Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 51
Hindsight
The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth
Now
Angel kept walking through the haze and mist that seemed to permeate every inch of the dark cave.
He hated the mist. It dulled his keen ability to smell anything, and even his normally sharp preternatural eyes couldn't make out anything in this fog.
Yeah. Fog sucks, doesn't it, Rat Boy? Guess that's why we were never much for London. That and the food. What is it with the limeys tasting so salty?
Angel bit his lip hard, rolling his eyes in displeasure. Of all the things he needed, his deranged alter ego suddenly making his unwelcome appearance known was not one of them. Great. You.
No, Angel. You. YOU. You're just too much of a pansy-ass to realize it.
Unfortunately, Angel couldn't shut Angelus's voice out of his head with him too busy trying to find his way through this thick fog. If you say so, Motormouth.
Oooh! Someone's panties are a little too tight tonight! Angelus's tone was same as it ever was: full of malice, taunting, cruelty. The same prick Angel always remembered him being. What's a matter, Buttercup? Having a bad day at the office?
Angel tried to pay his psychotic demon no mind as he pressed on through the darkness. He knew Angelus's playbook. Taunt his opponent. Chip away at their defenses until they become less opponent and more prey. Play on their emotions, use any kind of flaw no matter how small and twist and bend it until it became an advantage he could exploit. But Angel could take it. That's what he told himself, anyway.
Ah, the old silent treatment, eh? What, hoping you'll 'keep me safe if you keep me at a distance'? Angelus's voice grew syrupy in mock hurt before he chuckled darkly. No, wait, that's for poor little Buffy, isn't it? Man….she's still a pistol, isn't she? Our Slayer. All that fire and righteousness blazing like fire underneath those lovely, perfect, delectable little tits of hers...
She's not yours, Angel growled back mentally at him, clenching his teeth as his repulsive demon dared mention the name of the woman he loved.
Maybe not...but she's not yours, either, retard. Not these days, anyway. Angel could almost feel the smirk in his demon's voice, and the brooding detective had to bite his tongue to keep from responding, ignoring the sharp ache in his unbeating heart as he recalled their painful breakup just a day ago.
Yeah, I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Well, mostly because it was. Angelus twisted the proverbial knife deep in that fresh wound of Angel's heart. And Angel knew his sadistic alter ego was delighting in that pain. Like a song in that black unbeating heart of his. The tears in those pretty hazel-green eyes of hers, the look of betrayal, the pain, the anguish. It used to be that we'd have to break out the cat of nine tails and a branding iron and find ourselves a young barmaid to torture for the night to see that kind of pain, and you gave me that show for free! Thanks, Angel! Man, you really know how to show an old friend a good time!
Seriously...fuck off, jackass. Angel was quickly losing his patience with the cruel, taunting monster inside of him.
And the language! Wow! L.A. really has changed you, boy-o. Or maybe it's being in Sunnydale again. So close to Buffy's perfect little heart-shaped ass. I remember the language she was using on you when you broke her heart the other day...again. Man, the things that little minx picked up over the years since we left her… The wanton lust in his voice as it got low and husky drove its point home. Makes a man wonder what other things she might've learned to do with her mouth.
All at once, a torrent of pornographic images involving Buffy, things she would be doing with him/them in the throes of passion, in every conceivable way, manner and angle, assaulted Angel's mind courtesy of his cackling demon. Angel felt his knuckles clench hard, his hand grip so hard around his Claymore sword that he could feel his right hand start to cut into the handle.
Feeling his anger rise, and ignoring the shame he felt at his arousal stirring with the thoughts his vile demon stirred of being so intimate with the woman he loved, Angel closed his eyes for a moment, tried to clear his mind like he learned in Sri Lanka almost two years ago to cope with Buffy's death following Glory's failed uprising.
"Lumen de Lumine,
Lumen de Lumine,
Lumen de Lumine…"
Angel silently uttered the meditation mantras he learned from kind monks at another monastery he left for after the one he originally went to turned out to be a front for Shur-hod Demons in order to lure in their victims, whom they drained of their life force. Angel had to kill them all, and in gratitude, one of the would-be victims directed him to a real monastery where he could meditate, give his battered soul and heart the respite it needed following the second loss of his soulmate. And wow, was Angel ever glad he went there now. Because Angelus had a way of testing his limits.
Oh, please. Don't even pretend that didn't turn you on just a little bit, Boy Scout. You know it does. I mean, can't say I blame you. That Buffy is one-in-a-billion with that body. Mmmh! What a guy wouldn't do for a handful of that perfect little ass, right? Can't believe you drove her into bed with Spike, though. I mean, seriously...SPIKE? That beta-male bitch was always after our sloppy seconds, but that one takes the cake! Willow had a point. You must've done some real damage to our girl if she actually considered rolling around in the hay with that idiot. Though I like to think I had a little hand in it...all the fun I had after her seventeenth birthday. That town's little rinky dink police department will be finding body parts for years...
Yeah, I get it. You did your damage. Angel silently snapped back at his cruel demon. That's part of why I left Buffy in the first place. That's why I'm doing it now. To make sure you never have a chance to hurt her again.
What, little ol' me? Damage? Moi? Angel heard the mock surprise in his demon's voice, and it sickened him. What're you afraid of me doing if I get out, Soul Boy? What's the worst that could happen if you relax a little and let me get free near our girl? Hmm? Something like...this?
All at once, Angel's mind was flooded with obscene images of a different kind…
Angelus, a short sword dripping in blood in his hand, smirking cruelly in human guise, his dark eyes filled with malicious delight while standing in the middle of the Summers home at night.
Around him, a massacre. Carnage, blood and mayhem, everywhere.
Dozens of those innocent Potential girls, girls which Angel promised he would help Buffy protect...butchered. Necks broken, some with their throats slit, others lying dangling over furniture with their insides and blood spilling out of them.
The horror continued as his friends, loved ones and allies were all strewn around him like slaughtered cattle.
Cordelia, his Seer, his best friend, lying on her back with her throat slit and gushing blood, her cheeks stained with tears, eyes wide in death.
Wesley, his old friend, sitting slumped against a wall, his guts spilling out of his stomach like so much bloody meat.
Willow, always loyal, always sweet, a good friend to Angel, one of the few in his life who understood and supported Angel and his love for Buffy...now her lovely limp body was dangling over the coffee table, her eyes closed, a dripping red hole in her chest where her heart should have been. Oz, another friend, someone who shared Angel's burden of having a monster within him, laying not far from the woman he loved, the small-framed musician face down on the ground, his skull caved in.
