Calling All Dragonflies

"Did you," Fred stopped, biting her lip nervously. "I mean…did he have to? Really, really have to? 'Cause there had to be another way, right?"

"At least she can't follow us around and get in the way." Gunn shrugged his shoulders and leaned into a feline stretch. "You're the one who blew the whistle on Ms. Morgan and her attempt to scramble Cara's brains."

"But don't you think it's a bit extreme?" Fred shuddered and gave the library doors a wide berth before heading into the office to claim her favorite chair. "I know he's already cut her head off once before, but did he really have to do that? It's not like he can actually kill her, he's been trying for years. So why shish-kabob her?

"Because he could and because it pissed her off."

"I haven't seen him this angry…well…ever." Compulsively, she dug through her purse for the bag of cookies she remembered tossing in that morning. Hopefully they would settle her nervous stomach. "But she's still talking and being Lilah, right? Just run through the middle and stuck to the wall."

"Oh yeah. Major creep out points for that one but I don't think she wants to get on Wesley's bad side."

"This isn't his bad side?" Gwen raised her eyebrows as she glided into Angel's office, kissing Gunn quickly before settling down on one of the couches. "I'd really hate to see his bad side if that isn't it. What's got his knickers in a twist?"

"Lilah tried to brainwash Cara." Fred attacked another cookie, her earlier anger returning. "She tried to give Cara all of her memories."

"Decided she wanted a new body and a Slayer would be quite an upgrade. Wesley's Slayer at that." With a sigh, Gunn flicked on the television to watch for any reports of a super strong crazy girl running around Los Angeles.

Gwen drummed her well-manicured fingers on the arm of the couch. "Still carrying a torch?"

"I guess. But they totally screwed it up." Fred wiped cookie crumbs off of her lap between bites. "What the Council did to Cara was bad but it wasn't mystical. That means that the memories were still there, just buried really deep and meaningless. Complete disassociation. If she had remembered anything, it would have been no more real than a dream. Using magic, you can actually alter the neural pathways and the electrical information that records the memories. But you have to go in a very specific order if you don't want to end up with spaghetti."

Gwen winked at Fred. "Cut to the chase scene, sweetheart."

"They were supposed to start with Lilah's childhood. If you were given all of Lilah's memories from yesterday but none of the days before they would be completely meaningless. From what I can tell with the computer transfer records, it was set up correctly but it didn't work and started with recent memories, mostly the last seven years and a good chunk of law school."

"And this is bad because Cara won't be able to understand them without the years they left out," Gunn added, sitting down beside Gwen.

"It's horrible. She won't know what's real and what isn't and the worst part was that they left all of Cara's memories from the Slayer Academy and Sunnydale. So she's still got all of the memories Lorne talked about plus seven years of Lilah and Wolfram and Hart."

Grimacing, Gwen moved closer to Gunn. "That explains the Watcher on the warpath, then."

"Angel's out searching the sewers and the tunnels surrounding Wolfram and Hart until the sun goes down. She's pretty slippery though. Wes keeps trying location spells but she's always gone when we get there."

"He's supposed to have her in Sunnydale tomorrow for the Slayer convention," Gunn mused sympathetically. "Told him we'd join the search party as soon as you got here."

"No problem. I'll grab a change of clothes. Any word from Cordy?"

"She hasn't had a vision if that's what you mean. Mostly we're just staying out of Wesley's way. After he skewered Lilah, we've all been a little worried about him."

"Well, it can't hurt her, can it?"

"No. But I really don't want to be in her shoes. I think he'll actually find a way to get rid of her this time." Shivering at the thought, Fred curled her legs up against her and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You go on. Angel's got his cell phone on. I'll hold down the fort here and keep Cordy company. Lorne should be back from checking all of his contacts soon."

"Give us a ring if you need anything."

"Will do."

Once they were gone, Fred scooped up the bag of cookies and padded silently toward Cordy's rarely used office, hoping that Wesley wouldn't hear or see her as she passed the library and ask her more questions she couldn't answer. Yes, Cara was most likely insane by now. No, she didn't know how it happened or how to find her. No, she hadn't authorized the use of her equipment. She'd felt horribly guilty when she had realized that Lilah had used her research in an attempt to steal Cara's body and was still grateful that Knox had noticed the unauthorized use and tried to shut it down as soon as he could. Since the whole system had malfunctioned and given Cara all the wrong memories, it was a double hit of guilt for Fred.

"Wes still playing cowboys and Indians?" Cordelia looked up tiredly from her polished desk, hands holding a piece of Cara's clothing loosely as she tried to trigger a vision of the lost Slayer. She had never stayed at Wolfram and Hart long enough to add any personal effects to the bare office, using it only when necessary.

"He hasn't scalped her yet."

"It's not like she's in pain, Fred."

"It's just really yucky, you know?"

Cordelia pulled a face at the doorway and set the t-shirt down abruptly. "Nothing here. But the Powers have never really been big with the on demand type of info."

"I hate to say this but maybe none of this would have happened if we hadn't moved into the warehouse. If we'd stayed at the main office. I'm not blaming you or anything. Just wondering about it."

"I've wondered the same thing." Cordelia shook her head. "But I'm sure Lilah would have found a way regardless of where we were. I'm surprised she didn't try to take my body while I was in a coma."

"If she'd wanted Angel, she might have done it, but I think she was trying to get to Wesley."

"She's getting to him, that's for sure. Just not the way she wanted to. And I'd hate to be her after he has to call and explain to the Watcher's Council that he's lost another Slayer."

"He's taking this pretty hard." Fred sighed again, too upset and depressed to do much else.

"Of course he is. This was his big chance to make up for past mistakes. He's always trying to save people and most of the time he fails. This was a chance to turn a failure into a success." Cordelia frowned at the t-shirt again. "And I think he and Cara worked well together. Both brainy, book types with all their demon knowledge and weapon stuff."

"Not to mention that if we do get her back…when we get her back…she'll have all of Lilah's memories and we may not come out too shiny and happy in her opinion." Fred smiled weakly. "The last few years haven't exactly been Nobel Peace Prize winners for any of us."

"As long as she knows I'm not evil any more."

"And what about Wesley and Lilah's past? She'll have all of those memories too. That's gotta be hard for him, knowing that every time she looks at him." She took solace in the bag of cookies.

Cordelia tapped one finger lightly on the tabletop. "On the plus side, she'll know everything Lilah knows about Wolfram and Hart. Right?"

"Probably."

"And that means we don't need Lilah any more."

"She's still got her contract with Wolfram and Hart. It's unbreakable."

