Part 29: Miracles Always Have a Price
#
Buffy wondered whether the ability to simply shut down on an emotional level and concentrate on the task at hand was a Slayer feature or something she had gotten from elsewhere. She also wondered whether it was healthy for her sanity. Right now said sanity was something she was not a hundred percent sure of anymore.
Not now, she reminded herself. Not now. She had had her crying fest with Giles and that had to be it, there was no time for further breakdowns now. Jackson King was dead. She had killed him. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his face, that confused look he had given her when she had broken his neck. No, now was not the time. It had been necessary. He killed people, several people. She had had no choice.
Something had happened to Angel. That was the thing she had to concentrate on for now. Everything else could wait. Team 666 would be licking their wounds for now. Burke and his men were doing the same. Jackson King ... he was not a problem anymore. She shook her head, trying to dispel the memories again. Angel. She had to concentrate on Angel now.
She only knew what Willow had told her. Her best friend had gone to visit Angel in the hospital, only to learn that he was no longer there. For a moment Buffy had been almost paralyzed with fear, dreading that Jackson King might have made a stop at the hospital on his way to the SDO warehouse.
Willow had set her straight, though. Angel had not been kidnapped. He had left under his own power. Considering that his body had been a mass of bruises and broken bones at that time, not to mention an injured spine and a concussion, did not exactly inspire confidence in this being a good thing. Angel was no longer a vampire who could heal from any wound within a day or less. He was human and human beings did not simply get up after being beaten within an inch of their life. They certainly did not throw around orderlies like so many puppets on their way out.
Something had happened to him and, considering that Buffy could still feel the presence of the Huntsman in her blood despite King's death, she had a horrible suspicion that she knew exactly what that something was.
Buffy was running on instinct at the moment. She had always been able to feel Angel's presence, an ability that had persisted even after he had turned human. It had nothing to do with Slayers and vampires, or so she liked to think. She could also feel the Huntsman, could see it like a fire in the dark of night, and where she had had trouble zeroing in on its location while it was manifested in King, she had no such troubles now.
Her instincts led her away from the town and into the forest beyond. Night had fallen some hours ago and this far away from the lights of Sunnydale it was pitch black, even her enhanced night vision almost useless. She moved with catlike certainty, though, all her senses wide open and guiding her feet. To a mere human the dark forest would have been a hopeless obstacle course, a labyrinth impossible to navigate. For the Slayer, though, the trees gave way willingly and her path was easily found.
Somewhere ahead of her there was a blazing fire that gave no light, but nevertheless drew her in like a moth to the flame. Buffy was helpless to resist it and, in this special case, she felt that she really did not want to resist.
Then she heard his screams.
"Angel," she yelled, her feet carrying her faster and faster toward the source of this anguish. Trees whipped past her left and right as she threw herself into the darkness as if it was water, certain that it would part before her.
Buffy came to a clearing and, almost as if on cue, what little overcast they had had cleared from the sky. It was not a full moon tonight, not even close, but Buffy's eyes did not need much in the way of light to see. The pale shine from the sickle above was more than enough for her.
Angel was on his knees in the grass, his body shaking with seizures. She could feel his pain radiating towards her, felt it tear along her own nerves like fire. The flimsy hospital gown that Angel had worn when escaping from what had almost been his death bed was gone, torn away by his flight through the forest. He was nude before her and Buffy had a sudden flashback to a night more than a year ago. Then, too, she had found him like this. Nude in the night, more animal than man.
Even then, though, his sanity torn to pieces by centuries of torture in hell, he had recognized her. He had remembered her name and held on to her, grabbed her like a drowning man who had finally found solid ground.
Slowly she began to approach him.
#
Even through all the pain he felt her coming. His body was still mending, fiery energy knitting the broken parts back together amidst an inferno of screaming nerve endings. Some detached part of his mind realized that this pain was good. It was healing him, bringing him back to the life he had almost lost. The chance he had almost missed.
Buffy's presence was like a soothing breeze, caressing his burning flesh with hands of softest silk. He opened his eyes, consciously aware of his surroundings for the first time since he had dipped his hands into this consuming flame. A forest? Yes, he remembered. He had tried to flee, tried to run away from the pain. That which had taken him as its host was primitive, primal, a force of nature. It fled from the artificial lights, the hum of civilization, yearning to embrace the comforting darkness of the wild where it knew its prey was waiting.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pain began to ebb, receding further with every step his other half took toward him. There was that tingling in his belly, that unmistakable sense that she was near. It was more than that now, though, much more than that. His blood called out to her, his heart was straining against his chest to drive him closer.
