Raison d'Etre

by Bigsciencybrain

It may not be riding off into the sunset but there is some happy and some ever after. UNDER CONSTRUCTION.

43. Foundations

Note: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, emails, good advice, and support.  It made a very, very difficult chapter worth doing.  I'm really hammering these major issues – infertility, abortion, etc.  They're not fun to write about, they're not pretty, and I will probably never put myself through the agony again.  I would have loved to avoid the abortion issue completely but I believe it's something that the character of Faith would seriously consider.  At the same time, it gave me the opportunity to think about a side of abortion that isn't talked about as much – the effect on the potential fathers.  I also wanted Spike to face a situation that would force him to make a conscious choice about the level of violence that was acceptable in the relationship.  Yeah.  I think way too much.

I'm not sure if anyone else thinks that Angel's sense of humor is completely underutilized in the show and in fanfiction.  Angelus has all the fun.  My pet theory is that in order to write tortured, tragic Angel – Joss locks the entire staff in a very tiny room with no air conditioning and forces them to watch reruns of Barney the Purple Dinosaur.  When they write Angelus - it's Bora Bora white sand and Corona Lite.

Foundations –

            Angel was on the verge of declaring his life to be an exercise in futility.  Go on, hit the vampire with the soul one more time.  He won't die and he'll keep coming back for more like a mongrel dog who doesn't know about PETA.  The list would have gone on for miles if he'd actually felt compelled to write everything down.  That was a depressing thought.  Although not as bad as spending eternity in a one room apartment with six roommates.

            "Any luck?" Wesley's voice wafted up through the chute in the ceiling that had delivered them all to the room below.

            "No." He muttered, trying to un-wedge himself from the tunnel walls without losing both his dignity and the bed sheet rope around his waist.  Just in case he managed to get to the top, not get staked climbing out into the hallways of Wolfram and Hart, and then be able to pull the rest of the gang up through the tunnel.  A week had passed since they'd exhausted the other possible escape routes and turned to the chute in the ceiling.  So far, his progress had been minimal.  The first few times had ended with him tumbling back through the tube, unable to find anything to grab hold of to stop his fall, and landing ungracefully in a pile of chairs and people at the bottom. 

            Days like this?  The Powers could take their Shanshu and shove it.  He was pretty sure he'd gotten screwed in that arena as well.  Probably something in the fine print about not trying to destroy an all-powerful demon with talents in mass hypnosis who might eat a few people but was actually going to save the world.  Optimism was a slippery little rodent.  Welcome to Los Angeles.  Home of the beautiful, the rich, the damned, and the screwed.  He inched his way around the first bend, using legs and back to seesaw his way through the narrow hollow with hands splayed against the sides in an attempt to stabilize his ascent.  Something was clicking up ahead in the darkness.  Not good.  There hadn't been any booby traps so far but that didn't mean they weren't there.  Click, click. 

            A softer sound followed the clicking as he froze in place and waited.  Almost a thud.  Or a squish.  Definitely a squish.  Maybe a thuddy squish or squishy thud.  Straining to see in the pitch black, he could pick out two faint lights appearing around the far corner.  Whatever it was, it was slow moving and looked small.  Click, click, followed by mechanical whirring.  He tensed as it crept toward him, waiting for it to spray holy water or leap onto his aching muscles with a barrage of tiny crucifixes clutched in robotic fists.  Instead, it stopped a few inches away from his outstretched hands.

            It beeped.

            "Sorry.  Speak any English?" He asked warily as the two lights swiveled around.  More squishy thuds.  The creature's feet appeared to be small suction cups that allowed it to walk slowly down the walls of the tunnel without falling.

            "Beep."

            "I'm sure you're cute for your species.  Whatever you are.  But I'm really not in the market for a pet."

            "Beep, beep."

            "You're not going to stick me with anything, are you?  Some sort of poison or anything like that." No answer came from the mechanical crawler and he sighed, preparing to continue his agonizing wiggle up through the darkness.

            "Beep."

            "Look.  Unless you know a way to get us out of here."

            "Beep, beep."

            "Is that a yes?"

Pale eyes twisted and the creature continued its downward path.  Angel twisted to the side, trying to keep his position and the creature off of his chest as it squished down the wall.  It paused when it reached him, testing the surface with a single suction cup and letting off a stream of scolding beeps. 

"I was here first, buddy."  Something jabbed into his side painfully.  "Hey!"

            Reaching down precariously with one hand, he plucked the critter off of the wall and set it on his chest, staring into the two eyes.  "Let me make this simple.  No jabbing, no stabbing, no crawling all over me.  I'm going up and that means you are too.  Now stop squirming." 

Suction cup legs folded neatly into the body as secondary appendages unfurled.  At the end were metal clips that took hold of his shirt tightly.

"That's better."

A tingling sensation began to spread from the spot where he had been jabbed.  Even mechanical insect creatures were out to get him.  Damn Wolfram and Hart.  Cursing the diminutive monster tucked into a ball on his chest, he began to ease himself down the tunnel before the numbness spread to his limbs and he was once more dumped out on his ass.  Around the corner.  Just a few more feet before it opened up and plunged straight down.

            "Angel?"

            "I'm coming down." He grimaced as the tingling crept into his shoulders.  "Get everyone out of the way."

            "Are you alright?"

            "Fine." He scowled at the bug.  It beeped cheerfully in response. 

            The tunnel opened up beneath him just as he lost feeling in his arms and legs, helplessly listening to fabric slide against paint while his body began the descent one more time.  Light exploded around him and there was brief glimpse of concerned, familiar faces before he hit the mattress lying under the hole.  One benefit of the numbing drug the little evil had stuck him with was that the fall didn't hurt.  Down side?  He couldn't move a muscle as the others crowded around him with worried faces and questions.

            "Squeebo!" Fred darted forward and tapped a button on the back of the mechanical cockroach's back.  The metal teeth let go of Angel's shirt instantly.  "Where did you find him?"

            "Squeebo?" Gunn raised his eyebrows.

            "That thing," Angel answered tiredly.  "Stuck me with something and now I can't move."

            "Oh." She frowned down at the tiny creature in her hands.  "It's probably a muscle relaxant and it should wear off soon.  He's not big enough to carry much of a dose so it was probably just enough to knock someone out and scamper away.  Did you threaten him?"

            "It attacked me!"

            "Well it must have had a reason."

            "Fred, hold up a sec." Gunn intervened quickly.  "You know what that thing is?  And you call it Squeebo?"

            "It's a reconnaissance device Knox was working on." Turning away from the group, she set it down gently on the table.  Clipped feet retracted and the suction cups returned.  "The AI is really advanced and it can do almost anything.  Climb walls, carry bombs, plant bugs.  You can even attach cameras and recording equipment."

            "It was in the tunnel?" Wesley glanced down at Angel.

            "Coming down."

            "Knox must have sent it." Fred patted the smooth back, producing a series of beeps from the small creature.  "It doesn't move very fast with the suction cups so it's probably been in the tunnel for a few days.  I wonder how he knew where we were."

            "I don't suppose Wonder Bug can get us out of here." Gunn leaned down for a closer look.

            "I'm afraid not.  He's not big enough to carry the right tools." Squeebo beeped a few more times before another string of clicks produced a tiny arm clutching a thin pen at the end.  "I think he wants to write something."

