"Angel... I need to tell you something." Darla said urgently.
"You can tell me anything, you know that." The sun was peeking over the horizon, but still far enough away not to panic.
"Angel, we were together a long time. There's so much I should have said to you, so much I had the time to say and I never bothered. Actually, for a lot of that time I didn't know I felt this way - If I had known I would have told you sooner. Like, a hundred years sooner. But some things are just hard to say, hard to admit, especially when you're not used to certain feelings."
"Darla..." Angel said softly.
"No - let me finish. I've thought a lot about this, hell, I've had a lot of down time to do some deep thinking and I know it now. We've been Sire and Childe, Partners, Lovers, and Friends, and I know that you must love me, in some way. But I can't not tell you anymore, I need you to know that I'm in love with you. I didn't want to tell you, I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same way after all that I've done, only I've decided that that doesn't matter anymore. I don't care if you'd rather be with Buffy, if it makes you happy, then go ahead. I know I don't deserve you in the first place, I just needed to tell you."
"Oh Darla. I - Buffy and I, we're over. And I do love you, how could I not? I loved you even when I hated you. You killed me, but you gave me life. You made me who I am, but if you hadn't, think of all the people I wouldn't have been able to help. I wasn't capable of loving you before, neither one of us was and when I killed you I only did it because you were trying to hurt the woman I thought I loved. Buffy's come and gone, but for some miraculous reason, you're still with me."
"I just won't go away, huh?" Darla smiled.
"You've seen me at my best, and my very worst. You knew me better than I knew myself a lot of the time, how could I not love you?" Angel kissed his finger tips and reaching his hand through the bars, touched his fingers to hers. "See, silly?"
Darla sniffled.
"Stop it, you're going to make my mascara run."
******
Wesley was in the old gymnasium, which had once been the castle's Great Hall. Some of the huge windows were boarded up, but the pinkish purpley gold sunrise still filtered through. Dust danced in tiny fairy circles across the floorboards. Wesley's father stood staring out one of the windows.
"Dad." said Wesley.
"Wesley."
"Don't do this, please." He took a few tentative steps out onto the court.
"I'm your father, Wesley. I don't take orders and suggestions from my children. I know what's best for you and Emma, and I make the rules."
"That's right. You don't need help from anyone, do you? Self Reliance is next to Cleanliness which is next to Godliness in your eyes."
"You're being incredibly disrespectful. How dare you presume to challenge me, my son the failure?"
"I'm not a failure." Wesley spoke up, wondering where his sudden reserve of bravery came from.
"You were given two slayers to watch, and couldn't manage to keep either one in line. You've aligned yourself with a vampire. You turned your back on the Council."
"The Council turned it's back on me. They gave me a job they knew that I had not been properly trained for, they sacked me, they refused to let me come back to England, and they attacked my friends. And the fact that I can use the words *my friends* means that I'm not a failure. I'm doing something good and productive and worthwhile with my life, and I have people that I love to share that with. People who came all the way to England just so I wouldn't have to face you by myself. People who stayed here even when things got a little too hot in the kitchen, people who risked their lives to help me. And what have you done?
"Nothing.
"You sit in your office, sending little girls out to die in your place. You make up impossible rules for everyone else to follow. You drive your children too hard. You keep your daughter from having any semblance of a normal life. You tell all of us what to do and when and how to do it and you have no idea what it's actually like out there on the front lines.
"And when I brought you Collin's ashes? You never said anything. I had to kill my own brother and the most you could spare was a *Thank You*. Do you know what Angel said?
"Angel said he was Proud Of Me. The first time in my life anyone's ever said that and it wasn't you.
"And last but certainly not least, you've kidnapped two of my friends and are going to kill them. And you wonder why I have no loyalty left for you.
"And you're not going to let them go, are you? Because that would mean admitting that you made a mistake and Lord Richard Wyndham-Pryce never makes mistakes."
"Are you quite finished?" His father asked.
"I think I am." said Wesley. "I rather think that I am. Not that you were listening, of course, what would I have to say that would be at all important? So you'll probably not hear this next part either.
"I. Hate. You."
His father walked away, Oxfords creaking across the floor as he dissapeared into the darkness, leaving his son staring after him, face a mask of hurt and hate.
******
"No luck?" Angel asked as Wesley sat back down next to him. Wesley tried to conceal how shaken he really was.
"No. He refuses to listen, and I couldn't find anything to break the door down with."
"Wesley, I need to talk to you." said Darla.
"Yes?"
"I was thinking, that when I'm gone, there'll be no record of my ever having been here, not really anyway. I want to be known, I want to make a mark on the world, however small. I want to write a book."
"That's a noble idea indeed."
"But I won't have time to write it. I want you to do it."
"Darla, I'm flattered but..."
"Can you read memories?"
"I don't know how to see inside your brain."
"Yes you do." She scoffed. "It's easy. The Master was teaching me before I died. The second time. I could read your mind if I wanted to, there's no reason why we shouldn't be able to reverse it."
She motioned for him to come closer.
"Hold my hand."
Wesley did as he was told, taking grasp of her tiny, pale fingers. Darla squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. The first memory came gently, like a suggestion creeping into his mind.
******
She had no name, the little girl. Born in a madhouse and sold to gypsies to pay her mother's bill, she spent the first four years of her life traveling the world in a garishly colored wagon. The gypsies taught her to sing and dance, and she brought them money by perfoming on stages.
******
The second memory came like a punch in the stomach.
******
The little girl, eleven or twelve, running from the people who had killed her adopted family and burned the wagons. Gypsies weren't welcome in that part of France, everyone knew they stole babies and cheated men out of their money. The little girl learns to steal, and to fight, and to fend for herself.