Fred, her eyes that were always so trusting, so full of hope whenever she looked at Angel, staring lifelessly into nothingness as she lay on the ground, blood seeping from a lethal sword wound in her skull that housed her brilliant mind.
Gunn, the man she loved, lying on top of her, protecting her to his last, a sharp heirloom protruding from the hole in his back, the two lovers reunited in death.
The ruby red eyes of Lorne, always so compassionate, so wise, wide and unblinking as he lay strewn across the upstairs steps, the seat of his pants, which housed his heart, stained with blood from a sword slash.
Dawn, who reminded Angel so much of his long-dead little sister Kathy, always so sweet, so innocent, her lifeless tear-stained blue eyes wide in terror as she lay dead on the carpet of the living room, her throat dripping with blood from the puncture wounds of Angelus's fangs from where he sunk his teeth into her, draining her dry. Angelus smiled wickedly as he recalled her delicious screams, the disbelief in her eyes that she was being murdered by someone she saw as her big brother, a protector.
Not far from her, Connor, Angel's own son, his own flesh and blood, lying on his back with his throat torn out, blood everywhere as his hand reached out in death for Dawn's, the youngest of this extended family of heroes, two young would-be lovers, trying even in death to find each other.
Giles, always wise, the father figure to Angel's beloved Buffy, laying slumped against the couch, his eyes closed and his neck snapped much in the way that Angelus had killed his beloved Jenny Calendar all those years ago.
Xander's body...well, most of his body...toppled over the couch, while his severed head lay a few inches away from it, a death Angelus only regretted he didn't make last longer for all the boy had bugged him through the years.
Anya, staring lifelessly into nothing while lying on her side, her crimson-soaked torso sliced so deeply by Angelus's short sword that she was practically split in two.
The body of Kate, someone who trusted him, dangling from a shattered window of the living room, bloodied and dripping from her torso.
Lindsey and what was left of his head sitting slumped near her, Angelus having made the ex-lawyer eat his own gun during his last stand.
Darla, his sire, his now-friend, hanging lifelessly from the ceiling, a cord wrapped around her neck, blood dripping down her mouth.
Faith, a young woman Angel had come to love like a sister, laying on the floor, her own sword protruding from her chest, blood flowing from her mouth like an obscene fountain, brown eyes closed as she entered eternal sleep.
Not far from her, Spike, beaten and bloody, soaked in kerosene from what Angelus had dumped on him, one of his arms cut off completely, tried to desperately crawl to Faith with his one remaining arm, the blonde vampire's eyes full of rage and tears. But only his torso moved to her, for the other half of his body lay mangled three feet from him, sliced clean off by Angelus during the carnage in a mocking, cruel stroke to remind his GrandChilde of just how low Spike's place in the pecking order was. Angelus chuckled as he watched Spike suffer, letting his fingers get just within a centimeter of Faith's already cooling body, before flicking his cigarette at Spike's body. Laughing cruelly as the flames consumed his Grandchilde, sometimes-ally and often-rival, laughing harder as Spike's tortured screams filled the house before his body disintegrated into ashes moments later.
And finally, Buffy.
The last one left alive.
Laying in the kitchen, the ground stained and streaked with blood from her wounds as she tried desperately to crawl to the door, her broken legs not letting her get far. Her sobs were quiet, her eyes shut as tears of pain, terror and betrayal spilled out of them, having heard her friends and family die all around her but not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Praying silently to whatever god could hear her for this nightmare to end. But she would not find her prayer answered as Angelus, his dark eyes full of lust and evil, slowly stalked towards her, taking his time, delighting in her suffering, drawing it out as long as possible. Angelus saved her for last. So she could hear it all happening to their friends and allies, watch it all. Smell it all. Yet not be able to help any of them. Playing on her darkest fears. Smiling sinisterly as he knew how much that damn soul that was Angel was in anguish helplessly watching it all from somewhere in the ether, the demon's ultimate revenge on Buffy for daring to show Angel and his demon was love felt like, the sweetest revenge against Angel for the lifetimes his demon spent trapped in his own body because of that DAMNED soul. Feeling himself hardening at the sight of her pitiful struggles and anguished sobs. His amber eyes glazing over with lust as he watched the petite blonde beauty struggling to move, admiring his lover's perfect, tight little body so hard at work escaping, his eyes roaming all over the toned muscles on Buffy's back tense with desperate effort from her shoulders to her perfect, bitable ass and down her sculpted legs, Angelus for a few moments not sure whether to kill her, turn her or lick every inch of this beauty until his tongue could catalog how every part of her tasted from head to toe. Relishing how the beautiful, strong, confident, cock-sure young woman, the Slayer herself, that Angel loved so much was now reduced to this whimpering, bleeding, frail little creature beneath him at his mercy.
Loving her in his own 'special' way.
Right before he straddled Buffy's shaking, trembling, lovely body, pinning her wrists above her head with one powerful hand, cruelly fondling, squeezing one of her soft, perfect breasts with the other, his tongue darting out like a serpent and licking, licking the tears rolling down her face. As if her tears were the finest wine he'd ever tasted. Promising her more to come, an eternity to come, as his face changed into its vampire form. Ignoring Buffy's frantic tears, struggles and the broken look of fear and defeat in her eyes as the meaning of his words dawned on her, laughing at her shrieking, hysterical pleas for mercy and heartbreaking screams of 'No! No! Angel, PLEASE!ANGEL, I LOVE YOU, PLEASE DON'T! NO! NOOOOOO!' as his fangs sank deep into Buffy's lovely throat, tasting every sweet drop of her life, her blood running down his throat...
NO!
Angel slapped himself hard across the face, jarring himself back to reality as the nightmarish images dissipated from his vision. Horrified, he staggered against a nearby wall, clutching at his chest as if the sheer terror of those images had somehow caused him to have a heart attack. He heard Angelus laugh, cackle in sickening glee and Angel felt the bile rise to his throat. How much he wanted to take that sword of his and ram it right down his repulsive demon's mouth, twist it and slice off his damn head so he'd never hear his voice again.