            "Here's a magazine." Wesley slid the paper close enough for Squeebo to reach out and begin drawing a set of lines.

            "Uh, guys?" Angel winced as feeling began to return to his limbs.  "A little help here?"

            "Oh, sorry." Wesley immediately moved to Angel's side and motioned for Gunn to take the other.  Together, they helped Angel stumble to his feet and eased him onto one of the chairs where he could watch the bug draw a progression of quick sharp lines.

            "Looks like a Grandma Moses painting." Gunn commented.

            "Or a schematic of some kind." Wesley offered thoughtfully.

            "Blueprints." Fred exclaimed, pulling a chair around to study the lines.  "He's drawing a floor plan.  Probably of Wolfram and Hart."

            "Least we'll know where they stuck us."

            "We're outside the main building." Wesley pointed to one of the lines.  "This looks like the alcove of the lobby.  The tunnel must go down through the walls from the third floor and we're underneath the lobby."

            "But how far down?" Numbness subsiding, Angel leaned forward to examine the diagram.  Squeebo answered with a beep and neatly drew a small three with arrows pointing up to the lobby floor.  "He can understand English?"

            "The speech recognition memory bank can hold up to twenty five languages." Fred smiled proudly at the robot.  "At least someone up there is trying to find us."

            "Look." Wesley reached out curiously and prodded Squeebo's side.  It trilled and beeped furiously before a tiny hatch opened and a narrow metal cylinder popped out onto the table. 

            "That better not be the robot equivalent of having a baby." Angel eyed the cylinder suspiciously. 

            "It's a message capsule." The two halves separated with a click when Wesley twisted the ends.  He pulled out a rolled piece of paper.  "There's some sort of code."

            "Let me try." Fred took the paper, squinting at the tiny characters printed in dark ink.  "It's the shorthand the lab uses.  Demons everywhere, security tight.  Safer where you are, send Squeebo back with news.  That's Knox's symbol here.  You don't think they put us down here to protect us, do you?"

            "Not likely." Angel sighed, rubbing his side where Squeebo had stabbed him. 

The room settled back into the familiar quiet with only the occasional beep from their latest addition to break the monotony.  Quietly, Fred was pointing out some of the features of Squeebo to Wesley and explaining the code system used by the science department.  In the far corner, Lorne had merely raised his head from the paperback he was reading to observe the commotion before returning his attention to the pages.  Gunn and Gwen were conversing softly on the sofa bed they had claimed as their own.  Behind them, Cordelia was sound asleep on another sofa with the Shanshu reference key held tightly in her arms. 

Angel softened a little as he watched her.  She'd read the key a dozen times, convinced that the answer was in there somewhere and determined to find it.  Being trapped in one room and stuck in the same set of clothes for days was probably harder on her than anyone else.  He smiled, wistfully remembering the old Cordelia he'd found in Los Angeles with her actress dreams and clothing obsession.  A little shaky from the drug, he left the chair near Fred and Wesley to move across the room and take a seat beside Cordelia.  Carefully, he tried not to disturb her slumber as he brushed thick dark hair out of the way and sunk down onto the cushion.  Awkwardly reaching over and patting her shoulder softly.

"As old as you are, Angel, you'd think that you'd have figured out how to comfort someone the right way." Her voice was sleepy but there was a smile on her face when she looked up.

            "That bad?"

            "It's the thought that counts."

            "It can't be comfortable to sleep with that thing." He motioned to the reference key.

            "I'm afraid that it'll disappear if I let go of it."  She shifted on the couch, placing her head on his lap as she stretched out.  "How'd the climbing excursion go?"

            "Came back with a souvenir."

            "The Pixar cockroach?"

            "Its name is Squeebo."

            "Not gonna ask."

            "It's word from the outside world at least and it drew a diagram of where we are.  Wes thinks we're underneath the lobby of Wolfram and Hart." Relaxing, he brushed her hair lightly and tried not to worry about getting out for at least five minutes.  The Slayers could handle themselves for a while and the fact that the gang was still trapped in the basement probably meant all three were alive and kicking.

            "No idea why we're here though?"

            "The note said there's a lot of demon activity up there and that we're probably safer here." Angel shrugged.  "Who knows.  Maybe they aren't trying to kill us this time."

            "What are the odds?"

            "Slim to none."

            "Right." With a yawn, she sat up beside him and crossed her legs Indian style to serve as a cradle for the reference key.  "You know, it's amazing how many files reference Shanshu that have absolutely nothing to do with you.  Don't get me wrong, you're still the main attraction but there are a lot that go to something completely different.  Unfortunately, I can't get to the actual files and read the whole thing.  This only summarizes them."

            "It's alright."

            "I've got to do something to keep from losing my mind in this place." She gave his hand a light squeeze before opening the binder and starting to read.

            "We'll get out of here."

            "I know."

            Angel turned his eyes to the rest of the room, letting his thoughts wander as he watched the people around him.  The fact that they hadn't killed each other in too many days of living side by side was a strong testament to how close they had become over the years.  It was a long way from being a bunch of ragtag demon fighters and misfits to the team of friends and warriors they were now.  There were times when he missed the simplicity of the early days with Doyle and Cordelia, then Cordelia and Wesley, but he couldn't imagine the last three years without the rest of them.  Lorne, Fred, Gunn, even Gwen had managed to carve out a place in the group.  What would Connor be like now if he had lived?  Would he be here?  Or would he have left Los Angeles to pursue his own dreams.  College, career, maybe even a girlfriend.     

            One question that had never been answered still haunted the back of his mind.  Why had Connor killed Jasmine?  When all his hatred and all his fear had been pinned on Angel for so long.  There had been a moment of panic, of doubt, when Jasmine had asked Connor to help her kill his own father.  A moment where Angel had steeled himself for the inevitable, not willing to fight his son even if it ended in dust.  But Connor had killed Jasmine instead and that dread had turned to hope that there might still be a future for them.  As something.  If they couldn't be father and son then they could at least be friends. 

            If he'd known that Connor hadn't jumped, that the too many seconds it took him to get from where he saw Connor fall to where he found the body held more treachery than he'd ever known.  He probably still would have taken the deal for Cordelia's sake.  Because regardless of what else Wolfram and Hart had planned, they had saved Cordelia.  Then there had been the awkward social two-stepping as he repaired the rest of the emotional damage the group had suffered.  It had taken a year for Wesley to finally confide in the rest of the group that he had been searching for a way to break Lilah's contract and free her soul.  Already tense relations had gone Cold War after that as Lilah reverted to her former ruthless self, un-tempered by any feelings she had for Wesley. 

            His musing triggered another random string of thoughts.  If Cara had Lilah's memories, would she feel the same emotions?  Would she love and hate Wesley at the same time?  As Watcher and Slayer there had been a noticeable element of respect and admiration between them, even to the point that he had seen Cara fiercely protect and defend Wesley before helping anyone else.  Even with her memory makeover, it had been a surprise to hear that she hadn't wanted to return to Los Angeles.

            "Angel?" Cordelia prodded him lightly.  "You've got your Unhappy Thoughts face."

            "Just thinking." He watched Wesley examining the tiny robot, testing the buttons and each of the suction cup feet.  "Wondering what's in Cara's head that's important enough to worry Senior Partners."

            "May never know.  Even when Trigger Happy Girl was sane, she wasn't exactly chatty." She smiled sympathetically as she looked up from the reference key.  "At least she's doing better though.  According to Lilah's message anyway."

