Bring Me To Life
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 74
Touched, Part 2
Catholic monastery - Gilroy, CA
7:28 a.m.
Days left before the End of Days: 8
Spike had faced some pretty horrible torture in his long century-plus life and escapades.
Angelus used to lash him brutally for hours whenever he'd give away the location of The Whirlwind with his antics when the fearsome fanged foursome ran roughshod across Europe.
The Immortal's goons once poked him with hot irons when he and Angelus ran afoul of the condescending everliving, a ploy to keep them out of the way while he had a threesome with their Sires Darla and Drusilla.
Glory, the mad Hellgoddess, tied him up and beat him mercilessly for an entire day to unsuccessfully get him to reveal the location and identity of The Key, Dawn Summers.
He had survived brutal beatings from angry mobs in Asia and Europe for over a century that nearly ended his life before narrowly escaping.
But, here and now, stuck inside the secret room inside the Gilroy mission, very little at the moment seemed to compare to the unending agony of having to listen to a bored Andrew Wells try to entertain himself with the young nerdling's limited attention span causing him to seek any kind of fun to focus on.
Spike so far had refused all of the boy's attempts to play games. He refused "Never Have I Ever", he ignored Andrew's request to play "Odds and Evens" and he didn't even acknowledge the boy's attempt to play trivia games.
Spike just wanted out of this hole in the wall so he could get back to Sunnydale. Get back to help the others. Buffy, Dawn, Willow…Faith, a part of him thought sadly.
Something had changed in the Boston-born Slayer since the failed attack at the vineyard. He knew that The First and its goons had done…terrible things…to her. He had tried to maintain her spirits, keep her hope alive when he found that they were psychically linked for a time, but there was a giant chunk of time when they had lost communication before Faith showed up on the Summers' doorstep, bleeding and bruised and yet-still-beautiful before she collapsed in his arms.
Something had happened to her, something bad, that much he knew, yet Faith refused to talk about it with him. Somehow, he had to find a way to crack that bloody Rubik's cube if he wanted to solve the puzzle of her heart, he knew that…and boy, do I ever sound like a bloody Hallmark card for that drivel, he mused in some consternation.
As he sat in the empty dark room surrounded by bare walls covered in ancient tapestries from the mission's past, Spike mused that he was grateful that he was stubborn enough and Faith was gorgeous and exciting enough for him to keep trying. If there was one thing Spike had learned after all these years, it was persistence. Angelus had once called that trait of his stupidity, Darla referred to it as idiocy, and Buffy when they were enemies called it his "dumbass gene."
Spike shrugged them all off. He knew what it was; it was about him knowing what he wanted, and being willing to do whatever it took to get it.
And right now, what he wanted…was Faith, he thought with a tiny smile at the corner of his lips. Whatever it is happening between us, Faith…I just hope it's worth the trouble you're putting me through, pet…
His thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched, effeminate voice of Andrew, who got another "inspired" idea for a game.
"All right," the boy said eagerly as he looked up at Spike from his place lying on his back in the secret room. "I spy with my little eye something that begins with a…T."
He smiled as if he was so proud of his 'clever' little riddle, Spike noted. God, for once, Spike wished he could lose his soul just for a minute so he could rip this idiot's lower jaw away from his mouth just so he wouldn't have to hear the kid's annoying yammering.
"Tapestry," Spike said, bored as he sat slumped against the wall with his head in his hands, wishing he was anywhere but here.
Yet Andrew, determined to find a way to pass the time and fight the boredom, smiled, impressed. "Hey, good one! How did you—"
"Tapestry's the only thing in the whole bloody room," Spike tersely bit off, hoping that his snappish tone would lead his annoying companion to take the hint and shut his mouth.
Alas, he didn't.
Andrew smiled, feeling wise, for some strange reason. "Ah...so say you, but I say look deeper," he grinned as he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.
Spike was not in the mood for this. "I'll look deep into your jugular is what I'll look at," he snapped at the boy.
Andrew grew anxious by the irritated glare of one of the deadliest vampires to ever live setting cold blue eyes on him.
"Don't spaz out!" he said in a strange mix of annoyance and pure fear.
Spike felt his temper rise with every stupid word coming out of Andrew's stupid mouth.
"I'm not—!" Then he stopped, deciding that it was not worth killing the boy just to shut him up…but not by much. Spike's dangerous blue eyes glared furiously at Andrew before he uttered a warning in an ominous tone.
"Don't say another word. Got it?"
Andrew held up his hands in mock offense, sarcastically. And all that did was make Spike even angrier.
"Idiot," he said quietly, though not so quietly that Andrew didn't hear it.
More silence followed, and Spike stewed silently as he hoped to get a brief return to his thoughts.
Even if they were torturous ones, like wondering how Faith and Buffy were doing without him, how Dawn was managing with her moody-as-his-poncy-dad boyfriend Connor having run off, if the others had run into any danger while he was gone, if that big ape Angel was back with his cape and tights pressed ready to save the day or if he had finally kicked the bucket…Spike silently swatting away the little part of his brain that felt vaguely worried and upset by that notion…and how fast the seconds could go by before Spike could jump back on his motorcycle and race back to Sunnydale like a bat out of hell…
And then, Andrew rolled back on his belly, looking at Spike excitedly, Spike silently noticed, like a really dumb puppy dog that wanted to play fetch. "Rock, paper, scissors?" he panted excitedly, almost with his tongue hanging out which really did make Andrew seem like a dumb dog in Spike's eyes.
Spike looked at the boy like he had grown two heads. "What the bloody hell is the matter with you, you dumb tosser?"
Andrew just stared at the vampire with those big, dumb, dull blue eyes, and it made Spike wish he could just snap his neck, not even drink him, just to shut him up.
"Don't you understand what's happening here?" Spike demanded, angrily.
"Uh...yeah," Andrew replied in a 'no duh' flippant tone. "We're waiting here till it's night again so you can ride on your motorcycle without exploding. Obviously!"
Frustrated out of his mind, Spike slammed the floor with his fist…
Bugger this bullshit, he thought in rage…
…right before he shot up in an instant, walked over, and yanked a yelping and shocked Andrew up by the scruff of his neck and hauled him up against a wall.
Andrew cried out in fear as he saw Spike's eyes briefly flash their primal amber-yellow color, the second-ever vampire-with-a-soul struggling not to let his demonic 'game' face emerge.
Yet he found himself wanting to hit something hard and knowing that unfortunately, that something couldn't be Andrew's head lest it explode into a bunch of bloody red and meat-pink pieces.
"Do you think this is a game, kid? Do you?" the former William the Bloody growled at the terrified nerd, who began to shake in the presence of the large, powerful, intimidating creature before him whose hands had been soaked in blood for decades.
"I know that you'd rather be stuck in yer mum's basement playing with the computer, thumbing the joystick in your hand and the other in your pants wondering why ya can't get laid. But this is real life, junior. We're at war here. Faith and Buffy are beaten down and worn out, Angel's gone, we're on the ropes, the apocalypse is right around the corner, both Slayers are in over their heads and we're outgunned by the biggest, baddest bad of them all. And every minute we're stuck in this hellhole, Faith and Buffy are out there alone facing hell knows what, ya dumb goof! Dawn is facing danger alone!" Spike bit out hotly. "Faith is out there alone, and I can't help her while I'm trapped in here with your stupid, 90-pound, Playstation-and-comics-loving ass!"
Spike was glad for his lack of circulation, or he would have flushed at his Freudian slip of his feelings.
Yes, he admitted silently…being away from Faith had worried him that much.
Worried him more than he could stand, he realized.
It was then that Spike quietly realized, with a bit of fear in his heart, that Andrew had been right, for once; maybe Spike really…was falling in love with Faith.
The thought would have made him laugh if it didn't scare the hell out of him.
Sure, he knew by now what it was like to fall for a Slayer, and it was one whirlwind of pain and misery. And yet…it had its thrills. It had its great highs that outweighed the lows. And this time, there was no poncy Grandsire standing in his way.
