Bring Me To Life—A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 39

Dirty Girls—Part 1


Angeles National Forest – 50 Miles from Los Angeles

3 Night Ago


"Faith!"

"Spike!"

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

The echoes of those panicked cries coming closer were enough to rouse Spike from his almost-smothering unconsciousness.

Growling, his vampire face slipping on and off amid the searing pain of his wounds and his struggle to get any sort of balance.

The bleedin' hell am I doin' in a forest? was the first thing that popped into Spike's mind.

Bits of what happened stared flashing before his eyes…something about that crazy witch Amy…Pearl and Nash, back from the presumed dead…Drusilla…the three bastards laughing at him as they held Faith hostage, Pearl's hands burning him with—

"Faith?"

The name slurred out of his lips through the pain, and he could smell her almost instantly before he saw her, the musk of her scent—earthy, somehow sweet, yet spicy—hitting his nose like a familiar perfume.

His eyes suddenly widened in horror as came across her sleeping form.

The brunette beauty lay strewn on the ground, on her side, her eyes shut and mouth slightly open, a hole in the back of her jacket and the smell of blood and singed flesh coming from her back. Hurriedly, Spike crawled over to her, turning her on her back as he lifted her upper torso off the ground.

"Faith? Faith…come on, luv, talk to me," Spike frantically, quietly pleaded as he gently, but quickly patted her pretty face.

He could hear her heart beat slowly, but he wasn't sure if it was because of sleep or if she was in some sort of coma. Either way, he knew he had to get her awake.

Despite his panic and worry, some part of Spike couldn't help but marvel at how even unconscious and covered with battle wounds, Faith was still so beautiful…

Swatting that thought away, he kept checking her pulse, the dull, slow throbbing of the warm skin over her jugular vein humming against his cold fingers. He kept trying to focus on getting her awake, bringing her back to the realm of the living. Ignoring the cruel, callous voices in his head that called him a failure, mocked him, sneered at his efforts, the echoes of Pearl's pitiless taunts calling him a murderer…

Calling him a failed, pathetic excuse for a hero…

That he couldn't save Faith…

That he couldn't save anyone…

That this was his fault this had happened to her…

That he was a monster through and through and that was all he'd ever be…

The chords of his voice were strained with desperation. "Faith!"

Her large brown eyes suddenly opened wide at the same time a sharp gasp escaped her lips. Dazed, confused, and instinctively, Faith threw a wild swing up at Spike that just narrowly missed his left cheek, the Slayer sharply breathing as she squirmed and flailed for several uncomfortable moments in his grip.

Her eyes were overflowing in panic and confusion. "N-no…G-guh-get away! Get—!"

Exasperated, Spike put his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy, Faith! Look at me…look at me…"

Recognition dawned in her eyes as her struggles ceased, staring up at the bruised blonde vampire as she lay for a moment in his arms. "Spike?" she breathed.

Off his nod, she grabbed her throbbing head. A jumble of panicked words tumbled out of her mouth. "Dru…Drusilla…she's here, she's…Nash…Kennedy, oh, God, he killed—"

"Easy, luv…easy," Spike soothingly urged her, one of his arms around her waist, his free hand gently brushing the left side of her face.

On some level, both warriors were aware the way the light of the full moon draped them both as a bruised Spike tenderly cradled a trembling Faith in his arms on the ground amid the earthy smell of the blanketing brown leaves and green, dew-covered grass would have almost been a romantic moment…if it wasn't for the fact they were both reeling from an ambush that nearly killed them both.

Her wide, expressive eyes grew mournful, haunted as she looked away, her breathing slow, but ragged, thoughts a jumbled mess but filled with the haunting sight of Kennedy's screaming, the sight of her body flying lifelessly through the air from Nash's blast. Another life she failed to save. Another person she let down…

"My fault…" she muttered, miserably. "…couldn't save her…God, it's all my fault—"

"Shh, don't worry about that yet. Breathe, Faith," Spike said softly. "Get your bearings first, yeah?"

Closing her eyes for a second, Faith took in deep pants of breath as she attempted to calm herself. Despite the situation, Spike couldn't help his eyes wandering down for a moment to appreciate the slow rise and fall of her generous chest, wrapped in a tight black t-shirt. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he focused on appraising her condition. The smell of blood was evident to his nose, but to his relief, it appeared her wounds seemed to be more superficial than crippling or life-threatening.

Wincing, he let one of his hands clutch his chest. The damn hole Pearl had dug into him was throbbing, aching, though he could feel his vampire healing start the painful beginnings of working to close the wound. It would take time, but with a little rest and some blood, he knew he'd bounce back. He'd had far worse than this. That knowledge allowed him to ignore his own pain and concentrate on Faith.

"You all right?"

His question rung in Faith's ears. Everything hurt.

"Got my ass kicked by a whacked-out dead chick and a hipster demon…head feels like I just got off an all-weekend bender…and I'm whimpering like a bunny rabbit in front of the cute guy I've been flirting on and off with the last few days…I'd say 'alright' left the station a while ago," Faith grunted as she clutched her head, still laying in Spike's lap.

Then, a slow blush coming over her face, she caught herself. "Uh…let's forget I said that last part, 'kay? Still loopy from the brain ju-ju."

Spike chuckled, which hurt his ribs. "Secret's safe with me, pet."

Suddenly self-conscious about her intimate proximity with Spike, Faith rolled on her side, breaking off the physical contact.

"Easy, Slayer, get your bearings," Spike worriedly warned.

Faith paid that no heed, brushing away his offered helping hand as she slowly, shakily managed to get to her knees. She took a moment, tenderly grabbed her aching ribs and shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

Once she had her bearings, she looked wearily at Spike. "Some date this turned out to be, huh?"

In a similar position as he knelt on the ground, Spike gave her a shaky smirk. "Could've been worse. Though next time? I'm thinkin' I pick the place, luv."

In spite of the gloominess of the situation, Faith couldn't help but smile a little. This Spike really was something else…

"Faith! Spike!"

Looking up in alarm, both fighters struggled to get to their feet quickly, ready for another fight…until they saw a worried Willow come through the brushes, Whistler not far behind.

"Thank Hecate…are you guys okay?" Willow asked, panicked.

Sighing, Faith and Spike let down their guard, though an injured Spike had to lean on Faith when he let his guard down. "We're good. A little bloody, pretty bruised…but still kickin'," Faith said with a nod.

Spike scrunched his eyes suspiciously at Whistler. "The bloody hell is Messenger Boy doin' 'ere? Shouldn't you be doing the pow-wow bit with the High and Mighties?"

