Chapter Four - Lost Then Found

The pain was seering. Faith felt herself plummeting down, her arms flailing uselessly, as the wind rushed harshly past her face. Though her eyes were jammed shut, Faith could see bright flashes of colour slamming into her vision. She vaguely thought about screaming but the sound never came. This was it; she was finally going to die. A one way ticket to hell for this slayer.

She felt no fear, just a strangely calm kind of peace. If she went to hell, that was it. It would all be over. No more pain, no more anguish over wrongs she could never ever right, no more reliving every single drop of blood that had been spilt by her hand. It would be a simple way to live. She could just let go, give in, give up to the pain and let them punish her until she forgot who she was. Faith could finally stop searching for faith. There would be no need for her to believe in herself when there was no reason left to fight. If Angel was dead, there was no one left who believed in her anyway.

Then she remembered. Angel was going to die. How could she just give up and let him die? Faith felt a fire in herself that she had long tried to quell, building, pushing, clawing its way to the surface. Her head snapped back in anger, her face hardened, and it erupted from her mouth in a snarling, vicious howl. She landed square on her feet, her body flying into attack mode as she felt herself rushed by black cloaked, eyeless men. The dull crack of bone and teeth resounded through Faith as her limbs smashed through her attackers. She had no weapons, no friends, just the strength and power of her own body. Her movements were raw, savage and lethal. She needed nothing except the fight.

Suddenly she stopped. Her limbs were but thrashing through the air. She looked up and saw a young girl in front of her, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was dyed luminescent red, her clothes tight fitting and slightly gothic, her eyes empty looking. Without needing to ask, Faith knew what she was. This was a potential slayer, a girl like her whom fate had decreed could become a slayer one day. Except that day would never come for this girl. She was already dead.

Then she saw more of them, hundreds and hundreds of young girls gathered before her, all with same haunted look. One by one, her mind was filled with the images of their violent deaths, of their screams and abject fear. Every time it was the glint of a knife, the swift, unfailing jab and the mindless obedience of the eyeless men. Faith felt her stomach curdle, as she fell to her knees, sweat dripping from her body. Refusing to look up, she trained her eyes to the ground, digging her fingers into the hard, stony crevices. "What do you want from me?" Faith cried out.

The red headed girl stepped forward and held her hand out to Faith. Cautiously Faith looked up, her eyes searching the girl for any signs of malice. There was nothing there. This girl was but a shell, a body drained of its soul's vigour and drive. Faith firmly took her hand, allowing herself to be pulled up. "You've now been shown," the girl told her. "There is no other purpose."

Giving her a strange look, Faith slowly withdrew her hand. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice low.

Then she heard footsteps behind her, and a familiar, sarcastic drawl. "Still not getting it yet, are we Faithy? I guess you always were the slower of the two slayers," Angelus taunted. "Well, I'm biased. I always did prefer blondes."

Not allowing herself to react to his riling, Faith merely smiled at him sweetly. "No, I don't think you're getting it. This may be my hell, but if Angel dies, so do you," she reminded him.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Angelus sat down and admired the pleasing view of the terrified expressions of the murdered potentials. "Well, there are worse ways to go. I always love it when his soul suffers. Gives me a happy," he quipped.

"Which is why you should stay away from a certain blonde," Faith shot back, her eyes narrowed.

Feigning hurt, Angelus clutched at his chest and deadpanned, "Be still my unbeating heart! Oh wait, it already is." Angelus gave her a pitying look. "Stake me already."

Coming forward, her eyes blazing, she ground out, "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Now we're getting out of this. Both of us. Angel is not going to die."

In the hotel room, Lorne still sat by Faith's side. As Lorne sang, he noticed the spasms through Faith's body slow, her face relaxing into peace. He clutched her hand tighter, fearing the end was near. "I'll stay with you, sweetie, I promise," he whispered to her.

