Square One

Summary: No matter how far you go, you cannot escape your past. The corrupted world they tried to leave behind comes crashing back...Post Not Fade Away. Mainly Lorne and Spike centric, nonslash.

Notes: I do very much appreciate the reviews I'm getting. They make me happy. I thanks those regular viewers so far from the bottom of my heart. Though I hate to say this, I must say: The more reviews I get, I guarantee the faster the updates will be. And the more effort I put into making the story as interesting as possible. I have a guilty conscience.

Anyway, I hope you all like plot twists. Not that this chapter is full of them, of course. Where'd you get that idea? I didn't just give it away. Shut up. Go away. No, wait, come back!

Heh heh.

Disclaimer: Consult previous chapter.

Chapter Four: Demons

The streets ran with rainwater and demon's blood.

Angel wedged the blade of his confiscated sword from the skull at his feet. He himself was bleeding part of that river that washed around his feet. From somewhere down the alley, he heard another horde of Wolfram and Hart's army crawling out of their portals. In a matter of minutes, they would be swarmed again.

He barely felt the grimace on his own face, his vision blurry with streaming water. Tediously, he limped over to the body of the slain dragon and nudged it lightly with his foot. Yeah…it was dead.

A hoarse cough snagged his attention. The handle of the sword slipped from Angel's fingers as he stumbled towards the body of Gunn. His eyes were open and glancing about, as though expecting more enemies.

Angel knelt beside him. "Stop moving," he ordered, though not even he could mask the concern from his expression. "Hey. Look at me."

Ignoring the order, Gunn reached out, fingers groping for his battle axe on the ground several feet away. "N...ah," he said, gritting his teeth. "I'm fine. Just needed a short breather."

"You've lost a lot of blood," Angel observed. He hastily removed his black coat and used it to press against the deep wound in Gunn's abdomen.

"Spike and…Illyria?" Gunn questioned.

Angel hesitated. "They got separated when the dragon landed. Try to hold still."

Gunn made a sound of restrained pain, but was too weak to move anyway. After a brief moment of silence, he said, "Is it over?"

Looking at his hands, Angel wondered at the amount of blood that was escaping the terrible excuse for a bandage. Gunn would not live long enough to see the next horde of demons. Perhaps a handful of minutes. Maybe even less. He sighed and tried to avoid eye contact. "Yeah. It's over. We won."

That earned him a laugh that turned quickly into a wet cough. "Now I know you're lyin'. Then again, these last…"

Angel nodded. "They were memorable, weren't they?"

The sound of someone moving just behind the dragon's carcass sent Angel to his feet, as he grabbed the hilt of Gunn's axe. He brandished the bloodstained weapon and carefully circled the heap of dead monster until he could see the interloper.

A man in a very expensive, drenched business suit walked calmly towards him. He was roughly mid-thirty-ish with smoothed back, black hair…although it was hard to tell in the rain. A few short yards away, he stopped to look appraisingly around his feet at the mounds of gore.

"Did I miss all the action?" he said in a voice that was persistently and unfashionably annoying. "Well, shucks. I skipped lunch and everything."

Angel's grip tightened around the axe. Sheer willpower kept him from using it. "Deliver your message, then get lost."

"Message?" The lawyer looked up at him and smiled…not nicely. "Oh, no, I'm no messenger. Call me an executioner of sorts. You know, martyring, negotiating surrenders, self-sacrifice, all those dealies."

"No," said Angel, stepping closer. "No more deals. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an endless army of demons to slay."

"Oh, but this one's easy!" the lawyer persisted, his face scrunching up with amusement. He waved a hand in a brisk, dismissive manner as he stepped over the corpse of a demon. "Honestly, I don't know what they're thinking. I just work for them. But really, this is the deal of a lifetime! A once-in-a-millennium opportunity!"

"I said," Angel spoke lowly, glowering into the face of the Senior Partner's liaison. "No."

The lawyer raised a speculative eyebrow and leaned to one side, looking at Gunn. He whistled. "How about you? Want to save the face of humanity?"

Angel's hand shot out and seized the lawyer by the collar, dragging him dangerously close to his face, which was now twice as scary as it had been a moment before. "He's not interested."

The obnoxious grin on the lawyer's face curled into a frown. When Angel deposited him on the ground, he brushed off the front of his jacket indignantly.

