CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Suffer the Children

(August)

"Split up?" Colleen asked with an expression of incredulity. "Don't any of you guys ever watch horror movies?"

Via a procession of vehicles driven far too fast along the shadowed, brush-lined roads that led to the outskirts of Old Town, their caravan had finally arrived at the address printed on the bottom of the tank discovered by Kate. The notion that the clue which led them to the gigantic, derelict warehouse had perhaps been somewhat too easily found, had occurred to them along the way, but there was no time for caution … Angel, Xander, and Emmy, if they weren't already dead, surely would be before very long.

With the exception of a still-intact row of dust-smeared windows along the top floor of their destination, the five-story structure was composed of rust-streaked corrugated metal, shattered glass, and chained entryways. Night had rolled in, and the clouds crowding out the stars lent Moonridge Canyon a claustrophobic, abyssal feel. The warehouse was set well back from neighboring buildings, and while Buffy could see the lights of Old Town a few miles in the distance, nothing illuminated the warehouse or its trash-strewn, empty parking lot. The air had a dry, decayed smell to it, and even though the building appeared to have been derelict for years, it still smelled as though a mixture of chemical aromas seeped through broken windows.

In response to Colleen's comment, Buffy ceased yanking at a chain holding one of the doors closed and glanced over her shoulder. "There's five levels and this warehouse is as long as a football field. Two of us per floor, that's the way it has to be." She resumed tugging at the padlocked chain. "Kate says this killer works alone, so if any two of us stumble onto him, we should be fine."

"Buffy, let me," Dana offered as she reached for the chain that Buffy was incessantly tugging upon.

For a moment, it seemed like the offer would be refused, then Buffy begrudgingly stepped away from the door. "Be my guest."

Dana planted her foot on the pitted metal of the frame, grabbed the chain with both hands, and yanked. While neither the links or the thick padlock broke from the strain, the chain did tear through the metal and rip loose the entire latch panel. Red flakes sprayed onto the ground and the door swung, with a screeching wail, into a pitch-black interior.

"I don't suppose anyone brought a flashlight?" Giles asked.

Spike patted Giles on the back, a gesture that was met with an unhappy glare in response. "Feast your eyes on this wonder of modern technology, old sport." He fished out his phone and thumbed on the light. "We're all carrying around one in our pocket."

"I taught Spike that trick," the younger Buffy muttered.

"Well?" Jess said. "Let's get on with it."

"B, are you sure you shouldn't wait out here?" Faith asked.

Buffy pulled out her phone, flicked on the flashlight, and did not deign to look at Faith as she replied, "Don't even start with me, Faith. I'm going."

Faith looked around the group. "I'm just saying, we don't know what's in there, and I'm thinking Buffy should have, like, a gun or something."

"She can borrow one of mine," Kate said. She holstered the black, utilitarian looking sidearm that she'd been carrying since she stepped out of her car, crouched down, and pulled a small, gleaming revolver out of a holster at her ankle. She swung open the cylinder, confirmed all five chambers were loaded, then snapped it closed and offered the grip to Buffy. "I can't believe I'm out here, without backup, offering guns to civilians."

After a moment, Buffy took it. The feeling of the gun in her hand was alien and ugly, and while the weight of it was far lighter than expected, in some respects it felt like an intolerable burden. She wanted nothing more than to hand it back to Kate, or fling it aside, or anything besides carry it … but Faith was right. Though it made her want to heave the contents of her stomach onto the ground, she couldn't trust her ability to overpower anyone in a grappling match. Not anymore.

"I'm turning in my badge after this," Kate announced.

"Wow," Faith said as she stared in admiration at Buffy. "Good for you, B. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Me neither," Giles said with a look of concern. "Buffy, do you even know how to use that?"

Buffy shrugged. "Just point at the bad guy and pull the trigger, right?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jess complained.

"Maybe you should give that back …" Kate said doubtfully.

"Guys, my father, Xander, and Angel, are in there," Connor reminded them. He gestured with a length of pipe he'd snapped in two to make a rudimentary cudgel. "If you want to sit around here and chat, fine, but I'm heading inside."

"Let's go," Buffy said as she held up her flashlight and stepped into the building.

The interior of the warehouse was a maze of industrial equipment, some of which was covered in tattered shrouds, some of which sat exposed to the open air. Thick buttons, levers, and dead LCD panels lay covered in dust, and metal stairwells interspersed the walls at regular intervals. The ceiling felt curiously low, probably a trick of perception due to the gigantic banks of hardware. Cobwebs hanging within nooks and crannies near the broken windows swayed softly in the wind.

Kate held her flashlight and gun in front of her as began checking the ground between banks of equipment. A moment later, Buffy realized what she was looking for.

"Any footprints?" Buffy asked.

Kate shook her head. "No. Honestly, everybody, I'm not even sure we're in the right place."

"This is the right place," Spike said as he gazed about. "Can't you feel it?"

"Spike's right," the younger Buffy said. "Something bad happened here … or is happening here."

Buffy was about to open her mouth to argue, then she felt it, too. Something dark and soulless skittered beyond the corner of her vision, and an adrenalin-charged certainty washed over her that Angel and her friends were inside … somewhere.

She turned to look at everyone.

"Giles and I will search …"

Giles raised a hand and interrupted her, "If it's all the same, Spike and I will team up and cover this floor."

Maybe it was her imagination, but Buffy thought she saw a flicker of worry cross Spike's face.

"Sure, whatever," she replied. "I'll grab the second floor with Faith. Kate, how about you take our youngest member and search the third, Colleen, why don't you …"

"I'll check the fourth floor with Connor," Colleen interjected. She flashed a shy smile at Angel's son, who hesitantly returned it.

Dana and Jess shared a look in response to Colleen's request. "We'll climb to the top floor," Jess said. "Dana can use the exercise."

Dana only response to the comment was to frown.

"That's the plan," Buffy said. "You see something, you call, you holler, you scream, you do something, but the clock is ticking. Let's go."

. . . . . . . . .

"So …" Spike asked as he hopped around a corner to land in a crouching stance, knife at the ready. "I'm guessing you didn't want to partner up cause you missed my charming disposition. How about you have out with it, then."

Giles swept his flashlight over several gigantic tanks, then rapped his knuckles against them. The dull thud that echoed in reply revealed that the metal containers were full.

