Romancing The Slayer
"Xander!"
Buffy pushed up on the rung of the high backed chair to wave across the crowded Espresso Pump. When he disappeared from her view, she took a couple deep breaths to calm herself, remembering to drop the napkin she was in the process of slaying. Smoothing out the wrinkles in the torn paper napkin as best she could, she changed positions several times as she waited for him to weave his way through the people.
Xander grinned as he ducked out of the melee with his soup bowl of hot cocoa. He added a dash of cinnamon as he took a seat across from her. "It's my favorite blond slaying pal."
"I'm your only blond slaying pal, Xander."
"Then you're my favorite by default." He sipped his cocoa and gave her a satisfied smile. "So, what baddie's got you calling the Xan-man for help? Demon? Vampire? More of those wacky gremlins with the fuzzy hair?"
"Willow pretty much barbequed all of those."
"Gotta love the new high voltage Willow." For a moment he hesitated, opening his mouth several times without finding the words. "You don't think?"
"No," Buffy cut him off quickly. "She says it's something about the whole world being more magical or some other highly technical meta-whatsit thing I don't understand. No draining of any bookstores and no creepy veiny-ness in sight."
"Good. Cause, you know, we might worry."
"I asked." She smiled and spun her teabag around with the spoon. "How are you doing? With the job and Jane. How's Jane?"
"She's good. Last year of school busyness and stress. It gets hectic, but she's doing fine. I'm good. Lot of meetings and the usual power tools working their evil mojo on my migraines."
"But life's good?"
"As good as Sunnydale gets."
Buffy tried looking at her mug from a different angle, seeing if it made her any less nervous about where she wanted the conversation to go. "Good, good."
"Do you need help with patrol? Research? With all the manpower you've got now it's been like a vacation."
"Patrol's totally covered. The guys really love to get out there and kill things."
Most of the time, she was grateful that there was a group of young Marines waiting to do just that every night. She'd had more free time in the last few months than she'd ever had in her life, including the years before she was called and she was unbelievably well-paid to tag along and give the guys pointers about demons and fighting techniques.
"Trouble with Riley? I know he's been missing in action a lot now that Sam's getting further along."
"He's great. Really. He brings Aaron to training some days and they're so cute together. Way off the cuteness scale."
"Dawn?"
"No, Dawn's perfect. The definition of perfection. Quiet, tidy. Doesn't shoplift or date vampires. A million percent satisfaction on the Dawn front."
"Well, whatever the problem is, I'm your man. Lay it on me."
"It's complicated." Buffy bit her lower lip and took a sip of tea as a last-ditch stalling technique. She couldn't avoid it forever. "And really random. But sometimes random things are the best, you know? Like one of those toy thingies. You put your quarter in and who knows what you'll get. Maybe a keychain or a bracelet or even one of those gooey hands that stick on windows."
"How random are we talking here?"
"Now you're suspicious! You're thinking that maybe you'll put your quarter in and get a Spice Girls binder sticker instead of the mini football helmet."
"You have to admit, Buff, Sunnydale random is usually weird and freaky random instead of winning lottery ticket random."
"Yeah." She frowned down at her tea for a second and took another gulp. "Do you think, I mean, you're still young and handsome and marketable."
"I am," he answered slowly, raising his eyebrows.
"And I don't want to be one of those friends who are too pushy or anything. Just a question."
"Ask away."
"Are you going to ask Jane to marry you?" Buffy winced as he choked on his cocoa. "I'm being pushy, aren't I? That was pushy."
"No, no. It's a good question. Just give me a second to get the chocolate out of my lungs." Coughing hoarsely, he gave her a weak laugh and took a deep breath as soon as he could. "We haven't talked about it. Just sort of letting things happen. You know, come what may. Que sera, sera. It's all very Doris Day."
"I like Jane, I really do. She's plucky." Buffy cradled her mug for a moment, wondering if that was actually a compliment.
"She's a good woman."
"Have you thought about kids?"
Xander stopped the mug at his lips and put it down gently. "I think I'll just wait to drink this until after you're done asking questions."
"I told you it was random. It was just something that I've been thinking about lately. Since I'm one of the three remaining Slayers and I'm supposed to do the regeneration thing. All very important, fate of the world, yada, yada." She gripped the mug tightly to hide the fact that her hands were shaking and prayed she wouldn't shatter it before she finally managed to get through the whole story.
"The biological clock is ticking, I see."
"Sort of. I do want children. Someday. I just wanted to know if you had thought about it. Input, feedback, someone to talk to."
"And you couldn't talk to Will?"
"I was sort of uncomfortable talking to Willow about it. I know it's girl stuff but I wanted a male perspective." A suitable lie popped into her head and spun out through her mouth before she could stop it. "What happens when I find someone and we start dating and I say, hey! I want a baby; it's kinda to save the world. What would you say? Give me the inside scoop on the male mind."
Xander considered it for a moment. "He'd probably run screaming from the room."
"Would you? Run screaming that is."
"If Jane told me she wanted a baby? I'd probably suggest getting a cat but she's already got one. Who is one freaky cat, by the way. Some days I think he can read my mind. And I've seen him turn on the radio, I swear."
"So I probably shouldn't say that. The baby thing."
"Probably not. Although, if he was a nice, mature kinda guy, he'd at least hear you out before he ran away."
"Right." Losing steam, she settled for staring down into her mug despondently and considered abandoning the idea completely.
"Buff? You okay?"
"Yeah, just a lot on my mind, I guess."
"Have you even found anyone you like?" He smiled affectionately as he reached for his cup. "I got the impression that the dating circuit wasn't exactly the thrill ride of the century for you."
"There's a good possibility that all the decent men on the planet who are also interested in Buffy Summers also have the good sense not to live in Sunnydale."
There was also the little detail about two-thirds of her ex-boyfriends having died at least once and all three thirds, plus a bit more for good measure, having left her. That was the part that kept stinging, that kept her wary and aloof. What was the point of finding a boyfriend if he was just going to turn tail and hop away into the sunset to find someone else? Or die. The sound of goodbye was one death knell that she'd heard too often and was determined to never hear again.
"But you're still young, why are you worried about it?"
"I told you it was complicated." She didn't want to get back on the boyfriend train; didn't want to go through the pain of losing any more men to stakes, swords, curvy brunettes, or all of the above. No more funerals, no more mourning when one more lover had to be sacrificed to save the world. Two was still a coincidence and she wasn't about to give Fate the chance to make it a pattern. It was time to start making plans that didn't revolve around a man. That way, if she did find someone, her life wouldn't be destroyed when he left and if she never found someone; Viva the Less-Painful Life for Buffy.
"I eat complicated for breakfast."
Buffy placed the mug carefully on the table and picked up the napkin again, twisting it between her fingers. "I figured that even if I haven't found someone yet, I could still think about it. And prepare. That kind of thing. Take vitamins, do exercises. Read a few books about babies."
"Good plan." He motioned for her to continue.
