Disclaimer: see prologue
Author's note: a shortish chapter, but there will be another one. Thank you to those who offered their opinions on who to get rid of - here you will see the popular vote's decision. And, indeed, thank you to everyone who has reviewed - it really is most appreciated. Enjoy!
Chapter 11
A hundred years earlier, Luc had believed his sire was dead. A letter from Darla had sent him straight across the Atlantic to the New World, trying to escape what he believed was reality.
This was reality.
As the stake went in, Angelus roared and spun around in time to backhand Mike to the ground - but there was no time for more. Even as Luc moved, to try and pull the stake out, to try and prevent tragedy, the Scourge of Europe disintegrated into a cloud of dust.
Luc skidded to a halt, staring in horror and disbelief; the Slayer let her stake drop to the ground, frozen; Mike lay on the pavement and closed his eyes.
Buffy said, softly, "Angel?" her eyes wide and tears already beginning to flow. Close by, Luc murmured, "Sire."
Each heard the other, and their eyes met, and then Luc picked up the sword Angelus had been wielding. The Slayer tensed, but Luc shook his head, and was gone.
Giles was the first to move, stepping forward and helping Mike to sit up. "That was bloody foolish," he said, but his voice was not unkind. "How's the arm?"
"Probably broken again," Mike said, wincing. "I know. It was stupid. But I could see Buffy ... I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't stand there and watch, Giles; I'm a fighter, it's what I'm trained to do. Broken arms or no broken arms."
"You're lucky it paid off," said Giles. "Can you stand?"
Mike nodded, and with Giles's help he managed to get to his feet.
Buffy had not moved. She was still standing staring at the spot where Angelus had been, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Gently, Giles took her shoulders, and she turned into his chest.
"He's gone. Giles, he's gone."
"Shh," he murmured. "Shhh."
Mike watched, awkward, and crossed to Daniel.
* * *
Luc could never quite remember how he got back to the house in Belgrave Square. He walked blindly, his mind in tumult as he recalled the final deaths of the three beings he knew best in the world - one after another, sharp and quick in direct contrast to long, violent existences.
Inside the house, safe from the sun that would shortly rise, he found Charlie hovering outside the living room. "Mr Tarpeau?"
Luc turned blazing eyes on the younger vampire, who backed away, his hands twisting. "I was worried ... what happened?"
"La mort," Luc said, "death, death happened."
Charlie looked hopeful. "The Slayer?"
"No," said Luc, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, "Angelus. Now get out of my sight!"
He swept the sword around, and had the brief satisfaction of feeling the blade meet flesh, before the flesh became dust. Dropping it on the carpet, he continued upstairs, going not to his room but to his sire's.
The maroon curtains were drawn against the impending sun, and the covers on the bed had been straightened before Angelus had left the room. Luc closed the door behind him and stood for a moment just inside it, and then he crossed to the bed and lay down. He gazed up at the ceiling, emptily, and let the tears come.
* * *
The police arrived as they were waiting for another car to come and pick up the bodies of the two Council men. Giles and Mike exchanged glances, and went to talk to them together, leaving Buffy sitting by Daniel and Katie on the bench. The Slayer had cried silently for a while before lapsing into silence, and neither Mike nor Giles had attempted to talk to her. There was little, after all, that could be said.
"We heard reports of a disturbance," the constable said, his fingers hooked into his belt.
"It's all over," Giles said. "You should maybe talk to Inspector Ward, constable - we're from the Council of Watchers. The inspector knows all about us and our work."
"We were told it was all very violent," the constable persisted, looking at Mike. "Those men, over there, are they ..."
"Our transport is on its way," Giles said. "We'll be cleared out of here in less than half an hour. There won't be much to show that we've been here at all. Take our names, constable, and talk to Inspector Ward, and you'll see this really isn't within your responsibilities."
The constable pulled out a pad and glanced at his companion, who shrugged and nodded.
"Rupert Giles," said Giles. "Currently resident in Sunnydale, California."
"Mike Fletcher," Mike added, giving his address as well. The policeman wrote the details down and put his pad away, frowning.
"I'll speak to the inspector," he said. "And we may very well be in touch." He cast a last suspicious look at the shapes of the men on the ground, and the two constables walked away.
"Marginally more sensible than the Sunnydale police," remarked Giles.
The car arrived within a few minutes, and Giles helped the driver zip the bodies into bags and put them in the boot. Then he and Mike roused Buffy and Daniel, and in the car they themselves had arrived in (parked nearby in a side street, illegally), they drove back to Headquarters.
In the back of the car Mike leant over and peered at Katie. "Is she hurt?" he asked his brother-in-law.
Daniel nodded, but there was relief in his eyes. "Not badly. I hope." He pushed back the little girl's hair to show one neat bite-mark, already healing. "If she's alive, she can't ... I mean, she won't ..."
"She isn't turned, no," Mike reassured him. "If she eats well she'll recover quickly." He met Daniel's eyes. "We're lucky, Dan."
"I suppose we are," Daniel returned. "I lost ... we lost Sophie, but we still have Katie. And those things - they're gone, now, aren't they?"
