Chapter 9: Guilt

Author's thanks at end.

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'A prayer is not the road to salvation'

X

Angel bowed his head and felt his lips brush against Buffy's, uncertainly at first, questioningly, but then her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer and he leaned in, deepening the kiss. She smelled of summer rain and roses and early mornings in spring and he could feel the beat of her heart against his own, impassive chest. One of her hands ruffled through his hair, applying pressure to the back of his neck, and she snuggled closer to him, her lips softly, slowly, caressing his.

Then the door was flung open and they flew apart as if they had been electrified. His hip refused to support his weight and he collapsed across the bed. Wesley was standing in the door, too concerned about something to grasp what he had just interrupted.

'Kennedy just called. Helhesten went to their home, so Xander and Willow have left to pick her up.'

The light from the corridor fell across Buffy's face and Angel could see her pale. 'Oh God! I – I should have gone with them -'

Wesley saw her agitation. 'To do what?' he pointed out. 'Mr Giles and I have so far had no luck whatsoever in unearthing any kind of clues as to how this demon might be destroyed, and as you and Angel experienced tonight, ordinary weapons appear to have a limited effect on it.'

'If any at all,' Buffy muttered inattentively. The butterflies in her stomach were still doing their energetic jig with no intensions of calming down. She had kissed Angel, and it had felt like the right thing to do, felt natural.

She had kissed Angel. Again, one might like to add. Especially if one was Xander but considering he was away on a rescue mission, he had never to know.

A rescue mission, by the way, she ought to have been a commanding member of.

On the bed Angel was sitting up again following his stunt, which could have been extremely comical had the situation not been so dire. Buffy stepped closer to Wesley, who, judging by the expression on his face, was beginning to work something out. 'I have to talk to Giles,' she said, pushing Wesley out of the room. After a last glance at Angel who had not moved but was watching her intently, she followed the former Watcher downstairs.

x

Willow did not say anything as she sat at the table, her eyes staring emptily at nothing. She had cried; Buffy knew it even without seeing the redness around the dark and lifeless pupils. The colour of her skin was only matched by Xander's stone-face, and he too sat motionless, his breathing coming in short wheezy gasps.

First Anya and now this. Buffy wondered how much more he could take before he broke down completely. It was not his fault, and she had kept repeating those words until she felt, he at least began to doubt he was solely to blame for Kennedy's death.

But it was for Willow she worried. Xander had a natural optimism that would always see him through it in the end. Willow, on the other hand, thought too much and she needed someone to share the darkness and the fear with when Buffy could not be there. Someone who could stem the flow of fear and anger, all the pent-up emotions she was always trying so hard to hide. And now the ones Willow opened up to, trusted with the danger and the responsibility, were being picked off one by one, and they could do nothing but watch a cold mask of stone slip across their friend's face.

Giles was pale too, but his eyes shone with a fire, a glint that bordered on insanity. He said nothing but his fingers whizzed down the musty pages, pausing briefly at certain words and passages, which he copied into the small notebook beside him. Wesley and Angel were working through thick volumes with black leather-bound backs, frantically, unremitting, searching for the vital information that was nowhere to be found. The vampire blamed himself, Buffy knew it, could see it in his dark eyes as they skipped from passage to passage, never remaining in one place long enough to pause.

Buffy placed a mug before Xander and Willow, the latter never moving, but Xander shot her half-hearted attempt at a grin. Points for effort, though it came out more like a pained grimace. Buffy walked up to her friend and flung her arms around her in a slow, comforting hug. Underneath her arms, Willow's body tensed, but her head tilted to rest against Buffy's chest. Neither of them spoke; they did not need words to express what they thought and felt, and slowly Willow's rigid muscles relaxed in Buffy's embrace.

Buffy carefully pulled free and sat down beside the redhead, offering her a sad smile.

It was mid-day but the room was dark due to the thick curtains and rugs they had arranged before the windows to allow Angel to lend a hand researching; only a single window to the right of the couch had gone uncovered to allow a strip of sunlight to slip into the room along with a breath of fresh air. Or at least that had been the argument for opening it, but considering it was 32degreesCelcius outside with no wind and nothing but a stench of burned rubber coming through from the street, it was all pretty pointless.