Oh, lighten up, ya candy-ass. I know deep down you must've loved seeing us rip Harris's head off. That shit stain's always been a pain to deal with. And tell me you didn't at least get a kick out of watching Spike get burned that way, that was classic. After that little schmuck made a move on our girl and now he's trying to get between Faithy's buttery little thighs? You know you enjoyed that, Boy Scout. You gotta give me that, at least!
His entire body vibrated with rage and revulsion, yet Angel stayed silent, not wanting to give his psychotic alter ego any additional fuel.
Okay, fine. Whatever, keep being the wet blanket, see if I care. But come on, Angel. Don't give me all the credit on hurting Buffy. Anything I did, anything I might do...still pales in comparison to what you did. After all...I'm not the one who promised her forever, am I? I'm not the one who keeps leaving her. Who keeps breaking her heart. Abandoning her when she needs someone most. Girl's been through the emotional meat grinder since that fat guy with the moustache called her up as The Chosen One when she was 15. You were the one thing she kept holding onto when everything around her was slipping into the quicksand, and yet you keep letting her go and letting her slip just a little more into that muck to drown every time. I might've had my fun with her when I was running the show for a couple months, but you? Angelus's cruel chuckle rumbled through Angel's mind. Man...and I thought I knew cruelty.
The words were jarring enough to make Angel stop suddenly, looking down at the floor in shame as he closed his eyes. Even his bastard demon knew. Guilt spread across every corner of his heart. He had only ever wanted to protect Buffy. Keep her safe. Offer her peace though the rain of burning fire and pain that her life had been. And instead, all he kept doing was hurting her.
Yeah, you do, don't you? I mean, it is our specialty. Gotta stick to what we do best, right, Angel?
No. That's what you do best, asshole. Not me. Angel gritted his teeth as he kept wandering through this frustrating maze of fog and darkness, wanting this challenge to be over with already, if nothing more than to shut the devil in his head up. I'm not like you. I'll never be like you.
You still don't get it, do you, Hair Gel Boy? You ARE me. In the end, all you've got is me. Even if that lovely little vision of what I do to Buffy's pert little ass and your idiotic friends doesn't come true, the truth is, you're going to lose them all anyway. Old age, cancer, disease, accident, a battle for the fate of mankind here and there….them's the perks of immortality, am I right? You go on walking and whistling through the graveyard of the ones you let into your life. Like your short little buddy Doyle, who took one for the team like a good pawn, er...soldier. Angelus laughed mirthlessly.Hell, you already lost Buffy twice, not counting you dumping her. One day, you'll have to put her in the ground again. For good. And not just her. All of them. Cordelia. Wesley. Faith. Gunn. Fred, Willow, Lorne, Dawn, that creepy brat kid of yours...you're going to lose them all, fella. One by one. Even Spike, hell, I'm surprised that idiot's lasted this long. Doesn't matter how many pathetic souls you save, you'll never save the ones that matter to you the most. Time, buddy, even you can't beat the running clock on mortality. And when they're in the ground, all you'll have left, the only thing you'll have left...is me. Just like it was before. Before the soul. Before the hair. Before the blonde. Before the lame friends and the stupid mission. You and me, Angel. Forever and always.
Angel felt the dull ache in his heart at the truth of Angelus's words. The truth that he had known for some time. He could let as many people into his life as he wanted, and it wouldn't matter. In the end, they would all be gone. And only he would remain. With his guilt. With his pain. With his loneliness. With all his sins. With his demons. Alone. Forever.
But he'd be damned if he'd let this arrogant prick get the satisfaction of knowing he got under his skin. You were always into the hair. Almost as much as you were into yourself.
Both true. But so was the rest. Face it, 'Dark Avenger'...I'm the only thing that's ever given you direction. Drive. Even this annoying savior phase you're going through...again...is all about one thing when it comes right down to it. Me. And deep down, you kind of enjoy it, don't you? You have to obey all the rules. Be the daddy figure in your little flock of idiots. Be the dutiful kinda-boyfriend to Buffy. Be the dumbass pawn those lazy-ass Powers you work for throw at every apocalypse and soul that needs saving. All those hats you have to wear. Me? Was never much of a Hat Guy, pal. I do what I want whenever I want. And you won't admit it...but you like it.
Angel only grunted, masking his doubts and anger with silence. But that didn't stop his incessant demon from his insidious taunting.
You can feel me, can't you? Breaking loose again every time you let your mind wander or close your eyes. Like you did back in that Trial of Skill against those prattling idiots? I felt it. And I know you did. You enjoyed that. The violence, the bloodshed, the pain in their eyes when we let them loose of that mortal coil? We both know that's why you're really here. It's not to save the world. Not for redemption or love and honor and all that flowery crap. You're here because this is the only place where you don't have to hide who you really are. What you really are. We're monsters, Angel. Fang and fists and blood-guzzling and all. We don't walk in their world. We walk in our own. Above them. And way down deep below...you know I'm right. So why fight it? Why don't we drop the act? C'mon, just let me take control. Let me fix all this. I've always been the smarter one between the two of us. I might be your only shot at surviving these stupid trials.
Not a chance, Angelus. Go to hell, Angel growled back in response. No way was he going to ever give his demon control willingly. Ever.
Hah! Been there, escaped that, pal. Hey, that's fine, if you don't wanna do it the easy way, chances are I'll just end up taking control anyway. There's always a way. I'm a real patient guy when I wanna be. Sooner or later, you'll slip up. And that one little slip up is all I need...to be free again. It's only a matter of time, Angel… The sinister demon began to hum an old Rolling Stones song that sent an eerie chill down Angel's spine. And tiiiime is on my side, yes it is...
Angel lost track of his tortured thoughts until he stumbled upon something that would have made his heart stop beating if it had needed a pulse. Something he never thought he'd see here…
A grave.
Not just any grave.
The words etched carefully on the graying marble tombstone were words that haunted Angel's nightmares to this day:
Buffy Anne Summers
1981 - 2001
Beloved Sister
Devoted Friend
She Saved The World A Lot
Angel felt the lump in his throat form as he knelt reverently down to the undisturbed earth in front of the grave marker. As if paying homage to a holy place. And for him, there was no holier place on Earth than here.
The grave of the woman he loved.
Even years later, this image was something that haunted him. For so many reasons. Not just losing Buffy, as excruciating and agonizing as that was. It was why he lost her.
Because he failed her.
Because he wasn't there for her when she needed him most.
