CHAPTER 17: LOST AND RETURNED
Angel lifted his gaze and found Buffy staring back at him. She was shocked, afraid, bleeding, and holding a stake. Why did it hurt so much? He looked down again. He couldn't remember how…
Oh god no. Meeting his other self, fleeing to the Magic Box, and then… He could only imagine what had happened between then and now. All he knew was that it had led him here… sitting on the floor in a hospital room… he smelled blood, so much blood. And Buffy was clearly ready to kill him.
His eyes were heavy with tears and he raised himself slowly to look at her again. What had he done?
"Buffy…" he managed. He wanted to ensure her that the danger was over, that it was okay. Well, maybe not okay. He had the feeling that things would never be okay again.
When he said her name, she relaxed and lowered her stake, letting her arm hang limply at her side. Somehow that single word from him seemed to have ensured her that she was safe.
"Angel?" Her voice was no more than a whisper. He stood to his feet, a bit shaky, sheer will holding him up as he wanted so badly to support her.
When the tension released now that Buffy was sure that the immediate danger was eliminated, she dropped her stake and fell into his arms, sobbing quietly. Angelus was gone, and the still clueless Angel tried to soothe her.
"Shh… don't cry..." he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder, taking in her scent, trying to shut out the commotion around him. He knew he was the cause of it. He knew that he had hurt her beyond imagination. The memories were fuzzy, but he knew that this had been worse than last time. Not as long, he was pretty sure, but he knew that he had wronged her worse than word could express. How could she touch him after that, he asked himself, but he didn't pull away. Buffy's legs went slack, and since the weakened Angel couldn't hold them both up, they sank to the floor.
As the Slayer and the vampire sat together, sharing their misery for a few still moments a handful of doctors and nurses ran into the tiny hospital room expecting to revive only a now flat-lining Dawn, but to also find another in need of medical attention. Buffy and Angel watched helplessly as the doctors and nurses tried to bring back Dawn and help Giles, who looked pale and lifeless. A doctor searched for a pulse on his bloody throat, giving one of his colleagues a worried glance as they loaded him onto a stretcher.
"What happened here?" one of the nurses shouted. Buffy swallowed again and again, watching the huge puddle of crimson blood that Giles left, watching the blood drip from his face, watching one doctor give him CPR while another tried to stop the bleeding by replacing the now blood drenched towel she had supplied and putting another one over the wound and applying pressure.
So much blood… how would he live through that? Was he alive at all, or was they just attempting to revive him as their policy said that they had to before they gave up and declared him dead? But, if he was still bleeding he had to be alive, didn't he? She tried to recall her biology lessons. Could a dead body bleed? Not until they disappeared out of the room, probably headed to an operation room, she could muster an answer. She didn't know what do say – all she knew what that she had to protect Angel.
"A-a man came in here rambling something about payback and when he tried to protect us, the man pulled out a knife... and he... he…" Tried to kill them both before he got his soul back and now he's hugging me? What was she going to say? The nurse seemed to interpret her expression as a state of shock – which wasn't wrong at all really. She nodded.
"It's alright. You don't have to finish," the nurse told her in a soft voice as she placed an idle hand on Buffy's shoulder. Angel hugged her tighter and buried his face deeper into her shoulder as all the memories came flooding back to him. Killing Riley, threatening a terrified Tara, snapping her neck... Feeding from Dawn, siring Joyce, and thousands of other pictures that didn't make any sense yet. They would soon. Soon he would remember every laugh, every smell, every emotion – every detail of all of it.
"So… is that it?" Cordelia asked, looking at Willow for conformation. She looked tired and nodded slightly.
"Let's hope it worked then," Cordelia said. Willow nodded again. Xander snorted. Well, at least all of them were still in one piece, and not loosing bodily fluids of any kind… He would never forgive Angel for this. He just hoped the guy was sensible enough to disappear as quickly as possible, hopefully never to return again.
"Willow? Oh God, are you all right?" Xander was jolted back to reality by Cordelia's worried voice.
He turned to Willow just in time to see the red headed witch cry out in agony and shudder violently as her muscles began to spasm, her head thrashed desperately as she gulped for air until finally, exhausted, her small body went slack and she crumpled to the floor, lifeless, knocking the candles over as she fell.
"Willow! Cordelia, call 911, NOW!" Xander moved quicker than he thought possible from his seat several feet away, he threw himself on the floor next to her, pulling her into his lap. He didn't have the slightest idea what to do. He didn't even think to check for a pulse or if she was breathing, he just patted her cheek, pleading her to hold on. She was cold. How could she be so cold?
"They want to know if she's breathing," he heard Cordelia's voice. His head snapped up.
"What? Just tell them to send the ambulance," he snapped, suddenly angry. "Isn't it their job to check that sort of stuff anyway?"
