Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 43
Dirty Girls, Part 4
"They say it's a river, that circles the earth
A beam of light shining to the edge of the universe
It conquers all, it changes everything
They say it's a blessing, they say it's a gift
They say it's a miracle
And I believe that it is
It conquers all, but it's a mystery
Love breaks your heart
Love takes no less than everything
Love makes it hard
And it fades away so easily"
—"Love Is", Vanessa Williams & Brian McKnight
Sunnydale, CA-Summers Residence
7:48 p.m.-Nightfall
Days Before The End Of Days: 17
No tears.
Not one damn tear.
There will be no tears over him. Not this time.
That's the mantra that rung deep in Buffy Summers's mind as she stalked out the door to the front porch. She was trying so hard to focus on those words.
But as much as her mind was clinging to them...her breaking heart couldn't.
It took every ounce of strength in her not to fall apart as she listened to Giles quickly brief her over them sensing another Potential girl heading their way, someone named Shannon or Sandra or something. She could only barely muster a few nods before dismissively giving Giles the nod to go ahead and proceed with...whatever it was he was going to proceed with. She couldn't deal with it now. Couldn't deal with more battlefront news. Couldn't deal with the questioning looks of the girls and allies she had passed while trying to find a place to be alone.
Finally, she managed to find a quiet place on the porch in front of the house.
And then she began to fall apart.
The tears couldn't stop.
She hated it.
Hated all of it.
Hated that she got her hopes up again. Hated that Angel had dashed them yet again. Hated that she couldn't bring herself to hate him because she still loved him so damn much. Hated that her life kept teasing her, taunting her with the one thing she'd ever wanted since she was 16 years old, putting it so close to her that she could reach out and touch it, could feel it...and then yank the rug out from under her once more. Rip open those old wounds. Leave her bleeding out from her heart, hurting, suffering, and somehow having to find it in her to pick herself up and stand because everyone needed her to.
Why did it have to be this way? Why did it always have to be so hard?
Why can't I be happy?
Did he ever really want me?
So lost in her misery was Buffy that she didn't notice an equally lost-in-thought Willow trudging up the steps of the porch, the redhead still mulling over what had happened with Oz earlier that day.
"Oh! Um, Buffy, hey," Willow greeted, a few degrees less chipper than her normally sunny self. "How, um, how'd your meeting with Robin go? Is he willing to come back or has that ship set sai…"
She broke off when her best friend turned slowly to her, the tear tracks still fresh and staining Buffy's pretty cheeks.
Buffy's lower lip quivered.
The heartbreak and pain in her beautiful green-hazel eyes was all too plain for Willow to see.
"Buffy? What's wrong?" the redhead asked in genuine concern.
The question, so innocently asked, undid whatever little composure Buffy had. A sob she had been smothering down hard finally escaped her and before she knew it, Willow's arms were around her. Her broken heart finally unleashed its pain as Buffy let the tears flow like rain, her body trembling with sorrow as her best friend soothingly held her.
"Just who the hell do you think you are?"
Lost in his own sober brooding, Angel was startled as he turned around to see the angry form of Willow Rosenberg, the most powerful witch in the Western Hemisphere, angrily barge into the closed-door room where he was sleeping.
Judging by the way he could see her cute little nose flair angrily, narrowed green eyes burning with outrage and her defensive posture, Angel didn't have to guess hard as to what Willow was angry about.
"You spoke to Buffy," he sighed, the thought causing him even more misery.
"No kidding!" Willow said, angrily. "Do you have any idea how long it took her to move on after you left the first time? Even with Riley, she wasn't ever completely over you. Hell, she was so miserable it drove her into the arms of Spike. SPIKE, Angel! Do you know how messed up she had to be for that? How much wreckage was left after that? She had to pick up her life piece by piece to even get to something that even resembled normal!"
"Willow…" Angel tried to interject.
"But she tried it, she worked at it, and damn it, she was finally getting to a place where she could get past it and be happy and normal!" She took a moment to consider that. "W-well, as normal as you can get for being a Slayer, anyway-"
"Willow," Angel sighed as he tried again.
"NO! I'm still talking, well, yelling, actually. A-a-aand I don't get to yell often, so damn it all, you're gonna stand there and take it, mister!" Willow shot back. She was on a roll, and she had no intention of stopping now. "She worked so hard to pull herself together, and what happens? In you come with your big sad puppy dog eyes, and that noble tortured hero thing, and you went and did a prom flashback on her all over again! I tried to root for you and Buffy all these years, Angel, I really did. Even after you killed my goldfish! Because I saw how happy you made her. And even though I know you being happy is definitely not a good thing, I was hoping you'd find as much happiness as you could without going around killing friends and fish whenever you got a chance, because you're honestly a really good guy! Or so I thought, because good guys don't just do what you did, bailing out again when things get a little rough. I meant what I told you years ago, this "leaving for her own good" excuse you have is garbage. It really is. You can't just give up because there's obstacles. You-you-you fight, you take a stand, you find a way to make it work, damn it all, that's what life and love is all about—"
"She dreamed that I lost my soul. While we were making love. So did I," Angel's quiet, simple admission ended Willow's rant. Taken aback by Angel's words, Willow found she didn't have the words as she watched the depressed immortal slink back towards the window, watching the early evening stars twinkling over the night sky.
"You...both had dreams about that?" Willow asked, stunned. Willow had to admit that she still didn't fully understand the deep bond that her best friend and the brooding immortal shared. Even with Oz, or Tara, she had never shared mutual dreams before. She chalked it up to one of those 'mystical destiny-bound warriors for good' things that she probably wasn't meant to understand.
Nodding, Angel kept looking out at the night sky. "It's funny. All those years I spent away from her, telling myself that this was for the best, that she didn't need me, that she was better off having a normal life without me in the way of that, I thought I had it under control. How I felt about her. How I'll always feel. I thought I was in a good place, too. I had my life, my work, friends around me. It was good. But a couple of hours being near each other, and I'm a 17-year-old kid all over again. It's instinct. Like blinking. Something I can't control."
He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "God, I'm a fool."
"So...this is about your curse," Willow said, understanding his words.