            "What do you think she?  About her and Wesley."

            "Major weirdness there." Cordelia turned her attention to Wesley and Fred.  "Can you imagine memories of having sex with someone when you haven't actually had sex with them?  That's got to be really frustrating in more ways that one.  I'd probably go crazy too."

            "Do you think that she feels the way Lilah did?  That maybe she loves him."

            "Or thinks that she loves him."

            "Exactly."

            "Wouldn't she have stayed if she did?"

            "Maybe not." He frowned, plucking at the random thoughts beginning to form a pattern.  "This room is new, the tunnel is new.  New locks on the doors, new passwords.  Maybe the trap wasn't for us."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Maybe we're the bait.  Or Wesley is." He saw her expression changed as she followed his gaze back to Wesley and her hands tightened on the reference key in her lap.  "They can't go after her."

            "So they're hoping she'll come after him?"

            "Think about it, Cordy.  If she's sane enough to think of him as her Watcher, she'll come.  If she thinks she's in love with him, she'll come."

            "And they'll be ready for her." Cordelia's fingernails tapped against the binder as she considered the idea.  "Sounds like something Wolfram and Hart would do.  They're probably even hoping that Buffy will call or something.  I mean, they could tell her you were in trouble and she'd come running to the rescue, probably even bring Faith.  Should we tell Wesley?"

            Angel forced a smile.  "He usually figures everything out before we do."

            "And forgets to let us in on the scoop.  I tell you, that man has more issues than Vogue." With a sigh, she closed the reference key.  "Guess we should come up with some sort of plan.   Or you could try climbing out of the hole again." 

            Angel swallowed back a groan and pushed his tired body reluctantly out of the comfortable embrace of the sofa.  "I'll get Squeebo back up the chute.  What should we tell Knox?"

            "I've already written a note." Fred held up a piece of paper matter-of-factly.  "It's says we're okay but want to get out of here ASAP."

            "Perfect." He watched her tuck the note into the cylinder and carefully insert it back into Squeebo's mail box.  The makeshift rope was once again tied around his waist and the chairs piled up so that he could climb into the hole in the ceiling.  Squeebo chirped happily as it clipped tiny feet onto his shirt, blissfully ignorant of the reproachful glare it was getting from the vampire as he wedged himself back up into the tunnel.   

            "Keep your needles to yourself this time."

            "Beep."

            Angel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and concentrated on scaling the narrow passageway.  The first twenty feet were the most difficult.  A nearly vertical chute, it was time consuming and laborious to shimmy his way up.  This time, he tried to imagine where he was with relation to the blueprints Squeebo had drawn on the magazine.  If the room extended under the lobby at a depth of three feet and the tunnel burrowed up through the wall, then the floor should be just a few inches away from where he was.  He figured the lobby itself had fourteen-foot ceilings in the alcove section.  The tunnel bent after that, twisting up through the walls at a steep but not impossible slope.  Pausing, he pressed one ear against the wall, listening for sounds of life outside the tunnel that would indicate he was in the wall of the lobby.  Maybe he didn't need to climb all the way to the top.  He checked each wall, waiting patiently for any change in the silence of the material.  The surface on his right was different.  He could hear faint, indistinguishable noises coming through the wall.  The hum of voices perhaps.  Punching through the wall wouldn't do much but alert the outside to his presence.

            "Hey, Squeebo."

            "Beep."

            "Don't supposed you can cut a hole through the wall?  Just a little one."

            "Beep, beep." The robot detached from his shirt and carefully extended its suction cups, easing onto the wall one foot at a time.  Whirring softly, another small arm unfolded from the body and touched the wall lightly.  More beeps were followed by the high-pitched whine of a tiny drill.

            "Remind me to get you a can of oil after we get out of here.  Or whatever."

            "Beep, beep." Suction cups moved slightly to the left and the drilling continued. 

            Slowly, patiently, the creature continued to drill into the wall, move a little, and drill again until it had cut a circle the width of Angel's hand.  One foot planted firmly in the middle and began to wiggle the circle out of its hole.  Once the chunk was loose, it moved away and beeped enthusiastically at Angel.  He pressed his knees and back against two of the other walls to free his hands enough to grip the circle and ease it out of the wall.  Once gone, Squeebo slipped two legs through the hole before exchanging suction cups for hooked feet made to grip and disappeared into the emptiness.  The whine of the drill resumed.  Several minutes later, a series of beeps preceded the robot's return, a small circle of drywall clutched in a set of pincers.

            "How many legs do you have in there?"

            "Beep."

            "Right." Angel positioned himself to peer through the hole and blinked against the light pouring in from the lobby beyond the wall.  It looked like the view from the far corner of the alcove, barely above the floor and beside one of the gigantic potted palms.  From his vantage point, he could see the front doors and the receptionist's desk.  The lobby was busy, feet moving back and forth in his view, the hissing of the doors almost constant as they opened and closed.

            "Any brilliant ideas?" He whispered to the mechanical insect holding on to the wall beside him. 

            "Beep."

            "Didn't think so." Shifting enough to give one set of tired muscles a break, he reached into the hole and felt around the darkness inside.  It was a little over six inches thick and hollow.  There was enough cover behind the gargantuan ceramic pot to hide Fred or Gwen and possibly Cordelia if they crawled out one at a time.  But what next?  They wouldn't exactly blend in with the rest of the crowd.

            "Squeebo?  Is the power for the lobby lights inside the walls?" 

            "Beep."

            "They probably have backup generators that kick in if they lose power."

            "Beep."

            "Can we get around that somehow?"

            "Beep."

            "This would be a lot easier if I spoke robot or you spoke English." Angel moved away from the hole and pondered his small companion thoughtfully.  "If Knox could get the lights out and the doors open, I can make a bigger hole and get them up.  At least two or three before they realize what's going on.  Probably Cordy first since she's got the best chance to defend herself and get to Sunnydale.  We'll need a distraction."

            "Beep, beep."

            "Still got that pen and paper?" It responded by digging claws into the wall and extending the pen hand.  The cylinder slid out with a click, falling into Angel's palm.  Twisting the end off, he plucked out the piece of paper and turned it over to the blank side to scribble a quick note.  Hopefully Knox was trustworthy and hopefully he would be able to find a way to get it done.  He tucked the note back inside the cylinder and into Squeebo's back.

            "Beep."

            "Can you get this to him sooner rather than later?"

            "Beep." Squeebo unhooked its claws, beginning the careful wiggling that pulled it back through the hole.  A few moments later the sound of the drill started again as it cut a hole large enough to slip through just behind the potted palm.  The chunk of drywall thudded softly as it fell down inside the wall and Angel heard clicking as mechanical feet landed on the marble floor of the lobby.  More whirring as suction cup feet were folded in.  He peered through the smaller hole, curious as to what type of footwear the creature would be sporting next.  A blur of metal darted out from behind the palm and into the crowd, dodging feet and legs as Squeebo careened across the lobby, tiny wheels spinning furiously.

            "Damn." At that speed, he might as well wait for the robot to return with a reply from Knox.  Wedging himself more securely into the chute, he began to break off chunks of the inner wall in preparation.  If he only had one layer of drywall to break through, it would be that much faster and he might be able to get more of the team out of the basement. 