"You're right, Spike, there is something I wanted to talk about," Giles said as she shined his flashlight between another set of enormous cylinders. Even though the abandonment of the warehouse had evidently not included all of the chemicals in storage, he didn't see any signs that anyone besides the two of them had passed that way.

"Say your piece," Spike said. "Not like I can't guess anyway."

Giles stared at the blond ex-vampire for a moment. Spike was tensed, coiled defensively in anticipation of Giles's next words.

"Don't hurt her."

Spike seemed taken aback. "What?"

Giles resumed his careful, methodical trek through the center of the warehouse. "You heard me. I've grown close to Buffy, I care about her … and I hope that you do, as well. Spike, consider that you are hundreds of years old, and she is eighteen. I am not, and I will not, ask you to leave town, or stay away from her, or anything so juvenile. It would be pointless, and maybe it wouldn't be right. Instead, Spike, all I'm asking, man to whatever you are now, is that you don't hurt her. I don't think this is asking too much, do you?"

Spike at first bristled in anger, then opened his mouth to snap an acerbic reply, and finally a wave of begrudging appreciation for Giles's concern washed over him.

"Fair enough," he said. "I won't."

Giles stared back at him. "I have your word on that?"

"You do."

. . . . . . . . .

"I've gotta say, if it was my dad, I don't know if I'd be holding up as well as you."

Connor swung open a windowed door that led into an abandoned office complete with dusty wood furniture, a timecard rack, and the scurrying sound of rodents. "Angel's been in tough spots before, and he's always pulled through," he replied. "Besides, panicking wouldn't help very much, would it?"

Colleen watched in distaste as several oversized rats vanished beneath a cabinet. "Why do you call him Angel?"

Connor shrugged. "Force of habit. He's my father, but we didn't meet until I was a teenager. I was raised by someone else … in another dimension, in fact. Old habits die hard, and I was already used to calling him Angel by then."

"That sounds like a hell of a story."

"I guess," Connor replied. "I try to forget most of it."

"And now a cult of vampires worship you as some sort of god?"

Connor brushed a sandy lock out of hair and looked at her. "Not my choice."

Colleen moved further down the warehouse. "And your mother? What does she think of all this vampire and sorcery stuff?"

"My mother was a vampire, too," Connor explained. "I never met her … she died birthing me in an alley."

"Holy shit," Colleen replied.

"That about sums it up."

It was a long time before Colleen spoke again. "How long has it been since you've lived with anyone besides your cultist pals?"

"Quite a while, actually," Connor admitted. "These last few months, now that I'm spending more time among people, it occurred to me that I should probably rethink my living arrangements."

"That sounds like a good idea."

. . . . . . . . .

"What's going on with you and Kate?" Buffy asked Faith. The attempt at idle chatter was mainly to take her mind, even if only slightly, off the strangling fear whose clutches seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

"What do you mean?"

Buffy knew Faith well enough to spot that her question was being dodged. "You know what I'm talking about."

Buffy stayed well back while Faith pulled open the doors of an enormous cabinet to reveal empty shelves.

"You can put it down, B," Faith said when she realized Buffy was holding the gun aloft.

Buffy lowered the pistol and resumed following Faith. She was under no illusions about taking the lead on exploring the third floor of this nightmarishly creepy warehouse.

"Faith," she finally asked.

"Buffy."

"C'mon, what's up with you and the detective. It's not my imagination that you're constantly trying to put furniture, or someone else, in between you and her."

"Well, it's like this … she knows me from way back in the bad old days, when I was definitely on the wrong side of the law, and I never exactly cleared up that whole prison break situation."

Buffy felt her curiosity rising. "Knows you how?"

"She kinda arrested me once."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so I figure it's best to keep my distance."

"Probably a smart move," Buffy agreed.

. . . . . . . . .

"This has to be weird for you," the younger Buffy mentioned as she and Kate checked a row of storage closets set along one of the walls.

"Comes with the territory," Kate replied. "Everything involving Angel or his friends is weird as hell. Then again, I will say that searching for a serial killer with a teenage clone of the woman your ex left you for is probably a new level of weirdness."

Buffy took a few moments to process the information. "Weren't you and Angel together way back when that war with Wolfram & Hart was happening?"

"That's right."

"I was under the impression he didn't get back together with Buffy until years after that."

Kate didn't reply, and Buffy decided to drop the subject.

. . . . . . . . .

"They're dead, aren't they?" Jess asked.

Dana tilted her head in thought. "Probably, yeah."

"I knew this was going to be a waste of time."

"We still need to search."

Jess snorted. "Do you think they'd go through this much effort for us?"

Dana stared at Jess until the redhead broke eye contact and glanced away.

"Yeah, I think they would," Dana replied.

. . . . . . . . .

Like a jigsaw puzzle slowly being re-assembled, fragments of Angel's consciousness drifted into place until, at last, he awoke. His first conscious impression was that of surprise … he would have thought, given the nature of the monster he was dealing with, that he would have been disposed of almost immediately. Seeing no reason to draw attention to his return to awareness, he forced himself to remain limp while he cautiously slitted his eyes open.

A surprisingly youthful, high-pitched voice called out, "I know you can hear me, Angel, so don't bother pretending you're still asleep."

It was worth a shot.

Angel opened his eyes, then blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the blazing glare of utilitarian flood lights mounted throughout the room. Metal sheets had been riveted into place between the exposed wooden studs of the walls, ceiling, and floor, and within the openings where Angel surmised windows had been previously located. The square-shaped room was sizable, measuring at least twenty-five feet along each wall, and much of the space was filled by a bank of industrial sized refrigerators occupying the wall on the opposite side of the chamber, a long, stainless steel table in the center, and at least a dozen large, metal slabs bracketed along the other three walls.

Feeling as though he was a museum exhibit, Angel found himself bound to one of those metal slabs. Thick leather straps had been drawn tight at the neck, torso, wrists, ankles, and various spots in between, wrapped around his limbs, woven through slots drilled in the metal, and fastened with thick buckles well out of reach of hands lashed into place near his hips. He could splay his fingers and turn his head, but further movement beyond wriggling was impossible. Tensing his muscles, he strained against the bindings, but as he expected, they didn't budge.

