****
Chapter Five: "Gas and Flames"
****
The blood rushed to her head as Buffy thudded violently into the earth, and the momentum made her roll, briefly knocking the wind out of her.
Buffy forced herself to lift her head, and the demon's twisted, hulking face entered her line of sight. Before Buffy had the chance to come up with anything remotely witty, the demon backhanded her again, and she went skidding along the ground, sending waves of pain shooting up and down her spine. She cried out, face impacting with the putrid earth.
Talons ripped into her flesh, slicing into her like a dozen burning hot knives and wrenching her arm back behind her body, and she was launched headlong into the air. She landed on her stomach again, feeling something that felt suspiciously like one of her ribs snap.
*Great. And ow.*
She had no idea what this demon was, or what it wanted, but its assault on her went far beyond simple malice and she could feel the slick, hot blood sliding down her face already. She rolled on her back, cool night air fanning against her face, and the demon stared down at her. It grinned.
"Warrior".
Buffy scrambled backwards, staggering to her feet. "Uh, huh now?"
She drew up to her height, swinging her fist in what should have been an effective cross-punch. It met with solid flesh, tearing away the skin at her knuckles and crushing something inside her wrist.
Buffy opened her mouth, breathing fast, green eyes slowly travelling up the length of the towering demon. "Shit".
She launched a high roundhouse kick, expecting to at least catch it off balance. The demon barely batted an eyelid. It lifted a cloven fist, blocking the kick like you would a punch, and she staggered backward.
The demon's cold, amber eyes connected with hers, but it made no further move to attack. A kind of recognition filtered it its deadened gaze, and it leered, showing razors of sharp, glinting teeth. Buffy squirmed, overactive imagination imagining those teeth ripping into her flesh, and harsh shakes rattled through her breaths.
"L'deau an deur", the demon droned. She stared at it, again overcome with a consuming feel of paralysis, as it continued to speak in a language she had never heard. Considering her downtime spent with Willow and Giles – who had like a photographic memory of demonic languages – that was saying something.
"It is not yet flesh", he murmured in a low droll only she could hear. "It cannot save you. The Saviour will be light in this dimension and my swift hand shall snuff its flame."
It reared a solid, rock hard fist, and hit her. Buffy went flying again, knowing her body couldn't deal with this kind of damage even with her slayer capabilities, and the demon's menacing message echoed after her.
"The Death shall be our beginning. And it will be your ending, slayer."
Her shoulder cracked as it connected firmly with the solid roadway, and she collapsed, knowing when the final blow came, she would be defenceless to stop it.
It never did.
Her head was throbbing with agony she could barely imagine, and her gaze went bleary as she struggled to lift her head. Bright, uneven lights rushed past in front of her, accompanied by the loud shrieking of what she registered as brakes.
"*Buffy!*"
Buffy stared up at the starless, vast nothingness of the night sky, flat on her back. Her own shallow breaths echoed in her ears, as Angel's face appeared in her vision.
"Buffy!" he repeated forcibly. His gaze ticked over her, assessing her wellbeing, and his hands clasped her shoulders bitingly. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt?"
Buffy lifted a hand to her forehead, and her fingers came back sticky and wet. Then she remembered the all too constant danger, and scrambled to a sitting position, dizziness making her movements sluggish and sloppy. She had been lucky to get along this far alive. She could only imagine why the demon had spared her for now. "Angel, we have to go. The demon –"
"There's nothing here."
She glanced around, rocketing to her feet, and she swayed under the sharp movement to her head. Angel quickly steadied her. Buffy, remembering his earlier stinging words, shook his grip off, gaze furiously scanning around. She didn't have time to question what he was even doing there in the first place.
"Is Faith—?"
"Save the distress call, Summers".
Faith appeared, nursing her side with a look of pain. She glanced between them, then her eyes fixed on Buffy's and they were wary and narrowed.
"What the *hell* were you doing?" she demanded.
Buffy looked at her blankly, heart thundering from her close encounter. She knew Angel could hear it, but he said nothing.
"*What*?"
Faith waved a hand vaguely around them. "The demon, yo. What, were you mind melding or something?"
Buffy felt like choking her to talk some sense. "What are *talking* about?"
Faith wrenched her roughly by the hand, twisting her wrist so the back of her palm was visible to her face. "I'm talking about *this*".
Buffy stared blindly down at the blackened symbol etched onto her flesh, like some twisted tattoo inked in permanent marker. She pulled away from Faith, disbelieving to what she was seeing. "How... I don't remember how that got there."