"Pow-wow got cut short, White Wedding," Whistler said, ignoring the scowl Spike threw him at the obvious Billy Idol reference. "Felt something stirring in the balance. It got thrown way off. Figured I'd go where I could make the most difference."

"Lucky he showed up when he did," Willow sighed, looking gratefully at the demon messenger. "I owe you one. Another two, three seconds and I'd have been toast."

"No worries, Doll Face," Whistler winked. "Evening the odds. Part of the job description."

"Well, it looks like it's safe to say this was a trap," Spike said as he still clutched his side painfully, pointedly looking at Willow.

The redhead's pretty face flushed with shame. "This is all my fault," Willow uttered, miserably. "I-I-I let my temper get the better of me. Amy wanted us to come up here, she wanted me out of the hotel, but I was so obsessed with getting even with her that I didn't think—"

"Easy, Red," Whistler said, taking pity on her. "You screwed up. It happens. There's no way you could've known it was a fake-out."

"But I should have," Willow muttered, looking away, embarrassed.

"Wait up. You said Amy wanted us up here," Faith suddenly spoke up, frowning. "What does that mean?"

Faith didn't miss the worried looks exchanged between Whistler and Willow before the witch answered. "While we were fighting, Amy spilled the beans. Looks like her and the others are working for the First. They wanted me up here as a diversion while they made the real attack."

Faith paled as she understood the trap. "The hotel. They were after that crystal thing all along."

Realizing their folly, Spike cursed as he threw his head up in dismay. "Damn it! They wanted to leave the others without any muscle or mojo protection. I knew this was a bad idea!"

"Settle down, cats and kittens," Whistler said. "First things first. Let's find the others and get back down to the hotel. Red, can you 'port us?"

"No…I-I-I don't think I can," a worried Willow said, looking at her shaking right hand. "I've been trying to use magick while we were climbing up here to find the others. Something's…something's wrong. I don't know what Warren zapped me with, but I can't use my magick. Nothing's working."

"Great. This night just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" Spike muttered.

"Relax," Whistler said. "I've got a small little trinket in my pocket for sitches like this. One shot, but I can get us back there in a flash. But we need to find Ozzie Osborne and the little angry chick."

At the mention of Kennedy, Faith looked sadly to Willow. "Red, I…don't think Kennedy made it."

"What?" a stunned Willow asked. "Why? What are you saying?"

"In the fight, that guy…Nash or whatever…he zapped Kennedy pretty good. She was trying to help me," Faith said, apologetically. "I think she's dead, Will. I'm sorry."

"No, she's not," Whistler interjected before a panicked Willow could open her mouth. "I can sense her life force. It's faint, maybe she's hurt or taking a nap…but she's definitely alive."

"Are you sure?" Faith asked, a bit of relief spreading through her. Despite the former rogue Slayer being no fan of Kennedy, she was still an ally and had tried to help her out.

"Positive," Whistler nodded. Looking to Willow, who was also breathing a sigh of relief at his revelation of Kennedy's condition. "Your call, Red. How you wanna do this?"

Willow took a moment to weigh the situation. At last, she turned back to the group. "Spike, Faith, go find Kennedy." Turning to Whistler. "Whistler, right? Do you think you can help me find Oz?"

Nodding, Whistler said, "Sure, but we better hurry. Teen Wolf's making a beeline through these woods. And there's no telling what his state of mind is in when he's full-on man-imal."

Looking away towards the forest, a look of worry was etched all over Willow's face. Her reply to Whistler was quiet and anxious. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Surprisingly, it didn't take them long to find Oz after the groups had split up.

Roughly ten minutes into looking through the forest, Whistler's senses guided he and Willow up the massive hill towards a small clearing that led to a ledge overlooking the rest of the forest.

As they observed him from afar in a patch of bushes that hid them from sight, Willow felt her heart ache for Oz, still in wolf form, as he curled into a ball and whimpered quietly, looking alone and sad. She didn't need to sense his thoughts to see he was obviously feeling guilty, wracked with torment over nearly losing control and threatening her life.

As she tried to get closer, Whistler reached out his hand, trying to push her back. "Whoa now. You sure this is a good idea?"

"I have to try," Willow said, insistent. "If there's anyone who can reach him right now, it's me."

"And what if he doesn't?"

Willow swallowed, nervously. "You as fast as you are strong when you get all, y'know, blue and glow-y?"

"Honestly…it's a toss-up," he shrugged.

"Not helping," a mildly annoyed and mostly worried Willow replied, inching out of her hiding spot and walking slowly towards the wolf.

As the wolf sensed her presence, it immediately lifted its head and quickly got into a defensive crouch. Yet it backed away from her, snarling angrily but not moving to attack.

Gulping as she knew she was taking a major chance approaching the creature without her magick to defend her, Willow nervously tried to reach out to him. "Oz?"

It snarled, yet it turned its head away. And she could have sworn she could see some of the real Oz in there. The man holding back the beast. Emboldened, she tried again. "Oz…it's me. Willow. You know me."

The wolf's eyes meeting hers, she felt her heart skip with hope, but kept going.

"Oz, it's okay. I know that wasn't you back there. You would never hurt me. You'd never hurt anyone. That isn't you. You know that," she pleaded, yet her voice growing thicker with resolve. "You're not the wolf. You're the man. I know that because I know you. I've always known you. You're stronger than this. Stronger than you know."

The wolf still growled, but lowered his head. As if it couldn't look her in the eyes. As if it were ashamed to.

But Willow would not give up. Not on Oz. Never on Oz…

"We can't do this without you. Oz…please…come back. You can do this. We need you." She swallowed, her eyes connecting with the wolf's in a deep, poignant stare. "I need you."

The next, pleading words fell from her mouth, but came from somewhere deep in her heart.

"Oz…please…come back to me."

Slowly, something in the wolf's amber eyes changed, and before Willow had time to question it, the wolf had found its way into her embrace, whimpering and whining as it allowed her arms to wrap around its neck…

and the next moment, he was no longer the wolf. Fur shifted away to smooth beige skin, his snout melting back into a familiar face. The face of the man who had never left Willow's heart.

Time seemed to stand still as the two former lovers comforted each other in the light of the moon. Neither of them had noticed that by now, Faith and Spike had managed to catch up to them. A still unconscious Kennedy was slung over Spike's shoulder, the wounded vampire leaning on Faith for support.

Taking in the sight of the two ex-sweethearts sharing a tender moment, Spike couldn't help manage a shaky smirk.

