A/N: Thank you for the reviews. Again. I like reviews, you know. Marcus Lazarus, well, as long as you don't kill me, I'm cool with it. :-) 'Cause you know, if you do, it'll be kinda hard to post new chapters...

Come with me now, if you will, gentle readers. Join me on a new voyage of the mind. A little tale I like to call: chapter 27


CHAPTER 27: HARVESTER OF SORROW


He just wanted to cease existing.

He had done some suffering in his time. A lot. He deserved it, and he knew that he deserved it. But this… it was beyond suffering. His mind hadn't even gotten to the pain yet. He sat there, with her limp, light body in his arms, and he knew that she was dead and that he was the cause of it… but his mind didn't even connect. He was in shock, of course. It was funny really. The murderer in shock, as if it was a surprise to him, after 247 years, that draining a person would kill them.

She should have killed him. WHY hadn't she killed him? Why had she put it on him to be the one to go on with the knowledge that he had killed her? She had always been the one to talk about strength, how strength meant going on, enduring the day, continuing the fight. And yet he was the one going on, while she had given up. His emotions turned to anger for a moment, before he regretted it.

She had given up. He had felt it. If she had gathered all her strength, if she had felt as if she had something important to fight for, she could have made it the last few minutes until he got his soul back. But she didn't. She had stopped fighthing, because she didn't care if she lived or died anymore. Right now he didn't care if he lived or died either. Death would be comforting. It would release him from… everything. It would be nice.

He glanced at Buffy's stake which lay on the ground a few feet away. He would just have to stretch out… he could reach it without even moving Buffy from his lap. It would be so easy. He reached for the stake and grabbed it. Held it in his hand, felt the weight of the massive wood carefully, idly testing the sharpness against his finger. It was a good stake, sure to do its job without any fuss. It might just be the one Buffy called Mr. Pointy.

No. Used to call Mr. Pointy.

Of course, before he could do that, he would have to destroy Buffy. If he didn't, she would arise a soulless monster in a day, and he couldn't leave her friends alone dealing with that horror. And how would he be able to bring himself to kill her again before he took himself out?

Was he even worth death? No. Where would he go if he died? If there was a heaven and hell, he certainty wasn't going to the former, and when it came to hell dimensions, he had already lived through one of those for a hundred years. It was pain and suffering, yes, but not the right kind. No. What he deserved, the pain he deserved, was staying right where he was. Dealing with every moment of the excruciating pain he felt right now. He deserved to suffer for eternity – literally.

He put the stake back on the ground. He wanted to use it. He wanted to be a coward and escape the pain… it was just too hard. But he couldn't.

What he was going to have to do now was face yet another stage of pain and shame. He would bring Buffy back to her friends. Well, the friends she had left anyway. Then again, maybe he wouldn't even have time to be ashamed. There was a chance, a big chance that they would turn into an angry mob and kill him horribly as soon as they understood what had happened. Angel smiled bitterly. After everything Buffy had been through, everything that she had sacrificed to bring him back… No, he couldn't give up. And even if it felt eerily comforting, he couldn't let them kill him. He didn't deserve to give up, not on himself and not on her.

Ever so gently he moved her broken and bloody body from his lap – she was so light – lifted her and slowly got up. His body was aching, but he knew that whatever wounds he had would be gone within a few hours. Her blood was in his system, and it would heal his body instantly. His body. But not his mind.

He wrapped her small body in a blanket and put her in the backseat of his car. She just lay there. The blanket covered the wound on her throat, but it was still clearly visible that her body had been severely damaged. She was so pale… and bleeding. Angel wasn't sure how much had been damaged except for her leg, but she wasn't in good condition. Not at all.

Of course she wasn't. She was dead. And when she awoke again, any wounds retained from her mortal life wouldn't matter. Once the demon came to life, her body would heal up quickly.

He sat down in the driver's seat, stopping himself for a second before he started the engine. Should he put the top up? Why was he asking himself such stupid questions in a situation like this?

He put the top up. He started the engine and silently wondered about the odds of him getting involved in a serious car accident that would explode the car and end all his problems before he arrived at Buffy's house.