Faith made him…feel things, he realized. She excited him. Intrigued him. Angered him. Aroused him. Made him laugh. Frustrated him to no end. Intoxicated and maddened him with every doe-brown eyed look, every cheeky smile, every frown and tear and soft glance.
Every taste of her lips, he remembered as he drifted back to the memory of their few kisses here and there since they've met in this long, arduous weeks.
Something about her made him not want to stay away, made him want to travel a thousand miles, a million miles even…just to see her again.
I have to get out of here, he realized in dismay, forgetting that he had his hands on Andrew's neck scruff for a time. I have to get back. Back to her. To Faith…
"You're worried about her," Andrew's nervous voice brought Spike back out of his reverie. "I-I-I get it, man. But come on. What's the worst thing that could happen to her?"
Spike glared at Andrew pointedly. His eyes silently asked the boy to use his empty head for once in his life.
After a beat, Andrew frowned as his face fell and he felt a little ill. "Wow, I'm imagining something really horrible. How about you?"
Spike was so tempted to flash his fangs at this whelp just to see a stream of yellow stream down his pants. "I'm really trying not to…for your sake. You keep hiding from reality with your nonsense prattle about games and comics and dopey space movies to hide the fact that facing the real world scares the crap out of you. Not all of us have that luxury. Or lack the balls. Stupid kid," Spike growled menacingly before he shoved Andrew away roughly. "You know nothing of the world."
Sulking, Andrew, visibly hurt, didn't say anything afterwards.
Spike briefly relished the silence…
…until he didn't.
Realizing that it was either listening to Andrew's inane prattling or being left to his own tortured thoughts worrying about Faith, Buffy and the others for the next few hours before sunset, Spike reluctantly decided that he should probably find something else to occupy his time.
And unfortunately, killing Andrew wasn't something that qualified. Damn bloody stupid soul…
Rolling his eyes, and relatively sure he would regret this, Spike finally turned to the slumping, sitting man-child.
"All right," Spike groused. "What are we playing?"
Andrew looked up, like a happy puppy wagging his tail. "Really?" he asked, thrilled.
Spike's lips pressed together hard in consternation. "It's either that or bash my head repeatedly against this wall," he muttered. "And I can't bash yours, so…"
"Okay!" Andrew said excitedly as his eyes scanned the room. "Let's see, let's see, let's see…" He looked around searching for anything clever, yet found only more empty room and more tapestries. And then…a-ha!
"I spy with my little eye something that begins with a … Y," the former Trio member said, smiling mischievously.
Spike, confused, scowled as his eyes studied the room. Had the boy finally gone mad…well, madder? he wondered. "A Y? There's nothing here that—"
"Yet another tapestry!" Andrew crowed smugly.
Spike sighed heavily. "Should have picked the bashing," he groused, wondering just how hard he'd have to smash his head into these walls before he could get a ray of daylight to come in and put him out of his misery.
Nightfall couldn't come fast enough, the blond vampire decided. Every second brought him closer to getting out of here with the news that there was definitely something here that Caleb didn't want The Slayer to have. Something that might help them survive the coming apocalypse.
Every second brought him closer to bringing that news back. Every second brought him closer to being back to Sunnydale. Back to his…friends, he decided tentatively.
Back…to Faith, Spike thought with a wane smile. Back to Faith…
Sunnydale, CA - The Summers Home, 1630 Revello Drive
9:07 a.m.
In the basement of the home of Buffy Summers, after breakfast, the space had become the makeshift version of Command Central for the first war room meeting under the newly-elected leader, the new "official" Slayer, Faith.
With power out across town and in the house, the room was lit with battery-powered lights and candles across the table. Andrew's infamous "Big Board" stood behind Faith and the troops. Fighting dummies were strewn here and there.
Around the room, the troops had begun to gather, sitting in a circle, wherever they could find room. The Potentials, Molly, Vi, Amanda, Rona, Kennedy, Caridad and dozens of others were shuffling around on the floor or standing up wherever they could find a place to squeeze in. Kate's kids, led by Randal Golden, were crammed in there with them, while Robin Wood leaned against a wall, looking all cool and handsome to the eyes of several of the young ladies in there.
At the table, Dawn, Giles, Xander, Oz, Willow and Anya, representing The Scooby Gang, sat at one side of the table, while Cordelia and Lorne sat on the other, guarding three chairs that were meant to be for the remaining members of Team Angel, none of whom were present at the moment.
Dawn looked around the room and thought absently how this reminded her of those gangster movies where everyone was in one of those dark, smoky rooms planning the big heist or some massive gangland attack on another crime family.
At the head of the table, one lone chair was empty.
A seat meant for Buffy, before her friends and allies exiled her.
A seat meant to be for the leader.
A seat now meant…for Faith.
A seat that no one in the room dared try to sit in.
A seat that no one dared even look at.
None, Dawn noticed…except Kennedy.
Dawn's newly-enhanced hearing was a perk that she seemed to have discovered only a day ago after she woke up from that massive hangover from her night at the Bronze where she mysteriously found herself in a graveyard and then in her own bed somehow. She hadn't had time to master it, but like an AM radio, it suddenly flared to life at the movement of Kennedy's lips as she whispered in secretive, hushed tones to Rona while the mouthy Kennedy eyed that lone seat at the table hungrily, desperately.
Suspicious, Dawn watched the two upstart Potentials, and watched, until their whispers became as loud as bells in her enhanced ears.
"...I'm just saying it's the perfect time, Rona!"
"Kennedy, I don't know…"
"Who else better to lead this group than me? I've been training with weapons since I was eight. My uncle taught me about military strategy and tactical advantage. I was born for this," Kennedy insisted quietly. "Buffy was an incompetent idiot, and she's gone, thank God. Yeah, Faith is the Slayer, but she's barely holding it together. She was probably tortured in that place when we left her behind. And after what happened at the Bronze? Who knows if she's even in the right headspace to lead an army to save the world? That Angel creep is probably dead, ditto for that Spike idiot, and nobody else has the capacity here."
Rona frowned. "What about the others? Giles, or that Wesley guy…hey, that hot Gunn guy lead a whole team of fighters once, maybe he can—"
"Do you really think the fate of the world should be in the hands of some guy who led a bunch of street trash with D-I-Y weapons a couple times?" Kennedy asked snidely, an eyebrow raised in distaste.
All the while, Dawn's eyes narrowed. She had come to like Gunn the last few days. He was nice. And cute.
And that comment about Buffy made the youngest Summers girl so angry that she had to dig her nails into her palms just to keep from erupting.
God, she was beginning to really hate Kennedy, Dawn realized. Especially for getting her drunk the other night. For…for what I said to Connor, Dawn thought, a pang of sadness and regret washing through her as she remembered those horrible things she told him that night at the Bronze, when he needed her most.
"And the Watchers?" Kennedy continued in her hushed, haughty tones. "Please. They're not fighters, Rona, they're not warriors. Their job is to get The Slayer ready. But The Slayer is the one who leads. Because she can. Because she's the only one who can."
Rona eyed her suspiciously. "Uh, Ken…you're not The Slayer."
Kennedy turned to the empty seat at the head of the table, meant for The Leader.
Meant for The Slayer.
"Things change, Rona." A thin, yet hungry smile spread across the ambitious Potential's lips. "Things change."
Dawn shook her head. Wow, Kennedy really was delusional, the slender young brunette beauty thought in disgust. She was in no way qualified to lead this team, and Dawn knew that. Hell, I'd be a better leader blindfolded and hands tied behind my back, and I don't even want the damn job…
Dawn was weighing whether or not she should interrupt Kennedy's little hushed delusions of grandeur when the pampered New York rich girl stood up suddenly, looking around the room. "Fortune favors the bold," Kennedy said smugly to herself…though Dawn heard her loud and clear.