"Nothing's changed. I have the monster in me under lock and key, but he's still there. Whispering. Taunting me. Telling me all the disgusting things he'll do to her once he gets loose. To all of you." He looked away, ashamed. Afraid. Hating it. Hating himself. Hating Angelus. Hating all of it. How he hurt the one he loved most of all. How his life's choices led him to this painful predicament. How he could never truly have the only thing he ever wanted. "I can't put Buffy's life, or anyone else's, in danger like that, Willow. Not now. Especially not now. Not ever."
Willow's brow scrunched in thought. "Angel, i-if this is about your curse, let me help. Maybe a spell to anchor it, or-?"
"How, Willow?" Angel asked, looking at her with a frank stare. "Your powers aren't working."
"Okay, well, maybe not, b-but there's other ways. I-I-I could look into recreating a similar spell that could anchor your soul, one without the perfect happiness clause. I mean, I tried looking into Gypsy magick once, and yeah, those suckers are hard to mess with because they really hold a grudge and don't like outsiders tampering with their vengeance or spells. But I could try and find other alternatives. Maybe Wesley could help, or Giles, or I could-"
"Willow." Angel interrupted her, his voice gentle, but with a tone that had a firmness behind it. "We're low on resources as it is. One wrong word, one mishap, and the monster's out of the cage. You of all people know firsthand what that means, how dangerous that can be. You've seen it. I'm not about to risk anyone's life just to do a patch-up job on my soul."
"So that's it? You're just going to give up?" Willow asked him, accusingly. "What, you can run down the nearest alleyway to face down the apocalypse, yet you're too chicken to fight for the woman you love?"
"I'm not giving up, Willow," he sighed, trying to make her understand. "I'm protecting her."
"Protecting her? Or are you protecting yourself?" Willow retorted, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Angel ran a frustrated palm down his face as he looked away towards the window, looking as miserable as Willow had ever seen him. "Both."
Angel silently cursed under his breath. He was never one to share what he was feeling. And he was never exactly the best communicator, even though he had made great strides over the last few years. But part of him realized that Willow, who knew him best of the current Scoobies, was owed some kind of explanation for why he had chosen to break the heart of her closest friend in the world.
"Everything I love, everything I touch, always turns to ashes. At first I thought it was just the breaks of being a vampire. But it's more than that. Buffy could have had any guy she wanted when she was 17. Beautiful, brave, clever, optimistic...she was way out of my league. I was just some crazed bum eating rats in an alley when I saw her the first time. She deserved her pick of the lot. The best. But she chose me. The most beautiful girl this side of the Pacific chose me. Like some kind of...fairy tale. And I ended up tormenting her for four months and killing some of her friends. Making her drive that sword through my chest and send me to hell, all while still loving me. Connor…" His eyes grew wistful. "Boy did I screw up with him. I remember holding him in my arms when he was barely the size of a football. Thinking I was gonna watch him grow up, play little league, go to college, maybe Notre Dame, marry a pretty girl. But my kid doesn't get to go to college. No, because he's my kid, he gets to be kidnapped and raised in a hell dimension, come back and become a superpowered maladjust with a temper problem."
Angel looked down at the empty streets outside. Out towards a world he'd never really belong to.
"Maybe it's too late for Connor, but not for Buffy. She can still go ahead with her life. She can still be happy. Have kids. Get married. Do all the things people like her deserve to do. Happiness is what she deserves. Me? For everything I've done, all I deserve is pain. I deserve that. She doesn't. Not her." He shut his eyes, Buffy's perfect face flashing before his mind's eye. "Never her."
Despite her anger on her best friend's behalf, part of Willow began to soften. Angel had long ago stopped being just her best friend's boyfriend. He was her friend, too. And her friend was also hurting. She could see it all over his face. In the way his shoulders hunched. In how his soulful brown eyes weighed with pain and guilt heavier than normal.
"Angel...believe it or not, you do deserve to be happy," Willow sighed, inching closer to him. "You're a good man. And Buffy's the best person I've ever known. But if you don't stop punishing yourself for whatever you think you owe the world...you're hurting her anyway."
The thought of that caused a spike of fresh guilt and self-loathing to surge through Angel's long-cold body. Even when he wasn't trying to hurt Buffy, he somehow always did, he realized. Part of him was starting to wonder if that's all he ever did. Hurting people. Causing pain. Reaping sorrow. Some champion, huh?
A frustrated Willow could see that Angel had taken her well-intentioned sentiments the wrong way, and began to open her mouth to explain. Suddenly, her phone began blaring with a text message. She wanted to ignore it until she realized that it could be important.
As she flipped out her phone and began to scroll down the screen, her eyes widened in shock.
Red. We found a girl. Might be a Potential. Bleeding badly, was attacked. In hospital. Get here ASAP.
-Faith
Cursing silently, Willow realized she had to postpone her conversation.
"Something wrong?" Angel turned to her, concerned.
Sighing, Willow replied, "Yeah. Faith texted. Her and Spike found a girl while they were out. She might be a Potential, but she's been attacked. They took her to a hospital. I gotta go see her."
"Should I let Giles know?"
"No. Not yet. Let me check this out first. With everything happening, I don't want to worry him yet. Or Buffy. I'll take the car and meet them at the hospital to see if things check out," Willow said, moving towards the door.
But before she completely exited the door, she turned an earnest gaze towards Angel. "But, Angel...just think about what I said, okay? You might be hurting...but you're not the only one here who is. And if you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it, that hurt is never going to go away. Just because you're ancient...doesn't mean you have to live in the past."
Sunnydale General Hospital – 12:37 a.m.
Emergency Room
As several emergency room doctors worked frantically on an unconscious Shannon, Willow, Spike and Faith, removed from the action, looked on intently from behind the glass window separating them from the wounded teen.
"You sure she's one of us?" Faith asked, skeptically, and for a harsh second, she almost laughed, amazed briefly at how much she sounded to herself like Tony Soprano talking in code about being in the mafia.
Yet Faith was almost grateful for the gallows humor, as she was trying her hardest to squelch down her memories of this building. The last time Faith was here, she was lying alone and lifeless in a hospital bed for eight months not too far from where this kid was. On the brink of death after being stabbed in the gut by Buffy during their fateful battle days before Graduation Day.
It smells exactly the same, Faith coldly realized. Like ammonia and sick people.
