CHAPTER 12: STAND

Twisting the strangle grip
Won't give no mercy
Feeling those tendons rip
Torn up and mean

Blastmaster racks the ground
Bent on survival
Full throttle hammers down
A deadly scream

All Guns, All Guns Blazing

            ~All Guns Blazing, Judas Priest
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Angel turned and lunged at the vampires in the sewers ahead of them, his much larger frame slamming into them and splitting their ranks.

"Don't worry about killing them! Just get out!" He shouted, spinning and punching one of the still standing vamps in the jaw.

She didn't hesitate, not even stopping to think as she threw herself forward through the gap he'd created, and when a hand grabbed her around the ankle, she instantly kicked backward with her trapped foot, smiling grimly as she heard the sole of her boot impact against the vampire's face with a sickening crunch. She yanked her foot free as the creature cried out and kept running.

A moment later, she heard footsteps behind her and she risked a backward glance, heaving a sigh of relief as she caught a glimpse of Angel, then grimacing as the horde of vampires came into view behind him, still in pursuit.

She sprinted down the concrete corridor, looking around frantically for the passage that would take them back to where they'd entered, but they all looked the same to her.

"Angel!" she yelled in frustration.

"Just take the next ladder up," he yelled back. "I'll try and hold them off."

The vampire leaped out in front of her so suddenly that she slammed into it at a full-out run, flattening it to the floor and landing on top of it. She pushed up off the creature's chest, reached for her stake and brought it down in a deadly arc—

The vampire grabbed her by the wrist, turning the stake aside and yanking her face down to his, fangs revealed by its gleeful grin as it leaned in toward her neck.

She dropped the flashlight and reached for her second stake, drawing it free and planting it in the creature's chest with one smooth motion. It had barely crumbled to dust when she felt strong hands grab her underneath her arms, hefting her roughly to her feet. She spun, a stake still in each hand, poised for the killing blow—

"Run!" Angel growled, turning her around and pushing her forward.

She ran. She could hear the echoing footfalls of their pursuers rattle off the curved concrete walls like rapid gunfire, sharp, deadly and unrelenting. How many of them were back there? Fifteen? Twelve? Too damned many. At least Angel had had the presence of mind to grab the flashlight, and in the wild, bobbing arc the light made as he ran, she caught sight of another side tunnel that branched off up ahead.

Hoping against hope, she called out, "This one?"

"I—I don't know," Angel answered from behind her.

Desperate to lose the vamps, she took the corner without slowing, dismayed for a moment when she saw that it went on past her limited vision, vanishing into darkness rather than ending at a ladder. Then, she frowned, Angel's reply playing back in her head. His voice had sounded weak with more than the exertion of running, and running didn't seem to wind him much anyway… She started to turn and look at him—

The concrete of the tunnel ended abruptly, loose dirt washing over its edges like waves lapping at the shore of a beach. It took her several feet to slow her pace, and several feet later, the dirt tunnel came to a dead end. She turned frantically, eyes wild and desperate, hoping that Angel had some idea—

He was covered in blood; more blood than she had ever seen while awake. Somewhere during their battle and flight, his throat had been slashed, torn open by the fangs or talons of their pursuers, and she doubted if any mortal could have withstood such damage and lived. His skin was ashen, pale and drawn over his bones, and his face shone with the sweat of excruciating pain. He looked at her with eyes that were just as bewildered as her own, but he wasn't frightened. As she watched, his eyes filled with a sadness and a finality that numbed her heart. She could see the truth of their future reflected very clearly in those dark depths

"I'm… sorry…" he whispered raggedly, and then fell forward, collapsing at her feet.

She dropped to her knees in shock, the hard earth sending a jolt through her body that she barely felt, and her hands rose helplessly at her sides, stakes tumbling from nerveless fingers, forgotten before they hit the ground. Eyes wide and face slack, as if in the slow motion of a dream, she reached out to him with hands that shook so badly that it took her a moment to recognize them as her own. Fingers brushed over the leather of his coat, flinching as they touched blood, and she laid trembling hands on his side, as if her very touch could somehow heal him.

"No," she whispered, still not able to look at his crumpled form, the curves of the tunnel blurring as her eyes filled with tears.

A moment later, the blur of a dozen glowing eyes materialized from the darkness.