The serial killer that had eluded him for months had left him his shoes, pants, and shirt, but his black jacket was folded neatly on the table in front of him. As his gaze moved around the room, he discovered … just as he had feared … that Xander was tied in an identical fashion on the slab immediately to his left. Still unconscious, Xander slumped forward in his bonds, and his breath rasped in a steady rhythm as the strap at his neck pressed against his windpipe.

To Angel's surprise, and horror, Emmy was also strapped down and on display next to Xander. She, too, was entirely insensate and lolled forward against her tethers.

"If I'm being honest, and I see no reason not to be at this point, I wasn't sure your partner would survive that little crop duster I rigged in your office." A figure wearing a cowl, sweater, pants, and shoes of dark black, stepped towards Angel and smiled. The face beneath the hood, which was curiously stretched and cracked, was purple, and the cheekbones and brows featured prominent, deep ridges and grooves. Hands poking from the sleeves were colored the same purple hue and bore the same leathery appearance. Numerous small seams and splits visible upon the skin.

That's the face of an Ethros demon. But this is no demon … at least not in the classical sense.

"If we're being honest," Angel replied, "how about you lose the Halloween costume and show me your real face, Ryan?"

For a brief moment the purple skin of the killer's face bulged, almost as though something had shifted beneath, then the purple hands reached up, folded down the cowl, and with gentle, almost reverential movements the demonic mask was pulled away to reveal a blond, youthful, very human face beneath … a face Angel hadn't seen in over twenty years.

The man peeled away the purple-leather gloves and then set both mask and gloves on the table. He appraised Angel silently for a moment, and then gave a grudging nod of acknowledgement. "You figured it out. Too late to save you or your friends, but bravo, Angel. You always were so clever. Tell me, man to ex-vampire, what gave me away?"

"It was something Xander said, actually," Angel replied as he nodded towards the still comatose figure. "He was of the opinion that I shouldn't be looking for anything monstrous or powerful or special, that it was probably just some psychotic kid wearing a costume." Angel stretched his hand against the wrist strap and pointed at the killer standing across the room from him. "For some reason, when I heard the phrase 'psychotic kid,' the name Ryan Anderson immediately came to mind."

"Special …" Ryan muttered angrily. "You and all you friends, with your powers, and your spells, and your ancient orders, you couldn't find me. You couldn't find me, and now you're going to die, Angel. Slowly. Painfully." Ryan reached down beneath the table, grabbed a large satchel, then placed it on the gleaming metal. With unhurried, precise movements, he began to place an assortment of knives, spiked probes, and tools upon the table. One small set of implements tucked into pockets on a black sheet looked suspiciously like dental instruments. "Don't think I'm going to stop with just you three, though." He paused and waved a small metal hammer towards Angel. "I may have missed a few of your other friends tonight, but don't worry, I'll get around to them."

"The mask," Angel said in an attempt to distract Ryan from his ominous work, "that's real, isn't it? It's the Ethros demon that we exorcised from you. The one you had imprisoned … the one whose strength you were leeching."

Ryan slammed a large, barbed hook on the table and rushed over to Angel. He was only an inch or two above average height and given Angel's current predicament he had to crane his neck upwards, yet nevertheless Angel felt distinctly like an insect trapped beneath an overturned glass.

"Do you have any idea what you did!" Ryan roared at him. The veins in neck throbbed, his eyes bulged, and sweat began to dampen the locks of his blond hair. "Linked together, he and I could have ruled as kings. I was only beginning to learn how to tap his power, and then you ripped him from me." Ryan ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, then returned to unpacking his torture implements.

"That's how you avoided Wolfram & Hart's wards and protection spells over its employees, isn't it?" Angel asked. "The Ethros can read minds, move objects, and render themselves non-corporeal … you figured out how to use its skin to circumvent security protocols."

Ryan did not turn around as he replied, "Once again, Angel, you demonstrate your cleverness. When I finally trapped the Ethros who abandoned me, I spent many hours questioning him," Ryan gestured at the gleaming array of surgical tools spread on the table, and Angel had a feeling he knew exactly how the questioning had proceeded, "and eventually he convinced me that the two of us could never be rejoined. You cannot imagine how angry I was when I realized that the power was gone forever and that I would be limited by this human body. Still, at least the souvenirs I flayed from his corpse proved useful." Angel quivered in revulsion when Ryan ran a loving hand over the mask and gloves. "Useful, except in terms of actually obtaining your whereabouts from your former co-workers. Such a loyal, and non-communicative, bunch."

"Wolfram & Hart employees all have to sign magically binding non-disclosure agreements," Angel explained. "You must have realized after you tortured the first few that they would never tell you where I lived … they literally couldn't."

"That was my suspicion," Ryan confirmed. "One brave soul resisting my efforts might have been a heroic fluke. But all of them? Impossible."

"Then why keep killing them?" Angel asked. "You massacred them for nothing … and what did Mayor Ritter, or her husband and kids, have to do with any of this?"

A slow, dry chuckle echoed from across the room. "That business with the mayor was my toll to certain interested parties for passing through Moonridge, and I didn't kill your former colleagues for nothing, it was fun. Besides, eventually I thought I might get to someone whose death would actually lure you out of hiding." Ryan turned and shot a smirk in his direction. "Not that you were hiding, exactly. I must admit, when I found out that you were shacking up with that hot little blonde you couldn't keep out of your thoughts when we first met, I realized that I should have hunted for her first. Buffy. That name would have made for a much easier search." He turned back to the table, zipped up the bag, and placed it on the floor. "Unless I get carried away, which is a distinct possibility, I will make sure you're still alive when I fashion Buffy Summers into one of my creations."

He picked up a glittering scalpel, walked over to Angel, and rested the blade against Angel's cheek. A glittering, ruby-red trail of blood blossomed as the edge was slowly dragged along the flesh. Angel steeled himself against the pain to come, and then pushed against the scalpel and attempted to bite Ryan's hand. The scalpel bit deep and blood dripped onto Angel's shirt, but regrettably the digits holding the blade were snatched away before his teeth could close upon them.

Ryan had an expression of aggrieved disbelief as he stepped back and stared open-mouthed at Angel. "You were going to bite me? Really? Maybe there's some vampire left in you, after all."

"What can I say," Angel said with as much of a shrug as the tethers allowed him. "Old habits die hard."

Ryan stared at him with lifeless brown eyes for a few moments, then he set the scalpel back down on the table and walked towards the refrigerators. It wasn't until he stood next to one of them that Angel realized how large they were.