Willow herself was no stranger to this place over the years, having seen virtually all her friends wind up on a bed like Shannon was in and Willow herself having suffered a serious head injury at the hands of Drusilla and her minions years ago. This place wasn't exactly Disneyland for her, either.
Shaking off her own musings, Willow gave Faith a grave nod. "Doctor's report confirmed it. The I.D. in her pocket says she's Shannon Jones. Seventeen years old, runaway from Portland, Oregon. Her parents died in a car accident five years ago. Giles's book with the list of Potentials says she was staying with her Watcher—some British guy named Wallace Rutherford—until recently. My guess? He was probably killed by the Bringers in their big Potential Purge."
Faith sighed. She should've guessed the kid would've gone running after her Watcher was axed. Bitter memories of her late friend and Watcher, Diana Dormer…more specifically, what that animal Kakistos did to her…flashed before the dark-haired Slayer's brown eyes.
Shaking those brutal images from her mind, Faith turned back to the wounded teen in the E.R. "She don't look like much. Well, not a potential Slayer, I mean."
Willow merely shrugged. "That's what Giles' files say. Seems to fit, too. We'll know more when she regains consciousness."
Gratefully, she gave both Slayer and vampire a small nod. "Lucky you two showed up when you did."
Spike, however, was not convinced. This girl had one foot in the grave, and he knew it. Hell, he could smell it. Could hear her heart weakening with every beat. Could smell something…faint, but toxic, and bitter…seeping through the sweat of her pores as she fought for her life. Poison, he immediately realized. Whoever did this to that poor chit wanted to make sure they finished the job proper.
"If she regains consciousness," Spike grimly replied. "And that's a big 'if', Red. Girl's been gutted like a bloody catfish. And whatever that knife was that he did it with, I can smell the poison on it. Powerful stuff, too. Bastard made good an' sure he left no room for an encore."
"P-poison?" a shocked Willow blurted out, Faith also turning surprised eyes to Spike. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yeah," Spike nodded. "Don't know exactly what it is, but I know poison when I smell it. It's coming through her sweat. Smells like bitter almonds, or…dirty tennis shoes." His brow crinkled distastefully before he got serious again as he turned to Willow. "Too bad we can't 'hocus-pocus' it out of her, what, with you bein' out of mojo juice."
A now-guilt-stricken Willow and a solemn Faith looked back toward Shannon. The mood was thick and somber.
"Yeah..." Willow could only swallow and nod, a flush of helplessness and guilt washing over her. If her powers were working, she was sure that she could heal this poor girl. But without them, they were at the mercy of modern medical mortal science…a science, Willow knew all too bitterly well, that tended to fail. And that failure often led to death.
Off Willow's guilty look, Spike cursed his bluntness and began an awkward apology. "Willow, I…I didn't mean anything by that, I just—"
"It's okay," Willow said, somewhat distantly. "I-it's fine, Spike. Really…"
But deep down, the de-powered witch knew that everything was far from fine. She hadn't felt this helpless since she was in high school. Since before Buffy. Before Willow had discovered her talent with magick. She felt weak and useless, and she hated it. Especially now, when her magick could mean life or death for this poor kid fighting for her life just a few feet from them.
Faith gave Spike a curious look, intrigued at how the vampire could've known that. "How do you know it was a 'he' that did a number on our girl over there? Maybe it was a 'she'."
Spike shook his head, dismissing that thought. "Can't be. I got a good whiff of the girl after she took her tumble. She had a faint smell of aftershave on her. Men's stuff. I think it's called 'Clean', gives you that fresh, just-got-out-the-shower type smell. The kid looks a little too femme to be tryin' something that Butch."
Faith was silently impressed. Those vamp super-smelly powers, gotta love 'em, she mused. "You think our mystery psycho is one of The First's new bestest buds?"
The thought alarmed Willow, who gave Faith a surprised look off her statement. But now that she thought about it, Willow supposed it couldn't be that farfetched. If this was a run-of-the-mill attempted murder, why wouldn't the killer want to hide Shannon's body somewhere she wouldn't be found? Why fling her off to the side of a road right in front of another vehicle? Something about all this, how they found this wounded girl, the way they found her, all of it seemed too…convenient. Almost as if someone wanted us to find her, Willow grimly realized.
"Wouldn't be that much of a stretch, now, would it?" Spike replied, brow creased in thought. "We've barely been back in town a few days after our Not-So-Ghost-With-The-Most curb stomped us in Tinseltown, wannabe Slayers goin' belly-up like a worldwide fish kill, and now another one gets dropped off right in front of us on the road? Never been much for coincidence."
"Me neither," Faith replied, her voice all low and smoky, something that Spike found quite the turn-on. "Something's killing girls all over the world, trying to end the Slayer line…" She turned and eyed Willow, almost accusingly. "Thing like that, figure I might have gotten a heads-up."
Stunned, Willow looked at her, fully aware of what Faith was referring to—when the Scoobies discovered the Potential slayings months ago, yet neglected to warn Faith while she was imprisoned. The witch found herself at a loss for words on how to explain.
Willow felt guilt wash all over her. "Faith, I..."
"Guess it doesn't really matter," Faith went on, a hint of resentment in her tone and a sad resignation in her eyes. "Long as you got the real Slayer intact."
"Faith, we thought…well, you were in prison," Willow hastily explained, upset and guilty. "We figured you were safe there."
Faith scoffed bitterly. "Yeah, that's prison. Safe as a kitten," she replied, the sarcasm practically dripping off her words.
Spike awkwardly offered, "Well, in all fairness, luv, there's been a lot goin' on, and I'm sure they…"
Off Faith's raised eyebrow and a challenging scowl she threw his way—almost daring him to continue his defense of the Scoobies' failure to warn her of life-threatening danger she faced while locked up—Spike almost immediately abandoned ship. "…should have damn well told you, you're right," he hastily amended. "Shame on them...err...us. Shame on us."
"Sorry. I - I don't know a lot about "the big house,'" Willow murmured awkwardly, clearly feeling bad about all this, her pretty face now frowning and her eyes all big and shiny and apologetic-y. "Faith...I'm sorry, we didn't think—"
"Forget it," Faith replied, waving her hand almost dismissively as she opted to let it go. "'S cool. I get by."
Faith nodded towards Shannon, changing the subject to Willow's relief. "What do we do about her?"
