Chapter Four
Sometimes, Angel deeply regretted the nearly endless resources at his disposal as head of Wolfram & Hart's LA branch. There was hardly a source of information available in any known dimension that he and his staff couldn't get their hands on, from the mystical to the mundane.
Which meant no blissful ignorance. Ever. There was always an answer he didn't want to hear right around the corner. It was easy to miss the double-edged sword of flying blind, some days.
"The prophecies our outside source provided point to a heretofore unknown mystical convergence – unique astrological positionings, time anomalies, magickal fluxes, geo-thermal shifts and such – that together, throw the balance of this dimension into a tailspin. The phenomena we've witnessed in the past two weeks demonstrate its initial effects. We've little doubt that there are more to come."
At the head of the conference table, Angel struggled to stay sharp, take it all in. Listen to the facts his people had gathered and formulate a plan of action, when all he really wanted to do was drift away. Daydream about how Buffy felt in his arms – so tiny and warm, her delicate frame belying the physical strength hidden within. The scent of her hair... the look in her eyes. The sudden, desperate, and nearly irresistible urge to ask her, "Are you done baking yet?"
Had he imagined she seemed as lonely as he felt? Probably. But still... he'd forgotten how wonderful it was just to be near her. Two weeks later, and it was still the only thing he could think about... end of the world be damned.
Angel clenched his teeth hard enough to make his jaw pop. Damn it. This was *exactly* why working with his life's only love was a bad idea. Now was *not* the time for them -- if there was ever going to *be* one. Now he needed to focus on the matter at hand.
It was just that the old Buffy-ache was so much more pleasant than most other kinds of pain...
"I see," he commented vaguely as Wesley concluded, hoping that covered up his lack of attention to the situation they were discussing. All his department heads had been working around the clock since the incident at La Brea, tracking the sudden and severe upsurge in demon activity, and the strangely patterned confluence of mystical catastrophes threatening his city: simple magicks gone horribly awry, long-standing bindings suddenly disintegrating, random dimensional portals opening in odd and dangerous places from shopping malls to school yards.
They had to figure out what it all meant and how to put a stop to it before the pinnacle hit and made the Rain of Fire look like a gentle, if inconvenient, sun shower.
"Fred, any progress on what's dissolving the magickal matrices?" he asked, glad he had at least managed the foresight to have Michael type up an agenda he could follow.
His colleague and incidentally, second closest friend was always on the ball. She clicked a button on the remote panel beside her, and the screen on the far wall was instantly filled with mathematical, chemical, and alchemical symbols that made no more sense to him now than they ever had.
Unfortunately, Fred's ostensibly English translations weren't much help.
"As you can see from this chart, the ratio of positively charged ion streams to negative are skewed toward the negative, which undermines the atomic time space continuum and destroys the flow of life force used to create magick. And that's only on the physical plane. The underpinnings of linear time itself are unraveling beneath the physical, making any magick that can be cast unpredictable at best. We think this is happening because the boundaries between dimensions have been weakened at some imperative locus. We just haven't figured out quite where yet. The hot spots are shifting too, which suggests that the weaknesses aren't static, and wherever they come to rest, waves of – for lack of a better term – magickal anti-matter are leaking through all over the place. Then there's the relative balance shifts..."
She went on for what felt like forever, about quarks and miniature black holes, dimensional warp phases and proto-matter energies until everyone at the table looked stunned or on the verge of losing consciousness. Except Wesley, of course, who was apparently riveted and fascinated by her work, and took copious notes.
Angel blinked a few times to clear the fog from his head before he responded. "Okay. Do you... have any recommendations on how to repair the... uh..."
"Inter-dimensional time-space warp energy rifts," Fred offered helpfully.
"Right. Any suggestions?"
"All departments are on highest alert," Wesley reported, "Every available resource is being utilized to determine what – or whom – initiated this event, and how we might end it. We'll require some additional time, but I see no reason why we can't accomplish that goal."
"Good. Keep me posted," Angel concluded, "I want containment teams at all reported anomaly locations. Make sure each one has a dimensional specialist and a ritual magickian on hand. If these rifts keep spilling demons out onto the streets, we could be looking at total chaos in a matter of days. For the time being, let's keep the ops as low-key as possible. We want to avoid panic if we can. Thank you, everyone."
The team began to disperse, but Angel held Fred and Wesley back.