Mike nodded, saying nothing, and glanced towards Buffy in the front. But she seemed not to have heard them, and so Mike said in a low voice, "You do know one got away? The Breton, the young-looking man?"
"What will he do?" Daniel asked.
"Nobody knows but him," put in Giles. "Nobody knows."
* * *
Luc lay without moving for hours, just remembering. The day he had first set eyes on Angelus, as a young, naïve country boy lost in the big city; the day he had left Paris to set out on his travels around Europe; the day he had arrived in London, desperate to see his sire again. And more recently, the day he had taken away the soul tormenting Angelus, and set his sire free.
Eventually he sat up, running hands through his hair, and looked about him. There was a book on the bedside table, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be Dante's Inferno. Luc paused, his hand hovering by the handle to the drawers of the table, and then he pulled the top drawer open.
Inside he discovered a pair of handcuffs and a key for them as well as a curved Chinese dagger in an ornamental sheath; in the bottom drawer there were some silk handkerchiefs, folded. Luc lifted one out of the drawer and ran his finger over the embroidered 'A' in the corner, and then put it away again carefully.
Next he stood up and went to the wardrobe, opening it and standing in front of the clothes - fine cotton and silk shirts, leather and velvet trousers and jackets. He felt the fabrics, letting himself imagine his sire in the clothes again. Then Luc picked out one of Angelus' ubiquitous leather jackets and closed the wardrobe, leaving the rest of the clothes as they were.
On a table by the window there was a sketchpad lying open with some pencils next to it. Evidently Angelus had been drawing while they waited to go out for the confrontation with the Slayer. Luc smiled to himself, and turned the cover over. One of Darla, her sensuous body shown in all its glory. The next sheet proved to be another picture of Darla, this time a portrait. And the third picture, not quite finished, was of a young man Luc did not recognise for a moment. He stared at the long dark hair and fine features, perplexed, and then with a shock realised the drawing was of himself.
Tearing the sketch out of the book, he held it up and wondered how accurate a likeness it was. Angelus had drawn him smiling at something, eyes looking out of the picture and over the viewer's shoulder, and Luc found himself returning the smile. He gazed for a little while longer, and then folded up the page and tucked it in the pocket of his sire's jacket.
There was nothing else in the room to hold his interest, and after adding the Chinese dagger to the jacket and the picture, Luc left, closing the door behind him.
In his own room he pulled out his mobile telephone and made a call, before pulling a trunk out from underneath the bed and beginning, methodically, to pack away his belongings.
Author's note: a shortish chapter, but there will be another one. Thank you to those who offered their opinions on who to get rid of - here you will see the popular vote's decision. And, indeed, thank you to everyone who has reviewed - it really is most appreciated. Enjoy!
Chapter 11
A hundred years earlier, Luc had believed his sire was dead. A letter from Darla had sent him straight across the Atlantic to the New World, trying to escape what he believed was reality.
This was reality.
As the stake went in, Angelus roared and spun around in time to backhand Mike to the ground - but there was no time for more. Even as Luc moved, to try and pull the stake out, to try and prevent tragedy, the Scourge of Europe disintegrated into a cloud of dust.
Luc skidded to a halt, staring in horror and disbelief; the Slayer let her stake drop to the ground, frozen; Mike lay on the pavement and closed his eyes.
Buffy said, softly, "Angel?" her eyes wide and tears already beginning to flow. Close by, Luc murmured, "Sire."
Each heard the other, and their eyes met, and then Luc picked up the sword Angelus had been wielding. The Slayer tensed, but Luc shook his head, and was gone.
Giles was the first to move, stepping forward and helping Mike to sit up. "That was bloody foolish," he said, but his voice was not unkind. "How's the arm?"
"Probably broken again," Mike said, wincing. "I know. It was stupid. But I could see Buffy ... I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't stand there and watch, Giles; I'm a fighter, it's what I'm trained to do. Broken arms or no broken arms."
"You're lucky it paid off," said Giles. "Can you stand?"
Mike nodded, and with Giles's help he managed to get to his feet.
Buffy had not moved. She was still standing staring at the spot where Angelus had been, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Gently, Giles took her shoulders, and she turned into his chest.
"He's gone. Giles, he's gone."
"Shh," he murmured. "Shhh."
Mike watched, awkward, and crossed to Daniel.
* * *
Luc could never quite remember how he got back to the house in Belgrave Square. He walked blindly, his mind in tumult as he recalled the final deaths of the three beings he knew best in the world - one after another, sharp and quick in direct contrast to long, violent existences.
Inside the house, safe from the sun that would shortly rise, he found Charlie hovering outside the living room. "Mr Tarpeau?"
Luc turned blazing eyes on the younger vampire, who backed away, his hands twisting. "I was worried ... what happened?"
"La mort," Luc said, "death, death happened."
Charlie looked hopeful. "The Slayer?"
"No," said Luc, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, "Angelus. Now get out of my sight!"