Because while he was off gallivanting in some other dimension basking under the light of two suns and admiring his own reflection, Buffy, his soulmate, the woman he loved, the first person who showed him that his endless, worthless life was indeed worth living, that he could make amends for the pain, evil and horror he sowed, the only thing he had ever truly wanted in this harsh, cruel world...was fighting for her life against a psychotic hellgod.
I let her down, Angel thought, his conscience racked with guilt, his heart aching with a pain so sharp he could almost feel it breaking. I wasn't there for her when she needed me. I failed her. Again. Just like I've always failed her.
Told ya. He heard Angelus's mocking, hate-tinged voice in his head. She's a masterpiece, our Buffy. But even the Venus de Milo has to crumble one day. It's inevitable. Just like the others will. But hey, if you still want a taste of that Summers blood, maybe we can wait for Dawn to grow up a little more, right? She's already blossoming in all the right places, just like her sweet-ass sister…
Angel growled, mentally shoving his demonic id's voice back down as far as he could.
When quiet remained, he lay his hand gently on the tombstone, lovingly tracing her name with his fingers.
Angel's eyes closed, his voice was a hoarse, pained whisper. "I'm sorry, Buffy."
"Yeah. Being sorry seems to be your wheelhouse, doesn't it?"
Startled, Angel stood and whirled around to see the source of that familiar voice.
Buffy.
Standing there, clad in snug blue jeans and a tiny black top. Her eyes, normally laughing, were tinged with a hard, bitter look as they beheld him.
"Buffy?" Angel asked, startled, confused. What was she doing here?
She merely laughed. Donning a very un-Buffy-like cold smirk that would have made his heart freeze if it was beating.
Buffy's voice was a low, almost nasty purr of a sound. "Tip? Mouth looks better closed."
Sunnydale, CA—Summers Residence, Dawn's Room
11:49 a.m.
Countdown to End of Days: 14
"Dawn...please don't cry," Connor softly implored her, the breakfast tray of eggs, a bagel, hash browns and orange juice he had brought up for her lying on her dresser, untouched. "Come on, you have to eat something. Please?"
But Dawn couldn't stop crying. She lay in the same place she'd been in since last night.
Curled up on her side and crying her heart out.
All night. And into the morning.
"He's dead because of me," Dawn croaked out, her voice heavy with sadness in between her sobs. "Matthew died protecting me, Connor. I'm the reason he's dead!"
She couldn't unsee the horror that was last night. Brave, sweet little Matthew's eyes wide in shock as that bastard Caleb impaled the boy with his own knife. The blood from Xander's eye spilling out of him like a river from where Caleb had gouged it out. The sheer terror that had paralyzed her entire body when Caleb had his grip around her slender throat and held her in the air like she was little more than a toy. All of her new powers worthless, all of her training for nothing, all of her bravado evaporating like steam as she stared into the foul black eyes and the jagged smile of a monster, her would-be killer. She just froze. Afraid. Weak and pathetic. Unable to help Buffy. Unable to save Matthew. Unable to protect Xander or Connor. Like she didn't count for anything.
The taunting, cruel words of The First Evil in Anna's body echoing in her head all through the night and even now. You never really mattered in the first place...
Connor bit his lip in sadness, his heart breaking at seeing Dawn hurting like this. "Dawn, that's not true. Look, I miss him just as much as you do, but Matthew shouldn't have been there in the first place," he said quietly, soothingly. "But I think Matthew would have wanted to go out like that if he had to. Saving you." Connor looked down, guilt coursing through him. "Like I should have been able to."
"He was just a little boy," Dawn uttered in a watery voice through her tears. "I just wanted to show that we could help. I just wanted to show that I wasn't useless!"
Connor sighed, sadly. "You're not useless, Dawn. We just had—"
"Connor, I can't...I can't do this right now," a miserable Dawn abruptly cut him off, her arms circling around her torso as she seemed to shrink further into herself. "Please, I...I need to be alone right now. Okay? I just want to be alone."
Connor's eyes widened, hurt etched in them at Dawn's rejection of his comfort. "But...Dawn, I—"
"Just go! Please, Connor….get out. Please, just go," Dawn cried, sobbing harder. "Please…"
Hurt and feeling rejected, Connor's shoulders slouched and his face fell. Nodding silently, he spared his heartbroken girlfriend one last glance before he shuffled out of her room, slowly closing the door behind him.
Leaving Connor to his own private self-loathing as he silently made his way back to the room he was sharing with Andrew. For deep down in his heart, he knew the truth. It wasn't Dawn's fault that Matthew was dead...it was Connor's fault.
In Connor's mind, that sweet, sometimes-annoying, but always lovable little kid that he was beginning to see as a little brother he never had was dead because Connor's strength failed him last night. He let Caleb get the better of him. He wasn't smart enough to figure out a way to get Matthew out of there. And his failure cost him Matthew's life, and it nearly cost him Dawn's, as well. For all the horrors Connor had seen in his short, but perilous life, nothing had been more terrifying than the sight of Dawn, her eyes crying and full of fear, as Caleb held her by the throat while toying with that knife in his other hand while Connor lay barely conscious and unable to help her. Connor could have watched the girl he loved die right in front of him and there would have been nothing that he could have done about it, and that thought made him sick to his stomach.
"You couldn't protect her. Or that boy. No more than you could protect me," came a taunting, yet familiar voice.
Connor's eyes widened as he turned around and saw its owner.
Holtz.
His graying hair framing weathered, scarred features and a disappointed look on his face.
For a moment, Connor felt his heart skip a beat, his hands begin to tremble ever so slightly. But then he forced himself to take a sharp breath. Reminding himself that this wasn't the man he called "father" for all his life before Angel. That man was dead.
"You're not real," Connor hissed out. "Get the fuck out."
"Tch. Language, Steven. You know I raised you better than that," 'Holtz' replied, his tone fatherly in its disappointment.
"My name is Connor," the young man replied, gritting his teeth. "And you're not him. Even if you were, I wouldn't call what he did raising me at all. Holtz groomed me. To be a weapon against Angel, my real father, nothing more."
Holtz/The First shrugged. "Fair enough. But it doesn't make what I said any less true."
Connor snorted as he glowered at the apparition. "Let me guess. This is the part where you try and screw around with my head, right? Cut me down? Rub my failures in my own face? Well, speed it up. Because as soon as I get a plan together, I'm going right back there to find Caleb for what he did to Matthew and Dawn and I'll kill that son of a bitch myself. And you're next."