Faith's breathing slowed, but did not stop. Lorne held his fingers over her pulse, and felt its steady, persistent thud. Although still unconscious, Faith was still alive. But when or if she would awaken, Lorne did not know. Whatever, he would not leave.

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Connor watched Angelus, unconscious within the cage. This monster here, this evil, soulless demon, this was his true father. Holtz had taught him that. His one constant during those harsh years coming of age in Quortoth had been his father's evil and the hate he had been conditioned to feel for him. And in that hate, Connor had been truly liberated. He, the human child of two vampires, deserved no love, no comfort. All he needed was himself and his vendetta. Before this night was out, he would avenge his birth. He would see his vampire father turn to dust.

As he gazed at that sleeping face, its mouth curled lazily into a sardonic smile, a memory pricked its way through Connor's conscience. It was the night he had discovered Holtz's death, and believing it was at Angel's hands, he had locked Angel in a glass coffin and cast him to the bottom of the Pacific. As he had bound Angel up, Angel had looked up at him, repeating over and over, "I love you, Connor". Those words had meant nothing to him then, he was so full of rage. He did not believe in love. Then he had had the dreams. Night after night he would wake up in a cold sweat, clutching his neck raggedly as he dreamed Angel had broke through his coffin and sank his fangs into his flesh. He vaguely knew it had been guilt, as he knew it now, but dismissed it quickly. He was a warrior; there was no room for doubt. Still his grip on the stake was slipping, as was his conviction.

He thought back to his earlier conversation with Cordelia. She had held his hand tightly in hers, and placed his other on her slightly protruding stomach. Then he had felt it. The unborn child was kicking, desperate to be born into the world. He had smiled so brilliantly and vowed to protect Cordelia and their child, to be a better father than ever Angel had been to him. He had then looked to her, wanting affirmation and love. Instead he had seen anger. In a rage, she had demanded that he had to prove it. Angelus was a threat to her and their baby. Driven by resentment, jealousy and years of hate, Connor was now here, about to kill his father.

Then he heard a noise behind him. Hiding the stake quickly, he turned round to see Wesley gazing him at evenly. "Connor, you're needed upstairs," were Wesley's only words.

Wesley waited patiently as Connor slowly walked past him to the stairs. He had seen the stake in Connor's hands, he well knew his intent. But Wesley understood the pull of darkness and was not one to lecture - not now. Moving closer to the cage, Wesley considered the differences between the souled and the soulless, between himself and Angelus. What it all came down to was choice. Yes, Wesley had darkness within him, but he also had a soul. He knew that his actions over the past months had been wrong but he was not about to bow down and beg for forgiveness. What was done was done. He was sorry if he had caused any pain to those he cared for but they had hurt him too. There was blame on both sides.

Angelus was spasming now, his eyes flickering open and shut. Wesley saw his mouth form words to which no sound came. Then it came, like gravel scratching the back of his throat. At first Wesley couldn't hear it, but the words became increasingly clear. "Die. You're all going to die. From beneath it devours." Wesley froze, instantly recognising Angelus's reference. It was the First Evil.

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Perched on her bed, Cordelia stared, white eyed, into the crystal ball balancing in her hand. As it glowed, she began to chant softly, stoking the glow to a brilliant azure. "Angelus, hear my words. You are to awaken, you are to break free. I command you," she intoned grandly. Then her words turned more sinister. "You're all going to die. From beneath it devours."

She paused, waiting for Angelus to respond. She felt nothing. Slamming the ball down, she glared petulantly, her eyes reverting to their normal dark colour. "Or you can just sit on your ass and do nothing. Whatever," she snapped. This mind share with Faith had not been a part of her plan - but it would do.

