boyfriend play the guitar on stage and wonder what Angel did now. It had to be Angel, no one else had the capability of tormenting Buffy quite like he did. The straw gave a final satisfying crunch as she bit down hard on it. Pensively, she peered down at the distorted teeth-marked plastic and noticed that she'd managed to finish her drink sometime between straw molesting and mental Angel bashing. The bartender had disappeared somewhere, so with a resigned sigh she went on abusing her straw.
It wasn't that she had something personal against Angel, not when he had his soul firmly anchored to his body, that is. She'd even managed to put the whole grabbing and threatening of life incident back at the school all those months ago behind her. Although she still woke up with a cold sweat frantically checking her neck for bite marks at times. But that was just part of normal life on the hell mouth, it was something she'd learned to live with.
No, it was her friends being hurt that she couldn't tolerate. Pointedly her best friend. She had been forced to watch as Buffy struggled between hope and despair, her pain gleaming from her eyes even when she smiled or laughed. It was unbearable to witness at times. Surrendering to another wave of anger the timid hacker broke her straw in half. She was definitely going to be needing another drink soon, preferably one with a straw. Where was that bartender?
Besides which, she mused, not that she was prejudiced or anything, but humans and vampires simply did not mix. Unless they wanted to make more vampires and less humans, she corrected herself.
Forcing herself to relax to the Dingo's music she looked around. The Bronze was teaming with life, full of rested teens whose biological clocks went awry from too many hours of sleep during the day. Almost like they're already preparing to join the ranks of the creatures of the night, she thought. Then quickly shook her head. Bad Willow, she chided herself, bad negative, self-destructive thoughts. Forcibly turning her thoughts away from death, she concentrated on the life filled teenagers undulating on the dance floor.
In fact, she noticed with a little frown, there were quite a lot of people on the dance floor. Aside from herself and the band everybody was on the dance floor. Missing were groups of lounging teens talking about nothing in particular, gone were the pool players and non-dancing wallflowers. In fact she even spotted her missing bartender shaking it up with the best of them. Her frown deepened as her mind finally registered what her ears had been listening to.
He'll come to your room at night/ to watch you while you're sleeping/ You'll give it all up without a fight/ and all the while you'll think you are dreaming.
Now that wasn't the Dingo's usual lyrics, Willow thought as she glanced at the stage. They usually went with pseudo deep stuff ranging between an ode to a watermelon at worst and boy meets girl, boy gets heart crushed by girl, boy meets another girl who motorcycles away towards the sunset with first girl, running over boy in the process at best. This was a bit on the creepy side.
Make love to the demon/ claw at the devil/ he'll torment you till you scream out his name.
Willow's jaw dropped, this was hitting way too close to home.
Love him or hate him/ it's all the same. / How can you love an angel that's turned your life to living hell?
"I've often wondered the same thing myself," a silken voice behind her murmured. Willow swallowed hard as the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. "Sounds like boyfriend's found himself a different muse."
Oh God, Willow's mind gibbered, he's right behind me, oh God. In a flash of hyperawareness drawn by fear she felt Angel's presence in every cell of her body, they all tingled with their need to bolt. Was this how Buffy felt every time she came across a vampire? Somehow Willow doubted it, this was nauseating and Buffy never looked like she was about to throw up when she was dusting vamps. Pull yourself together, the timid hacker ordered herself as her mind quickly ran over her options. Sadly she concluded that bolting was not one of them, he was just too close, he'd grab her before she made two steps. "Buffy's not here," she said as coolly as she could, trying to retain the last vestiges of anger, which were quickly falling apart into blind panic.
"I'm not here for Buffy," the dark, smooth voice replied, gliding over her senses, pulling at her will. She wouldn't turn to face him, as long as he was behind her he was still human in her mind. "I'm here for you, Willow."
Make love to the devil/ cry out for a saint.
She could feel his hands slowly rotating her barstool, gently forcing her to face him. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck were nearly prickling her with their need to escape. Traitors, she thought resentfully, and lifting her chin she resolved not to cry and whimper like a frightened little girl. No matter what he did to her. Oblivious to her plight Devon went on singing as her boyfriend played the guitar.