            "Angel?" Wesley was probably wondering why chunks of plaster were falling down into the room below.

            "I have a plan." He tried to keep his voice quiet enough to not be heard through the wall but loud enough for Wesley to hear.

            "What is it?"

            "Just be ready to get everyone up into the tunnel." He focused on the task at hand, each piece neatly broken off as quietly as possible and either dropped down the chute or into the wall. 

In a stroke of luck, he unearthed a support beam in the floor that he could rest his weight on, taking most of the strain from his aching legs and back.  Beneath him, he could hear the rest of the gang talking and moving furniture.  After the inner hole was large enough for him to squeeze through he broke off a few more pieces to make it easier for Gunn and Lorne before settling in to wait for Squeebo's return.  Once into the lobby, he had to worry about the fact that it was broad daylight outside the building and left him stranded even if the others could get out.  It wasn't like he hadn't faced certain incineration a few hundred times before.  What would it be like to not recoil in the face of the sun?  Then again, he'd never get skin cancer.  Small favors.

Time crawled.  He spent the first hour watching the traffic through the tiny hole in the wall and trying to find a pattern in the weaving crowd.  A lot of people.  Who were they and what were they doing?  The second hour devolved into philosophical brooding that probably wasn't the best way to pass the time considering his current frame of mind.  Then again, he'd gone over the same ideas so often in his centuries of existence that it was almost soothing to face the ever-familiar paradoxes of human theory.  Over the years, particularly those spent trying not to get killed in Los Angeles, he'd imagined every possible scenario if he was to regain his humanity.  From the simplest act of stepping through a doorway to eating ice cream, he'd played the pictures a million times.  And his one day with Buffy more often than that. 

A happy memory amidst so many unhappy ones.  What would it be like to let go?  To finally relax and let himself be happy.  Happiness was something the rest of the world took for granted.  Not the pure, once in a lifetime, complete happiness that would strip away his soul.  Just the day to day enjoyment of being alive that he shied away from because it was too close, too bitter a reminder of what he could never have.  His dedication, his drive, it all came from the same dark place.  Cordelia called him a workaholic.  What choice did he have?  He worked to keep from thinking about everything he couldn't have, from being tempted to pull back the curtains and spending the day staring longingly out over the cityscape.  A hundred more years of work stretched out ahead of him and after those were a hundred more.  Hard to be impulsive and enthusiastic about life with that kind of a future to look forward to.

He'd come to terms with it.  Bit by bit.  Getting used to the daily grind, the killing and the fighting when all he wanted was to just stop and rest.  There was no rest for the wicked.  It became routine.  Hunt, fight, kill.  Friends lightened the load, people who cared made it that much easier to get out there and work.  But there was always the nagging fear that once they had gone the way of mortality, he would be left with just the good fight for company.  Doyle would have been proud that he'd made the choice to stay with his friends in spite of the inevitable ending.  Maybe that was why he stayed.

He nearly brushed away the thoughts impatiently, hearing Cordelia's pointed chiding about his tendency to brood.  Then again, he wouldn't get much of an opportunity to brood at all once the robot returned so he might as well get it over with.  After their escape, if they escaped, then it would be Sunnydale and protecting the Slayers.  If the vampire and demon world hadn't already begun to make advances, it would only be a matter of time before one of them came up with a plan to kill all three.  He was only slightly ashamed that his first concern, his first priority, was to get word to Sunnydale.  To Buffy.  Rationally, he knew that they didn't know how to contact Faith or Cara but that Buffy and Giles might.  It was logical to go to Sunnydale first.  He just wished that was the reason.  Wished that he really had managed to put Buffy where she needed to be.  Behind him.  What had been a dead end all those years ago was more dead than ever. 

A click and a thud alerted him to Squeebo's return.  He shifted his precarious footholds as the robot slipped back through the hole and beeped excitedly.  Catching the creature, he hushed it quickly and reached for the cylinder release button on the back.  Inside the case was another note, this one written in plain English.  Rescue coming.  Be ready for the distraction. 

"We'll know it when we see it, right?" He looked down at Squeebo for confirmation.

"Beep."

"Thanks."

"Beep, beep."

"You'd better get clear, little guy." Lights swiveled and it chirped softly as he held it back up to the hole.  One more beep and it was back into the lobby, spinning wildly through the maze of shoes. 

Angel twisted around, placing both feet firmly against the floor support and positioning to have the most leverage to pull the rest up through the ceiling.  Several feet below him, he could see them waiting expectantly for the signal.  "Send Cordy first, she can clear a path to the doors if she needs to.  And get ready."  He checked the knot on the homemade rope and found the best grip on the stretched fabric.  As soon as the distraction came, he would kick through the last layer of drywall and start pulling.  Just had to stay focused.  Calm.

Even knowing it was coming, he still jumped when glass shattered and the far side of the lobby exploded in a howling ball of fire.  One foot went through the drywall, another kick and more of the wall peeled out into the chaos.  He yanked up on the rope, pulling the new weight of Cordelia as she scrambled up the chute and grabbed onto the support beam between his feet.

"Be careful." He nodded to the opening. 

Without a word, she pulled herself up and tumbled through the hole, reaching back to break more of the plaster away once she was on solid ground.  Fred came up next, clinging tightly to the rope before grabbing onto Cordelia's hand and disappearing into the light.  He kept pulling, focusing on the motion of hand over hand and trying to keep one eye on the lobby.  Fire had completely engulfed most of the far wall and was spreading up to the higher floors, sending people and demons alike running for cover.  Another explosion rocked the building and this time he recognized the source.  Someone was launching missiles through the windows lining the building's face.  Score another one for Knox.  Just the men were left.  Getting them up through the tunnel was slower going, heavier and awkward in the tight space.

"What's going on?" Wesley asked as he hefted himself up to the hole.

"Distraction."

"Very effective.  Do you need help with the others?"

"No.  Keep going." He was already working on getting Lorne up into the chute.  Just two more.  Hand over hand, praying the sheets wouldn't tear and leave anyone behind.  Lorne pulled himself up and out into the lobby, his broad shoulders barely squeezing through the hole in the walls.

"How you doing, Angel?"  Gunn wedged himself up through the tunnel, making it easier on Angel.

"Get everyone out of the building and somewhere safe."

"You coming?"

"Sun's out.  I'll find another way."

"Angel?"

"Just go." His voice was sharp.  Once Gunn had slipped through the hole, he untied the rope and tossed it back down the chute.  The lobby had become a deathtrap.  He watched anxiously as the team dashed through smoke and falling debris, flames leaping up around them.  Wolfram and Hart had the best fire system and fire retardant materials in the world but it was still blazing out of control despite the artificial rain trying to douse it.  Knox had obviously altered the missiles to carry accelerants and fuel for the fire itself.

            Cautiously, he slithered out of the hole, staying near the ground to keep from being seen and away from the fire licking at the walls.  Mentally checking off the sewer access routes, he tried to decide which one would be the easiest to get to.  They were probably guarded.  Alarms shrieked through the smoky air around him and another missile crashed through the third floor windows, burrowing into the offices before destroying them in an earth-shaking explosion.  Burning rubble cascaded down into the lobby, blocking nearly half of his exits and cutting off the view of his friends.  This was not his lucky day.  In the midst of the destruction, beneath the skylights several floors above, he caught the glint of metal and saw Squeebo beeping frantically as it whirled around in tight circles.  Damn robot. 