The streets were emptier than ever. The ride to Buffy's house were quicker than ever. He tried to drag it out but realized he would have to speed up when a stray dog outran the car without any trouble.

He even considered leaving town, just take off. One way or another he would deal with the horror that would rise in a day alone. It would be difficult, maybe impossible, but it might just be better than facing all of her friends. His friends. Did they even consider him a friend anymore?

If he left, no one would ever know what happened. Frustrating and painful in itself, but was it worse than actually knowing what had happened? Knowing what had happened to Buffy… what he had done to Buffy. There was nothing more that could be done for her.

Or wasn't there? What if… there was something that could be done for her? A small idea appeared in Angel's mind. It was farfetched and ridiculous and probably impossible, not to say fatal for him, but it didn't matter. When his battered mind found something to focus on, it didn't matter how small the hope was. If there was a chance in the world that it could be done, he would do it, and gladly give up his own life in the process.

Of course, that meant he would have to go back to the gang and not cut himself off. This plan couldn't be set in motion without a little help.

Without another thought he continued to Revello Drive. Holding down the gas pedal was physically hard. He couldn't begin to imagine how they would react. Well, actually, he could. He had seen people in grief so many, many times. Almost every time when he hadn't killed an entire family at once, he had stayed around to await the reaction of the closest relatives. He had known all about anguish and mental suffering long before he got a soul and experienced it himself. But still… it was hard to imagine those emotions on the people he knew. He had seen a few of them in grief before. Giles. Willow. But this… it would be different.

He considered parking a bit further down the street, far enough away for the car not to be seen from the house, but he realized it could be interpreted the wrong way. Why would he want to sneak up on them? Besides… top up or not, he didn't want to leave Buffy too far away. And he certainly couldn't bring her… her body to the house. Not now.

As soon as he got out of the car he could see most of the gang standing at the living room window, observing him. The room had been blacked out – they didn't want to be discovered, but they didn't fool him. He could see their shades move back and forth, hear their heartbeats speed up as they saw him. He could hear their voices, higher pitched than usual. They were nervous. Well, when he was around, maybe they should be.

"Does he look evil?" he heard Anya's voice. As a reply he could only hear muffled voices.

"Where is Buffy?" Xander's voice. He was concerned for her as usual. "Do you see her?"

"My god, do you think that she… that he…" Angel shook his head, trying to get his peeked senses off the conversation inside. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't need to hear it. He knew them, and he knew their love for the girl he had just murdered. He already knew what they felt.

As soon as he stepped onto the porch the door opened. Angel seriously considered turning and walking away before he slowly raised his head to look up at Giles, standing in front of the rest of the gang. He eyed the vampire before him carefully, suspiciously even. Angel understood. They didn't trust that he had his soul again. More accurately, they couldn't afford to simply assume it.

Giles look held something beyond grave suspicion and somberness. It was just a little vulnerable gleam in his eyes that told Angel that somewhere, deep down, perhaps so deep down that he wasn't even thinking about it himself yet… he knew. His subconscious had already realized that when Buffy left and went after him, she was leaving for her final fight. Angel swallowed. Maybe Buffy had known it too.

"I'd say it's all right," Giles said finally. He looked at Angel. The vampire looked… devastated. He was bloodied, even though it didn't look like he was seriously wounded, tired and just as deeply ashamed as he used to when he had his soul. No, he realized. Worse.

Lorne stepped forward.

"Oh yeah, the aura is totally changed. Welcome back, Angelwings." Angel looked away. He was afraid that looking the psychic demon in the eyes would reveal to him the obvious. His whole body screamed with the shame, then his aura must as well.

"Hello Angel," Giles said flatly. "I'm afraid we can't let you in since only Buffy has the authority to invite you." Angel swallowed. Somewhere he could hear the fear and doubt in Giles' voice, the fear of the fact that Angel's invitation to the Summers residence might not be an issue anymore.

Angel nodded. "Could you, maybe… uh, step outside?"

Angel noticed that Xander was watching him carefully as he stepped outside. He made no effort to hide the stake he held in his hand.

"So where is she?" Xander asked, looking demandingly at Angel who didn't meet his gaze. He could feel everyone staring at him, their gazes burning like crosses on him. They all feared it. On some level, maybe they already knew it, what he had done. Why wouldn't Buffy be with him otherwise?

