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.

46. Retribution

Retribution –

            It felt as though only a few seconds had passed between the time Xander laid his head down on the pillow, wrapped his arms around his warm and comforting girlfriend to drift into sleep, and the moment he was rudely yanked from that pleasant dream world by the sound of the doorbell.  And Bugsy.  Blinking sleep from his eyes, he squinted irritably at the tabby feline pawing at his feet.

            "Why don't you go answer the door?" He wiggled his toes a little to catch the animal's attention.  "Go on.  Be the devious kitty I know you are."

            "Meow." Bugsy eyed him expectantly and batted once more at his left foot.

            With a groan, Xander carefully extracted himself from Jane's legs and rolled out of bed.  "You could wake up your owner, you know.  Daddy got to bed late last night.  Monsters to fight, vampires to dust.  It's all very tiring."  Yielding to the caress of silken fur against his ankles, he reached down to scratch Bugsy's ears affectionately. 

            The doorbell buzzed again.

            "All right, all right." Hoping that he was presentable enough for whoever was waiting on the doorstep, Xander shrugged into his robe and tried to stumble quietly through the apartment with Bugsy at his heels.  Running a quick hand through his hair, he unlocked the door and prepared to tell whoever it was that he wasn't interested.

            "Xander?"  Leia Reilly was the last person he had expected to see.  The fact that she looked as though she hadn't slept in days didn't do much to ease the surprise.

            "Leia?  What are you doing?  Is Willow okay?" 

            "I don't know." Leia bit her lip nervously and glanced over her shoulder.  "May I come in?"

            "Sure, sure." Xander nodded, closing the door as soon as she was inside.  "What happened?"

            She took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself for what she was about to say.  "I know."

            "You know."  He repeated, scratching his head a little and attempting to dislodge the weaving feline from his legs.  "That's a good thing.  Knowing.  I like knowing things."

            "I know about the vampires and Buffy and Willow and all of you.  I didn't say anything because I didn't want to pry and because I didn't really want to be involved.  It made it less real if I could just pretend I didn't know.  Sort of." Flustered, she twisted the edges of the scarf knotted around her neck.

            "Oh.  You know.  Well.  That's good, less explaining on my part."  Xander gave up trying to fend off the cat paws treading over his feet, bending down and grabbing Bugsy by the scruff of the neck.  The action also provided a shield for the mental gymnastics his tired brain was trying to accomplish.  Find out how much she knew and how, get the facts and nothing but the truth or a certain Slayer would be none too happy with him.  Then again, if he wasn't understanding and helpful, he'd be on the black lightning end of a very powerful witch.  Holding the cat tightly, he nodded toward the kitchen.  "Does Willow know you know?"

            "Not yet.  I was going to tell her when it came up.  If it came up.  But now…" She trailed off, eyes darting away from his gaze.

            "What's wrong with now?" Xander opened the kitchen door wide enough to toss Bugsy into the backyard and hurled the protesting ball of fur into the bright winter sunshine.  "Sorry, I think that cat is trying to kill me.  Or it might just be a cat thing.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee?"

            "Already had two cups, thanks." Leia sat down nervously.  "I would have gone to Buffy's but it's not safe there.  I don't even know if it's safe here but I thought you might know some way to contact them."

            "Whoa, back that train up.  Not safe?  Casa Summers is probably the safest place in Sunnydale and I should know, I've rebuilt enough of it."

            "It's bugged."

            "You're not talking about cockroaches, are you?"

            "Surveillance." Tugging at the scarf anxiously, she sighed and her shoulders fell.  "There was a man at the apartment yesterday from some big law firm.  It was something he said, about audio and video only doing so much.  I've been trying to figure out a way to let Willow know but they probably bugged the phones too.  Do you guys have some sort of code you could use?"

            "He didn't happen to say what law firm, did he?" Xander glanced at the clock quickly and tried to guess if anyone at the Summers house would be awake. 

            "Wolfram and Hart.  They were interested in whoever Buffy has staying at her house.  A man named Angel and a girl who's supposedly insane."

            "No supposed about it.  Anything else?"

            She stared down at her hands, her voice soft when she finally continued.  "He wanted me to kill her.  The girl.  He promised that he could give me my family back if I did.  I didn't believe him, of course."

            "Oh." Xander blinked in surprise. 

            "Look, I know it sounds crazy but you probably see crazy shit everyday, right?" A silent plea in her eyes, she reached up and untied the scarf.  On the left side of her neck, he recognized the twin scars of a vampire bite. 
            "That's how you know." He smiled with regretful understanding.

            "When I first came to Sunnydale, I was like every other naïve little girl.  Barely out of high school and just trying to…to forget.  Buffy saved my life."  She covered the scars with one hand, cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment.  "This might be my chance to repay her."

            "Tell you what." Xander tightened his robe as he stood up.  "First, I'll slip into something a little more presentable, and then we'll worry about thwarting evil law firms."

            "Thank you."

            "Don't worry.  Everything's under control."

***

            The door was ajar.  And that was never a good thing. 