Angel dodged a chunk of burning debris as he leapt forward, intent on getting to the mechanical creature lost in the melee.  Either the smoke had shorted out the circuits or the critter was very confused.  When he reached down to grab hold of its back, wheels spun and it darted between his outstretched hands.

"Come on, Squeebo!  Fred'll kick my ass if I don't save you."

"Beep!"

"I know she doesn't look like much but I'm not joking."

"Beep! Beep!"

Frustrated, he blocked the robot's path with one foot and managed to a get a grip on a single one of the wheeled legs.  It squealed and chirped as it struggled to get away from him.  "Relax!  I'm trying to save your ungrateful robot hide." 

Above him, the skylights exploded and showered them both with a downpour of broken glass.  Clutching Squeebo tightly, he dove out of the threat of sunshine and barely managed to avoid the wall of fire roaring behind them.  In his arms, the little robot had stopped squirming, beeping encouragingly as Angel shook off a layer of glass and squinted through the smoke.  The new source of oxygen pulled the fire higher up into the building, creating a fiery hurricane that spun around them with a thundering chorus of crackling and spitting.

"Beep."

"Yeah.  Looks pretty bad."  He wiped the smoke from his eyes.  Something was coming down through the skylights.  Fast.  Wolfram and Hart must have one more trick up their sleeves.  The dark blob tore through the smoke and fire above them, hitting the ground several feet away.  He blinked rapidly as the figure turned toward him, dark hair swinging in a tight braid over her shoulders.  Cara?

"Grab on!" She shouted through the uproar.  "It won't be enough to kill you."

His other options rapidly dwindling to none, he made sure Squeebo was clipped tightly to his shirt before self-consciously taking hold of both the rope and Cara.  Hopefully the tiny robot was fireproof.  "What about the others?"

"Retrieval team out front." She yanked once on the rope.  "Hold on."

            There was time to glance up before the rope snapped tight, savagely tearing at his shoulders as they hurtled upward through the fire.  In the blazing sunlight, he saw the outline of a helicopter before they burst out of the broken skylight and his whole body began to burn.  Smoke from his own flesh gagged him, flames licking at arms and legs as he combusted.  Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Teeth grinding together against the agony of his skin, he barely noticed when they were swallowed up into the protective darkness of the helicopter's womb.  Firm hands were pulling him away from the rope and cutting the harness from his injured body.  Somewhere in the haze, Squeebo was beeping softly.  The sensation of cold began to sink in through damaged flesh.  Voices surrounded him as he continued to choke on the revolting smell. 

"The building?" A man asked, his voice almost swallowed by the engine noise.

"Burn it to the ground."  Cara sounded close, beside him maybe, her voice colder and harder than he remembered it. 

Liquid trickled into his mouth and oozed down his throat.  Blood.  Warm, human blood.  Reacting automatically, he tried to move his head away from the source and spit out the temptation coating his tongue. 

"Get over it." Cara ordered sharply.  He felt her hand clamp down on his jaw, stars spinning through his head at the pain radiating from her touch, and feebly choked down the thick blood.  "ETA Sunnydale, one hour.  We're transporting you directly to Buffy's house."

"Beep."

"Hey Squeebo." One of the male voices responded to the little robot's chirp.

Angel closed his eyes, obediently swallowing down the blood as it dripped past his lips and trying to ignore the painful rattling of the helicopter around him.  When the blood finally stopped coming, he tentatively licked his burnt lips.  "Cara?"  There was no answer and a patch of turbulence kept him silent for several minutes.  "Cara?"

"Yes." Came the brisk answer.

"Lilah's gone." He forced any trace of hope from his voice.  "She said that you knew about the Shanshu prophecy.  How to fulfill it."

More silence.

"If you can remember anything at all."

The slight pressure of her fingers on his shoulder made him wince.  "I can't help you."

Mouth open and words halfway through the vocal cords, Buffy realized she had no idea what to say and ended up settling for something that came out as a vague comfort salad.  Again, Clueless Buffy had been at the helm and she hadn't seen the subtle hints and land mines that Willow had been leaving behind.  The frowns and the loudly shrieking silence that meant that all was not well in the world of Willow.  Everything that was spilling out over two cups of herbal tea as the witch finally claimed full best friend venting privileges.  There wasn't any valuable relationship advice stored away that she could offer out like a squirrel sharing its cache of nuts.  More like a squirrel looking around its cozy little tree house and finding Styrofoam packing peanuts instead of acorns.

"Sorry, Will." She hoped her expression conveyed the right amount of sympathy and helplessness.  "If there's something that needs to be killed, I'm your girl.  Not so talented with the girlfriend issues.  I thought you were happy."

"I am." Willow assured her quickly.  "Just needed to get a few things, little things, off of my chest.  You know, spring cleaning of the emotional closet except that it's winter, so it's winter cleaning."

"Right.  I'll just be quiet then.  One Buffy sounding board fully operational and at your service."

"They're little things, really.  Tiny, miniscule, little things that really shouldn't be bothering me at all." Willow shifted from upset to guilty.  "Mostly, everything's squeaky clean.  Leia's fabulous.  She's talented and beautiful and she's a great person."

"I'm sensing a but at the non-ending of that sentence."

"Can someone be affectionate and distant at the same time?" With a heavy sigh, Willow curled up into the corner of the couch.  "When I moved in with her, I was all excited for a chance to get closer.  Get to really know her.  But I don't think she wants to let me in at all."

"Is she stonewalling or just being avoidy?"

"Closer to avoidy.  For example, I don't know anything about her family.  She never talks about them, there aren't any pictures, and hey, I can understand not having a great bond with blood kin.  Growing up in the Rosenberg house was never the Partridge experience but I at least acknowledge that I have parents.  And with Tara's family, at least I knew how horrible they were.  With Leia?  Nothing.  Complete lack of info here."

"Maybe she's not ready to tell you."

"So she's ready to have sex but not tell me about her family?" Willow frowned, color rising into her cheeks as she continued.  "And that's another thing.  Sex!  I'm cool with having the lights out and part of me is super grateful cause I'm still working on the Xander poundage but it feels like she's ashamed or something."

"Maybe she's insecure?" Buffy suggested weakly.

"About what?  She's a stick.  A stick with great curves but still very stick-like.  And she knows I think she's beautiful."

"It's not always enough, Will."

"And we don't really cuddle after, you know?  It's just more like roll over and go to sleep." Her brow furrowed as she took another sip of tea.  "I'm not getting a low self-esteem vibe or anything like that.  More like she just wants to keep me at arm's length for some reason.  And then there's you."

"Me?"

"Sometimes I think she's more interested in you than me."

"I'm sure that's not true." Buffy gripped her own mug tightly, slightly panicking at the intensity of Willow's gaze.

"She asks how you're doing all the time.  Which is really nice and considerate, actually, cause you're going through something right now." Willow paused for a second and frowned.  "How are you doing with the hormones?"

"Like extra strength PMS."

"That bad?"

"It's fine." Buffy tried to smile cheerfully and not blush with embarrassment.  "And I should find out on Thursday if the implants took."

"So," Willow hesitated.  "If it's a yes?"

"I go back every few days until I'm out of the woods.  Then I go back every couple of weeks and cut way down on patrol for nine fun filled months of swollen ankles and morning sickness."