Cordelia suddenly grinned brightly. "Lilah's the one who told us it those contracts can't be broken. Maybe Cara will have a different take. At the very least, we can make a case for the senior partners that we just don't need her anymore. Hopefully they'll send her back to Hell or wherever she came from."

"If we could find a way that she'd violated the conditions of her contract, which would be nearly impossible since depravity and evil are kind of the expected employee activities."

"But if she'd done something to compromise Wolfram and Hart security?"

"Such as putting all her memories of say, passwords, codes, rituals, into a Slayer's head."

"A Slayer who's nuttier than a fruitcake and a huge security risk." A calculating gleam appeared in Cordelia's eyes. "It may not get us our Slayer back but I'm pretty sure we can finally get rid of Lilah."

"How can I help?"

"First, we need a copy of her contract. There's gotta be pages of fine print and somewhere in all that legal soup, there will be a loophole."

"Do you think she's manic depressive?" Dawn pulled out another book from the psychology section.

"Faith? No, I don't think so." Willow shook her head and put back a book on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"I meant Buffy."

"What do you mean?"

"She's been freaky happy Buffy for the last few days. Maybe it's hormonal."

"She's probably just glad to be starting classes again, Dawn. She's only been able to go every other semester and it's been hard on her. If the deal with the men in black goes through, she'll be able to be a full-time student again and not worry about money."

Dawn shrugged and started into the self-help aisle, glancing around for titles that might be of use in their quest to aid Faith. "Maybe I'm just used to Stoic Buffy. But she reminds me of the Buffy Bot, really. Are you sure you didn't fix that thing?"

"Two hundred percent sure on the non-fixing of the bot. Ripped to pieces, remember?" Willow shuddered a little at the memory.

"We'll know for sure if she starts comparing everything to Spike and talking about his wash board abs. Ugh." Sifting through another row of books, Dawn finally gave up. "There's nothing new here. It's all the same thing. Time, time, more time, and space. She is getting better, right? I mean, the whole urn thingy seemed to help." Her voice was hopeful but she didn't feel it. Faith wasn't getting better and everyone knew it. It wasn't that she had shut them out, she had simply shut down completely. She talked, she ran, she even helped with the chores but her eyes were blank, her voice flat, and the zest for life that had always characterized Faith had vanished.

Willow put her books down and nodded toward the café. "Time for a beverage break, I think. Recharge before heading back into the fray."

"Something with sugar, please." Dawn claimed one of the round tables with tall stools. They were her favorite because she liked to swing her legs freely without hitting the ground, as though she was sitting on a cloud high above the world. A very tiny cloud surrounded by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the musty ink scent of the books. Pure heaven. Sure, there were finer things in life, but you couldn't live on a Hellmouth without learning not to take the simple pleasures for granted. There were far too many apocalyptic demon cults trying to end the world.

"Italian soda, raspberry and cream." Willow put the drink down carefully and settled onto a stool with her Chai Tea. "Faith's going to be fine. She's got you and Buffy."

"I just keep thinking that she's talking to all the wrong people." Dawn sipped at her drink. "I mean, you lost Tara and Xander lost Anya but she's not talking to either of you. She's just sort of disappeared into Faith World and I'm worried she's not coming back."

"It takes time. Xander and I had each other and you guys but it still took a long time before either of us really felt comfortable opening up about it. And we didn't have Faith's past to get in the way. It's not like she talks to Xander at all."

"And she gets the scared bunny look whenever she has to be in the same room with him."

"She's changed a lot since she tried to kill him."

"I'm the only one who hasn't tried to kill you all." Dawn rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Maybe Giles hasn't but I think you can blame Ethan on him actually, so he totally doesn't count."

"Xander hasn't really tried to kill us all."

"Yeah, except he summoned the singing demon that one time and Buffy told me about the time he was possessed by the hyena."

"Oh, right." Willow frowned. "But if you count your blood opening the expressway to Hell then you've tried to kill us too."

"Totally not my fault. I was so not the one with the knife."

"But if we count Xander, we have to count you. Accidental attempts to kill us are still in the running."

"Fine. So we've all tried to kill everyone else at some point. Some friends we are." Dawn snorted and turned back to her drink. "We should probably just stay away from Faith, she'd be better off without us."

"It'll work out. Did you get caught up on all your homework?"

"Just in time for finals." Dawn shrugged. "It wasn't too bad since I was caught up before everything went wonky and the profs mostly understood that people had world ending stuff to do. At least, lots of flood damage to take care of and power outages in which many lost their final essays to the dreaded computer monster." She fiddled with the straw wrapper for a moment and slurped more of her soda. "What do you think Buffy'll do with a business degree? I always figured she'd go into counseling or something. I mean, she likes being around the kids at the high school."

"I know she's mentioned working at one of the greenhouses. Putting her secret fertilizer to use."

"At least there's a reason the cemeteries are always so green. Even if it is kinda gross."

"It's good for Buffy though. If we could just find something like that for Faith."

"Maybe she could teach P.E. or something. Be a coach."

"Has she said anything?"

"Wants to see what happens with the government types tomorrow." Dawn checked her watch. "They'll probably be stuck with the Council for another hour or two. I think Iverson wanted to coach them on how to deal with the Initiative Redux and Riley was supposed to be here today to give them a tour of the new facilities."

"So it's home free for you and me. We should live it up, catch a movie or something."

"You're sure you don't have to get back to your research?"

"Absolutely. Plenty of free time to spend with my favorite surrogate sister. Besides, in total need of feminine support for a covert mission."

Dawn perked up. "Like the scoping out an available female kind of covert?"

"Of course."

"Cool. Is she cute?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "I've seen her around campus a few times and you know, there's nothing like an apocalypse to make you realize that you should just get out there and ask her out. Or at least, I should just get out there and ask her out."

"This is so cool. Xander's got a non-demony type of girlfriend who is a total riot and now you've got your eye on someone. I just need to find some hunky guy to sweep me off my feet and all is good."

"No prospects, huh?"

"Nary a one." Dawn sighed and waved unconcernedly. "I've been totally spoiled by you and Xander and Buffy. I want it to be great and perfect. Like you and Tara or Xander and Anya before the whole wedding fiasco. Or I want someone to worship me the way Spike loved Buffy. It's kinda hard to settle for casual dating with all the Shakespearean romances around here."

"You do know that all three of the romances you just mentioned ended badly and with a dead body, right?" Willow blinked at her, a little puzzled and a little worried.

"Yeah, I know. But before they died it was good, right? Okay, maybe Buffy and Spike were all sorts of bad but he really did love her until he got his soul back and hooked up with Faith. All right, Sunnydale examples are not of the good, but see? That's exactly my point. How am I supposed to know what good romance is when all I have are Juliet, Ophelia, and whoever else died horribly useless deaths just so the play would do better at the box office? I'm warped beyond repair by all of your shenanigans."