You could probably fit half a dozen bodies in there, and he has four of them.

A wave of anxiety rolled over him as Ryan reached towards the handle.

"What are you going to show me, Ryan?" Angel asked. "I saw your handiwork with Mayor Ritter and her family, and I can't say I was impressed. I've seen worse done by better than you." He tugged against the straps again … other than a few creaks of the leather, the bindings didn't react to his efforts.

"You know Angel," Ryan mused as he pressed the handle on the refrigerator and began to swing it open, "since you and I are taking a walk down memory lane, why don't you say hello to another child you 'saved' so long ago."

Nausea mixed with horror washed over Angel when he caught sight of the interior of the refrigerator, and he began to roar and rage against the restraints.

In mockery of how Angelina had likely died, her closed eyes and shy smile had been glued into place until her expression was one of beatific peace. A gleaming gold halo had been affixed to the back of her head by some device, and hooked into that device was a thick metal hanger holding her body aloft. Her neck, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles had been neatly carved away, the dead white flesh had been stitched closed, and her torso and limbs dangled not by tissue, but by loops of gold wire sewn where the joints had been removed. Angel's stomach churned and acidic bile filled his mouth as he realized that she had been reduced to a macabre, life-sized marionette puppet. In a final gesture of ironic cruelty, white wings trimmed in gold lace held in place by the leotard stretched over her pallid body sprouted from behind her back.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" Angel roared as sweat poured out of his body as he raged against the bindings. "DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Ryan left the refrigerator door wide open and watched with an amused smile until, after long minutes of struggle, Angel lay still once more. The killer before him had the form of a man, but to Angel's eyes he had become a simulacrum, a soulless mockery of humanity. Perhaps that was what he'd always been, but in the guise of a child, Angel had lacked the stomach to do what needed to be done.

"Well that certainly looked exhausting," Ryan said in a mocking, dry voice. "I hope you are just about finished, because I am eager to start again on a live subject."

"I have faced horrors beyond belief," Angel said a voice dripping with revulsion. "Monstrous entities from hell-dimensions, fire breathing dragons, vampires so old they no longer resemble the people they once were. Yet, now, I am thinking that you might have been the worst of them because you represent the depth to which a human being can sink. Tell me, when you walk the streets, do you even feel like you're among your own kind?"

"No."

Angel clenched his fists in anger and beat them helplessly against the metal slab. "I've never believed in executing children, but in your case, we should have made an exception. You're a pathetic coward."

Ryan clutched the scalpel and rushed towards Angel. He pointed the blade at the still open and flowing wound on Angel's cheek, and his voice gave the impression that he considered himself the aggrieved party when he spoke, "Whatever I might have been, whatever worlds I could have conquered with an Ethros demon at my beck and call, you took that from me." He stepped back and glanced at Xander and Emmy. "Time for me to start taking things from you."

"No! Don't!" Angel screamed as Ryan grabbed Xander's gray-streaked black hair and yanked his head up. Xander's eyes moved slightly in their sockets, and Angel thought that perhaps he heard a murmuring sound.

Ryan pointed at Xander's left eye with the blade. "Now this, I know all about … though not as much as I would like. When your friend wakes up, I'll be asking him all sorts of questions about how one can find such special surgical services. For now, though, I think this eye represents a needless complication that I'd prefer to avoid."

Angel felt his vocal words stretch raw from yelling as Eric raised the scalpel to Xander's face, used one hand to pull the eyelids out of the way, and then shoved nearly the full length of the blade between the eyeball and its socket. Xander moaned softly and his hands feebly pulled against the leather straps as Ryan neatly carved around the eye with practiced, deft movements. After the circular cut was complete, he pulled the now loose orb from its socket and with a final twisting thrust, he severed the connections at the back of the eyeball and yanked it free.

The hole gaping on the left side of Xander's face, which had already been leaking blood, began to spray crimson fluid onto the floor of the room.

"You bastard!" Angel howled. "You are going to die screaming!"

"Promises, promises," Ryan said as he clucked his tongue mockingly. He dangled Xander's red pupiled, gold-flecked eye in front of Angel, then walked to the center of the room and dropped it onto the table. It landed upon the metal with a sickening, squelching plop.

Xander's movements had grown more energetic, and his moans had become mixed with groans of pain. His hands clawed feebly at the metal slab, and Angel realized that Xander was trying to reach up to his face.

Oh my god, Xander.

"I think it's taking all too long for them to wake up, don't you?" Ryan asked as he picked up a hypodermic needle laying on the table. He shook the syringe a few times, then walked over to Emmy. "This will be a lot more fun when the participants are awake."

"Ryan, don't do this," Angel pled. Shame welled up in him at being reduced to begging to the filth that stood before him, but it wasn't just his life on the line. "You want demonic organs? Supernatural abilities? I can help you … I have the information you need, but I won't tell you a goddamn thing if you do anything else to my friends."

Angel watched in mute terror as Ryan raised the needle to Emmy's neck, inserted it, and then depressed the plunger until half the contents were emptied. He repeated the process with Xander, then walked back to the table, laid the hypodermic down, and once again picked up the scalpel.
"Goddammit, Ryan, don't you hear me? You want power? You want to be more than human? Who else do you know that can help you do that? If you hurt either of them, I'll die before I tell you anything."

Ryan thoughtfully tapped the scalpel against his chin as he pretended to consider Angel's proposal. "I have a feeling, Angel, that you're going to tell me what I want to hear, eventually, no matter what."

"You wanna bet?" Angel snarled. "I've been in hell dimensions, and I've seen hell on Earth. I can take anything you can dish out."

"Maybe," Ryan conceded. "But I have a feeling that when Buffy is screaming under my knife, you'll tell me anything I want to know if I promise to allow her to keep her tongue for just ten more minutes."

Emmy awoke first, and she gagged and coughed against the strap against her neck while she wildly looked around the room. She tried to flinch away from the scalpel-wielding killer in front of her, then she gazed to her right and saw Xander and Angel. When she recognized the blood dribbling out of Xander's bloody eye socket, she screamed.

Ryan smiled and gestured towards her with the scalpel. "Emmy, isn't it? I'm glad you could join us."

When Xander awoke, his roar of pain and rage seemed to shake the entire metal frame upon which he was tied. The bracket flexed slightly but held.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Xander screamed as he blinked his remaining eye and howled in agony.