"Can I tell you one more time just how weird this is?  Beyond weird, beyond Sunnydale weird.  Possibly the most weird thing I have ever known in my life and I have been witness to some first class weirdness."

"It's okay."

"Do I dare ask how you got Xander to agree to this?"

"I asked."

"That's it?"

"Well, I was aiming for desperate but endearing bestest friend in dire need of rescue.  But yeah, I just asked." Buffy hid the smile behind the mug.  It had meant more than she could possibly explain to Willow when Xander had half-smiled, stuck his hands in his pockets like a little boy asking for a cookie, and told her to enlist him in the Slayer line regeneration.  Of course, before she'd had time to get teary eyed with relief, he'd given her a mischievous smile and lamented that it was too bad they wouldn't be doing it the old-fashioned way. 

"That's our Xander." Willow's eyes softened.

"If they didn't take, then I'll probably give it a few months and try again.  Dr. James said to think of this time as a dress rehearsal or practice run.  Figuring out all the right hormone levels and ovulation stuff, and I'll probably have a better chance next time since it won't be as much of a shock to the system."

"That's good."

"I never know how much of his speeches are just trying to make me feel better and how much is the cold, hard facts." 

"I'm sure he wants you to have a baby as much as you do."

"That sounds pretty creepy when you put it like that."

"Creepy but true." Willow reached out and gave Buffy's hand a quick squeeze.  "Whatever it takes.  I could probably look around for some extra magical help if you'd like.  Fertility, that kind of thing."

"Tempting.  But I think I'll take my chances with science."

"Not because you're worried about me, right?  Cause I'm good, more than good, I'm the Fort Knox of goodness."

            Buffy swirled her tea, watching the bits and particles dance around the spiral at the bottom.  "There's a little bit of that.  But mostly it's that I don't always want to be running to you for magic solutions to everything.  Some things need to be worked through on their own."

            "Well, I'll light a candle for you anyway."

            "Thanks.  But this chat session isn't about Buffy.  Any ideas on what you're going to do?  Maybe you could tell her how you feel, that's always a good start."

            Sighing heavily, Willow shook her head.  "I think that she'd just pull away from me further.  It's just so different, you know.  To be the pursuer instead of pursued.  Even with Tara, there was no pressure or awkwardness because I knew from the beginning that she wanted to be with me and that was a good feeling.  Knowing that even if you have issues and maybe aren't the best person in the world, that someone wants you no matter what."

            Nodding with understanding, Buffy motioned for her to continue.

            "I knew Oz wanted a relationship.  And Kennedy."

            "Everyone in the house knew what Kennedy wanted." Buffy grinned.

            "Hey!"

            "But I know what you mean." She held up one hand to show she was only teasing.  "It's like a safety net.  Nice comfy wiggle room that means they'll still be there in the morning and you can breathe a little easier." 

            "Exactly.  I've always had that and now I don't.  So I'm a little edgy."  Willow finished her tea and made room for the mug on the crowded coffee table.  "But I think it could be great, really great.  I just wish I knew how to get past the Great Wall of Leia."

            "Just be patient.  God, I sound like my mother." Buffy laughed, setting aside her mug to reach for the phone as it began to chirp loudly.  "Just a sec, Will.  It's probably Dawn letting me know she's going to be late getting home.  There's this guy in one of her study groups that she's been talking about nonstop."

            "At least she's studying."

            "If that's what they call it these days." She rolled her eyes as she pressed the receiver against her ear.  "Summers residence, Buffy at your service."

            "We have a situation, Buffy." Riley's voice was almost buried under the background noise.

            "Riley?" Buffy frowned, hitting the volume button on the phone.  "I can barely hear you.  What's going on?"

            "I'm in a helicopter.  Should be there in about five minutes."

            "Be where?"

            "Your house."

            "You're coming here?  In a helicopter?" Buffy leaned over the back of the couch to peer out of the front windows.  "Why?"

            "I'll fill you in when I get there.  We need you to meet us in the backyard and keep the doors open.  Once we lower the cradle, we'll have to move fast and get him into the basement as soon as possible."

            "Who's going in my basement?"

            There was a moment of crackling engine noise before his voice came back through the phone line, "It's Angel."

            Buffy stared at the phone after it clicked, her ears ringing from the sound of the engine and Riley's words.  Looking up, she saw Willow's concerned face and shook herself out of the shock.  "Riley's bringing Angel here.  We'll need blankets."

            "No problem." Suddenly businesslike, Willow set aside her mug and stood up.  "Heavy, non-combusting blankets coming up."

            "He said to meet him in the backyard and to keep the doors open."

            "You go wait, I'll get everything."

            Gratefully, Buffy hurried through the house, making a quick sweep of the basement and kitchen to insure that the path was free of obstacles that could slow them down or trip unsuspecting feet.  There would be time for questions and answers later.  Like why she hadn't heard from Angel in weeks just as they'd gotten to the point where she could randomly call and actually have a decent conversation with him.  And why Riley was bringing him in with a helicopter and dropping him into the backyard.  Why Riley would even risk transporting Angel during the daylight hours or fly into a residential area at all were also high priority questions.  From the back porch, she could hear the rattling thrum of the engine as it got closer.  Willow was already waiting at the bottom of the steps with a stack of blankets in her arms. 

Wind picked up, tossing her ponytail and kicking up dust as the helicopter spun over the roof to hover above the lawn.  A dusty green insect stretching the length of the backyard with the barrels of mounted machine guns jutting out wickedly from the sides.  Shielding her face against the assault of wind and dust, she watched as the flank of the machine opened up into a gaping mouth spewing out black cable and a man dressed in camouflage.  He hit the ground several feet away, jerking the ropes around and keeping his eyes trained up on the helicopter.  Slowly, a tangle of metal rods and canvas lowered out of the side carrying a human sized load.  To Buffy it looked like a body bag drifting down through the tornado of dust and air, her throat constricting as she watched it sway precariously despite the marine's attempt to stabilize its descent.  When it finally came to rest, the sound of the impact torn away by the wind and her heart leaping erratically, the soldier unclipped the ropes that had held it and motioned for them to come forward.

Dirt and grass whipped across her face as he motioned for her to take hold of one end and pick up the cradle.  Unnerved by the sickeningly familiar form covered in black canvas, she hefted her end and started toward the back door.  When Willow moved to help them, the soldier waved her back to the helicopter, his shouted words snatched away before Buffy could hear them.  Glancing back, she saw another rope drop out of the helicopter's mouth and another set of combat boots began the controlled drop to the ground.  Willow could take care of it.  Awkwardly, she and the soldier managed to get up the porch steps, through the kitchen and down the basement steps. 

It was blissfully quiet to be surrounded by concrete and earth.  She made sure the still body was out of any possible sunlight before motioning to her lifting partner and easing it onto the floor.  When nothing happened, she realized that she was expecting the zipper to open and Angel to climb out with his hair a little messed up but everything else in working order.  The absolute stillness was frighteningly ominous.  Her hand reached toward the gleaming silver zipper even as her brain screamed in protest.

"Buffy?" Willow's footsteps hurried down the stairs.  "Don't open it!"

The hand stopped inches away.  Buffy stared down at her own fingers as though watching an alien being poised above an obsidian statue.  Heavier steps sounded in the stillness and she could hear the retreating hum of the helicopter.  Still transfixed by the body at her feet, she could feel Willow standing beside her and hear movement at the base of the stairs.