Their eyes met, both pairs penetrating the near total darkness with ease. The world looked different now, Angel realized. A human would have been blind here, helpless. A vampire would have seen, but not the way he saw now. Especially not the way he now saw her.
Buffy was glowing with an inner light that seemed to sing to him. Just like he had felt the fire burning within him he could now see the flames inside her, illuminating his beautiful mate like not even the sun could. Did she see him like this? Had she seen Jackson King like this?
King had to be dead, he realized. The Huntsman was here now. He was the Huntsman. And, just like the Slayer, a new Huntsman was only called when the previous one perished. A part of his new being cried out in anger at this death, mourning the loss of the first host it had enjoyed in centuries. The largest part of him, though, could not help but feel a mixture of relief and satisfaction.
Then all thoughts of King ceased. Buffy was just a step away from him now, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Concern. Fear. Desire. Confusion. It was all there for the world to see, she still carried her heart in her hands.
"Angel?" She always spoke his name like this, her voice softening and uncertain as if she constantly had to assure herself of his presence. He knew how he had hurt her by leaving. It would never happen again. Now and forever they belonged together. Soulmate and soulmate, Slayer and Huntsman.
He should be afraid, should he not? He was the Huntsman now and the power that was humming in his veins had already turned one innocent boy into a raving lunatic who beat people to death. How was he supposed to control it any better?
The answer came almost as quickly. He knew how. He had a century of experience doing this, controlling desires and urges that a foreign presence had infused into his being. The cursed blood that had made him Angelus was as different from the essence of the Huntsman as night was from day, yet the effects it had on his mind and sanity were the same.
I can do this, Angel resolved. I can.
The pain was almost gone as he rose, standing before his other half. He was breathing hard, both from exhaustion and her presence. He was aware of his nudity, but not embarrassed. His muscles moved and flexed with a strength he had almost learned to get along without, greater than it had been before. Even more than that, though, he had missed all the sounds and smells of the world around him. Especially the scent he could pick up from Buffy.
She opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He could almost read her thoughts, her doubts and fears so obvious. She had to feel it, too, had to realize what he was now, what he had become. How could she not be afraid?
He had to show her that there was nothing to afraid of.
Slowly he reached out to touch her and Buffy did not flinch away from him. There had always been fire between them, a casual touch enough to ignite it, but this time it was different. A star seemed to roar to life as they touched skin to skin, his finger brushing over her arm. Both of them gasped, surprised by the intensity.
More than their bodies touched, they could both feel it. More than ever before Buffy was aware of that burning energy within her that was the Slayer. Never had it felt more real, more alive. She had felt it stir when Jackson King had first approached her, roused from centuries of half-sleep by the return of its mate. She had felt it try and force her to do things she did not want when she and King had met in battle. Now, though, things had changed. Slayer and human found themselves in perfect accordance.
For the first time in centuries the Slayer and the Huntsman touched, really touched. Their hosts did not hinder them, confusing human emotions did not stand between them, but rather cheered them on. Their hosts desired each other, wanted each other even without the burning intensity of the bond that now existed between them.
Something was still wrong, though, something was still off. The Huntsman touched its other half, but something was missing. It was like part of her was not there. Jackson King had been confused by this, the Huntsman had been furious. Poisoned by those same unpredictable human emotions he now cherished the Huntsman had struck out against what King had perceived to be the source of this imbalance, the Slayer's human lover. Only that was not it.
The Huntsman was not possessed of anything a human might have termed intelligence. It was a primal force of energy, just like the Slayer. It needed a human mind to function, a human intelligence to guide it. Now it was bonded to a human whose mind held the answers. The Huntsman became aware of the girl called Faith. A second Slayer. He saw the circumstances that had led to this, realized that its mate had been torn in half by the trauma of Buffy's death and resurrection. That was why their bond was off, why it was incomplete.
This could not be allowed to continue.
#
Sunnydale General Hospital was still in a mild state of chaos. A couple of policemen had come around to investigate the incident involving one Angel O'Connor. Mr. O'Connor was, after all, the victim of a crime, a crime whose perpetrator had yet to be caught. The two officers took the statements of the baffled staff who kept insisting that Mr. O'Connor had not only walked out of here on his own two feet, but had knocked several nurses unconscious in the process.
Then the emergency monitors screamed again. The nurse who had just been interviewed by one of the officers ran back to her station, quickly checking which patient was in danger.