The image of his adoptive father chuckled, a sound that unsettled Connor because he had rarely heard that sound from the real Holtz growing up in Quor'toth. Holtz rarely had any time for laughter or joy or anything resembling happiness in all the time Connor knew him. Only his obsession with revenge against Angel and a twisted version of what he offered as love for Connor.
"Headstrong. Full of bravado. Not willing to show any signs of weakness even as you stare into the face of fear. Maybe you are more like Angel than I gave you credit for," Holtz/The First dryly smiled.
"Screw you," Connor growled at 'Holtz', bolting for his duffel bag and beginning to stuff his weapons into it.
Holtz/The First coolly continued. "And what exactly would your plan of action be if you return to the vineyard? Gifted as you are, you know you can't match The Beast. Pearl and Nash are a deadly duo, and there are all sorts of forces guarding that citadel. Should you survive that, are you really confident that you could best Caleb when he so easily dispatched you last night?"
"Well, if I die, at least I won't have to listen to your stupid voice anymore," Connor snapped, stuffing a crossbow into the bag.
"And if you die, what? Do you think that will make these people here understand you? Respect you? Mourn you? Forget about the things you set in motion that got them to this point? Your role in this? Your role in why people they loved are dead or wounded now?"
Connor stopped, fresh guilt flooding him. He just couldn't shake that feeling that this was all his fault. Coming back from Quor'toth. Letting himself get twisted in every direction by people with agendas of their own. Sleeping with Cordelia. Creating Jasmine. All of those things led to these tragedies, and the possible end of the world and time itself. He was the reason for all of this. Dawn could still yet die, and it was all his fault. This is all because of me….
"Poor boy. Still so lost. Always looking for love in all the wrong places and in all the wrong ways. So desperate for approval that you'd willingly charge headfirst into a battle you can't possibly win just to gain some acceptance. But I can't say I don't understand. After all, you weren't exactly given an ideal place to start in life. The bastard son of two vampires, raised in a hell dimension, nobody ever seeing you for anything more than a pawn to be guided. It must be tiring. All that fighting you've been doing your whole life, fighting for the sheer right to exist. And even if you survive this fight, there will always be another. And another. And another."
Just the thought of it made Connor feel so old, so very, very old, and tired.
"But go ahead. Do try and barge in through those vineyard doors. Perhaps I'll even let them spare you, send you back home licking your wounds so they can see you fail yet again. But for all the battles and all the scars and all the wounds, it will never win you the one thing that you've been so desperate for your whole life, 'Connor.'"
"And what's that?" Connor asked, his voice terse but quieter now. Less certain. Part of him didn't even want to know the answer. Was afraid of it.
Holtz/The First smiled warmly. "Love, son. You crave it. Yearn for it. Are so desperate for it that you'll lay down your own life if it means you'll receive something even close to it. But here's the rub, my boy...love is a lie. It's 'The Big Lie'. Something people only made you believe in so they could use you as they saw fit." The smirk on the old man's face sent a shiver down Connor's spine. "If Darla had loved you, she never would have tried to kill you before you were born." Off Connor's shocked gaze, 'Holtz' nodded. "You can ask her if you'd like, it's true. If Angel had loved you, had really loved you, he never would have let you out of his sight...and into these arms."
"Shut up," Connor ground out, turning away to the other side of the room. His mind was feeling off balance and everything around him felt like it was spinning.
"I suppose Holtz did love you in his own strange way...but it was never more than he hated the man who killed his real children. That's why he used you as a weapon against your real father. Raised you in that horrible place. Cordelia...now that was priceless. She was an older woman, grown and experienced. What love could she possibly have for a mere boy?"
"I'm NOT a boy!" Connor angrily snapped, his fists shaking and balled.
But Holtz/The First merely smiled. "Aren't you? Still secretly seeking the approval of your father, so desperate for attention and validation? You might be a special boy, Connor, but a boy is all you will ever be. That's why you'll never be good enough for them. Or Dawn." The image of the vampire hunter strolled about casually around the room, playing on the young warrior's fears with ease. "She might care for you now, but how much longer will that last? Even if you both survive this somehow, what possible future could you offer her? She's young and beautiful, blossoming in power and beauty, she'll have a list of suitors vying for her hand. And what could you have to offer her? You don't even belong in this world, what makes you think you could belong in her life?"
"You're wrong," Connor bit back, nostrils flaring in anger. "She loves me, I know she does."
"Ah, Connor. The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves."
Glowering, Connor had finally had enough of this. "Get. Out. Now."
Holtz/The First gave him a cruel smile. "Fine. But just remember this, Connor...Love is merely giving permission for someone to hurt you. After all you've been through your whole life, you should really ask yourself—haven't you been hurt enough?"
And just like that, the image of Daniel Holtz was gone...leaving a shaken Connor alone to absorb the meaning of his cruel words.
Alone...like he had been his whole life.
Sunnydale, CA—Rupert Giles's residence
12:32 p.m.
Countdown to End of Days: 14
Gunn's footsteps were audible as they echoed through the door.
His body was still wracked with pain from the night before. That Caleb bastard might look like a tool, but he sure has a mean backhand, Gunn concluded. Yet he was more worried about Fred. She looked shaken up visibly after that melee at the vineyard last night. Her hand was only bruised, not broken. But as Gunn knew from experience, it wasn't the physical wounds that needed tending to after losing a fight. It was the wounds people couldn't see.
"Well, lookie who showed up…General damn Custard himself."
Gunn looked pained. "Rondell-"
Rondell held up his taped left hand. Gunn fought the urge to cringe at the bloody gauze tape wrapped around the appendage.
"It's all right, bro. Just kiddin'." He gave his life-long friend a long once-over. "How you holdin' up?"
Gunn sighed, lifting up his bulky black hood sweater to reveal his heavily-taped ribs. "Been better. Preacher Man can pack a good punch…How 'bout you?"
Rondell let out a short, bitter chuckle. "Don't think I'll be hittin' the hardtops anytime soon, but, hey, I'll live." He paused, his face grave. "Which is more than I can say for Derek, Spider, Ray, Alicia and Vito."
Gunn felt a wave of anguish sweep over him as he shut his eyes. Those five people he had known for years. Since his teens. They were part of the only family he had ever known for the longest time.
" 'Dell, I…", Gunn began, faltering and pained.