Ryan held up the eye and wiggled it towards Xander. "Look familiar?"

The verbal onslaught of obscenities and promises of violent retribution Xander hurled across the room were vivid enough to actually shock Angel, but eventually, as was the case with their physical struggles, it became apparent that verbal attacks were only serving to amuse their captor.

Ryan placed the eye back down on the edge of the table and moved forward with the scalpel.

"The foster homes that I was sent to after my parents refused to take me back always tried to instill in me certain values. At least, they typically tried until some horrible, unforeseen accident occurred, and then they would send me on my way." He stopped in front of the wide-eyed, terrified Emmy. "And one of those values was 'ladies first.'"

Emmy was too frightened to even speak, but Xander, with an equal mixture of entreaties and epithets, continued to scream at Ryan as he held the blade up to Emmy's neck and cut through the top of her blouse. When he had finished, he peeled the fabric down just far enough that the ridge of scales across her shoulders was visible.

He knows that area is sensitive for her kind … is there anything this piece of shit doesn't know about us?

Ryan reached out, pinched a section of scales between thumb and forefinger, and squeezed. Emmy's eyes rolled back in her head and she shrieked from the pain.

"Now that's the reaction I was hoping for," Ryan said as he raised the scalpel to her shoulder.

Angel opened his mouth to roar again, when an out-of-place sound startled him. He slowly swiveled his gaze away from Emmy and the still-howling Xander and searched for the source of the noise. At first, he concluded that it had been his imagination, then out of the corner of his eye he spotted a small, bloody object lying on the floor.

That's Xander's eye.

He had seen Ryan place it on the table, at least several inches from the edge, yet there it was. Not wanting to give away that his focus was elsewhere, Angel thrashed a few more times and found a few choice curses to hurl while he carefully watched the eye.

With a deliberate, slow creep, tendrils of ruined, bloody flesh reached out and dragged the eye towards Xander, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Angel blinked a few times in shock at the sight, then hurriedly turned his head back towards Emmy. Blood poured from a wound a few inches long on her shoulder, and her head hung limply. Evidently, she'd passed out. Ryan slapped at her cheek lightly a few times and, in an almost mothering tone, cooed at her to wake up.

Angel spared another glance at the eye slithering across the floor. Bits of dust clung to it as it steadily writhed and wriggled towards Xander … it had to have covered at least two feet by now. Xander, who was sobbing through a mixture of tears and blood running down his face, didn't seem to have noticed that the body part which had been violently dissected from his face was steadily creeping towards him. Angel had never fully understood what abilities the eye granted Xander, but he definitely remembered that they included heat. Strength wasn't going to work against the leather holding them in place, but maybe heat would.

That's if the eye, which looked incredibly fragile as it hauled itself inch-by-inch across the floor, ever reached Xander. One well-placed footfall and that thin thread of hope would be dashed, but for now at least, the small lump of tissue had gone unnoticed.

I have to hope that Ryan Anderson spends the next few minutes focused on Emmy.

Shame washed over him as he thought the words.

. . . . . . . . .

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Richard Wilkins asked as he glanced at the wristwatch lying on the end-table next to his bed. He thumbed on his cell's speaker and laid the phone next to the watch. "This had better be important."

"I have it on rather good authority that Angel and several of Buffy Summers's other acquaintances went missing tonight. Is this your doing?" Eric Aurum's voice was calm, but Wilkins knew better than to assume that the call was strictly professional. Not at this hour. As much as he enjoyed verbally jousting with his legal counsel, it would perhaps be best not to push any buttons tonight.

"Whatever is happening, I had nothing to do with it," Wilkins assured him. "Also, I'll politely remind you that I have more to lose by breaking the truce than anyone, including Angel. They'd merely lose their lives, while I'd miss a singular, unique opportunity to … well … you already know."

Eric was silent a long while before he spoke again. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Richard Wilkins closed his eyes and settled back against a pillow. "I suspect you do believe me, or else you might be calling upon me in a very different manner."

"Do you know where they are?"

"Haven't the foggiest. As I said, wasn't my doing." An unexpected desire to be gracious rose unbidden within him. "Since I've got you on the line, in regards to your firm's efforts to assist me in replacing a few of the items I had to leave behind in my prior world, those efforts were much appreciated. In particular, Draconian Katras have always been one of my favorite sources of amusement, and I thank you for helping me reacquire one."

It was a good long while before he realized that Eric had disconnected the call.

. . . . . . . . .

Xander's curses and threats had given way to sobbing and frenzied thrashing as the gruesome work continued. Emmy alternated between passing out, shrieking and spasming in pain, and gibbering nearly incomprehensible pleas as sensitive scales were sliced, one by one, from the ridge atop her shoulders. If she squirmed too much for her torturer's liking, Ryan would rest his elbow against her throat and use his arm as leverage to hold her steady as he continued flensing her skin. Xander had already vomited, and the smell and sight of him emptying his stomach had almost caused Angel to retch as well.

The urge to constantly check on the halting progress of the excised eye was near-overwhelming, but fear that Ryan would notice the gesture kept Angel's gaze, for the most part, fixed on Emmy. From time to time, he would camouflage a glance downwards with a scream and a dramatic thrashing of his head. After long minutes of agonizing wait, the eye, now fully coated in dust, blood, and grime, had maneuvered to within a few inches of Xander's foot. Angel watched in fascination as it curled upwards until one feathery strand of tissue made contact with the sole of Xander's shoe.

For a second Angel thought that gap was too wide, but then the eye steadily rose until it had hooked itself solidly to Xander's shoe, and then his shoelaces, until finally it had latched onto the rough denim of Xander's jeans. Angel tore his eyes away from the sight and watched as Ryan casually grabbed Emmy's head by the jaw, his fingers pressing hard enough to distort and whiten the flesh, and twist it from side to side. Her eyes remained unfocused and her head listlessly flopped in his hands.

"Looks like she's passed out," Ryan observed. "That's no fun at all."

"Leave her alone, it's us you want," Xander pleaded. "She's done nothing to you!"

Ryan walked back to the table and began rummaging through the implements. For a heart-stopping moment, Angel was certain he would notice that Xander's eye had vanished from its resting place, but instead Ryan held aloft a small medicine bottle aloft. He retrieved the syringe, inserted it into the top of the bottle, and retracted the plunger until amber liquid filled the vial. He laid the bottle down on the table and once more approached Emmy.