"Well, it got there somehow. I'm thinking in the two and a half-minutes you and Rocky boy were off in space".
"It's the sign of the demon", Angel interrupted flatly.
Buffy frowned, looking up at him in search of a further explanation. "How the hell do you figure that?"
He pointed impatiently to the earth. "Because it's exactly the same as that one".
****
Angel seemed pretty fixated on a visit to the ER, but both slayers managed to persuade him against that movement. It would be kind of difficult to explain their presence at a major murder scene and the fact that they were the only survivors.
The rode in silence as Angel drove them back into the city, fully aware whatever connection Buffy had with the demon was a tangible threat.
Angel explained earlier that he had been by the hotel to seek them out, and discovered they had already checked out. He figured their next alternative had been the bus station, and made his own conclusions after he got there and realised their bus had already departed.
When they entered a classy, upscale Pasadena neighbourhood, Buffy and Faith's concerns and already healing injuries were temporarily forgotten, as their gazes were transfixed to the building Angel pulled the belvedere convertible smoothly in front of.
Faith whistled under her breath, admiring the building as Angel led them inside, and straight towards the elevator. He pulled out his cell phone on the way, and left Wesley a message to meet them there as soon as possible.
When the elevator doors opened, Buffy was momentarily struck dumb by the opulent, sprawling penthouse they entered, a far cry from Angel's last establishment – at least by what she had gathered from Willow's basic descriptions. The living room was open and classically decorated, reminding her more of the Angel she knew, than this frosty, impersonal one he seemed to have become.
Oriental Persian rugs decorated the hardwood floors, and paintings she knew to be by famous artists if she knew anything about Angel hung on the lightly toned, creamy coloured walls. A staircase curved from the living room, concealing behind it a kitchen niche, and leading to what she assumed to be a bedroom loft.
The colours were all very warm, traditional and inviting, and spoke clearly of a particular taste. She was struck with a distinct sense of familiarity and comfort, though she knew how ridiculous that was, because she had never been there before.
However, there was one thing out of place, and that was the rigidly poised, severe faced Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.
Faith cocked an eyebrow, glancing vaguely into the elevator as it closed behind them. "That was fast".
Buffy studied Wesley cautiously, unconsciously rubbing the grazes over her knuckles. She couldn't help thinking the man before them was a far cry from the pompous, full of himself watcher she remembered. He actually looked... good. Like, real good. The roguish, bad boy, Lex-Luther-helps-old-ladies- across-the-street-in -comparison description of good.
Wesley didn't look particularly amused, though he spared a brief expression of relief to see the slayers returned safely. "I'm glad Angel managed to find you in time".
"Just barely", Faith said flippantly, slumping onto the leather sofa and propping her feet up on the coffee table. Buffy didn't like to imagine what Faith's twenty-dollar Docs would do to the mahogany. "I think I popped a rib back there".
Wesley's pursed his lips. "I'm assuming there was an attack?"
Angel sighed, moving around the sofa to riffle in a drawer behind it. "I'd rather just not hear 'I told you so' right now if you could spare it, Wes."
Wesley looked annoyed, and folded his arms sternly. "I think things have progressed far beyond that stage", he snapped. "Fred managed to pick up on strange demonic activity on Wolfram and Hart's sensors on the highway leading out of town. I'll presume that was the place of your assault. The demon you encountered is far from normal. The evil energy was almost entirely pure."
Faith leant back. "That a bad thing?"
Wesley spared her a glance. "I would think so", he said deprecatingly. "Considering the demons that exist on this earth are never entirely pure in nature. I seem to remember an old boss of yours intent on becoming so".
Faith shifted uncomfortably, gaze shooting to the floor. "Yeah, well. Never really got the technicalities on that one. Busy bein' knocked off a roof an' all".
Buffy frowned, shifting from foot to foot, finding Wesley's attitude less- than-seemly. "But the Mayor had to ascend to become a pure demon. And he was like twenty feet high".
"That's what separates this demon from those who achieve ascension. For one, I don't think this one is of our world. Secondly... I don't think its creation was in the typical sense."
Angel tossed Buffy the first aid kit, barely taking his eyes away from Wesley. She felt a rush of annoyance. "How do you mean?" he demanded impatiently.
Wesley sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We discovered something else. The demonic activity we screened... was the *only* demonic activity".
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the vampires and demons of L.A. have skipped town", the watcher said flatly. "Permanently. Or at least aren't creating any kind of havoc that would track them on our radar."