            Fred raised her hand to knock anyway, feeling like the unsuspecting heroine in a bad horror movie where the killer is always waiting behind the door.   Knuckles struck the wood and it inched away from her hand with a feeble creak.  "Wes?" Only the shuddering of the door answered her call.  Frowning, she glanced down at her cell phone again to reassure herself that his number was displayed across the LCD.  "Wes?  Are you there?"

            Taking the step across the threshold was as good as holding still and baring her throat to whatever psychotic axe murderer was getting ready to jump at her.  Why couldn't he have chosen a less creepy motel?  Something less Norman Bates.  Blinking into the shadows, she glanced behind the door just to make sure the space was unoccupied and let out a sigh of relief.  No knife wielding monsters in sight.  Apprehension gave way to annoyance as she tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and reached for the light switch.  It wasn't exactly considerate of Wesley to call her an hour earlier than planned and wake her up from the best sleep she'd had in weeks only to hang up as she was fumbling for the call button. 

            "Wes?"  His satchel was leaning against the rickety bedside table and several books sat neatly in a pile beside the soiled lamp.  It wasn't like Wesley to leave his books behind.  Puzzled, she touched the stack of books lightly as though they could tell her where he had gone.  A long strip of woven nylon cord was the only occupant in the queen size bed, looking more like a flattened snake coiled in the rumpled comforter.  There was a dark, rust colored stain along the edge of the bed that caught her eye.  Reaching down to brush her fingers over the splotch, she was startled when it felt damp and cold.  She pulled her hand back quickly, heart pounding as she stared down at the scarlet stain on her fingertips.  Blood.

            "Wesley?"  Fighting against the rising panic, she followed the trail of blood down the side of the bed and stumbled as she rounded the corner.  "Wesley!"

He was crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed, nearly hidden in the shadows.  Her hands were shaking as she rolled him over, stomach rebelling against the sight of the blood covering his abdomen and hands.  His eyes were closed and face ashen.  The cell phone nearly slipped out of her fingers as she tried to dial 911.  Frantically searching for the wound with her other hand, she pressed firmly against what appeared to be the source of the blood.   

            "Nine one one.  What is your emergency?"

            "I need an ambulance.  Sunnydale Motel, just off the highway.  Room thirteen."  Fred pinned the phone against her shoulder, fighting with the dead weight of Wesley's body as she tried to maneuver him into a better position.  "Stab wound to the lower abdomen, I think.  He's lost a lot of blood and he's not breathing."

            "An ambulance is on the way.  Are you in danger, ma'am?"

            "No.  I don't think so."  She glanced over her shoulder quickly.  "There's no one here."

            "Did you see the attacker?"

            Fred felt her heart sink as she realized that there was only one person who could have done this.  "No.  I just got here.  I'm going to try CPR.  Please hurry."  She tossed the phone away and turned her attention back to Wesley, trying to remember the steps he had taught her.  Head tilted back, nose pinched.  It wasn't until she felt his chest rise with her own breath that she noticed the tears in her eyes. 

            "Come on, Wes, come on."  She tried again.  Nothing.  Cupping one hand over the other, she pressed down on his chest with the heel of her palm.  "You've got to try, please.  Come on."  She counted to fifteen and moved back to breathing, trying to control her sobs as much as possible.  Two more breaths.  Her hands were coated with his blood when she started the chest compressions again. "Fight, damnit!  You can't give up.  You can't!"

            Fifteen.  Two.  Repeat.  She kept counting, barely able to see through the veil of tears pouring down her cheeks, until the paramedics arrived and pulled her away from him.  Numb and trembling, she tried to stay out of the way, wincing as they cut away his sweater and t-shirt, prepping him for the electric shock that might bring him back.  She jumped involuntarily when the paddles discharged, jolting Wesley's body and nearly sending her running to the bathroom to vomit.  Silently, she begged Wesley to hold on. 

            "We've got a pulse."  One of the paramedics announced.  There was a flurry of motion as they continued to work.  Oxygen, bandages, blood.  It all blurred into a hurricane that whirled past her.

            "Wait!" She finally convinced her muscles to move.  "Is he going to be all right?"

            "We need to get him to the hospital, ma'am." One of the paramedics answered briskly, his grim expression discouraging her from trying to follow Wesley any further.

            Fred nodded quickly, "Fine, fine.  I know.  I'll…I need to call people.  Will I be able to see him?"

            "Check at the main desk of Sunnydale Memorial."

            Then they were gone, sirens screeching into the distance and leaving her alone in the dreary motel room.  Air left her lungs in a whoosh and took her strength with it.  The cell phone was a lead weight in her hands when she picked it up and tried to remember the right numbers.  This wasn't part of the plan.  She wasn't supposed to arrive and find Wesley bleeding to death.  No.  Already dead.  The air in her throat choked her, breaking into desperate sobs that shook her entire body.  There was blood on her hands, splattered over her blouse and jeans in a morbid expressionist painting.  Her fingers had turned to unwieldy stone and her mind wouldn't focus long enough to conjure the right patterns.  All she could see was the image of his unnaturally pale face, the blood spreading out in a crimson wave.  Reality came crashing through the haze of shock. 

Cara was gone. 

"Oh God." An instant later, Fred was on her feet and running.