"Okay!" Kennedy declared, drawing all eyes on her. "So, we're all gathered here, bright and early, and yet our 'fearless leader' is nowhere to be found. So if Faith's too busy revving up her Harley or whatever it is she does…"
Kennedy began to walk over to the seat of the leader at the head of the table, reaching for the makeshift seat of power. "...I guess I'll get things rolling—"
Instantly, Dawn seemed to have materialized in Kennedy's way. Blocking her path to the chair.
The Key scowled, big blue eyes frowning as she stood like an oak tree rooted between Kennedy and the Iron…well, Wooden Throne.
"We're waiting until Faith and the others get here, Kennedy," Dawn said sharply, the scowl on her pretty face indicating she meant business.
Kennedy scoffed, giving Dawn the once-over in a very "Mean Girls"-ish way.
"Well, look who sobered up," the Potential snidely remarked. "Good to see you can hold your ground better than you can hold your liquor, Summers."
Seeing red for a moment at the unintentional yet callous reminder of Connor, Dawn was sorely tempted to use her newfound powers to punch Kennedy so hard that she'd wake up in another dimension.
"We're not holding this meeting until Faith gets here along with everyone else," Dawn gritted out, reminding a silently observing Cordelia eerily of the look in Buffy's eyes back in the old Sunnydale High days when it was time for the tiny Slayer to get down to business saving the world. "This is a team effort, Kennedy. We need the whole team."
"Wake up, Summers!" Kennedy said incredulously. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kinda running on a timetable here. This Awakening thing is only a week and change away, we're facing the end of all life as we know it, and we're gonna sit around and wait for Faith and everyone else to get here when they feel like? That's not fair to the rest of us! We need to get down to business now."
Some of the others in the crowd began to mumble among themselves in agreement.
Yet Dawn didn't move, didn't flinch. Wasn't going to let Kennedy have her way. And she would be damned before she let this bitch sit in the chair that should belong to her sister, Dawn thought. A chair that was meant for The Slayer, and only The Slayer.
Annoyed, Giles stood up, eying the Potential suspiciously. "Kennedy, Dawn's right. We don't start this meeting without The Slayer."
Kennedy gestured around the room. "And do you see a Slayer, Giles?" she asked with a scoff.
"No…but I do see a wannabe Slayer," Dawn coolly replied, drawing some shocked whispers among the crowd. The tension was palpable.
Kennedy's eyes narrowed, and inwardly she seethed, but decided to ignore it. And fire back.
"At least I wouldn't lead my team to their deaths like your sister did," Kennedy coldly smirked.
Dawn's eyes simmered in rage, nostrils flaring and sorely tempted to wave a finger and send Kennedy's ass careening into some weird hell dimension somewhere.
"Kennedy!" a shocked Willow blurted out, angry.
"Stay out of this, Willow," Kennedy snapped, part of her knowing that this was probably the last straw of her frayed relationship with the beautiful redheaded Witch, but too angry and too ambitious to care. She'll understand later, when it all makes sense, and we've won, Kennedy told herself. Then she'll see…
"Hey," Oz said sharply, standing up, a rare flicker of emotion passing in his normally calm face. "Don't talk to her like that."
Kennedy glowered over Dawn's shoulder as she balefully eyed the werewolf who had stolen her place in Willow's life and heart. "Oh, don't you start with me, Dog Breath!" she snapped reflexively.
"Whoa! Hey, kitten, maybe think about retracting those claws, huh?" Lorne said in his breezy voice, but frowning as he watched the Potential throwing her attitude around.
Angry, Cordelia eyed Kennedy with a regal disdain she had perfected over many years of being Sunnydale High's Queen Bee. "Uh, excuse you, Little Miss Wanna-Slay, but one, you don't talk to Oz, Dawnie or Willow like that, and two, who died and gave you the Golden Mister Pointy?"
Kennedy threw Cordelia an unimpressed glare. "I have no idea what that even means," she coldly replied, not in the mood to put up with someone she had written off as just one of that bastard Angel's groupies.
Cordelia smirked viciously at the upstart Potential. "The real Slayer would."
Kennedy narrowed her eyes at Cordelia amid the small smiles among Buffy's inner circle, the angry Potential sensing that this bimbo ex-beauty queen had just made her the butt of some inside joke she didn't get.
Xander, sighing loudly, tried to call for peace. "Guys, come on, simmer down."
Dawn's lips trembled in anger at Kennedy's insult at Buffy, the young heroine's fist balling into powerful knots.
"Don't say another word about my sister, Kennedy," Dawn said in a warning tone, her beautiful large blue eyes lit in fury. "Ever. Again."
"Hey, hey, hey," Robin called from the side, trying to quell tempers. "Let's not let tempers start getting out of control, guys. Settle down."
"Guys, come on, this isn't helping," Vi pleaded from her seat on the side in the circle, but nobody listened.
"You gonna get out of my way, Summers?" Kennedy asked, very much in a "last chance" warning tone at the youngest Summers girl as she got one step closer into Dawn's personal space.
Feeling the ancient power bubbling, simmering in her veins as she eyed this wannabe usurper to her sister's role, Dawn narrowed her eyes and took a mirroring step in Kennedy's direction until the girls were nose-to-nose, face-to-face.
Dawn's voice was unflinching. "You gonna make me get out of your way, Kennedy?" she retorted in a low near-growl of a voice.
The message was clear: the only way Kennedy was going to sit in that chair was over Dawn's dead body.
Everyone held their breath as it seemed a smackdown was seconds away…
"Hey."
A loud voice called from the top of the stairs, drawing all eyes to its owner descending down the stairs…
Faith.
Clad in a long-sleeved slim black shirt hugging her ample chest and slim-yet-sculpted figure perfectly, as did her tight blue jeans.
Flanked by Wesley at her side, gruff stubble on his perfect cheekbones and jawline, decked in a sleek dark blue dress shirt, brown leather jacket and blue jeans. Following at Faith's right side like a Queen's trusted Hand. A Don's special consiglieri. The wise man of a tribal chiefess.
Slayer and newly-re-minted Watcher walking side-by-side.
"Sorry I'm late, guys," she called as she made her way down to the floor of the basement, Wesley right by her. Faith made sure her eyes caught Kennedy's when she breezily stated, "Was just getting some last-minute pointers from my new Watcher."
At that, a ripple of surprise ran through the basement's crowd.
Dawn's eyes widened, turning from Faith to Wesley, silently asking if it was true. Wesley nodded to the youngster, giving her a wink of confirmation.
Dawn smiled in return, happy for both of them. Something told Dawn that they both needed this.
Giles eyed Wesley in surprise. "Um…n-new Watcher?" he asked, his lips threatening to turn up in a smile.
Faith gave Giles an apologetic smile and shrug. "Yeah. Sorry, G, probably should've let you know I was in the market for another Watcher again, but I think I'm gonna give Wes here another shot," she said half-jokingly.
Giles chuckled lightly at her, then turned his eyes to Wesley.
Something akin to pride were in the older British man's seasoned blue eyes as he beheld the younger man…the younger Watcher, Giles corrected himself.
"So," he smiled knowingly at Wesley, "...it seems your time as a Watcher hasn't, as you put it, 'long passed.'"
Wesley gave him a half-smile, yet there was a sign of a spark in his eyes that Giles hadn't seen in years…something akin to hope. "Maybe there's a little more time on that clock than I thought," Wesley admitted.
"And you're…sure about this?" Giles asked, as if checking one last time if Wesley knew what he was getting himself into.
Looking down at Faith's pretty face, a hint of hope in her own eyes there, Wesley turned back to the older Watcher.
"I am," Wesley nodded at last. Zero doubt in his eyes, his voice, his body language.
Satisfied, Giles nodded, before smiling again. "I'm…very happy for you both."
Faith turned to Wesley, smiling, giving him a gentle, playful punch on the arm. Wesley let out a rare (these days) smile as he watched his Slayer. His Slayer…those words still seemed strange in his head, yet they seemed so…right.