"Gotta be careful with this stuff," he said with a smile that exhibited no warmth. "Too much and it might kill you."

Blood spurted anew from the ruined, jagged crater on Xander's face, and his skin turned a mottled purple as he strained with every muscle against the metal slab. Angry welts had formed around his neck and wrists, and Angel began to worry that Xander might pass out from blood loss long before the eye, which had managed to crawl high enough to perch on his belt, ever reached its destination. Angel watched as ribbons of grasping tissue heaved the bloody lump onto Xander's shirt.

As the drug took its effect, Emmy blinked a few times, then opened them wide in renewed horror. Ryan made a show of brushing her hair away from her face as he held the scalpel aloft. "You try to fall asleep on me again, and I'll start cutting off pieces that your boyfriend here will really hate to see go." He sliced downwards with the scalpel and neatly split in two the front of Emmy's blouse and severed the band of her brassiere. Between her breasts, a thin, vertical line of crimson sparkled in the floodlights.

Xander, finally unable to bear to watch, hung limply in his bonds and allowed his head to sag forward. His remaining eye opened wide in shock at the sight of the object clambering up his shirt.

He sees the eye.

"Xander!" Angel yelled. Xander whipped his head towards him.

Something in the tenor of his voice must have drawn Ryan's attention, because he turned from Emmy to stare across the room.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?" he asked. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to give you some attention soon enough. It's just …" he reached out and with a grotesquely sensual motion stroked the side of Emmy's face, "I seldom have such a beautiful specimen to work on." Emmy made a choking sound, recoiled in revulsion from his touch, then looked Ryan in the eye and spit full in his face.

"Get fucked, you horrid thing!"

Angel simultaneously felt immensely proud of her and immensely fearful of what might happen next.

Ryan hurried to the table, exchanged the scalpel for a small white towel, and wiped off his face. When he was satisfied that he had scrubbed away all traces of expectorate, he picked up a small, battery-powered drill. He pulled the trigger a few times and the soft, whirring sound of the motor sent chills down Angel's spine.

"You are going to regret that," Ryan said quietly to Emmy.

Somehow, Angel found the threat more horrifyingly ominous than those that had been growled by demons many times larger.

"Why are you doing this?" Emmy asked. "I mean besides the fact that you're a pathetic monster."

"Pathetic?" Ryan asked. "Not for much longer." He pointed the drill towards Xander. "Your friend here has shown me the way, and once you're all in a more talkative mood, we'll chat about how I can go about reacquiring what was taken from me. I'll be special again, I guarantee it."

Thankfully, Ryan kept his gaze fixed on Emmy the entire time that he spoke, as the creeping eye had reached the collar of Xander's shirt. Angel's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Xander crane his neck down to give the eye's searching fronds a grip on his chin. It pulled itself up, anchored one strand in Xander's mouth, and began carefully picking its way across the blood and tears streaking the left side of his face.

"You'll never be more than a special piece of shit," Angel said calmly. "And there's nothing that could ever change that."

Ryan turned towards Angel, drill in hand. "You are going to hang in that spot, screaming for mercy, while I kill your friends one by one in front of you."

Angel chanced a glance to his left. With a wet, slithering squelch Xander's eye sunk home. Xander closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and his left eyelid bulged and squirmed for a few moments. When he opened his eyes again, the pupil moved with his gaze as he fixed his sight upon the serial killer standing a few feet away.

The return of the lost appendage did not go unnoticed. Ryan stared, jaw agape, then whirled around to confirm that the previously amputated organ had, indeed, returned to its owner. He dropped the drill, grabbed a long, serrated knife, and began to advance.

A deep red blast of light illuminated the room as Xander's eye began to glow more brightly than Angel thought possible. He squinted and watched as Ryan held up a hand to block the blazing glare.

And then the left side of Xander's body, from his fingertips up his arm and torso, past his shoulder and neck, and finally across his face to the roaring inferno of his eye, caught fire. Vermillion, cherry-red flames immediately began to score the metal slab, and when Xander clenched his hand into a fist, the light was too bright for Angel to look upon. Xander's shirt burst into eldritch flames and the leather straps pinioning his left arm began to smoke and blacken from the heat. The flames reddened Xander's skin, but whatever changes the demonic transplant had wrought appeared to have given him at least some degree of immunity.

Ryan, knife in hand, at first attempted to approach, then he backed away as the fire grew in intensity. The air shimmered and rippled in waves and Angel leaned as far to the right as the straps allowed. Xander squeezed his left fist, the strap pinning his wrist to the metal cracked and crumbled, and then the leather snapped in two.

Xander curled his arm, pressing his flaming skin against the straps at his forearm and elbow, and then they split apart, as well. Once his left arm was free, one by one Xander ripped the other bindings away. After he reached down and yanked away the final restraints anchoring his ankles to the slab, he stepped away from the metal and roared in anger. His left shoe left puddles of melted rubber as he walked, and the metal slab was scorched and blackened where his body had lain upon it.

The light and heat had grown almost too intense to look upon. Angel glanced down and saw that the sleeve of his own shirt was beginning to smolder, and he could feel his hair singe. Emmy began to scream, this time from the heat lapping over her body, and she pulled against the straps in an attempt to escape.

Thankfully, Xander didn't remain on their side of the room for long. As he implacably strode forward, Ryan, his eyes wide with fear, put the table between him and his pursuer, dropped the knife, and pulled a gun free from the bag. Xander grabbed the table with his left hand and Angel watched in mute fascination as the steel began to twist and melt where his fingers gripped the metal. With a casual gesture he overturned the table and smashed it against Ryan, who stumbled backwards, dropped the gun, and fell against the wall of refrigerators. Xander once again grabbed the table, flung it aside, then reached down and picked up the pistol. He squeezed the gun until the metal warped and bent into an unrecognizable, glowing red-white mass, then he dropped it into Ryan's lap.

The satisfaction Angel felt when Ryan Anderson screamed and tried to twist away from the scalding lump was too euphoric to put into words.

Ryan's howls of pain reached a fever pitch when Xander reached down with his flaming hand, grabbed him by the throat, and wrenched him upright. He grasped at Xander's forearm, and the fire immediately burnt his hands a scorched black. Dull, white bone became visible as charred flesh cracked and flaked away.

