Bring Me to Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 38
Cloak and Dagger
1630 Revello Drive—The Summers Home
Next Day
Days Left Before The End of Days: 17
Closing the door behind him gently, Angel quietly exited Buffy's room.
It pained him to leave the safe, inviting nirvana of Buffy's bed, the feel of her small, firm but soft frame pressing against him, her vanilla scent enveloping his senses. But as he knew, and grimly accepted, darker things loomed on the horizon. And even though he wasn't in great shape with his own injuries, either, there were people here counting in him now.
So, shelving his heart in favor of his duty, he left the injured, bruised Slayer to sleep and heal while he briskly, swiftly and quietly walked down the stairs. It was a little past noon, and Angel took a peak behind the new, dark curtain to the backyard, where he saw Kennedy—not Faith—was leading rest of the Potentials in their morning exercise.
Since returning from the attack in Angeles National Park, Angel had noticed the normally outgoing, expressive Faith becoming more withdrawn. She had barely spoken to anyone—even to him, which quietly hurt him to know—opting to find a space to herself to smoke or exercise and train on her own. The only ones Faith seemed to be talking with were Spike and Willow. Obviously, this new change in demeanor meant she wasn't up for training the girls right now. Silently, Angel made a note to talk to Faith later. Whatever had happened out there, it was clear she needed a friend to talk with.
Speaking of friends, he realized, he hadn't had a chance to check on Cordelia. Wesley and Fred had told him that the Seer had started to become depressed over the loss of the Keystone and Xander's injuries. Despite Xander's best attempts, Cordelia's mental state had started to take a turn for the worse, and that worried Angel. He had been hoping that she was going to start turning things around before The First's goons made their move. Now, his spunky Seer had started slipping into despair again. Angel knew he had to talk with her. After all, who knew better about what she was going through with her struggles with guilt better than he did?
And he hadn't had much time to check on how Connor and Dawn have been doing, either. This had to be hard for the both of them, as well. They were, after all, still just kids dealing with so much. But he would talk with them soon. He knew he had to. Even though Connor had made so much progress with Dawn entering his life, Angel still had his reservations over whether his son was ready to deal with this craziness without a strong, guiding hand to show him the way. And Angel was determined to try and be that for Connor, no matter what past failures where made with each other.
So much to do, and so little time, Angel sighed. Such is life in the Fastlane of Apocalypse Alley.
He put that issue to the side for the moment as he made his way to his destination…the Summers' living room, where the curtains were drawn nearly completely shut and Wesley, Giles, Darla, Whistler, Spike, Kate and Lindsey were waiting for him. His preternatural senses told him the others were in other rooms or not in the house at the moment, giving them space for privacy during this briefing.
All eyes expectantly drew to the vampire as he entered the room, whatever brief chatter there was ceasing in his presence. Angel never quite got used to that. Since his soul was returned to him the first time, he had become very self-conscious and withdrawn, and having all that attention on him still made him wary even after all these years and so many changes in his life.
"How is she?" Giles asked, breaking the silence.
It was obvious to Angel he was asking about Buffy. "Resting," Angel quietly, guardedly replied.
"We're going to need her up pretty soon," Wesley reminded him.
Angel's voice dropped an octave as he grew protective. "She'll be ready when she's ready. No sooner. Got it?"
The room seemed to freeze for a moment with the tension between both men—both former friends—but after a beat, Wesley merely replied with a cool nod.
"I agree. Let her rest. Buffy's been through enough for now," Giles added, looking at Wesley and silently urging him to keep calm. Off the younger man's subtle nod, Giles was satisfied for now.
"And you? No offense, but ya look like hell, kid," Whistler said, giving Angel the once-over.
Angel's reply was short, but terse. "I'm fine."
That didn't satisfy Whistler. "Okay, but I'm just sayin'—"
"I said I'm fine," Angel snapped, irritably. He was never one to share his feelings much, and he certainly wasn't about to discuss his injuries when there was so much more important stuff to worry about. His injuries could wait. Besides, he knew he had to look strong for the others. If they saw him start to falter, he knew they would start losing hope. That was something they couldn't afford now. "We have work to do, don't we?"
Off his snappish answer, Whistler defensively held his hands up. "Fair enough. Yeesh, can't blame a guy for askin'."
Despite the tension, Spike couldn't resist getting in a dig at Angel as he replied to Whistler. "Don't blame yerself, little fella. He's always been a cranky sod when he gets out of bed."
Angel's reply was whip-like, icy, as he regarded the younger vampire coldly. "Shut up, Spike."
"Missed you, too, Sunshine," the blond vampire drawled.