"Watcher again, huh?" Oz noted, smiling at Wesley in warmth. His thoughts were summed up succinctly, as his style. "Cool."
"Yeah…yeah!" Willow said, also smiling. "Good for you guys! I'm sure you'll be a great team…well, this time, anyway."
"Well, sure! I mean, I don't see the Mayor popping up to turn anyone evil this time around, given that he was blown into a million tiny pieces as part of the fun Graduation Day festivities," Xander quipped well-meaningly.
However, a troubled Faith frowned at those words, as did Wesley, both reminded of a time that neither of them wanted to dwell on anymore.
Sensing the mood was altered, Xander cringed as he sat down. "And if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sit down and dislodge my foot from my mouth," he muttered apologetically.
Anya looked at Wesley, pondering his decision. "Well, I suppose it makes sense," She concluded aloud. "I mean, you are pretty hot, but given your incredibly narrow field of expertise, your options were either Watcher, crazy librarian or, I don't know…postal worker?"
Wesley and Faith exchanged similar strange 'What is she talking about?' faces at each other before Wesley turned to Anya.
"Um, thank you, Anya…I think," Wesley said, his brow furrowed as he wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or an insult.
However, Cordelia and Lorne looked…torn.
"Um…" Cordelia started, unsure and nervous for reasons she didn't know and was sure she didn't like. "I…I mean, good for you, Wesley, if this is what you want, I'm…happy for you. But…being a Watcher is kind of a full-time gig. If you're gonna be Faith's new Watcher, then…what about the team?"
She paused, looking at Lorne, then back to Wesley as she gestured to the side of the table that Angel Investigations was supposed to be at. A side that Wesley was supposed to be a part of. "What about us?"
Wesley's faint smile faded, that cold and detached mask he had long adopted over the last year slipping back on.
"Cordelia…" he said simply. "I'm not coming back to the team. I told you all before. I'm just here to help save the world. After this is over…I'm done."
Cordelia and Lorne turned to each other, sad looks on their faces.
"Wes, are you…are you sure?" Lorne asked, silently asking his friend to reconsider despite the troubled past of the last year.
But Wesley's gaze was firm. He would not be moved. "I am, Lorne."
The jaded new Watcher sighed, heavily. He knew that Darla would be disappointed with his decision, but too much had happened for Wesley to just forgive and forget and rejoin his old team, his…former family, he wistfully thought. "It's…for the best."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
Deciding there would be plenty of time to dwell on uncomfortable things later, Faith decided to draw the attention back to her.
"Alright, people, let's get this party started!" she said, half-jovially, to chuckles from the rest of the room.
Walking over to Dawn, Faith reached out and gently laid a hand on the young girl's bicep. "Thanks for sticking up for me while I was getting ready to get down here, D," the Boston-born Slayer told her.
Dawn's eyes widened in surprise, as if to silently ask, You heard all that?
Faith winked in response. As if to say, Please. I hear everything.
Dawn smiled warmly, taking Faith's hand and squeezing it in assurance. Giving Faith the silent sign of approval, that the Slayer's sister would support the New Slayer, no matter what.
Faith silently squeezed it back, as if to say that she would try not to let Dawn down.
And that left one last piece of business before Faith could get down to business: Kennedy.
Who still had her hand gripped on the seat reserved for the leader.
Faith sauntered over to her, eyed her coolly.
And all of a sudden, to Kennedy, it felt just like that first day back, when Faith had promptly dismantled Kennedy in front of all the Potentials for being an alpha-level bitch to them while training. Without breaking a sweat.
Kennedy fought not to flinch, but standing in the presence of Faith—in the presence of The Slayer—the upstart Potential felt that puffed-up chest she was throwing around earlier start to deflate a little.
Faith's eyes bored into her, stared at her for what seemed like an eternity…
Then The Slayer spoke three simple words.
"That's my chair."
Something primal began to take over Kennedy, like she knew she was in real mortal danger if she truly decided to challenge Faith. Like she was a fledgling beta wolf standing in the presence of the Alpha, the leader of the pack.
And not ready to win.
As if they had a will of their own, Kennedy's fingers uncurled their grip from the chair, her hand falling helplessly to her side.
Faith said nothing, kept staring at her with cool, but hard brown eyes. Her silent message to Kennedy was read loud and clear by her: Move. Now.
And Kennedy did, slinking off a few feet back before she returned to her seat on the floor by Rona. But quietly, Kennedy vowed this wasn't over. She just had to play things a different way, for now…
Silently, Faith smoothly, easily sank down and sat in the chair.
At the Head of the Table.
As The Leader.
As The Slayer.
Alongside her, Wesley sat on the Team Angel side, by Faith's right hand, symbolically.
Her faithful Hand. Her Guide. Her Counsel. Her Wiseman.
Her Watcher.
To all who watched, the message was loud and clear—this was Faith's show now.
Suddenly, a pair of footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.
"Yo-yo!" Gunn's voice called out, the vampire hunter bounding down the stairs with Fred alongside him.
Instead of giving him guff for being late like Kennedy expected, the Potential was surprised when Faith merely nodded at him and the tiny physics whiz.
"Hey, Gunn," Faith greeted warmly, her face then turning serious. "Any word from Rondell?"
Gunn nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Good news. He's back in the game. The Crew is rested and ready to roll again with us for the battle. I told him about the…change in management," he put it delicately, "and all he asks is that he knows the risks up front."
"As long as we're straight with him and he can have a voice in things, we've got his support," Fred added helpfully.
Faith nodded. "Good. We're gonna need all the help we can get." She motioned the pair to the table. "Take your seats, guys."
Gunn and Fred did just that, sitting with Wesley, Cordelia and Lorne on the Team Angel side of the table to complete the full union of Scooby Gang and Angel Investigations members united at one table amid their makeshift army of soldiers against the coming darkness.
Faith's eyes turned to Xander, wearing an eye patch from where Caleb gouged out his eye. For Faith, the young man had become a symbol of how nothing was as it should be.
Everything was confused and messed up, Faith knew that.
She was overwhelmed, and stressed, and she might be losing her mind a little bit since the vineyard, she acknowledged that.
They were facing a seemingly all-powerful enemy with vast resources with the end of the world looming close and impossible odds against them, she relented to that.
She would have to try her best to maintain control of a very large group of scared and confused people with all sorts of volatile personalities, she admitted that.
And there were probably some who doubted she could do it, that she could fill Buffy's or Angel's shoes, her enemies and herself included…she conceded that, with a heavy sigh.
Faith looked one last time to Wesley—to her Watcher—for guidance.
And he merely nodded at his Slayer. It's your time, Faith…
Faith grimly nodded. This was it. Lights are on bright, Faithie…it's Showtime.
"Okay, team," she declared as she looked around the room with open arms, the White Hats' new leader officially starting the war meeting. "So…what do we wanna talk about?"
Los Angeles, California - The Hyperion Hotel
10:53 a.m.
"Five hundred thousand," Angel said, handing the signed check over to the person he was paying…
…a dwarf. A bearded, heavy-set dwarf that looked like he came off the Lord of the Rings set.
Said dwarf looked at the check, inspected it carefully. "This will clear, won't it, Angel?"
Angel nodded. "Yeah. Just wait three days before cashing it, Normirad. I came into some money just now, but the funds need a day or two to clear. By then, the check should be good to go."
Normirad, the dwarf lord and best craftsman builder on the West Coast, smirked. "Good. Normally, we don't usually take checks. But you're a man of your word, Angel…well, vampire of your word. And my people owe you their lives for clearing out that nest of Sevorah Demons back then."
Angel rolled his eyes. "And yet you still charged me half a million, Normi."
Normi puffed up, defensively. "Oy! I may owe you my gratitude, our lives and eternal friendship, but we still have expenses to pay!" He gestured behind him at the entrance of the hotel. "Besides, we gave you a discount. Who else could rebuild this old girl to such…luster?"