"Must be something in the air tonight," he quipped lightly, though his eyes trailed to Faith, almost as if asking a question of her that dare not leave his lips.

Their eyes met for a brief, scary…and somehow tender moment.

"Yeah. The air," she said cautiously, the hand she wrapped around Spike's waist for support suddenly feeling a lot warmer despite the cool air around them.

"Hate to interrupt the TLC session, but we really should get moving now," Whistler said as he made his way to Spike and Faith's side. But as he started to move towards Willow and Oz, Faith stuck out her free hand, urging him back.

"Not yet," Faith said, taking a look back at the once-couple. Her voice was a raspy hush, speaking almost reverently of what she was watching in front of her. "Just…give them a minute. I think they earned it."

As Spike watched her, he could see something soften in the Slayer's large brown eyes. Something that looked almost like envy, but something more…like she was yearning. Needing to connect with someone the way the witch and the werewolf had connected with each other. He could sympathize, he reckoned. Hell, he'd been down that road more than his fair share of times…

In the back of his mind, Drusilla's words about Faith echoed like a haunting melody—"Heart like a lost puppy. Bruised, but wanting. She thinks you can be more...she's all you can see...all I can see in you..."

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he let his gaze linger on Faith a moment longer before he turned his eyes back to the former high school sweethearts.

His eyes shut tightly, Oz buried his face in the crook of Willow's neck. His voice was a ragged, anguished whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," Willow hushed him quietly, her eyes shut as she held him, grateful tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. "It's okay…you're okay…you're home, Oz…you're home."


1630 Revello Drive—The Summers Home

3 Days Later

Days Left Before The End of Days: 17


Fuming, livid and all out of flying anythings to give, Spike angrily stormed downstairs. He'd had more than enough of Angel and his hogging the limelight to last him for an eternity.

Slumping down as he sat on the steps, he fumbled about in the inside pocket of his leather duster for his pack of cigarettes. Finally grasping the carton firmly, he pulled one out, lit up the drag with his lighter and put it to his lips, savoring the smoky fumes as they filled his mouth. Closing his eyes, he silently relished a moment to quiet his rage…

"You craving a moment alone in the dank? Or can I bum one?"

His startled blue eyes opened at the sound of that raspy, yet decidedly feminine voice hidden in the dark.

Faith.

Lying on his cot. In a pair of black yoga pants that hugged every dangerous curve tightly, a form-fitting orange workout top that left little to the imagination and a lazy, yet sizzling smile on her full pouty lips. He could smell a few beads of sweat on her, and he knew almost instantly she had just finished her workout maybe a few minutes ago.

If Spike's heart could still beat, it would have skipped a couple.

Still, she was a welcome distraction from his anger at the moment. With a small half-smile of his own and a thick chuckle that rumbled from his chest, he slowly strode over and offered the lady a cigarette.

"Those things'll kill you, ya know," he offered, yet he still gave her his lighter.

As she lit the cigarette, she cocked an eyebrow at him before smirking. "Hey…who wants to live forever, right?"

I guess she has a point, Spike relented inwardly. The only thing immortality seems to have brought him in the last few decades was heartache, battle after grueling battle and an unwanted new conscience haunting him from all the evil crap he'd ever done in his life. Still…sometimes it had its perks. Now, for instance, as he watched the sultry beauty he'd been doing this strange dance with for weeks lying in his cot, all smoking and glistening and half-naked-ing.

"Clever girl. Eh…it's not so bad," Spike shrugged as he sat beside her, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Though you'd have to ease up on the smokes then, too. Teeth get yellow, after an eternity. Gotta watch that."

Shrugging, Faith offered a noncommittal, "Huh."

They sat there, in the dark. A long moment passed. Both vampire and Slayer's eyes locked with each other, hesitant, tentatively feeling each other out. Yet still…they contemplated each other.

Turning to her slowly, Spike's blue eyes softened slightly. "You holdin' up okay, pet?"

In a stark contrast, Faith's dark brown eyes turned to stone as she turned to him, a glacial stare fixed on her pretty face. "Why?"

"Just curious, is all," a now-apprehensive Spike explained. Silently, he was hoping she would be open to talking about what happened in the park. It had been haunting him for a couple of days, and not just because of getting dog-piled by his insane ex-, his homicidal one-night stand and her piss-ant of a brother. He had never seen Faith look as vulnerable as she had that night. And if it bothered him, he could only imagine what it felt like for someone as proud as she was…

Faith's reply was terse, and Spike could almost see the walls she had built around herself rise from the ground up. "Well, you shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"Right." He knew better than to press when she wasn't willing to share. Lord knew he wasn't a sharer himself. So he wisely let it drop. For now, anyway. Took another puff of his cigarette. "Of course you are."

Faith said nothing, just stared at him defensively for a moment before she allowed herself to relax and inhaled a deep breath of smoke and nicotine. Yet her eyes never left him. Nor did his leave her. An awkward moment as they smoked. They weren't exactly smoking buddies, yet on some level, they knew they were becoming much more than that. Still…they contemplated each other.

Upstairs, distant shrieking from the girls was heard. The sound of glass breaking instantly told them that they could probably kiss that glass vase in the hallway Giles once gave Joyce as a birthday present goodbye.

Faith groaned, annoyed. Those kids were starting to get on her nerves, hearing their annoying trampling and giggling all through her workout. "No more Starbucks for the wannabes, man. They've been spazzing for, like, hours."

"Yeah. Gets a bit much up there," Spike nodded. Teenagers, he winced as he thought to himself. Glad I never have to do that rut again.

As if she could read his mind, Faith gave him a light swat on the arm. "They're good girls," she explained, sighing. "Just green, is all."

Despite knowing the answer might be him getting a punch to the mouth, Spike had to ask the question. "So how come you're not up there…imparting?"

To his relief, Faith's answer was calm, but just a bit guarded. "Not up for it…not right now. Besides, that's Buffy's thing. Or Angel's. Anyway…I just spent a good stretch of time locked away with a mess of female types. Kinda had my fill."

Spike wanted to press further, but was willing to accept her explanation at face value. Again…for now. "Hmm."

Another pregnant pause in the conversation followed.

"So…things sounded kinda tense up there." Off Spike's surprised look, Faith gave a dispassionate shrug. "Didn't hear everything, but the floorboards here don't hide much. Heard you and Angel start getting into it…again."

Off her cocked eyebrow at the word 'again,' Spike frowned, remembering why he was down here in the first place. "Yeah." He couldn't help the way his teeth grinded in his mouth. "Turns out there's some magic sword or whatnot those Powers That Can Piss Off say their Golden Boy's supposed to find so he can save the day again."