The screams became an incomprehensible, gibbering torrent of pleading wails as Xander slammed the flailing, scorched, increasingly pathetic body against the wall and inexorably tightened his grip around the neck. Eyes bubbled and sloughed from the sockets, facial features melted and twisted from the heat, and all the while the screaming continued until, finally, with one last conflagration of fire, Xander sent a whirlwind of bright red flames down the gaping, ruined throat until only a blackened, unrecognizable husk of charred flesh and cracked bone remained. When he released the corpse, the fire disappeared and Xander stood alone clad only in tattered, half-burnt jeans and melted shoes.

After the tableau stretched on for several long moments, Angel decided to risk breaking the silence.

"Xander … a little help?" he asked as he tugged against the restraints.

The question broke Xander from his reverie. He turned towards them with haunted, vacant eyes. The blood and viscera that had previously coated his face had burnt away and left only streaks of dark ash behind. He first moved towards Emmy and raised his hands to undo the straps holding her to the table.

An expression of shock and anguish appeared on Xander's face when she screamed in terror at his approach.

"Emmy, it's me," he said quietly as he raised a hand. "Let me untie you."

"Stay away from me," she yelled.

Xander stared at her in mute horror but didn't approach any closer.

"Xander, she's in shock," Angel explained. "Get me off of this thing, I'll cut her loose, and we can get out of here."

Xander nodded, then he approached and began unfastening Angel's restraints. Angel winced involuntarily at the first touch with Xander's skin, but thankfully his flesh appeared to have returned to a normal temperature. When he was finally freed, he stepped away and examined Xander carefully.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. "I didn't really expect that to happen, did you?"

Xander shook his head, and Angel had a feeling that he was answering in the negative to both inquiries.

Emmy tensed up when Angel approached, but she remained still while he quickly unfastened her. Much of the hair on the side of her head closest to where Xander had been tied had burned away and her arm was reddened and burnt. When the straps around her torso were loosened, she fell forward, and only Angel's arms kept her from falling to the floor. He tried to be careful of the open wounds along her shoulder, but when his chest brushed against them, she closed her eyes and shivered from the pain. After he removed the bindings from her ankles, she moved to the corner of the room and cowered against the wall with her arms held tightly to her chest.

Xander retrieved Angel's coat from where it had fallen and held it out to her.

"Emmy, put this on."

She made no move to take the garment, and when Xander took a step towards her, she opened her mouth to scream again. Xander quickly stepped back and handed the coat to Angel.

"You give it to her."

Angel slowly walked over and offered the coat. Emmy grabbed it, pulled it over her shoulders, and quickly drew it closed. Tears appeared in her eyes from the pain of the cloth rubbing against her skin.

For a moment, Angel thought they might have a moment to gain their bearings, then he became aware of a new problem. Behind the refrigerators, red-orange flames were licking at wooden studs and support beams. He briefly looked around for something with which to extinguish the fire, then realized it was hopeless.

"We need to leave," he announced as the temperature in the room began to rise again. "Right now."

Xander stared blankly at him with a crestfallen, broken expression, then he, too, noticed the rapidly spreading fire. He turned to Emmy. "Can you follow us?"

She nodded her head.

Angel glanced about, spotted a narrow corridor in the corner of the room, then waved for them to follow. As they proceeded down the hallway, he became aware of a steady pounding noise.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"I do," Xander said with grim determination as he tightened his left hand into a fist. Emmy cringed and drew away as his eye began to glow red again.

They continued moving forward until they reached an enormous metal door. Given the size of the hinges and latch, Angel estimated that it had to be at least six inches thick.

No wonder we couldn't hear this before.

Despite the size of the door, the metal on the opposite side of the hinges was beginning to bulge and warp from the strain. A couple more hours, whoever was on the other side might have actually bent it inwards a few inches. Angel reached out, flipped up the latch, then jumped backwards as the door was flung open.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see all of you," he announced as Buffy pushed her way to the front of the crowd, wrapped her arms around his chest, and sunk her face into his shirt. Angel stared down in surprise at the object in Buffy's hand.

Is that a gun?

Kate gingerly removed the pistol from Buffy's grasp and tucked it into a holster at her ankle.

. . . . . . . . .

By the time their shell-shocked band had traversed the several flights of stairs and emerged into the parking lot, flames had already begun sprouting from the roof of the warehouse. Emmy huddled within Angel's jacket and her responses to questions, when she responded at all, were clipped and strained. Xander kept his distance, a decision noted, but not commented upon, by the others.

"When Kate opened those refrigerators, I'm not the only one who saw what was inside, right?" Colleen asked. Her eyes were wide with fright and her voice was quavering.

"We all saw," Giles replied. "Though it's a sight, I will admit, that I could have done without."

"I'm never getting it out of my head," Connor interjected, "how many people were in there?"

"Had to be at least a dozen," Angel replied as he gazed up at the steadily increasing tongues of flame that were engulfing the abandoned structure. "Though it's hard to tell given that they were in …"

"Don't say it," Buffy interrupted.

"… pieces," Angel finished.

The younger Buffy glanced over at Spike and was torn between irritation that he had stepped into her line of sight and blocked her view of the gruesome contents of the refrigerators and gratitude that he had spared her that memory. "Are we sure nobody else is in there?" she asked. "Alive, I mean?"

Kate shook her head. "We searched every floor of that building. If there was anyone else inside, we'd have found them."

"Who were they?" Faith asked. "And am I wrong on thinking that he was planning for all of us to end up like that?"

"I only knew one of them," Angel replied, "and I actually think he had worse planned for us."

Faith grimaced.

Emmy handed Giles's phone back to him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Are you sure we shouldn't bloody call 911?" Spike asked. "I understand Emmy wanting a doctor who won't go all squirrely when they see a part-demon patient, but given that Angel's coat is soaked clear through with blood, can she afford to wait?"

"Emmy is standing right here, Spike," Xander said. He was still shirtless and covered in streaks of black ash, but at least he was talking again. "Her choice."

Spike didn't argue the point.

"Thank you," Emmy whispered to Xander.

"We've got another problem," Kate said. "You can't exactly hang around here much longer. Every fire truck within a fifty-mile radius is going to be on their way in the next few minutes."

"What do you propose?" Giles asked.