Behind him…the newly rebuilt and refurbished Hyperion Hotel.
Its white halls gleamed with fresh new marble. Its green and beige patterned floor restored, uncracked. New lights. New furniture.
Looking as good as new.
Better, even, Angel noted.
His friends behind him also looked impressed.
"Geez, Angel, you weren't kidding about the work these guys do," Kate whistled, approvingly.
"The little guys do good work," Lindsey agreed.
Normi's flinty eyes narrowed at the former lawyer. "Watch who you're calling little, boy-o, or I'll split your head open with my hammer!" the dwarf snorted.
"Hmm, I like him already," Drogyn noted, drawing a sarcastic sneer from Lindsey in return.
"Don't make me put you two on a timeout," Kate said warningly.
Ignoring them, Angel extended his hand to the dwarf. "Thank you, Normi," he said sincerely. "We really needed this."
The dwarf laughed, shaking the heroic vampire's hand. "The pleasure is all mine, laddie. Just try to take better care of her next time. I only have so many discounts I can give. Even to friends. Be well."
As he started to go, he absently turned back to Angel. "Oh, and by the way, as a bit of a parting gift, I left a little something for you in the garage. Special dwarf explosives, like C-4, but better. Seeing as how you have a big battle ahead, well…you never know when you may have the need to blow something up."
Angel smiled, gratefully. "I'm sure we'll put it to good use. Be well, Normi."
With that, the dwarf waved goodbye and made his exit out the back, where a secret tunnel was waiting for him.
Kate looked around. "This will do well if we need that second front," she nodded.
Angel nodded in agreement, then turned to Drogyn. "Please tell me you have good news from reaching out to the Brotherhood."
Drogyn sighed. "The response is slow. But I've asked the few I've been able to reach to spread the word quickly. In two or three days, we should know when, and how many, of my brethren will be coming to this Sunnydale you speak of."
Angel frowned. "That's not fast enough."
Drogyn replied patiently. "Believe me, old friend, I'm doing the best I can under these circumstances."
Angel held up his hand, his tone softening. "I know," he replied, his tone apologetic. "It's just…we're gonna need a lot of help for what's coming."
Whistler sighed. "No kidding, champ. I've only been getting glimpses of what's ahead, but The First isn't playing around. With Jasmine's body and the Keystone and that army it's built, it's playing to win."
Angel frowned again. "I know," he replied to his old mentor.
Alasdair piped up. "I've been making a call or two of my own in the last hour. I may have some friends that can help. It's not exactly an army, but they could be useful."
"Magickal friends?" Angel asked, curious.
The archmage nodded with a knowing smile. "Indeed. If we can get them here, I believe they can be most helpful."
"I still think what we need is more intel," Kate said, looking at Angel. "We know The First has a body. We know it wants to use this Keystone thing to rewrite all of reality on a specific day. But we need more details. Insight on what's going on inside of its operation. That might be the key to helping us beat this thing."
"Insider information," Lindsey got it. "Not a bad idea, but where are we supposed to get that?"
Angel looked at them all…and smiled darkly. He knew exactly where to get that.
And from whom…
Moments later, in the garage of the hotel, the trunk of Angel's GTX swung open…
…where a bound, bruised and gagged Ethan Rayne still lay.
Ethan squinted his eyes, the light harsh to his irises after so long in the dark.
"Rise and shine, sicko," Angel greeted cheerfully, before he roughly hauled the Chaos worshiping warlock out of the trunk and threw him onto the floor.
Ethan coughed as he looked around to unfriendly faces. Drogyn, menacingly holding his warhammer. Kate, scowling, her semiautomatic pistol in her hand. Lindsey, smirking, casually resting his shotgun on his shoulders. Alasdair Coames, the legendary Archmage, holding his crackling blue lantern weapon. Whistler, his jovial face serious and grave, holding a mace.
And towering above him…Angel.
The legendary vampire-with-a-soul, Champion of the Powers That Be. Drawing out Hope's Dagger and holding it above him like a Sword of Damocles.
Ethan Rayne knew he was well and truly screwed. "Oh, bollocks," he sighed, dismayed.
"Start talking, Ethan," Angel said, his face dark, serious. "I want information."
Still, Ethan wasn't exactly one who gave up quite so easily to intimidation. "Gee, well, let's see," he replied in mock thought. "If you're looking for a good restaurant, I'd recommend Sally's around the corner, they make excellent ham and e-EEEEGGS!"
His shriek of pain was on account of Kate swiftly bringing her foot down into the center of his groin. The archmage winced and coughed in pain.
"Ooh!" Lindsey winced, then smirked sarcastically. "That's gonna be a problem on Date Night, isn't it, Mister Rayne?"
"Speaking of eggs, yours are about to get scrambled, Scone Boy," Kate scowled at Ethan. "Now, talk!"
"Everything you know," Angel said warningly, with a hint of a dark smirk, "or she starts scrambling."
Amid his pained expression and his battered manhood, Ethan coughed up a bitter laugh. "You…you don't really think…you have a chance…against what's coming, do you, Angel?"
Scowling, Angel pointed the tip of Hope's Dagger at Ethan's chest, threateningly. "Have you truly no shame, Ethan Rayne?" the voice of Cassandra Rayne said, admonishingly. "The First Evil has been an enemy of our house for centuries. Does our family's sacrifices mean so little to you? I gave my life to make sure its evil would never again threaten this world. "
Ethan, unmoved, scoffed at his ancestor. "Yeah? Didn't exactly work out for you, did it, love?"
A beat of silence followed.
"Angel?" Cassandra asked finally.
"Yeah?" the heroic vampire replied.
"Kick him in the bollocks again!" she thundered, furiously.
Angel swiftly and painfully obliged.
CRUNCH!
"YAAAAAAARGH!" The warlock screamed, clutching his ruined manhood again.
"Getting real tired of your games, Ethan," Angel uttered darkly, his patience running thin.
A scowling Drogyn's patience was also quickly evaporating. "Angel, give me ten minutes with this worm," he gestured disdainfully at Ethan, "and I'll have him give you all the information you need, even if I have to claw it out of his broken skull."
Angel waved him off. "Why have it in ten, Drogyn…"
His vampire face emerged, amber eyes full of malice glinting at Ethan. "...when I can do it in five?"
Staring into the frightening demonic face of the former Angelus, perhaps the most cruel, the most barbaric and ruthless vampire to ever live, sent a chill up Ethan's spine.
Sensing that unspeakable horror was waiting for him and imminent, Ethan raised his hands to his chest. "Alright, alright! Fine," he grumbled. "You want information? I'll give you information, Angelus." He said the name spitefully.
"Then talk," Angel growled. "Before I decide to make you a little more chatty."
Ethan chuckled. "You really think you can win with just that lost sword of yours? You don't comprehend what The First Evil has amassed. What stands in your way. That attack on the Shadow Valley Vineyard…I'm sure you heard about it while you've been away, didn't you?"
Angel nodded. "Keep talking," he replied demandingly.
Ethan chuckled. "There really is something there." He smirked cryptically. "A weapon."
Angel scowled, his face turning back to its normal handsome human form, though he kept his enchanted sword right above Ethan's black heart.
"What kind of weapon?" the Champion demanded.
"Not sure," Ethan coughed. "It's nothing like I've ever seen. But I know it's old. It's powerful. It's deadly. And it's meant for The Slayer."
Angel's eyes widened slightly. "Buffy…" he said, in hushed tones.
Ethan laughed again. "Indeed. The First really didn't want your girl to have it. And she'll never get it. Lord knows we tried."
Kate frowned. "What do you mean you tried?"
Lindsey agreed, his cool eyes boring into Ethan. "Yeah. If the First is so afraid of this…weapon…why hasn't it taken it for itself? Or destroyed it?"