***

Three telephones ruined the peaceful silence with a disorganized symphony of beeps and chirps, each one declaring itself in a cacophonous blend of digitized noise.  The sleeping occupants, unfamiliar with Xander Harris' apartment, took longer than usual to realize what kind of creatures had roused them.  Gunn's was the first to be silenced as he rolled over, engulfing his tiny cell phone with one hand and blinking sleepily at the miniscule buttons.  A few moments later, Gwen was scowling at the landline and pressing the receiver against one shoulder while she struggled into the clothing she had discarded a few short hours earlier.  The last cell phone was still shrieking Broadway show tunes from beneath the pillow Lorne had used in an attempt to ignore it. 

Lorne opened one eye just enough to peer out of the pile of blankets when he heard Gunn's voice and what could have been a painful thud.  He winced as he watched Gunn hop from one foot to the other, trying to pull on his jeans and slip into his shoes simultaneously.  Another thud resounded through the apartment when he crashed into the doorframe leading to the bedroom.

"Fred?  Slow down, girl!  Take a breath somewhere in all those words."  Gunn pinned the phone against his shoulder to reach down and tie one shoe.   

"It's Xander." Gwen announced as she appeared behind Gunn with the cordless phone in one hand.  "He says we've got trouble of the evil law firm variety."

"Sure hope he doesn't want to use his shower." Lorne muttered grumpily, giving up on getting back to sleep and uncurling from the much too small sofa to stretch his back.  "I was planning on a marathon session with the luxury of hot water."  His phone stopped chirping as he unburied it.  "Lorne at your service.  Hello?"  There was no answer.  He checked the caller ID and frowned, recognizing Wesley's cell phone number.

"Who's dead?" The apartment went silent again, eyes turning to Gunn in tense anticipation.  "Wesley's dead?  Not dead?  Fred!  Fred!  Calm down."

"Hold on, Xander.  Fred's on the panic line." Gwen covered her phone quickly.  "Is she all right?"

Gunn was silent, face drawn in concentration before he continued sharply.  "On our way.  Keep your eyes open."  The phone snapped shut with a crack and he was back to tying his shoes.  "Cara went slice and dice on Wesley.  He's in surgery now.  We need to get everyone together, the crazy bitch is loose and there's no way in hell I want to run into her without some serious Slayer backup."

"Xander?" Gwen turned back to her phone.  "Can you get word to Buffy?  Wes is down and Cara's pulled a Houdini.  We're heading to the ER.  Thanks."

"Good morning, Sunnydale." Lorne rubbed his eyes tiredly before squinting at his phone again.  "This makes a whole lotta no sense at all."          

Gunn clipped his watch onto his wrist briskly, cold and businesslike as he finished dressing.  "What's there to make sense of?  I knew we should've offed psycho Slayer when we had the chance.  Fred's camped out in the waiting room wishing she had an automatic weapon just in case freak show comes back to finish him off.  We'll hit the drive through for some bean juice.  Lorne, you stay in the back and keep your green ass out of sight."

"No need to get snippy."  The demon sighed as he slipped into his loafers, abandoning the royal blue suit coat where he'd dropped it that morning.  "I was talking about the wacky little detail of Wesley's cell phone making a call of its own free electronic will." 

"What?" Gwen looked up as she yanked her hair into a sleek ponytail. 

Lorne took another puzzled look at his phone.  "Wish I was hallucinating, Electra.  Somehow I don't think Wes is making any phone calls."

"And Fred was on the phone with me.  I don't like it." Gunn frowned over his shoulder as he headed for the front door.

It exploded inward with the shriek of metal hinges ripping from the frame in a shower of splinters.  Gunn and Gwen dove for cover and Lorne scrambled back to the safety of the sofa.  Panic shot through him when he saw Cara standing in the hallway.  Her t-shirt and right arm were dark with spattered blood, a knife held loosely in one hand and her expression more than a little frightening.

The moment stilled and crystallized into helplessness.  Lorne could feel his mouth opening, the words forming too slowly even as his eyes followed Cara through the doorway.  Gunn was the first to respond, grabbing hold of a lamp and swinging it with all the strength he could muster.  It whistled over Cara's head as she ducked and rolled, sweeping his legs out from under him as she spun.  He was climbing back onto his feet an instant later, determined to stay in the game. 

"Big mistake coming here."  He taunted coolly, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the joints.  Fearlessly determined, he punched out with his left fist and then swung with his right when Cara blocked his first hit.  Her braid whipped over her shoulder as her head jerked with the impact of the blow.  They locked into a pattern of blocks and swings.  Gunn attacked and Cara defended.  Lorne ducked as the bloody knife sailed through the air and lodged in the wall behind him.  Scrambling out of the way of breaking furniture, he tried unsuccessfully to pull Gwen away from the battle.

"Distract her!" Gwen hissed, keeping out of reach long enough to slip one hand to the small of her back and the electronic switch that controlled the power in her hands.

"Not sure this is a grand idea."  Lorne resisted the urge to cheer when Gunn landed another punch.

"You know he can't beat her.  Just get her attention, I'll do the rest."