"It's Faith Capriss," she yelled at the station doctor. "She just flat lined!"
In what was an almost step-by-step repeat of their actions earlier this evening the doctor and nurses ran into the room in question, doing their best to defend their patient from her impending death. One of the officers had come along upon hearing the name. He knew that this girl was still under suspicion of murder and there was a standing order to arrest and question her the moment she came out of her coma.
Only now it looked like that would never happen. For unlike Mr. O'Connor this girl did not suddenly get up and walk out.
Fifteen minutes later the doctor pronounced her dead.
#
Buffy and Angel were so preoccupied with each other that neither of them noticed at first. Somehow her clothes had disappeared and their bodies pressed against each other, looking to get as close as two separate beings could possibly get.
The world around them was no longer important. There was nothing but the two of them, immersed in the soothing darkness of the night, their natural environment. Whatever forest animals might have posed a threat to any mere human made a wide berth around the clearing they were in, sensing that these were two predators one really did not want to disturb. Days and weeks of fear and uncertainty unloaded themselves as they touched and kissed, assuring themselves over and over again that this was real, that thy were both really alive and well.
Then they felt it.
Angel heard the Huntsman roar in triumph as something changed. Buffy heard the Slayer scream in pain and pleasure all at the same time as the open wound she had lived with for more than two years was suddenly, violently healed. They both staggered as the fire that burned between them suddenly intensified. Buffy stumbled as power rushed through her veins, a familiar voice inside her head, screaming in agony.
Faith?
Both of them fell to their knees as Slayer and Huntsman both roared out with joy, the rift between them finally healed. The combined power of their bond had retrieved its lost essence, ripped it out from the one who had no right to it, returned it to its rightful place. Now everything was made right.
Neither of them understood the cold chill of pain and sorrow that suddenly came from their human hosts. Buffy and Angel both realized what had happened, could not help but realize it as they saw the missing half of the Slayer return to Buffy. They could both hear Faith scream, could feel as that which kept her alive when every other human being would have died was ripped away.
They collapsed into the grass, tears trailing down their faces.
"My God," Angel whispered. "Oh my God."
"Faith," Buffy sobbed, curling into a ball on the soft grass as she realized that she had yet more blood on her hands.
TO BE CONTINUED
#
Buffy wondered whether the ability to simply shut down on an emotional level and concentrate on the task at hand was a Slayer feature or something she had gotten from elsewhere. She also wondered whether it was healthy for her sanity. Right now said sanity was something she was not a hundred percent sure of anymore.
Not now, she reminded herself. Not now. She had had her crying fest with Giles and that had to be it, there was no time for further breakdowns now. Jackson King was dead. She had killed him. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his face, that confused look he had given her when she had broken his neck. No, now was not the time. It had been necessary. He killed people, several people. She had had no choice.
Something had happened to Angel. That was the thing she had to concentrate on for now. Everything else could wait. Team 666 would be licking their wounds for now. Burke and his men were doing the same. Jackson King ... he was not a problem anymore. She shook her head, trying to dispel the memories again. Angel. She had to concentrate on Angel now.
She only knew what Willow had told her. Her best friend had gone to visit Angel in the hospital, only to learn that he was no longer there. For a moment Buffy had been almost paralyzed with fear, dreading that Jackson King might have made a stop at the hospital on his way to the SDO warehouse.
Willow had set her straight, though. Angel had not been kidnapped. He had left under his own power. Considering that his body had been a mass of bruises and broken bones at that time, not to mention an injured spine and a concussion, did not exactly inspire confidence in this being a good thing. Angel was no longer a vampire who could heal from any wound within a day or less. He was human and human beings did not simply get up after being beaten within an inch of their life. They certainly did not throw around orderlies like so many puppets on their way out.
Something had happened to him and, considering that Buffy could still feel the presence of the Huntsman in her blood despite King's death, she had a horrible suspicion that she knew exactly what that something was.
Buffy was running on instinct at the moment. She had always been able to feel Angel's presence, an ability that had persisted even after he had turned human. It had nothing to do with Slayers and vampires, or so she liked to think. She could also feel the Huntsman, could see it like a fire in the dark of night, and where she had had trouble zeroing in on its location while it was manifested in King, she had no such troubles now.
Her instincts led her away from the town and into the forest beyond. Night had fallen some hours ago and this far away from the lights of Sunnydale it was pitch black, even her enhanced night vision almost useless. She moved with catlike certainty, though, all her senses wide open and guiding her feet. To a mere human the dark forest would have been a hopeless obstacle course, a labyrinth impossible to navigate. For the Slayer, though, the trees gave way willingly and her path was easily found.