"I set up an appointment with one of the army doctors, since they already know I'm the Slayer and I figured that's something that they'd need to know about. For prenatal care and stuff. Since the government's paying for all of it, why not?" The napkin was tattered, looking sad and broken in her hands. "I went in and told Dr. James my plan. He thought it was a great idea so he ordered all these tests and gave me some books, a whole case of vitamins, and lots of ideas for meals."
"Sounds like you're being the Girl Scout Buffy we all know and love."
Picking pieces of the napkin off of her fingers, she felt the giddy energy from earlier fade away. "The thing is, is that when Dr. James did an ultrasound, he got this weird look on his face. Then he did another and another. Then he wanted to stick this little camera up there and look around."
"Are you sure you don't want to be telling Willow this?"
"I'm sorry, Xander. I know it's too much information, but I'm trying to explain. I'm trying to tell you that I can't have children." She tried to smile and put her arms on the table. Her fingers listlessly pushing the spoon around for lack of anything better to do. The news had hit her like an ambush, threatening to destroy the fragile vision she had begun to build for her future. Restoring the Slayer line was just a happy side effect, ensuring that the world would be merrily celebrating Christmas years after she was gone.
"Buffy. I'm sorry."
"He said there's no way for the egg to get through the tubes. They're all blocked with scar tissue. Too many kicks to the stomach, I guess." Tears had already been shed in the privacy of her bedroom. As she'd gone through her own baby pictures longingly, feeling empty and broken; wishing that her mother was there to hold her and tell her that everything would be just fine, that miracles happened even for Slayers. Then she'd tried to convince herself that it was for the best, that Faith and Cara could carry on the Slayer lines. But that only went as far as wondering if both of the other Slayers would have the same problem.
"And there's nothing they can do? Surgery?"
"They can try but he said they'd probably just create more scar tissue." Exhaling shakily, she smiled as he took her hand and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. "I haven't told Dawn yet. I just couldn't tell her. She bought me some pregnancy books and, even though she tells me I'm all weird and baby hungry, I think she was sort of excited to be an aunt."
"I'm sorry," he repeated sympathetically.
"Dr. James said that I could try in vitro fertilization. At least, I'd have almost a fifty-fifty chance. It's really expensive, but I wouldn't have to pay for it and he can bring in a couple doctors he says are really good so I wouldn't even have to leave Sunnydale."
"Then there's light at the end of the tunnel. Don't worry, Buff. It'll all work out."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It would take some time, they have to give me a lot of drugs and do more tests so I'd probably be out of commission for a while. Riley's team can handle patrol and Dawn's old enough to be alone, so I'm not worried about any of that." Nervousness returned full force and she tightened her grip on his hands.
"We'll take care of whatever you need."
"Normally they just use a donor for, you know, the sperm." She took a deep breath and kept going before she chickened out. "But I don't want to wonder about the father. I don't want my baby to grow up knowing that I just checked out sample A-05 and that their father doesn't even know they exist. And I don't want it to be someone I don't know and admire. I want it to be someone I love."
"I'm sure everyone wants that."
"I want it to be you, Xander." She waited for his reaction; waited for him to tell her that he couldn't do it. Instead, he just blinked at her as the color draining from his face. "I know it's a lot to ask and you should talk to Jane first, if you want to. And it's okay if you just want to visit on birthdays and holidays. I mean, you can be as involved or as uninvolved as you want to be. Completely your call. And you can say no. I just thought I'd ask, since you're my first choice and my choices are actually pretty limited so that's not really saying much. And I really hope this doesn't make everything weird and icky between us."
"You're rambling," he told her softly and pulled his hands away.
"You're going to say no, aren't you? God, I'm sorry I brought it up."
"No, wait. I mean, don't be sorry. It's okay. Just a lot to take in." Running his hand through his hair, his cheeks puffed out for a second as he exhaled. "You're asking me to be a father. To have a baby. With you. Can I tell you how crazy that sounds?"
"I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, well aware of the craziness."
"And you're sure you want a baby now? With me?"
"I'm sure. The odds don't get any better as I get older, Xander. I'm well past the Slayer expiration date already. I can't wait for Mr. Right or even just, Mr. Has A Heartbeat and Isn't Evil. I don't have that kind of time." She wished fervently that she could explain the sense of mortality closing in around her, knowing that she probably only a had a few more years to even think about it.
"How sure is sure?"
"Sunnydale has a Hellmouth sure."
"You've thought about this?"
"A thousand hours and counting." She reached out to take his hand again. "Please, Xander. I know it's a lot. I know it's more than I have the right to ask from you and if you think about it, talk it over with Jane, and decide that you can't do it. That's okay. Just think about it. That's all I'm asking."
Nodding slowly, he stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "When do you need an answer?"
"Take all the time you need."
"Then I'll get back to you. Tomorrow. The next day maybe."
"Thanks, Xander." She watched him walk away, looking as though he'd been struck by lightning and decided she'd done exactly that. When he disappeared out the door of the Espresso Pump, she put her chin down on her arms and stared bleakly into the thinning crowd. With her luck, she'd just ensured that Xander would never be comfortable around her again.
It had all seemed so simple inside her head. Xander was her rock; the grounding force of the Scooby world. Out of the group, he had the closest thing to a normal life and the best odds of having a normal family. If something happened to her before the baby was old enough, she had no doubt that Xander would do the right thing and take the child far away from Sunnydale. If she did manage to keep on ticking through the years, then sharing custody with Xander couldn't possibly be worse than time sharing after a divorce and they'd probably get along better than most married couples anyway. Convince Willow to be Godmother and everything would be set. But that was only in the neatly organized fantasy world of the If Wishes Were Fishes Universe.
Identify the problem, find a solution. That was her theme song.
She needed someone she could trust. Not a boyfriend; those were fickle, doomed creatures and she was done with them. Someone who knew the truth about what went bump in the night and who could hold his own against the everyday threats. And when she finally did catch the call to Slayer heaven, someone who wouldn't be too devastated over her death to take good care of the child. It was a tricky and demanding list of attributes, but Xander had passed with flying colors. He'd already seen her dead twice so a third time couldn't be that traumatic and he wasn't in love with her, extra bonus. First choice? In reality, he was her only choice. If he said no, she would take her lumps, and the unknown sperm donor, only after she bound both him and Willow in blood to take care of her baby when she died again.
"Another Buffy Summers disaster," she mused to the cold tea. "Probably should've just handed over the merchandise and let them make an army." The mug didn't answer, liquid rippling soothingly with the vibrations of the people moving around her. Given the chance and a pair of ceramic legs, she was sure it would have abandoned her as well. That was how the world worked.
"If you love someone then you have to kill them. Then you find someone else and they leave you because they're convinced you don't love them even if you do…sort of. Not the same way you loved the first guy, but it's still love, right? Once he's gone, you get on with your life and he finds Miss Perfect. So you move on too, this time it's dark and worlds of wrong and you end up in love even when you know better. But you get hurt and left behind again. And when he comes back, he's trying to kill you with a side of extra crazy. That goes about as well as polka dots and paisley. He shacks up with your reformed evil twin and ends up dead." Tea shimmered with what she decided was encouragement.