How would they react? Would Xander lunge at him with his stake in blind fury, and if he did, would anyone lift a finger to stop him? Angel himself wasn't completely sure that he would.

How was he supposed to utter the words? It was too hard. Maybe he should have just brought the body.

No. No, that was the innate coward talking. He had to suppress him now.

"She's… um. I mean, it was too late. I…" Angel stopped himself. "There was nothing I could do when… when the curse worked." They stared at, no one knowing what to say. Even if he hadn't technically said it, said she was dead, everyone understood perfectly.

"When the curse started to kick in…"

"You killed her."

So he didn't need to actually say the words. Xander had done it for him. He looked up. What he saw in Xander's eyes wasn't quite the raw hatred and anger he had expected. Xander thoroughly wished that he was wrong. Angel wished it too.

But he really wasn't.

"It's worse." He heard himself say the words, even though he almost wasn't even aware that he had actually uttered them. He knew this was the point where horrible just turned to beyond the imagination of horrible. But he had to lay it all out to them. Especially if he wanted to work his plan. Time was running short.

"Worse? How could it possibly get worse?" Xander said with heat, his voice unsteady.

Angel silently counted the seconds it would take for it to dawn on him. On all of them.

Three...

Two...

One.

"Oh no. NO, you didn't!" Angel looked at them. No one knew how to react. Everyone handled their grief in their own way, or would if they weren't so shocked, and trapped in each other's midst. Grief is something very personal, something that makes a person very vulnerable. And right now no one felt like giving enough of themselves to mourn openly.

Giles had turned so pale. His eyes were empty, his hands hung slack against his sides. No one could understand what was going on in his mind at the moment. This was the father coming to terms with loosing his daughter – or as close to it as one could ever get. At the same time, it was the Watcher that got the message that he knew, had always known subconsciously would happen. Sooner or later. He was destined to get that message, just as the Slayer was destined to die in her line of duty.

Somehow he managed to keep his voice steady when he spoke, despite his heartbreak, and despite the hatred and disgust he felt for the vampire before him.

"What did you do to her? Where is she?"

"In the car," he said so silently that it was hard for human ears to even hear him.

Giles held it together. Even though his conflicted mind was anything but calm – he wanted to scream, weep, beat Angel to death... but he had to keep it together for her. If this had happened, there was another horrifying event that awaited them, if Angel hadn't already taken care of that. That was to ensure that the demonic creation made from Buffy's body and Angelus evil never manifested. That she never rose in the first place. Because THAT… it was something he didn't even want to begin to imagine.

"You have not stopped her from rising?" His voice was cold. Dead cold.

"No." Angel raised his gaze and looked at the group before him warily. "I didn't. If there is a way… any way to save her, I'm gonna try that first." A beat of silence. "I have to try that first." Giles silently shook his head. What was he saying?

"Couldn't you just give her a soul too?" Anya asked unusually silently. "You two could be like the eternal 'vampire vampire slayers'". It sounded like a joke, but she was dead serious. Angel shook his head.

"I don't know how that could be. My curse… it's written for me, and I don't know if it's possible to alter it for someone else. Besides, I'm not thinking about just giving her back just her soul… I want to give her back her life."

"I don't find that suggestion particularly amusing," Giles said, angry that he even presented it as an option, still not comprehending that he was actually discussing with Angel how to treat Buffy's dead body, because that was what it was in the harsh reality.

Buffy as they knew her was dead, her body just a host for a conscienceless demon. It was one of the first things he had ever learned as a watcher. When a person is turned vampire, there is no going back. There is only one humane thing to do.

"There's no record of vampirism ever being cured, or… reversed."

"Actually, it has happened once." Angel said and raised his gaze to look directly at Giles. "There is a cure."

There was a beat of utter silence before anyone said anything. Giles stared at Angel as if he was insane. Maybe he had heard wrong. Finally Cordelia understood what he was hinting at.

"Oh. Oh yeah!"