"Come on," he said, extending his arms outwards to gesture at the alley. "Look around you. This is just a minute fraction of what we're prepared to throw at you, soul boy. Would that be wrong?" When Angel glared at him, he grinned again. "Of course it would be. Which leaves it up to you, the fabled good guy of the century, to do the right thing, right? They can obliterate this city with a single word. And just to make the irony smell even worse, they can also save it, and your friends from a meaningless destruction."

With a violent roar, one of the supposedly 'dead' demons sprung up from the rain-soaked ground behind Angel. Without even glancing backward, the vampire slung Gunn's axe over his shoulder and sent it flying. It struck the demon; the blade sunk into the front of its skull and it flopped back to the ground.

"I won't bargain with their lives," Angel stated firmly. He paused, and added as an afterthought, "Again."

"Oh, please." The lawyer rolled his eyes. "The Senior Partners only want one thing. Just one. And they only want one. Is this getting through to you?"

"What, the actual wanting part or the fact that they only want 'one'?" said Angel with generous sarcasm.

The liaison appeared to be busy wiping the bottom of his shoes off on the shirt of a dead demon while he spoke. "It's not complicated. The partners want…your soul."

Angel stared unblinkingly. "In exchange for?"

A look of mild amusement crossed the lawyer's face and he gestured wistfully at the sky. "The entire city of L.A. The lives of your friends. The end of the present-day Apocalypse. Free tickets to the Chairman's Broadway Musical."

Angel wasn't convinced. "What's so special about my soul that the Senior Partners would go through so much trouble to get it?"

The lawyer just chuckled. "I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with the quality of the soul, compadre. It's just the fact that you have one that tickles their temper."

"And if I say no?" said Angel.

"The demon armies continue to reign fire and destruction, one…no, wait…two of your team-goers forfeit their lives and the rest of the world spends the rest of humanity's pathetically brief time on Earth hunting down all demons, both good and bad. "

A lump of ice locked its way into Angel's chest. Slowly, he looked over to where Gunn lay, staring listlessly into space and breathing shallowly. He turned his head back to the lawyer. "Who…" He closed his eyes. "Who else?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" said the lawyer smugly.

"Just tell me."

The well-dressed man shrugged, reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small notepad, reading the name from the single, lined page dispassionately. "That would be…William. Aliases: William the Bloody, AKA Spike. Physical features—medium height, dresses regularly in black leather, pale blonde with somewhat chiselled-"

"All right!" Angel barked. He took a deep breath. "Call off your armies. You can have my soul. But I have one condition."

"Would I be the executive of negotiation if we didn't negotiate?" the lawyer wondered rhetorically.

"I want time."

"Time it is. Name your price; we'll take it from there."

Angel glared. "Six."

"What, hours or days?" said the lawyer, his face skewed.

"Weeks."

"Hmmm…" The liaison glanced upwards. "Two."

"Four."

"Three. Final offer." The lawyer snorted. "Hey, it's an eye-blink to the big guys upstairs. We can deal with it. And hey," he said, pointing at the vampire with a curl to the corner of his mouth, "so can you."

"Fine." Angel took a cautious step towards him. "No one else dies tonight. Your demons go back to hell. The city goes back to normal."

"Everybody wins," the liaison concluded with false modesty. "So…April 25th, say…twelve sharp? Don't worry—we'll have our people find you."

"Looking forward to it," said Angel coolly. Her looked around and spread his hands at his sides. "Where do I sign?"

The lawyer just raised his brow and glanced around himself, and lifted his arms in a gesture of self-evidence.

Angel stared without comprehension. "I don't…"

The spruced man began to slowly advance on the vampire, with an almost insane lift to his face. He stopped with roughly less than a foot between them.

"Hungry?"

Ten months later, respectively.

"How many times am I going to have to tell you?" Bethany sighed helplessly to the demon beside her. "I can't do this if you won't stop flinching! It's hard enough I have to do it at all in the dark!"

"I'm sorry, blossom, but I don't think I can stand another second of this stuff. I remember latrines back on Pylea that smelled better," Lorne protested. He was referring to, of course, the pale foundation makeup their newest traveling companion was applying to his face. She had somehow managed to tame his natural hue down to a pale yellow-green.