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She saw the vampires closing in, but through the shocked fog surrounding her mind, she didn't truly comprehend their presence. Her brain was shutting down, closing out with the knowledge that the last surviving person who had ever given a damn about her was lying dead beneath her, and that she would shortly share the same fate. In that instant, inside the small area of her mind that still functioned, separate from everything that was happening around her, everything seemed crystal clear; everything made perfect sense. It would be so easy just to let go… so easy to make peace with her life and escape beneath the black wave of death, letting it wash over her and drift away…

Snap.

Just like that the mist of sorrow dissolved, despair giving way to a fury born of madness. Like a living thing, it took control of her, calming her heart and clearing her mind, filling her with a sense of purpose that had nothing to do with peace.

Her hands clenched Angel's jacket in white-knuckled rage, with such force that her crushing fingers bruised her palms, though she didn't feel it. A growl rose menacingly from her chest, building into a scream of primal rage that erupted from deep within her throat, so feral that for an instant, the vamps actually hesitated.

Stake clenched in one fist, she jumped to her feet in a fluid motion, rising before them with such deadly confidence that it seemed she could kill them with merely a glance of the hatred that burned in her eyes. With her free hand, she reached into the outer pocket of her jacket and pulled out a slim, rectangular tin can. Ripping the plastic top from it with her teeth, she held it forth and squeezed so hard that the fluid inside easily crossed the several feet of distance between her and the vampires, splashing over the four at the front of the pack. It happened so fast that they only had time to flinch, realizing they were being sprayed, and by then she had dropped the can, reaching back into her jacket again.

They lunged as one, and she backed up a few paces to where the tunnel narrowed, giving herself a moment to finish extracting what she needed from her pocket. With a cold smile, she flipped open the top, struck the lighter, and simply touched it to the clothing of the first vampire that reached for her.

He erupted in flame that consumed the lighter fluid quickly, spreading rapidly to consume his clothing, and he fell back, flailing. The second vampire grabbed at her hand that held the lighter, and the look of surprise on his face was almost comical as she let him grab her wrist, then thrust her hand forward, touching the lighter to his chest. He let go, catching fire as well, attempting to retreat, but there was no escape for either of them beyond the wall of vampires that filled the tunnel behind them. The other two vamps that had been sprayed with lighter fluid caught fire as their companions thrashed against them, and now they began to flail as well, the tunnel erupting in calamity as the vampires began to retreat.

The two vampires in the front exploded into ash in rapid succession, and the two still burning fell to the floor as their brethren exited the tunnel, leaving them to their fate.

She clicked the lighter shut and dropped it carelessly to the ground, lifting her stake and stepping forward. She didn't even look at the burning vampires, stepping over their bodies and thrusting her stake into the back of a retreating vamp, walking through the ash as it vaporized. Another vampire that had caught fire exploded in front of her, and as he disappeared, she could see the rest of the pack edging warily at the mouth of the tunnel, vague shadows against a backdrop of darkness.

With the fire having run its course, she could no longer see, and calmly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a glow stick, using her teeth to snap it before she threw it on the ground in front of her.

The cool blue light illuminated the twisted visage of a vampire as it leaped at her, and she dropped to her knees, thrusting up with her arm, catching it under the ribcage with her stake. It vanished and she sprang back to her feet in time to punch the next vampire full in the face, hearing its cheekbone crack and splinter beneath the force of the blow. It reeled back and she followed through with a quick thrust of her stake, leaving only ash behind. A third vampire knocked the stake from her hand, and a fourth punched her in the jaw, and she fell to the floor, barely feeling the blow through the rush of adrenaline that filled her.

Again she reached into a pocket and pulled out a short length of wood she'd meant to soak with lighter fluid and use as a torch. Its size was unwieldy as a close combat weapon, but all she did was lift it up to impale the vampire that had punched her as he fell upon her, the dust of his body leaving a fine covering over her. In an instant she was back on her feet, and she used both hands to shove the thick length of wood into the chest of the vampire who'd disarmed her. He vanished and she leveled her eyes on the three remaining vampires who stood uneasily at the end of the tunnel.

They turned and ran.

She dropped the piece of wood to the ground, and turned, walking back to where the flashlight hit the roof of the dirt tunnel at a crazy angle, illuminating the still, dark form beside it. She dropped to her knees next to him, chest heaving with exertion and emotion, cold anger beginning to drain from her now that the danger was past, leaving her abandoned to reality.