"We should find Buffy...and Angel, tell them what's going on," Willow suggested. "Angel already knows about the girl, but it's be good to update him. I tried calling home -Dawn says Buffy's out. Probably...patrolling." Inside, Willow knew that wasn't exactly likely given Buffy and Angel's recent implosion of...whatever was happening between them again. But ever the dutiful bestie, she wasn't about to spill the details of Buffy's private life without her consent.
"And I doubt Angel even knows how to use a cell phone," Spike scoffed. "Big ape never did get along with technology."
Faith suddenly turned and moved to leave, striding quickly for the exit.
"Wait up, luv, where ya going?" Spike asked, surprised.
Faith stopped and turned around. "Let's go look for her. Cemetery's more fun anyway."
"Faith, wait," Willow protested. "One of us should stay here. In case she wakes up.
The dark-haired beauty responded with a nonchalant shrug. "Fine. Sit tight. I'll be back."
"You shouldn't be out there alone," Spike said, giving her a concerned warning. "The First and its pals runnin' loose, dead of night, one of the newbie Slayers getting kebabbed just now? Going solo isn't the best idea, pet..."
However, Faith stubbornly shook her head. She had to get out of here. The last time she was here, she was lying in a bed just like that Shannon kid. With a hole in her stomach, just like that Shannon kid. Ringing in the new millennium being trapped in an endless sleep, a nightmare-filled void between life and death...just like that Shannon kid, Faith realized, a shiver crawling up her spine. If she stayed any longer, Faith was sure she'd want to start punching her way out of there.
"I can't stay here, guys," she quickly replied, her discomfort not unnoticed. "Spent way too much time in hospitals. We…we don't click. Don't worry..."
She turned to walk out the door. "I'll get along just fine."
As he watched her leave, Spike felt his brow knit in concern. Something about her body language was troubling him. And after everything that happened just now, despite some part of him warning that this was a stupid idea, he knew the last thing Faith needed right now was to be alone.
"Here's an idea. Let's beat up a couple of the night staff, pick their pockets for cash, ditch the others, blow this place for the highway and rob banks until we can buy ourselves into heaven."
Despite a part of her appreciating the attempt at humor, the rest of Faith was not in the mood for a laugh as she stopped mid-stride across the street. "Gotta work on that sense of humor, Fang. You're not opening up 'The Tonight Show' with that line anytime soon."
Shrugging as he made his way to her, Spike gave off one of his lazy smiles that she secretly always found super hot. "Worth a shot. I figured the punchline about getting into heaven was a laugher. For me, at least. Or the idea that heaven exists. Just thinking about it makes me laugh."
Looking over her shoulder briefly, Faith scoffed. "Gallows humor at a hospital. Get any darker and I might mistake you for Angel after all."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Spike dryly retorted, yet his faint smile never left his face. "What's eatin' you, love? You looked like you couldn't get outta there fast enough."
"I couldn't," Faith replied, not breaking her stride as she kept briskly walking, Spike keeping pace with her. "Not much for hospitals."
"I get that. So, what are you much for?"
"Not this conversation, that's for damn sure," Faith brusquely replied.
"Hey, look," Spike said, rounding around her quickly and blocking her path. "Something's got ya spooked, luv. Baggage like that's dangerous to carry around. If you wanna unload it..."
"What, you'd lend me your big strong arms?" Faith replied, a quizzical eyebrow raised. "Was never much for sharing, Spike."
Spike shook his head, a bit frustrated, but trying to use the rare bit of patience he had that he seldom used. "Oy, I get it. I'm not much for the psychobabble, either. I just figured—"
"I wasn't even warned." Faith inwardly cursed for sharing. But the dam had cracked and now she was spilling. "No visit. No call. No note. Nothing. Something killing off anyone in the 'Chosen' gang around the world, and I didn't get any kind of heads-up. Could've died in prison. Bleeding to death in some hole."
Bitterly, she looked away. "Hell, I don't know...maybe I deserved it."
Spike got it. He'd figured Faith had abandonment issues after all she told him and everything he heard about her. Mix that up with guilt over whatever it was that sent her to the Big House and that was one bag of rocks that was no fun to carry.
"I see." He cocked his head. "Now which one of us sounds like Angel, again?"
"Go to hell," Faith's acidic reply was automatic.
Spike's smile grew sad, looking up at the stars in the inky-black night. "Maybe I am. If there's a heaven, pretty sure my arse isn't making it past the gates."
Faith's scowl melted as she saw the wistfulness in Spike's gaze. Go easy on him, girl. He's being sweet, in his own way. Pretty sure he hates himself as much as you do. Hurting just like you are…
Hurting just like you are…At that, Spike turned to her, defensively. "Oy, let's not get too sentimental about my hurt feelings. Yeah, maybe I do hate myself a little bit. But it doesn't mean I'm gonna mope on about it like Angel does."
Frowning, Faith eyed him in confusion. "Huh?"
"What?" Spike asked off her bewilderment.
"What are you talking about?" Faith asked.
"But...I thought you said something," Spike said, now equally perplexed.
"I didn't," Faith asked, her eyebrow raised again.
"But I could've sworn I heard…" Spike said, trailing off. Were his ears playing tricks on him?
"Spike? You okay?" Faith asked, a little concerned.
A beat. "Yeah...never mind." Spike shook off...whatever he thought he heard. Taking a moment, he tried again. "You didn't deserve to die up there, Faith. If ya did, you probably wouldn't be here. But ya are. You still think about those two blokes you told me ya killed. I get it. Now add a couple of zeroes behind that number. Hell, look at me. You know what I am. I'm a beast. I rip, I feed, I kill and move on. I'm a shark that waits in the water, takes a big bite and leaves the water red and bloody. Done it for a century. I earned my death a thousand times over, and if it happens tomorrow, I'm good with that. But for whatever reason, here I am."
He chuckled mirthlessly. "The high and mighties in the big cosmos like to play their games, but it doesn't seem like they want us off the board yet, luv." He turned to her, blue eyes connecting with brown orbs. Poignantly. Pensively. Deeply. "If we have this second chance...would seem like a waste to not make the most out of it, don'cha think?"
Faith took in his words.
Considered them.
Smiled. "Now it's totally your turn to sound like Angel."