He could tell that bit of news did surprise Faith. "Oh…well, that's good, right?" she asked. "I mean…that we might have a chance to win. Lord knows we could use a few breaks after the First and its pals played Kick The Can with our asses and jacked our stuff."

"Sure. It's good. It's all good," he drawled, sarcastically. "Angel gets to play the big shining hero, again, Angels gets to get the limelight, the praise, all those nonces upstairs callin' him a Champion, everything's all good. No need for anyone else to hang about."

Despite knowing better, Faith couldn't help but chuckle a little at Spike's tantrum. "He really gets under your skin, doesn't he?"

"No." The word popped forcefully from his lips, eyebrows drawn down hard in a defensive scowl. "Not…maybe a little bit."

He paused, sighing. He paused for a long time. Then out of nowhere, what he asked next surprised even himself. "Do you think I'm good?"

Faith was not expecting that, turning confused eyes to him. "What?"

"Simple enough question, pet. Most of that lot up there can't stand the sight of me, Buffy and I are in a weird place, and the Nibblet just doesn't know any better…but you don't seem to mind me being around." His eyes asked a poignant, yet silent question. "Just curious as to why that was."

"Why not?" She emphasized her reply with a casual shrug, trying to mask her own surprise at his sudden, very personal question. "If this is about what you did when you were, y'know, evil, hey, I'm not exactly somebody to judge, dude. God knows I have enough skeletons in my closet. And I know what it's like to want to start over. Way I see it, if you're not gonna judge me, I've got no reason to throw stones your way."

"Still didn't answer my question," he said, cocking his head as he asked her solemnly. "Do you think I'm good?"

Faith had no idea why, but the earnest way he was looking at her was making her nervous. And yet it warmed something in her at her core, something she dared not give voice to…not yet. She eyed him curiously. "Why does it matter what I think?"

"Because it does."

There he was again, with that earnestness. No dry smile, no quick wit, no flirty dancing about the subject. Faith wasn't sure what to do with that, and honestly wasn't sure if she was ready for that. Yet she could feel a part of her, that lonely little girl she once was, the doe-eyed ingénue teenage kid still growing into her body, the parts she had locked away deep in her heart for fear of risking getting hurt again…stretch out and want to touch that open hand that she could almost feel Spike extending invisibly towards her.

And honestly, it was wigging her out.

"Why?" She asked again, guardedly, but with a softness blunting the edge of that one-word question.

But she wasn't the only guarded one here. "I'm the one askin' the questions, luv," Spike bristled a bit, trying to regain control of the situation.

But Faith was not one who liked any form of control that wasn't her own. "Like I give a shit,' she replied bluntly, a small scoff escaping her lips. "Answer mine, and maybe I'll answer yours."

Spike could feel his brow crease in frustration, as he slowly, but tersely replied, "Because it just…does."

That wasn't enough for Faith. "Why's that?"

"Because I like you, alright?" he snapped, frustrated and out of patience. If she wanted to go there, fine, he thought, they might as well bloody well go there. Throw out all the cards and toss them on the blasted table. "I…hell, you probably already knew. It's just…after…after that night in the forest…I dunno, I…it's like I can't stop thinking about you, ya know? And it's drivin' me crazy. Faith…I'm not gonna pretend I get what this thing is between me and you, luv. Because I don't. But fer whatever reason, when you look at me, I get this feeling that…that you think I can be more than just some sod with a long lifespan and a body count on him."

He sighed, letting his guard down for a bit, blue eyes softening again as he looked at Faith, a rare moment of vulnerability he allowed few others to see. "And I was thinking if I could get some…inkling of why that was…then maybe I wouldn't have to feel like I'm such a…scumbag…most of the time, y'know?"

As Spike looked down and away in quiet misery, something in the way he said it—miserable, but hopeful, seeking some kind of approval—clicked inside Faith. She'd been there before, where Spike was. Seeing the dirty looks whenever she walked into a room and having to smile and no-sell it. Feeling like if there was someone, anyone, who believed in her…like Angel did…that maybe she'd have a prayer of not feeling like she was a piece of garbage. A murderer. Fallen Slayer.

A dirty girl, the thought echoed bitterly in her mind.

With a sigh, she stretched out her hand and gently lifted Spike's chin with her finger so that her eyes and his were locked.

"I've met scumbags. Fought scumbags. Hell, I've slept with a couple of 'em." Off his confused look, Faith gave him a ghost of a smile. "You're a lot of things, Spike. Hard-headed. Stubborn. A short-fused, chain-smoking, sometimes too-damn-cocky-for-his-own-good mess of a guy…but you are not a scumbag."

His lips twitched just a bit and she could tell he was fighting, questioning whether to smile or not.

"Scumbags don't stick around after they get dumped," she continued, her voice softening a bit. "No scumbag I've ever met risked their life for me or kids like Dawn and Connor. And a scumbag wouldn't get all protective about people tryin' to get on my case when I'm just looking for a little privacy."

Off his surprised look, she offered him a faint, knowing smile. "Floorboards don't hide much."

Silently, wordlessly…they connected. And not just with their eyes, his stark blue ones and her rich, brown orbs locked in a stare neither one of them could break. It was something deeper, something much more private and intimate that neither one of them easily shared…and once shared, not something that either one of them could easily shake.

With a slow movement, she found her hands drifting over his jeans and she gently pushed him back onto the cot. His eyes were filled with surprise, wonder and a none-too-subtle spark of lust and something much deeper that warmed the cold, dark corners of her well-hidden, often broken heart.

Her voice was gentle, but her grin was sizzling. "Take your pants off, Spike."

His blue eyes widened in shock. "What?"

Her grin never faltered. "You heard me."

"Faith…" He reached out and put his hands just above the waistline of her pants, trying his best at ignoring the warm skin and trimmed muscle beneath his cool touch. Trying so hard to ignore how the light perspiration kissing her skin made her almost glow, shine in the dark. As much as he wanted her, he was seeking something deeper. Sex, he realized, wasn't going to give him what he wanted…well, not all of it. "I thought we were…y'know…gonna take it slow, luv. A few dates. Roses, chocolates, poems, the proper wooin'."

She raised her eyebrows snarkily. "Seriously? Who says 'woo' anymore?"

Spike wouldn't let her off that easily. "Pet…Don't change the subject."