"Shenanigans?"

"Is so a word. It's even in the dictionary."

Willow laughed at Dawn's sour expression. "I know. It's just funny to hear you say it. Little Dawnie, all grown up and looking for love amidst the shenanigans."

"Ha ha. Make fun of me now, you'll have to listen to me sob about my broken heart later because I can't have someone who loves me as much as Tara loved you."

"You'll find someone, sweetie. I promise."

"Yeah." Dawn fiddled with her cup for a moment, swishing the ice around the bottom. "Weird question?"

"Ask away."

"Why William? Why not Spike? It's not like Sunnydale Memorial would care. I'm sure they see as much of the creepy as we do."

Willow stared thoughtfully into her tea. "It just felt right. Somehow. As though William was the one we were saying goodbye to instead of Spike. We had Spike at first, but it just didn't seem to fit. Too final, I guess. I mean, Angel came back from hell and I guess part of me still thinks that Spike will come back some day. From wherever he is. But William? Somehow I don't think he'll ever be back."

"Ask a weird question, get a weird answer." Dawn smiled. "But I get what you mean. It just doesn't feel right the other way."

"I didn't say anything to Buffy or Faith cause it sounds pretty crazy."

"Okay." Dawn swung off of her stool abruptly. "Operation Hottie Reconnaissance begins ASAP. Where do we make contact?"

"She's showing her artwork up in one of the school galleries."

"Sculpture?"

"Oil paintings." Willow blushed a little as they gathered up their bags and headed out of the UC Sunnydale bookstore and café. "I'm not sure what kind. I've only seen a couple, but they were very nice."

"Is she one of those crazy artsy hippie chicks?"

"Not really. I mean, she wears really cool clothes and stuff. Jewelry, bangles, and she has this adorable little knitted hat and matching scarf. Rainbow."

"Height, build, coloring?"

"My height. Sandy brunette, kind of like Tara. About my build, brown eyes. I think. I haven't actually gotten up the courage to maintain serious eye contact."

"So we check out the gallery, get a feel for what she's like and then initiate contact. Do you even know if she's into women?"

"I think so. But I could be wrong and that could be a major hurdle."

"Nah. Who could resist your charms?" Dawn linked her arm through Willow's as they made their way across the campus toward the Fine Arts building.

The gallery was cool and dry, only the soft sounds of hushed shoes moving across the stone floor and the occasional whisper of paper as someone leafed through the program of undergraduate displays. They picked up a program and after stifling a few giggles at the stuffed shirt manning the front table, they hurried off in search of the right exhibit. A corner cubicle had been set up in the maze of walls and artwork; it held the half dozen paintings they were looking for. Most of them were brightly colored landscapes with huge flowers and a very stylized sun beaming down onto twisting roads and fields. One was an abstract with heavy diagonal bars criss-crossing rectangles of color gradients and speckles of white and yellow. The last one was a female nude lying in bed, barely wrapped in a sheet and staring at the empty spot next to her in a large bed.

"It's sad," Willow whispered.

"And lonely." Dawn leaned her head on Willow's shoulder as they studied the painting.

"It feels like I did after Tara was killed. After the black haired part." Willow wrapped one arm around Dawn's waist. "In England, I'd stare at the bed for hours at night and all I could think of was that it would be empty forever because she'd never be there again. Never lie by my side and hold me."

"This is how Faith feels," Dawn commented with sudden insight.

"It's hard to have someone there one minute and gone the next. Hard to watch them go and know there's nothing you can do." Willow's voice was sad but clear.

"I'm glad you like it." The voice startled them and they jumped apart nervously. Behind them, a woman matching Willow's description was smiling, her long hair looped up into a tangled bun and pale fingers twisting part of her skirt a bit nervously. A pale swirl of cream and green fabric was knotted loosely around her neck and feathered lightly over her shoulder. "It's always nice to create something that reaches people in different ways."

"These are yours?" Dawn prodded Willow with her elbow but the witch just blushed furiously and kept her mouth closed.

"My blood, sweat, and tears for the last two semesters. Graduating can be a real bitch." The artist smiled, lighting up soft brown eyes. "Thanks for coming and seeing my stuff. I'm Leia."

"Dawn. And this is Willow. She's a big fan of your work but a little on the shy side." Dawn nudged Willow again and ignored the glare.

"Dawn, Willow. Pleased to meet you. There's a sculptor you should really check out while you're here. He does the most amazing things with clay." Leia led them through the maze to a series of organic sculptures glazed with a dark bronze. There was a large block of what appeared to be an ocean wave rising up to crash down on the beach. Looking closer, Dawn noticed several faces and hands reaching out of the surf like mermaids riding the crest of the wave as a roller coaster.

"Very cool." Dawn nodded, detaching Willow's nervous hands from her arm and moving around the sculpture. "This must have taken forever."

"Yeah. Took up the kiln for nearly a month and everyone wanted to lynch him. But it's beautiful now and we all love it." Leia glanced between them curiously. "I don't mean to pry but are you two together?"

"No! I mean, not because we're both women because that's fine, but she's my best friend's sister and that would be icky." Willow blushed scarlet.

"Hey!" Dawn grinned, trying not to laugh at the reappearance of Rambling Willow. "Besides, I'm way older than Willow."

"Dawn."

"Kidding. I'm too young for her actually, still fresh faced and innocent." Dawn shrugged and moved to the next sculpture. "As much as I love you Willow, I really don't swing that way. Sorry."

Leia smiled apologetically. "I was just curious. You seem really close. I didn't mean to barge into your private lives like a bull in a china shop. Sometimes my mouth gets me in trouble."

"I know the feeling," Willow said quickly. "I babble when I'm nervous and it's generally incoherent. Not much for first impressions."

"But we think it's endearing," Dawn interjected, eyeing what looked like a disgruntled volcano. "Our friends do, anyway."

"I tend to be too aggressive but I'm working on that." Leia was still fiddling with her floral skirt.

"How's it coming for you?"

"Can I get back to you on that?"

Dawn bit back a laugh and moved further into the maze of artwork to let Willow and Leia continue to talk. The unsuspecting art student was doomed. No one could resist the powers of Willow Babble; it had the effect of making someone want to strangle and cherish her at the same time, as though she was something that needed to be taken care of rather than a super powerful witch. It was a time capsule to a time when Willow was innocent and shy, before the darkness and harshness of life took its toll on them all.

