It Keeps on Coming
by Alixtii

"It shouldn't be long now. Prophesies say one thing, brute strength says another. We'll get it out."

–Caleb, in "Touched"

Los Angeles California—December 2002

Lydia walked into the Hyperion office and came face to face with the vampire with the soul, Angel.

It wasn't as if Lydia had never seen a vampire before. She had even fought ones before, in training and under control circumstances. She had interviewed Angel's own grandchylde, William the Bloody—on whom Lydia had even then been the worldwide expert—flanked by operatives armed with crossbow and cross. (She had gone back alone later, but only after she found out about the chip.) Never before had she been in a room with a vampire where it was only the vampire's sense of morality which prevented him from ripping out her throat

Of course, Angel was unique. He had a soul.

He looked at her, as if he was amused by her discomfort. Probably was; it wasn't as if the vampire had any reason to hold any love towards the Watcher's Council. Lydia remembered the Council refusing to help the poisoned Angel on the principle that they did not aid vampires, even souled ones. Another one of Wyndam-Pryce's brilliant decisions. The Slayer her self had quit the Council in protest. Wyndam-Pryce's own son had been fired as result of the brouhaha.

And, of course, there had been so many other things. The black ops team sent to capture Faith. The Summers girl's Cruciamentum.

"So you have seen the First Evil." He didn't make it a question, so Lydia didn't respond. She merely waited for the vampire to continue.

"The First Evil plays on your doubts, your fears. It manifests as whoever can do the most damage: people you've wronged, people you love. Anyone who is dead."

"It appeared as Quentin Travers."

That got a reaction. Angel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. He wore an expression as if he couldn't believe what she had just said.

"He was my mentor," she explained.

Angel knew who Quentin Travers was, of course, and like the Council as a whole, it would not have been a name he would remember with any fondness. But he made no mention of Travers.

"It takes on the memories, the personalities of whoever it manifests as," explained Angel. "It tells you whatever it takes to destroy you, to make your self doubt your self precisely when one is needed."

Lydia nodded. "Last month, the headquarters of the Council were bombed—presumably by an agent of the First Evil. Travers died in that explosion, as it did everyone else in the room, except me. There is no possible natural explanation, and the normal detectors for supernatural activity came up dry. Last week, the First appears to me as Travers and tells me that it saved me, so I could—I don't even know what it wants me to do. But I know it can't be good."

"It fits the First's M.O.," Angel agreed. "As you no doubt know, Buffy sent me—Angelus, that is—to a hell dimension in '98. By the end of the summer, I was returned here, my soul intact. To this day, I couldn't tell you how or why it happened. But it did.

"That winter, the First began to appear to me as people I had killed, both long ago and recent. It told me that I was brought back to drain Buffy. To be a monster."

"Then what it tells you, it's not true. It's just lies?"

Angel shook his head. "It doesn't need to lie. It has a much more powerful weapon: the truth. It told me I was going to drink Buffy. And I did."

"But you didn't kill her."

"No." Angel's voice sounded distant, as if his mind were focused on an entirely different subject. "I didn't kill her." He paused, took a deep breath—or pretended to, since vampires didn't breathe—then continued. "The last night the First manifested in front of me, I went to end my life in front of the rising sun. And it began to snow, blotting out the sun just as effectively as the sun is blotted out now."

"Something intervened."

"Something, somebody, I don't know. I'll probably never know. I'll probably never know why I was sent back from the hell dimension. But you know what? I know that without the sun, it's a 24-hour feeding frenzy for vamps in L.A. I know that there are a lot of people in danger, who need to be saved from those vamps. I know that we need to find out how to bring the sun back, or a lot more people will be in danger, more than I can possibly save. And in the end? That's all I need to know."

He walked over to a cabinet, took out an axe. "Now I'm afraid we have an apocalypse to deal with. I'd invite you to help us out, but I'm afraid that might cause a little friction with Wes. And believe me, we have all the friction with Wes right now that we can possibly handle."

Lydia was intrigued by that comment, but felt it was best not to pry. "It's okay," she told the vampire. "I have things I need to take care of in England. But I'll remember what you said."

Angel exited the office, where he was joined by Wesley and a couple of other armed individuals, presumably members of the Angel Investigations team. "It's not what one says," Angel said, wielding the axe, as the group left the hotel, "it's what one does."

Los Angeles California

Drusilla look at the prostate form of the girl asleep on the bed. Such a good girl.

Drusilla remembered the Slayer's sister from years back, but she knew quite well the pixies had put those memories into her head. She couldn't be fooled that easily, not even by this pretty ball of energy who pretended to be a girl. Drusilla was reminded of a Christmas wreath.

Hmm. Perhaps Drusilla would go find a wreath. She'd be able to find one in the city, she knew. Somewhere among the giants made of stone and steel, she'd find it, living branches fashioned into a circle with no beginning or end. Yes, that's what she'd do.

Drusilla leaned over the Key's unconscious form, whispered in her ear. "I'll bring you back a Christmas present, Miss Muffet," she said, then kissed the girl once on the cheek.

Then, Drusilla pulled her self up to her full height, and made her way out of the hotel room, knowing a Christmas wreath was waiting for her, somewhere.

Along with her boys, of course.