"The ambulance is on its way," Cordelia said, obviously repeating the operator's words. For a few seconds Xander couldn't remember how to check if she was breathing. Was her chest moving? Realizing that he was going into shock, Cordelia kneeled and held her hand above Willow's nose and mouth.
"She's not breathing," Xander heard her say silently into the phone. "Uh-huh. Okay."
The next few minutes was a blur to Xander. He sat silently, helplessly watching as Cordelia pulled Willow's limp body out of his lap and trying to give her CPR after being instructed on the phone. Xander's pulse increased rapidly as the door opened. Were they coming? To his disappointment it wasn't the paramedics rushing inside, it was Wesley, Anya and Gunn that entered. Wesley immediately laid eyes on Cordelia who was standing over Willow, trying to get her to breathe again.
"Xander!" Anya said, rushing up to him.
"Dear God!" Wesley exclaimed. "Did Angelus…" Something was wrong. Angelus wasn't anywhere to be seen – and why where there candles and books spread out on the floor? He had a bad feeling this wasn't the work of any outside force…
"Willow tried to cure him," Xander said, now passed his state of shock, entering the state of anger and blame. "The spell did this to her. So yeah, in a way, HE did this to her," he said harshly. Wesley got down on his knees next to Cordelia, feeling for a pulse. At first he didn't think there even was one, but after a few seconds he felt a faint beat against his fingers.
"I think I hear the sirens now, I better go," Cordelia said to the operator, hanging up the phone. "How is she?" she asked Wesley.
"She's alive, but barely so." He shook his head. "How could this happen, what is this spell you're talking about?"
"Willow found a spell similar to Angel's curse, but she said it was without the happiness thing, and it called on such powerful Gods that it didn't matter if a sorcerer had extracted it. She wouldn't tell us anything else," Cordelia supplied.
"Dear God," Wesley said again. "Did she use that spell? I've read about it. That spell is so powerful because it feeds on grief, and uses the spell casters body as a vessel instead of an orb. Most likely it drains the person performing it of its life-force."
"You KNEW this would happen?" Xander yelled.
"Of course not! I thought for sure that she wasn't going to use it…"
They were interrupted by the paramedics that came rushing in. Wesley and Cordelia moved to the side as they made a quick examination.
"We have a pulse," one of them said, "but she's not breathing." While he intubated her, the other one turned to the gang who just stood there, perplexed, not sure what to do.
"What happened to her?"
"She just fell," Cordelia said, not sure what else to tell him. The truth wasn't exactly an option. The paramedic nodded shortly as he helped his partner to load Willow onto a stretcher, starting to roll her out of the shop.
"I'm going with her," Xander said, ignoring Anya as he rushed after them and entered the ambulance. "Meet us there," he called to Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn and Anya. They could go after them to the hospital in Gunn's car.
"Buffy!" Cordelia yelled. She had taken point when they went searching through the hospital in hope of finding the slayer. The slayer, however, was everything but slayer-like at the moment, she looked small, helpless and vulnerable where she stood in the waiting room. She was a broken girl that hat lost so much in so little time. The look on her face made Cordelia fear it was even more than she already knew about. What if she had killed him before the spell had a chance to work? What if… something else had happened? Where did all the blood come from? Her shirt and sleeves were covered in dark blood, and it clearly wasn't her own. She was afraid to utter the words.
"God, what's happened?"
Buffy looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears from trickling down her cheeks. New tears had threatened to spill out ever since she had stopped crying. But hot tears and painful sobs wouldn't help her now. She didn't feel like crying in front of everyone – the unfamiliar people in the waiting room, and Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn and Anya who all gathered around her.
"Cordelia. Um… he...he killed..."
She looked at them. They didn't know. They had no idea what had happened, and she was the one that had to tell them. Why couldn't the ground just open up and swallow her?
"He killed Dawn," she managed, her voice pretty steady. "He pulled her respirator… and it caused her to go into shock," she continued monotonously, recalling what the doctors had told her earlier. She tried to read the reaction on their faces. It was almost like they all had been dulled by the horrible events of the past week. They looked shock and horrified all of them, but it was like neither of them had expected her not to tell them that someone had died.
"Um… they tried to-to bring her back, but… she didn't make it." There was a beat of silence before she continued.
"And then... he slit Giles throat," she said silently. "The doctors... they say that... that he might not make it through the night. They said that it... it's very deep and he has lost a lot of blood. Then he got his soul back. How did you…?"
"It's a long story," Cordelia started vaguely, not sure if Buffy could handle so much information right now. Then again, the question of Willow's whereabouts would show up any time, and they couldn't exactly say that she had gone fishing, could they?
"Xander?" Buffy said, seeming to stare into space. Cordelia furrowed her brow.