"What's left?" It was a painfully haunting question. "After the next guy leaves and then the next. What's left when they're gone? Just me. Just me."
She'd spent four long years hoping and not hoping that Spike would be the one to break the vicious cycle and come back, only to watch him fall to the Buffy Summers curse. This time she'd hurt more than just herself. Logically she knew that it wasn't her fault, but logic didn't reach the part of her that felt guilty. Spike's soul had nearly ended the world, Spike's soul had cost him his life and he had gotten it because of what had happened in Sunnydale. Because of her. She was just as responsible as Faith.
"The truth is," she finally admitted to the listening mug. "Everyone I love dies, leaves, or suffers. I'm like the plague. And I'm through with it." She had loved and lost enough, it was time to try the never loved at all tactic. Even if it meant that she would be alone, and probably lonely, she was determined not to ruin another life or kill another lover. And maybe, just maybe, that bleak future wouldn't be quite so bleak if it had someone in it. A small, round, crying someone with bottles and diapers.
Jane was folding laundry. She looked beautiful with the corner of a blanket tucked under her chin as she wrestled to fold it into quarters. She was singing some loopy song with nonsense words. Xander loved the little things. The singing, the look of concentration as she blew the hair out of her face and snagged the last corner of the blanket. The way she would talk to Bugsy and crumple up the fabric softener sheet for him to bat around the linoleum of the laundry room; the way she would laugh at his antics and bend down to kiss his head. She loved that cat. She embraced life with an openness and optimism that Xander wondered if he'd ever seen in anyone else. She was a little of Buffy, a little of Anya, a little of Cordelia, and a lot of something entirely Jane.
"Added lurking to your resume?" Brown eyes sparkled with humor and he realized that he even loved the fact that she refused to give up the ragged Spiderman shoes.
"Part time. Still working on my technique."
"Try slouching a bit more." She demonstrated, laughing as she lost her grip on the blanket and ended up dumping it in the basket unfolded. "How'd the pow-wow with Buffy go? Scooby news?"
"Sort of." He shifted to his right foot and leaned against the doorframe. "Nothing demony."
"Good. Night off for my demon-hunting boyfriend. I've got root beer floats." Her smile was infectious.
"Sounds wonderful." He caught her waist as she headed past him and pulled her into a hug. She smelled of laundry detergent and Pine-Sol. No extra fragrances, no scented lotions or perfumes. Just Jane. The way she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back, nuzzling against him and smiling that comforting, warm fuzzy smile, was pure Jane. Let the world come tumbling down around her ears, she'd get up the next morning, break out the mop and start cleaning up the mess.
"Everything A-Ok in Xanderland?" She snuggled closer.
"Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"How long have we been dating?"
"Six months and fourteen days."
He smiled, leaning down to rub his cheek against her silky hair. No hair spray, no gel. Just Jane. "Hmmm. How do you get your hair to stay so soft?"
"Meat tenderizer. A hundred whacks a day."
"And your skin?" He brushed his fingers against the back of her neck gently.
"That's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to tickle you to death."
"Not a bad way to die." He looked down as she pulled away and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "In your arms. Not a bad way at all."
"If I didn't know better, Xander Harris." She scrunched her face into an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness. "I'd say you were flattering me."
'Is it flattery if it's the truth?"
"Now I know you're flattering me."
"Actually, I was aiming for seduction, but I guess I'm a little rusty." He watched her face go serious for a second, head tipping to the side as she blinked up at him. "Feel free to stop me at any time if I'm making a fool of myself."
Her smile was soft this time, gentle. "Why now? I mean, we haven't, it's been six months and we haven't."
"I'm ready now."
"You're sure?"
"Very sure." He grinned at the echo from his conversation with Buffy and leaned down to pull her tightly against him, picking her up off the floor and starting down the hallway toward the bedroom like a groom carrying his bride. "And it's going to be in a bed with candles and romantic music. We're going to do this right."
She held tight around his neck. "Define romantic music…"
"Not the Batman soundtrack."
"You're no fun."
"I do have limits." He set her down gently at the foot of the bed and shooed Bugsy out of the room. "Sorry, pal, no show for you. I promise I'll turn on the bird video later and there's an extra catnip treat for you if you refrain from scratching on the door while I make love to the lady." When he closed the door and turned around, Jane was already lighting the pillar candles she kept on her dresser and bedside tables. He picked out a soft instrumental CD from her collection and slid it into the portable stereo, smiling as he watched her turn down the comforter on the bed.
"I feel a little silly." She blushed as she took a seat at the end of the bed. "I didn't have any warning so there's no sexy lingerie or anything. Just plain old Jane."
Plain old Jane was just perfect, he thought, tracing a line across her cheek before reaching down to slip his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt and pull it gently over her head. A simple white cotton bra stood out in the soft light, showing off the freckles peppering her shoulders and chest. Taking her hand, he motioned for her to stand up and dropped his hands to her blue jeans. More cotton with a tiny floral pattern was soft against his skin as he pushed the worn denim over her hips and down her legs. Setting the jeans aside carefully, he rubbed her arms and shoulders as her fingers began working down the buttons of his shirt. He shrugged out of the fabric, watching her delicate hands as she continued undressing him. Down to his boxers, he caught her hands and nodded toward the bed. He waited for her to get comfortable before stretching out at her side and running his hand lightly over her legs, caressing her stomach and arms.
"Nothing fancy." She sounded embarrassed.
He leaned down to kiss her softly. "It's perfect."
"All those magazines talk about what I'm supposed to wear, but none of it's really that comfortable. Have you ever worn a thong? They're awful."
"You're beautiful just the way you are."
She smiled brightly, reaching up to stroke his shoulders affectionately. He let it go slowly, let the heat build as they kissed. Gentle, innocent. Waiting for the right moment, for her lips to part in an initiation. Even then, he kept it light and easy, taking his time. Holding back even when his body was screaming that he'd been waiting for six months and didn't want to wait any longer. Instead, he savored her taste and the texture of her lips. Focusing on every sensation, every connection where skin met skin, the feel of her, the scent. The way she responded to him, her touch feather light against his side and neck. Teasing, borderline tickling, she tugged him closer.
When he thought he'd go insane from just kissing her, he broke the contact and slipped one finger under the clasp of her bra. It snapped open, fabric sliding away as she inhaled. Concentrating intently on keeping the relaxed pace, he eased the straps down over her arms and dropped the bra off of the side of the bed, moving down to strip away the faded panties. After removing his boxers, he leaned back to take a long look at her body. His hand easily spanned the width of her tiny waist. Everything about her was tiny and perfectly proportioned in miniature. One breast tucked neatly into his palm, her freckled skin a stark contrast against the rough tan of his hand.