Cursing, Spike rolled his eyes. "You ruined it. You ruined it and now I'm leaving." He playfully turned to go.
"Hang on there, stud," she cooed, laughing as her hand dashed quickly into the pockets of his black leather duster, fishing out his motorcycle keys. "I believe I told you earlier tonight to take me for a ride tonight. Night's not over yet."
Chuckling, Spike grinned at her. "Yeah. I guess you did, didn't ya?"
Her grin was smoldering. "Damn right."
Moments later
"Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door
Last night a little angel came pumpin' 'cross my floor
She said, "Come on, baby, I got a license for love
And if it expires, pray help from above!"
Spike's bike was roaring down the highway, and he rode it like a rebel. Faith's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her long, flowing dark hair whipping briskly in the wind, long, sculpted thighs brushing against his hips, her doe-brown eyes wide and her smile wild. Feeling the curves of her luscious body pressing against his back.
And Spike smiled like he was the king of the world.
Bad man on a bad machine. Beautiful, sexy woman clinging to his body. Nothing but the open road ahead of them. Living the dream.
If Faith called him 'Daddy' right now, Spike could be struck dead tomorrow and he'd still be able to say he lived a happy life, he mused with a lusty smile.
He didn't even mind her singing along to that little ponce Billy Idol's lyrics screaming from the radio...
"In the midnight hour,
she cried 'More, more, more'
With a rebel yell, she cried 'More, more, more'
In the midnight hour, babe,
more, more, more
With a rebel yell,
she cried 'More, more, more'
More, more, more"
Next Day -Sunnydale, CA-Summers Residence
3:45 p.m.
Days Before The End Of Days: 16
"Trials?" Angel asked, his arms folded and a skeptical look on his face.
"A series of trials," Alisdair Coames explained. "Each one designed to test the individual aspects of a champion. Physical and mental. Only one who has passed all the trials can claim Hope's Dagger."
Gathered back in the living room, Buffy listened to the elderly archmage explain the requirements to obtain this mysterious superweapon they needed in their war against The First. Around her, Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Wesley, Anya, Giles, Whistler, Oz, Lorne, Darla, Kate, Gunn, Fred and Lindsey listened raptly.
Which was more than could be said about Buffy. She could barely even look at Angel. Even the sight of him filled her with a flood of emotions so conflicting and confusing and painful and violent it felt like she was being split in two. She would spare him a small glance, a peak at his handsome features to see if he was hurting even a little bit after the night before. But when his eyes would come to meet hers, she would look away. Likewise, Angel found his eyes drift with longing towards the blonde beauty, only to dart away when she looked his way. He was still unable to look her in the eyes after last night. It hurt too much.
All the while, Willow looked at this awkward dance of pain between the two, watching both warriors-slash-ex-lovers continue to avoid looking at one another yet be unable to resist looking moony-eyed at one another. And the redhead wanted to scream in frustration. Buffy and Angel were the two bravest, most selfless and noble people she'd ever met. Incredibly strong, respected leaders, ferocious warriors...but how the hell were they so freaking retarded whenever it came to love? Especially when it came to loving each other?
"I don't exactly have time to do try-outs, Mister Coames," Angel replied, nonplussed. "The First is looking to wipe out all of existence in a couple of days, so if we could skip the dog-and-pony show-"
"You're not exactly getting it, are ya, slugger?" Whistler chimed in. "Hope's Dagger isn't something you can get on sale at the Bargain Basement. It's one of the most powerful weapons in existence. It's next-level badassery stuff. They can't just let any schmuck wield it. Power like that? You gotta earn it."
"Personally, I never got that whole deal," Anya piped up. "All that needless standing on ceremony to get some sacred thingamajig. I always figured the PTBs were just too cheap to spring for cable like everyone else and had to figure out some way to get their kicks."
"They work in mysterious ways, Shop Gal, what can I say?" Whistler shrugged.
"So, say Angel gets by this mystical obstacle course. Obviously, he gets the magic sword thingie," Cordelia asked, concerned eyes drifting towards her longtime friend. "But what happens if he fails?"
Wesley, Alasdair and Whistler shared grim, knowing looks. Clearing his throat, Giles was the one who broke the tense silence.
"The Deeper Well was meant to keep souls and spirits inside. And every trial has a mortal price," Giles said, gravely, as he turned to Angel. "If you fail, Angel, you will surely die. And should you die in the Deeper Well, then your soul will be trapped there with the souls of all other fallen warriors who have tried to retrieve the dagger. Trapped between both the physical and spiritual worlds. Unable to rest. Forever."
At the news, Buffy felt her heart painfully constrict at the thought. As angry as she was at Angel right now, the thought of him dying again, losing him again to yet another mystical prison was overwhelming. It took every calming technique Giles had taught her over the years to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, to keep her tense knuckles from crushing the wooden frame of the chair she was gripping into kindling.
"But, hey, no pressure, right?" Xander quipped, which prompted an unamused Cordelia to elbow him in the side. Xander winced, rubbing the sore spot, reminded again how much physically stronger Cordelia had become over the years.
Angel could sense Buffy's despair, but dared not look at her. She had suffered enough. Instead, for his part, Angel took in the news, turned it over in his head, and gave a deadpan stare at Whistler. "Another life-or-death trial. Great. Must be Wednesday," he replied dryly.
"We leave at sunset," Coames said, addressing Angel. "You must present the stone tablet Whistler procured when we arrive at the gate. I would advise you to travel light, bring only what you can carry. Everything you need to face the trials will be within the Deeper Well itself."
"Exactly how many warriors have tried to retrieve this dagger over time?" Fred asked, worried eyes looking at Angel.
"According to the legends, thousands. Human and demon alike. Through thousands upon thousands of years of recorded civilization," Wesley replied.
"And how many of those badass warrior-types survived?" Gunn asked, equally concerned.
A beat. A very long beat.
Then Whistler spoke. "Two."
The shocked looks on everyone's faces told the story.
"Gotta say, Angel, not liking those odds," Oz said, his voice its normally neutral tone, but his eyes reflecting his concern for Angel, who he had come to consider a friend.
"Two? I'm sorry...TWO?" Willow blurted out, bewildered and worried.
"Like I said, Red. It's an exclusive club," Whistler said.