Another thud caught his attention and he noticed that Gunn was slower getting up this time, making the decision much easier.  "Sure thing, princess." 

He knew it was only a few seconds but it felt as though an eternity had passed before he saw an opportunity.  Wood crunched as Gunn crashed into a bar stool and Lorne could hear Cara's footsteps suspended in time when she moved forward in pursuit.  Cursing his lack of a better plan, he stepped into her path and the line of fire.  He closed his eyes when he saw her fingers curl into a fist, arm pulling back as she got ready to send him flying across the room.  But the blow never came.  Cautiously, still tense and waiting for inevitable pain, he opened one eye to see what had happened.  He saw recognition and concentration in her brown eyes, the genuine frustration of someone attempting to pull a memory or idea from the unreachable depths of their mind.   Her stance was unmistakably military, as though she was still trapped in the jungle with demons and commandos.  Or trying to get back there.

Lorne held his hands out in a gesture of truce, palms facing the Slayer.  "See?  No one has to get hurt." 

"What's a little more blood on her resume?" Gunn asked coldly in the background.

"Ix nay on the sarcasm, big guy." Lorne laughed nervously.  "We can negotiate.  A little give, a little take, find a peaceful solution."

"We can't let her go." Gwen's voice was ice, the miniature lightning bolt arcing between her hands was the only visible sign of anger.  "And I doubt she'll agree to play nice."

"You're the one with the brilliant ideas, sugar."  Lorne kept smiling at Cara, wishing her intense gaze would focus on someone else.  His blood chilled as the corner of her mouth turned up in a speculative smile.

"Wonder if Xander has a shotgun squirreled away in this place." There was a barely audible note of pain beneath the bravado of Gunn's sarcasm.

 "Go."  The word was out of his mouth before Lorne actually realized that he understood.  That he knew why Cara hadn't attacked him and was now watching him with such rigorous focus.

"I can take her." Gwen argued quickly.

"She didn't come here for you."  The truth began to sink in as the words drifted into silence.  Lorne slowly dropped his hands, wishing the sick feeling inside would go away. 

"We're not going to leave you." Gunn moved forward quickly, standing defensively at Lorne's side.  "Not taking the chance that she'll cut you open too."

"Get out of here, Gunn." Lorne emphasized his name and hoped that he would get the hint.  "Go join the gang.  There's nothing you can do.  Either of you."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure that I don't want you pissing her off.  Call in the cavalry, call in the entire Marine Corps if you want.  Just get out now." Lorne motioned to the door irritably. 

The heavy silence was worse after Gunn ushered Gwen out of the apartment with a single, meaningful look back.  There was no doubt that he would return with at least one Slayer in tow.  Now Lorne just had to play the cards in his meager hand and stay alive until then.

"You have to sing."  That seemed to unnerve her just slightly.  For a moment, he wondered if she was simply going to change her mind and dissect him on the spot.

"Sing what?" Cara's voice was rough.

Grimacing at the bloodstains on her clothes and skin, knowing that it was Wesley's blood, he slowly righted one of the bar stools and took a seat.  "Whatever you had in mind.  A nice aria, maybe?  If I remember right, you're an alto.  A bit on the rough side but nothing a little breath support couldn't fix."

"Don't make me kill you." 

It was a strange combination of a threat and a plea that caught at Lorne's curiosity.  "I'm definitely on board for not dying.  You're running this show, my violent prima donna, sing away."

***

Riley was frantically trying to juggle two cell phones and the landline when Sam stepped through the sliding glass doors, giving her a nod to let her know that he saw her before leaping back into the turmoil.  The communications center was in a state of obvious panic, a constant hum of feet and voices filling the air and amplifying the tension in the room.

"Where do you need me?" Sam pulled Aaron closer to her side and stepped out of the heavy traffic lane through the room.  Her husband shifted his grip on receiver against his ear and dropped one of the cell phones unceremoniously onto the nearest flat surface.  He waved her toward the side of the room and the lesser chaos of his office.  A flash of a smile was all he could give when Aaron climbed into the big leather chair, nearly disappearing behind the piles of documents.

"Wyndam-Pryce is in surgery and she's taken Lorne hostage.  Is that his name?  No sir, that's all I know.  No, Faith is here.  I don't know.  Who?"

Sam winced as a tiny foot jabbed at the interior of her abdomen and tried to stretch the tight muscles in her lower back as she waited patiently for Riley to finish what he was doing.  She could have stopped one of the officers and asked for information but understood that Riley needed to tell her as much as she needed to know.  It gave him a chance to organize and focus his thoughts. 

"Buffy, wait." Riley switched phones quickly.  "Just sit tight.  There's nothing you can do right now."  He winced at whatever was said on the other end of the line and glared at the phone before hanging it up.  Down to one, he listened intently for several minutes before giving a brisk agreement and tucking the phone into the holster on his belt.

"What happened?" Sam settled onto the edge of the desk, reaching out to brush the hair away from Aaron's serious eyes.

"All hell broke loose."  Riley answered heavily, rubbing his left temple wearily and eyeing the paperwork on his desk with no attempt to hide his annoyance.  "Wesley was supposed to bring Cara onto base this morning.  Containment cell, conditioning team.  It was all set up and ready to go.  We could have saved her."