Faith blew out a breath. "Damn. I thought blotting out the sun was radical."
"Well. Do you think you could give me a description of the demon? An account of what happened?"
Faith shrugged, looking up at Buffy cagily. "I'd like to help you out, I really would, but I kind of had a serious case of blackout to unaccount for at least five or six minutes of my life. If Wolfram and Hart can find me a way to get those back, by the way, I'd be super grateful. If you want to talk to someone about it, I'd go with Buffy."
Buffy chewed her lip, feeling awkward. *Thank you for making it sound so creepy, Faith*, she thought irritably.
Wesley glanced at her, unable to hide his curiosity. "Is that so?"
"It's not like Faith makes it sound", Buffy said uneasily, unravelling a bandage from the first aid kit if only to distract herself from their probing eyes.
Angel titled his eyebrows. "Because a demon sucking portions of your memory isn't at all serious."
Buffy shot him a dark look, unconsciously rubbing the black mark tattooed on the back of her hand.
*Thanks for being on my side here*, she thought, feeling slightly betrayed.
Wesley shifted his gaze to her palm, apparently noticing her sudden discomfort. "What is that?"
Buffy's green eyes darted downward, and she curled her wrist to her chest, reluctant to attract the sudden attention to it. "I... don't know", she said glumly.
"It's the same symbol the demon left marked on the wreckage", Angel said tersely. "I'm thinking it's a calling card of sorts."
"So what, Buffy's branded or somethin'?" Faith piped in mild amusement. Her smile faded when Wesley shrugged.
"I wouldn't mock. It's actually a feasible conclusion. Buffy, may I have a look?"
Buffy reluctantly forfeited her hand, and Wesley peered over it curiosity. His face blanched when he was able to study it.
"What?" Buffy said sharply.
Wesley hesitated, glancing to Angel in consternation.
Okay, Buffy thought carefully. Definite we-know-something-they-don't-know vibery.
Her hands flew to her hips, turning to Angel. He was the boss here, and though she had no compunction to fall under his order, Wesley clearly felt it was his place to give details. "Angel, what's going on? Tell me, or do we have to throw down".
A flicker in her eyes let her know he didn't doubt that threat.
"First Wesley", he said firmly. "What does the symbol mean?"
The watcher looked resentful to bare news that had the potential to throw a slayer off the handle, but spoke up slowly. "The symbol fits into to several prophecies Fred and I skimmed over in the Devandire codex. Ironically, I believe it may be the final piece in our mysterious jigsaw. The symbol is the calling card, as Angel so adequately put it, for a mystical figure called The Warrior. He is said to be summoned from the darkness and the very pits of the underworld, to bring forth the End of Days."
"Well what *is* he?" Faith asked bluntly, in no mood for Wesley's prancing around the topic. He was so much like Giles it was annoying, and kind of spooky.
"He is the underworld's appointed Warrior", Wesley explained impatiently. "Just as the Slayer – or slayers as it is now – are examples for the Powers of Good. The Warrior exists for only one primal purpose. He is an assassin for the powers of darkness. His bounty... is warriors for the Powers that Be."
Buffy stared at him lengthily. "Meaning us?"
Wesley sighed. "Meaning all you".
A dark frown hooded Angel's face as a question nagged at him. "So... why didn't he kill her?"
****
Buffy sat on the floor, Indian-style over the beige carpet probably so expensive it could have paid off her sister's college tuition. She leant against the couch base, studying her broken knuckles with intensity.
*Why didn't he kill her?*
Angel's nonplussed, chary words echoed in her ears. Why had she been spared? Wesley, for all his good with prophecies and gloom, could offer no logical explanation, and the endless sprawl of theories clouded in her brain and threatened to spill over. She was a warrior. Right? Or had her freedom from her duty isolated her in a completely other, unique category from her sister slayers? She was their first, and last.
*Does that make me different?*
Her preoccupation didn't allow her to hear the approach until Angel's voice broke the silence. "Buffy, what are you doing?"
She glanced up, seeing him standing in the open doorway. He was clad simply in low slung black pyjama pants and an unbuttoned, black shirt, and she unconsciously drew in her breath at the sight of his pale naked chest, alight in the outside lamplight shining through the window. The tips of her fingers fairly tingled, and she avoided her eyes, gaze drawn back to her raw red knuckles and the symbol etched permanently on the back of her right palm. No amount of scrubbing could remove it, even after Wesley deemed it safe once he had copied it into his notebook.