A quick glance at her watch assured her that there was still plenty of time before Buffy and Faith would head home for their last night of unregulated sleep. Dawn was all for the government being there as long as they helped pay the mortgage, killed some demons, and generally left self-aware demon cyborgs on the drawing board. And she'd seen the faraway look in Buffy's eyes when she talked about having children. Dawn had reminded her several times that she should probably worry about getting a boyfriend first but that didn't seem to faze her. Then again, Buffy never did anything by the rules and Dawn doubted that having a family would be any different.

It was time that Dawn started thinking about her own future and her own family, if she wanted one at all. Sometimes it seemed that having a family was a sure way to get hurt. And if she was perfectly honest, she didn't know if she was even capable of having a family. Frustrated, she moved to the next exhibit and searched her brain for the lost memories of her brief time away from this world. She knew she'd gotten answers there, wherever she had been. But she just couldn't remember, they slipped away like greased weasels when she tried to grab hold of them. Damn memories. Such fickle bits of sound and light. It wasn't like she'd asked for this gig in the first place. She hadn't asked to be made human and be given memories of home and family.

Frowning, she stopped in front of a painting and grabbed hold of a stray thought. Family. The families of the Slayers had been destroyed. Anyone and everyone who carried Slayer genes. Her frown deepened. Summers blood. The monks had made Dawn from Buffy. She should be carrying the Slayer genes by default. Why hadn't anyone tried to kill her? That led to another question. Could she pass those genes on to her children? Did the government know? Somehow it was more frightening when she was potentially the one under the microscope and she really began to wonder about Buffy's behavior. How could she be so calm, so cavalier, about the whole having babies issue? She shuddered and rubbed her arms against the air-conditioned cold of the gallery.

Sometimes being an adult really sucked. Being mature and having eyes wide open usually meant standing on the tracks and staring into the headlight of the oncoming train. Life was a string of moral quagmires and questions; living in Sunnydale added a fourth dimension to an already chaotic world. She couldn't sit home and do her homework in peace knowing that Buffy was out fighting for all of their lives. Every night. For ten years. The magnitude of her sister's devotion was too much to comprehend sometimes, staggering in its magnitude. To be Chosen, predestined, was to be doomed to a world where the pretty lies of humanity could never cover up the glaring truth. Trick of the light, PCP. The excuses just didn't cut it after you'd killed as many demons as Buffy had. Or seen as many people die.

Feeling older than her nineteen years and much older than her actual human age of five, Dawn settled onto a bench to wait for Willow. The witch had gotten over her initial stage fright and was laughing, eyes sparkling with the excitement of meeting someone new. Dawn didn't feel like interrupting them and she didn't want to go home to an empty house just yet. Her ponytail snagged as she leaned against the wall and she winced as she pulled the captured strands free, glaring at the offending crack in the plaster. It took several minutes to find a comfortable position and she finally abandoned any attempt at social decorum to stretch out on the bench, hair cascading over one end and her feet hanging off the other. She just hoped the bench didn't turn out to be someone's art. Considering some of the displays, she couldn't be absolutely sure it wasn't a final project. Since no one was screaming or telling her to get up, she figured she was safe and closed her eyes.

The world was different without the sense of sight. Her ears began to pick up the faint sounds of feet moving across the stone floor and she could hear the gentle hum of Willow's voice, the richly feminine laughter from Leia, the whir of the cooling vents, and the hum of the lights above her. Tall ceilings were conducive to ghostly echoes and, if she concentrated, she could hear students passing outside the entrance, laughing and shouting as they made their way to the final classes of the semester. Summer was coming and in less than a week, Dawn would have nothing to do but work, read, sleep in, and the occasional patrol if Buffy felt like company. Usually, she looked forward to the peace and quiet of the summer months. Especially after the annual Hellmouth perkiness finally faded away at the end of May.

This time, summer wouldn't mean lazy days at the beach and relaxation in the shade. The army was here and they meant to stay. Dawn figured they wouldn't care that it was off-season for the demonic community of Sunnydale. If there weren't enough monsters for the commandos to kill or study, they'd probably import them. Not only did Buffy have to deal with seeing Riley on a permanent basis now that he and Sam had moved back to Sunnydale, she would have to contend with bureaucracy, politics, and government regulation. Definitely not a set of enviable summer activities.

Dawn pushed away the serious thoughts and forced herself to think about getting a tan and finding a boyfriend. A girl had to have her priorities straight. Maybe she should cut her hair, try a shorter look. Or layers. She could try layers. And she needed a new bathing suit even though swimsuit shopping was right up there with the Spanish Inquisition on the fun scale. What would life be like if that was all she had to worry about? Her breathing slowed and she felt her muscles relaxing, listening to the even thrum of the sounds around her as they lulled her into a restful state. The bench was surprisingly comfortable; she let one hand dangle over the side and her fingers trailed over the cool stone. She could trace the cracks, imagining the landscape from an insect's point of view where each bump would be a mountain and each fissure the Grand Canyon. A harsh new world spreading out as far as bug eyes could see, broken only by pedestal stands bearing oddly shaped pottery and the portable cubicle walls for colorful canvases. Did bugs have cities and freeways? Bus systems, trains. Did the larger insects serve as passenger jets for the little ones? All aboard Dragonfly flight 356, non-stop to Memorial Park. Please keep personal wings closed at all times. She smiled at the imaginary world of commercial insect traffic, picturing bugs dressed in uniform and waving glowing cones to direct the living planes down the runway.

She pulled her hand back up, clasping fingers together in a funeral pose and taking deep breaths. The tickling sensation on the back of her hand was so slight that she barely noticed it the first time. When it tickled again, she reached to scratch the irritation and was startled to feel something brush against her fingertips. Expecting a wasp or a bee, she stilled and opened one eye. Iridescent wings fluttered and the luminous eyes of a sparkling green dragonfly were studying her intently. The body spanned the width of her hand, tiny feet prancing and tickling as it settled into a comfortable spot.

"Hey," she whispered, careful not to disturb the creature perched on her hand. "I was just thinking about dragonflies." The wings flapped twice as if to say 'I know' and it continued to stare. Sitting up slowly, she raised her hand and peered into the faceted eyes, searching for intelligence. How had a dragonfly gotten into the gallery? She'd never seen one as large or as brightly colored in Sunnydale before.

"What's your name?" Smiling at the insect, she watched the wings flutter again. "I guess I could call you Evinrude. He was a dragonfly in a movie so I guess you could say he was famous. I could even get you a little scarf to wear." It twisted around, wing tips brushing against her skin and regarded her solemnly for a few more seconds before taking flight. Buzzing quietly, it circled her head a few times before zooming to the left and out through an open window.

Willow's voice broke the spell. "Dawn! Come look at this!"

Dawn pushed off of the bench and headed toward the bank of windows at the far side of the gallery. Willow and Leia were standing, almost pressed against the glass. "What's up, guys?" Her voice trailed off as she stopped beside Willow.