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Flinging off his leather duster, Spike lay flat on his bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Right now, he was fighting to contain the anger within. It had taken all his self-control to walk away from Wood, to only batter him but leave him breathing. That wanker had tried to kill him, using that little folk ditty Spike's mother used to sing, as a trigger for his demon. All this because the soulless Spike had murdered Wood's mother. For goodness sake, the woman had been a slayer. A vampire killing a slayer was pretty much business as usual as far as he was concerned. He would make no apologies for that. It really wasn't hard to see what Wood's real problem had been: his mother had never truly loved him the way a mother should. She had always put the slayer mission before her son. Wood was just looking for someone to blame and Spike, her killer, had been convenient. Still Wood had done Spike a backhanded favour: he had freed him from the First's control. He was no longer consumed by guilt over his mother's turning, no longer believing his mother had never loved him. The truth was she always had, unconditionally. Thus the trigger song had lost its power.

He sensed the slayer's presence and without looking up, motioned for Buffy to sit down.

"Thanks," she murmured, straightening out her clothes as she sat. Gazing at his prone form, tightened with anger, she felt a need to explain Robin's actions. "I'm sorry about Wood. I told him the mission comes first. That if he pulls that stunt again, you'll kill him. I said I'd let you."

Spike glanced up at Buffy, his blue eyes filled with an angry sarcasm. "Oh, how kind of you," he retorted. "So the mission comes first now, eh? If so, what's with you and Red and your secret talks? What's with the endless mooning over Nancy Boy? That's got nothing to do with the mission."

Turning quickly to hide her hurt, Buffy stared fixedly at the wall. "The mission does come first. It has to," she asserted softly.

Taking hold of her shoulders, Spike turned her around and forced her to look at him. "Who are you trying to convince, Buffy? Yourself or the nibblets upstairs," he demanded forcefully, as she tried to shrink from his piercing stare. "I know there's something going on with Angel. I think I've known all along. And it's all you bloody think about - I can see it in your eyes. At least be honest with me. You owe me that much."

Freeing herself, Buffy stood and smoothed down her hair, keeping her face neutral. "We've got a war to fight, Spike, and those 'nibblets' as you call them are a part of it. We haven't got time for petty jealousy and confessions. I need you focused," she hedged.

Shaking his head sadly, he gave her a final searching look. "It's never over with you two, is it?" he asked her. Without answering, Buffy began to walk away, her emotions kept firmly inside. Spike called out after her, "You know I'll fight by your side 'til the end in this. I believe in you. I believe in this mission."

Gently touching the cross at her throat, Buffy looked back at Spike, a small smile upon her lips. "I know. I count on it," she told him.

As she climbed the stairs, the cross still in her hand, she felt small comfort in Spike's overwhelming declaration of support. Even though he hated Angel with a ferocity she would never truly understand, he would still be by her side. As her fingers ran over the cool silver of the cross over and over again, her fears for Angel grew more grave. Inside she knew something was wrong, the same way she had felt it after his desouling all those years ago. She longed for the safety of his arms right now, but the cross was all she had. She clutched it tighter.

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They were all arguing again. Wesley felt the anger rise in him but tried to subdue it. He knew Angelus was a danger; he had known it better than any of them. But it was a risk he had taken when he had asked Angel to lose his soul, a risk he felt they had had to take in order to defeat the Beast. And they had. The sun was back, the endless vampire and demon frenzy defused but it had all come at a cost. Faith was lying in a coma, probably nearing her death; Angel's soul had been stolen, imprisoned and unreachable in the muo-ping. For all that Wesley was sorry, but every gambling man knows how to play the odds, knows that for every lucky break there comes the loss. Angel and Faith had both known the risks; he had no guilt to feel.

Connor was arguing for Angelus's immediate execution. In light of Connor's earlier actions, Wes was not entirely surprised. Still there was something slightly off with Connor's motives, something in his eyes that Wesley could not quite trust. This boy was more than a threat to Angelus, he was a threat to them all. He needed to be watched closely.

"There's no way Angel's coming back. No jar, no soul, no Angel! All that's left is Angelus and we need to put him down," declared Connor passionately, his eyes glinting in frustration that nobody would listen.

"I don't think so," answered a female voice. "I think you need a witch."