Head bowed, she held her hands to her eyes, trying in vain to stop the flow of tears from escaping.

"Well," came an impressed voice from behind her. "And here I thought you might need help."

She brought her head up proudly but didn't turn, recognizing the voice instantly. She didn't want him to see her like this.

He could smell the blood of course, but that didn't concern him. He didn't really give a fig's arse about Angel. Grandsire or not, he'd had just about all he could stand of the amazing, expressionless, emotional wonder boy. The girl though… he wasn't sure how many she'd killed, but he knew that fifteen vamps had entered these sewers, and even though Angel was out and he'd arrived late, only three vampires had escaped with their un-lives. He'd never seen a Slayer kill that many in one turn. And from the smell of blood in the air, she hadn't even been scratched. Of course, judging from the scorched scent that also lingered in the tunnel, she'd had a bit of fire to help her. Still…

"You all right?" he asked, noting that other than to raise her head, she hadn't moved at all.

"You came to help me?" she asked, her voice ragged and taut.

"I saw them come down after you. Thought you might need a spot of help against that many, yeah. Didn't find you though, 'til I saw the last three scurrying out." He glanced around and nodded his appreciation. "Good show."

She rose to her feet and turned, and though she made a good effort, he could smell the salt of tears lingering on her cheeks.

"Help me get him out of here," she said quietly, and without waiting for a response, she turned and began tugging at Angel's body, trying to lift him from the ground.

"I didn't come for hi—"

She spun, her face dark with anger. "Help me, or I swear, there won't be enough left of you to fit in an urn when I'm done." Again she didn't wait for a reply, turning back to her work.

He blinked, head tilting to one side as he considered… and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place; Angel's injury, her killing so many vampires and chasing off the rest, the tears she'd just shed… He walked forward, stepping over Angel and kneeling, facing her, forcing her to look at him with the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were bemused, glimmering with just a touch of cynical humor.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

She froze for an instant, her first impulse to laugh and flatly deny his question, which felt far more like an accusation… but she found herself wordless, staring at him helplessly instead. She shook her head, gaze falling back to Angel's body. "Just help me."

He nodded once. "I understand," he said so quietly that she thought she'd misheard him. She raised her eyes to look at him, and found his clear blue eyes filled with an incredible sadness.

After a moment, he broke the look, glancing down and sliding his hands underneath Angel's body. "Let's get him out of here, then."

Together, they carried him to the surface.

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It was nearing dawn when they emerged from the tunnels.

"I think he's gotten heavier," Spike grunted, letting Angel slip to the ground.

Faith looked dubiously to the lightening sky. "We have to hurry," she said, then stopped abruptly, her eyes falling to Angel's form. "Will… will the sunlight still make him… you know?"

Spike looked at her curiously, not understanding.

"I mean… since he's…"

He chuckled mirthfully, suddenly realizing what she meant. "He's not dead, luv."

She blinked, heart thudding out of time once with surprise, not quite daring to hope.

"Well, he's dead, of course," Spike amended, shrugging. "But not in the pushing up daisies sort of way."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice edging on anger. She was at the end of her rope for patience, and if Spike was toying with her…

"A spot of blood and the goody-two-shoes here'll be back in business. Draining a vamp incapacitates them, but it doesn't kill. We can live without blood, you know. Just not very well."

She hadn't known, he could tell by the shocked expression and the dawning hope in her eyes.

"Then we have to hurry!" she said excitedly, reaching down to grab Angel's limp arm.

Spike was shaking his head. "Not gonna happen, luv. We'll never beat the sun," he added, raising his eyes to the sky.

"We will. We have to! We can't let him die now." She was struggling, pulling Angel up from the ground and nearly buckling beneath his weight.

"I know you're desperate for a happy ending here, Slayer, but it's not going to happen unless the nancy boy here can walk on his own two feet."

She looked at him askance, ceasing her struggles to support Angel's body as she tried to figure out what Spike meant. Angel slid slowly down her side and she grunted, trying to get her shoulder under his arm again. "What do you mean?" she asked irritably.

"I mean you have to feed him," he said, a touch of irritation creeping into his own voice.

She stopped moving completely, and Angel slid bonelessly to the ground.