It was an ugly, stark reminder of her encounter, and the invasion of her memory and mind.
She ran her tongue lightly over her parched lips; blonde locks falling over her features. "Faith's a kicker. I couldn't sleep".
They had already checked out of the Sun Inn that afternoon, and Buffy's credit card was maxed out. Angel's place was the viable alternative, though now as she considered it, she wondered if that was really such a great solution. Angel had forfeited his room and his bed to the slayers, and retreated to the spare bedroom downstairs he kept whenever an AI member had to pull an all-nighter on the research. Wesley had left a few hours ago, and she doubted the watcher had slept even then. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the End of Days prophecy, and claimed an urgent need for W&H's resources before fleeing the penthouse.
Buffy wasn't the only one to be unnerved by the Warrior's arrival, nor would she be the last.
Angel's eyes unconsciously followed the direction of her gaze, and he noticed the state of her knuckles with a sharp intake of breath. "Jesus, Buffy, what have you done?"
He moved closer, and she flinched, straightening so she was on her feet. "I'm fine", she said unconvincingly. "I don't need you to worry about me".
Angel couldn't miss the double entente, and ran a hand through his already sleep-rumpled hair, stepping away tiredly. "I'm sorry", he said wearily. "I was out of line earlier."
"No, you weren't".
She increased the distance between them, moving around the coffee table and slumping into a plump, old-fashioned armchair that somehow looked out of place with its otherwise expensive benefactors. "I should apologise for what I said because you were right. I don't know you, or why you chose to get involved with Wolfram and Hart. But I'm not going to pretend to understand it. I don't see anything being worth that kind of sacrifice."
Angel pursed his lips stoically. "Then you've obviously never encountered the problem".
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but let it go. She was too exhausted to argue, and she knew he was just as unlikely to back down. She reached for the first aid kit she had abandoned earlier on the table, and removed a tube of antiseptic cream.
She fumbled with the opening; unable to admit to herself how severe the pain in her hands really was. After a while she heard Angel heave an impatient sigh, and sit down on the coffee table in front of her, grabbing the cream from her grasp.
They sat in silence for a while, as Angel opened the tiny tubing and waited patiently for her to hold out her hands. Buffy did so reluctantly, allowing him to rub the cool, soothing ointment into her skin. His fingers travelled in slow, lazy circles, tingling over her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the pain.
Buffy felt his warm, darkened gaze probing into her before she looked up, able to read through him easily, despite his so-called nondescript mask. "You think this means something bad, don't you?" she said sharply.
He didn't flinch away from her scrutiny, furrowing his brow stubbornly. "I never said—"
She snatched away her hands, curling into the seat protectively. "You were thinking it. And why wouldn't you? What other reason did he have to spare me? Warriors for the Powers that Be. That's what I am, isn't it? I'm still a slayer. I'm supposed to be a target. Why didn't he kill me?"
"He didn't kill Faith", Angel pointed out gently.
Buffy was blindsighted to anything but her fears. "He could have thought she was dead. And it doesn't change the fact that I'm the bearer of a nifty new tattoo that somehow says to everyone 'watch out, she's branded by that psycho'. I want to know what it means, Angel. If something's about to happen to me, I want to know what it is".
Angel met her gaze, nodding slightly. "I'll put everyone on it tomorrow. Wesley's already looking into it. It won't be long before we know." He hesitated, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Buffy... Faith said the demon spoke to you. Do you remember anything it said? Anything that might give us a clue."
Buffy's gaze darted up. "I do... remember something", she said haltingly. "The demon... he said something about a Saviour. The Saviour. I'm not sure, exactly." She met his gaze. "He said that we can't be saved, and it won't save us. That it wasn't... flesh yet. Or something."
She rocked back in the chair, excitement already waning. "I don't know, Angel. I can't remember."
"It's okay", he assured her, reaching out to brush lightly against her cheek. "We'll figure it out."
His resolve to push her away was becoming more difficult, and he could see that she, as unintentionally as she could, was already breaking away his barriers. He quickly raised to his feet, returning his hand to his side, tone instantly adopting a more clipped, businesslike edge.
"You should get some sleep", he said abruptly. "We'll go to the office tomorrow. Hopefully Wesley will have some news by then".
*Oh-kay.* He started back out of the room, leaving Buffy feeling very dumb and confused, and staring after his heady departure. He was almost... afraid of something.
She muttered unintelligibly under her breath, stinging from this apparent rejection. "Well goodnight to you too".