Wesley, Fred, Connor and Gunn's eyes stared in surprise at the small red head whom had just entered the Hyperion, a quirky smile upon her face. "Willow," Wesley uttered, going forward to shake her hand firmly.

Connor glanced at Willow sceptically, unsure of what to make of this new arrival. "You're a witch?" he questioned, his voice a sneer.

Willow merely smiled. "Yeah, and you must be Angel's handsome yet androgynous son," she quipped lightly as Connor scowled at her. "Who would know? The sneer's genetic."

"So why are you here?" asked Wesley, still taken aback by the redhead's timely arrival. "Was it the call of dark magicks.?"

"More like the call of Fred," she replied, going over to give Fred a friendly hug. "She said that Angel was all lost his soul, so she figured I might be able to help."

Suddenly it was all beginning to fall into place for Wesley. Of course, Willow was the only living person to ever re-ensoul Angel. It made perfect sense that Fred should call her. He could see it all now: there would be an end in sight. They would finish what Faith had started. They would give Angel back his soul.

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The inspiration had finally hit. Willow felt joyous, rapturous and most of all, ready to re-ensoul Angel. It had all been down to Cordelia, probably one throw-away comment that had elucidated the answer clearly. They did not need to locate the muo-ping that held Angel's soul, they just needed to free it using Delothrian's arrow. Then of course, Willow was free to channel it back into Angel, thankfully way away from Angelus.

She looked around the lobby carefully, checking everything was in place. As Fred passed her, ringing two silver bells, Willow gently lifted her chin, correcting her posture. Then Willow began the spell. Chanting softly, her face serene, Willow focused on connecting her energies to the spirit world. Reaching out, she visualised the arrow in her mind's eye, saw it darting towards the muo-ping. Then suddenly Willow felt her body flung across the lobby, a bellowing voice filling her mind, ordering her to stop.

"There's someone in my head!" she said to Wesley as he helped her up, her voice panicked.

"The Beast's Master," explained Wesley, looking at Willow in concern. "He communicated with Angelus the same way."

"He's extremely powerful. He's trying to stop us from getting the soul," added Fred quietly.

Snapping her head up, her eyes turning an inky black, Willow engaged her powers. A crackle of blue energy flew from her hand, causing an ominous rumble to rock the hotel. Just as quickly, a flash of red smashed Willow point blank in the stomach, causing her to grimace in pain. But she was determined. She would not give up. Angel would regain his soul. Sending another crackle out, Willow felt the power of the Beast's Master ebb. Quickly she chanted the incantation, watching in slight wonder as the small marble began to float in the air. Then she sensed it. An evil was creeping towards them, its claws digging into the recesses of her mind. She felt her own darkness rise, baiting towards the Beast Master but she slammed it down, knowing it was a trick. She had to stay strong, to stay focused.

"Ignore it," she ordered sharply to Connor, Wesley and Fred as they gaped at the demonic visage hovering above them. Then she gave one last determined push, her everything behind her words. "Find your target, leave my side!"

The marble shot from Willow's hand, finding its way to the muo-ping. Willow saw it in her mind, felt the arrow hovering before it. "Go!" she screamed, pushing back against the Beast Master's power. Then it smashed. Willow buckled as she felt the soul release. She looked up at the others, a small exhausted smile upon her face. "It's done," she told them. "Angel's soul is free."

"Time for some sweet re-ensouling," babbled Fred, clearly happy.

Nodding heartily, thinking of Buffy back in Sunnydale, Willow readily agreed. "I think so."

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Faith was back in an alley. Great surroundings, she thought to herself, decidedly unimpressed. As much as she admired Angel, his life history sucked. It was too full of bad smells and manky rats for her taste. "I've got to say, whatever you do, baby, we always end up back in the alley," she mocked Angelus.

Angelus rolled his eyes as he watched Angel crouching in a dark corner, his fangs buried in a rat. "So, why are you here? Big revelation for you, maybe, but I already saw this crap," he sniped.