Ethan rolled his eyes. "You don't think we've tried that? I've tried spells, incantations, every enchantment I could think of…but nothing. It's stuck in solid rock real tight. It has some kind of protective shield of some kind, ancient magick. Too powerful for anything we have at our disposal. Even that horn-headed oaf The Beast tried to move it, smash it, but nothing. It won't budge."
"What kind of magick?" Alasdair asked, intrigued.
Ethan shook his head, wincing as his smashed balls throbbed in agony. "Powerful magick. Nothing I've ever encountered before. Though I read once that…the energy signature in the spell that I've seen…is similar to those described by some obscure sect of women. Nothing much was found about them, not by me. The texts that I've read name them only as…'Guardians'."
"Guardians?" Angel asked, frowning. "Guardians of what?"
"Not of what…of who," Drogyn said, drawing all eyes to him. "I'm old enough to have heard some tales, more legends, really, of a race of powerful, secret group of mystic women."
"They're not legends," Whistler corrected. "They're true. They date back to around the Primordium Age, the time when The Old Ones ruled the Earth."
Angel looked at Whistler in curiosity. "You were there?"
The Powers' Messenger shook his head. "Nah. Waaay before my time, kid. I'm old, but I ain't that old." He thought back to what he had learned long ago. "But what I was taught by the emissaries of The Powers in my training to be their agent was that when the Shadow Men, the wizards who'd eventually become the Watchers Council, were beginning to grow in power while the Old Ones were running amok, the women in their tribes wanted to learn magick to defend the tribes and join in the war against the Old Ones. But the men refused to teach them. They weren't exactly your progressive types, know what I mean?"
"But they decided to learn in secret. They would steal some of the ancient magick books the Shadow Men were using, and decided to go D-I-Y; do it yourself. They practiced magick in secret, and developed their own culture. And they practiced and made discoveries of their own until their magick was actually even stronger than the Shadowmen."
Kate smirked, turning to Lindsey. "Like I always say; girls just do it better than boys."
"I might take ya up on that, sugar," Lindsey winked in a flirtatious manner.
"Can we zip it with the flirting for five seconds?" Angel snapped at them. Back to Whistler. "And then what happened?"
Whistler sighed, yet continued. "When the Shadow guys decided to pluck some poor kid in Africa named Sineya against her will and infuse her with the essence of an Old One they had captured to save their asses, the women got pissed. So they decided to start watching the Watchers. And they started to look out for poor Sineya. Offered her guidance. Support. Something the kid needed badly when she had her humanity stripped from her by a murderous primordial demon. The legend was, they supposedly offered Sineya a weapon. Something powerful. Something incredible. And it was supposed to help her fight and kill and drive off the last remaining Old Ones on Earth."
Angel frowned. "So how come nobody's ever heard of this all-powerful God-killing Slayer weapon or these women who helped the Slayer before?"
"Who knows?" Whistler replied, shrugging. "They were lost to time and legend. Maybe they carried on in secret. Maybe they all died after the last battle with the last Old One on Earth. Hard to say. Like I said, kid…before my time."
Standing over Ethan, Angel's eyes drifted to his own mystical weapon, the legendary Hope's Dagger. From Rayne's intel and Whistler's story, the immortal detective started to piece together what this dipshit warlock was saying.
"You're saying…that this…weapon there…can only be removed by The Slayer," Angel realized, his brows knitting together in thought. "By Buffy."
"Oh, yes," Ethan spat sarcastically. "All she has to do is get past the dozens of Harbingers standing outside and inside, a powerful Witch, your mad offspring Drusilla, a Horn-headed giant Eldritch monstrosity, and Caleb himself and maybe have a chance to pull it out of stone when even the most powerful dark arts and forces couldn't make it budge and find her way out alive, and it's hers. Though chances are your little shapely girlfriend won't survive that gambit."
The Chaos-worshiping warlock smirked cruelly at Angel. "Is that a problem for you?"
Having heard enough, Angel scowled.
CRACK!
And then cracked Ethan in the face with a vicious kick to the jaw, watching in satisfaction as the warlock slumped to the floor, out cold.
Angel looked impatiently at his wristwatch. There was still a lot of daylight left to burn before he could safely get to Sunnydale, and he couldn't hide in the trunk with Ethan about to be thrown back into it.
Kate, watching his worried body language, walked over to him, put her hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. Easy, Angel," the ex-cop tried to assure him. "We'll get back there. We'll find Buffy, and we'll tell her everything. We've at least got something, right? That's good."
"Kate is right, Angel," the bodiless voice of Cassandra said. "Take heart. We at least have some information from my wayward descendant that could help us win this battle."
"Yeah," Whistler nodded. "We know there's a weapon in that hellhole that's meant for Blondie."
"And we know it's very powerful," Alasdair added.
"And we know that The First will do anything it can to keep it out of The Slayer's hands," Drogyn said, brow furrowed in thought.
"Yeah. And we also know that to get it, she has to go back to the vineyard, which, unfortunately, that British asshole was right about," Lindsey disdainfully motioned to the unconscious Ethan. "The vineyard's locked up tighter than Fort Knox with all the uglies and ghouls there. That place is a death trap, Angel. I know. I was there."
"Yeah…but I wasn't," Angel said, a hint of determination in his voice. "If we need that weapon…if Buffy needs that weapon…then we're gonna get it. No matter what."
He looked anxiously to his watch again, then to the peaks of daylight coming from the cracks under the garage door that held his black GTX convertible.
Nightfall couldn't come fast enough, Angel decided. Nightfall meant he could finally come back. Back to his friends. To his family.
Back to Buffy.
Hang on, Buffy, he thought desperately. I'm coming, beloved. And this time…I'm never leaving again. I promise…
Sunnydale, California - Shadow Valley Vineyard
The Same Time
Deep in the bowels of The First Evil's stronghold, The Harbingers worked tirelessly by torchlight.
Buzz saws whined and sparked; hammers pounded and clanged. Dust leapt and twirled in the flickers of light. And all the while, the Bringers worked and toiled while The Beast bellowed over them.
"Faster, you dogs!" the horn-headed brute bellowed in his deep, dark basso profondo voice, like he was some kind of macabre overseer from hell. "Put your backs into it like your lives depended on it. For I assure you, they do."
One Bringer stumbled over The Beast's stone-covered foot as he clumsily tried to bring more tools to his blind brethren.
Annoyed, The Beast's cracked magma-red-and-black face twisted in anger. He promptly and suddenly picked up the smaller demon and twisted his head so hard that not only did the sound of its neck snapping reverberate around the hallways, but the Bringer's head actually twisted 180 degrees all the way around.
It could have literally watched its own back now…if he was still alive.
Shoving the corpse of the Bringer aside, he pointed to the other Bringers laboring in the lair. "That's what happens when you don't work fast enough. HURRY UP!" he roared, and the Bringers picked up the pace in mortal terror.
And in the background, watching it all, hung Caleb and The First Evil, in the guise of Buffy Summers, The Slayer.
"I'd hoped you'd give me some better news," Buffy / The First muttered, displeased as she watched her minions toil and tear at the solid rock in front of them. A rock which carried something precious. Something ancient.
Something that could never be allowed to get into the hands of The Slayer. No matter what.
Caleb sighed, his patience silently straining, and a slight pang of fear knotting in his gut that he tried to ignore. "And I wish I had some for you," he said sincerely.
The mad preacher recalled all the efforts that they had made over the last few days to his master.
"We've been trying everything. That Mears kid whipped up one of his do-dads for that laser thing of this, but he used it on the rock until it overloaded the damn thing, and not a scratch. His little witchy-poo girlfriend and Rayne tried every incantation and filthy magick spell they could find, nothing. Hell, even the Horny Red Giant over there," Caleb motioned to The Beast as he barked at the blind minions, "tried smashing and pulling and every bit of brute strength the dumb rockhead could muster. Zilch. That rock ain't cracking and the dingus there ain't breakin', either. Those Guardian bitches really put that thing under lock and key."