"Well, I may not let you get all the way to home plate, Blue Eyes, but it doesn't mean I can't let you advance a few bases." Her smile was teasing, her scent intoxicating, her eyes extending him an invitation to take her, all of her, long legs, firm, toned ass, full round lips and all, to heights they'd never reached…all the way to the moon and back again. "Besides, you're kinda cute when you're whining."

He frowned. "Hey! I wasn't whi—"

She silenced him with a gentle "ssh" and gently put one red-nailed finger to his lips. Gave him a wink. "And I owe you for saving my ass back at that demon bar, so…"

It would have been so easy for him to give in.

To pull off those pants hiding those tight, long legs of hers, rip off her top and lose himself in her, to give in to the burning ache in his skin to taste her, touch her, to let the siren song of carnal pleasure whispering in both of their ears lead them to the Promised Land and back again…but deep down, he knew that wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted more. He wanted to touch her on another level…to connect with her in a way he'd never connected with anyone. He wanted all of her, and for her to want him the same way. And while she might not say it…he suspected she wanted that, too.

"Maybe." He reached up and gently traced the beautiful curves of her face. His grin was electric to her. "After."

She frowned. "After what?" The way her body was screaming, she was more in the mood for "Mr. Right Now", not "Mr. Right After."

"Come out with me tonight." Off her puzzled expression, he smiled and explained. "My bike's all fixed up. You, me, fresh air, the open road, night sky…could be fun."

"Is this a date?"

Her eyes were questioning, the tone in her voice slightly defensive. But Spike couldn't miss the small glimmer of hope, of something deeper sparkling in her eyes, lighting up the dark. Well, Spike, you've gone all the way now, he realized. No turning back now. Just go all in…

"Damn right it is." He grinned at her again. "You in?"

He held his breath, worried about her silence for a moment. Then, as she saw a smile slowly creep onto her lips, he knew at that moment that he made the right choice.

"Okay, Hero…" She smiled, reaching down to stroke the crunchy waves of his hair, leaning down just a hair's breadth from his lips. His eyes met hers, electricity crackling between the slivers of space between them. Together, they were fire.

Her voice rasped with desire, setting every cell in his body aflame. "Take me for a ride."


Shadow Valley Vineyard – Sunnydale

Same Time


Who was it said about being the vine? Oh, yeah.

Caleb smiled as he looked around the vineyard. The vineyard was the power center was "where it was at", as they used to say back before Caleb and the serpent formed an understanding: No touching.

Caleb poured himself a small one from one of the dozens of barrels and huge casks settin' about. Bringers hovered in the corners. The others on his "team" were off in their own respective tasks.

The boy, Warren something, and his slut witch were off tinkerin' with some gadget of his. The female vampire, Deser-illa or some-whatnot, was elsewhere, entertaining her...appetites. Those albino-lookin' twins, Pearl and Nash, went with her, needing to keep themselves entertained. Rayne, filthy foreign swine that he was, had been buzzing around the vineyard, getting together spells and ingredients related to keeping his master's new body up and running. And then there was Big Ugly, the horned Beast himself. He had become something of a bodyguard for the boss in the last few days, the horned giant never too far from wherever his master was. He was also entasked with guarding the newly-acquired Keystone, the briefcase with the crystal usually in its stony grip.

This wasn't the crew Caleb would have chosen for himself. But The First had a design, a vision in mind. While Caleb had his doubts, he ultimately relented to his master's wishes. After all…he knew a thing or two about having faith.

"Drink of this, for it is my blood," Caleb said, quoting the sacred Biblical quote of Jesus Christ. He tasted the wine and continued his conversation.

"You know, I always loved the story of the Last Supper," he said, looking at the thick crimson aged Burgundy wine, swirling it about in his glass as he turned, slowly pacing the room. "The body and blood of Christ becoming rich, red wine. I recall, as a boy, though, I couldn't help but think…what would happen if you were at the Last Supper, and you ordered the white? A nice oaky Chardonnay or White Zin... I mean, would he make that out of his lymph or some-all?"

He shrugged, mirthlessly chuckling at his blasphemous joke. "Never did bring it up. Suppose there was a reason why I never spent too long in one parish. Just looking for answers. Just looking for the Lord in the wrong damn places." He smiled darkly, looking behind him. "'Till you showed me the light."

Out of the darkness, Jasmine/The First came…and stepped into the light.

Its voice was filled with mild bemusement. "You don't…do you think I'm God?"

As he beheld his master's form, Caleb shook his head. He never understood why the embodiment of sin and darkness would have chosen to use the form of a woman to house its power. Would have been better off choosing a barnyard cow, he reckoned, at least it'd be good for somethin' else. But he was not about to openly question it now, now after all the great wonders it had wrought in such a short time—the fall of the Ratet, the destruction of the Watchers Council, those filthy lawyer folk brought to their knees and now, the Keystone itself. All leading to the greatest reckoning ever to be seen by mortal eyes. And Caleb was only too glad to play witness and shepherd.

"I certainly do not," Caleb casually assured it. "I'm beyond concepts like that."

"But you still wear the outfit," Jasmine/The First mused, indicating his collar and all-black attire. "Even though you were de-frocked and kicked out of the order.

He eyed his master suspiciously. "Speakin' of outfits, I can sense you're not in your new ones."

Jasmine/The First shrugged, but was silently impressed. Caleb was surprisingly astute, one of the things that had first drawn it to the unstable young man.

"The Beast has my new body under watchful guard. The body is…incredibly powerful," she/it said, closing its eyes as it seemed to relish the thought of its newfound power. "But I'm still getting used to it. I can feel whatever's left of Jasmine's built-in safeguards still fighting me. If I overuse it now, it would leave me…vulnerable."

"That could be a problem," Caleb mused.

"Not for long," Jasmine/The First smoothly reassured her most trusted servant. "With every merging, I can feel my bond with her body growing stronger. Pretty soon, I can put on my new duds any time I want."

"Thought for sure you'd be celebratin', what, with you gettin' yer hands on that there shiny crystal doo-dad. Got everything you need for the Big Day."

"Almost everything," Jasmine/The First corrected him. "There's still a few days left before The Awakening. The dimensions are aligning themselves even as we speak. As long as I have the Keystone, all we have to do is kill the clock…and maybe a few of those bothersome heroes the Slayer and that cute little vampire boyfriend of hers surround themselves with among the way." She gave him the once-over. "But back to my original question. Why wear the colors of a religious order you rejected? One that threw you out, as well?"

Fair enough, Caleb inwardly conceded that point.

"Man can't turn his back on what he come from," he shrugged. "Besides, black is slimming. Everyone knows that."