"Oh what?" Xander asked. "How do you know? Did he chow down on you during another relapse, maybe?" Xander hadn't said anything for the last few minutes. He was too busy trying to avoid regurgitation. Just the thought of Angel turning Buffy… drinking from her… forcing his dying friend to drink from him… damning her forever. He couldn't think of a word strong enough to express what he felt for the vampire in front of him. The only thing keeping him check was the mental image of him offering Angel not so sweet pain and death.

Angel looked at Xander with hurt and anger, but he didn't comment his words. Xander had all right to be angry. He, on the other hand had no right whatsoever to be offended by their emotions.

"There is a type of demon, the Mohra demon, which can turn a vampire back into mortals if you mix their blood," he said slowly, knowing that the revelation inevitably would lead him into explaining how he knew that… which meant stirring up the memories of the day… that day – the Day that never happened, during Thanksgiving last year.

"How do you know that Angel? Many demons exaggerate their powers, and even if it does work we don't know the side affects…" Giles began.

"Like I said, it's happened once," Angel interrupted harshly, immediately regretting his tone. "I know that it works… because it has happened to me."

Everyone was very quiet.

Very, very quiet and staring at him like he had gone insane. Maybe that shaman had extracted something more than the soul, because none of what he said to them made any sense. Not at all. Cordelia was the only one who knew perfectly well what he was talking about.

"I guess you remember last year, around Thanksgiving, when Buffy came to see me in L.A.," he began. "We fought a demon…"

"Oh yeah," Willow remembered, speaking for the first time, pushing back the tears that filled her eyes as soon as she opened her mouth. She bit her tongue, trying to keep her emotions in check. This wasn't the time for a tearful outburst. "Buffy told me, but you two didn't fight it, Buffy said you smacked it with something and it disappeared."

"No… not the first time."

"First time?"

"The first time, the Mohra escaped from my office. We tracked it down, and I killed it, but not before some of its blood mixed with mine, and… it made me human." He smiled faintly at the memory for a second before his expression darkened again as he remembered what had happened and how it had ended.

"Buffy and I were together a whole day and night, but the Mohra demon regenerated itself, bigger and stronger. Because I was human, it almost killed me when I tried to fight it. Buffy saved me. After that, I went to the Oracles…"

"Oracles? I've read about them. A, uh, a sort of… spiritual guides, yes? They don't live in our plane of existence." Giles said, still not sure was Angel was hinting at. He knew that the Oracles weren't beings known for their desire to help mankind with their petty wants and needs. If that was Angel's plan… Why would they help bring Buffy back?

"Right. They told me that the slayer would die if I stayed human. They didn't say what would happen to her if I didn't…" He swallowed painfully. "Guess they found it amusing to leave that part out. So I asked them to turn me back. They swallowed the day… and only I remember it." That decision seemed so worthless right now. So stupid. Of course, no one knew what would have happened if they had continued from that day, but he couldn't imagine it turning out worse than this reality.

"But why?" Xander was the first one to ask. "You had the chance to be not with the Dead Boy of it anymore, and be with Buffy without the risk of becoming psycho killer vamp again. Why did you change back?"

"Because I wanted to save her… I couldn't let her die. I gave my life back for hers." He was silent for a moment.

"Or so I thought," he whispered.

"This is much… unexpected news." Giles said finally. He wasn't sure what to say, and he didn't exactly like it since they knew practically nothing about the demon… but if there was a way, any way, to bring Buffy back to life… he was as willing as Angel to try.

"A bit… shocking… for all of us. I presume you understand that." Angel simply nodded. What was he supposed to say, that he didn't understand that they were shocked? During the time span of a few minutes he had told them that Buffy had been turned, that he wanted to make her human again and the means he was going to use was a kind of demon that had turned him human once.

It wasn't strange that they were shocked. He was surprised no one had gone completely cuckoo's nest yet.

"We researched it that day… and found an entrance about it in a book; it said that the veins of a Mohra runs with the blood of eternity."

"This book, do you still have it?" A very small, very faint hope had appeared in Giles' mind. What if there really was a way to bring her back…

"No… No, it was one of the volumes that were destroyed when my offices blew up a few months ago."

"That's too bad. I think it would be in order to know more about this demon's origin and abilities."

"All I know is that it has the power to regenerate itself unless you kill it by 'bringing darkness to a thousand eyes', which means smash the jewel it has in its forehead. It's very strong and needs a lot of salt to live."