Kate shook her head as her patience began to run thin. The last few days had been crazy enough for her and her crew of kids. Frankly, she was in no mood to babysit anyone else. "Can the two of you quit acting like a couple of kids fighting over the last swing set? We've got some real problems here."
Shaking his head as he ignored Spike, Angel calmed himself as he looked to Wesley for a briefing. "Right. How are things looking right now?"
"In a nutshell…it sucks, frankly," Wesley sighed as he began his grim assessment. "The attacks have left our ranks demoralized, we still haven't been able to locate Jasmine—er, The First without Willow's magick to help, we're don't have nearly enough operating space in the house as opposed to the hotel, and we still have little intel on just how deep the First's allies and armies really run."
"And with freaks like Drusilla and The Beast back and hangin' around, that would be good intel to have," Lindsey grimly chimed in.
"Are-are you sure it was Drusilla?" Darla asked Spike. Angel didn't miss the small glimmer of fear, and a hint of hatred, in Darla's eyes. For good reason, Angel reckoned. As awful as that moment was for him to watch helplessly while Drusilla turned Darla years ago, Angel figured it had to be even harder for Darla to hear her Grandchilde-slash-murderer-slash-woman whose life she helped ruin was back.
"Positive. Saw the daft bird with my own eyes." Spike looked away for a moment, his face darkening as the images of her holding that knife to Faith's throat that night flickering in his mind. "Dru's not exactly easy to forget."
"At least, that's what Willow, Oz and Spike have told us. Faith, not so much. She's been pretty quiet since the whole thing happened," Whistler replied to Darla.
"Oy…leave her be. She went through a lot up there," Spike defensively replied when Faith's name came up.
Nonplussed, Lindsey sternly replied, "We've all been through a lot. If she's holding back something that can help us figure out this crapstorm—"
"I said 'Drop it', Billie Ray Cyrus," Spike growled roughly, giving Lindsey a warning glare. "She'll come around when she's ready."
Spike's behavior wasn't lost on Angel. He had heard that Spike and Faith had gotten…closer…and frankly, he wasn't happy about it. Faith had become close to Angel these last few years, the vampire considering her closer to family than a friend. And while the thought of Spike lusting for Buffy was enough to make Angel's vampire face emerge in rage, the idea of someone Angel cared about getting mixed up with Spike wasn't a pleasing thought for the elder vampire, either.
"We'll get her, Darla. I assure you, we will," Wesley gently assured the blonde beauty.
Not to be outdone, Lindsey offered similar sweet assurances. "Yeah, don't worry about it, sweetheart."
Annoyed that the two men were still jousting for her affections at a time like this, Darla raised her hand as a signal for both men to stop. "I'm touched, really. But can we focus on what's happening, please?"
Ignoring the drama between the trio, Angel looked around the room in irritation at the lack of useful info. "So you're telling me we have nothing to go on. Really? Two Watchers and one of the most powerful witches in the world in one place, and we don't have anything to find The First?"
"I told you, Willow's not in the position to be helping us right now," Wesley replied, his voice strained with diminishing civility at Angel's demanding attitude. "Whatever Warren Mears did to her, it's stripped her of her magick. Or, at least, it's drained her. She may recover her powers, but it will take time."
Off that, Angel shook his head as he leaned against the table in the center of the room. "Time. Perfect. We've got a lot of that to spare, don't we?"
"Okay, cool your jets, Hotshot," Whistler calmly chimed in, walking around the table until he was next to Angel's right side. "Remember what I taught you? Panic's the gateway to failure. You gotta keep your head straight, champ."
Angel's mind went unbidden to those arduous, torturous months spent training under Whistler. Whistler might have been almost as irritating as Spike at times, but the Balance Demon was right. It wasn't easy. And, to use the phrase the smaller demon had used, at that time in his life, Angel couldn't go three rounds with a fruit fly, a century of torment and two decades living like a demented hermit in alleys feeding on rats having eroded his fighting skills and his will to live. But in that time under Whistler's guidance, he had learned not only how to fight, but why he fought. After so much time lost, one look at a young, inexperienced, and frightened Buffy getting Called and months of learning how to become the warrior, the protector that she would need, that others would need, gave Angel a chance at redemption and something he had long been seeking since the Kalderash Clan returned his soul to him—a purpose.
"Kinda hard to do when the bad guy you're trying to stop can break swords like glass and can throw you about a story up in the air like a beach ball," Angel gloomily replied to his mentor.
"Or break your hand without throwing a punch," Giles added, thinking back to that awful moment when Buffy, the closest thing he had to a daughter, shattered her hand on impact against the face of the First Evil.