Don't try to regret it/ it's far too late.
"M-me? Why m-me?" She stuttered. Her resolve to be brave had somehow skipped her voice.
Angel smiled at her, a streak of light fell on his canine teeth, illuminating them in the otherwise dim light. He drew closer, his eyes twin pools of darkness, a glimmering threat to trap those who ventured too near. His fingers lifted to brush her cheek. She flinched as his touch burned her with its coolness. "You gave me my soul back, Willow." Fascinated she watched his tongue roll over her name, shocked at the shivers that ran through her body by his single touch. His fingers traced her jaw down to her chin leaving a trail of electrified cells behind. "There's a special bond between you and me."
Nope, no bond, her mind blubbered. I'm completely bond free. No bonds here. He smiled playfully as if he could read her mind, his fingers gently glided from her chin down to her neck, a cool touch that made her want to scream for mercy.
But there was no mercy in the darkness of his eyes or the wicked sensuousness of his lips. There was no hope of denial as his fingers paused at the hollow at the base of her throat.
Desperately she latched on to the one thing she could think of, the one thing that had been bothering her for a full day, "you're lying!" She choked, her breath catching on her words.
His fingers paused on her throat, but never broke contact as a dark eyebrow arched in amusement, "how so?"
Ignoring the fever/ denying the pain.
"That comment you made," her breath was coming in short gasps now making her dizzy and lightheaded. "That thing you said about the divine comedy," her thoughts were wild and erratic now as blind panic threatened to overtake her. "Back in the library with Spike. You knew what you were saying, that weak act you pulled, you just wanted to get your own way!"
He smiled, a wicked sort of expression, "ah, sweet, twisted little Willow," he breathed, "with a mind like yours, what a vampire you would have made." Her breath came in ragged huffs as cold sweat dripped its way down her spin. "You're mine, Willow," he purred.
You'll worship him blindly/ but never say his name.
No, I'm not! Her mind screamed, but the words refused to escape her lips. Caught, like a deer in headlights, her skin burned with cold fire as his fingers made their way down to her breast. "You know it in your heart," he whispered. Her back arched slightly, instinctively, innocently pushing her breast into his electric touch even as the scream in her mind grew louder. His smile grew wider, the promise of deadly fangs fulfilled. "I know you can feel it, Willow." Her breath was coming in short gasps and a darkness began to swim against the edges of her vision. She was hyperventilating, but she couldn't stop it as the scream in her head grew to a deafening crescendo. A slightly metallic, artificial crescendo that seemed to come from somewhere outside her petrified mind.
In a flash Oz was there, his lips forming an inhuman snarl even as eyes, too animalistic to be human, glinted danger. "She's mine!" He growled, his voice holding an unspoken challenge.
Angel's satisfied smile faded, his eyes glinting golden annoyance at the interruption. "Go away, little boy!" He commanded.
"Mine!" The young wolf snarled savagely, his fangs elongating, demanding blood.
For a moment they stood, vampire facing wolf in the mystical battle that had ever existed between these magical creatures. Golden eyes met dark ones, assessing, evaluating. Suddenly something snapped in the dark vampire's mind, a kind of horror spread across his features as dark human eyes begged denial. "Oh God," he murmured. All around on the dance floor people began dropping like flies, falling in unconscious heaps of young humanity.
"Go. Now!" Oz snarled at him, his body trembling with the sheer effort of keeping himself under control.
"I'm sorry," Angel murmured softly, desolately, the expression of pure agony on his beautiful face almost too much for a human heart to bear. For a moment it seemed to Willow as though he would reach out to her, like a drowning man trying to pull the remnants of his soul from hell. But the self-recrimination in his eyes told her different.
Willow watched him leave, her mind still frozen in terror. Then, suddenly Oz was in her face, his concerned features entirely human as he shook her. "Will? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured dazedly, "I think I'll just pass out for a bit." Her last thought before she finally succumbed to the darkness that had threatened to engulf her was that someone should really move Oz's electric guitar away from the microphone. That metallic scream was simply unbearable.