"I've heard about Mohra demons," Lorne cut in. "I've only met one, that was last year… come to think of it, it was in November, so it was probably the one you killed. I read it, and what I do know is that it doesn't live around L.A. at all. It wants someplace with more salt water. They live in big packs and are very hard to kill when they're together. To be honest, I don't see how you'll be able to kill just the one and collect its blood without being made mincemeat by one of the others first."

Angel glared at him, clearly annoyed. "Well, I'll just have to find a way, won't I?" He knew where the bad temper came from. From the same thing that had healed his wounds in no time at all, that made him feel almost as high as the time he was on drugs… Buffy's blood. Slayer's blood was a very potent substance. And his demon wasn't exactly easier to smother when he was on it.

"Just wait for a moment," Wesley interrupted. "Why don't we try to research this demon first and worry about killing it later. First off, what do we do with Buffy?" A little bit of his old, distant Watcher mentality shone through when he asked the question that no one wanted to utter. They would have to do something to her, they all knew it. She couldn't stay in the car for however long it would take them to find something…

If they found something.

Angel looked towards his car. "She won't rise until tomorrow night," he said very quietly. Wesley nodded. He wasn't going to question whether Angel was sure of that.

"Then we have some time to make appropriate accommodations." he declared. "When Buffy rises, she will be as vicious as any vampire. We should have to make sure that she won't get the chance to hurt anyone."


Spike spun Drusilla around, kissing her softly. She tasted just like he remembered. How would he ever forget the scent of his sire? His sire, his salvation… his destiny.

Or at least so he had thought, once upon a time.

She had woken up quickly – he hadn't slammed her head very hard. He just needed her to be quiet when he took her away from the mansion. She was looking at him, smiling at him. Oh, how he remembered how it felt to be hers. He felt whole again.

No, actually, he didn't. Nothing felt like it used to. In fact, it all felt horribly wrong. He had his chip. He could never be what he had been with that piece of dynamite in his head. Still, in her presence, he felt forced to try.

"Now we can be together, my beautiful," he said, wishing that his words were true, deep down knowing that she knew he was lying to himself and her. She stroke his cheek with her pale, thin hand, cold fingers running over his cheekbone, sharp nails scratching the white skin just a little bit.

"No, no," she said soothingly. "Can't. No…. you're not the one. When he is ready. He is the one. My sweet Spike… sons and daddies. Daddies and sons… have to keep all that apart, or chaos will take the world… take it, and bleed it, my pretty William."

"Sons and daddies? Yeah, that's nice. Main course and dessert," Spike smirked, uncertain what Drusilla was going on about.

"Ooh, no…" she smiled. "Destruction, and oh, so much of it… Can't stand in the way. And you don't belong in this puzzling puzzle." Spike blinked. Maybe he was out of training in Dru-lingo, because he didn't understand much of what she said.

"Right. Out of the way. But I can be out of the way with you, pet."

"No, no, no…" she whirled around, smiling. "Pretty puzzle, falling to place. Can't be in the way. Can't interfere. Must watch out for the mighty blonde. She will fit. She will play her part. I will play my part… and he will play his. But you don't belong. Not for long, not for long…" Spike frowned.

"Mighty blonde? Darla's dead, remember? Again. Bird's got a thing about wooden things through the pump, suppose. What could you possibly mean with mighty blo…" He cut himself off. There was another possibility, only one that he could think of. And if that had happened…

He walked up to Drusilla, gripping her shoulders, shaking her slightly. His hard grip hurt her, but she didn't mind. She liked it. She moaned playfully under his touch.

"Hurt me again," she gasped, pressing herself against him. But just as she had expected, he backed up a step. He wasn't hers anymore. His move wasn't a conscious one, but he knew, just like she knew, that he wasn't hers anymore.

"Tell me," he said harshly. "What do you know? Did you have a vision? Is she…" Drusilla smiled, shaking her head sadly.

"Your head… still so filled with her, my pretty William." She lowered her voice, practically whispering. "You'll see."

And with that she pulled away from his grip and slipped into the shadows gracefully, leaving Spike to his own destiny yet another time.