Sam frowned, "I don't understand."

"This doesn't leave the office, Sam." He began to pace across the office, face drawn in concentration.  "He knew that there was no hope for her.  Not as damaged as she was.  The Council's official command was to take out her ovaries and have her put down."

"My God."

Riley raked one hand through his hair, staring into space as though it held the answers.  "Wesley and I went over the possibilities and there was only one that we thought had a chance.  Cara Sewell can't be saved."

"Please tell me there's a but at the end of that sentence." Sam took her son's hand, more for her own comfort than for his.

"Bring her in, strip her down.  Give the Council what they want and tell her she's been taken care of."  He paused in his pacing, sighing heavily before resuming his track across the carpet.  "Recondition her again, do what the Council did and wipe everything out.  All those memories she had downloaded into her brain.  All of it.  Down to the bare bones and go from there.  She'd have to relearn everything.  How to speak, how to read.  Cara Sewell would officially be dead."

"And what?  What would you do with her?"

"Wesley said he had a place he could take her where she'd be safe."  Riley shook his head hopelessly.  "She wouldn't be able to have children or even much of a life but it would be something.  It was just between us, he didn't even want to tell Giles what we were planning."

"And something went wrong."

His shoulders slumped and his expression was verging on desolation when he turned around.  "She attacked Wesley this morning.  If he survives, he'll have permanent brain damage and kidney failure within a few months."

"Do the doctors think he'll pull through?" Sam tried to keep her voice calm and even.

He shook his head, the wordless answer bleak and hopeless.  "I should have taken Cara when I had the chance.  I thought it would be better.  That Buffy might be able to help her.  I should have taken her."

"It's not your fault."  Sam reached out, tugging at his arm and pulling him closer to her.  Wrapping one arm around his broad shoulders, she held him awkwardly against the bulk of her expanded stomach.  "You did the right thing."

"Did I?  Maybe.  Maybe not."  He looked away.

"What now?"

"I've got a team headed out to try and contain her.  They seemed to think that she wanted something from Lorne and that he would be safe for a while."  He shifted when Aaron climbed out of the chair and bent down to lift his son into his arms, holding him protectively.  "There's no telling what she'll do when we bring her in.  Maybe you and Aaron should stay in the safe area until this blows over."

"There's no need, is there?" Sam smiled sadly, recognizing the attempt to spare her from the truth and loving him for trying.  "You're a terrible liar, Finn."

Riley met her gaze with silent gratitude.  "Tell me I made the right decision."

"There is no right decision, Riley.  Not this time."  She leaned her head against his shoulder gently.  "What now?"

His soft voice was a sharp contrast to the words that left his lips.  "If she leaves a single mark on another one of my men, I'll kill her myself." 

***

There was nothing to say once silence returned to the limousine.  No idle conversation amongst the dead as they drove through Sunnydale.  The sun was shining brightly and bringing smiles to the faces weaving down the sidewalks in jackets and scarves.  A moment of warmth in the death of winter.  It felt hollow and lonely, knowing that each smile would be wiped away and swallowed in terror before the life inside was snuffed out.  Nothing left but dust and blood.  A sense of weariness crept into Lilah's black soul, of the eternal stretch of time that lay before her with nothing to keep her but work and more work. 

            "Here we are.  I wish you the best of luck." Holland motioned toward the door.

            "For the record, this is a mistake." Lilah snapped angrily as she stepped out of the vehicle.

            "It's not your decision to make, Lilah.  Remember that."

"How could I forget?" She slammed the door without caring about it being childish or disrespectful and scowled at the garbage around her feet.  A filthy alleyway behind an equally filthy abandoned building.  What better place to hunt a rat?  She waited for the limousine to disappear around the corner before she picked her way through the rubbish into the dilapidated building.  It was a nightmare.  This entire situation was a fucking nightmare.  The building was silent, holding its breath for whatever scene was destined to unfold within its tired walls.  Lilah made her way to the center of the room, trying to stay focused, trying to remember that it was just her job and her job was not to care. 

"Here, Slayer, Slayer, Slayer." She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Nothing.

"I know you're here.  Let's get this over with."

"What do you want?" A flat voice responded from the shadows.

"You did the carving and the Senior Partners want to hire the butcher." Lilah spat bitterly.  "Deal is this, you sign the contract and we make sure you live.  Don't sign and you'll die here with the others.  Personally?  I hope you don't sign."

"Why?" Cara stepped from the darkness into the frayed edges of sunlight. 

"Because I want to be here to see you ripped apart."  Lilah held her ground as the Slayer continued to move, closing the distance between them.  "I want to make sure you're good and dead and never coming back."

"Because I killed him."

"You don't deserve to breathe the same air that he did and you know it."

            "He was going to let them kill me." Cara answered stiffly.

"Best decision he's made since he kidnapped Angel's brat."

Cara turned away slightly, her eyes focused somewhere behind Lilah. "Do you remember the feel of his breath against your skin?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You expected him to be gentle but he wasn't.  Not with you."  Brown eyes turned back to Lilah with a trace of mockery in them. 