Then he felt a fist connect with his jaw, sending him spinning to the floor. Angelus glared up, his face frozen in shock as he saw Angel glowering above him. "Maybe it's not about you, jackass," Angel snarled.

"You, this is all you," Angelus questioned, unable to believe it.

Faith smiled happily. "Hey, Angel. Great to see you but hate the hair," she told him seriously, wrinkling her nose in disgust at his long, unkempt hair.

Angel went to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Faith, why are you still here? You need to get out of here," he urged her.

"Not until that psycho gets a soul shoved up his-" she began, but was swiftly silenced by a savage blow from Angelus that sent her smashing into the alley wall.

"Rules changed, Faithy. And you're fading fast," he taunted her, gazing evilly at Angel. "Your soul's going up to the big puppy rescue in the sky."

Growling angrily, Angel threw himself upon Angelus, reigning blow upon blow upon his face. Groaning loudly, Faith hauled herself up, watching in astonishment as she watched Angel and Angelus savagely fight. She realised what she was seeing: this was what it was always like for Angel. He had to constantly wrestle his inner demon to maintain equilibrium; it must be hell. Feeling renewed energy in her, she drew herself to full standing height, clearly enjoying the spectacle before her. Angel was kicking Angelus's ass.

As Angelus fell to the ground, his eyes ground belligerently into Faith. "I thought you were dead," he spat viciously.

"Uh-uh, baby. I'm not going anyway," she chided him smartly, as Angel smiled at her warmly. Then she felt something charge through the air, and gasped in wonder as Angel and Angelus merged into one. "But you are."

"You're back, Angel," she cried, going to throw her arms around Angel. Then feeling slightly self-conscious, she moved back and clasped him arm firmly instead.

"Yeah," he acknowledged, still in shock. "Buffy. Oh God, Buffy," he murmured, Angelus's memories of the vision filling his mind.

Faith offered him her hand, her eyes suddenly subdued. "So you know," she said simply. "Time to go."

As Angel took her hand, Faith saw a blinding flash of light. When she opened her eyes, she saw a green-skinned demon gazing at her tenderly, his hand cupping hers. "Welcome back, sweetie," Lorne told her.

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Rona sat grumpily upon her sleeping bag, her arms hugged around her legs. She had been stuck here for months, isolated from her family and friends; that is, if she had any left. A shiver went through her as she thought of the Bringers, and their sharp knives and their eyeless faces. More times than she could count in her time here she had come face to face with them, not to mention those freaky ubervamps. Yet somehow she was still alive.

Rona looked over to Amanda and Viv, who were contenting themselves with the wonders of hair braiding. Irritated, Rona threw a cushion at them, causing them to gape at her in surprise. "Rona!" screeched Amanda, slinging a cushion back. "You made me lose my place."

"Yeah, what's your problem, Rona?" added Viv, untying her messed up plait. Just then Buffy walked past, her mind elsewhere. She did not acknowledge the girls in the living room. "Oh," said Viv, catching the annoyed look on Rona's face.

"She's just been down in the basement with Spike. She's always there," bitched Rona, her smoldering eyes daring the others to contradict her. "It's like we don't even exist and we're the ones she's supposed to be protecting." Pausing dramatically, she eyed the others. "Well?"

Looking distinctively uncomfortable, Amanda looked down at her sleeping bag. Buffy was Dawn's big sister and since Dawn had helped to save her and all, Amanda really liked Dawn. It felt really wrong to say things about Buffy behind her back. Still Rona did have a point: Buffy had been sort of distant with them. "Yeah, I guess," she finally said, still refusing to make eye contact with Rona.

"You guess? How about this? I don't think Buffy even knows any of our names. That's not exactly what you think you'd get from someone wanting to save our lives. All she cares about is Spike," ranted Rona, as Viv tried to look enthusiastic in the appropriate places. Rona was a bit of a fierce one and Viv did not fancy getting on the wrong side of her.

"You're wrong," said a male voice very definitely. The three girls looked up, startled to see Xander standing at the doorway.

"We didn't mean-" covered Amanda quickly.