****
TBC
Chapter Five: "Gas and Flames"
****
The blood rushed to her head as Buffy thudded violently into the earth, and the momentum made her roll, briefly knocking the wind out of her.
Buffy forced herself to lift her head, and the demon's twisted, hulking face entered her line of sight. Before Buffy had the chance to come up with anything remotely witty, the demon backhanded her again, and she went skidding along the ground, sending waves of pain shooting up and down her spine. She cried out, face impacting with the putrid earth.
Talons ripped into her flesh, slicing into her like a dozen burning hot knives and wrenching her arm back behind her body, and she was launched headlong into the air. She landed on her stomach again, feeling something that felt suspiciously like one of her ribs snap.
*Great. And ow.*
She had no idea what this demon was, or what it wanted, but its assault on her went far beyond simple malice and she could feel the slick, hot blood sliding down her face already. She rolled on her back, cool night air fanning against her face, and the demon stared down at her. It grinned.
"Warrior".
Buffy scrambled backwards, staggering to her feet. "Uh, huh now?"
She drew up to her height, swinging her fist in what should have been an effective cross-punch. It met with solid flesh, tearing away the skin at her knuckles and crushing something inside her wrist.
Buffy opened her mouth, breathing fast, green eyes slowly travelling up the length of the towering demon. "Shit".
She launched a high roundhouse kick, expecting to at least catch it off balance. The demon barely batted an eyelid. It lifted a cloven fist, blocking the kick like you would a punch, and she staggered backward.
The demon's cold, amber eyes connected with hers, but it made no further move to attack. A kind of recognition filtered it its deadened gaze, and it leered, showing razors of sharp, glinting teeth. Buffy squirmed, overactive imagination imagining those teeth ripping into her flesh, and harsh shakes rattled through her breaths.
"L'deau an deur", the demon droned. She stared at it, again overcome with a consuming feel of paralysis, as it continued to speak in a language she had never heard. Considering her downtime spent with Willow and Giles – who had like a photographic memory of demonic languages – that was saying something.
"It is not yet flesh", he murmured in a low droll only she could hear. "It cannot save you. The Saviour will be light in this dimension and my swift hand shall snuff its flame."
It reared a solid, rock hard fist, and hit her. Buffy went flying again, knowing her body couldn't deal with this kind of damage even with her slayer capabilities, and the demon's menacing message echoed after her.
"The Death shall be our beginning. And it will be your ending, slayer."
Her shoulder cracked as it connected firmly with the solid roadway, and she collapsed, knowing when the final blow came, she would be defenceless to stop it.
It never did.
Her head was throbbing with agony she could barely imagine, and her gaze went bleary as she struggled to lift her head. Bright, uneven lights rushed past in front of her, accompanied by the loud shrieking of what she registered as brakes.
"*Buffy!*"
Buffy stared up at the starless, vast nothingness of the night sky, flat on her back. Her own shallow breaths echoed in her ears, as Angel's face appeared in her vision.
"Buffy!" he repeated forcibly. His gaze ticked over her, assessing her wellbeing, and his hands clasped her shoulders bitingly. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt?"
Buffy lifted a hand to her forehead, and her fingers came back sticky and wet. Then she remembered the all too constant danger, and scrambled to a sitting position, dizziness making her movements sluggish and sloppy. She had been lucky to get along this far alive. She could only imagine why the demon had spared her for now. "Angel, we have to go. The demon –"
"There's nothing here."
She glanced around, rocketing to her feet, and she swayed under the sharp movement to her head. Angel quickly steadied her. Buffy, remembering his earlier stinging words, shook his grip off, gaze furiously scanning around. She didn't have time to question what he was even doing there in the first place.
"Is Faith—?"
"Save the distress call, Summers".
Faith appeared, nursing her side with a look of pain. She glanced between them, then her eyes fixed on Buffy's and they were wary and narrowed.
"What the *hell* were you doing?" she demanded.
Buffy looked at her blankly, heart thundering from her close encounter. She knew Angel could hear it, but he said nothing.
"*What*?"
Faith waved a hand vaguely around them. "The demon, yo. What, were you mind melding or something?"
Buffy felt like choking her to talk some sense. "What are *talking* about?"
Faith wrenched her roughly by the hand, twisting her wrist so the back of her palm was visible to her face. "I'm talking about *this*".
Buffy stared blindly down at the blackened symbol etched onto her flesh, like some twisted tattoo inked in permanent marker. She pulled away from Faith, disbelieving to what she was seeing. "How... I don't remember how that got there."