"I think.' She cleared her throat, cheeks flushing pink. "That we were supposed to talk about…all that stuff you're supposed to talk about before the clothes come off and you can't think clearly enough to talk at all."
"I thought of that. Except my back pocket is over there. Be right back."
"Wait." She stopped him, biting her lip nervously. "I'm on the pill. And completely disease free…so…if you don't want to."
Xander hesitated. "It's still a good idea. And since when are you on the pill?"
"I was sort of hoping and planning ahead. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to pressure you." She paused with a frown. "Did I just spoil the mood?"
"No. It's very flattering." He laid down next to her and stroked her face gently. "But we should. Since it's not a hundred percent effective."
"Very practical of you." She winked at him, rolling onto her side and kissing his hands tenderly.
"How horrible would it be, for you, if it didn't work?"
"Meaning?"
His hand strayed to her stomach unconsciously. "Would it ruin your life? Or something slightly less melodramatic."
"If I got pregnant?"
"Yeah."
"Xander." She pushed up on one elbow, smiling indulgently down at him. "You're a good man and one day, when you're ready and you're sure, you'll be a wonderful father."
"How do you know that?" Silken hair caressed his skin as he combed his fingers through the straight brown locks. "My folks weren't exactly the best examples of parenthood. I haven't the slightest idea how to be a good father. I'd like to be, but it's not like there's a class you can take on being a dad."
One finger brushed against his lips. "You're not your father, Xander. You will never be your father."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because it's not all about you." Her lips were warm against his forehead. "I know you won't turn into your father because I won't let you. I love you too much to let that happen."
"I'm pretty sure the L-word wasn't supposed to come up for another few months." Xander wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her hair to hide the hint of tears glistening in his eyes.
"Yeah, more of that planning ahead."
"I wish I could say it. I just can't."
"I know."
"Don't not love me just because I'm a coward."
"You're a lot of things, Alexander LaVelle Harris." She placed her hand gently against his cheek. "But a coward is not one of them. You have more courage, more heart, than anyone I have ever known. You're not ready, that's fine. If you're never ready, that's fine too. I love you. No conditions, no strings attached. Take it or leave it, it's up to you."
Xander opened his mouth to say thank you but his brain had other ideas. "She…Buffy…wanted to know if I'd help her. Have a baby. I guess the plumbing's all messed up and she needs a donor for the in vitro fertilization."
Jane blinked rapidly for a moment before she smiled. "And you still think you're a coward?"
"Huh?"
"Listen to it again. Buffy Summers, a Vampire Slayer, has asked you, Xander Harris, to be the father of her child."
"And it was still freaky that time around."
'I think it's the most incredible compliment in the world, but you can't see it because you're still convinced that you're not good enough." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "She is asking you to be part of the next generation of Slayers. This isn't just any child, this is the future of the entire world and she chose you. She chose you."
It was Xander's turn to blink. "You wouldn't mind? If I…if we…if Buffy and I did the mad scientist song and dance?"
"It's your decision and whatever you choose, I'm behind you all the way, just don't tell her no because you feel unworthy. I don't think you're unworthy, she doesn't think you're unworthy."
He took a deep breath. "Sorry. That pretty much killed the mood Slayer style."
"Then I guess we'll have to start over."
It was just crazy enough to work.
Spike was terrified and giddily exuberant at the same time, oscillating between sitting on the sofa pretending to be interested in a magazine and impatiently pacing back and forth the living room of their apartment. Their apartment. It had happened so naturally that he hadn't noticed until he opened the door one evening, shrugged off his holster and badge and found Faith in the kitchen with flour in her hair, tomato sauce on her chin, and looking ready to kill something. She'd wanted to have dinner ready by the time he got home.
Despite the reproachful glare and handful of flour thrown in his direction, he hadn't been able to stop laughing at the image of a Vampire Slayer trying to make pasta primavera with tomato basil sauce. An hour later, washing tomato paste out of his hair and a little sore in all the right places, he'd realized that the world he thought he'd never be part of was right outside the shower door. Everything he'd wanted and all the things he hadn't realized he wanted were right there in front of him. They were possible. A normal life, a human life; two point five and the white picket fence. Granted, she wasn't a normal woman with a nice, safe day job, but he wasn't exactly a normal man with a mind-numbingly boring occupation either. She caught demons killers for a living, he caught human killers. It worked.
Another two weeks of thinking, considering his new possibilities and limitations, had culminated in a single idea that felt so foreign, so different, that he'd wondered if he'd gotten hit on the head during patrol. He was mortal now. Bloody hard to kill, but still mortal. And life was fragile, what they had was fragile. There was an entire world out there waiting to take it away, waiting to sour or destroy it. Eventually they'd have to tell the Scoobies, maybe even the Watcher's Council. Eventually, their lives would get a helluva lot more complicated than pasta primavera. He'd tried to convince himself that it was enough, that the day-to-day living, being at her side on the street and in the bedroom, was enough. After the painful visit with her mother, he'd realized that it wasn't.
So there it was. His future. Their future. Wrapped up in one small, black velvet box. Crazy, insane, maybe even the biggest mistake he'd ever made in his entire convoluted existence. None of that had ever stopped him before.
"Spike?" Faith's voice floated down the hallway, door slamming shut and the sound of her shoes hitting the linoleum in the entry way. "Sorry I'm late. Fucking paperwork. Takes fifteen forms just to get a request for a weapon upgrade cause brass frowns on the usual wooden stakes. Been just fine for a few thousand years, but they've got all the big brains thinking there's a better way." She was shaking her hair out of the headband as she rounded the corner, padding barefoot across the living room to climb onto the sofa and his lap. "How 'bout we order in? Get cozy."
Spike grinned as she nuzzled his neck, hands sliding down his sides to tug at his t-shirt. "Cozy?"
"Mmm. Cozy. You know." She nipped lightly at his ear. "The kind without all these clothes."
"Much as I would love-" His brain nearly derailed as her lips moved down his throat. "To get you out of those clothes. Sort of made other plans."
Full lips pulled into a pouty frown. "Like what?"
"Thought I'd scout around downtown, pick up a few hookers."
She punched his shoulder lightly. "Long as they're blond and you bring them home with you, I'm game."
Growling low in his throat, he wrapped his arms around her and tossed her onto her back, covering her body with his. "I'm not bloody sharing."
"Come on. Could be fun." Grinning impishly, she wriggled against him and bucked her hips. "One for you, one for me."
"Had something a little different in mind." Kissing her firmly, he wove one hand into her hair and gave himself just a few seconds of nothing but Faith. A few moments where nothing mattered but the way their bodies came together. When he was breathless he pulled away, tugging her to her feet with him and heading for the bedroom.
"Guess we're going straight for the sex?" she teased, sliding her hand over his hip and thigh.
"You are changing into something warm." He pushed her gently through the doorway and took hold of the doorknob. "You have twenty minutes before I leave without you."
"Where are we going?"