Buffy decided to break the strained silence.

'Listen guys.' Five pale faces were turned her way. She took a deep breath and looked at Xander and Willow. 'I'm sorry but I think I'm going to ask you guys to skip town for a couple of days.' She felt herself pull a face as the words left her mouth; she was pretty sure she could predict their reaction.

And true enough:

'No, Buff, you can't do that!' Xander sat up straighter, an uncertain grin spreading across his face.

'If I'm to kill this thing, I can't be worrying about your safety at the same time,' Buffy argued.

Xander's expression was half-way between hurt and indignation. 'We're not dumb, unknowing teenagers anymore. Now we're dumb, slightly-more-knowing mature young people. We can totally do this thing!' Buffy could not help but admire his tireless attempts at cheerfulness, even if they all failed miserably.

Giles cleared his throat. 'I – I think I can see the reasons behind Buffy's suggestion -'

Xander cut him off. 'I don't want to sit around and wait while you give this damn thing hell,' he said brashly. 'And you don't know – you might need a witch before this is over.' He placed a reassuring arm around Willow's shoulders and Buffy was relieved to see that the distant expression on her friend's face had softened somewhat.

Giles had opened his mouth to object further when Willow spoke:

'I don't want to leave,' she said quietly.

Buffy shot her a concerned look. 'Will, maybe you shouldn't...'

The chair clattered to the floor as Willow jumped to her feet. Her stone-face had been replaced by a mask of fury. 'Shut up! I'm not going to loose control, okay? I know why you want me out of here: you're afraid I'm going to do something stupid and dangerous that could put us all in danger! And I'm not going to say I can control this thing because I know I can't, I can't do anything, so you can rest easily; Stupid Willow is not going to do something stupid like she always does!'

Buffy struggled to find her voice. 'No, Will, that – that wasn't -'

'So stop treating me like a child! Friends trust each other!' Her voice was shrill and her eyes had gone glossy. Buffy stood up so their eyes were level, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

'I do trust you, Will, and you know it. I'm sorry, but I can't protect you from this thing, and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you... just like I won't ever forgive myself...for...what happened to Kennedy.'

Willow's shoulders trembled as quiet sobs shook her body and immediately Xander was by her side, his arms enclosing her shoulders in a calming embrace. Buffy could not hold her eyes up and her gaze dropped to the floor between her feet, as she sat back down in her chair. Willow's erratic breathing was loud in the strained silence of the room, and the only other sound was the occasional 'schh' and 'it's okay' from Xander.

She looked up as he spoke.

'Can we borrow your room?'

Buffy met his eyes and nodded.

'Thanks,' he mumbled and still with his hands on Willow's shoulders, he turned and led her to the staircase, which they mounted in silence.

A loud slam made Buffy jump in her seat and her gaze darted to the table, where Giles had slammed his book shut and was covering his face with his hands. Three chairs away Angel was staring stiffly at the table's smooth surface, his shoulders tense and his hands curled into fists. Wesley was turning page after page, his head bowed, until he suddenly sat up straighter with a triumphant: 'Ah!'

Buffy got to her feet. She was finding it hard to stand or sit still for longer periods of time. 'You've found something?'

Wesley cleared his throat and the hands slowly disappeared from Giles' face, as he looked up. 'Yes.' Wesley began to read from the book, his finger trailing the passages as his eyes passed over them. 'An old, drunken man met Helhesten outside a pub once and rode it home. He tethered it outside his door and fed it a bowl of oats, and when he woke up the next day there was nothing left of it but a shaving.'

Buffy stared incredulously at him. 'He didn't notice it didn't have a head?'

'Well,' Wesley said. 'He was drunk, but he lived to tell the tale.'

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. 'Your point being?'

'My point being there are ways to escape it,' Wes said.

'That's very nice, but I don't want to escape it, I want to kill it.'

'A shaving?' Giles was watching Wesley with a soft ridge between his brows. 'That's quite peculiar, isn't it? Was it the daylight that hurt it?'