"Well, it got there somehow. I'm thinking in the two and a half-minutes you and Rocky boy were off in space".
"It's the sign of the demon", Angel interrupted flatly.
Buffy frowned, looking up at him in search of a further explanation. "How the hell do you figure that?"
He pointed impatiently to the earth. "Because it's exactly the same as that one".
****
Angel seemed pretty fixated on a visit to the ER, but both slayers managed to persuade him against that movement. It would be kind of difficult to explain their presence at a major murder scene and the fact that they were the only survivors.
The rode in silence as Angel drove them back into the city, fully aware whatever connection Buffy had with the demon was a tangible threat.
Angel explained earlier that he had been by the hotel to seek them out, and discovered they had already checked out. He figured their next alternative had been the bus station, and made his own conclusions after he got there and realised their bus had already departed.
When they entered a classy, upscale Pasadena neighbourhood, Buffy and Faith's concerns and already healing injuries were temporarily forgotten, as their gazes were transfixed to the building Angel pulled the belvedere convertible smoothly in front of.
Faith whistled under her breath, admiring the building as Angel led them inside, and straight towards the elevator. He pulled out his cell phone on the way, and left Wesley a message to meet them there as soon as possible.
When the elevator doors opened, Buffy was momentarily struck dumb by the opulent, sprawling penthouse they entered, a far cry from Angel's last establishment – at least by what she had gathered from Willow's basic descriptions. The living room was open and classically decorated, reminding her more of the Angel she knew, than this frosty, impersonal one he seemed to have become.
Oriental Persian rugs decorated the hardwood floors, and paintings she knew to be by famous artists if she knew anything about Angel hung on the lightly toned, creamy coloured walls. A staircase curved from the living room, concealing behind it a kitchen niche, and leading to what she assumed to be a bedroom loft.
The colours were all very warm, traditional and inviting, and spoke clearly of a particular taste. She was struck with a distinct sense of familiarity and comfort, though she knew how ridiculous that was, because she had never been there before.
However, there was one thing out of place, and that was the rigidly poised, severe faced Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.
Faith cocked an eyebrow, glancing vaguely into the elevator as it closed behind them. "That was fast".
Buffy studied Wesley cautiously, unconsciously rubbing the grazes over her knuckles. She couldn't help thinking the man before them was a far cry from the pompous, full of himself watcher she remembered. He actually looked... good. Like, real good. The roguish, bad boy, Lex-Luther-helps-old-ladies- across-the-street-in -comparison description of good.
Wesley didn't look particularly amused, though he spared a brief expression of relief to see the slayers returned safely. "I'm glad Angel managed to find you in time".
"Just barely", Faith said flippantly, slumping onto the leather sofa and propping her feet up on the coffee table. Buffy didn't like to imagine what Faith's twenty-dollar Docs would do to the mahogany. "I think I popped a rib back there".
Wesley's pursed his lips. "I'm assuming there was an attack?"
Angel sighed, moving around the sofa to riffle in a drawer behind it. "I'd rather just not hear 'I told you so' right now if you could spare it, Wes."
Wesley looked annoyed, and folded his arms sternly. "I think things have progressed far beyond that stage", he snapped. "Fred managed to pick up on strange demonic activity on Wolfram and Hart's sensors on the highway leading out of town. I'll presume that was the place of your assault. The demon you encountered is far from normal. The evil energy was almost entirely pure."
Faith leant back. "That a bad thing?"
Wesley spared her a glance. "I would think so", he said deprecatingly. "Considering the demons that exist on this earth are never entirely pure in nature. I seem to remember an old boss of yours intent on becoming so".
Faith shifted uncomfortably, gaze shooting to the floor. "Yeah, well. Never really got the technicalities on that one. Busy bein' knocked off a roof an' all".
Buffy frowned, shifting from foot to foot, finding Wesley's attitude less- than-seemly. "But the Mayor had to ascend to become a pure demon. And he was like twenty feet high".
"That's what separates this demon from those who achieve ascension. For one, I don't think this one is of our world. Secondly... I don't think its creation was in the typical sense."
Angel tossed Buffy the first aid kit, barely taking his eyes away from Wesley. She felt a rush of annoyance. "How do you mean?" he demanded impatiently.
Wesley sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We discovered something else. The demonic activity we screened... was the *only* demonic activity".
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the vampires and demons of L.A. have skipped town", the watcher said flatly. "Permanently. Or at least aren't creating any kind of havoc that would track them on our radar."