Darla frowned, not liking what she heard at all. "Suddenly, I'm seeing the upside of sending Spike instead," she mused wryly.
"I'd be hard pressed to disagree, good lookin'. But the Big Guys were crystal clear on this. This is Angel's quest," Whistler replied, turning to Angel. "Sorry, pal. I'll go along with ya, take you as far as I can, but you have to go the rest of the way alone."
Sighing, Buffy decided to speed things along. "Fine. You guys better get moving. Sunset will be here soon enough," she said, suddenly brushing past Giles and walking out of the room without another word. She had to get away from here. She needed to get away from here. The way she was feeling, she might either lash out or break down, and she couldn't afford to do either. Not now. Not with so much to do.
The tense way Buffy exited left the room feeling awkward, silence filling the air.
Amused, Lindsey smirked as he remarked the obvious. "Never a dull moment 'round here, huh?"
"McDonald? Shut up," Kate said sweetly, her icy blue eyes anything but.
Lorne said nothing, but he could feel the guilt, the hurt rolling off of Angel like a waterfall of misery as he stared at the door, then quickly made his way out after Buffy. The despair and pain each of the two warriors of good felt told him the entire story of what happened the night before without either of them having to hum a single note.
Poor kids, Lorne shook his head. Just like that Carole King song says. They come so close, and yet they're still so far away…
Sunnydale, CA-Summers Residence
6:27 p.m. - Sunset
Days Before The End Of Days: 16
As the last of the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Alasdair had just about finished making his preparations for the spell, most of the gang gathered in the backyard.
Angel took Alasdair's advice and packed only a few weapons. A broadsword he had tucked behind him hidden under his coat. A small spool of razor wire. A boot knife. A few throwing stars. He didn't need much for food or other supplies. Being a vampire, he needed very little to travel.
Around him, the concerned faces of his friends and allies. He saw it all. The worried look on Cordelia's face, as Xander stood by her, a consoling hand on her shoulder. Inwardly, he was stunned that Cordelia and Xander had started to reconnect and perhaps rekindle what they had back in high school. Personally, he thought Cordy could do better than the ever-talkative, sometimes immature, often annoying young man that hung with the Scoobies for years. But if Harris's presence meant that Cordelia could begin healing herself after the hell she had gone through, Angel decided he was fine with it.
He could see Oz and Willow standing side-by-side, the redhead's green eyes somewhat fretful as they glanced his way, while Oz stood by her, an equally concerned look on his usually emotionless face. Angel fought a smile at their closeness. Willow was another person who he was close to and fond of, and it pleased him that it appeared she and Oz, who Angel had grown to like and respect, were rekindling their once-dead romance. He could hear Willow's heartbeat pick up a little in excitement as Oz placed a hand on her back in comfort. He could smell the werewolf's elevated hormones from his proximity to the little witch. If they were indeed finding their way back to each other, he hoped they would find their happy ending this time. They both deserved it.
He saw Fred's anxious eyes wishing Angel safety as the little brunette stood near the porch, wringing her hands tightly, Gunn right behind her with a troubled look on his face. Angel was hoping that they could find their way back to one another through this mess. Gunn was a good man, and Fred was dear to him. If he lived, Angel reminded himself to have a talk with Gunn about what happened with Seidel. Nobody could understand the implications of killing another more than Angel. What Gunn did to protect Fred was nothing compared to what Angel had done over his long lifetime, and he would have to find the time to teach his young friend the difference. And why he had to let it go so he could find his place by Fred's side again.
He saw Faith, looking upset as she crossed her arms, undoubtedly unhappy at hearing the news of how risky this mission was for her surrogate big brother. He wanted to give her a hug, a smile, to reassure her that he would be alright. But now wasn't the time. He had to keep focused. When he came back, Angel would have to talk with her about how she was really doing. The road to redemption was a rocky one, and he knew Faith, while having grown stronger, still needed all the support she could get…
...at that, Angel's eyes drifted to Spike. Who stood there, right alongside Faith, the dark-haired Slayer's heartbeat quickening a tad at his presence, much to Angel's dismay. The platinum blonde's eyes were filled with all sort of things as they glanced at Angel. Resentment. Irritation. Annoyance. But behind it all, if Angel really looked...well, more of the same really. The relationship between them had always been complicated. It's something that Angel didn't really understand himself, and frankly, he didn't want to. He had known that Faith and Spike had gotten closer recently, and Angel was not a fan of it. But for now, he had to trust Faith's judgment. And if Angel did come back alive, he would make it a point to remind Spike of one thing: that if he hurt Faith in any way, Angel would rip him apart one piece at a time.
His turned to see Dawn, Connor alongside her, the young couple holding hands. The anxiousness in Dawn's gaze as she looked at Angel, who had been a big brother/protector to her for years. In Connor's eyes, the same mix of emotions Angel had grown accustomed to reflected back at him: resentment, confusion, a hint of concern that a son would have for his father. As if the kid had no idea whether to view his father facing certain death as a good or bad thing. Angel knew that he'd have to work at bridging the emotional gap between them when he came back. He just hoped that whatever influence Dawn seemed to have on the boy would keep his son on the right path.
He saw Wesley, his face impassive, a concerned Darla right next to him, while Lindsey flanked her on the left. Angel wondered if Wesley would ever truly come back to the fold after everything. It had taken Angel a long time, but he had finally begun to move past Wesley's mistake that led to Connor's vanishing into Quor'toth. He was hoping that Wesley would find a way to make it back from this brooding loner state that he had entered into and become part of their family again. The way Darla's hand lightly brushed against Wesley's arm reminded Angel of the surprising bond that had been forming between his Sire and his (ex?) friend. He still didn't know what to make of that, but if a changed Darla could find a way to thaw the ice around Wesley's cold heart, Angel would hope for the best for both of them.
He saw Lorne, soulful, ruby red eyes etched in worry as the green-skinned Pylean demon looked on at him. Angel sometimes wondered if Lorne's life would have been better off if he hadn't been dragged into the whirlwind that was the life of Angel Investigations. If he would have been happier serving up drinks and cocktails to his unusual clientele at Caritas, or if it would have still been around had it not been for him...well, him and an insane Holtz. Angel made a mental note to let Lorne know just how much he was appreciated being part of his team, his family, if he got back.