"Okay, now I need the two of you to tell me – succinctly and in plain English – what exactly are we looking at, here, and how dangerous is it? How bad could it get, and how do we stop it?"
Fred cast her gaze down at the polished tabletop. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Fred. Be clear," he replied gently.
It was strange the way her demeanor changed when it was just the three of them. She no longer acted the all-together, big-brained scientist, and instead again became their quirky and bright friend. A fellow veteran of the apocalypse. "'Kay. There are borders between dimensions, and those borders are made out of energy. Something – or someone – has screwed the balance of that energy all up. Like... the points in a flashlight where the batteries connect to the wiring. Whatever is happening makes the flashlight have two negative posts, so no power can get through. Or in this case... only dark energy can. That's why we've been seeing all the new monsters. And since time-space is made of the same kind of energy, we're seeing all the weird time thingies the others reported. Like people getting caught in loops where the same stuff happens over and over again."
"And some others are experiencing... well, in short, they're being thrown back into events that have already happened in their linear lifetime. Some are even meeting their doppelgangers, past, present, and future. We've witnessed all of these phenomena before, of course... just not usually all at once like this," Wesley added.
"Well, that answers my first question," Angel sighed. How could he have gotten *this* out of touch with what was going on in the world outside? He'd known he'd been missing the day-to-day workings of Los Angeles, but *this*? Something this serious shouldn't have escaped his notice. "How bad could it get?"
Their friend's weariness was so clear in his tone; Wes and Fred almost hesitated to tell him.
"Gunn and the Ra-Tet have gathered five times in the past two weeks," Wesley replied, his own voice tense. "And no one – not even Fred and I – have been able to get in to see him and ask why. He's not accepting visitors."
"That's bad," Angel understated. As a safety precaution, the Ra-Tet never came together in the same place at the same time – even when the Beast and its Master pulled their Armageddon stunt two years ago, and began slaughtering them one by one. Gunn had become a member of the new set, who was equally isolated. "Wesley, do Willow's documents give any hint of the cause? Or how to reverse it?"
"Yes, actually, although we're having some trouble with exact translations. The general idea is that some single catastrophic event in the past decade has undermined the balance of light/dark energies in the cosmos. Some higher power – whether dark or light, we can't be certain – is struggling to bring that power back into balance. As far as what we can do, two things are clear thus far: the original event must be reversed, or some equal action taken to repair the imbalance. And as for the second, the prophecies suggest..." he trailed off.
"Suggest?" Angel urged.
Wesley squarely met his gaze. "The prophecies speak frequently of a particular mystical fire, or energy. That an "eternal flame" is the only way to halt the progress of Hell's conflagration. A fire specifically borne by two "great warriors", who are "bound by tears and blood."
Angel found himself awash in a sensation of half fear, half dread at the growing suspicious on what that Eternal Flame might be, and who were the bound two to bear it. There were, after all, no coincidences in his and Buffy's lives... or in their relationship with one another.
"I'm guessing they aren't referring to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," he murmured.
"No, I should say not," Wes agreed gently. "I think... Angel, it might be prudent for you to contact Buffy as soon as possible."
The vampire closed his eyes and nodded. "That's what I thought you were going to say."
~
The girls were exhausted. Buffy was starting to worry that their greatest enemy right now wasn't the monsters swarming the streets of LA, or time going all wonky, but rather all of them dropping dead from exhaustion. Even 187 Slayers didn't seem to be enough to keep things under control, lately. As much as she hated to admit it, they desperately needed help.
Wolfram & Hart sized help.
She knew what had to be done, but somehow... seeing Angel a few weeks ago, his dark eyes filled with weary sadness that only lightened the smallest bit when he looked at her, made it harder, rather than easier, to call him.
He obviously had a lot on his plate, running EvilCo., trying to change its mission statement from the inside. Taking on her problems could only make the tension she'd felt radiating off him, seen bunching his broad shoulders and snapping his usually long temper like a twig, worse. He already had the weight of several worlds on his back – how could she ask him to take on hers too?
Willow and Faith kept reminding her – theirs was the *same* world, the same sacred duty, and it was just Buffy's stubborn pride that kept her from admitting it and banding together with Angel, rather than spending all her really negligible energy devising excuses to avoid him and deny what those few hours spent together that night did to her heart.