He swept the sword around, and had the brief satisfaction of feeling the blade meet flesh, before the flesh became dust. Dropping it on the carpet, he continued upstairs, going not to his room but to his sire's.
The maroon curtains were drawn against the impending sun, and the covers on the bed had been straightened before Angelus had left the room. Luc closed the door behind him and stood for a moment just inside it, and then he crossed to the bed and lay down. He gazed up at the ceiling, emptily, and let the tears come.
* * *
The police arrived as they were waiting for another car to come and pick up the bodies of the two Council men. Giles and Mike exchanged glances, and went to talk to them together, leaving Buffy sitting by Daniel and Katie on the bench. The Slayer had cried silently for a while before lapsing into silence, and neither Mike nor Giles had attempted to talk to her. There was little, after all, that could be said.
"We heard reports of a disturbance," the constable said, his fingers hooked into his belt.
"It's all over," Giles said. "You should maybe talk to Inspector Ward, constable - we're from the Council of Watchers. The inspector knows all about us and our work."
"We were told it was all very violent," the constable persisted, looking at Mike. "Those men, over there, are they ..."
"Our transport is on its way," Giles said. "We'll be cleared out of here in less than half an hour. There won't be much to show that we've been here at all. Take our names, constable, and talk to Inspector Ward, and you'll see this really isn't within your responsibilities."
The constable pulled out a pad and glanced at his companion, who shrugged and nodded.
"Rupert Giles," said Giles. "Currently resident in Sunnydale, California."
"Mike Fletcher," Mike added, giving his address as well. The policeman wrote the details down and put his pad away, frowning.
"I'll speak to the inspector," he said. "And we may very well be in touch." He cast a last suspicious look at the shapes of the men on the ground, and the two constables walked away.
"Marginally more sensible than the Sunnydale police," remarked Giles.
The car arrived within a few minutes, and Giles helped the driver zip the bodies into bags and put them in the boot. Then he and Mike roused Buffy and Daniel, and in the car they themselves had arrived in (parked nearby in a side street, illegally), they drove back to Headquarters.
In the back of the car Mike leant over and peered at Katie. "Is she hurt?" he asked his brother-in-law.
Daniel nodded, but there was relief in his eyes. "Not badly. I hope." He pushed back the little girl's hair to show one neat bite-mark, already healing. "If she's alive, she can't ... I mean, she won't ..."
"She isn't turned, no," Mike reassured him. "If she eats well she'll recover quickly." He met Daniel's eyes. "We're lucky, Dan."
"I suppose we are," Daniel returned. "I lost ... we lost Sophie, but we still have Katie. And those things - they're gone, now, aren't they?"
Mike nodded, saying nothing, and glanced towards Buffy in the front. But she seemed not to have heard them, and so Mike said in a low voice, "You do know one got away? The Breton, the young-looking man?"
"What will he do?" Daniel asked.
"Nobody knows but him," put in Giles. "Nobody knows."
* * *
Luc lay without moving for hours, just remembering. The day he had first set eyes on Angelus, as a young, naïve country boy lost in the big city; the day he had left Paris to set out on his travels around Europe; the day he had arrived in London, desperate to see his sire again. And more recently, the day he had taken away the soul tormenting Angelus, and set his sire free.
Eventually he sat up, running hands through his hair, and looked about him. There was a book on the bedside table, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be Dante's Inferno. Luc paused, his hand hovering by the handle to the drawers of the table, and then he pulled the top drawer open.
Inside he discovered a pair of handcuffs and a key for them as well as a curved Chinese dagger in an ornamental sheath; in the bottom drawer there were some silk handkerchiefs, folded. Luc lifted one out of the drawer and ran his finger over the embroidered 'A' in the corner, and then put it away again carefully.
Next he stood up and went to the wardrobe, opening it and standing in front of the clothes - fine cotton and silk shirts, leather and velvet trousers and jackets. He felt the fabrics, letting himself imagine his sire in the clothes again. Then Luc picked out one of Angelus' ubiquitous leather jackets and closed the wardrobe, leaving the rest of the clothes as they were.
On a table by the window there was a sketchpad lying open with some pencils next to it. Evidently Angelus had been drawing while they waited to go out for the confrontation with the Slayer. Luc smiled to himself, and turned the cover over. One of Darla, her sensuous body shown in all its glory. The next sheet proved to be another picture of Darla, this time a portrait. And the third picture, not quite finished, was of a young man Luc did not recognise for a moment. He stared at the long dark hair and fine features, perplexed, and then with a shock realised the drawing was of himself.
Tearing the sketch out of the book, he held it up and wondered how accurate a likeness it was. Angelus had drawn him smiling at something, eyes looking out of the picture and over the viewer's shoulder, and Luc found himself returning the smile. He gazed for a little while longer, and then folded up the page and tucked it in the pocket of his sire's jacket.
There was nothing else in the room to hold his interest, and after adding the Chinese dagger to the jacket and the picture, Luc left, closing the door behind him.
In his own room he pulled out his mobile telephone and made a call, before pulling a trunk out from underneath the bed and beginning, methodically, to pack away his belongings.