Just alongside Lorne stood Kate, whose sky-blue eyes held concern as well for his safety as she gave him a subtle nod of well wishes and safe travels. Biting back a chuckle, Angel recalled with some incredulity how he and Kate had once briefly entertained getting involved romantically before whatever attraction there was between them quickly cooled after she discovered his vampiric nature. It still amazed Angel that after all the years and all the tension and disagreements and history between them, here was Kate, taking a big risk and fighting alongside him and his friends once more with the fate of all life itself at stake. Gratefully, he gave her a subtle nod in thanks, to which the usually hardened former police detective gave him a small, yet kind smile.
And finally...Buffy.
In this world we've created
In this place that we lived
In a blink of an eye, babe, the darkness slips in
Love lights the world
Unites the lovers for eternity
Her beautiful hazel-green eyes betrayed the only emotions her otherwise stoic, pretty face would not reveal. Hurt, yet loving. Confused, yet hopeful. Furious at him, yet worried for him. His sad brown eyes connected with her stare, and the world fell away.
Leaving only them again.
At last, he finds his voice, a quiet, forlorn-sounding thing. The voice not of a brave, unrelenting Champion of light..but of a man in love. A man in pain over that love.
"Stay safe," he softly rasped out, his eyes filled with his worry, his caution, his desire for her safety.
She said nothing for what feels like an eternity. Then at last, she spoke, her voice soft, pained, but tender still. "You, too."
He stared back at her, gave her a small nod in reply.
Love breaks the chain
Love aches for everyone of us
Love takes the tears of pain, and it turns it in
To the beauty that remains
Goodbye, my love.
He doesn't say it.
He knows he doesn't deserve to utter those words. That she couldn't hear them now. Instead, he stares back longingly. An apologetic look in his eyes, a thousand pleas for forgiveness etched in them. Letting the bond between them communicate what he could not say. I'm sorry, Buffy. For everything. For breaking your heart. For leaving now. For all the hurt I put you through. All of it. I wish we had more time. There's never enough time…
Look at this place
It was paradise, but now it's dying
I´ll pray for love
I´ll take my chances that it´s not too late
He almost doesn't hear the crackling of magick summoned forth by Alasdair's magical token, a hand-held lantern that glowed with lightning blue energy. The black and blue vortex behind him beckoned with its low humming.
"Showtime," a solemn Whistler said, giving Angel a pat on the back as he motioned towards the portal.
Angel looked back at her, one last time. Knowing it may be the last time he ever laid eyes on her if he failed in his quest. Memorizing every detail of her. The perfect curve of her face. Her cute little nose. The way her green eyes caught the light of the moon.
He wanted to hold on to that image. Sear it into his memory.
That it may keep him strong as he prepared to face whatever was coming.
And then with a few steps, Angel disappeared into the portal right behind Alasdair and Whistler, the vortex shutting almost immediately after he entered it.
-VOOSH-
He's gone.
Buffy heard the words echo in her head, in her heart, her soul.
Felt the tears begin to form in the back of her eyes that threatened to spill.
Yet because she was Buffy Summers, she willed back the feelings behind a wall of her own creation. Pushed down the fears that if Angel failed, she would never see him again. Smothered her conflicting emotions of anger, of near-hate, and yet unbearable, unyielding love and worry for the handsome immortal that she had given her heart and soul to long ago. Punched down the self-loathing for not saying more than what she said before he went through that portal, letting her heart speak to him for her. She could not afford to do these things now.
Because she was The Slayer.
The Chosen One. The only one who could keep the world safe with the end of time looming.
Her emotions of Buffy Summers couldn't help her for what she had to do. Only her strength could.
Only The Slayer could.
And she was The Slayer. And the Slayer stands alone…
"Buffy."
Willow's voice shook Buffy from her reverie. Her best friend held her phone, having looked up from a text message. "It's the hospital. The girl's awake."
Sunnydale General Hospital – 7:24 p.m.
Emergency Room
"He...he was...a….minister or...something," Shannon weakly rasped out. "At least...he dressed like one. I thought he... was trying to...'save' me. At first."
The girl was named Shannon Jones, age 17 from Portland, Oregon, and she was a Potential, as they had suspected.
She was barely alive, hooked up and still bloody through her bandages.
As she told Buffy and Willow her story, Buffy got more freaked out, but tried to listen harder.
Buffy frowned. "He picked you up on the side of the road?"
Shannon slowly nodded and croaked, "The...B-Bringers were...ch-chasing me." She thought a moment, then added, "He said...he said they were...'his boys.' Right before…" Her eyes looked haunted as she remembered what happened next. "Right...b-before he...he burned me."
As Shannon weakly pulled back the bandage on her neck, she revealed the burn mark the mysterious attacker—Caleb, Buffy recalled her —had left there. Buffy gestured to Willow's purse; Willow pulled out a small digital camera and took a shot of the injury.
"He wanted me to tell you something before . . . before he cut me," she said in a tiny voice. "He told me to give the Slayer a message."
Buffy was barely able to control her anger at the horror the girl had faced. "What is it?"
She looked at Buffy, cold and hollow.
"He said...he...he said... 'I have something of yours.' "
Suddenly, as if possessed, Shannon's body arched upwards wildly, the machines monitoring her vital signs spiking and screeching with an electronic wail.
"You can't let him have it!" she screamed. "He's coming for you! For all of us!"
Amid the whirlwind of E.M.T.'s, doctors and nurses that suddenly bolted into the room to try desperately to save Shannon, Buffy stared in frozen horror as the wounded girl suddenly began losing it. For a moment, she looked at Willow in a silent plea for her powerful Wiccan friend to help, only to remember that she could not. Willow's magick was still M.I.A.
The helpless, pitying look on the shocked redhead's face confirmed the futility of such a request. As if through some unknown current, some tug in the air, Buffy could feel it, could sense the inevitable happening.
Shannon was dying.
Another girl Buffy had sworn to protect was fading away, falling deeper into death's embrace. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Without warning, Shannon's hand shot out and grasped Buffy's wrist, the dying girl desperately trying to convey a final plea.
"He'll...he'll keep coming for them, he said! You have to stop him! Please!" Shannon said, her wide, tearing eyes begging Buffy in a way that made the Slayer's own eyes mist with tears.