The car ride to the airport was long and tedious. Illyria sat on Lorne's right in the back seat, while Bethany sat to his left, armed with a purse and some serious cosmetics. Spike was in the passenger seat.

Bethany gave him a disdainful look. "I'll have you know that this stuff is Belle Beau. And it does not smell that bad. And it was expensive." After some short consideration, she picked up the small sponge and began dabbing at his face again. "How did you get this way anyway?"

Lorne side-glanced at her. "Let's just say it came with the life contract, sweetheart."

"Not that," she said and growled. "Stop flinching! I mean…you, being all fidgety. Bad experience with cosmetics?"

"Yeah, you could say that," said the host placidly. "I've got two words for it: Los and Vegas."

"Ooh," she twisted her lips in a look of painful sympathy. "Yeah, that would do it to you."

"Honey, you have no idea," he said.

"Shoot." Bethany picked up the empty makeup container and shook it. "That's it. I'm all out. We'll have to make do with what we have."

"Oh, thank God," said Lorne. She shot him a look he pretended to not notice. "Can I have my sunglasses back?"

"You're putting them on now?" she asked, handing him the object in question.

"No, I want to see my reflection," he explained, turning the glasses to better see his image on their mirror-like surface. His expression changed to that of fretful nature. "Ah, regret. I had forgotten how bitter its taste was."

Bethany rolled her eyes and sat back against the car seat. "You're welcome."

At this time, Spike chose to turn around to look at Bethany's handiwork. For a moment it seemed as though he were gazing right through the host. Then he made a sound peculiarly like a choked-back laugh.

"You look like a bloody zombie!" The vampire grinned maliciously. "Brilliant job, girlie. You managed to turn our scary-looking demon into the living dead. Those airport lackeys won't know what the hell hit them."

"Scary-looking?" Lorne protested, leaning forward. "Hey, look who's talking. You aren't exactly the Webster's definition of 'cute' yourself, sunshine."

"Right," said Spike. "Says the hideously grotesque, green-skinned spawn from another world."

"Ouch. Here's an idea—why don't you show Beth your pretty face?"

Spike's eyes narrowed. "If you don't shut your mouth, my pretty face will be the last thing you—"

"Guys! Hey!" Bethany shouted.

"What?" they snapped in chorus.

"We're there."

Spike twisted around to confirm that, indeed, she was right. The enormous building and multitudes of crammed parking lots rolled by the windows. It was just a matter of navigating around the twisting, bending roads that led to the airport's entrance. But that, of course, was entirely up to their driver.

The driver had turned out to be a middle-aged American with a short grey beard and a ball cap—Yankee style, naturally. He had only spoken once, to Spike, about their destination. He gave no notice at all to the fact that he was ferrying two demons and a vampire. And why should he? He was from New York.

"Bugger," said Spike, resting against the car door. "'Course, it has to be the weekend. Couldn't have to rescue karaoke boy on a business day."

Bethany leaned forward. "You know, I think you need to start thinking more pos-"

Without warning, the car suddenly jolted upwards, as though something large had just rolled under the tires. Panicked, the driver slammed his foot on the brakes, causing the vehicle to come to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. Beth might have gone airborne, but, thinking fast, Lorne grabbed the collar of her jacket just as her body slammed into the back of Spike's seat.

"-itively," she croaked, finishing her sentence. She flopped back into her original seat, grappling her shoulder painfully. "Ow."

"Are you alright?" said Lorne, peering at her strangely. Receiving no answer, he turned to the rest of the car. "Is everyone okay?"

"Never better," said Spike blandly. "Anyone else wondering the hell that was?"

"I-I…I-" the driver was stammering. His hands were white and clenched tightly to the wheel. "I think I just hit a…a person."

"Oh," the vampire moaned, leaning into his seat with his head tilted to the sky. "Just brilliant. Start our glorious journey by running over the local tourists, shall we?"

"N-Now, everybody remain calm," said the driver, prying his hands from their grip. "No one panic. I-I'll go outside and see if he's okay." Stiffly, he turned to his clients. "Does anyone have a…a cell phone or something?"

Everyone looked at Lorne. The host glared back. "Sorry, people, I wasn't exactly planning on needing one on my whole 'let's-flee-the-country-for-dear-life' vacation."