Somewhere in Africa

Riley and Catelyn could both see the stones which made up the wall of fallen temple shift. "That's our cue," said Riley. "You ready?"

Catelyn nodded. She stood on her feet now, and the colour had come back into her face. "Just keep it busy while I perform the exorcism."

Riley sighed. "We know how well that strategy worked the last time."

"You have a better plan?"

Riley had to admit he hadn't, as the arm of Samantha Finn broke through the stones. Soon her bare torso was through as well, and then the entire body. "Be prepared," spoke the demon through her mouth, in a voice which was not hers but its, "to return from whence you came. Your Creator is waiting."

"Well, I guess He'll just have to wait a little longer," said Riley, countering one of the demon's blows with his sword. "Because the guy returning, it's gonna be you."

Behind him, Catelyn began to chant. "Exorcie te. Omnis spiritus immunde. Adaperiae."

Yr-a'k-tr continued his attack, catching the blade of Riley's sword and throwing it—and Riley—to the side. "Caitlyn?"

"I'm trying! Give me more time! Abrenuntias satanae, et omnibus operibus eus! Omnis spiritus immunde. Exorcie te!"

Riley pulled him self to his feet as quickly as he could, blocking the demon's frenzied attacks as he did so.

"It doesn't seem to be working!"

"He's too strong! He's resisting the exorcism?"

"So what do we do?" he shouted as he tried in vain to keep the demon in his wife's body back.

"We could try to magnify the power of the spell. The only thing is, the stress of ripping the demon out of Sam'sbody with that magnitude of power could kill her."

"Other options?"

"That thing kills us and keeps her body."

Riley nodded. "Then I think we have to take the risk."

"Do you trust me?"

Riley was momentarily taken back by the apparent non sequitor, but knew Caitlyn wouldn't have asked without a reason. He answered "yes" without any more hesitation. Sam's life hung in the balance; he couldn't afford not to trust his only teammate left.

Caitlyn pulled a small red stone out of her pocket. "This is an Yrthas crystal. I'm going to use it to magnify the spell, but for best effect, I'll have to enter into telepathic rapport with you, so we can double the power used to expel the demon. As always, there's risk. So I ask again, do you trust me? In your mind?"

He had made his decision, and he would stick to it. Whatever it took to save Sam, he would do it. Besides, he did trust Caitlyn. "I'm sure, Caitlyn. Let's do this."

"Okay," she answered, and resumed chanting. Suddenly, Riley felt a presence in his mind, silently asking for deeper penetration. Riley—well, he wasn't sure what he was doing, but it felt like he sort of latched on to it with his mind, drew Caitlyn deeper into him self. He could feel her urgent sense of need, that this was what she needed to save Sam, and drew her in even deeper. He could feel her fear as well, as the two minds came together to power the exorcism.

She was inside his skin now, and he was in hers. There was nothing he could hide from her, or her from him; they were open to each other. So many hopes and desires and fears, all held together by mental discipline and a single overpowering desire to save Sam.

Exorcie te. Omnis spiritus immunde. Adaperiae.

Los Angeles California

"God, that was good."

"I had forgotten how satisfying sex with a Slayer could be."

"And now I see what B' sees in you guys. Have to admit, still a little freaked out by the whole 'room-temperature' thing, but the stamina—"

"Courtesy of vampire constitution, love. It's the demon inside."

"Well, that makes two of us. I think our demons get along well with each other."

"Well, I did keep Dru satisfied for over a hundred years."

A pause. Oh shit, thought Faith. Drusilla. She still had no idea how to deal with that issue—the whole reason she was in L.A. in the first place.

"Something I say, love?"

"It's just that Drusilla, she killed Kendra." How was that for thinking fast, coming up with a good lie? "She's the reason I became a Slayer."

Spike paused, then nodded. "No more talk of Dru, then."

Which was all well and good--accept the crazed vampire was off somewhere, trying to remove Angel's soul, and Faith was in an L.A. motel room with a different souled vampire she had just fucked, and had no idea what to do about any of it.

Somewhere in Romania

Buffy fought as the wolves attacked her, jumping against her, ripping their teeth into her flesh and scraping her with her claws. She beat them back as well she could, but already she was too battered and bloody. They were too small, too quick and too agile, too fearless. They just kept on coming for more.

As she knocked one wolf away, she decapitated it with her sword. Shocked, she watched as it exploded into dust. Vampire wolves? What would they think of next?

Just as she was about to change her tactics to cope with this new information, the wolves suddenly all stopped, and ran off. Collectively, as if they had all together received some type of silent information.

Not having time to worry about the vamp-wolves, Buffy raced to where she had last seen Dawn. Neither her sister nor the mad vampire were anywhere to be seen. Buffy looked around franticly, for any sign of them. Against a tree rested a badly wounded Romani woman. "Did you see where they went?"

"Away," answered the woman through her pain. "To . . . rejoin family."

Angel, Buffy realized. "She's gone to L.A." In a frenzy, she grabbed the Romani woman, taking care not to disturb her wounds. "Did she succeed? Does he have his soul?"

"He has his soul," the woman answered, her eyes peering deep into Buffy. "They all have souls."

The woman's eyes peered even deeper, and suddenly Buffy realized she was dead.

A/N: Well, I guess these means I'm back from hiatus. Maybe. We'll see. Merry Christmas!