Fainting was really not all it was cracked up to be, Willow decided as she slowly came to full consciousness. Especially if you're coming to gasping and coughing over something foul-smelling with all your friends hovering over you.
"It's working!" Cordelia's shrill voice cut through Willow's foggy reverie eliciting a dull ache in the young hacker's skull. Beautiful, a headache, she thought miserably, chalk another one up for staying conscious. "She's coming around."
"Of course she is," Giles' voice sounded slightly smug.
"Well excuse me Mister smelling salts. What, you're waiting around for a damsel in distress with that stuff?"
Willow groaned and rose weakly. Then again, she thought as Oz rushed to her side, there were the idiotic dialogues that would fly right over an unconscious person's head. Maybe there was something to be said for passing out after all.
Or maybe not. "Will, are you okay?" Oz asked softly. The love and concern in his eyes said it all.
"Ah-hum," she groaned back. She was fine, it was the room that kept spinning around. Someone should really look into that.
"I'll take that as a 'yeah, but would someone please stop the banging in my skull' kind of ah-hum." Xander's voice was as upbeat as always, but Willow sensed the uncharacteristic note of concern running through it.
"That will pass in a few moments," Giles promised. Yeah, Willow agreed sullenly, easy for you to say. You don't have a certain mister Woody Woodpecker setting up camp in your brain. "In the meantime why don't you tell us what happened?"
Let's see, the young redhead thought; people danced, Angel came on to me, Oz went wolf and Angel ran away. Yep, that's about it. Oh God, she groaned, how was she going to explain that? This night was going to leave them with some serious repercussions.
"It was all a blur," Oz was saying, "I could see and hear everything that was going on, but I didn't care. I was playing a song I'd never heard before, watching everyone dance to it and I didn't want to do anything else." He shook his head, "disturbing."
"Did it feel like some sort of artificial substance?" Giles asked delicately.
Oz shook his head, "if it was, I don't know how it could have hit all of us like it did. Besides, it's like nothing I've ever known before."
Willow's ears perked up. Drugs? Were they talking about drugs? Did her sweet musician of a boyfriend just admit to experiencing drugs? She tried glaring at Oz, but gave up due to the fact that she was seeing two of him at the moment. There were definitely going to be repercussions.
"I saw Angel talking to Willow," Oz went on, his voice slightly hollow. "And I just didn't care enough to do anything about it." Willow's eyes widened in panic, don't tell them, she tried to signal her usually attentive boyfriend, they can't know about this before I've figured it out. I've got to create a diversion, she thought irrationally. Unable to think of anything she squeaked. No one noticed.
"But when Angel touched her," no, no, no, no! "Everything snapped. I lost it." Why couldn't her sweet, bright and extremely laconic boyfriend have kept his mouth shut just this once? Willow tried delivering a deadly look his way, then thought better of it. Something was wrong. His features were as calm as ever, but there was definitely something wrong. Then it hit her so hard she nearly lost consciousness again. He had almost changed into a wolf and the full moon was over two weeks away. For the second time tonight she felt like driving a stake into Angel herself. Just the thought of the dark vampire sent dangerous tingles down the trail he had created on her body. She felt as though she was going to throw up.
Outside Willow's complicated mind the room exploded into sound. "Angel touched... He, Willow? Touched? He did what?" Xander spluttered, his pallid face contorted with shock. Great verbal skills, Willow thought spitefully, why don't you try simpler sentences next time. She immediately felt the guilt run through her, she shouldn't be thinking of her friends that way.
"It wasn't like that," she tried to explain, defend herself. Oh yes it was, the tiny voice of honesty in her mind murmured insistently, it was exactly like that. Her skin tingled where Angel had touched her just in case she'd forgotten.
"Why don't we all settle down and think this through," Giles suggested. His features seemed calm, but Willow couldn't help noticing the way he steadfastly refused to meet her eyes.
Cordelia had watched this entire exchange in uncharacteristic silence as her mind mulled over the facts. "Angel touched Willow?" She finally murmured to herself, "welcome to the land of the loopy, people. Population - us."
Willow couldn't help but glare at her. Was it so inconceivable that Angel could find her attractive? Wait, what was she thinking? She didn't even want Angel to find her attractive. "It wasn't like that," she said weakly.