Its voice was a sultry purr. "Speaking of slim…"

With that, Jasmine/The First suddenly changed its figure. Morphed into a smaller, but beautiful blonde woman, one with sharp green eyes, a sultry gray blouse and tight black pants. The kind of filthy girl Caleb had sworn to cleanse.

Her voice was silky, taunting as she gave him a coquettish little twirl, letting him see all of her lovely body at every angle. "How do you like what I'm wearing?

Caleb gave it/her a once-over, and shrugged dispassionately. "Just another dirty girl. And, since you only dress up in dead folk, I'm guessing, one who's already been paid her wage."

"Look…harder," The First insisted, amused by his confusion. And as he did, up and down, not with any lust, but carefully, searching for something, it was all The First could do from laughing.

He came close and stared into its/her eyes. Her smirk was taunting. "What do you see?"

He thought it over and cautiously revealed his conclusions. "Strength," he replied, slowly. "And the loneliness that comes with real strength."

The First sighed in disappointment. "Aww. And nothing about my pert and bouncy hairdo?"

It was as if something suddenly crystallized in his mind, Caleb finally getting it. "You…you're…her."

Buffy /The First smiled a twisted grin in affirmation. "The Slayer."

Caleb stood there, mesmerized as he stared at the small blonde beauty in front of him. His voice was hushed, almost a whisper. "At long last."

For weeks and months, Caleb had all but begged The First to let him see the face of this girl he had heard all the tales and legends about.

The Slayer.

The Chosen One.

The One Girl in All the World…who dared to upset the natural order of things, threaten Man's place in this world as the most powerful, the mightiest, the top of the food chain. But every time he had asked, sometimes demanded to see the face of this little slut, he was rebuffed. You have to earn that, his master would taunt him. The waiting built to longing which built to frustration and blinding fury within the fallen preacher, and he was only too happy to take that out on every Potential he had sought out personally and strangled, stabbed and suffocated with his own bare hands. With every broken neck, every frightened tear, every last gasp of air, every spilled drop of blood of those filthy harlots, he knew he was one step closer to his ultimate prey, his greatest quarry…The Slayer herself.

And now, there she was. Standing in front of him in the proverbial—but not literal, yet—flesh. Eyes all green and righteous, all painted up, sinful perfume wafting off her, trying to tempt him, smiling as if she had a secret that made her so much better than everyone else…the whore probably so damn sure of herself.

Slowly, he extended his hand towards her pretty face…only for the hand to slide harmlessly through the image. Yet Caleb did not frown…he was too elated with the sight.

After what felt like an eternity, the nameless shadow he had chased in his darkest fantasies night after night, that he had strangled again and again in his dreams now had a face.

One word came to Caleb's mind as he processed this information. Finally.

Pulling away his hand, he stared in amazement, a dazed, almost delirious smile on his otherwise handsome face, circling and hovering over the image of this young woman like a hawk hovering over a wounded rabbit. "All this time. All the work I've done for you... Blowin' up the Watchers Council, organizin' the Ray Charles Brigade, and stickin' all them splits, those 'Potentials', you called 'em—you never showed me. Until now." He paused, frowning. "And to think I thought you were gonna wipe her out before I even got a chance to see her face."

Buffy/ The First gave him a silky grin. "Well, hey, you've earned it. Yes, I could have crushed her like a bug, but it would be pointless. What's a big party without guests?" She winked at him flirtatiously. "Besides, there's nothing she can do to stop me now. So while I prepare for the big day, I'm giving you your shot at her. The one you've been waiting for. I trust you'll swing for the fences. And you'll be meeting her soon. Am I right?"

Caleb smiled, savoring the thought. It had been all he had been dreaming about, fantasizing about, night and day. It was enough to make him give into his more…well…base urges. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, she'll get the message."

"That she will. With a little…bait," the dark entity replied. Cocking its head, it motioned to a table where a folder lay. Slowly, he walked over and began thumbing through the files. Studying the picture of a young, pretty teenage girl.

He smirked as he looked over the file. "Hmm…been a good two, three days since the last Potential I killed. Could always use the practice."

"Her name is Shannon Jones," Buffy/The First told Caleb as he studied the file. "Potential Slayer. 17 years old, from Portland, Oregon. A runaway orphan since age 12. She watched some of our boys cut up her Watcher into itty bitty pieces a few nights ago. Was the only thing resembling family the poor little dear had," it said in syrupy, mock sympathy. "With his dying breath, her Watcher told her to find the Slayer. She's been running for the last few nights ever since, desperately trying to find the Slayer's home. Drusilla's vision puts her as being about 10 miles from here."

It smiled darkly as it looked at its murderous disciple. "Be a dear and make her feel at home, won't you?"

Caleb's eyes glinted in the dark, evil thoughts dancing in them. "I'll give her a proper welcome she deserves. Slayer will come runnin' like a moth to the flame after that."

"And what makes you so sure she'll come?" she/it asked him.

With a smirk, Caleb pointed to its master and nodded, thinking back to one of the oldest scriptures in the Good Book. "Curiosity. Woman's first sin. I offer her an apple. What can she do but take it?"

Satisfied, Buffy/The First gave him a slow, evil smile. Returning a dark grin of his own, he raised his glass as a toast to the image of the Slayer. The image of his prey.

And he drained it down, his taste buds relishing the sweet heavy taste of the red wine and his hands already tingling with the future feeling of his hands around her slender throat, her last, desperate dying gasp the sweetest song his ears could ever hear. Hallelujah.

With a grin full of malice, he winked at his future victim. "I'll see you soon."


1630 Revello Drive, The Summers Home—Buffy's Room

Afternoon


As she slept, trying so hard to rest and heal her injuries, Buffy tosses and stirred, her eyes shut as she dreamed…

The ocean of sheets and blankets stirred and swayed all around Buffy and Angel as they lay bathed in moonlight. Their bodies melded seamlessly into each other, their sighs and moans blending into a soft, melodious sound. Buffy lost herself in the feel of Angel's hands roaming across her body as her small frame wriggled underneath his larger one.

His mouth pressing teasing, light kisses against her. Straining with need, she arched up, her eyelids fluttering like a butterfly and her mouth opened to form a small, perfect "O". Her sun-kissed, toned body glistened even as the cool breeze from the open window caressed her bare flesh. It was the sweetest torture, the most wonderful madness. But if this was madness, she wanted to be lost in this madness forever, sanity be damned.