And when she becomes a woman...
******
The next memory almost knocked him off balance, it was like a sledgehammer between the eyes.
Turning 14, and a man sees her and says
"My, aren't you a pretty girl. Do you want to come work for me?"
And so she does.
The memories came in a torrent now, colors, sights and sounds streaming together. Wesley got all the feelings attached, learning some things he never knew, other things he had always wondered about and some things he knew she'd be ashamed to talk about if anyone had taken the time to ask.
Bleeding for the first time, the first vicious catfight, standing barefoot on the deck of a ship, salt spraying in her face, sun warming her bare arms. Bitterly cold Colonial winters, the smell of woodsmoke and animal flesh and ripening vines in the summer. Her death.
She was done, Wesley leaned against the wall, exhausted.
Buffy limped into the hallway, supporting Spike. He looked half dead, with burns and cuts all over his marble skin. They'd managed to reconnect with Faith on the way back up from the dungeons, Spike made his triumphant entrance supported by two slayers.
"Damn him!" Spike cried when he saw Darla's room. He sank to his knees in front of the door.
"Granmum?"
"Don't worry, William. I've had my time." Darla assured him.
"No!"
The sun had risen completely now, tiny flames licked at Darla's body. They danced up and down her skin like napalm as she screamed.
"No!" Tears streamed down Spike's cheeks. Angel enfolded him in his arms, rocking him back and forth like a child as he wept silently himself. Darla's screams were primal, like the sobs of her great grandchilde.
It was all over too soon, her screams were silenced and the only thing that remained of her was a small pile of ash on the floor. Wesley could still hear the echoes bouncing off the ancient walls and fought the urge to put his fingers in his ears to drown it out. Buffy somewhat hesitantly went to Spike and took him out of Angel's arms into her own. They made the transition as easily as one would pass a baby from one person to the next. Wesley put a hand on Angel's shoulder. Angel shook him off and got to his feet. He started walking, fast, and Wes almost had to run to keep up with him.
"Angel - NO!"
"Why not, Wesley?"
"It's not the way, it wouldn't be right!"
"I'll hold 'im down for yah." Faith snarled.
"I can smell him, the bastard. The fucking sadistic killer. The God Damn Fucking Piece Of -"
Angel grabbed Wesley's father by the throat, vamping out and slamming him against the wall. Angel kept screaming curses at him and slamming him into the stone.
"Angel, please! You're better than this! You're better than HIM."
Angel let him go in a gesture that said *I could care less*.
"Wes is right." He snarled. "You're not worth it."
"Faith." Wesley said quietly as she stalked toward his father. "You're better than this too."
"No I'm not." said Faith.
"Yes, you are. And you know it. However, I do have some things I'd like to say to him, so you may hold him still while I talk, if you'd like. "
"Gee, Thanks." Faith fixed the elder Wyndham-Pryce with a dangerous stare.
"First off," Wesley began. "I want Darla's ashes. All of them, and I want them now." He was aware of how quiet the hall had become, but he pressed on. "Second, My friends and I are to be allowed to leave the compound, and the country, without any trouble. No assaults, no damage to our belongings or persons, no *false reports* filed, no *accidents*. Thirdly, my friend Rupert Giles, as Active Watcher, will file a formal complaint against you with the Council for needlessly endangering TWO Slayers and the Key. And lastly, if you're planning on trying anything, Joyce Summers could always have you arrested for kidnapping her daughters. I believe I've made myself clear, do you agree, Faith, Angel, Buffy, Spike?"
"Oh, yeah." said Faith. "Wicked clear."
They turned and walked toward the door.
"Wes?" Emma panted, trotting down the corridor followed by Dawn and Cordelia. "Daddy?"
"Emma, are you alright?" Wesley asked.
"Fine. These guys at the front door told us where to find you. Wh-What happened?"
"Em -" Wesley took her aside. "Dad's done some things, he hurt Spike and killed Darla today. He's - going to pay, I've made sure of it, and he needs help and he's going to get it. You don't have to run anymore."
"Do I have to be a Watcher?"
Wesley looked back at his father, who was pale and ashen and had reddish blue marks around his throat from Angel's hands.
"Not if you don't want to."
"Good. I've been talking to Buffy and Faith, and I know what I wanna be."
******
Spike was more withdrawn than usual on the plane ride home, but some of his usual cheerfulness was starting to return. Buffy actually took a leap and sat next to him in Nabbit's plane.
"So, how many people know you play the piano?" She asked.
"Not many." Spike confessed. "It plays merry hell with me macho image."
"Ever thought of being a professional musician? You could write your own songs?"
"Nahh. I get enough people followin' me around screamin' *Hey, It's Billy Idol!*"
"I bet they say, *You look so much shorter in person that you do on tv!*" Buffy laughed. "Or, *Aren't you dead or something?*"
"Then I hafta tell them that I am dead. Then they run away and no one bothers me after that."
"I really admire that, that you don't care what other people think of you. I've always had a problem with that myself."
"What are you trying to get at, Buffy?"
"Like, how you listen to the Ramones and the Sex Pistols and you don't care that they haven't put out anything new in 16 years. That's really fascinating."
"It is?"
"Can I - uh - borrow some of your tapes or something sometime? Just so I can try and figure you out?" Buffy asked.
Spike shrugged.
"My CD collection is your CD collection."
"Cool." Buffy grinned. "Turn evil again and I won't think twice about killin' you though."
Wou'n't have it any other way." said Spike. "And ditto for you. If I ever turn evil again, you'll be the first bird I call."
"Pinky swear?"
"Pinky swear." Spike agreed.
Go to Part 12