"Or when its playmates get the drop on you and leave ya layin' face down with nothing but yer Willy in your hand," Spike grumbled, the memory of that bitter assault and defeat burning brightly in his mind's eye.
Whistler sighed in exasperation, rubbing his temple. "Gotta say, as far as big game pep speeches go, not lovin' this one, guys."
"Except it's true, Whistler," Angel answered back, irritated. "The First has us on the ropes. It's got the Keystone, it's got an army, and it's got power in spades."
Looking down at the table in quiet frustration, Angel gave the awful truth. "As much as I hate to say it, it's holding all the cards."
The silence and grim faces of his allies offered no argument to Angel's bleak assessment.
"Then maybe it's time we pull an ace outta our sleeve," Whistler replied knowingly.
"If you have an ace, I'd love to see that hand," Angel said with a sigh.
Whistler's smile was the demon's reply. "As a matter of fact, kiddo, I do."
Not a moment after his cryptic comment, Whistler pulled out a small, gray disk-like stone object from his pocket, laying it on the table. The engravings and markings on it were strange, but the familiar script of Latin was evident to those in the room versed in the language.
Angel stared at the disk, fascinated. "What is that?"
Whistler replied, "If we're lucky…it's our ace in the hole against our not-so-friendly not-ghost."
A look of recognition dawned in Giles's eyes. "Dear Lord…is…is that what I think it is?"
Wesley began to recognize the disk's significance, as well. Turning to Whistler. "Is that what you got from The Conduit?"
"Bingo. Well, that and a massive migraine. Those guys can be friggin' jackoffs, but never say they're not useful when they have to be," the Balance Demon replied.
"Okay, so…what is it?" Kate asked, confused at what the big to-do was about some small tablet thing.
"It's a legend. From a place called The Deeper Well," Giles explained. "After the Fall of the Old Ones thousands of years ago, the remaining warriors from Man's army buried the remains of the Old Ones – living and dead – in an enchanted well so deep and guarded it would all but assure their evil would never again walk the Earth."
"But it's not just a graveyard for the baddest Ghoulies and Gobbies," Whistler added. "It's also a safe house for some of the most sacred relics for the servants of Good. The most sacred and powerful? It's called 'Hope's Dagger.'"
"Pope's what?" Kate asked, pretty blue eyes scrunched in confusion.
"Not 'Pope.' Hope," Wesley patiently corrected.
"Hope's Dagger?" Giles asked, stunned. "Impossible, I-I-I thought it was just a myth…"
Angel was intrigued. "Okay, I'll bite. What is this…Hope's Dagger?"
Wesley began to recite everything he had learned about the relic from his Watchers training. "Hope's Dagger, aka The Sword of Destiny, aka The Flame of Apollo, aka Spear of the Champion. It's said to be an incredibly powerful relic, a blade constructed from the very first ray of light ever to shine upon the earth."
While everyone else was listening raptly to Wesley's explanation, Spike couldn't resist. "Admit it, it kinda gets you hard in the pants to do that whole encyclopedia bit, doesn't it, Percy?"
Irritated, Darla impatiently shot Spike an annoyed glare. "Spike, if you interrupt one more time—"
"Fine, fine. Sorry, just makin' an observation, is all. Go on," Spike replied, remembering the unusual power behind Darla's fist the last time he crossed her. He would rather avoid a second blow this time around.
Giles decided to pick up where Wesley left off. "I-It was said to have been forged in the fires of the light of creation by the Powers that be, and gathered magically into a blade, to be used only in a time of great crisis. Thousands of years ago, when The Judge was threatening the world, the dagger was first wielded by Cassandra Rayne, a Champion for the Powers That Be."
"She used it successfully against the Judge, the blade actually able to cut through the demon's seemingly impenetrable armor," Giles continued. "When the First tried to overthrow mankind not so long afterwards, Cassandra used it against the First over a thousand years ago in battle."
Now, Angel was curious. "The dagger…could it hurt the First?"
"Oh, boy, did it ever," Whistler replied with a whistle. "Girl had the bastard on the ropes, damn near came close to killing the thing. But she got cocky, waited a fraction of a second too long…and the First took her out before she could strike the final killing blow. But the thing is, the dagger was indestructible. Couldn't be destroyed. It was too pure, too holy. That pissed ol' First-y off. Luckily, we had an ace up our sleeve before it could do something that would take the dagger away from us. It was retrieved by the Brotherhood of the Chosen."
The name meant nothing to Angel. "Never heard of them."