And yeah, there was the pride thing, too. She'd made such a big show of needing to be independent... making it on her own... the last time they spoke. She pushed away the one love she knew would always be there for her, because she didn't want to admit – to him, herself, or anyone – that even all these years after he left her, she still needed him. Still wanted him in her life. Still dreamed of having him by her side. And she never felt quite... right without him there.
With all that had been going on then, she also hadn't been able to bear the thought of seeing him die... again. Plus not really having the time, energy, or desire to keep Angel and Spike from killing each other in the middle of Armageddon.
Spike... now there was a completely different complicated, painful topic she had totally sublimated. She did so now, too. It was after 11, and she just had too much work to do to waste time indulging in all her favorite maybes, should-I-haves and what-ifs.
A soft knock at her office door solved the problem for her. Willow didn't wait for an answer before she stepped inside.
"Hey, Buffy."
"Hey, Will. Did the girls get settled in okay?"
The redhead nodded as she sprawled out on the leather couch, crossing her arms over her face. She too was worn out from the events of the past two weeks of working non-stop directing their magickal operations, from enchanting weapons and shields to binding and protection spells and healing minor wounds.
"Angel called earlier," she announced in her best understated dramatic nonchalance, not taking her folded arms away from her face.
Buffy scowled. This wasn't exactly the distraction she'd been hoping for. "What'd he want?"
Willow opened one eye to focus on her best friend. "To talk to you. I told him you were sleeping. Which you're supposed to be."
"So are you," she Slayer snapped in reply.
"True. But I'm too wired from that last portal binding to sleep. Don't you want to know what he said?"
She carefully examined her nails. "Not particularly."
"Liar."
Buffy's head shot up. "Excuse me?"
Willow rolled onto her side and repeated very slowly, "Lie. Er. Come on Buffy. How long have I known you?"
Her best friend pouted fiercely at having her denial so thoroughly smashed, but didn't reply. The vice-headmistress of the Slayer School went on as though Buffy had said what her studied appearance was saying for her. "And I've known you and Angel as long as *you've* known you and Angel, haven't I?"
"Fine! I'm lying! You caught me!" Buffy cut her off with a bark, "Just... give me the message and go away already so I can get back to repressing. It's a delicate art form."
The witch grinned. "I didn't say he left a message."
Buffy rewarded her teasing with a withering glare.
"Okay, okay," Willow relented, "They've got more information about what's happening around here. Angel wants to meet with all of us as soon as possible. But he says he has to talk to you first."
The Slayer's eyes went wide in sudden fear. "Me? Alone? Why?"
"Buffy... you heard what the prophecy said: Great Warriors, Eternal Flame, Blood and Tears. That's sort of personal."
"Yeah, but... we both have lots of great warriors, and... the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier has an eternal flame, right? And there's blood... or... probably was... and tears. Definitely tears. That's not personal!"
Willow made her opinion of Buffy's desperate defiance tap-dance clear with a disapproving look.
The blonde jumped out of her chair. "I can't do this, Willow! I can't just forget the past six years and go, 'Oh, Hey, Angel. Long time no see. Say, can you help me out with this apocalypse? But let's keep it strictly business. No personal stuff.'"
"Why can't it be personal? Impending disaster and possibly horrible death is always personal, in my experience," her colleague reminded, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground. She had been reading the scroll, consulting with Wes and his assistants, and everyone concurred with regard to what the tacit meaning of the passages most likely was.
Definitely personal.
"Because! It's... it's too late, and it's too much!" Buffy cried, pacing the way she always did when she was upset. "Still! I see him, and all of a sudden I'm 16 again. I can't *be* 16 anymore, Willow. I have responsibilities! People who count on me. I can't afford to fall apart while I drool or cry or freak over my ex! I've been through too much for that to be okay. We've both been through so much apart..."
Watching her best friend rant and pace made Willow smile. It had been longer than she could remember since she'd seen Buffy so animated... so alive. Even if she was currently having a mini-psychotic break.
"Buffy, I hear what you're saying. I do. But... don't you think saving the world has to take priority over your Angel issues?"
Buffy slowly turned to look at her best friend, her fearful expression defeated. "I guess I don't really have a choice."
"Maybe it won't be so bad. I mean... you're both grown-ups. Oz and I have perfectly reasonable phone conversations all the time. And it's not like you'll be wandering around in cemeteries resisting the urge to grope instead of hunting vampires, right?"
"With us? Don't be so sure," Buffy sighed, and sank back into her chair.