"How many do you think there are?" Willow asked, her voice hushed.

"I've never seen so many." Leia was also whispering, as though afraid any loud noise would frighten the creatures away.

Outside the gallery windows were thousands of gleaming dragonflies. Greens, purples, even sapphire blues glittered in the sunlight as they spun through the steps of a frenzied dance known only to insects. A crowd of students had gathered to witness the event, pointing and smiling at the darting swirls of humming color. Dawn stared at the back of her hand, remembering the strange tickling feeling of tiny feet and broad wings. She was suddenly very glad she hadn't been thinking about demons.

When the last seventy-five year review had come, Lilah had been a young, green lawyer desperate to learn everything that could help her stay at Wolfram and Hart. The results of past reviews could be summed up as blood and carnage and, if Angel hadn't burst in to crash the party, it undoubtedly would have ended the same way. Remembering back to the weeks of nervousness, nights of research, and the stress she'd felt preparing for the review, she decided those were the good old days. In fact, any day that didn't have her pinned to the wall with a sword driven through her abdomen was looking pretty good. At least he hadn't chopped her head off. Again.

"Wes, come on. You know this is useless. You can't kill me."

"That hasn't stopped me from trying, has it?" Gray blue eyes flashed dangerously as he started on another pile of papers. "One of these days, I will find a way to get you out of my life."

"I'm crushed. But shouldn't you be more worried about your precious Slayer?" Wiggling was almost painful but her itching back took precedence. It wasn't like she could ask him to scratch it for her, he'd probably use something with a very sharp, very long blade.

"The Slayer you tried to destroy?" Wesley ground out angrily, fists closed tightly as he glared across the library. Probably trying to think of new ways to torture her.

"Come on, Wes. She was barely human and you know it. I was doing her a favor."

"Do explain that bit of twisted logic," he snarled, leaning back in his chair with an expectant look.

"Say we had fixed her? Put back all her memories shiny and new and made them mean something. So she could go home to England and visit her family's graves? Every one of them six feet under just because of a few chromosomes. Think about it, Wes."

"I have thought about it. It hasn't changed my mind."

"She would have blamed herself. You know Slayers. It's all about self-sacrifice and the greater good. She would have blamed herself for not protecting them. Any guesses on how long she would have lasted? A few days? A few months? Where would the Slayer lines be then? You don't honestly want to leave the future of the Slayers in Faith's hands, do you? And I hear Buffy prefers her lovers room temperature."

"Shut up," Wesley snapped, standing up and beginning to pace.

"You know I'm right. I'm always right."

"Maybe. If it had worked." He stopped, eying her distastefully. "But it didn't."

"Cavalry was too late to grab the girl, though. Poor Wes. How does it feel to lose another Slayer?"

His voice was low and deadly. "I don't know what you were trying to gain by giving her the last seven years of your memories but I will figure it out."

"I told you it wasn't supposed to go that way." Lilah shook her head before he could speak again. "And spare me the lecture. I've heard the - memories have to be in the right order or the poor little Slayer will go insane - speech enough times to have it memorized. I don't know what went wrong." She hated being wrong, but she hated not knowing more.

"You haven't even shown an ounce of concern for her."

"Why should I? You'll find her, bring her back in. And you'll have no choice but to finish what I started. If you want to save any of her at all." Being skewered like a bug tended to take the edge off of any gloating she wanted to do.

"We'll find another way."

"Right. Of course, you're also assuming she won't kill you on sight."

"She knows we aren't trying to hurt her." He didn't sound as confident as he had before.

"Gotta admit, the last few years haven't exactly been rosy for any of you. She may decide you're just as bad as the rest of us." Lilah smirked, glad to be back on familiar taunting ground. "The whole Connor soap opera? I doubt any of you will come out looking like Mother Teresa in that mess. And Cordelia? Maybe if we're real lucky, Cara will decide the bitch is still evil and bump her off."

"You're pathetic, Lilah."

"Yeah, well. We all have our strengths. Do you think she'll still look up at you with those adoring eyes once she's seen your past? Seen us?" The bitter taste of dead blood should have filled her mouth when his fist knocked several teeth loose. She was glad she couldn't taste it.

"You don't know her." One hand reached for the hilt of the sword.

"Yeah. And you're doing real well at reading her mind. It's been nearly two days and you haven't managed to catch up with her." Lilah clenched her teeth to keep from reacting to the twisting of the blade through her stomach.

"Angel is following her trail."

"And you're here like a good little Watcher. Watching. Me mostly." She almost laughed at his glare. "Sure, you've tried a few location spells that didn't work because she's gone as soon as you get there. Face it. She's not coming back to you."

"Shut your mouth."

"Look at the bright side. At least this one didn't end up in prison."

"I said, shut up."

"When have I ever listened to you, Wes? When? I may be a captive audience since you've stuck me to the wall with a glorified thumbtack, but I'm not going to just stand here and say nothing."

"I suppose I could cut out your tongue. That might shut you up."

"Wesley. Wesley. I'm already dead. Stop pretending anything you do to me matters." She watched as he stormed back to his books and maps, whispering the words that would reveal yet another dead-end.

As soon as he got a location, he would call Angel and send the vampire running. But catching a Slayer had proven to be easier said than done and this one was good at disappearing. From the conversation she'd overheard between Wes and Angel, Lilah knew that Cara had spent some time living on the streets and was capable of slithering undetected into the sewers along with the rats. There were no reports of anyone injured by a young girl or talk among the demon communities of a new player. She had simply gone underground and disappeared. Come daybreak, she always managed to find a place where sunlight kept Angel at bay and when the others went in after her, they found little more than a few footprints and bits of food. Lilah had watched the farce from her vantage point on the library wall since it had begun.

After Knox had called Fred with the report that her neural transfer system was being used without proper authorization and the physicist had stormed in, the rest of Angel Investigations on her heels, and demanded to know what Lilah had done to Cara. By that time, of course, the Slayer had escaped into the tunnels and the great mouse hunt had begun. It had been almost midnight when Fred returned, eyes blazing anew as she had explained that not only had the process failed, but it had been botched so completely it could be irreparable. As though someone had picked through Lilah's memory and given Cara what they wanted without regard to sequence or how the memories would explain themselves in the Slayer's fragile psyche. One crazy Slayer had been set loose on the City of Angels.

None of that was Lilah's fault. She'd had the doctor's word that Cara would simply cease to exist and the two men had sworn from their stretchers that they hadn't done anything outside of the proper sequence. Lilah had been screwed over as much as the others, but she was the only one who'd gotten a sword through the stomach.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Lilah broke the silence, feeling rather like a petulant child stuck in the corner for a time out. "What kind of demon is she anyway? Well, half breed."