"Just wear something practical." The door clicked shut and he stepped back to wait. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets to keep from checking his watch every five seconds and settled for watching the door, searching for any sign of life coming from the bedroom. Kicking himself for not preparing her, not warning her. He'd wanted it to be a surprise. A good surprise instead of a surprise that counted down and exploded into shrapnel misunderstandings that took weeks to hammer out.
Nervously, he pulled the small box from its hiding place and tucked it into his jacket pocket. No sooner had it settled against his thigh than he could have sworn that it got heavier and started to burn through the fabric. The eyes of the universe were staring at that pocket; at the little black box that meant everything and nothing. Whatever the answer, he would understand. Hell, part of him would even be relieved if she said no as long as she had a good reason. But he had to ask. Had to try. The door opened with a click and he spun around.
"This good?" Eyebrows raised, she spun around in a mock catwalk to model the low-cut blue jeans and knit sweater. "I feel like a librarian or something. All proper and respectable."
"It's perfect." He kissed her soundly, prayed he was doing the right thing and that he wouldn't bugger it up.
Faith tightened her arms around his waist as she ended the kiss. "So what's up?"
"Just a change of scenery. You know, keepin' the magic alive."
"I always thought that meant you were supposed to break out the handcuffs."
"Got those too."
"Let's get going then. I'm hungry." She turned him around and slapped his ass for emphasis.
He was half listening on the way out of the apartment as she ranted about bureaucracy and the drawbacks of slaying for the government, occasionally commenting or asking questions as he pulled the car out and headed north. He noticed that the inflection in her voice changed just slightly when she mentioned Frye's name and her eyes darkened, looking away for a moment before she continued with her rambling. She hadn't mentioned having any trouble with Frye, but Spike was suddenly curious, wondering if she simply hadn't told him. The way she hadn't told him about Shane.
His world still colored red when he thought about it, tried to fathom how a mother could sell her child's innocence for a fix. Not a word had been spoken about that revelation and it had disappeared back into the locked part of Faith. She had turned away from him that night, rolling onto her side and staring into the darkness. Seeing her shoulders shaking, he'd wrapped his arms around her waist, kissed the back of her neck tenderly and waited for the tears to end. She didn't explain, he didn't pry. In the time that he'd known her, she'd evolved into something far and beyond what he could ever have expected. No longer the bitter and angry woman, she had finally dumped out the baggage she'd carried for too long and found a way to move on. The woman who shared his bed was vibrant, passionate, and embraced life with excitement rather than desperation. She pushed herself to the limits because she enjoyed the thrill instead of trying to drown out her pain in the flood of adrenaline.
That she opened up under his touch and relaxed in his presence continued to amaze him. Watching her with the rest of team was watching the day turn to night. She snapped shut, tight as a fist, keeping the men and women she worked with at arm's length. They saw a tough as nails Slayer who didn't take any bullshit, her attitude as raw and unpolished as her past. As soon as she stepped through the door of the apartment, she metamorphosed into a woman who laughed and smiled, who loved sugary cereal and rolled her eyes at the home shopping network. She became just Faith instead of Faith the Vampire Slayer. He loved them both. Loved the edge of the Slayer, the burn and the passion, the bad girl Faith who knew how to seduce and addict a man with one lazy smile. On the flipside, he loved the shy, almost innocent Faith who curled against him like a cat in a sunbeam.
In more than a hundred and thirty years, he had loved with passion that was eternal and passion that was overwhelming. Love that had swallowed him down and spit out a stranger. He'd gone to the ends of the earth and done the impossible. Dru had remade him in her image, Buffy had transformed him. He'd always been found wanting with love pointing out his flaws in magnification and defying him to prove himself worthy. Prove himself good enough to be loved. Love had made him its bitch, but it had never made him whole. Maybe love couldn't make him whole. But Faith could.
That was why he was doing this.
"Hey, you in there?"
"Sorry, luv. What'd I miss?" He checked the rear view mirror as he pulled onto a side road and headed for the coast.
"Just asking about the pensive look. You're a million miles away."
"Trying to remember where I'm going." That was only partly a lie. The landscape looked different at night, but he was sure they were on the right road. He could smell the salt of the Atlantic, getting stronger as they got closer to the beach. Once he passed the sign, he turned the car toward the farthest end of the parking lot near the trailhead.
"The beach?"
"Technically it's not open, but I don't figure either of us will be doing any swimming so there's no danger there."
"My luck, there'll be sea monsters," she grumbled good-naturedly as she climbed out of the car and stretched.
"Grab the blankets in the back, will you?" Spike popped the trunk, hooking the small blue cooler over one arm and snagging the battery-powered lantern before he joined Faith. She looked adorable with her hair mussed and arms full of blankets, gazing up into the moonlight.
"Cool. A picnic." She was smiling as they started down the footpath.
There was no talking as they wound through the trees, listening to the sounds of the insects and nocturnal creatures. Waves lapped against the shore in the distance. He knew that part of her was looking for vampires, searching the darkness and shadows for any sign of the evil that filled her nights. Half of his senses were tuned to the night around him as well, scanning for unwelcome guests. It seemed peaceful enough. Pale moonlight, a cool breeze from the ocean, and the glittering expanse of water as they reached sand. Another minute of walking and he stopped, setting the cooler and lantern carefully on the ground before taking the stack of blankets. They laid out a heavy charcoal blend over the sand and tumbled the rest into a pile to be wrapped around shoulders and legs.
"Bloody inconvenient sometimes, being human," Spike remarked as he settled onto the ground. "Nice thing about being a vamp is not getting cold."
Faith stretched out over the blanket, her head resting on his thigh. "So what's the occasion?"
"Can't a fella treat his lady now and then?"
"Lot of work just for sex you're gonna get anyway."
"Maybe it's not about sex." He sunk down onto his elbow and twisted around to cradle her with his body. Her skin was ivory in the moonlight, the scars on her face almost invisible as he stroked her forehead lightly. She didn't answer. Probably because she didn't believe him, because she still didn't understand that there were other motivations. In her world, sex was the only currency exchanged between men and women. Or at least men and Faith.
"There's food in that thing, right?" She glanced over him at the cooler.
"Dig in."
"Good, I'm starving."
He watched her as she sifted through the contents of the cooler, selecting a wrapped chicken sandwich and a bottle of juice. There were wine coolers in the bottom that he knew were her favorite. He wondered if it would be a good time to ask her about the sudden aversion to alcohol.
"What can I do you for?" She held up two more sandwiches. "Looks like a club and a pastrami on rye."
"Club. Thanks." He caught the sandwich and sat up to fish out a bottled water.
More silence as they ate. They stared out over the ocean, tucked snugly against each other with blankets to keep them cozy. He was more relaxed now and the box had stopped burning a hole in his pocket. Now it was just waiting for the right moment. Considering his history, the evening was rapidly climbing the ranks of most romantic moments, despite his own incompetence at romance, and he was fairly sure no one had ever planned a moonlit picnic on the beach for Faith. So far so good.