The girl's voice slowly began to fade, becoming a hushed strain as the light in her eyes began to fade. "Don't...don't let him do this...to anyone else..! Stop him...you have to...stop him...please..."
Staring at the mortally wounded girl in shock, Buffy felt tears roll down her face, nodding ever-so-slightly. A silent promise to a dying sister-in-arms.
For several long moments, Buffy's eyes never left the dying girl. Even as the frightened young eyes of Shannon Jones, age 17 from Portland, Oregon, dimmed until the light left them completely...even as the life support equipment whirred violently...even as the electronic screech of Shannon's flatlined heart monitor assaulted her ears and paramedics and doctors swiftly pushed Buffy and Willow out of the room while they futilely attempted to revive Shannon.
Yet another girl I failed to save, Buffy miserably thought. Yet another young life snuffed out by an evil that I was supposed to have been able to stop...
And then...all trace of Buffy Summers disappeared from her eyes.
What resurfaced in her normally soulful green eyes was a cold fire. An icy determination.
She was all Slayer. All Chosen One.
And The One Girl in All The World decided right then and there. This will never...happen...again.
Sunnydale, CA-Summers Residence
8:36 p.m. - Nightfall
Days Before The End Of Days: 16
Full house, oh, was it: The whole gang was here, including Buffy, and they included Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Giles, Wesley, Faith, Spike, Oz, Fred, Gunn, Dawn, Connor, Anya, Kennedy, Lorne, Darla, Lindsey, Kate, Rondell, Rona, Amanda, Molly, Chao-Ahn, and Andrew.
Buffy had called for an emergency meeting, and the troops had wasted no time in circling the wagons at Casa de Summers. It was full-fledged DEFCON 1, and a determined, pissed-off Buffy wasted no time in getting down to business.
"We've got a new player in town," Buffy announced. "Dresses like a preacher. Calls himself Caleb. Looks like he's working for The First."
Xander thought about that. "So he's like . . . The Second?"
Buffy didn't reply back to her friend's off-the-cuff jest. She was still shaken, angry, and in no mood for riposting. "He's taunting us. Calling us out. Says he has something of mine. Could be another girl. Could be something else. Don't know. I don't care."
She paused, fighting for control. "I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of training. He's got something of mine? Fine. I'm getting it back." Her hazel-green-eyed gaze was flinty, her spine, ramrod straight.
She was totally on the edge . . . and then she delivered the bombshell.
"And you guys are coming with me."
Sunnydale, CA-Shadow Valley Vineyard
The Same Time
Days Before The End Of Days: 16
Caleb was walking in the vineyard, and she was there . . . he didn't know her name, didn't care what it was.
Seventeen or so, she was a filthy whore in a sundress that just advertised her soulless lust, and she slithering around like the serpent in the garden, just itching to cause a man's downfall.
"You're searching for something, girl," he said, coming upon her. "What would that be now?"
"Oh." She was startled. Then excited. "You. I was looking for you."
"That right?" Caleb said kindly.
She nodded. "I heard you speaking tonight. Preaching. I felt your words going straight to me."
"The truth is like a sword, isn't it, girl?" He felt himself filling with the fire. "Cuts deep."
"Yeah." She moved closer, trying some seduction, a little clumsy . . . but ready. "I got warm. The words made me feel that way. I got warm. It was your words that made me feel that way. All that power you was talking about. The temple coming down, and the end of days." She went for it. "Your words are strong, Preacher."
"You liked 'em," Caleb said simply. She nodded, less shy before, still deferential. Something about men with the fire . . . women wanted it. So they could burn awhile, then suffocate the source with their lack of breath.
"Words I use got a power to 'em," he told her. "Power, now. They're not just 'words.' They're truth." "They called you. And so you followed. Know why?"
"Tell me, Preacher." She put her hands on her own belly, breathing deep, taking his fire into herself.
"Because you're human," Caleb told her. "You got your urges. A woman's got hers, a man's got his. Our whole race can be so damnably weak. It's why we seek the strength. That power."
She murmured eagerly, "It's not wrong to be drawn to the power? Is it, Preacher?"
Moving into the deepest shadows, she stepped up against a wall. He followed her in...
...then she fell out of the darkness and into the light; she was bleeding, gutted like that other little whore he had picked up in his trunk. The Slayer's little whore girl, Shannon.
"No child. Not wrong. Just human," he sighed as he told the corpse.
Then the body morphed, becoming the lithe body of Buffy Summers, the Slayer, fresh and unhurt as a little apple blossom.
She looked up at Caleb and said, "Most people don't like visits from their dead, you know."
"It's okay with me. Might unsatisfying, is all," he told Buffy / The First. "I must confess I miss the bite of flesh on a knife. Freeing a soul from its body should have . . . a tug to it," he mused.
"You can't complain," The First argued. "You tricked that girl. She followed you."
He shrugged. "I only told her the truth," he shot back. "And as for the following . . ."
He tucked his knife back in his belt, a dark smirk on his face as he thought ahead to his prey. The Slayer. She was coming, he knew this. She would come to seek glory and conquest...but only death awaited her, he mused, a twisted gleam twinkling in his dark eyes.
"...There'll be others."
Buffy/ The First flashed him an evil smile of her/its own. "Our other forces should be back from their little…night out…anytime now. Remember. Don't kill her. Not yet. Do what you like with the others. But you're to let the Slayer escape unharmed...well, mostly."
Caleb didn't much like the idea, but his was not to question why, he mused. His was but to do...and watch the others die.
His thoughts drifted back to the Slayer. Back to the prize he sought to hang on his mantle. Literally. He felt himself getting hard just thinking about it. Soon, little lady. Be seeing ya real soon...
To Be Continued…
NEXT: Angel's quest for Hope's Dagger begins in England. Will he have what it takes to survive the deadly trials?
Meanwhile, as all hell breaks loose in Sunnydale, Buffy prepares her friends to venture deep into the shadows of The First's lair. But death and danger awaits them, as well. And in the shadows, waiting to deliver both to Buffy...a man known only as…
...Caleb…
A/N: The underlined lyrics in Angel's departure scene with him and Buffy were from the song "Love Is," from Vanessa Williams and Brian McKnight. If you need a good, mushy cry, listen to it. :)
More to come soon!
Best,
Jean-The Guardian