"You mean…"

"Of course, if you're shy about feeding your blood to a vamp, we can just let him sunbathe. He probably won't even wake up," Spike said indifferently.

She looked down at Angel's pale, drawn face, her heart torn. She could save him, and normally, she would have jumped to do whatever it took… but letting him feed from her? She didn't know if she could stand it. She'd had nightmares about it, had lived every fight of her life in fear of being fed on. It was a violent, intimate and disgusting act, and she didn't enjoy the thought of being violated in such a way… but… this was Angel…

She glanced up at the sky, disheartened by the light blue tint of the horizon. They had perhaps a half hour, maybe less. Spike was right; they'd never make it to the mansion before the sun caught them, even with both of them carrying Angel. He was just too big and heavy and awkward to carry easily. There wasn't even a choice to be made.

"How?" she asked shortly, looking at Spike, her eyes hard, her face resolved.

She had guts; he'd give her that. He considered her for a long moment and then drew a pocketknife from his jeans, handing it to her wordlessly.

She looked at it as if she'd never seen a knife before, pondering the enormity of what she was about to do… then she flipped the knife open and drew the blade over her wrist, wincing as the blood welled, then flowed. Kneeling, she turned Angel on his back and held her arm above his mouth, letting the blood drip from her wrist. It hit his mouth and spattered, so bright against the pale purple of his lips, the contrast of color making him appear even paler than he had a moment before. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her hand into a fist, forcing the blood to flow faster from her wound, watching it flow through his slightly parted lips.

"Come on Angel. Come on," she urged, whispering heatedly.

His eyelids fluttered, then opened, irises appearing deep black against the pallor of his skin, and she had a moment to smile before he leaned up and grabbed her wrist, forcing it to his mouth. She cried out as his incisors bit into the flesh of her arm, piercing her vein, and the sensation was just as it had been in her dream; the slow, languid feeling of being drained, darkness encompassing her and slowly closing down around her, thoughts slipping away like quicksilver even as she tried to grab hold of them.

Her wrist burned with fiery pain, but after a few moments she began to feel an inexplicable pleasure flood through her as well. This had not been part of her dream… it filled her with shuddering waves of ecstasy that coupled with the pain to send chills down her spine, her flesh thrilling everywhere his skin touched against hers, every nerve hyper aware and trembling with sensation. It seemed that her blood sang with passion, nerves chorusing in joy, swelling and joining together in pleasure so intense that her feeble mind fairly pleaded with it to crest, that she might not be tortured by it any longer.

Heedless of her wishes, her blood poured from her like liquid fire and she gasped for air, lungs seeming unable to draw breath, her body stiffening and contorting with the pain and pleasure forced upon her. Uncontrollably, she arched her back and cried out with the last of her breath, falling backward, falling backward through time and space, through darkness and light, falling through eternity, forever…

The stars of her mind flickered and winked out.

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Beneath Sunnydale, the woman known to her progeny as "mistress" clenched her fists in helpless rage.

"Damn him! Damn Angelus to hell!" she cried furiously.

The three surviving participants of the sewer excursion prostrated themselves silently before their mistress, offering no further explanation and voicing no pleas for mercy. Her attending servant glanced at them and then lowered his head respectfully, thinking it wouldn't be prudent to point out that the Slayer had actually been the one to thwart their plans.

"He has my scroll!" she exploded plaintively.

Her attendant nodded, commiserating, still not raising his eyes to look at her. He wasn't certain if she was speaking to him or not, but better to show that he was paying attention. The other three vampires remained very still, not daring to look up at her.

"He must be removed," she decided aloud, and her voice quieted, as if she had suddenly regained control over her raging temper.

"But what of the Slayer, mistress?" one of the vampires asked tremulously, heartened by her calmer tone of voice.

She stopped moving, as if surprised by the question, and knelt before the vampires on the floor, robes rustling about her body like snakes hissing in warning. The expression of the vampire who had spoken went slack, only his eyes glittering with abject terror, and it was all he could do not to cringe as his mistress reached out with terrifying tenderness to caress his face.

"Poor dear. Did she frighten you so terribly?" Her voice was soft, soothing, almost mesmerizing as it lilted in time with her stroking fingers. Her fingers paused, nails resting against his cheek, and she lifted her face as if an idea of great importance had suddenly occurred to her, one that must be considered before she spoke. She looked again to her subject, her eyes narrowing. "Did she frighten you more than me?"