A chair creaked as Angel sat up straighter, blinking. 'All the murders...they occurred after sunset. But I don't think it's because it shuns the daylight as such.' Angel lowered his eyes, avoiding Wesley and Giles' staring, as he fiddled nervously with the book before him. 'When Buffy and I ran into it this evening...' he trailed off and changed his approach. His gaze snapped up, his dark eyes drilling into hers. 'It was slow when it walked, wasn't it?'

Buffy was about to point out that it had moved quite quickly when it charged at her, when Angel spoke again, cutting her off.

'It was slow and laborious until its body was enveloped in shadow; it could move from shadow to shadow, not in physical form, but as a shadow itself.'

Giles leant back in his chair, a mesmerized expression on his face, and his eyes were wide in realization. 'Of course,' he whispered, 'But of course!' His voice took on the rich tone he used when he recited. ''And thou shalt tread the darkness and never see the light and shadows shall crown thee king.''

Buffy wondered whether she was the only one stuck in no man's land by this. 'Giles, explain.'

'Um, yes, sorry. I read it in the book but – um - assumed it to be a figure of speech rather...rather than the plain truth.'

'So it thrives in the darkness of the night,' Angel said, 'where the shadows are deeper and it can move with a greater freedom.'

'So, what? We attack it during the day where it can't move as quickly?' Buffy glared expectantly at Wesley, but it was Angel who replied.

'That would seem like the best strategy, yes.'

'With what?' she snapped.

Giles tilted his head. 'I'm – I'm sorry?'

'With what? What weapons do we attack it with? It was not because Angel and I had the greatest success rate on our last field trip.' But even as she said a thought sprung to life within her mind. 'The sword...' she mumbled inaudibly. Angel was looking at her and she knew he had heard her. 'The sword,' she said, louder this time. 'It recoiled for the sword.'

Wesley looked up. 'It did?'

'Yes,' Angel confirmed. 'It did. I think I broke its jaw.'

Giles leant forward in his chair. 'An ethereal being that was actually hurt by a physical weapon?' There was doubt in his voice but also something else, something lighter, tenser. Hope.

And that was something you could always trust Angel to spoil.

'No,' he said slowly, arduously, as though he was suddenly finding it hard to speak. 'It retreated for the weapon. It connected with its face and forced it back and I stabbed it through the neck. It stiffened, became still. I thought I killed it.'

Buffy suddenly noticed she had frozen in the middle of the floor. Angel's eyes found hers as if he was relating this to her and no one else.

'I hadn't. It burned the sword up. The blade glowed white-hot before it shattered with the strain and clattered to the floor in shards.'

Wesley's eyebrows shot upward at this, though it was in surprise rather than disbelief. 'If the weapon couldn't hurt it, why would it retreat for it?'

Giles were cleaning his glasses, and his face looked strangely tired and vulnerable without the accustomed steel frame resting upon the bridge of his nose. 'That is a good question.'

Wesley slammed the book before him shut before reaching for another. 'I was rather hoping you were going to answer it.'

'But it could hurt it, couldn't it?' Buffy stared at the three before her. 'I mean, technically a broken jaw does qualify as physical damage.'

Giles tired face met her eyes. 'Which sword was this?'

Buffy flung out her arms, gesturing as if to further her description of the weapon. 'A regular broad sword with two edges. We've got two more of them; I just snatched the one with the best balanced blade.'

'Which rules out mythical means as being the only way to hurt the demon,' Wesley said.

'And that is a good thing,' she pointed out.

'Wait a moment...' Giles straightened in his seat, a pensive expression on his face. He turned to Angel. 'Was this before or after it knocked Buffy out?'

Angel looked as perplexed as Buffy felt at this comment.

'After,' he replied, though he looked like he would have liked to add a 'why' on the end.

Giles' hand shot out and flung the book open before him, frenziedly turning page after page. 'You grabbed the sword after Buffy dropped it and swung it at the demon.'

Angel confirmed this remark by remaining silent. Giles went on.

'You must have been agitated, I believe.'

More silence.

'You attacked this creature in hate, which somehow enabled the sword to wound it; you thought you killed it and turned away, the rage now replaced by worry.'