Xander waved her comment away and continued, "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you know that Buffy cares about each and every one of you." Rona gave him a dismissive look. "Yeah, even you Rona. She's doing her best to get everyone through this. That's why she's so tough on us all."

He gave the girls a second to take in his words, happy that each, even Rona, was listening attentively. "I've seen this girl tackle things you couldn't imagine. She's saved my life and the world more times than I can count," he told them, feeling his own eyes begin to tear up as he thought of Buffy's death following her battle with Glory. "She's amazing. I never want you to doubt her again."

Unbeknownst to him, Buffy had heard each and every word. Xander yet again had become her secret strength, his faith in her solid. She doubted he could ever see how much she loved him and Willow, how much she relied on them both in such little ways. They never spoke about their bond much, there had always been too much going on, but now she realised she had been wrong to ever doubt her friends' support. It did not matter what she would face, the simple fact of their friendship would remain.

Turning to go upstairs, Buffy froze. She felt her skin become goose- fleshed, her very insides twisting. It could not be her mother. Her mother was dead. And yet here her mother was, stood on the stairs. "Mommy?" she finally said, her voice unsteady.

"Honey, you're shaking," her mother observed, a worried edge in her voice. Then she smiled strangely at her daughter. "Could it be you don't really believe your little friend in there?"

Then Buffy knew. It wasn't her mother at all. "Get out," she ordered coldly, her voice low.

"Why, is that any way to speak to your dead mother?" the First taunted, her face twisting derisively.

"You're not my mother," Buffy replied, her mouth pressed into a hardened slit.

"Maybe not, but you're still shaken," the First observed mock casually, folding her arms. "Must be all those nasty, nasty dreams you've been having lately."

Giving her a cutting look, Buffy tersely answered, "Don't know what you're talking about."

Coming menacingly close, the First sneered, "Oh, I think you do. But not to worry. Soon your lover's dust will be flying and then this will all be over." Seeing Buffy's eyes widen in fear, the First merely grinned and gave a small wave. "Be seeing you." Then she disappeared in a flash of blue light, leaving Buffy visibly distressed.

Running up the stairs and into her room, Buffy slammed the door behind her. It was just a ploy, another tactic to mess her mind up, she told herself fiercely. Her hand again went to the cross. She would get through this. She would beat the First. There really was no other choice.

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Willow picked up her bag and prepared to make her goodbyes. Angel was now fully soul intact; her work here was done. It was time to go back to Sunnydale, time to finish what they had all started there. Angel was smiling at Willow thankfully, still a little unsure of what to say. Hugging him firmly, Willow spoke for him. "No need to say anything. I got a slayer out the deal, so we're even stevens," she reassured him. Then pulling back and eyeing him carefully, she added, "I'll tell Buffy you said hi."

Angel's face seemed to pale even more if that was possible, as he thought of the vision he had shared with Faith. "Good. Thanks," he mumbled distractedly.

Unsure of what to make of Angel's peculiar behaviour, Willow turned to Wesley, Gunn and Fred. The temptation in her to confess to Angel the nature of Buffy's prophetic dreams was weighing heavily upon Willow's mind, but thinking of Buffy's desperation to keep her first love from harm stopped her. It would literally destroy Buffy to see Angel die. That was not something Willow could ever inflict upon her. Instead she threw herself into enthusiastic goodbyes and promises to visit soon, not sure if she would live long enough for that to even be a possibility.

"Wagons roll west. See you guys," Will said, beginning to move away, but stopped as Faith looked pointedly at Angel. "Okay. I'll be in the car," she told Faith.

Angel looked curiously at Faith, not sure what was going on but when he saw the usual wry humour gone from her eyes, he knew this was not a farewell at all. "You coming?" she asked him, the flash of emotions on her face emphasising that saying no was not an option.

Not answering, Angel stared at her, still reeling from the discovery of his involvement in Buffy's all-too-immediate future. The choice was already made.

To Be Continued.