"Well, he helped I guess, but it wasn't his idea…"
"No," Buffy interrupted. "He's here."
"Oh." Cordelia and the others turned around in time to see Xander move quickly down the hall with long, determined strides. He looked pale, and not too happy. Then again – who did right now?
"Xander, how is Willow?" Wesley asked, clearly worried about the witch. He felt guilty too, in a way. With Giles away, he felt like he had the responsibility, and that he should have made sure that Willow didn't make any dangerous attempts to bring back Angel.
"They're working on her right now," Xander replied stiffly. He turned to Buffy, looking at her grimly. He didn't know that she had just lost her sister and been put through the shock of not being able to help either her or Giles – if he had, maybe he had been more gentle with her. "Where is the guy? I really hope it worked, cause Willow might die from it," he practically hissed.
Buffy shook her head.
"Die? What do you mean, die? Can someone please explain this to me! Angel got his soul back, and now Willow's dying? What's going on?"
"Willow found a spell," Wesley tried to explain. "A-a version of the curse. A version that would work even though Angel's soul was trapped by the sorcerer's magic." Buffy stared at him, not sure what to think. Had they known about this before, that there was an alternate curse?
"However, it's a dangerous spell," Wesley continued. "It uses the performer as a guide instead of an orb, and calling on those powerful Gods... it often, possibly even always drains the performer's life force. In the 19th century, there would have been no chance to survive it. But Willow…"
"She's alive, for the time being." Xander said shortly, his face grim.
"But… how could you let her do this?" Of course Buffy was glad that the threat was gone and that she didn't have to bring herself to kill Angel – but she was the first one to say that she never wanted Willow to put herself in danger for her.
"I didn't know she was going to do it," Wesley said silently. Cordelia looked down. Xander shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. No, looking back he couldn't believe he hadn't put a stop to it himself. Now everything and everyone was a mess, and the guy they did it for wasn't even there.
"Where is Angel?" he asked simply. Buffy looked at him with slight suspicion, not sure why he would ask that.
"H-he went back to the mansion," she answered uncertainly. She remembered the time when Xander had sent Faith after Angel a while after he had returned from hell. He had been prepared to go with her and kill him, even though he hadn't been Angelus for months at the time. He couldn't be planning a similar revenge scenario now, could he?
Xander nodded shortly and walked towards the doors.
"Where are you going?" Buffy yelled after him, suddenly nervous. Should she go after him? She needed to stay here… with Giles, and Willow too apparently. She didn't have the energy to fight off Xander and defend Angel from him, she just didn't.
"To talk to him," Xander said without breaking stride, and frankly he sounded honest. Not that Buffy could understand what he would want to talk to Angel about… but she realized that she would just have to trust him on this. Rushing after him, making sure he didn't try to do anything to Angel would seem ridiculous. She remained standing there, staring at the door for a few moments.
The next person to come through the hospital doors was Spike who walked up to Buffy, Cordelia, Gunn, Anya and Wesley. He almost looked concerned. For who, Buffy wondered silently. Her, Dawn? Why would Spike be concerned at all? He was soulless and egoistic, after all.
"What happened back at the Magic Box? Went for a stroll, place looked like the bloody Chernobyl and smelled even worse." A beat, as Spike thought about it. "Actually, it smelled like the wagon where I ate the Kalderash gypsies back in '98. 1898, that is."
Buffy just stared into space, not focusing on anything. Once more her world had been turned up side down, and Spike wasn't exactly someone she felt like sharing it with.
"Willow performed a spell," Wesley provided when no one else seemed interested in answering Spike. "To restore Angel's soul." His eyes widened slightly – maybe he had counted on them finally doing Angelus in once and for all – but nodded simply.
"Figured as much," he commented. He turned to Buffy.
"You okay, Slayer?" Spike asked. She didn't look at him. She concentrated on the pattern on the boring wallpaper covering the walls of the hospital, following it with her eyes. God, how she hated hospitals. Today's events hadn't exactly made that better.
"He killed Dawn," Cordelia said silently. Spike's expression turned grim.
"He killed the nibblet?" His jaw clenched and he felt anger boil up. He had been upset when he heard about Joyce. But Angelus killing Dawn… He knew he shouldn't feel this way at all. It was disgusting, really. A vampire feeling for the slayer and her family. Well, he had a thing for the Summers women. Couldn't help it.
"Slayer, I'm…" Sorry? Was he sorry? No, he wasn't. He felt for the little bit, and he felt for Buffy, but he wasn't sorry. He wasn't capable of it. The words got stuck in his throat. Buffy looked up, with eyes so hurting and vulnerable. She looked like she expected him to shoot her a snappy comment at any time.
"Don't bother," Buffy snapped, stalking off. Wes, Gunn and Cordelia looked briefly at Spike who looked away – shot down again – before they slowly followed Buffy at a distance. Anya stayed behind for a few seconds, looking at Spike.