"I have," Wesley said, remembering hearing rumors of such a group back in his Watchers Academy days. "They're a sect of warriors loyal to the Powers That Be. Trained to be the ultimate fighters. Sworn to secrecy and to excel, no matter the cost. They're said to be scattered around the world, living among us, but training in secret, living in silence until they are called upon to serve. And to give their lives, if necessary."
"Like undercover cops, only with swords instead of sidearms," Kate nodded.
"Committed boys. Good on them," Lindsey said with a smirk.
Ignoring them, Whistler turned to Angel as he continued the rest of his story. "The Brotherhood hid the dagger deep in the Deeper Well. The dagger's said to be entombed within an enchanted crystallized stone, under heavy guard. Lying in wait for one worthy enough to claim it. Someone worthy. Someone chosen." Whistler's hand drifted towards disk. "Your Latin still good? 'Cuz you might find this reading interestin'."
Turning the small stone disk over, the Latin inscription on the rock made everyone's eyes widen as its meaning became clear.
"'Pro Victor et Unicus Pro Victor,'" Lindsey recited back, his sharp eyes slowly turning to Angel.
"For the Champion…"Giles translated, his wise blue eyes slowly looking to the detective in stunned realization.
Darla's surprised blue-eyed gaze mirrored Giles's movement as they found her former lover. "And only…"
"…The Champion," Wesley finished, the meaning not lost on him as he fixed his gaze on Angel.
Angel took it in, his eyes never leaving the tablet.
"Me," he realized in quiet surprise. "It's talking about me."
"Hang on a minute, now," Spike protested. "I was readin' the same Latin you were. I didn't read anything about 'Keep Off. Property of Angel.'"
Angel wasn't in any mood to be putting up with Spike's nonsense. Annoyed, the elder vampire turned to his former protégé. "What are you babbling about now?"
Looking to the rest of the room, Spike made his case. "I'm saying who says it's Angel's supposed to? Who says it's about him at all?"
Wesley regarded the blond vampire with an odd glance. "There's nobody else, Spike. Who else could it possibly be talking about?"
Indignantly, Spike replied, "Well, for starters…how about me?"
Angel's short, harsh chuckle was his answer at that. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not about you, Spike."
Gritting his teeth, Spike demanded, "And why not? You think it's you because of that prophecy bit, don'tcha? Vampire With a Soul fights to prevent the apocalypse, gets turned into a real boy for his troubles. Last I checked, Captain Forehead, you're not the only one with a membership card to that 'Souled Vampire Club', are ya, mate?"
Angel shook his head dismissively. "Come on, Spike, you honestly think this is about you? You honestly think you're the Champion the text is referring to? Exactly what kind of a Champion are you? What are you a champion of, for that matter? Aside from stupidity and nuclear hair dye, maybe."
Put off by Angel's flippant dismissal of the notion, Spike glared angrily at his Grandsire. "Oh, yeah? Just 'cause you wanna hog the spotlight and play the hero, the way you always do—"
"Okay, time out, you two," Darla interrupted as she tried to play peacekeeper. This was starting to remind her of the Yorkshire mine all over again…and practically every other morning she had to step in between the stern Angelus and the hotheaded William the Bloody back in the old days. "You're getting off topic. Let's focus on the problem at hand. We don't want to be wrong about this."
"Why would you even want to be the one who takes the dagger?" Angel demanded. This entire conversation seemed surreal to him. He should have been figuring out where this Hope's Dagger was by now, not arguing with his half-wit GrandChilde over something that he obviously just wanted to hold over his head.
"Why wouldn't I? You're not the only undead guy 'round here capable of bein' a hero." Truth be told, Spike wasn't all that keen about being "The One" regarding finding this dagger, it didn't really matter to him. But the idea of being shoved aside as a bit role player while Angel grabbed the starring role again irritated him to no end, and he sure as hell wasn't going to stand for it.
Angered at the time being wasted over this nonsense when people's lives were at stake, Angel decided to be frank with Spike, eying him coldly as his dark eyes bored into the younger vampire's own blue eyes. "You're a lot of things, Spike. Annoying. Irritating. Stupid. But a hero? Not so much."
"Get off your high horse, Godiva. I've helped save the world once, too," Spike sneered.
Angel merely scoffed at that. "Right. Once. Talk to me after you've done it a couple more times."
Everyone in the room could feel the tension thickening and the tempers boiling between both vampires, both men looking like they were about a few seconds away from coming to blows…
"All right, shaddup, you two. Geez, are we running a nursery or trying to save the universe?" Whistler spat with annoyance as he shoved both of them away from each other. "Look, there's no debating it. I spoke to the Conduit. The Conduit speaks for the Powers. They said Angel's the guy to get the dagger, and that's the end of that."