Faith blew out a breath. "Damn. I thought blotting out the sun was radical."
"Well. Do you think you could give me a description of the demon? An account of what happened?"
Faith shrugged, looking up at Buffy cagily. "I'd like to help you out, I really would, but I kind of had a serious case of blackout to unaccount for at least five or six minutes of my life. If Wolfram and Hart can find me a way to get those back, by the way, I'd be super grateful. If you want to talk to someone about it, I'd go with Buffy."
Buffy chewed her lip, feeling awkward. *Thank you for making it sound so creepy, Faith*, she thought irritably.
Wesley glanced at her, unable to hide his curiosity. "Is that so?"
"It's not like Faith makes it sound", Buffy said uneasily, unravelling a bandage from the first aid kit if only to distract herself from their probing eyes.
Angel titled his eyebrows. "Because a demon sucking portions of your memory isn't at all serious."
Buffy shot him a dark look, unconsciously rubbing the black mark tattooed on the back of her hand.
*Thanks for being on my side here*, she thought, feeling slightly betrayed.
Wesley shifted his gaze to her palm, apparently noticing her sudden discomfort. "What is that?"
Buffy's green eyes darted downward, and she curled her wrist to her chest, reluctant to attract the sudden attention to it. "I... don't know", she said glumly.
"It's the same symbol the demon left marked on the wreckage", Angel said tersely. "I'm thinking it's a calling card of sorts."
"So what, Buffy's branded or somethin'?" Faith piped in mild amusement. Her smile faded when Wesley shrugged.
"I wouldn't mock. It's actually a feasible conclusion. Buffy, may I have a look?"
Buffy reluctantly forfeited her hand, and Wesley peered over it curiosity. His face blanched when he was able to study it.
"What?" Buffy said sharply.
Wesley hesitated, glancing to Angel in consternation.
Okay, Buffy thought carefully. Definite we-know-something-they-don't-know vibery.
Her hands flew to her hips, turning to Angel. He was the boss here, and though she had no compunction to fall under his order, Wesley clearly felt it was his place to give details. "Angel, what's going on? Tell me, or do we have to throw down".
A flicker in her eyes let her know he didn't doubt that threat.
"First Wesley", he said firmly. "What does the symbol mean?"
The watcher looked resentful to bare news that had the potential to throw a slayer off the handle, but spoke up slowly. "The symbol fits into to several prophecies Fred and I skimmed over in the Devandire codex. Ironically, I believe it may be the final piece in our mysterious jigsaw. The symbol is the calling card, as Angel so adequately put it, for a mystical figure called The Warrior. He is said to be summoned from the darkness and the very pits of the underworld, to bring forth the End of Days."
"Well what *is* he?" Faith asked bluntly, in no mood for Wesley's prancing around the topic. He was so much like Giles it was annoying, and kind of spooky.
"He is the underworld's appointed Warrior", Wesley explained impatiently. "Just as the Slayer – or slayers as it is now – are examples for the Powers of Good. The Warrior exists for only one primal purpose. He is an assassin for the powers of darkness. His bounty... is warriors for the Powers that Be."
Buffy stared at him lengthily. "Meaning us?"
Wesley sighed. "Meaning all you".
A dark frown hooded Angel's face as a question nagged at him. "So... why didn't he kill her?"
****
Buffy sat on the floor, Indian-style over the beige carpet probably so expensive it could have paid off her sister's college tuition. She leant against the couch base, studying her broken knuckles with intensity.
*Why didn't he kill her?*
Angel's nonplussed, chary words echoed in her ears. Why had she been spared? Wesley, for all his good with prophecies and gloom, could offer no logical explanation, and the endless sprawl of theories clouded in her brain and threatened to spill over. She was a warrior. Right? Or had her freedom from her duty isolated her in a completely other, unique category from her sister slayers? She was their first, and last.
*Does that make me different?*
Her preoccupation didn't allow her to hear the approach until Angel's voice broke the silence. "Buffy, what are you doing?"
She glanced up, seeing him standing in the open doorway. He was clad simply in low slung black pyjama pants and an unbuttoned, black shirt, and she unconsciously drew in her breath at the sight of his pale naked chest, alight in the outside lamplight shining through the window. The tips of her fingers fairly tingled, and she avoided her eyes, gaze drawn back to her raw red knuckles and the symbol etched permanently on the back of her right palm. No amount of scrubbing could remove it, even after Wesley deemed it safe once he had copied it into his notebook.