'Yes,' Angel replied quietly.

'For some reason, whatever effect the sword may have had on it ceased the moment Angel's hate dulled to fear.' Giles nodded slowly for himself.

'Great.' Buffy smiled sardonically at her old Watcher. 'So all we need are people with swords hating it with passion. The last bit shouldn't be too hard.'

Wesley slowly leant back in his chair. 'Well, it certainly is a theory worth delving into,' he muttered.

'But where's the catch?' Angel got to his feet and began pacing. Buffy had the distinct suspicion that it was because he could not stand the accusing looks Giles shot his way. 'If all you needed to destroy this thing was for someone to hate it enough to go and chop its head off, wouldn't it have been done long ago?'

'Why was it released when you tried to burn the book?' Wesley said pensively and cut off any responses Angel's ponderings might have encouraged. 'If its spirit was imprisoned in it, couldn't it be done again?'

Giles' face took on the dark neutral look, he always used, when he was either furious beyond comparison or deeply disappointed. Somehow Buffy suspected it was the former this time.

'You tried to burn it?' His voice was cold. 'Even after you suspected that it might possess incomparable dark powers, you still tried to burn it?'

Angel met Giles' freezing gaze with dark determination. 'Then I especially tried to burn it.'

'Fast backwards to Wesley's question before you two put each other in the hospital,' Buffy said quickly. 'Is there a way for us to find that out?'

'Research?' Giles suggested wryly.

'You should get some rest.' Angel had turned to her and she saw the concern in his dark eyes. 'You haven't slept for close to two days...'

She felt like pointing out he had not eaten since he arrived, but thought the better of it. 'Someone's using my room,' she argued half-heartedly.

'Borrow mine,' he said. She was pretty certain the glint in his eyes was not a fidget of her imagination.

'My room,' Giles corrected sourly, obviously seeing this as a breach on his rights as the legal owner of the house.

'Someone's getting crappy. Maybe they also need to get some rest.' Buffy gave the older man a soft pad on the shoulder as she passed on her way to the stairs. Behind her, she heard Angel order Wesley back to the hotel to get some sleep as well.

'I'll do the research,' his voice promised. 'It's not like I need the sleep in the same way as you do.'

x

The dull rhythm of footsteps from above gradually dissolved into nothingness and silence fell in the room. Angel sat motionless in his chair, staring into the air before him though his dark eyes saw nothing. A deep-ridged frown played on his brow and the muscles in his neck stood out as were they tightly knitted ropes that played just beneath the skin. Through the window came the constant rumble of passing traffic and the occasional squeak of a tyre; the sunlight fell, bright and colourless along a thin strip of floor, passing a couple of inches from the chair's legs.

He had killed a young girl.

He knew Giles blamed him. He was sure Xander would blame him. He did not know what Buffy thought or if she thought anything at all.

And Willow – Willow, who had been the only one to not display an open desire to shove a wooden stake into his heart upon seeing him, who had defended him against the others any chance she got...and how he had repaid her.

He felt sick. It was his fault that Kennedy had died; he knew it and saw no reason to justify what had happened.

He had sensed Wesley's presence even before he spoke.

'It is getting out of control.'

Angel did not answer; that comment did not necessitate his agreement. The Watcher was leaning casually against the wall behind him.

'I don't want to put them in any more danger, and I know you don't want that either.'

He was beginning to sound irritated with Angel's lack of participation in his attempt at making mature conversation.

'If we can't endanger Buffy or Willow by putting them in Helhesten's path, we will need backup.'

Angel knew where this was going, but he did not object.

'I'm calling Spike.'

For a moment Angel sat as still as had he been of stone. Then he bowed his head, his eyes closed, and Wesley knew he had consented.

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Author's Thanks to: nimwen, AngelicDreams, Wesfan1234, a2zmom, DDuck, CF, Gwenyer, legolasgal and Tariq for reading and supporting. I hope you are still with me...;-)

A/N: I bet you realized this was a hard chapter to write. People respond so differently to grief and it is hard to convey when you also have a story to tell. But hey, it got me to the place I wanted to be: in a position to bring Spike back into the mix....