Off Whistler's reply, Angel gave Spike a satisfied, knowing look, subtlety cocking his head towards Whistler in an indication of the finality of what the Balance Demon had said.
Spike could feel his cold blood start to simmer. It was bad enough losing Buffy to this ponce, bad enough that Faith looked up to him but now to be passed over for the change to be the hero in favor of Angel, too? Well, bugger this shit…
"Right. Everyone go running to The Mighty Angel," Spike burst out, exasperated. "Ponce has his cape and tights all pressed and ready to go, anyway. No need for the rest of us pointless extras to stick around the set."
Angel tiredly sighed, more than ready to move on. Giving the younger vampire a coolly amused glance, he replied, "We really going to keep doing this, Spike? Or do you need a timeout, a blankie and your Sippie Cup?"
Darla quickly moved to place a hand on Spike's chest, the hotheaded vampire looking like he was about to lunge at Angel. Meeting his eyes, Darla eyed him sternly, silently commanding him to get ahold of himself.
Reluctantly, Spike backed off, but not before firing one more venomous glare at Angel. "Piss off. Got more important things to do, anyway."
At that, Spike turned on his heels and stormed out of the room.
Darla, shaking her head, tried to call after him. "Spike, wait—"
"Let him go, Darla," Angel waved her off. "It's just Spike being Spike. Let him cool off. We've got more important things to worry about." Turning to Whistler. "This Deeper Well…where is it?"
"According to the Conduit, it's in England. The Cotswolds," Whistler replied, twirling the disk deftly between his fingers.
"England? That's on the other side of the ocean," Lindsey said in exasperation.
"And it's not like flying is a safe option for you. Plus, without Willow's magick, teleportation spells with our limited resources are too risky," Wesley reminded Angel.
"I can take care of that," Giles answered after a brief moment of thought, drawing all eyes to him. "I have a friend back in England who can help. Alasdair Coames."
Wesley eyed Giles in surprise. "The Alasdair Coames? The legendary Archmage? You know him?"
"For several decades, yes," Giles said. "We crossed paths during my more…let's just say wilder days," the longtime Watcher said, thinking back to those dark, rebellious times in his youth when he was more "Ripper" than Rupert.
"I've heard of him," Darla noted, impressed. "His magick and skill is feared even among the underworld."
"So, I take it this Coames guy is a big wig in the Hocus Pocus department," Kate guessed.
"I'll say," Lindsey replied. "Wolfram & Hart tried to recruit him a few times over the years for our Sorcery Division. He turned them down each time."
"Hmm, liking the guy already," Kate said snarkily. She still hadn't been able to warm up to Lindsey despite the last few days they had spent in the proverbial foxhole.
"He's a very powerful Archmage. His skills in magick are renowned across the world," Giles continued. "I'll give him a call, I'm sure he'll be glad to help."
Angel nodded at that. "Great. In the meantime, Whistler, brief me on everything the Conduit told you. I have a feeling the First isn't done making moves yet."
As the others continued to make their plans and argue, none of them bothered to take a look outside the small crack in the drapes leading to the outside of the window.
None of them bothered to see outside the street.
None of them could see a man in a long black jacket with shades hiding his face.
A man wearing a clerical collar.
A man smiling as if he had a secret only he knew.
"That's it, y'all," he drawled in a southern twang, smiling at the futility of their efforts. He had been waiting so patiently…for them. For her. The Slayer. And soon, she would be within his grasp. Soon…she would belong to him. "Sharpen your swords. Get the shields, get them splints to trim their wicks, but it ain't gonna mean nothin'. Great things are comin' 'round. Great, glorious things. You can't see it yet, you're blind, still…but you will." Smiling as he put on a black fedora hat. "A great day's comin'."
Chuckling to himself, Caleb walked down the empty street on Revello Drive singing an eerie old lullaby his mother once sang to him.
"He's got the whole world…in his hands
He's got the whole world…in his hands
He's got the whole world…in his hands
He's got the whole world in his hands…"
To Be Continued…
Next: As Buffy nears recovering, Angel makes a fateful decision, one that will impact both his and Buffy's future. And waiting in the wings…the man they call Caleb…
A/N: I borrowed the Hope's Dagger idea from the Buffy "Chaos Bleeds" video game and novel. Thought it would be appropriate to give that weapon to Angel instead of Buffy this time around. After all, it's a weapon made for a Champion of the PTBs and Angel is a Champion, so...
More to come soon. Peace!
-Jean-the Guardian