Buffy / The First merely rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "Excuses."
Caleb silently stewed, trying to reign in his patience at his master's dismissal of his efforts. "We'll keep trying until we get it," he quietly offered.
"Which will be difficult to do without Ethan Rayne," Buffy / The First pointed out.
Caleb waved his hand dismissively. "Rayne was weak. If he went and got himself captured by the Slayer's undead boy toy and his pals, then maybe he needs to do penance."
"And you're sure Angel is dead?" Buffy / The First pressed.
"That's what Pearl and Nash said," he shrugged. "That pasty-faced bitch said she blasted ol' Angelus with some kind of dark retribution hex, or whatnot. Nothing could survive that."
Buffy / The First didn't look convinced. "That meddlesome vampire once came all the way back from Hell and the bottom of the Pacific Ocean just to be a pain in my ass again. And I can't afford that, not now when we're days away from my ultimate victory. Angel doesn't die easily, so you'd better make damn sure the Double Trouble twins got the job done. Understand?"
Caleb worshiped this being with all of his dead, black heart, but even he silently admitted that this micromanaging was wearing thin on him. "Of course. Thy will be done," he quietly intoned.
After watching the Bringers toil and saw and pound the rock for a few more minutes, the incorporeal entity rolled its eyes. "Is this going to do anything? Or is all of this coal-miner work just to make the Bringers sweat?" She / it pondered that question. "Do they? Do the Bringers actually…sweat?"
"Actually, I think they pant," Caleb replied to his master. "Like dogs."
Then the mad preacher moved his shoulders and gave his head a shake. "And, truth be told, I don't know if this is doing any good. But we've got to try everything, right? We've been trying everything. So maybe a little good ol' fashioned elbow grease might be what the doctor ordered." He smirked arrogantly. "Forget that 'It is Not For Thee, It's For Her Alone to Wield' mumbo-jumbo. What's a prophecy got on pure, brute strength?"
Yet Buffy / The First looked unconvinced. "Caleb…you already let The Champion of the Powers That Be, one of my greatest threats, get to Hope's Dagger, a weapon that nearly defeated me once. Strike 1. And you've failed to bring that damned blade back to me, which means it's still out there and still in play, and still a threat." Her / its voice became so frosty that Caleb could have seen his own breath. "Strike two."
Caleb said nothing, simply took it silently as his master dressed him down.
"But this? This is the one thing you cannot fail with. You realize what will happen if the Slayer and her girls and her pals get it, don't you? What will happen if they have both the dagger and this?"
"They won't." Caleb's answer was instantaneous. His eyes flashing. His tone calm, but dark. Murderous, even. Like a soldier of darkness ready to kill anything in his path.
Buffy / The First turned to him with those dancing green eyes that had haunted his dreams lately. "That's right. They won't."
The First turned, walking away, issuing Caleb its orders without so much as even glancing at him. "Because soon, you're going to kill all of them, and everyone they know."
Caleb stared straight away at the toiling Bringers. Mulling over his master's words…
CRACK!
And then he casually snapped the neck of a nearby Bringer, a much-needed release for his anger. I'll show her. I'll show her failure. If bloodshed is what she wants, then let it run, let it run, and run red like the plague of the River Nile.
As the minion slumped to the ground, its brethren ignoring the corpse as they continued to labor under their masters' orders, Caleb stared down at its corpse. And he relished the thought of more death to come at his hands.
Angel, dead. That other pretender Slayer who slipped through his fingers, Faith, dead. The Slayer's little brat sister Dawn, dead. That other vampire, Spike, dead. The Seer bitch who cut him, Cordelia, dead. That maimed boy, Xander, another one who got away from his grasp, dead. His dear little brother Lindsey…dead, if need be. All the Potentials, dead. All their friends, dead.
And he would save her for last.
His prize.
His obsession.
The Slayer, herself. Buffy Summers.
His Slayer.
And he would make the fear dance in her eyes again…before he snuffed out her light with his darkness.
With his manhood. His strength. His power.
Caleb smiled darkly. He liked that. He liked that very much, he decided.
His dark, foul eyes twinkled in the darkness before he murmured one word.
"Hallelujah."
Sunnydale, California - 10 Walker Street
The night before
Stunned, a wide-eyed Buffy stared in shock at the man…ghost?...in front of her. In this empty, strange house.
"You…" she blinked. "No. Impossible. You can't be Doyle."
"Why, is that name taken?" the Irishman quipped.
He looked expectantly to Buffy for a laugh, only to find her still staring strangely at him. "Really, nothing? Geez, at least Angel appreciated my charming sense of humor." Then he thought about it. "Well…not really. But then again, I don't think I ever saw him laugh, except that one time he tried chocolate, so…"
"Doyle is dead," Buffy said, frowning, her instincts on alert.
Doyle sighed. "Unfortunately, yeah. I got diagnosed with quite the case of dead back when. Did the whole 'noble sacrifice' thing to save the day, save my friends. Not a bad way to go out, but still, I am gonna miss the Saint Patty's Day bashes 'round L.A. Those parties were bangers, let me tell ya."
Buffy scowled, her arms at her sides, hands balling into fists. I see the game, she thought. "Really? What happened, you ran out of dead friends and family of mine to mess with my head so now you have to borrow Angel's?" She said, the little blonde clearly not in the mood. "If you came for the mind games bullcrap, save it." She looked down bitterly for a moment. "There's no need. I'm not in charge anymore. So you don't have to worry about me coming in and stopping your little Army of Darkness anymore."
Doyle looked confused for a moment, and then off the sad look in Buffy's eyes, he finally got it. "Oh…you-you think I'm The First Evil?" He chuckled, taking a step closer. "Look, sweetheart, I think you and I got off on the wrong—"
"I didn't say you could get closer," Buffy said, a hint of fire back in her eyes. Her fists balled into powerful balls again. Her tone was chalk full of warning: getting any closer would be hazardous to his health.
Taking the hint, Doyle stayed right where he was, not so close to Buffy, but within striking distance.
"Look, honey, I swear, I'm not who you think I am," Doyle said, frowning. "Or, is it who you think I'm not, in that case? Whatever, the point it, I'm not your enemy. And I can prove it—"
POW!
Doyle's head recoiled backwards at the impact of Buffy's fist smashing into his nose. The late Seer stumbled backwards, his face involuntarily flashing its natural sea-green, blue-spiked look of a Brachen demon.
Buffy's eyes widened as she realized that she had made solid contact, mostly expecting her fist to go through air, as she had normally whenever The First Evil had played this little game with her.
"Owww!" Doyle groaned, clutching his face. "Christ, that hurt!"
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" Buffy winced, apologetically, her hands flying up to her own face in surprise. "I…I just thought that you were…"
"The First?" Doyle asked, still grabbing his hurt nose. "No, lass, I tried telling ya. Geez, and here I didn't believe Cordelia when she said you were usually stake first, ask questions later."
"Hey!" Buffy looked offended by Cordelia's past remarks, at first. Then she paused. "She does have a point, I guess," the little blonde beauty shrugged.
"Right," Doyle wryly replied, gathering his bearings again. He paused. His eyes grew a little wistful. "Hmm. Pain. It's been a while since I felt that."
Buffy's eyes softened for a moment. Strangely, she knew what Doyle—if this was really him— was referring to. All too well. Coming back from the dead, those first sensations could be so…intense. Like one noticed them about cranked to 100 the first few times.
"You are Doyle," she quietly realized, stunned. "You're Angel's and Cordy's friend."
Doyle looked even more wistful at the mention of his best friend and the last woman he loved in his mortal life. "Yeah. Angel Investigations, version 1.0. The O.G's." He sighed. "Good times."
She followed Doyle into the living room of the strange house of that strange man who she had kicked out moments ago. "Wait, I don't understand," she said, trying to follow. "If the…if the Powers…brought you back, if you're dead, but you're not a ghost…what are you? How was I able to hit you?"