"I don't remember you talking this much when you were alive."

"My mouth was usually engaged elsewhere."

"I remember that." There was a quirk of a smile on his face.

"So where is she? Isn't this where they typically bring coffee and donuts and pretend to care?"

Wesley turned away from her. "We decided to take some time apart."

Lilah laughed, pleased that she wouldn't have to kill the hybrid whore after all. "What was it this time? Life on the dangerous side didn't suit her?"

"It was a mutual agreement. I needed more time to devote to helping Cara." He glanced up, eyes cooling to the color of cold steel. "Quite fortuitous, wouldn't you say?"

"How'd she take it? Brushing her off to spend time with a barely legal."

"It's not like that, Lilah and you know it." Shaking his head, he rubbed his face tiredly before meeting her gaze. "Do you think of nothing but sex?"

"Come on. Tell me you haven't watched her train with a little more than an objective eye." She watched him carefully, noting the quick dart of his eyes before he denied it. Excellent. She hadn't been wrong after all. "You know you can't lie to me, Wes. She may not realize what she's got but I'm pretty sure you've noticed."

"She's my Slayer."

"And you're her Watcher. I bet if you look hard enough, it's happened before."

His head tipped to the side thoughtfully. "Why are you doing this?"

"Nothing else to do." She shrugged and backed off. It was good enough to know that he had noticed the curves along with technique and precision. Lilah knew men and she knew Wesley. Biology was one thing not even he could ignore. Nor could he dismiss the possibility that they would have to bring Cara back to finish the process. Fred had all but agreed that they might have to let Lilah finish the neural transfer and even though it wouldn't be a surprise, her plan could still work.

Wesley sighed. "I thought I knew you, Lilah. Thought I understood. But your mind goes places I hope I never understand."

"I'm flattered."

"You would be." Straightening his shoulders, he turned back to the map and sprinkled a handful of dust over the surface, waiting for the telltale lights to appear as it lit up the various positions of the gang.

"I am sorry you'll miss the big group hug in Sunnydale tomorrow. Bad timing on my part."

"Lilah."

"Really. I am. I know how embarrassing it must be for you to have to show up empty handed."

"Lilah."

"I had no idea she'd run away and leave you hanging."

"Shut up." He reached for his cell phone, tapping in the numbers for Angel.

"What?" She strained to get a better look at the map.

"I'm going after her."

There was such hope in his voice that Lilah settled back against the wall with a heavy sigh. The emotional pain was hollow as he shrugged on his jacket and left the library, focused on the phone at his ear.

She was alone again.

She was disappointed, angry, and there was still a sword sticking out of her left side. Bitterly, she returned to her attempts to dislodge the blade from the wall behind her. So the prodigal Slayer had come home and they would run off to meet her, baby her, console her. Poor Slayer had been so tortured, so damaged. Lilah hated her. Hated her because she had Wesley's respect and his admiration. Ignoring the edges of the blade cutting into her hands, she braced herself against the wall and pushed against the hilt. Fucking Slayer didn't even know what she had, didn't understand what it was like to lose a man named Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. The sword slipped, caught, and came loose, tumbling to the floor as it slipped out of her flesh. She was certain that Wesley would never have stuck a sword through his precious Slayer and told her to shut up. If she had any luck at all, Cara would be completely incoherent and unable to spill Lilah's darkest secrets. Of course, given the current track record of Lady Luck, it would only be a matter of time before they all came running back to do more than just nail her to the wall.

Life wasn't fair even after you were dead.

A piece of wood was the only thing between Cara and insanity. An image of engraved vines in a stake worn smooth from her hands and the tip dull from the hearts it had pierced. It kept Lilah from taking over. Her hands were shaking, knuckles white around the sole anchor to what was real. Memories of Sunnydale shone like a lighthouse through the violence and vice of the past that was now Cara's even if she hadn't actually lived it.

She had run and kept running. Like a shark, needing to staying moving to stay alive. Into the filth and despair of the streets, the eyes of those who had lost hope following her blankly as she went back to the only place she had ever belonged; the only place her life had ever been clear. When all that had mattered was survival and the kill. One more demon, one more vampire. One at a time she would keep turning back the tide of darkness because she had been Chosen. She was a Slayer and it was her duty. But the streets offered no solace now that each of the nameless faces had histories and she knew that some of them, many of them, didn't want to be saved. They wanted to die quietly in the shadows, trapped in their own minds and numbed with whatever chemicals they could find. Where Cara had once felt kinship, she now felt revulsion and disgust.

Returning to Angel Investigations to get her stake had convinced her of one thing; she wasn't ready to face them. She couldn't look at them. Couldn't look at Wesley without seeing his eyes burn with hate and pain. Couldn't look at Cordelia without reliving Lilah's murder, hearing the brunette's final words as she stabbed the knife into her neck. Cara's heart was pounding, trying to remind herself that it was Lilah who had been murdered. Not her. That wasn't her. But it felt real. The fear, the pain. The rage at having to watch over Cordelia and take care of the woman who had killed her. It boiled beneath the surface and colored the world red. The others had less traumatic memories attached to them. A few of Gunn here, bitter memories of Fred, and harmless images of Lorne.

And Angel? She remembered his threats, his rage. Cutting off Lindsey's hand, locking Darla and Drusilla in with the Wolfram and Hart wine tasting party. As though she had been there. She remembered Darla, Drusilla.

You have beautiful skin.

Cara looked down at her arms, seeing only dirt. No unsightly scars, no blemishes. Beautiful skin. She just wanted the voices in her head to stop. Angel. Dark, unyielding, angry. Cold. So different from the Angel who had merely raised one eyebrow when she had tossed him across the room and asked if it was a Slayer's way of saying hello. There were other, different, memories. The feel of his lips against hers and his fangs sinking into her neck. Reading the report that he had tried to kill Wesley in the hospital. His failed attempts to get Connor back and his threats when she had started following the boy. By then, she had already found Wesley, bitter and broken.

But it wasn't her.

Focusing on the stake, she traced the familiar design and thought of Xander, of Buffy. Of anything but the poison Lilah had filled her mind with. She would never be able to be around her Watcher without the emotional baggage of seven painful years. How naïve she had been, how young and childish. Maybe she would go insane from trying to reconcile Lilah's life and her own. Maybe she was already insane. None of that mattered any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed off from the spot in the tunnels she had occupied and headed to the surface. Night was coming, she had to keep moving or Angel would find her. Is that what she wanted? For the confusion to finally end. Peace. Stupid question. She was fucked up beyond repair and couldn't tell the difference between reality and illusion. Concentrating on the stake, she forced down the bitter taste of chaos. Letting go to confusion meant letting go of herself. She just had to hold on long enough. Just long enough. It would get easier. It had to. There were only three Slayers left. Cara understood the gravity of that statement more than she had before. With Lilah's evil inside her head, she knew how desperately this world needed Slayers. The last line of defense against total annihilation of all that was good and pure.