Somewhere ahead of her there was a blazing fire that gave no light, but nevertheless drew her in like a moth to the flame. Buffy was helpless to resist it and, in this special case, she felt that she really did not want to resist.
Then she heard his screams.
"Angel," she yelled, her feet carrying her faster and faster toward the source of this anguish. Trees whipped past her left and right as she threw herself into the darkness as if it was water, certain that it would part before her.
Buffy came to a clearing and, almost as if on cue, what little overcast they had had cleared from the sky. It was not a full moon tonight, not even close, but Buffy's eyes did not need much in the way of light to see. The pale shine from the sickle above was more than enough for her.
Angel was on his knees in the grass, his body shaking with seizures. She could feel his pain radiating towards her, felt it tear along her own nerves like fire. The flimsy hospital gown that Angel had worn when escaping from what had almost been his death bed was gone, torn away by his flight through the forest. He was nude before her and Buffy had a sudden flashback to a night more than a year ago. Then, too, she had found him like this. Nude in the night, more animal than man.
Even then, though, his sanity torn to pieces by centuries of torture in hell, he had recognized her. He had remembered her name and held on to her, grabbed her like a drowning man who had finally found solid ground.
Slowly she began to approach him.
#
Even through all the pain he felt her coming. His body was still mending, fiery energy knitting the broken parts back together amidst an inferno of screaming nerve endings. Some detached part of his mind realized that this pain was good. It was healing him, bringing him back to the life he had almost lost. The chance he had almost missed.
Buffy's presence was like a soothing breeze, caressing his burning flesh with hands of softest silk. He opened his eyes, consciously aware of his surroundings for the first time since he had dipped his hands into this consuming flame. A forest? Yes, he remembered. He had tried to flee, tried to run away from the pain. That which had taken him as its host was primitive, primal, a force of nature. It fled from the artificial lights, the hum of civilization, yearning to embrace the comforting darkness of the wild where it knew its prey was waiting.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pain began to ebb, receding further with every step his other half took toward him. There was that tingling in his belly, that unmistakable sense that she was near. It was more than that now, though, much more than that. His blood called out to her, his heart was straining against his chest to drive him closer.
Their eyes met, both pairs penetrating the near total darkness with ease. The world looked different now, Angel realized. A human would have been blind here, helpless. A vampire would have seen, but not the way he saw now. Especially not the way he now saw her.
Buffy was glowing with an inner light that seemed to sing to him. Just like he had felt the fire burning within him he could now see the flames inside her, illuminating his beautiful mate like not even the sun could. Did she see him like this? Had she seen Jackson King like this?
King had to be dead, he realized. The Huntsman was here now. He was the Huntsman. And, just like the Slayer, a new Huntsman was only called when the previous one perished. A part of his new being cried out in anger at this death, mourning the loss of the first host it had enjoyed in centuries. The largest part of him, though, could not help but feel a mixture of relief and satisfaction.
Then all thoughts of King ceased. Buffy was just a step away from him now, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Concern. Fear. Desire. Confusion. It was all there for the world to see, she still carried her heart in her hands.
"Angel?" She always spoke his name like this, her voice softening and uncertain as if she constantly had to assure herself of his presence. He knew how he had hurt her by leaving. It would never happen again. Now and forever they belonged together. Soulmate and soulmate, Slayer and Huntsman.
He should be afraid, should he not? He was the Huntsman now and the power that was humming in his veins had already turned one innocent boy into a raving lunatic who beat people to death. How was he supposed to control it any better?
The answer came almost as quickly. He knew how. He had a century of experience doing this, controlling desires and urges that a foreign presence had infused into his being. The cursed blood that had made him Angelus was as different from the essence of the Huntsman as night was from day, yet the effects it had on his mind and sanity were the same.
I can do this, Angel resolved. I can.
The pain was almost gone as he rose, standing before his other half. He was breathing hard, both from exhaustion and her presence. He was aware of his nudity, but not embarrassed. His muscles moved and flexed with a strength he had almost learned to get along without, greater than it had been before. Even more than that, though, he had missed all the sounds and smells of the world around him. Especially the scent he could pick up from Buffy.
She opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He could almost read her thoughts, her doubts and fears so obvious. She had to feel it, too, had to realize what he was now, what he had become. How could she not be afraid?