Lilah forced a smile, "Nice try.  There's no way he'd touch you."

"He did.  Whispering your name and touching me."

Fury overrode any restraint that Lilah had managed to sustain.  Her fist struck Cara's jaw with a resonating crack in the echoing stillness.  "You'll never be more than just a shadow of me and you know it."    

"He used you."  Cara touched her lip tentatively as blood began to ooze down her chin.  "You were a good fuck.  His whore."

"You didn't know him."

"Didn't I?" Bitter laughter was too loud in the silence.  "Do you remember how it felt to have him inside of you?  I do."

"Shut up." Lilah was shaking with rage.

Cara hooked one foot under a length of rusted pipe, lifting it off the floor easily and tossing it through the air to Lilah.  "Go ahead."

Suspiciously, Lilah gripped the narrow pipe like a baseball bat, holding it low and ready to use as a defensive weapon.  "What do you mean?"

"Take a swing."

Without any more prodding, Lilah put all the force she could manage into a long arc aimed at the Slayer's head.  She wasn't surprised when Cara easily stepped out of the way.  It felt good just to try.  She readjusted her grip and changed her stance.  "All right.  You like pain.  I can respect that."

"Pain, pleasure.  All the same line.  Isn't that right?" Cara ducked again as the pipe whistled past her.

"You don't know anything about pain, Slayer."

"Funny.  Coming from you."

"I'm full of laughs today."  Lilah sidestepped to the left, waiting for another opening.  "Maybe I'll just go back and tell them you refused to sign.  Watch you bled dry by a hundred thousand vampires.  Do you think there'll be enough of you left to bury?  Here's a better question, do you think anyone will care when you're dead?"

Cara shrugged nonchalantly.

"Think they'll forgive you for the little tantrum you threw this morning?" Lilah switched tactics as she drove the pipe forward in a sharp thrust.  "Because you knew that he was touching you and wanting me.  That he was just pushing your buttons until he got what he wanted.  And you gave it to him.  Who's the whore now?"

Brown eyes blinked in response but she remained silent.

"So he was going to let them put you down like the animal you are.  Who can blame him?  And maybe I was just a good fuck but at least I was good.  You obviously weren't worth the effort."  Lilah managed to hide her surprise when she swung the pipe again, arms jarring as Cara caught the opposite end in an iron grip.  "Let me guess, he had some spiel about finding peace and no more suffering."

"Something like that." Cara answered softly.

"Maybe he was just tired of looking at you.  You really should do something about those scars."  The pipe jerked out of her grasp, taking bits of skin with it.  Lilah smiled smugly, "Hit a nerve, did I?  Uncomfortable with the truth?"

Nothing.

"He probably wanted them to kill you just to get away from you."  The words kept flowing even as a tiny voice began to question the wisdom of pissing off a Slayer.  "Look at the facts.  You're what?  Nineteen.  A virgin.  And Wesley had to pretend you were me.  Why?  Because you're the kind of girl that men only fuck when they're too drunk to stand up.  Top it all off with your completely disagreeable personality and I'd say he was doing the world a favor."

Cara watched impassively as Lilah continued to rant.

"If I could sell my soul again, it would be to make sure that you had never been born.  I would deal with every demon, every devil, even God himself, if I could just erase you from this world forever."  Lilah stepped forward angrily.  "You aren't worth the blood in your veins.  You aren't worth the effort and the agony that Wesley wasted on you.  Worrying about you, caring about you.  Respecting you.  I had to watch him fight for you.  To save your worthless corpse.  And this is how you repay him?  I loved him, you stupid bitch.  I loved him."

No answer.

"Say something!"  Lilah was shouting, frustrated and dangling precariously at the end of her rope.  "Give me one reason why I shouldn't let you die in this pathetic little town.  Explain to me why I had to come all the way back for a monster like you."

"It's your job."  Cara answered simply.

"Fuck the job.  I'd rather spend eternity in hell than see you take one more breath." 

"I did what I had to do."

"Had to?" Lilah scoffed.  "You had to kill him?  Right.  What did killing him get you?  The Sunnydale brigade is going to be lining up to put a bullet in that fucked up head of yours.  Brilliant plan."

"It worked well enough."  There was an unfamiliar glint in Cara's eyes.

"I can tell.  You're hanging out in an abandoned building."

"While the rest of the rats scurry into their burrow." Cara spun the pipe through her hands lazily, a slow smile curling across her lips.  "Safe, protected.  That was your game plan all along.  Trap them, bury them.  No more Slayers, no more Angel.  But you fucked up."

"What are you talking about?"  In a single frightening second, Lilah realized that she was looking at a completely different personality inside the familiar scarred and burned skin.  Gone was the silent and unreadable girl, replaced by the predatory grace and calculated violence of a Slayer. 

"I know what's coming." Cara stilled, staring down at her hands.  "I understand now."

"You really are completely insane." Lilah took a step back warily.

"Three Heralds of the end of an Age." The pipe blocked Lilah's path as she tried to move away from the Slayer.  "One as barren as the desert sand, one reborn in fire and ash, one with a soul drenched in blood.  Three Slayers.  Which one am I?"