"He's dead!" Xander raved, "he's really dead! And I'm not just talking about going halfway with him. I mean really dead, all the way dead. Dust up the vacuum cleaner dead..."
"Yeah, dead. We get it Xander," Willow said irritably, why would he never shut up? She felt another pang of guilt. He was worried about her, really worried and here she was badmouthing him, well bad thinking him anyway. She didn't doubt that he loved her, even if it was in his own special 'never notice you till someone else did' kind of way. It was just the way he expressed that love that drove her crazy.
Xander shook his head stubbornly, "he's going to die, Will. If Buffy doesn't stake him I will."
Buffy! All this and she hadn't even thought of her best friend. Willow groaned with self-disgust.
"Angel had no right to do that, to touch you, " Xander went on, oblivious as always.
"Did he hurt you?" A cool voice from behind demanded. Willow swallowed hard as panic began to flutter through her body. Buffy moved to face her in the suddenly hushed room, her red rimmed eyes flashing and her oversized flannel shirt flowing behind her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes!" Willow nearly shouted, "it wasn't like that!" She immediately regretted her tone, Buffy seemed taken aback, hurt almost. She thinks I'm blaming her, Willow thought suddenly. She opened her mouth, tried to obliterate the harshness of her tone but someone beat her to it.
"This is your fault. If you'd have dusted him when you were supposed to none of this would have happened," Xander hissed coldly. They all stared at him in open-mouthed shock, Xander's cruelty robbing them of any possible reaction.
"I... No!" Buffy shook her head warding off the horrible accusations, but her expression revealed her agreement.
"That's enough!" Giles thundered and Willow breathed relief. "What Angel does is not your fault, Buffy."
"Well isn't this a dreary sort of party," Spike said from the doorway, commanding everyone's attention. "What's daddy gone and done now?"
"None of your business, Spike," Buffy replied almost without thought, her attention seemed to be directed inward.
He laughed wickedly, "I do have my sources, you know. Funny, I always thought that if Angel ever got sick of you he'd go after the big brunette over there. Looks like he managed to develop himself some taste after all."
Willow felt the flush travel down her body even as she watched Cordelia pale with the insult. The angry brunette's mouth opened to shell out a blistering retort, which she never got the opportunity to deliver. A hard fist sent the pale vampire flying out the library doors. An angry Slayer hurried to follow.
"Well?" Buffy asked as she peered down at the dazed vampire leaning against the locker he had landed on.
"One of them is going to meet you at the old Sunnydale church." Spike said irritably. "Did you really have to throw me this hard?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," she replied blithely. "When?"
"Now." Spike answered as he picked himself off the floor, "I wouldn't keep them waiting," he advised as he turned to leave. With childish satisfaction she noted he had developed himself a slight limp.
The old Sunnydale church stood neglected at the edge of town. The few weddings and many funerals having found themselves alternatives to the aging building that seemed to stand outside of time somehow. It still retained its commanding sense of presence, however. The high ceilings and cold marble floor proudly stated that this indeed was the house of God.
Buffy's heels clicked loudly as she slowly walked up the rows of empty benches. She had never liked churches, had never been drawn to the promise of God's favor when she was younger, and didn't believe in it now when she grew older. When she was a child her mother had insisted on taking her to church every Sunday, later on, after a good deal of whimpering and wheedling on Buffy's part, that habit had been broken. The painted glass windows, filled with religious scenes she could barely recall, were dark, unimpressive, illuminated only by stars and a juvenile moon.
She passed by the confessionals and stopped. Had she ever confessed as a child? She couldn't remember. Memory and imagination merged to distort reality. If she did, what grievances could she have possibly confessed to? Her childhood innocence seemed even more emphasized by her present day sins. She had betrayed, destroyed, and lied and her arrogance had allowed others to be hurt and killed. In a flash of misery she recalled the faces of her friends, of those who had died and those that lived and suffered. "Bless me father, for I have sinned," she murmured to the empty church, at the wooden confessionals.
"What sins could you have possibly committed, child?" A sympathetic voice behind her asked softly.
Buffy froze and slowly turned.