Her heart was a jackhammer pounding in her chest, every nerve in her body alive as she marveled at her lover's skill. Buffy whimpered. A soft moan escaped her lips as cool flesh met the warmth hers.

His voice was a gentle sea wave as it passed across her lips between his gentle kisses. "I love you…"

"Angel…" she whispered his name in a reverent, strained hush, cradling the back of his soft hair of his head as he gently trailed kisses down her neck.

Buffy thought she knew heaven. She thought she knew peace. She was wrong, she realized, as her lover gently worshipped the skin above her jugular, the vein thrumming like a guitar against his touch. This was heaven. This was paradise. Nothing could be more than this…

She gently opened her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her lover's face…

…only to find the cold stare and the smirking form of Jasmine / The First staring back at her.

Her light green eyes widened and her body went rigid, a gasp escaping her lips as she stared up at her enemy, yet Angel didn't seem to notice, continuing kissing his way down her neck. Flanking her/it to the right was a man in a preacher collar who she'd never seen before, handsome, but the taint of madness and hatred clouding his dark brown eyes. To its left, the Beast stood, baleful amber eyes boring into her, a disdainful sneer on its face.

Buffy frantically tried to nudge Angel, but he was too lost in ecstasy to notice. She looked to her nightstand for her stake, but her weapon was too far away. All she could do was stare helplessly up at the dark trio hovering over her like a swinging sword.

Jasmine / The First smiled coldly at her. "It really is true what they say. Sharing the love…can set you free."

A brief moment of confusion passed over her pretty face at its words, but she didn't have long to ponder them. For in the next moment, Angel's head jerked up…

…in full vampire face.

The way his yellow eyes gleamed, the snarl that ripped from his throat was nothing resembling the man she loved. What she stared up into was something cruel, vicious and altogether evil…

"Loveerr," his voice growled out, and all she could do was stare up in fear and shock as his hands suddenly tightened around her soft wrists, binding her helplessly underneath him.

And before she could even form a thought, his fangs were slipping into the soft flesh of her neck, combining blinding pleasure with blinding pain until she could no longer distinguish between them. An icy wave of fear washed over her as she closed her eyes and cried out her anguish, her scream piercing the night…

"Buffy?"

"Buffy…"

In an instant, Buffy reached up and grabbed the form in front of her by the front of its shirt before she opened her eyes. "No! Angel, you…"

The startled cry that came from the figure taking shape suddenly was way too feminine and high-pitched to be Angel.

"God!" a startled, wide-eyed Cordelia blurted out. "What is your PTSD issue?"

Staring in shock, her panic starting to fade into recognition, Buffy stared at the Seer in confusion. "Cordelia?"

"Doy!" she said in an annoyed tone, prying Buffy's hand off her form-hugging silk blue shirt. "If this is the kind of treatment you give out when someone brings you lunch, you can call take-out next time, broken back or not, sister!"

Buffy looked around, the familiar settings of her room and the stuffed pig on her book shelf setting in…along with the soreness and sharp pain along her back, as she hissed and settled back down on the bed. Her breathing was sharp, her eyes wide but allowing herself to relax.

"It was just a dream?" she realized.

"No kidding," Cordelia huffed, smoothing her shirt along her front. But off seeing the distressed look on the blonde's face, the Seer softened her tone a bit. She wasn't the one whose spine had recently been snapped like a twig, after all. "You okay?"

Buffy stared away at the striped wallpaper of her room. "Depends on your definition of 'Okay'," she sighed, morosely.

Off Buffy's somewhat depressed response, Cordelia felt pity for her. All the years growing up in high school, she had taken for granted just how much Buffy had put on the line when she took on the forces of darkness on a nightly basis. It was only until L.A. and watching Angel struggle with this exhausting battle night after night that the former rich girl had finally gained some understanding of the risks that went along with being a hero.

"It's…good to see you awake," Cordelia offered, a small smile on her face. "You had us worried for a while."

Buffy's eyes tentatively locked with Cordelia's in an uneasy stare. Yet the brunette felt comfortable enough now to sit on the bed, just next to Buffy.

Buffy frowned as she thought on the Seer's words. "Was I…how were things while I was…?"

"Borderline comatose?" Cordelia asked bluntly.

There it was, the famous Cordelia Chase frankness that Buffy had come to know and…tolerate. "Yeah. That," Buffy wryly replied.

Cordelia winced. "Sorry. I've been working on that," she sheepishly replied at her last statement.

Buffy gave her a wane smile. "It's okay."

"Things were…kinda crazy," Cordelia said, recalling the last few days. "Everyone was buzzing in here the first few days while you were out of it. We wanted to take you to a hospital, but with The First being more solid now and us left without much in the magical protection department, we figured we'd take you somewhere where we had home field advantage. Angel was in pretty bad shape, too. I don't think I saw him leave your side for more than a few minutes after he woke up."

That made Buffy smile. That sounded just like Angel.

"Willow's mojo is pretty much ka-put thanks to some creep named Warner Smears or something and Amy—and geez, since when did she turn full-on supervillain? You guys have to keep us in the loop more often—but between her and Wesley, we were able to fix your back so you wouldn't end up full-blown Stephen Hawking." Cordelia motioned to the tray next to her, which had a turkey sandwich, a pastry, a glass of water and an odd-smelling tea. "Wes and Willow asked me to bring you this. The tea has some magic healing herbs or something. Won't fix everything overnight, but it should speed up the healing process, hopefully get you back on your feet in no time."

"Thanks," Buffy weakly smiled.

"No sweat," Cordelia offered her own small smile, before it faded, looking down. "I might be a butterfingers with the Keystone, but at least I make a mean lunch."

There is was, Buffy realized, that depression Angel was talking about. She had never seen Cordelia looking so crestfallen. It was almost alien to her.

She gave Cordelia a sympathetic look. "It wasn't your fault."

"Been hearing that a lot lately," Cordelia muttered.

"There's a reason for that," Buffy replied. "Cordy, the Beast nearly killed me, and I'm the Slayer. Even with both Angel and me, we barely slowed it down. There wasn't anything you could have done. You did your best, that's all we can ask for."

Cordelia chuckled wryly. Her sad brown eyes met Buffy's. "Can you keep a secret?"

Buffy nodded. "Sure. It's not like I don't know a thing or two about secrets myself."

Cordelia hesitated for a moment, then began. "All through high school, I was…I was jealous of you."

That had Buffy's attention. "You, Cordelia Chase, May Queen, most popular girl in school, Honor Roll student, parents richer than God, jealous of a girl whose social life consisted of cemeteries, stakes and kicking demons in the face? Why? You had my old life. I never realized how great it was until it was gone."