"Do you want his number?'
"I already have it tattooed conveniently on my brain," she glared at the phone. "If this doesn't end up being the end of the world, it'll at least be the end of what little mental health I have left."
~
Angel had just finished venting some angst dusting a small nest of vampires not far from the office when his cell rang.
Glancing down at his watch, he found that it was barely midnight. Miles to go...
"Angel."
"Hey."
The soft, hesitant tone of Buffy's voice sent an unexpected shock vibrating through ever fiber of his being, to the point where he froze in the middle of dusting off his slacks, and said nothing in response.
"Hello?" Buffy called out after a silent moment. "Are you on a cell phone? Can you hear me? Angel! HELLO! Damn it."
He finally got it together and forced himself to stand up. "Sorry. I'm here."
"Where is here, a sewer or something? I thought with all that Wolfram & Hart technology, you'd at least have a decent cell phone," she teased. Then the silence quickly dominated once more. "So. Um... hi. Willow said you called?"
Angel made his way back to the main sewer junction, following it east to the subbasement of the W&H building.
"I did," he answered succinctly, still not quite positive where to go next with the conversation. Some small, childlike voice in the bottom of his long-dead heart cried, 'Meet me at the airport! I have a private jet! We can get the Hell out of here! There's so much to say and we've had so little time and *screw* the end of the world. Let it all get sucked into Hell, as long as we're together. I don't care any more!'
Naturally, he voiced none of that aloud.
"Ah. Okay. Good," she stammered. "So. Um... how are you?"
"Currently covered in several inches of vamp dust with an extra coating of sewer muck for accent," he forced himself to reply lightly, which was somewhere several counties away from what he was feeling.
"I'll take that as 'good'."
The silence returned, hanging heavy over the line for a moment. He reached the ladder to his building, and paused.
"How are you? I know you've been... busy," he finished lamely.
'Oh, good, dumbass. 'Busy'. That's like saying getting tortured by a Ryvar demon 'isn't fun'.
She laughed. The sound, though unquestionably tired, was like warm water flowing over his bruised soul. He leaned back against the ladder and let that magickal sound wash away what tension slaughtering eight vampires single-handed hadn't.
"Yup, busy, that's me, Mr. Understatement. But... we're all okay. Just in desperate need of a week in Maui or something. Since we've already done Disneyland."
"Glad to hear it. But I wasn't asking about your students," he clarified somewhat in opposition to his better judgment. He felt utterly unprepared to deal with this level of intimacy with her. But... as nerve-wracking and heart-wrenching as the process may be, if Wesley was right about the events they were to face, at least building a working relationship with Buffy was a necessary effort. Like therapy... involving the consumption of copious amounts of ground glass.
She sighed. "Right. Me? Oh, you know..."
At least she didn't seem to be having any easier a time of it. He turned and sprinted up the ladder, popping the cover off and springing into the hallway, then headed for the parking garage.
"I *don't* know. That's why I'm asking," he reminded her.
Buffy paused for a moment before she replied, "I don't know if I'm ready to do this, Angel. You or another apocalypse. Not that I equate the two."
"Of course not," he commented wryly, nodding to the security guards at the entrance to the garage as he entered. "I'm not entirely comfortable with it myself. But all the signs say..."
"We have to work together. I know." She took a deep breath, as though she was about to dive into some deep water. Which, he supposed, they both were. "I just don't have the first clue where to start."
Angel reached his small fleet of cars – the vast majority of which remained unused – and was shocked by the sight all over again. Who ever needed this many vehicles? Two Audis, two Maseratis, a Ferrari, three Mercedes, a BMW, an MG Spider, a modified Hum-V, a Land Rover, and two limousines. Ridiculous.
He hopped into the Belvedere, his old, reliable friend. Settling into the comfy leather seat, he forced himself to relax and focus on finding them some easier middle ground to meet on... somewhere far away from the millions of painful subjects their conversations tended to wander to.
"Well... why don't we start with the simple stuff? Like... what you've been dealing with since the Confluence began," he suggested. There. Shoptalk was simple.
She grabbed hold of the thought like a drowning woman thrown a life jacket. "Ooh! Good idea! Okay, um... Thursday there was this portal that opened in Iminy Square, and spilled out all these tiny rat demons..."
He started up the car as she began her report, listening to the now-lighter and easier tone of her voice as he made his way toward the Hyperion.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
~
TBC...
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