"No worries, boss", Rondell shook his head. "Hey, we- you and me- have been doing this for years. We both know that sometimes, we're gonna lose people. Alonna, George…"
The names were like knives slicing through Gunn's heart. His sister and one of his closest friends, people he'd known his whole life…gone, because he couldn't protect them.
"Yeah", Gunn's voice forced out a strained reply. "It happens."
Rondell sighed. "Just promise me one thing, Chuck." He put his hand on his old friend's shoulder. "Take care of yourself. It'd kill me to have to come back to bury you, alright?"
"Take care of yourself?", Gunn frowned at the words, and then it dawned on him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up…you're not…'Dell, please tell me you're not doing what I think-"
His fears were confirmed when he looked through the window and saw several remaining gang members packing their supplies into one of the vans, then another group, the healthy ones shouldering the burden while the even the wounded helped, hastily packing weapons into a busted –up jeep, and realized that everyone was packing up anything in sight.
Rondell sighed. "I'm sorry, man. But after that vineyard bloodbath? We've seen some scary things before. Vampires, demons, hellspawn, all that crap…but that whack-ass preacher? That big rock-headed devil-looking freak? And those black-hooded, no-eyeball guys? We weren't ready for that. We never even dreamed about that. We lost five people, Gunn. That's five too many."
"So, what? Now you're bailing out on me? Turning chicken and rollin' up out of here?", Gunn accused, angry. "You gone soft on me? This ain't you at all, 'Dell! Back in the day, we would've-"
"Back in the day, we would've had a plan!", Rondell heatedly cut him off. "We always had a plan to get in, bust heads, and get our people out of there and lose as few of them as possible, none if we could help it. We were organized. Yeah, we had our share of losses and bumps, but we had a system that worked." He shook his head. "What happened back there, man…that wasn't no system, man, that was a damn suicide mission! Five of ours dead, more of us hurt badly. And it's all because we trusted your girl."
Gunn's eyes scrunched in confusion. "Fred?"
"No, man", Rondell rolled his eyes. "The blonde chick. The Slayer."
Buffy. Gunn sighed, frustrated. He knew that damn plan of Buffy's was no good, but he went ahead with it anyway. How stupid was he?
Rondell shook his head. "The truth? Nobody wasn't crazy about comin' up here. LA's still a wreck after that whole Rain of Fire mess plus the whole no-sun period. There's people back home that still need our help, a lot of lives we could save just by doin' what we been doin' all these years. Besides, it's not exactly like we can fit in some Kali Suburbia cookie –cutter town like this. But you know why I brought 'em all up here? Why they even gave it a thought?"
Rondell locked eyes with the man who had created this gang. His ex-leader. His hero. "It was you, man. Yeah, we still tell stories about you, even to the newbies. All the vamps you dusted, the crash raids on those demon nests, they still talk about you 'round the hood. You're like a hero to us. But to me? You're more than that…You're my brother, my boy, you're family, G. Ever since we were kids, when we was being chased by that gang of kids who were gonna jack our new Starter hats? Remember when you helped me pop open that sewer lid and put me down first—"
"—And I ran the other way, to get their attention away from you", Gunn recalled, a faint smile coming to his lips. Those were simpler days, back when schoolyard bullies were the most of their problems. Before Gunn's parents died. Before the vampires. Before all of this.
Rondell nodded. "I knew then and there, bro. Thick and thin, hell or high water, you had my back, no matter what. I'll never forget what you told me right after, when I asked why you did that for me."
Gunn remembered. " 'Family's got to look out for family.'"
"Which is why we've got to go", Rondell said. "G, you know we'll always be tight. But things change. You've got your own family now." He looked back to the rest of the gang. "I've got to take care of mine."
He turned to go when Gunn grabbed his arm.
" 'Dell, wait", he said, trying not to sound too pleading. "You…you can't go. You just can't."
Rondell turned to him, wearily. "Why the hell not?"
"Because…" Gunn sighed. "Because if you do…it might mean the end of the world."
Rondell's eyes widened. Gunn silently thanked the Powers for finally grabbing his attention.
Gunn proceeded to tell Rondell everything. The hell that was unleashed over the last few days, everything Skip told them, the First, Jasmine, the End of Days, how everything, everything, was depending on this battle. When Gunn finished, he could note the changed expression on Rondell's face.
"I don't know, G", Rondell sighed. "If it's as bad as all that you just said, then it's going to take a lot more than a couple of kids with stakes. This is big time."
"And you're not?" Gunn scoffed. "'Dell, we've been fighting demons since we were kids. Hell, half of those Slayer-wannabe's never even seen a vamp up close. Look, man, I know you have your doubts, I know they're scared, and they should be. But…", he broke off, looking his best friend dead in the eyes with conviction. "…we can't do this without you. And if we can't win…there is no tomorrow. For anyone. Ever. This is what you've been waiting for a long time, 'Dell. Time to step up. Be a hero…a champion."
Gunn held his breath, knowing that Rondell was weighing the options carefully.
"Alright, G", Rondell nodded. "Fine, I'll talk to them. "He pointed his finger at him. "But this is it, you hear? No more of these kamikaze missions without us knowing the full deal. If it happens again, we're gone, understand?"
Gunn smiled, relieved. "Thanks, 'Dell." They exchanged their secret handshake, something they invented back when they were just children.
"Yeah", Rondell nodded. "But I mean it, G. I'm trusting you. Not the Slayer. You. No more surprises."
Gunn's lips drew into a straight grim line. "Not if I can help it."
The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth
Now
Few things had ever chilled Angel to the bone like the way Buffy smirked at him now. "Why the long face, lover? Came to bask in the afterglow of your stunning underachievements?"
He found himself at a loss for words, even more so than usual. There she stood, so beautiful, as lovely as ever, and yet the tone in her voice, the arrogance in her stride, the cruel spark in her stunning hazel-green eyes were just all wrong.
He followed Buffy's gaze to the simple headstone.
Buffy shrugged coolly. "Yeah, there's me. Well, not exactly. I mean, I'm not there now. Good thing, too. Decomposition really didn't go with my outfit."
Angel slowly backed away, shaking his head. "You're not real."
But Buffy closed the gap, matching his every step, refusing to give him space. "What's real anymore nowadays? I'm a girl who kills vampires for a living, how can I be real? You're one of said vampires I'm supposed to be killing. And yet you're real? But if that's the case, here's a real mind-blower...a Slayer falling in love with a vampire." She giggled, but her laugh was not a pleasant sound. "How real is that supposed to be?"