He had to show her that there was nothing to afraid of.
Slowly he reached out to touch her and Buffy did not flinch away from him. There had always been fire between them, a casual touch enough to ignite it, but this time it was different. A star seemed to roar to life as they touched skin to skin, his finger brushing over her arm. Both of them gasped, surprised by the intensity.
More than their bodies touched, they could both feel it. More than ever before Buffy was aware of that burning energy within her that was the Slayer. Never had it felt more real, more alive. She had felt it stir when Jackson King had first approached her, roused from centuries of half-sleep by the return of its mate. She had felt it try and force her to do things she did not want when she and King had met in battle. Now, though, things had changed. Slayer and human found themselves in perfect accordance.
For the first time in centuries the Slayer and the Huntsman touched, really touched. Their hosts did not hinder them, confusing human emotions did not stand between them, but rather cheered them on. Their hosts desired each other, wanted each other even without the burning intensity of the bond that now existed between them.
Something was still wrong, though, something was still off. The Huntsman touched its other half, but something was missing. It was like part of her was not there. Jackson King had been confused by this, the Huntsman had been furious. Poisoned by those same unpredictable human emotions he now cherished the Huntsman had struck out against what King had perceived to be the source of this imbalance, the Slayer's human lover. Only that was not it.
The Huntsman was not possessed of anything a human might have termed intelligence. It was a primal force of energy, just like the Slayer. It needed a human mind to function, a human intelligence to guide it. Now it was bonded to a human whose mind held the answers. The Huntsman became aware of the girl called Faith. A second Slayer. He saw the circumstances that had led to this, realized that its mate had been torn in half by the trauma of Buffy's death and resurrection. That was why their bond was off, why it was incomplete.
This could not be allowed to continue.
#
Sunnydale General Hospital was still in a mild state of chaos. A couple of policemen had come around to investigate the incident involving one Angel O'Connor. Mr. O'Connor was, after all, the victim of a crime, a crime whose perpetrator had yet to be caught. The two officers took the statements of the baffled staff who kept insisting that Mr. O'Connor had not only walked out of here on his own two feet, but had knocked several nurses unconscious in the process.
Then the emergency monitors screamed again. The nurse who had just been interviewed by one of the officers ran back to her station, quickly checking which patient was in danger.
"It's Faith Capriss," she yelled at the station doctor. "She just flat lined!"
In what was an almost step-by-step repeat of their actions earlier this evening the doctor and nurses ran into the room in question, doing their best to defend their patient from her impending death. One of the officers had come along upon hearing the name. He knew that this girl was still under suspicion of murder and there was a standing order to arrest and question her the moment she came out of her coma.
Only now it looked like that would never happen. For unlike Mr. O'Connor this girl did not suddenly get up and walk out.
Fifteen minutes later the doctor pronounced her dead.
#
Buffy and Angel were so preoccupied with each other that neither of them noticed at first. Somehow her clothes had disappeared and their bodies pressed against each other, looking to get as close as two separate beings could possibly get.
The world around them was no longer important. There was nothing but the two of them, immersed in the soothing darkness of the night, their natural environment. Whatever forest animals might have posed a threat to any mere human made a wide berth around the clearing they were in, sensing that these were two predators one really did not want to disturb. Days and weeks of fear and uncertainty unloaded themselves as they touched and kissed, assuring themselves over and over again that this was real, that thy were both really alive and well.
Then they felt it.
Angel heard the Huntsman roar in triumph as something changed. Buffy heard the Slayer scream in pain and pleasure all at the same time as the open wound she had lived with for more than two years was suddenly, violently healed. They both staggered as the fire that burned between them suddenly intensified. Buffy stumbled as power rushed through her veins, a familiar voice inside her head, screaming in agony.
Faith?
Both of them fell to their knees as Slayer and Huntsman both roared out with joy, the rift between them finally healed. The combined power of their bond had retrieved its lost essence, ripped it out from the one who had no right to it, returned it to its rightful place. Now everything was made right.
Neither of them understood the cold chill of pain and sorrow that suddenly came from their human hosts. Buffy and Angel both realized what had happened, could not help but realize it as they saw the missing half of the Slayer return to Buffy. They could both hear Faith scream, could feel as that which kept her alive when every other human being would have died was ripped away.
They collapsed into the grass, tears trailing down their faces.
"My God," Angel whispered. "Oh my God."
"Faith," Buffy sobbed, curling into a ball on the soft grass as she realized that she had yet more blood on her hands.
TO BE CONTINUED