"I'd say that last one is a dead ringer."

"You think you've won.  No more Slayers, no resistance when they come to swallow this planet whole."

"Sounds like winning to me."  Both nervous and irritated, Lilah glanced around for another escape route.  "It's all about the bottom line.  Wolfram and Hart stands to gain a great deal from this merger.  One world is a reasonable price."

In one step, Cara was close enough that Lilah could imagine the subtle caress of heat from her skin.  Blood stained fingers slipped over her shoulder, leaving rust colored streaks over pale blue fabric.  "What perfume are you wearing?" 

"Thinking of trying it?  Maybe updating that tomboy image." She forced herself to remain still as Cara's left hand drifted up the back of her neck and tangled in her hair.  Her jaw tightened as the Slayer jerked her head back sharply. 

"You didn't answer the question."

"You know what perfume I'm wearing, bitch." The leash on her temper slipped a little as Cara's grip on her neck tightened. 

"I want to hear you say it." The whisper was both menacing and seductive.

"Jasmine."

"To remind him.  Taunt him.  You always did love those little mind games."

Lilah tried to laugh against the pressure on her throat, "And now you're trying one of your own."

"I learned from the best."

"I wrote the rules to this particular game.  Give up, Slayer." She winced instinctively as Cara twisted around and the pipe caught just below her ribs, hurling her against the wall with a sickening crack of shattering plaster and snapping bones. 

"I'm not done with you." Cara snarled as long legs closed the distance in an instant and bloody fingers reached down to wind roughly into Lilah's hair.

"You're going to waste your five seconds of sanity on idle threats and mind games?  I can think of better things to do with your time.  Why don't you go kill something?  Or someone."

"Six months."  The Slayer answered harshly.  "To think about you, to wonder if you even bleed.  If you would still be able to talk after I ripped your throat out."

"You've already ruined a thousand dollar suit." Lilah answered flatly.

"Six months with nothing but blood and death.  And you.  You were always there, whispering in my head."

"I'm getting tired of this game.  Let's play another one.  How about the one where you get your fucking hands off of me?" Lilah futilely shoved against the bulk of the Slayer and received another brutal push for her effort.  When she opened her mouth to speak, the taunt was cut short by a fist.  Thrown back and to the side, Lilah clumsily broke her fall with one hand, grateful that she couldn't feel the pain of tendons stretching and tearing in her wrist. 

"I was going to leave you here.  Unbroken." Ribs cracked audibly as Cara's foot connected with Lilah's side.  There was barely a second to regain her composure before the Slayer grabbed her hair and yanked her forward onto her knees.  "Maybe I'll break you just a little."

Lilah froze, all of her anger swallowed up in the icy grip of sudden understanding.  Her ears ringing as the silence seemed to explode around her.  "Oh my God.  You knew.  You killed him to get to me."

A cruel smile spread across Cara's face and twisted the healing burns into a gargoyle mask.  "You're just the icing on the cake."

Lilah met the furious brown eyes evenly.  "You can't kill me, Slayer.  I'm already dead."

"I know."  Cara didn't seem concerned.

"And you'll be dead by this time tomorrow if you don't sign the contract."  She was stalling now, hoping that she could divert the Slayer's attention from whatever torture she had in mind.

"All Slayers die."

"You want to be ripped apart by a gang of demons, that's fine with me."

The Slayer paused, brown eyes moving from Lilah and focusing on the distance beyond them.  "It's not about death.  It's about honor."

"What do you know about honor?"  Lilah scoffed. 

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall."  Cara pulled a knife from the side pocket of her cargo pants, the blade dark with the rust of dried blood.  "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall."

"Nursery rhymes.  I'm impressed."  Struggling to keep the sarcastic edge in her words, Lilah involuntarily tried to pull away from the weapon, horrified by the irony of being threatened with the same weapon that had cut into Wesley.

Cara knelt down beside Lilah and pressed the edge of the knife against her cheek.  "You can't even feel this.  You can't feel anything."

"And unless killing and torture really do get you hot, there's no point in any of this."

The only response was the distinctively unpleasant sound of metal cutting through flesh as Cara began to carve into the side of Lilah's face, slowly angling up her cheekbone.  Her world went black and Lilah wished violently that she could actually pass out or throw up as the edge sliced through her eye sockets.  She had to forcefully remind herself that she couldn't feel pain.  Just the disgusting knowledge of having her eyeballs cut out of her head. 

"All the king's horses and all the king's men," Cara's voice was barely a whisper.  "Couldn't put Lilah back together again."

***

The training room smelled of sweat and heat.  Garrett's ears were still humming with the sound of fists hitting canvas and his own blood pumping through his body.  Beneath the stale odor of exercise and men, the hint of acrylic and plastic from the equipment was a welcome change from the musty earth of the rainforest.  To be back at Genesis was a blessing and a curse.  Surrounding himself with familiarity could fill the aching for home even as the restless ghosts drifting through the base ripped apart any peace he'd found while lost in the jungles of Brazil. 