"Maybe that's why you never took me seriously. I mean, you killed my friends. You stalked me in the dark. You made me send you to hell just to stop an apocalypse you started. Yet I came back to you each time like a starving puppy dog. Then you left me to go off to Hollywood and 'fight your demons' while making googley eyes at Cordelia and sleeping with Darla, having a kid in the process, and what did I do? I came running back to you the first chance I got. Then you dump me again with The First about ready to wipe out reality, and deep down, you know I can't stop loving you, anyway. I mean, I should. Deep down, you know I deserve better than you. But I won't. Because you know that I'll keep coming back."
She smiled at him, but it was a cruel mockery of Buffy's real smile. Cold and hollow. "Until the one time I don't."
"And this was it, wasn't it? The one time I didn't...or wasn't supposed to." Her eyes were cold, accusing. "Because you weren't there for me when I needed you."
Guilt stabbed at Angel's un-beating heart like a knife. His voice was a pained hush. "Buffy…"
Buffy raised her hand, signaling for him to be quiet. Her tone changed, became sweeter, softer, her eyes warming with understanding. "Angel, it's okay. I know what you want. The one thing you want more than anything. More than even me….you want forgiveness."
Steeling his mind, Angel tried to shut out her words. "You're not real."
She gently laid a hand on his cheek. "And even though you don't deserve it, it's okay...I forgive you, Angel."
His voice became harder. "Don't."
Buffy's voice was sweet and soothing as she wrapped her arms lovingly around his neck, staring deeply into his eyes as she twisted the knife even further. "I forgive you for letting me die."
"Stop."
His eyes cold and hard, Angel suddenly reached out and grabbed Buffy's slender shoulders, shaking her hard once. Keeping her at bay.
"I guess that makes you a better person than me," came another familiar voice from behind him. The voice of someone else he loved...someone he wasn't always sure loved him back.
There stood Connor.
His son. A spitting image of himself, from his height to his sneer to his dark hair.
Connor's voice was cold, his smirk arrogant yet accusing at the same time. "You were there, but just a step too slow when Holtz got me. Dragged me into that hell place. Ruined my life. Messed me up completely. But that's okay. I mean, what else could I really expect from the great Angel? Or it is Angelus? You can be there to save any number of faceless innocents, but you never could be in the right place at the right time for the people who depend on you, can you, Dad?"
"Maybe that's the price we pay for loving you," Buffy mused cruelly. "Paying for your crimes."
"Suffering for your sins," Connor snorted in disgust.
"That's not true," Angel said hoarsely, each word putting another crack in his heart.
"Isn't it?" From out of another corner of the cave stepped...Cordelia.
His best friend. His Seer.
Only Cordelia's eyes were frigid, condescending, her voice an icy knife. Her hands were dripping, covered almost completely in blood. "I mean, your track record isn't exactly stellar, Boss. Look at me. I was going to be an actress until I met you. I had my whole life ahead of me. And you let them take over my body. Make me do all those things. Kill all those people."
She let out a condescending laugh that reminded Angel of the girl Cordelia used to be in high school, the arrogant, full-of-herself diva of Sunnydale High that called herself 'Queen C." "But hey, at least we've got something in common now, don't we, Angel? I'm just...like...you."
"A killer." Angel whirled around, and there stood not a friend. Rather an enemy.
Holtz.
The man who Angel had driven to madness by killing his family centuries ago. A sin that Connor ended up paying for.
"A demon. The same filth who killed my family. Violated my beloved wife Catherine. Snapped the neck of my infant son Daniel. Turned my beloved daughter Sarah into a foul creature of the night," Holtz's mad blue eyes glittered in hatred at Angel as he recited the crimes his demon had committed against his family centuries ago.
Oh, for the love of God, is this loser still whining about that? I mean, come on, that was so 1700s, am I right? So we killed his family, ended his bloodline, blah-blah-blah-blah-blabbity-blah-blah, you win some, you lose some, my GOD, can this schmuck get over it already? Angel heard the unrepentant and bored voice of Angelus groaning in his head.
"It's okay. He made up for ruining your life by ruining mine, too," Connor replied with a cold leer at Angel's direction.
And speaking of whiners, enter that creepy punk kid of ours. What is this, 'Donahue for the Damned?' With a hiss, Angel mustered enough of his will to throw that voice back down even farther into the depths of his mind.
From yet another corner, Wesley came out. His tone grim, his voice cynical.
Wesley shook his head in disgust. "Why would I have ever thought we could make the world a better place by fighting alongside a demon? One that turns on his own friends and tries to smother them in a hospital bed?"
"You got off lucky," said a frosty Gunn as he emerged from Angel's other side. "This dude let my sister die."
From out of nowhere appeared Fred, pretty, innocent, optimistic little Fred. Her eyes were big and wounded, her tone hurt. "Why haven't you gotten Hope's Dagger yet, Angel? The world's falling apart. We're counting on you, Angel, how could you let us down like this? Don't you care about us?"
"Us? He barely cares about anything but redemption," snorted Lorne, who appeared to his left, leaning casually against a cave wall, idly drinking a sea breeze. "I could see it in his soul whenever he was butchering Barry Manilow. Which, FYI, was far more brutal than all the torture and beheadings I saw you commit when I read your aura."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe we just don't get redemption?" asked Faith, as the brunette beauty slunk out of another corner of the cave. But it was not the Faith he knew and had helped redeem. Her eyebrow was cocked at him, and she dressed and sounded exactly how she did back in Sunnydale when she was merely a pawn for Mayor Wilkens when he was trying to devour the entire town. "I mean, all the shit I did was bad, but it still doesn't hold a candle to everything you did, Angel."
"Things like us? We don't get redemption, mate," said a grinning Spike, who crawled out of yet another shadow of these caves. His Grandchilde. His former pupil. A monster he helped to build from the ground up, who took almost as many lives as Angel had in his soulless days. "Like that bloody karma thing you keep yammering about...what goes around comes around and around. All the sorrow we reaped. All the blood. All the death. And it's here for you, Peaches. C'mere...get yourself a taste."