"Buffy?" Riley's voice finally broke the spell.

"What happened?" The words trailed away as she looked up and realized what he was holding.

The third Slayer was barely recognizable.  Eyes closed and cradled against Riley's chest, the right side of her face was red and blistered with angry burns.  Scorched clothing falling away in bits of ash to reveal more burns covering her right arm and clawing down her ribs and waist.  Willow spread the blankets out on the floor quickly and helped him ease Cara's unconscious form onto the hasty bed.  There were more burns in ugly streaks down her legs and along the inside of her left arm.

"Oh God." She looked back down at the body bag.  "Is he?"

"Worse." Riley wiped ash off of his hands.  "It was the only way to get him out of the building.  He was conscious for most of the trip so they managed to get some human blood in him but he'll need more soon."

"What happened?"

Riley shifted onto his left foot uncomfortably, "A message came in from the team in Brazil about two weeks ago, they lost half of their team and had to pull out.  Once they crossed the borders, Cara asked me to talk to someone named Knox at Wolfram and Hart.  He told me that Angel and the group had disappeared about the same time."

"Two weeks ago?  Why didn't you tell me?" Buffy clenched her fists tightly at her sides.

"Because you would have gone after him."

"And?"

"And it was a trap, Buffy." He raked one hand through his hair with frustration and motioned to Cara.  "Don't ask me how but this girl has a nose for those things.  We kept tabs on the law office, checked out every angle, and then waited to find out if they were even still alive.  Once Knox found them, we went in to get them out.  At least that was the plan."

"What happened to the plan?" She wanted to know why Angel was lying in a body bag on her basement floor, injured and in pain.  Had that been part of the plan?

"We flew in and launched a half dozen missiles into front of the building.  Whoever the Senior Partners are, they were prepared for almost anything, and every other way would have been a bloodbath.  They were supposed to be safely underground when the extraction team went in but they climbed out and he got trapped in the building."

"So you opted for taking him out into broad daylight since that's so much less dangerous for him?" Both scared and furious, she was torn between thanking Riley for going after Angel and screaming at him for messing it up.

"Cara dropped in through the skylights and pulled him up into one of the helicopters.  He was only in the sun for a few seconds."

"A few seconds is all it takes." Anger was winning, fueled by guilt that she hadn't been there to help and the bitter What Ifs that were beginning to trample through rationality.

"It was the only way."  Riley stiffened defensively.

"There's always another way."

"Hey!  Guys!" Willow stepped between them quickly as the tension escalated.  "Fight about who's right or wrong later.  Right now, we have two injured people who need major help instead of major arguing."

Buffy bit down hard to keep the words in her throat, finally nodding in agreement.  "Willow and I can take it from here."

"If you need anything." Riley hesitated.

"I'll call you." Buffy flexed her fingers slowly and forced out a nearly inaudible Thank You.

"The others will be in Sunnydale soon.  We'll take care of them." He paused for a moment, gazing down at Cara sadly.  "I'm sorry to drop this on you but I can't.  After what happened.  I can't bring her onto the base."

"It's alright."

"The men don't…they don't want her there."

"I understand." She wanted him to leave so she could open the bag and get it over with.  Be traumatized all at once instead of drawing out the agony.  "Don't worry about it."

"Let me know.  If he doesn't make it." With that, he finally turned up the stairs and his steps faded into silence.

Buffy took a deep breath and knelt down beside the bag, looking up once in search of Willow's reassuring presence.  "You don't have to be here if you don't want to." 

"I'll stay."

She felt rather than heard Willow move across the room.  Felt soft fingers slip into her hand as she tried to find the strength to take hold of the zipper and face what was inside.  It felt unreal.  Not Angel.  The vampire who had lived for hundreds of years and managed to keep himself undusted.  Had gone to hell and come back with immortality intact.  Now he was lying on her basement floor, hidden and still as the death he had cheated so long ago.  Fingers touched the metal, cringing at the grating sound as miniature teeth slipped apart.  The smell of burnt flesh.  She kept pulling.  Hands were pushing aside the black canvas and tears flooded into her eyes at the scorched skin and fabric that didn't even resemble Angel.

"Willow." It was a plea for something she didn't even know how to voice.  A request for someone, anyone, to make what she was seeing a little less terrible. 

"He's still here, Buffy." Willow whispered soothingly. 

Buffy could see her hands shaking as she helped peel away the canvas and lift the damaged body carefully onto a blanket.  Numbly, she found a pair of scissors and began to cut away the bits of burnt cloth, taking care not to tug on the pieces stuck firmly to the skin.  His eyes didn't open.  There was no heartbeat or breath to search for, to confirm that he would eventually wake up and be Angel.  Be more than just oozing flesh.  A lightweight cotton sheet settled over his body, sticking to the worst parts and making him look like a corpse waiting to be autopsied.  The clothes he'd worn were little more than a pile of ash to be swept into the dustpan.  They moved to Cara next, cutting away the heavy cloth around her burns.  Beneath the fabric were dark bruises and a dozen more wounds in various stages of healing.  Another sheet.  Another body waiting.  This one was breathing evenly but no less terrifying. 

"I need to run home for supplies." Willow took her hand again.  "With a bit of luck, I might be able take these down to second degree burns and I can pick up blood on the way back."

"I can do it."

"No.  You need to stay in case they wake up."

Buffy tried to swallow away the lump in her throat, "Please tell me what to do, Will.  I need to be doing something.  I can't just sit here and not do anything." Her voice was shaking, tears threatening to spill out onto her cheeks.

"Grab some towels and rags.  While I'm gone, soak them in cold water and try to cool down the burns.  Can you do that?"

She nodded, numb and wordless.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."  The comfort of Willow disappeared.

Wiping away tears, Buffy forced her limbs into action.  Every clean rag she could find and half of the hand towels in the house were piled next to Angel and Cara with a large bowl of water and ice cubes set gently on the floor.  Her stomach churned rebelliously as she began to dab gingerly at the weeping burns, washing away the bits of ash and skin.  Trying not to break the fragile healing process as it slowly began to repair what had been lost.  She settled into a routine of dip, dab, dip again; her focus kept strictly on the movements of her hands. 

"You sure picked a lousy way to get here." She told Angel softly.  "I mean, with all the sewers in Los Angeles and the modern miracle of tinted windows, you'd think that you could have found something less painful.  And if you wanted me to play nurse, you could've just asked."

The silence was deafening.

            It was ironic, Spike mused as he signed his name on the marriage license, that neither of them were using their real names.  That both of their past lives and former monikers had been left behind.  He couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he pushed the paper back across the mahogany desk and reached for Faith's hand.

            "Everything's in order then." An older man with wispy gray hair and a round Santa Clause face, the minister had managed to squeeze them in that afternoon before his tee time.  "You're headed to California?"

            "I have family there." Faith lied easily, practicing an innocently angelic smile.

            "Thought we'd surprise them." Spike gave her hand a noticeable squeeze as he tried not to laugh. 

            "I'm sure they'll be very happy for you both." Light brown eyes sparkled and the minister smoothed the marriage license carefully as he tucked it into an envelope.  "Once we're through with the formalities, you can take this over to the count clerk's office in the courthouse and get an official copy.  It might be a bit of a wait but they can give you a better idea of when you can pick it up."