"Want anything else?"
She licked her fingers guiltily before wiping them with a napkin and giving him a wicked grin. "Can we get back to those clothes now?"
He rolled his eyes in teasing mockery. "Bloody hell, woman. Do you think of nothing but sex?"
"Only around you." One hand snaked up his thigh; her breath was hot against his skin.
"You, Slayer, are incorrigible."
"Mmm. Five syllables. Big words get me hot." She was determined now, pushing aside the blankets to straddle him and tug at his t-shirt.
Spurred by his own desire and a twitch of fear that she would notice the box in his pocket, he rolled her onto her back and began returning her attention in earnest. He could barely hear the waves over the sound of their breathing, the whisper of fabric and skin between them, and the pounding of blood inside his head. There was nothing held back, no insecurity or fear as she wriggled out of the sweater and arched her back against him. No games, no hidden motives. She touched and caressed without any hesitation or self-depreciation because she honestly wanted him; stroking his skin as clothing was pushed aside, eager to eliminate the barriers between them. What never ceased to amaze him was that nothing had changed. Soul or no soul, vampire or human, none of that mattered to her. He'd waited a hundred and thirty years to find someone who could accept him for who he was. The box could wait a few more minutes.
Beautiful in moonlight, beautiful in the sun. There weren't words to describe the way he felt as he lowered his body onto hers, skin against skin, heady with her scent and her heat. He slowed the pace with a gentle kiss, stroking her hair and keeping their eyes locked together. Watched her eyelashes flutter, her lips parted as he pushed inside her. There was a flood of emotion locked behind the eyes staring up at him, hands gripping his forearms tightly as he thrust deeper. She seemed to sense, if not understand, that he wanted this time to be different. The struggle to maintain the slower rhythm was plainly visible on her face. He wanted to reassure her, but the words got stuck in his throat, forcing him to settle for a soft moan. When had he ever done this? Maybe never. Never held a woman as gently, touched her as tenderly. When had he ever made love to a woman? It felt different. New and raw with emotion. It wasn't about passion or heat or even about sex.
"Faith," he whispered, planting light kisses down her throat, reaching one hand down between their bodies. She moaned, breathing deep as he found the right spot and pressure. So close, she was trembling in his arms as she soundlessly urged him to go faster. It was the first time he had denied her anything. "Easy, luv, easy."
"Spike." It was a moan; her fingers tightened around his arms.
He waited. Until her eyes closed, breathing hard as she struggled against him. Waited until he felt her muscles clamp down around him before he bent his head down to her ear. "I love you."
She came alive beneath him, bucking and writhing as her fingernails dug into his skin. Riding it out, he buried his face against her and let his own body find its release inside her heat. Staying inside her, breathing in the scent of sweat and skin as they clung to each other in the aftermath. Cool sea air chilled his back, sending him fumbling for blankets to cover them as they nestled together beneath the stars.
"That the occasion?" Her face was unreadable in the shadows, but her voice gave her away. The tremor of nervousness and just the slightest undertone of hope.
"Part of it." Deciding that it was now or never, he dug under the blankets to find his jeans and the little velvet box. Juggling it and the lantern, he moved the light so that she would be able to see what she was opening before placing the box carefully on the blankets between them.
"What's that?"
"Open it."
She frowned quizzically, examining the box carefully before reaching up to open it. The hinges clicked and Spike held his breath. Inside, the thick platinum band shone in the faint light, three diamonds sparkling in their metallic nest.
"Figured you'd need something that wouldn't get in the way. If you don't like it, you can pick out a different one."
"I don't understand." Baffled, her eyes searched his face quickly before turning back to the ring. "I mean, it's beautiful and I love it. But you don't need to buy me stuff."
"Yeah, I did." He stopped her protest with a finger. "Just let me finish, luv." To be sure, he kept his finger over her lips for a few extra seconds before pulling his hand away and steeling himself for every possible reaction. "You don't have to answer now, tonight, even tomorrow. Take as much time as you need to think about it. We've got all the time in the world. Just promise me you'll think about it."
"All right," she agreed warily.
"Will you marry me?"
Cordelia glanced around the darkened room distastefully. "Files and Records?"
"I'm Files and Records. What can I do for you, Miss Chase?" the brunette seated primly at the desk answered with a helpful smile.
"Right." Grateful that Fred had warned about the bizarre gatekeeper of Wolfram and Hart's files, she looked down at her list of possible research topics and wished she'd brought Wesley along. "Okay then. Let's start with Shanshu. Where do I look for that?"
"Referring to the souled vampire specifically or just the Scrolls and Prophecies of Aberjian?"
"Just Angel for now."
Files and Records pulled a heavy binder from the shelf behind her and returned to her desk. "This is the reference key for all the files concerning Angel."
"How many files are there?"
"The first thirty five cabinets."
Cordelia's eyes widened as she took in the expanse of metal drawers. "How can he possibly have that much worth writing about?"
"Much of it is redundant." She tapped the binder as she turned it around for Cordelia to read. "The Shanshu prophecy is dealt with in file S-4962. It's on your right."
"I don't suppose you could just give me the sound byte version of that file."
"The vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his destiny, will Shanshu."
"Yeah, that's the one." Cordelia sighed as she realized that she didn't really know what questions to ask. Nothing beyond vague comments from Lilah Morgan that were only possibly the truth. Not entirely un-celebration worthy, but there were too many question marks hanging in the air after she'd swept out of Angel Investigations and their lives. "What about Spike? He had a soul and did the whole saving the world thing."
"The vampire known as William the Bloody or Spike was not prophesied to regain his soul." Files and Records paused for a moment, her eyes flashing white and a disquieting clicking noise coming from her head. "He did not Shanshu."
"Dust and pointy things, I know. How do we know the prophecy's even real? Or accurate. Whichever."
"The Scrolls of Aberjian contain approximately forty three and a half prophecies. Twenty-nine of which have happened with minor differences and ten which are due to occur within the next four thousand years. Only two of the prophecies have been found to be incorrect."
"So, this Aberjian guy gets it right most of the time." She glanced around, noticing a chair and table at the head of the filing cabinet maze and sat down with her list. "Here's the deal, Miss Files and Records. Lilah told us that Cara knows how to get Angel's Shanshu and that means that Lilah knows, or knew, since she gave Cara all her memories. Why'd the Senior Partners have to fire her now? It's not like she hasn't screwed things up before."
White eyes flashed again. "Personnel records, Lilah Morgan. Status – reassigned to the Centauri office."
"Then she wasn't fired?"
"No, Miss Chase."
Cordelia sighed and retrieved the small notebook she'd gotten from Fred out of her purse, carefully writing down that Lilah had been transferred rather than fired. Checking out Lilah's story was only the beginning of the real world clue game she was playing. "Is she coming back?"
"Her reassignment is for an indeterminate length of time. For manifest employees, assignments typically last from five to a hundred years."
"Why did they reassign her?"
"She was moved to a transitory post to deal with an outbreak of vampires."