The streets were bathed in a golden glow as the sun began to dip below the horizon, lighting the ocean in a blaze of color. Street names were familiar even though she had never seen them. She knew where to turn, which street to take. She knew a lot of things. She had knowledge of demons, of California law, of the people she had come to call friends. Knew more about Wesley Wyndam-Pryce than she had ever dreamed of knowing. She knew, but didn't understand, most of what had happened to Lilah. None of it made any sense. All of Angel's team had made their own trip to the dark side, most of which had been facilitated and encouraged by Lilah herself. Restlessly picking up her pace, it was a struggle not to start running through the darkening streets.

She hadn't killed anything in two days. Inaction was crawling and writhing under her skin, setting her muscles humming and aching for a good fight. Bloodlust. That was the word she had picked from Lilah's repertoire of emotions and labeled the restless violence that seemed to burn just beneath the surface. Part of her was ashamed of it and part of her gloried in it. Pausing briefly, she turned down a darkened alleyway, deeper into the bottomless abyss of the Los Angeles slums where there were always vampires lurking in the shadows. Her hands were shaking with anticipation. What would Wesley think if he could see into her head, into her heart?

Another insight from Lilah's memories. Cara frightened them because her fighting style wasn't as refined as Buffy's or as controlled as Faith's was now. It was efficient, it got the job done, but it turned their stomachs. Wesley's face appeared like a ghost in her mind's eye, pale and shaken, asking her why she'd taken the extra second to drive a piece of rebar through a vampire's throat before staking him. Immobilization, she had responded and she had believed it. Then. Had believed that she took out kneecaps, snapped spines and shattered skulls because it made them easier to stake. Made the killing blow straightforward and simple.

Little Miss Full Metal Jacket with the heart of a killer.

It hadn't made sense when Lilah had said it. Now it did. She was a Slayer. She was a killer. And she enjoyed it.

In Buffy's world, being a Slayer was a solemn duty thrust upon unsuspecting girls who were forced to live a life of sacrifice and pain. Cara didn't understand. Because the Council had made sure she wouldn't understand. They had stripped away her humanity, everything that made her like Buffy, and they had left her with nothing but the Slayer. She understood that now. She even had a good guess about their motives when they had decided to brainwash the potentials. It was something Wolfram and Hart would do. She shuddered, Lilah's emotions threatening to take over. Tiredly, she fought them down once again, a sense of futility creeping into her soul. How long would she be able to win? Seven years of Lilah against a year and a half year of Cara. Was there really any chance of winning?

Her hair snagged on a brick as she rounded a corner and she tugged it free, staring at the dark waves in her hand blankly. It needed a good moisturizing conditioner. That brought a smile to her face. She wasn't sure why. Glancing down, she saw dirt and streaks of dried blood covering her skin and clothing. A hundred ways she wasn't taking care of herself. Manicure, pedicure, waxing, moisturizing. Getting her hair styled and putting on make up. Being a woman carried the burden of a thousand beauty products and the never-ending quest to be younger and more attractive. The point of being attractive was nebulous. Cara wasn't sure if it was to ensure the companionship of a man or if it was vanity for its own sake. That part didn't make any sense. Gunn had said something that first night at Angel Investigations. About Buffy and Faith being beautiful, why wasn't Cara? Was she supposed to be beautiful? There seemed to be an enormous list of qualities that Slayers were supposed to possess that Cara didn't have. Mercy, compassion, beauty. At every turn, she came up short and she was wrong. Wrong and broken.

She kept moving through the dark streets of the housing complexes. Most were abandoned and would be crawling with vampire nests, the previous tenants either frightened away or eaten. Gunn's old neighborhood. It reminded her of Detroit, bleak and hopeless. Los Angeles needed a Slayer, maybe more than one. Or it needed to sink into the ocean and rid the world of its debauchery. Not just vampires, not just Wolfram and Hart, those were the tip of the iceberg. Little fish in a big pond waiting for the big fish to return. Thanks to Lilah, she knew something was coming. Something or someone who wasn't afraid of vampires with souls or Slayers.

Cara didn't care. It was all just one more fight. Eventually a monster or demon would slip in and sink claws or fangs into her skin. No more Slayer, no more fighting. Peace. None of it mattered to her. Nothing mattered anymore.

Faint shouting was coming from one of the abandoned houses and she headed in that direction. Not to help. Not to save. Just to fight and kill and be a Slayer. Because she wanted to. It was liberating. No grand message or sweeping duty, just blood and fists and power. On some level she recognized that Cara the Vampire Slayer wanted to save people and wanted to help people. She wasn't that Cara any longer. That Cara had been strapped to a table and ripped to shreds, unable to struggle or fight back. Sacred birthright? Fuck it. She just wanted to hurt something. Until there was nothing left but pain and death.

A group of vampires had herded half a dozen humans into a dead end, growling and taunting them. Cara frowned as she watched the insults hurl back and forth. The humans were armed with stakes, crossbows, a few knives and at least one machete. They obviously knew what they were up against and were determined to fight until the end. Los Angeles was full of surprises. She crept around the vampires and pulled herself silently up the wall of the collapsing building on the north side. Staying low, she eased herself into a better vantage point to watch the fight below.

The vampire at the forefront sneered, gesturing casually to the humans. "We've had enough of you and your little army."

"We're not afraid of you." A woman pushed her way to the edge of the group and stared down the vampires, not a hint of fear showing on her face. Cara recognized her. Older, battle scarred, but familiar. Justine. The woman who had slit Wesley's throat.

"How do you feel about dying?"

Justine shrugged. "Half your nest is dead. Are you ready to join them?"

"We aren't afraid of you." One of the younger vamps piped up. "You're not a Slayer."

"Doesn't matter. This will still kill you." She held up a crossbow threateningly.

Cara retreated into the shadows of the building, dropping down behind the wall and moving east toward the back of the human group. They were still shouting at each other. She wondered why the vampires weren't attacking. The humans must know how to handle themselves. Then again, vampires liked to brag. Cara hated that part and usually cut the taunting short by breaking bones. It seemed to be part of some ancient tradition, even Buffy traded barbs with her opponents as she fought. Bitterly, she added that to the list of Why Cara Wasn't a Proper Slayer as she impatiently climbed up to a broken window and slipped through. Boots hit the broken pavement with a soft thud and several of the humans glanced back toward her. One spun around and raised his crossbow, ordering her not to move.