Suddenly, figures of dozens, no, hundreds of people, came crawling out of every hole in this damned cave. Faces Angel recognized. For they haunted his dreams every night. They were the faces of all the people he had killed. The lives that he had ruined. People he killed in Europe. People he murdered in Sunnydale. The faces of people he killed in the few weeks where he had lost his soul when the sun disappeared in L.A.
All of his sins literally surrounding him.
Angel's grim, yet determined expression was his shield, hiding the grief and anguish that the flood of blood-soaked memories flickering in his mind had blasted his heart with like an endless snowstorm.
"This is your monument, Daddy," sang Drusilla, his mad Childe, whose life he ruined and whose entire family he killed, driving her insane before he sired her. "Isn't it lovely? Like roses. Bloody tips and poison thorns and all."
"Fitting. All you ever create is misery, Angel. Soul or no soul," added the cold, accusing voice of a smirking Jenny Calendar. The lovely gypsy technopagan who had been a friend of the Scooby Gang. A woman whose neck was snapped by his own hands for nothing more than wanting to restore his soul to him. "Look around at us. You'll see nothing but guilt. Regret. For the lives we didn't get to live."
"The love we never got to share," said the hard, accusing voice of Giles. Buffy's Watcher. A man he once thought of as a friend, before he killed Jenny, the woman Giles loved, and tortured the brave Watcher for hours later.
"The futures we never got to live," jeered Margaret, the young servant girl who he killed more than a century ago in London, along with her young son.
"The families we never got to grow old with," said a stone-faced Robin, the son of the Slayer Spike had murdered. A murder that took place only because of a creature that Angel had helped create.
"It's all for you, chief. Think of us as your final mission. Taking you home. To Hell. Where you belong," smiled a sneering Sam Lawson, the young, idealistic ensign that Angel—not Angelus, but Angel himself— was forced to sire when he, Spike and crew of humans were stranded aboard a sinking submarine in World War II.
"You earned this, Angel. For all your failures. Just let go. Let it all go," Buffy said in a soft, coaxing voice. "Let everything go...to hell."
And then they were all upon him. Their hands, soaked in blood, tugging at Angel, clawing at him. Trying to drag him as he struggled deeper into the cave. Into Hell itself. Where Angel, deep down, had always felt he belonged. As he shut his eyes, part of Angel, the noble, guilty part of him that made up his soul, was sorely tempted to give in…
...but the man in him, the lover, the father, the friend, the protector, the Champion in him, refused to die here. Not when the ones he loved needed him most.
With a swift kick, he began to batter the specters around him.
"You're right. About all of it," Angel gritted out.
He lashed out and batted aside another swarm.
"Maybe I do deserve hell."
His boot found Spike's chin, allowing Angel a brief second of satisfaction.
"But here's the thing I've picked up that it took me about a hundred years to get."
Angel backhanded Holtz, drawing blood as the vampire hunter toppled over, lost in the masses.
"...It's not about me."
He snarled as he let his fists and feet fly, creating as much space as he could.
"It's not about redemption."
Using the walls to his advantage. Finding his sword as he began to slice through the masses around him.
His voice was sincere, fierce in it. "I fight for them."
He slashed through more of them.
"For my friends."
He hacked through even more.
"For my family."
He whirled and twirled and punched and kicked.
"For the people I love."
BAM!
"For the people who can't help themselves."
WHACK! SLASH!
"Because it's right. And if I have to knock on hell's gate to protect them…"
SHUCK! CRACK! POW! KA-POW!
"Then I'll kick that damned door down and bring the damned party favors!"
He lost his sword as the horde kept coming, but it didn't matter. His fists and feet and his will were all the weapons he needed. Angel lost count of how hard and how long he fought, how many heads he caved in with his blows, how many ribs he cracked with his kicks, how badly his jacket was going to need repair…
...but in the end, it didn't matter. As suddenly as they came, they suddenly vanished.
Leaving Angel alone in the cave, bloodied, bruised, his leather duster now sliding off of him in tatters as he was now clad in only his thin white tank top undershirt, his ripped black pants and his bare feet, having destroyed his boots amid the battle. His hands were shaking. He could barely stand. And his heart and mind were so, so exhausted from going through that trial.
But still...he was victorious.
The cave rumbled around him, and suddenly light poured out of the darkness, revealing yet another gateway. The gateway to what was undoubtedly the third trial.
The Trial of the Spirit.
Angel let out a needless sigh. He was halfway there. Halfway to Hope's Dagger.
As he staggered towards the door, he could hear Angelus laughing mirthlessly in his head. Well, how 'bout that? Didn't care much for the 'It's all about them, not me!' crap you were spewing back there, but still. Maybe you're not such a pansy ass after all, Angel. Still...can't believe you made it this far. Though I doubt you'll survive the next one.
"Couldn't be any worse than listening to you all day," Angel growled aloud, tiredly as he staggered through the door, which led him to...an alley.
Not just any alley, Angel realized in shock. This was Galway. Ireland. The same alley where Darla had sired him lifetimes ago. The aging barrels of wine, the strong scent of hay, the musty smell of the cobblestones...it all looks and smells exactly the same, Angel grimly realized.
Yeah, real blast from the past, isn't it, buddy? Angel rolled his eyes at Angelus's gleeful tone. Can't say I haven't enjoyed this little trip down Memory Lane almost as much as the last Tour de Suck I had to go through with that sweet piece of ass Faith. I mean, it isn't every day a guy can take a look at his greatest hits collection. Gets me all nostalgic, you know? All that mess back there needed was that little Gypsy tart we fed on that got this gorgeous body saddled with this sack of shit of a soul, and we would've had the whole party on our hands! But you know what's worse than the demons haunting you from the past?
Suddenly, a wicked punch came from out of nowhere, snapping Angel's chin back, rocking his world completely as he bounced off the wall and tumbled to the ground. Dazed, Angel looked up…
...and stared into murderous yellow eyes that he knew all too well.
There stood Angelus.
Clad in leather black pants and dark trench coat, full vampire face. A sword in one hand, the severed head of a bartender in the other. Leering at his hated alter ego in that evil smile that only The Scourge of Europe was capable of.
Angelus grinned a sinister smile at the surprised and weaponless Angel as the master vampire licked his blood-soaked lips. "The demons you just can't get rid of."
To Be Continued...
Next:
Angel.
Angelus.
A Champion of Good. A Master of Evil.
A fight to the finish.
Who Will Survive?
Please read, review and follow! Until next time!
Best,
Jean-theGuardian
