Disclaimer: Not mine; never will be.
Author's Note: Well, this is it. The Final Chapter. g I'm sorry for the delay; real life has been so distracting lately, aaaaand…I had my first case of writer's block. Hee! I feel so authentic.
Author's Note 2: Thanks again to all who have left reviews. I can't tell you how happy it made me to hear you guys enjoyed this little fic.
Dedication: To my lovely mum, who encouraged me, bolstered my shaky confidence, and told me I was good. Thank you, Mama.
Chapter Five: Giles
He stands inert as silence falls.
The Oracle is quiet now, resting before him, seemingly nothing more than an ornate grave marker.
His mouth works and his hands clench as his mind grapples with what he has just been told.
He had been wrong. He had been so wrong.
He had waited behind in England, sending the others to Los Angeles after the local coven warned him of the dark power about to rise there.
"The Wolf, the Ram, and the Heart will ascend. Darkness will overcome, and all will be lost. The end, at last, is here."
The finality in the witches' voices had frightened him more than he cared to admit; his hands had shaken as he called the Slayers.
It had been a literal army that assembled to travel back to the States for what he assured them all could very possibly be the final apocalypse. Trying hard to ignore Xander's usual ill-timed humor following that remark, his eyes had traveled to Buffy standing nearby.
She had been grim and unspeaking in those moments, avoiding him. He thought she could perhaps see the unspoken accusation in his eyes. The rift, barely healed following the debacle with Spike, had reappeared upon hearing of Angel's decision to take over the L.A. branch of Wolfram and Hart.
Buffy had tried to reassure him time and again to trust Angel; she knew in her heart he would never join forces with them unless there was some greater purpose. He had sighed each time, and told her he hoped she was right—for all of their sakes.
He hadn't told her that Angel had contacted him some weeks before. He had been genuinely regretful of the situation regarding the girl, Fred, but knew he couldn't compromise.
There could be no contact, no help so long as Angel stayed with Wolfram and Hart. The firm held this dimension in their unrelenting and malevolent grip; they were the reason behind so much destruction and evil in the world. He could not weaken the burgeoning power of the new Slayers.
He would protect Buffy and the others no matter the cost. He willingly shouldered the burden and pain of knowing he was doing irreparable damage to his relationship with Buffy; he would carry this cross knowing he was in the right and hope she would someday see the wisdom of his choice—hoping that one day she would look at him once again with trust and love.
And in the end, he had been right. The coven's warning had been proof of that.
Willow's call had changed everything, shattering all he had believed to be true.
L.A. had been quiet when they arrived, she had told him, looking as normal as L.A. ever did. No impending disaster, no imminent apocalypse, only the sights and sounds of the city as a new day broke.
They had been uncertain and confused by this turn of events.
Buffy had led them to Wolfram and Hart, intent on finding answers with Angel, only to find the once gleaming tower a fiery ruin.
Next on their search had been the Hyperion; but it, too was an unpleasant discovery. The rich and warm lobby was dark, the dust covering everything speaking to the fact that the hotel had been vacant for some time.
A shout from one of the Slayers alerted them and they ran toward the alley behind the building. It had been a wrenching sight that greeted them.
Twisted visages of lifeless demons, great pools of blood, and horribly, in the midst of the carnage, the bodies of Gunn, and what was presumably Fred.
Buffy had met Willow's eyes at the discovery of Fred and Gunn knowing Angel would not have been far away. Shock, alarm, and growing terror had threatened to overwhelm them when it happened.
The alley was suddenly gone, and they instead found themselves standing in an expanse of endless white. As if on an invisible display, the events of the past year at Wolfram and Hart began to play—slowly at first, and gradually picking up speed until the images blurred together in a great kaleidoscope of color, sense and sound.
The experience had been amazing Willow had said. Not only were images being conveyed, but smells, sensations, sound—and emotion. It was as if they had all been given the opportunity to live the past year just as Wesley, Fred, Gunn, Spike, and Angel had done. Everything from Wesley's despair over Fred's death to Angel's ennui and disconnectedness upon taking control of the corporation were felt.
And then she had related the most devastating news: Angel had been able to cut off Wolfram and Hart from this dimension. It had been this action that resulted in his death and the deaths of his team.
And just as suddenly as it had begun, the strange occurrence ended.
"The Champion has broken the yoke the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart have held on this dimension for thousands of years. The vampire cursed with a soul is now free from his fealty. Eternal peace is rewarded to him. Go now from this place. No more will you be in bondage to death. A gift has been given to you. You are free."
The disembodied voice was still resonating as they found themselves back in the alley.
Willow had trailed off lamely at this point, unwilling or unable to describe the rest. It hadn't mattered; he had been too shaken by the message to hear more.
Hanging up the phone, he had recoiled from the newfound information, deciding instead to contact the locate Oracle. Surely there had been some mistake. He viciously silenced the voice inside him that told him he would only hear what his heart already knew.
He had been wrong.
He shuffles along, away from the graveyard.
There would be no rectifying this. He had allowed his past prejudices and hurts to guide his actions; and he would now have to live with his choice.
He knows this, and numbly accepts.
He prays.
Forgive me.