"N-no mistress," the vampire said with an emphatic shake of his head.

"You didn't want to come back to me, did you?" she asked gently, stroking the creature's face as a mother might stroke her child's. "You were afraid that I'd kill you for failing."

"Yes, mistress," the vampire replied, and now his voice was filled with shame. He lowered his eyes from hers, fearing for his death and at the same time, somehow feeling unworthy of her attention.

"Then why did you return?" she asked, as if she were truly curious.

The vampire shook his head faintly, not able to meet her eyes. "I—I…"

"Look at me," she said, lifting his chin with one finger. "Yes, that's right."

All traces of terror left the vampires visage as he gazed upon his mistress' face.

"You don't know why you returned, do you?"

As if dazed, eyes wide and hardly focused, the vampire shook his head in agreement.

"I do," she said, her voice a bare whisper as she leaned her face closer to him. Her lips brushed against his and he shuddered, as if in ecstasy, eyes rolling back in his head.

"While there is life in you, you will always return to me," she whispered seductively, her face weaving back and forth in front of his like a cobra. "You have no choice. I am your maker, your mistress, and you would do anything to make me happy. Isn't that right?"

The vampire nodded, seeming too overcome to speak.

She held his eyes for a long moment in silence, then drew back, stroked the vampire's chin, and brightened. "Why, I bet you'd happily immolate yourself for my amusement, if I desired it—wouldn't you?" she asked suggestively.

"Yes mistress," the vampire moaned reverently, almost fervently.

Her mood seemed to snap, warm façade giving way to the ice below, and her human features hardened into a mask of anger and displeasure. "Go then. Amuse me," she said roughly, shoving his face away from her.

The vampire rose without hesitation and walked to the wall. Removing a torch from its bracket, he touched the open flame to his clothing, and then calmly fitted the burning wood back into place. He gazed adoringly at his mistress as his clothing ignited, material consumed by the hungry flame in mere seconds. She gazed back and smiled as his flesh caught fire, watching his skin blacken and shrivel. His mouth opened in screams of agony, and he convulsed in excruciating pain, but he did not move from the spot where he stood, nor did he attempt to put himself out. His eyes had begun to melt when he finally exploded into ash, but they were still fixated on her.

Rising to her feet, she resumed speaking as if nothing had happened.

"The Slayer is confused, malleable. She can yet be shaped to our purpose. But we need her alone. Angelus must be removed. The questions now becomes…how?" Seeming to forget the two remaining vampires at her feet, she folded her arms over her chest and strode across the dais.

Her attendant, who had remained silently respectful throughout the vampire's questioning and immolation, spoke up at last. "Mistress…"

"Yes, Zhaad?" she asked, calling him by name, something she so rarely did with the others.

He had been one of her favorites for more than two hundred years, and more often than not, when she needed a strong right arm, it was he that she called upon to go forth in her name. But the pile of ash in the corner was a harsh reminder of why he'd never let his status lull him into complacency. He was as respectful, careful and formal with her now as he'd been the day she turned him. It was the reason he was still alive.

"From what we have been able to learn, Angelus seems resolved to stay, mistress."

"Yes," she answered absently, annoyed. "And why does he stay?" she asked, eyes rising to the ceiling, seeming to speak to the walls themselves.

Zhaad hesitated again, uncertain whether or not to interrupt his mistress' train of thought since the question was not directed at him. He risked a glance at her as he replied, "He arrived with the Slayer, mistress. Perhaps she is the key to dealing with him."

She blinked, Zhaad's words striking a chord deep within her. She had known that of course, but she still needed the Slayer… still… she looked at her servant as if seeing him for the first time, her head tilting to one side as if in wonder, or curiosity. "Yes… the Slayer. He seems to have a weakness for Slayers, doesn't he?"

Again she seemed to be speaking to herself, but Zhaad could not hold his tongue against the disgust that rose like bile from his stomach, his voice thick with hatred. "He is unclean, and weak with love. He is the worst of us all. A vampire that loves Slayers…" the vampire trailed off his sentence, letting his expression finish his thoughts on the matter.

Her eyes lit up as an idea struck her. It was so wonderful, so perfect, that her black heart grew giddy with delight; so fitting and simple that she nearly laughed aloud.

She thought she had just the thing to make Angelus want to leave Sunnydale forever.