A solid thud reminded him that there was someone else in the gym, pounding at one of the punching bags with determined fury and drenched in sweat.  Garrett didn't know the man.  He knew the stranger was part of the Boston group, recalled to Sunnydale with the rest as they began the process of hunkering down to wait out the storm brewing on the horizon.  That part of the plan still skittered away when Garrett tried to think about it.  They were going to retreat to the depths of the earth where the memory of murdered men hadn't even begun to fade and pull the Slayers into the safe embrace of Genesis.  The very monster who had killed those people was going to be within the same walls.  Protected. 

The urge to hit something returned full force.

Deep breaths.  One, two.  The base psychologist had patted him on the head and told him it was normal.  He just needed to let go.  Let go.  Garrett wanted to break the idiot's jaw even as he nodded and pretended to listen to the psychobabble.  Slayers were just another brand of demons, just another form of evil with a prettier face and sweeter smile.  Mister Forgive and Forget had not seen the blood or the bodies.  Had not just stood there like a fucking moron and let the bitch live.

"Garrett, right?" The stranger was panting slightly, sweat dripping down his face as he appraised Garrett.

"Who's asking?" Garrett met the hazel eyes suspiciously.

"Frye Birkman."  His smile was noticeably cold when it should have been pleasant.  "I believe that we have something in common."

"And that would be?" Not bothering to mask his skepticism, Garrett turned away and began to neatly re-wrap his hands for another round with the punching bag.  "I don't even know you."

"Let's just say that I wouldn't mind if one of the guests didn't walk away from our little party."  Frye flexed his wrists, his voice unconcerned and breezy.  "And I'm betting there's a certain young woman who you'd rather see six feet under."

"So?"  His attention was focused now, mind beginning to spin with the possibilities.  "What if you're right?"

"Way I see it, there's really only one problem."  Frye leaned against the wall casually.  "One thing standing between you and seeing her gutted when the vamps arrive.  Orders."

"Finn wants to protect the Slayers." Garrett answered noncommittally. 

"At what cost?" Frye's eyes were icy when he looked up. 

The steel in the man's voice sent a chill down Garrett's spine.  He tried to focus on the tape wrapping his hands, tried to remember what he'd been doing before the Devil himself had asked for a conversation.  Intuitively, he knew that Frye was willing to do what he had been too afraid to consider.  That the man standing across the room would have succeeded where he had failed.  Hands were shaking as he continued to wind the tape binding his fingers.  This could be his chance to do what he should have done.  His window for peace of mind, for redemption.  He squared his shoulders and turned to face Birkman, "What did you have in mind?"

"Everyone has an Achilles' heel."

"And Finn?"

"Has a family."  The cold smile returned.  "He may be determined to save the Slayers but he'll save his family first."

"I won't let you hurt Sam or Aaron." Garrett narrowed his eyes guardedly.

"No need to hurt them.  Just need the timing to be on our side."

"How do we do that?"

"Think of it this way.  The attack begins and the base seals tight as a drum.  No one comes in and no one gets out until daylight.  Sam's due any day now and she's gonna have it rough."  Frye headed back to the punching bag, adjusting his own taped hands carefully.  "I checked her file.  She nearly died giving birth to Aaron."

"If she goes into labor while the base is sealed," Garrett began to fill in some of the blanks.  "Dr. James should be able to take care of her."

"And if he can't?  If he's unavailable."  The bag swung away with the impact of a fist.  "Then it doesn't look too good for Sam Finn.  And Riley isn't about to sit and watch her die, is he?"

"How does that help us?"

"With Finn gone, it won't be too hard to convince whoever's left that your Slayer friend should be eliminated."

"If they even bring her in."  Garrett shrugged, uneasy with the idea of putting Sam Finn in harm's way.

"They will.  Probably lock her in a cell and throw away the key.  Finn will get his little Brady Bunch out of the base and off to safety."

"And the other Slayers?  They're not going to stand by and let us kill one of their own kind."

"That is the beautiful part."  Frye grinned as he turned around.  "I know Slayers.  Summers won't let Riley leave the base alone and Spike won't let Faith go along for the ride.  I checked the specs.  During isolation procedure, the base only has radio and video contact with the outside world.   Limited at that.  Finn's not stupid, he'll choose the fastest and safest route.  Get Sam to the helipad and out of Sunnydale.  They'll have to fight their way through God knows what army of demons; five hundred yards maybe."

"Risky.  Even with a Slayer or two." Garrett frowned thoughtfully.

"And it gives us plenty of time to slit one Slayer's throat.  I can keep Faith occupied and out of the way."

"What about Ms. Summers and Finn?"

"I'm sure they'll make it safely back to the base." Frye seemed unconcerned with what might happen to them.

Garrett thought the scenario through for a moment.  "Is it a safe bet that this Spike guy won't be making it back?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it."  Frye turned back to the punching bag with a bone crunching punch.

"Lot of ifs in your plan.  If the vampires attack, if Sam goes into labor, if Riley does what you think he'll do."  Shaking his head, Garrett swing his arms in wide circles to warm up the muscles again and took his position at the second bag.  "We don't even know when the monsters will get to Sunnydale, let alone when they'll attack."

Frye didn't turn around, continuing to pummel the bag mercilessly.  "Leave the vampires to me."