"I think Kate's saying we need to get the hell out of here," Angel replied. "And I'm inclined to agree." He reached up and rubbed at his cheek; his fingers came away covered in blood.

"What about all those victims?" Buffy asked. "It doesn't feel right to not at least tell the firemen where to look."

Kate stared at the building as she replied, "The room with the bodies is where the fire started … there won't be anything left to bury."

"Angelina …" Angel murmured.

Buffy looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Angelina's body was the one I recognized," Angel explained. "The girl who went missing a few months ago. The one we thought might have left town."

I failed her.

"Who's Angelina?" Connor asked.

Angel didn't have the energy to explain.

Giles's phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it, glanced at the screen, then handed it to Emmy. She accepted the call and held the receiver up to her ear. After a brief conversation, she handed it back.

"A doctor my grandfather knows is on his way to Moonridge Community Hospital," she announced. "He'll be able to treat me."

"I'll give you a ride," Giles replied immediately.

"With what car?" Spike asked.

Giles scowled as he recalled that his Jaguar was still wrecked and overturned in the Moonridge High School parking lot.

"Dana can drive her," Faith said. "Right?"

"I can," Dana announced as she glanced at Colleen and Jess. Both of them nodded in agreement. She fished the keys to her rental car out of her jeans and pointed towards the street. "Want me to bring the car around?"

Emmy shook her head. "I can walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Xander asked. His voice was neutral, but Angel could tell how tense he was holding his body as he awaited the reply.

"Xander, you don't have a shirt, and your pants are burnt to a near-crisp," Buffy pointed out. "Maybe you should also be thinking about going to a hospital?"

"And tell them what, my demon eye went crazy and I set fire to a building?" Xander snapped.

Emmy flinched and looked away.

"We should talk," Angel said to Xander. "About what happened up there."

"You guys do that," Dana announced as she stepped closer to Emmy. "We're getting her to a hospital."

"I'm heading somewhere to get drunk," Faith announced. "If you need me, I'll be sober tomorrow afternoon."

The sight of Xander struggling, and failing, to find something suitable to say as Emmy recoiled from his approach was heart-breaking. Emmy trudged with the slayers towards the street, and when they passed out of earshot, Spike turned to Xander, looked him over, and said, "Mate, remember all those years how you hated being just a regular old chap? The other side of the coin sometimes ain't so great, is it?"

Both Buffys winced at the comment.

"Go to hell, Spike," Xander said. His voice was heated and strained, and Angel found himself stepping back from Xander as a deep, smoldering glow appeared in his left eye. When Xander saw the red light illuminating the cracked pavement of the parking lot, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he reopened them, the light had vanished.

"Someday I'll probably oblige you on that, most like," Spike cheerfully replied.

"I am definitely turning in my badge," Kate muttered.

The sirens of fire engines had become audible in the night, and the remaining members of the group stared at each other in renewed concern.

"We need to leave. Now," Buffy announced.

"I'm staying," Kate announced. "I'm still a detective, and they need to know what's happened here. The families deserve to have closure."

"What will you tell them?" Giles asked.

Kate glanced at Angel. "Some of the truth, anyway. I remember Ryan Anderson … he was a twisted piece of shit as a child, and I'm sure once we start digging, we'll find plenty of evidence linking him to the murders of Mayor Ritter's family, and everyone else. I'll say that I saw him, or some clue pointed me towards him, or something, and hopefully that will satisfy the captain."

"It will," Angel assured her. "From what I can tell, he understands how Sunnydale used to work, and he'll do the same thing here in Moonridge."

"Sweep it under the rug," Buffy said as she looked at her younger self. "That's the way it goes."

"At least he's dead," the teen Buffy replied. "One less monster to worry about." She glanced at Xander for a moment. "He is dead, for sure, right?"

"Absolutely," Xander replied.

"I can take you three back to the office to get your cars," Connor said to Angel, Xander, and Buffy.

"I'll give these two a ride," Spike said to Giles and the younger Buffy. He stared at her intently for a moment, with a questioning look in his eye.

She walked closer and whispered to him, "Not tonight."

"Understandable," he whispered back.

"What are you two mumbling about?" Angel asked.

The blazing fire along the upper floor of the building were illuminated in Giles's glasses as he turned towards Angel. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

The fire engines had drawn close enough that a sense of urgency began to build.

"Shall we?" Spike asked.

"Let's go," Buffy replied.

. . . . . . . .

"I'm still not sure it's a great idea to tell Willow," Angel said to Buffy as they drove home from his office, "but like I said, it's your call."

"I can't keep what happened to Xander, Emmy, and you from her, she deserves to know. Everyone is safe now, so she shouldn't be tempted to witch out."

"When will you tell her?"

"Tomorrow," Buffy replied. "If not tomorrow, then soon … absolutely."

Nothing good will come from Willow knowing.

"Do you think Emmy will be okay?" Buffy asked. "I didn't get a good look, but it seemed like she lost a lot of blood."

"I don't know, Buffy," he admitted. "I hope so. I don't know much about Prajjian anatomy."

She stared out the window at the night sky. "Do you want to fill me in what happened with Xander?"

"I think you pretty much get the idea. The melted furniture, that burnt corpse, the fire … whatever is going on with his eye, it's a lot more than a light show at this point. He's dangerous."

Buffy immediately swiveled her head towards him. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"Then it's especially important that you don't say it."

"Buffy …"

"I know," she said. "I know … we'll need to talk to him and find out what's going on. But we'll figure it out and help him deal, just like we've helped other people."

Maybe when you talk to Xander, he'll be honest this time.

"I'm sorry about Angelina," Buffy continued.

Angel tightened his hands on the steering wheel as he finally allowed grief and remorse to wash over him. "What the hell was it all for? I save her mom's life, I'm told she has a destiny, and then she ends up as part of some monster's collection? Either destiny has a really sick sense of humor, or I messed up … I messed up, and an innocent girl is dead. If we're not keeping the people we know and care about safe, what the hell are we doing?"

"All we can do is fight," Buffy replied as she reached out and rubbed his shoulder. "And you've been fighting for longer than any of us.

"It's my fault."

Buffy knew him well enough no to try to talk him out of it.

"What the hell now, Buffy?"

"Emmy heals up … and probably never speaks to any of us again, Xander learns how to control his eye and his temper, the patrols continue, and I've got an election to win."

That damned election.