It was an ugly, stark reminder of her encounter, and the invasion of her memory and mind.
She ran her tongue lightly over her parched lips; blonde locks falling over her features. "Faith's a kicker. I couldn't sleep".
They had already checked out of the Sun Inn that afternoon, and Buffy's credit card was maxed out. Angel's place was the viable alternative, though now as she considered it, she wondered if that was really such a great solution. Angel had forfeited his room and his bed to the slayers, and retreated to the spare bedroom downstairs he kept whenever an AI member had to pull an all-nighter on the research. Wesley had left a few hours ago, and she doubted the watcher had slept even then. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the End of Days prophecy, and claimed an urgent need for W&H's resources before fleeing the penthouse.
Buffy wasn't the only one to be unnerved by the Warrior's arrival, nor would she be the last.
Angel's eyes unconsciously followed the direction of her gaze, and he noticed the state of her knuckles with a sharp intake of breath. "Jesus, Buffy, what have you done?"
He moved closer, and she flinched, straightening so she was on her feet. "I'm fine", she said unconvincingly. "I don't need you to worry about me".
Angel couldn't miss the double entente, and ran a hand through his already sleep-rumpled hair, stepping away tiredly. "I'm sorry", he said wearily. "I was out of line earlier."
"No, you weren't".
She increased the distance between them, moving around the coffee table and slumping into a plump, old-fashioned armchair that somehow looked out of place with its otherwise expensive benefactors. "I should apologise for what I said because you were right. I don't know you, or why you chose to get involved with Wolfram and Hart. But I'm not going to pretend to understand it. I don't see anything being worth that kind of sacrifice."
Angel pursed his lips stoically. "Then you've obviously never encountered the problem".
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but let it go. She was too exhausted to argue, and she knew he was just as unlikely to back down. She reached for the first aid kit she had abandoned earlier on the table, and removed a tube of antiseptic cream.
She fumbled with the opening; unable to admit to herself how severe the pain in her hands really was. After a while she heard Angel heave an impatient sigh, and sit down on the coffee table in front of her, grabbing the cream from her grasp.
They sat in silence for a while, as Angel opened the tiny tubing and waited patiently for her to hold out her hands. Buffy did so reluctantly, allowing him to rub the cool, soothing ointment into her skin. His fingers travelled in slow, lazy circles, tingling over her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the pain.
Buffy felt his warm, darkened gaze probing into her before she looked up, able to read through him easily, despite his so-called nondescript mask. "You think this means something bad, don't you?" she said sharply.
He didn't flinch away from her scrutiny, furrowing his brow stubbornly. "I never said—"
She snatched away her hands, curling into the seat protectively. "You were thinking it. And why wouldn't you? What other reason did he have to spare me? Warriors for the Powers that Be. That's what I am, isn't it? I'm still a slayer. I'm supposed to be a target. Why didn't he kill me?"
"He didn't kill Faith", Angel pointed out gently.
Buffy was blindsighted to anything but her fears. "He could have thought she was dead. And it doesn't change the fact that I'm the bearer of a nifty new tattoo that somehow says to everyone 'watch out, she's branded by that psycho'. I want to know what it means, Angel. If something's about to happen to me, I want to know what it is".
Angel met her gaze, nodding slightly. "I'll put everyone on it tomorrow. Wesley's already looking into it. It won't be long before we know." He hesitated, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Buffy... Faith said the demon spoke to you. Do you remember anything it said? Anything that might give us a clue."
Buffy's gaze darted up. "I do... remember something", she said haltingly. "The demon... he said something about a Saviour. The Saviour. I'm not sure, exactly." She met his gaze. "He said that we can't be saved, and it won't save us. That it wasn't... flesh yet. Or something."
She rocked back in the chair, excitement already waning. "I don't know, Angel. I can't remember."
"It's okay", he assured her, reaching out to brush lightly against her cheek. "We'll figure it out."
His resolve to push her away was becoming more difficult, and he could see that she, as unintentionally as she could, was already breaking away his barriers. He quickly raised to his feet, returning his hand to his side, tone instantly adopting a more clipped, businesslike edge.
"You should get some sleep", he said abruptly. "We'll go to the office tomorrow. Hopefully Wesley will have some news by then".
*Oh-kay.* He started back out of the room, leaving Buffy feeling very dumb and confused, and staring after his heady departure. He was almost... afraid of something.
She muttered unintelligibly under her breath, stinging from this apparent rejection. "Well goodnight to you too".
****
TBC