"Will someone just go and check if he's okay?" Bethany squeaked.

"Or she," said Spike.

"Not exactly helping here, desperado," Lorne admonished.

"I'm going outside," the driver announced. With fluttering fingers, he opened his door and stepped out onto the pavement. The door clicked shut with a sort of foreboding finality.

Bethany waited exactly three seconds before letting out a loud sigh and grabbing the handle of her own door. She was stopped by a hand on her arm and she looked at Lorne, surprised.

"Don't," he said with an edge of fear. "I…have a really bad feeling about this."

"As touched as I am by your concern, I think I can handle myself," she replied coldly and shook him off, pulling the handle at the same time.

Something heavy and bloody slammed against her door. Bethany shrieked at the face pressed against the glass of her window—it was the driver, pale, sickly. Dead. A split second later, the body slid to the side, revealing a blurry, dark figure. It grabbed the door from the outside and tore it right off the hinges. An arm clad in black reached in and grabbed the screaming woman, dragging her out of the car and onto the ground. The attacker tossed her to one side, as though she were just one more object in his way.

Lorne sat in frozen terror. The distant floodlights of the airport illuminated the form of the creature outside just well enough to recognize him.

It was a fully vamped Angel.

No coherent thought ran through his mind. He didn't even resist when Angel lunged forward and grabbed him by the lapels, towing him from the car with the same delicacy he had shown his previous victim. Lorne was hauled onto his feet, receiving a full moment's view of Angel's fully fanged grin.

"Angel-" he started.

Something solid smashed into his jaw before he could finish the word. Angel released him simultaneously, and the green-skinned demon sprawled to one side.

Lorne placed a hand over his horribly aching jaw as he looked up, aghast by the vampire's unexplainable behaviour. Then it dawned upon him, as Angel slowly advanced on him, smiling like child at play.

"Angelus." Lorne lowered his hand and tried, waveringly, to rise.

"Hello, Lorne," said Angelus, seizing him by the jacket again. Lorne didn't even try to fight back. He had seen the destruction Angel's counterpart was capable of, and there wasn't even a slight chance the vampire would succumb to anything Lorne could throw at him.

There was a sound of breaking glass. Angelus let go of the host, stumbling backwards and screaming mercilessly. A clear liquid was dripping down his hair and into his face; smoke rising into the air from the places it burned him. Lorne saw Illyria standing, calm as statue, behind the vampire, the remnants of a bottle in her hand. She looked up at him, but said nothing.

Lorne didn't need anyone to instruct him on what to do next. Angelus was momentarily incapacitated, though certainly not defeated. He scrambled over to where Bethany sat, staring in wide-eyed terror at the caterwauling vampire. He took both her arms and pulled her to her feet, but she hardly responded.

Spike had thrown himself over the hood of the car and was now directly facing Angelus. In the faded lighting, they were now two vampires, one soulless, the other not; a cruel parody of a time some hundred years ago. Spike was clearly avoiding a direct conflict with Angelus, seeming more occupied with distracting him from Lorne instead. There were untold secrets just choking the moment.

Lorne somehow managed to get Bethany to the car and she, snapping out of her shock, crawled into the back seat again. Illyria climbed in after her. Lorne hesitated, turned about with one hand on the roof of the car.

"Spike! Get in the car!" he called over the screams of Angelus.

Spike glanced behind him and faltered. Looking between the other vampire and the demon, there was no doubt that he was battling with the urge to do what was safe, and what he thought was right. Finally, he stepped back and started for the car. Without warning, Angelus swiped at him blindly, but missed. The platinum blonde vampire got into the passenger side of the car without looking back.

Lorne took the driver's side, turning the key in the ignition. It took of with a jerk, leaving a blinded, enraged Angelus stumbling in their wake before dropping to his knees in the center of the road.

The holy water still burned through his skin. It burned, but not so nearly as fiercely as the wrath he felt, watching his quarry escape. The red taillights of the car grew smaller as it gained distance with every passing second.

He let them escape this time. Next time, he would feel Spike's dust as he crushed it in his hand. Savour the acidic taste of the demon's blood as he drained it of life. Watch the light in the eyes of the female die, very, very slowly. Then he would have fulfilled that rend in his dignity.

Not to mention perform his end of the Partners' bargain.

Life was good.