            "Thank you."

            "Now, I expect that neither of you really want a lot of fanfare." He waited for their nods before continuing.  "Still, I'd like to spend a few minutes and talk about marriage.  I see a lot of couples just like you.  Happy, smiling, and very much in love.  When they leave my office, I know that every other one of those couples is probably going to end in divorce.  Pretty frightening statistic when you think about it.  About how much you invest in a relationship and how much you stand to lose.  Marriage isn't a trivial consideration." 

            Spike tried to find the right balance between appearing interested in what the man had to say and avoiding the thousand-yard stare as his brain strained to escape the sentimental preaching about marriage and family values.  If he'd figured anything out in his near century and a half as a vampire, it was that human beings loved to ramble about values and morality without actually believing in any of their own words.

            "These days, you pay a fee and sign your name and you're legally wed.  Just have to say I do and that's all there is to it.  But getting married is a lot easier than staying married.  Especially now that our lives are so hectic, with so many demands on our time and each other, which couples didn't have in years past.  Just making a living can tear a marriage apart.  The most important thing you can do is build your relationship, your friendship, and your respect for each other.  Lay a firm foundation that you can add to through the years so that when troubles come along you'll be ready for them.  You'll be strong enough to keep your marriage intact despite everything around you.  And even if things begin to fall apart, I want you to remember that if the foundation is good, then everything else can be fixed."

            The minister seemed rather pleased with his speech and Spike couldn't think of any response other than a solemn nod.  He felt like a student bowing to the teacher's ancient wisdom, remaining silently rapt as pearls of knowledge were imparted.  Where Spike the vampire would have probably come up with a few snide remarks and probably eaten the poor man, he settled for what he hoped was a patient smile and waited for the talking to end. 

Once this was done, it was a hop and a skip over the California border and another afternoon to pull into Sunnydale.  Despite her best intentions, his new wife would probably be fast asleep by the time the Welcome to Sunnydale sign appeared.  Normally a powerhouse of energy, she had slept nearly twelve hours a day since they'd left Boston.  A symptom of her pregnancy that he had been unprepared for, it left him with nothing to do but drive and while it was good for making time across the country, it wasn't as beneficial for his own energy levels. 

It had also given him a lot of time to think.  About Sunnydale and the Scoobies.  About his life and about Faith.  Reaching into the depths of what might have been a soul, he realized that he could face them.  That the fears keeping him away were petty and ridiculous.  He couldn't control their reactions to his being alive, couldn't predict what they would say or do.  In the end, he wanted the same thing he'd always wanted.  Acceptance.  But it wouldn't be any skin off of his back if they never saw him as anything but a vampire. 

This return trip, he noted, was more nostalgic than the others.  Not here to kill anyone or seek revenge, just coming back to a place he'd once lived to see old acquaintances.  Faith had explained that Giles had set up shop when he returned to Sunnydale, the windows of the new Magic Box once again lined with books and magic supplies.  This time it had direct tunnel access to the military base on the outskirts of the city.  At least the old Watcher would be back in his element.  Xander, Willow, Buffy, and Dawn were all still there.  Still fighting the good fight.  But that was where the similarities ended.  He was returning to the Hellmouth with a heartbeat and a wife, and for something that couldn't be more different, it felt oddly familiar. 

            There were I Do's and a Pronounce You Man and Wife that Spike barely heard amidst the clamoring of his own thoughts, staying on automatic pilot as they shook hands with the minister and followed the paperwork rainbow to the pot of legal gold at the end.  Faith was quiet.  He caught her glancing around the bustling Nevada city with almost desperate interest and knew she was trying not to think of Sunnydale.  Trying not to think of the confrontation that was barreling toward them.  She was probably expecting the worst, that she would lose all the ground she had gained and the fragile friendship she had stitched together with Buffy and the rest of the gang.  Family.  Despite her own fervent denial, he knew that Sunnydale was the closest to home, the Scoobies closest to family, that she'd ever had.  And he knew that some part of her hated that fact.

            He was married.  It didn't feel all that different.  Nothing had really changed in the walk from the quiet chapel to the courthouse except that his ears were chilled from the icy wind.  Maybe it would sink in later.  Maybe he'd simply gone through so much in the past months that he was numb to change and drama. Or maybe he was still holding his breath and waiting for it all to ripped away from him again.  Hence Sunnydale.  Traveling over state lines and endless roads, he realized that it didn't matter who knew about his past.  Didn't matter if Birkman crowed it from the rooftops to the entire world and took out an ad in the New York Times.  Sunnydale was for Faith and the baby.  Because he couldn't keep them safe and keep them alive without help. 

            And something was changing.  He could feel it in his skin and blood, like a thousand eyes peering out from shadows and sunlight as they waited for the unknown something to happen.  Even Faith had been on edge the last few days, quieter than usual and reluctant to talk about the nightmares that left her pale and trembling.  She'd muttered something about her Slayer sense going wonky that morning, rubbing at the back of her neck and turning several times to reassure herself that nothing and no one was behind them.  There was no joking comment from his lips because he'd been doing the same thing for several days.  Maybe it was winter seeping cold fingers into his bones. 

            "Ready?"

            He'd been so lost in the surroundings that he hadn't registered their return to the car until Faith's voice cut through his thoughts.  "Yeah.  You alright?"

            "Five by five."

            He waited for the click of her seatbelt before slipping into his own and starting up the car.  Once more into the breach.  Dotted lines, solid lines, all racing by as he slipped through traffic and settled into the easy rhythm of driving.

            "We should see Buffy first."

            "Easiest for last?"

            "Yeah."

            The ring on his left hand shone reassuringly in the pale sunlight bouncing through the windshield.  "Who's easiest then?"

            "Giles.  At least he'll pretend he's not freaked."

            "Right." He did a quick roll call in his head, trying to order them by unpleasantness. 

Even with four years of space between painful memories that had given time to think and process the doomed relationship he'd had with Buffy, he was bracing for hurt or anger, for that instant before she shuttered away her emotions and pulled up the stone façade she used as a shield.  It would be more difficult for Faith, who was still struggling to define the Slayer dynamic that seemed to bind them and pull them apart at the same moment.  There was Dawn.  Brave little Dawn who had hung out in his crypt listening to stories and who knew what it was like to have a lifetime of memories that weren't real.  Yeah, he wanted to see Dawn again.  And there was a sort of awkward soft spot that he had for Willow, knowing that she had tried just as hard as the rest of them to keep him undusted.  Maybe harder.  Xander and Giles fell toward the easy end of the scale because he didn't care all that much what they thought anyway.  But they still needed to be told.

It was a bittersweet realization.  As hard as he'd tried and as much as he'd tried to forget, to move on, even to hate them, they were all the family he had.

Note: One of the reviewers for the last chapter had a very good point.  That trying to tie Season 7 canon into this story wasn't really necessary since I threw canon out the window.  I wasn't actually trying to tie in to 7 with Faith's little tour through the past.  Mostly, I was just trying to hit the significant milestones in her life.  I wasn't a big fan of Faith/Wood but they made enough of it in the show that I felt it needed to be mentioned.  It also gave me the opportunity to say unequivocally that both he and the potentials are no longer alive.  The reference to Kennedy was made in the same fashion because as much as I'd like to forget they ever created that character, I can't just pretend she never happened.  Wouldn't that be lovely?