"Since she has so much experience with that." Cordelia tapped the notepad with a frown. "She said that she was leaving because they didn't want Angel to be distracted by revenge. As if we needed any more reasons to hate her." Files and Records didn't respond. On a whim, she decided to follow another line of questioning. "Do the records say anything about Angel's son?"
Click, click. "Restricted. You don't have authorization to access that information."
"Who does?"
"There is no one at the Los Angeles branch with the proper clearance."
"Lilah?"
"Yes. Miss Morgan had clearance."
"Never thought I'd want her back." Cordelia drew a line from the word Connor to the word Restricted and circled it for emphasis. "Can I get access to the memories that Lilah gave Cara?"
"All records of the neural transfer were destroyed."
"Destroyed? You guys do that? I mean, you've got a never-ending basement of files and you couldn't find room for a few more?"
"They were destroyed per the Senior Partners' request."
She rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Who had authorization for the memory swap machine? Lilah said that someone messed with it."
"Neural transfers require Department Head security clearance. The malfunction of the process in the case of one, Cara Sewell, was attributed to a software glitch."
"Good to know that even Wolfram and Hart gets screwed sometimes." She underlined the word glitch several times, feeling a strange satisfaction over the fact that something hadn't gone the way Lilah had planned. At least she wouldn't return to Fred completely empty handed. "Back to the Shanshu. Lilah knew something we don't and we were pretty sure we knew everything there was to know about Angel's Shanshu. Are there any restricted files about it?"
"No, Miss Chase. All files with reference to Shanshu are open to you."
"But the files about Connor are restricted." She had no idea what that meant. "I should have had Fred do this. She's the brainy type."
"Would you like me to create a reference key for you?"
"That would be great."
"It'll take a few minutes." Files and Records began typing rapidly on her computer, eyes flashing periodically as she searched through the files. Beside her, the laser printer hummed and whirred as it rolled out sheet after sheet.
"It's not like we have a guarantee that Cara will even know what we're talking about." Cordelia sighed, crossing off Connor and Lilah from the list of research topics. "We don't even know where she is. Do you?"
"The third Slayer is currently in the village of Sao Jorge outside the borders of Chapada dos Veadeiros national park, Brazil."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm Files and Records."
"Right. What file tells you where she is?"
"Internal memo from Senior Partners to Lilah Morgan Oct. 14, 2006. Communication observed between Cara Sewell and Angel Investigations. Security risk now considered severe. Immediate action advised to contain and eliminate the threat. Sao Jorge, Brazil."
Cordelia frowned. "That was the day before she left. So they tell her to take care of it and then transfer her? That makes a whole lotta no sense."
"Here's your reference key, Miss Chase."
To her relief, the binder was much smaller than the reference key for everything about Angel. "What did Lilah do about Cara?"
"Report filed by Lilah Morgan Oct. 14, 2006. Hello to whoever managed to find this. I'm gone now, off to greener pastures and new enemies. Congratulations Wesley, your Slayer isn't a total failure and with just a few years of intensive therapy she might actually be able to be in the same room with human beings without slitting their throats. Unfortunately, she won't live that long. Just imagine what the vampires of Earth are thinking right now. Three Slayers. Just three. And when they're gone, there won't be any more. Ever. You might want to send a heads up to Sunnydale as well. Oh, and that stuff about Angel's Shanshu? There are things you don't put down on paper. Someone might find it. Good luck getting it out of crazy Slayer's head."
Half furious and half shocked, Cordelia headed to the elevator, reference key still clutched in her hands. Swearing that the buttons on her cell phone had gotten smaller just to piss her off, she dialed the number for Angel Investigations. "Come on, pick up. Pick up." The machine whirred and Fred's cheerful voice carried through the speaker. "Fred? Anyone! Are you there? Lilah sent every vampire on Earth after the Slayers. Buffy, Faith, Cara. It's going to be the demon party of the millennium if they get all three of them. No more Slayers. Great, huh? And here we thought she didn't leave us a going away present."
The doors peeled back with a hiss. Cordelia found herself face to face with a half dozen automatic weapons and a particularly nasty demon grinning a mouthful of teeth and standing beside an empty cage. It gurgled a little as it waved a length of rope coiled around one hand; a demon cowboy called to rope her in so that none of them would get close enough to be fried.
"Please come with us, Miss Chase." One of the men motioned to the cage with the barrel of his gun.
"You've got to be kidding me." Sighing impatiently, she tucked the cell phone back into her jacket pocket and gingerly stepped inside the cage. "Fine. But you're making the biggest mistake of your lives, you know that? When Angel hears about this he's going to be ticked." They didn't answer as they picked up the cage none too gently and carried it down the hallway. At the fork, they took the left branch and moved into a section of Wolfram and Hart that Cordelia had never seen. "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?"
"Standard containment procedure, Miss Chase."
"Containment? What containment?"
"Just following orders, Miss Chase."
"From who? Angel's the boss and there's no way he'd have me locked up in a cage." At least, she was pretty sure it wasn't something he would do. She wasn't evil any more. Then again, the last time she'd been evil, she'd been trapped in that black, beaded, Gypsy tramp outfit and they still hadn't realized it wasn't her so she probably couldn't count on their keen observation skills.
"Senior Partners, ma'am."
"What? What did I do? Whatever it is, I'm sure I didn't know it was wrong. I mean, that I wasn't supposed to. Since they'd probably be happy if I did something wrong." She frowned, holding onto the bars tightly as the men jostled the cage into a niche in the wall. "Hey. Wouldn't you know, perfect fit. Not good. You're not going to leave me here, are you?"
"Sorry for the inconvenience." One of the men nodded sharply and reached for a button on the wall.
"I'm thinking that's not a good idea." Her words were cut off as the bottom of the cage fell away, gravity reaching up to wrap its tentacles around her and drag her down into the depths.
The chute beneath her thumped solidly as she landed, almost immediately losing her balance and toppling to the side as her feet and legs began to slip down the incline. Cursing Wolfram and Hart, trying to keep the reference key from digging into her side, and struggling to keep the tumbling to a minimum as she careened down the tunnel took enough effort that she couldn't dwell too much on the possibilities of what would be waiting for her at the bottom. Images of Rancor pits and Jaba the Hutt flashed through her brain compliments of Xander Harris; her breath was knocked from her lungs as she rounded a bend. A gaping hole ahead announced the end of the line. She closed her eyes tightly so she couldn't see what was going to eat her and let loose her best ear-spliting scream as solid gave way to nothing and she was plummeting downwards. Her fall came to a sudden stop when she crashed into something, the impact jarring enough to rattle her teeth. It was hard and smelled like soap. Soap?
"Cordy! I've got you."
Opening one eye, she looked around to see the rest of the gang seated on an odd assortment of chairs and sofas. Angel was holding her firmly beneath the hole in the ceiling she had fallen from. "What the hell is going on here?"
"We're not sure." Angel set her gently on her feet. "What happened?"