"I know," Cordelia sighed. "But even when I was all of that, I was never the center of attention. Not around the people that most mattered. Xander, Angel, Willow, Giles, Oz…those guys ended up becoming closer to me in those four years than Harmony and those other twits did in twice that time. I was the damsel in distress, and there you were, brave Buffy Summers, popping in like a superhero and saving the day time and again. And I guess I felt…threatened, y'know? Ever since pre-school, I was the center of attention around everyone, and now, in the one group that mattered to me most in that whole time, I was…second fiddle. Less than that. You had the super-strength and super-speed and the super-everything, you were the one everyone always doted on and worried about and looked to as the only hope, you were the one with the hot vampire boyfriend, you were the one Xander constantly praised and put on this pedestal—gotta love that as a girlfriend," she added dryly, "and…what was I? Just some girl with her daddy's credit card who could barely fit in where it counted the most, at protecting people. For the first time in my life, I was the outsider looking in, and you were the center of attention. It made me feel weak and…and small. I…handled that badly."

She added that softly, sadly before she looked again at Buffy. "I guess that's why we never got along. I mean, yeah, we're totally two different people, that didn't help. But the truth is…it's hard to like someone you're competing with. Someone who makes you feel like they're…I don't know…better than you."

Buffy gave her a soft look. "It was never meant to be a contest, Cordy. It doesn't have to be like that between us. It never had to be."

Cordelia sighed. "I…I know that now. When I had that Keystone, I felt like for the first time, I had a chance to be you. If I could just keep it away from the First, then maybe…maybe that would make up for screwing up and setting things in motion for it even having a body to begin with. Maybe I could be the one that saved the day, for once. Then my big moment came, and…" She broke off, her voice wavering, though she fought to keep her composure. "And I never felt so scared. So alone."

Buffy nodded, eyes full of sympathy. She knew all too well what Cordelia was talking about.

"And all at once, it hit me…this was what you feel like every day," Cordelia said softly. "I could never do what you do, Buffy. Now that I tried on your shoes, I…I don't envy you anymore."

Buffy sighed, running her bruised, but healing cheek. "Well, when you look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson in a steel cage, there's not much to admire."

"But I don't pity you, either," Cordelia added. "I admire you." Off Buffy's surprised face, the Seer explained. "You feel that way all the time, and against the odds, against your fears, you always find a way to win. You always find a way to get back up and fight. Even when you're scared. Even when you get your butt kicked…you never stayed down. You never give up. That takes a hell of a person. And that's what makes you a hero."

Buffy gave her a grateful smile. "Cordy…you're just as much of a hero as you think I am."

Cordelia weakly scoffed at that notion. "I'm just a chick who gets the visions telling the real hero where the bad guys are and occasionally gets impregnated by world-threatening demon spawn. I'm no Champion, and I'm sure as hell not Chosen for anything."

"Yet you helped keep Angel sane all these years," Buffy replied. "You brought him out of his shell. Made him laugh. Patched him up after he fought. Gave him your shoulder during his toughest times…times when I couldn't be there," she added wistfully. "You helped keep him together all these years he and I were apart. In some ways…you know him better than I do now. You're not the only one who was jealous, Cordy."

Cordelia's eyes widened slightly. "Oh..Oh! Uh, Buffy, I…if you think there was anything between us—"

"It's okay, Cordelia," Buffy sighed, smiling. "Angel came clean about how close you two were becoming. And yeah…it did bother me, for a bit. But I get it now. You guys were in the foxhole all the time. Fighting the good fight side by side. It's easy to start thinking about how deep that closeness goes."

Changing the subject, Cordelia gave her a teasing smile. "Speaking of closeness…is it true? Are you and Angel back together?"

Buffy's smile waned slightly. "We're…working things out. Nothing's official yet, but…I think we might start finally getting somewhere."

Cordelia smiled at that. "Well, that's great!" Off Buffy's confused look, Cordelia gave her a knowing smile. "I think it's plain to anyone who's head isn't up their ass that you and Angel belong together. As long as you don't make him all 'Grrrr!', I wouldn't mind seeing the big lug smile a little more often."

Cordelia studied the somewhat less-than-happy blonde. "And yet you seem as thrilled as if I told you today was National Physics Pop Quiz Day. What gives?"

Buffy hesitated for a moment, but something told her she could trust Cordelia—something that she would have thought unthinkable years ago. "It's just…you know that dream I just had?"

Off Cordelia's puzzled nod, Buffy began to recount every detail of her nightmare…

…both women unaware that just outside her door, stood Angel.

If his pulse had any movement, it would have frozen with the implications of what he had heard. Another dream, in which he hurt Buffy. Another vision of him hurting the only woman in the world who he had ever loved. It was one thing for him to have these dreams…but he knew all too well that Buffy's dreams were connected to the visions. Her dreams were often prophetic, and the last time she had such a dream when they were together, he had lost his soul.

And that was something he could not allow. If Angelus was released now, with all the craziness happening around them, none of them would survive, and he knew it. Buffy, his son, the others…

He had already put Buffy through enough torment for one lifetime. He had hurt her more than enough. Angel would not allow that to happen again. He could feel his heart breaking in his chest, but he knew he had to put a stop to this now. For Buffy's sake.

He cursed himself for a fool for allowing things to get this far between them, to raise her hopes so high only to dash them again so cruelly. But he knew he had no choice. He swore from the moment he first saw her all those years ago walking down the steps of Hemery High School, when he fell in love with her at first sight, that he would protect her, even if it meant his life.

Now, if possible, he loved her more than he ever thought he could love another person outside of his son. Now, to protect the woman he loved as they prepared to face the greatest threat either of them had ever faced, that promise had never been more important to him. And it was a promise he was intent on keeping.

Even if costs me my life, Angel thought in silent agony. Even if it costs me my heart…


To Be Continued…


Next: Angel has a heart-to-heart talk with Buffy…one that might end up breaking both of their hearts. Willow attempts to reconnect with a reclusive Oz, but will the shaken werewolf trust himself around her? And a vicious, violent attack on a Potential Slayer serves as an invitation to Buffy—an invitation from a man known only as…Caleb…


More on the way. By the way, I commissioned art for the story based on the last chapter in the thumbnail, all credits to Cuttlesquid on DeviantArt. The final art is forthcoming. Please read, follow and review! Almost 700 reviews, hoping to reach that milestone with all of your help. And let me know who you want to see more of. See you soon!


Best,

Jean-The Guardian