Cara held up her stake. "Not a vampire."

"Check her pulse." The man snapped to the boy next to him. Cara waited as the boy hurried toward her nervously, holding out her wrist so he could feel the beat of her heart beneath the skin.

"She's human." He sagged with relief and scurried back to the group.

"Did you see any vamps inside the building?"

"No." Cara moved forward, filling a gap at the right edge. Close up, they were in worse shape than she had realized. Most were bloody and bruised, looking as though they hadn't had a good meal in days and a bath in longer than that. The boy was still watching her intently and she motioned toward the long knife he wore at his side. "May I?" He slipped the machete out of its sheath and handed it to her.

It felt good in her hand. Good balance, good weight. Spinning and twisting it through a pattern of figure eights, she relaxed the muscles in her wrist, warming them for the coming fight. There was nothing like the sound of a blade slicing through flesh. She tested the edge, pleased to find that it had been sharpened. The boy's eyes had widened, filled with awe and surprise. Cara was anxious to get into the fight, tired of listening to the vampires talk. She hated the chatty ones. Hate. That made her smile. She'd never hated anything before. The Academy had taught them that emotion was distraction, emotion would get them killed. To be a good Slayer meant stamping out all emotion, leaving nothing but the moves, the weapons. Concentration.

Pushing her way to the front of the group, she stopped at Justine's side. "Let's get this over with."

"Who are you?" The vampire snarled and glared at Justine. "Another one of your Slayer wannabes?"

"You could say that." Cara shrugged. "I'm tired of waiting for you to shut up." There was a slightly panicked look on Justine's face and Cara noticed the blood spreading across her side. She had been stalling, trying to find a way out for her wounded and weary band of warriors. Damn humans. Always getting in over their heads. She didn't care. Let them die.

"Step on up then. I'll make it especially painful just for you."

"Wait." Justine's hand caught her arm.

"Fall back," Cara ordered sharply, nodding toward the group. "Stick with the crossbows. Take out the ones along the walls."

The vampires were laughing as she closed the distance between them, stake in one hand and machete in the other. Every cell in her body was screaming for a good fight, hungry for blood and violence. Adrenaline began to sing through her veins and she smiled. This was the best part of being a Slayer. Into the fray. Who knows? She might die. She might finally slip up and get bitten. That was all part of the appeal. She didn't realize she was laughing until the vampires quieted, staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"You're one crazy bitch," the leader hissed. She could see him coiling for an attack.

"You know what?" She caught his fist as he lashed out, twisting his hand down and snapping his wrist. "You're right."

She was crazy. She just didn't care. The machete carved through his torso and he stumbled back, not sure which wound to clutch as he glared murderously up at her. Another dove toward her, meeting the blade halfway and shrieking as it plunged through his ribcage. She didn't stake him. She didn't want to kill them. She wanted to hurt them. Kicking out, his knee made a sickening crack as it bent backwards and he crumpled to the ground. Bone crunched as she backhanded him furiously, anger and hate fueling her thirst for pain. The third vampire lost an arm, the knife slicing cleanly through the joint at the elbow and while he was focused on that injury, she twisted his head with a snap. Two of the vamps had disappeared into dust, arrows piercing their hearts. She kept going, driving the stake into flesh and slashing with the machete. It wasn't enough. Tossing away the weapons, she pounced on an escaping vampire, sweat dripping down her back as she pounded her fists into his face until he stopped moving.

Still not enough. There were a few more fighting the humans and she latched onto them, breaking arms, legs, necks. Cracking skulls against the ground and spattering blood over her hands and face. She knew how to twist and break, where to hit and inflict the most pain. The Council had taught her. Made her the perfect killer. She hated them too. Hated everything, hated the whole world. She could taste blood in her mouth as she yanked the last vampire onto his unsteady feet and slammed him against the wall, punching him hard enough to fracture ribs.

"Cara!" Someone was shouting, hands were grabbing hold of her arms and shoulders.

"No!" Screaming, she tried to get free, to get back to the vampire she had been tearing to pieces. They wouldn't let go. Turning in a fury, she barely registered Angel's face before her fist connected with his jaw. She hated him too. Hated him for what he'd done to Wesley, for years of threats and years of being his servant. At his beck and call, spending the best years of her life and death on him, wasting them on him and his pathetic little group.

Pain seared through her neck and jaw as his foot hit the side of her face, sending her reeling back. Pushing off of the wall, she launched herself at him, snarling and hitting. The whole world was the color of blood. Everything was blood. Instinct and training kept her fighting when all she could see was blood and pain. Hitting, kicking, staggering back or to the side when his blows landed. She was breathing fire and tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on her lips and trickling from her nose. Nothing but violence and the screaming in her head, screaming in her blood for more until it finally consumed her; washing away the confusion and sadness in a blaze of searing pain.

She hit the ground, wincing at the impact against her shoulder and gasping for air even as her leg wrapped around his and knocked him off balance, sending him tumbling down on top of her. They rolled down the alley, clawing and struggling. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that he was saying her name. Was that her name? No. Her name was Lilah.

"Cara! Stop!"

Twisting away, she rammed her elbow into the side of his neck and head butted him angrily. He recovered in a split second, one hand clamping down on her throat as he pulled her back, holding her down with the weight of his body.

"I'm sorry, Cara," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

The world began to spin, her muscles growing weak. She gasped for air as darkness began closing in. He was still whispering. Stroking her hair soothingly, telling her it would be all right. Everything would be okay. Limp and unable to move, she could only disagree silently. Everything would not be okay. She would not be okay. She was broken; she was ugly. Fury faded away into the dark and she felt the pressure on her neck lessen. He was still holding her, she could still taste blood in her mouth.

"She must have snapped." It was Gunn's voice.

"Who wouldn't?" Gwen was there too. Somewhere in the black with her soft, feminine voice and electric hands.

The ground fell away, she could feel Angel's arms around her, lifting her up and pulling her tightly against his chest. Her world was black. It was better that way, better to be nothing than a failure. She wasn't a good Slayer. She had failed. They had broken her but she had failed. Her duty was to protect innocents. There were no innocents. Her Watcher knew, he could see into her and see how ugly she was. How unfit she was to be a Slayer. No better than the demons she killed. Why were they trying to save her?

"Who is she?" Justine's voice.

"Is she a Slayer?" Someone unfamiliar, maybe the boy with the machete.

"Yes." Finally. Her Watcher; Wesley.

The humiliation was complete. He had seen her. Now he would hate her again. She had lost him. Again. Pulling away from the world, she felt tears slip down her face, leaving hot tracks of salt on her skin.