"I was on the phone and these idiots with guns put me in a cage. A cage! Can you believe it? When I get out of here I am filing one serious complaint." She checked herself for injuries, noting several spots that would be bruised in the morning and claimed one of the remaining armchairs. "How about you?"
"Stun gun." Gunn was holding his head, looking hung over and pissed off.
"Same here." Gwen had an ice pack against her temple. "At least they're accommodating."
"Count yourself lucky, sweet pea," Lorne muttered from the corner. "Those beauties pack a wallop."
"We need to figure out how to get out," Angel commented over his shoulder. He was searching the walls of the room methodically.
Wesley appeared from behind one of the sofas. "The air ducts are too small to be useful and the floor is seamless concrete underneath." He pushed the sofa back against the wall and moved around the perimeter in the opposite direction as Angel.
"Standard containment procedure apparently." Cordelia sighed and decided to lend a hand.
It was a basic living area with a bookshelf filled with paperbacks and magazines. The open space was spotted with tables and the myriad chairs. A couple of the sofas looked like they might fold out into hide-a-beds and she found a cupboard full of linens. Behind one door there was a small bathroom stocked with various shampoos and soaps. Further down the wall, a panel slid open to reveal a kitchenette. Frowning, she continued knocking against the panels for any sign of weakness.
"Why not just kill us?" Fred was going through the books. "I mean, why put us in a room with food? There's even blood in the fridge so Angel won't have to eat us."
"They must need to keep us alive." Wesley glanced at Cordelia. "You said something about standard containment procedure?"
"That's what the Neanderthals with the firearms told me."
"Interesting. I wasn't even aware of a standard procedure, Wolfram and Hart doesn't usually contain their victims."
"This room is new," Angel added with a sniff. "Fresh paint, new carpet. It hasn't been here long."
"So they don't want to kill us. Yet. There must be some reason we're stuck here."
Cordelia remembered suddenly. "The Senior Partners wanted Lilah to get rid of Cara so she told all the vampires that once the three Slayers were gone there wouldn't be any more. You know, that whole killing off of the Slayer line part?" She could feel all eyes turn to her. "Hey! That's what I was on the phone telling you people. Except you were here in the basement apartment from Hell."
"How do you know?" Wesley stopped hunting for a way out and picked up the reference key that she'd dropped when she'd fallen from the ceiling. "What is this?"
"I was chatting with Files and Records, trying to figure out what Lilah was talking about. You should go down there, Wes, that woman or thing or whatever she is, she knows everything about Wolfram and Hart." Abandoning the kitchenette, she sat down next to Wesley. "That's a reference key. Sort of like a tour guide for the files. I had her get me one with all the references to Shanshu. Oh, and I found out stuff." Her notebook was a little worse for wear, pages bent and ripped from the tumble down the chute. "Lilah? Not fired, transferred. And I think she expected us to find out about Cara though because her report to the Senior Partners sounded like it was meant for you."
"Guess she figured Wesley would be the one to find it." Fred was sorting through the magazines nervously. "Probably a trigger."
Wesley nodded as he flipped through the reference key. "She probably left orders that once the report was found, we were to be brought here."
"But how?" Gunn shifted on the sofa and rubbed his head. "I mean, Angel's the big guy around here. Wouldn't the orders have to come from him?"
"Not if the Senior Partners authorized it."
"No offense, Angel." Cordelia swiveled around to watch him search the far corner. "But I think you're more like a figurehead than a real boss. There were files that I couldn't get to. Restricted files that only Lilah had access to. About Connor." She saw him pause briefly, almost turn around, and then continue his careful examination of the room.
"Maybe this whole thing's been a set up from the beginning," Gunn offered.
"I could've told you that much." Gwen sighed behind her ice pack. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."
"But they offered us the office for getting rid of Jasmine. Ending world peace." Fred finished the last bookshelf. "No secret passages here. I remember, it was because they figured we'd done a better job than they had. The Senior Partners were moving out, right? I mean, that's what I thought. Leaving Los Angeles to us."
"And who told us that?" Angel finally turned around, expression hardened with determination. "Lilah. Who isn't what we thought she was. She's the one who told us that Cara knew something about the Shanshu and when Cordelia went looking, she triggered whatever this is to keep us from warning the Slayers. It's been a game from the very beginning."
"But why?"
"That's the question that none of us have been asking." Angel paced across the room. "We believed her. We believed them. We believed everything."
Fred shook her head. "We were cautious; we checked out the angles. It's not like we went into this blindly, I mean, we were expecting the worse."
"For the first year or so, maybe. But after that?" He shook his head with frustration. "We forgot who we were dealing with."
"Okay," Cordelia began calmly. "Let's think through this rationally and logically. The Senior Partners are obviously not as AWOL as we thought they were. Lilah's been getting orders from them and they're probably behind this containment deal. Again, probably because the whole vampire world knows that if they can bump of three Slayers they're home free forever."
"And there's still the Shanshu. Do you think Lilah was lying about that too?" Anxious for something to do, Fred went back to organizing the bookshelves.
"Perhaps," Wesley admitted. "Although I wasn't aware that they knew anything we didn't. The apocalypse would come, Angel would play a major part, fulfill his destiny and gain his reward."
Angel finally sat down, staring at his hands. "There is no Shanshu."
"What are you talking about?"
"The apocalypse came and I played my part. We played our parts."
Cordelia frowned. "Then why aren't you all with the breathing and sunbathing?"
"Because we were on the wrong side." His face was expressionless when he looked up at the group. "Jasmine told me she was a Power. One of the Powers That Be and she came here to save us."
"I'm not sure we can believe that either," Wesley said gently.
"She had nothing left, Wes. People don't lie when there's no reason to."
"Lilah did," Cordelia pointed out. "She didn't get fired, just transferred to a different office. And she probably just mentioned Shanshu to get us to find that trigger thingy."
"She didn't say she got fired, Cordy, just that she was leaving." Angel shook his head. "I don't think she was lying."
"Then the part about you must be true."
He leaned against the back of the sofa. "I think that she knew the truth about Jasmine. All she could have told us was what I could have done and didn't."
"Then, this whole time." Gunn tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. "You've known it was a done deal and you didn't say anything. We've been fighting and kicking demon ass so that you could get this reward and it's never gonna happen."
"That can't be true," Fred protested fervently. "It just can't. The Powers wouldn't leave you hanging like that, would they?"
"Hate to rain on your pity parade, Angel cakes." Lorne finally straightened up. "But there's no reason to keep you around if you've already played your hand. Even if you're right and we were supposed to get in line at the Jasmine All-You-Can-Eat Buffet, why would the Senior Partners make with the grand charade?"
No one knew the answer; each of them stared at hands and feet silently as they faced a horde of unanswered questions and the daunting possibility that what they had been doing for the last seven years had all been for nothing.
Angel finally broke the silence. "None of that matters any more. All that matters now is getting out of here and warning the Slayers. We have to get to Sunnydale."