"I didn't know what to say either," she provided as consolation, before she followed the others.
The minute Buffy had stopped crying Angel had fled back to his sanctuary to find some temporary solace. He had spent so much time in the mansion. First as Angelus… and later, after he came back from hell, he had lived there until he moved to Los Angeles. A lot of brooding had been done inside the thick stone walls, and he had experienced a lot of pain, physical and mental while living here. It was perfect. This time it had provided him a comfort zone to go to, and right now he really needed one. Here he felt safe enough to think.
And thinking was what he had to do now.
He sat in front of the roaring fire he had built. The bright orange and yellow flames grew taller. Its rhythmic movement was soothing and hypnotic.
How had this happened? He had tried to do the right thing from the start, but it had failed horribly – multiple times actually, and it had led to the death of many innocent people. This had all begun when he was out hunting for a demon – he hadn't even caught it, just gotten himself into a whole lot of trouble… Trouble that had led to the destruction of Buffy's family. How could he ever face her again, knowing that? How could he face Willow again, knowing what he did to Tara? His own friends and co-workers, knowing that they had seen the worst of him up-close? Maybe he should just disappear. It had been proven to him time and time again that he was dangerous around people. Maybe everyone would be better off if he left.
"What have I done?" he said silently to himself.
"You've just hurt the people who care about you the most. Again." replied an emotionless voice. Angel didn't even have to turn around to hear who it was. Xander. He had entered silently, he had to give him props for that. He hadn't even noticed when he opened the door. So, what might he be doing here. Not knowing what to expect, he turned around and looked up at him with a deep sadness in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to get you." He looked Angel straight in the eye. Angel had to give him credit. Not many people would do that. In fact not many demons would do that. But here was a twenty-year-old human without any special powers – or even weapons by the look of it, looking Angel straight in the eyes without even the slightest wince.
"I'm not going anywhere." Angel replied tersely, staring back into the fire. What was he doing anyway? Angel knew how much Xander hated him, why would he be here to get him? Still, he felt sure that it wasn't a trap. His motives were honest. But why?
"I really don't think you're in a position to be making decisions," Xander said seriously.
Angel sighed deeply.
"I hurt her too much this time," he said darkly. "I can't face her now, let alone the others. I can't ever tell them how sorry I am…"
"Sorry doesn't make it better," Xander started but Angel cut him off.
"I know sorry doesn't make it better. So many people have died, and they won't come back just because I say I'm sorry. Some things just can't be forgiven, and some times you just don't have the right to ask for it. All I can do to make things the least bit better is to leave… And I've already done that."
He looked back at Xander. That was probably the most he had spoken to the boy at a single time ever. In fact, it might be about as much as he had said directly to Xander all the previous times they had met combined. Xander looked straightly at him, seeming unaffected by the words.
"You didn't let me finish my sentence. I was going to say, sorry doesn't make it better… but as much as I hate to admit it, you can make it better. You can be there for Buffy. Her whole world is crashing down on her right now. And the one person in the world who can make that better, even if it's the slightest bit, isn't there."
Angel just looked at him. Who was this person, and what had he done to the real Xander Harris?
"You know how I feel about you," he said with a grimace. "But I just realized something. What I feel doesn't matter. Can you understand that Cordelia actually looked like she was about to cry when she realized there was no way to get your soul back?" Angel frowned. "Willow put her life on the line to pull it off. She might die." He looked angry again.
"You know why she did it? Let me tell you, it's not because she has a secret crush on you, and it's not because someone offered her 10 million dollars and a life supply of Twinkies if she did it. She did it because she thought you have the power to do a lot of good, for the world and for Buffy."
"What have I ever offered Buffy, besides pain and ugly death?" Angel said. Xander shrugged.
"My thought exactly, so beats me. Look, I'm not good at the smooth talk, especially not to you. Many people put their lives on the line here; a few lost their lives even. Don't skulk off and leave their deaths meaningless. Cowards run away. Come with me and show me that you are prepared to deal with what you've done. Then, and only then, maybe you will have earned as much respect as I can ever have for a vampire. I'll never trust you, or like you, but I know you're important to Buffy. Maybe somewhere along the line I realized that you actually have done some good for the world."
Angel smiled sadly. "When did you get so smart?"
"When I realized that I had to grow up sometime. Also I think living in the basement for a year with something that occasionally urinated on the hotplate gave me some life experience. Now, get your coat. Dead Boy."
Angel slowly stood up, still not sure how it had happened that Xander of all people had just convinced him to go back to the hospital. He got his signature black duster that he had draped on the couch and slipped into it.
They headed towards the door and into the darkness of the night.
"By the way, don't call me Dead Boy. You know how much I hate that."