Doyle sat down in one of the chairs in the room, still rubbing his nose tenderly. "It's a bit hard to explain," he admitted. "They tried this trick with Darla a while back. When they sent her to talk to Angel's boy about not killing that Anna girl to bring Jasmine forth."
Buffy nodded grimly. Angel had told her all about that.
"Yeah, well," Doyle continued. "They figured they didn't want to risk any confusion this time. Risk you not believing me, or thinking I was the Big Bad you're trying to stop. So…" the young Brachen demon gestured to himself. "Voila! Hard-light astral projection. Patent pending. I can touch, I can feel, I can be solid as a rock. Showing you that I'm the real deal."
Buffy frowned. "So…are you…like…alive again?"
Doyle sadly shook his head. "Sadly, no, lass. I'm on borrowed time here. I'll be going back to the great beyond after I'm done here. And they're using quite a few resources for this little parlor trick, so I'm trying really hard to deliver a win for the home team here."
Buffy gave him a sad look at first. And then she folded her arms across her chest as something occurred to her. "Yeah…why are you here, exactly?" the beautiful spunky blonde asked, her eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Something tells me you didn't come to Sunnydale for the beer and the May Queen Festival, especially considering the town's pretty much evacuated except for probably the demons and the First's crew."
As his pain faded, Doyle gave the downtrodden heroine a sad look. "Because you're giving up, Buffy. And that's the last thing that you, your friends, or the world itself needs."
And there it is, Buffy thought to herself acidly.
"Of course," she chuckled bitterly. "The floaty guys in the ether who are too lazy to get off their asses and do something for once need Buffy to shake it off and get to the demon face-punching, fight 'the good fight'. As usual."
Doyle sighed, understanding her anger. "Buffy, I get it. Really. I'm not saying it's fair—"
"Do you?" Buffy asked, plainly.
Her big, sad green eyes began to glare at the messenger. "Do you really get it? Because the last I checked, I'm the one who's had to suffer through the Peter Parker blues while having to risk my neck every time some asswipe from the eighth circle of hell crawls out of whatever hellhole they've been hiding under to destroy the world." The years and years of her hard, horror-filled life flashed before her eyes. "I'm the one who has to go through the dying, the losing friends, losing lovers, sometimes killing lovers, losing my dreams, losing my mom…"
Her voice threatened to choke at that. She took in a shaky breath, willed herself to continue. "...dying again, and coming back and figuring out how to live and go on and keep fighting and suffering and nearly dying again every time because something out there 'Chose' me and didn't even bother to ask me what I thought about it."
She gestured around to the empty home. "Well, now my friends have un-chosen me. And you know what? If that's what they want, I'm fine with that."
She looked down, willing the urge to cry down, smothering it. Yet the sadness in her eyes, the loneliness was evident. "They don't need me to take care of them. They made that clear." Her voice was soft, broken. "They…they don't need me. Nobody does. So…so maybe it's time I took care of myself, for once. Especially since nobody else seems to care."
Doyle looked at her sadly.
"Surely, you don't believe that," he offered quietly. "C'mon, lass, a pretty thing like you? A hero? Big heart, green eyes, great skin, nice ass, you know there's plenty of people who…"
Off Buffy's offended glare at his crass reference to her butt, Doyle amended. "Sorry, old habit," he relented. Yet he looked at her seriously. "The point is, Buffy, there's plenty of people who love you. Whose lives you've touched. Who want to help you."
Buffy gestured around to the empty house where they were sitting in. "Doyle, read the room! It's fine, it won't take you long since it's empty," she said, voice chalk full of Valley Girl sarcasm. "You're pretty much the only person right now who thinks I'm worth even paying a visit to."
"And there's a reason for that," Doyle insisted. "You can't give up now, Buffy."
"Why not?" Buffy asked. More tiredly than curious. She wasn't sure she really cared, not anymore.
"Because you're right," Doyle said. Off Buffy's confused look, Doyle elaborated. "There is something there at the vineyard. Your instincts were right."
Now Buffy was curious. "Okay…so, what's in there? What is this big something I'm right about that got me kicked out of my home?"
Doyle hesitated, then looked down. "I…I can't tell you that," the Brachen demon sighed, wincing as he knew this wasn't what she wanted to hear.
Buffy frowned. "Can't, or won't?" she asked, accusingly.
"Little of both," Doyle said. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm under strict rules here. 'Guide, but don't intervene.'" He said that in a strange, mocking, distorted voice, as if imitating the Powers themselves. "Telling you what it is qualifies technically as intervening. It's one of those things you have to discover for yourself."
Buffy, growing visibly pissed, looked away for a moment before she returned her gaze to Doyle. "Really? Those idiots still want to play these cryptic mambo-jumbo games with me even when the world is at stake? They want me to risk life and limb for something and yet they don't want to tell me what it is I'm supposed to risk dying for?"
Doyle sighed patiently. "Sorry, honey. I know it sucks, but that's just the deal. I don't make the rules to this game, I'm just supposed to follow them."
Buffy's brief fire died out, leaving that deflated, defeated, flat look in her pretty green eyes.
"Welp, sorry to disappoint you, Doyle, but you can go back and tell your bosses to forget it. Tell them that this is a game that I'm not playing anymore," she sighed, walking over to a nearby couch and grabbing a sports magazine.
She didn't even read sports magazines, but she needed something to make her point. Idly, she began to flip across the pages, cross-legged, sighing and doing pretty much nothing else.
Doyle stood up from his chair. "Buffy," he tried gently. "You can't quit."
Her voice was calm, but still flippant. "Watch me."
Doyle sighed, starting to feel his patience wear a bit. He knew that this wasn't going to be easy. Frankly, a part of him thought that if he was in her shoes, he'd be telling the Powers to kiss his blue spikey ass, quite frankly. But he had people on the line, too. People he cared about. People he loved. And if this was the last time he was going to be in this mortal coil, then the former Seer was gonna make damn sure they would be alright when he was gone.
"Okay, I get it," Doyle said to Buffy, who was mostly ignoring him. "So things didn't go right for you at the vineyard. So Caleb kicked your butt. So your friends got scared and blamed you. So Angel got stupid again and blew your relationship up…"
"I'm the one that broke up with him," Buffy corrected, not looking up from her magazine reading, but a hint of anger still in her voice.
"Riiiight," Doyle amended, though not so convinced. "The point is, this isn't the part of the story where you throw in the towel. If Rocky did that, we wouldn't have had all those sequels, would we?"
"Yeah, well, I'm not Rocky, so I think I'll steer clear of the big scary Russian man this time. Especially since I've been voted off the fight card," Buffy sighed tonelessly as she pretended to read an article. "Hmm. Lakers beat the Celtics 109-97 last Sunday, that's nice. Boston sucks."
Doyle gave Buffy a knowing look, a small half-smile on his face. "That ain't you, lass." He walked over to her, closer. "You can't sit by and watch while others are in danger. That's not who you are."
"You don't know me," she replied flatly, thumbing through the pages mindlessly. "In your life and mine, we met for a total of what, two, maybe three minutes last time? Five, maybe six if we're counting this conversation?" She read on. "Hmm, I wonder who the Kings are gonna get in the NHL Draft?"
But Doyle was undeterred. "I know that you can't sit around and pretend to read sports stories when you know the people you love need you," he gently tried again.
"They don't need me. They've pretty much moved on from me, Doyle. We've been over this," she answered back in a bored tone. "'Raiders draft star NCAA special teams player.' Well, good for them, I guess."
"All of them?" Doyle prodded, bracing himself a little. "Even Angel?"
At once, Buffy stopped flipping the pages.
She slowly turned her head, her expression carefully neutral, but her aura screaming 'DANGER!', the Brachen demon pressing a button that he shouldn't have pressed.
For a moment, he braced himself for another punch. And he was fine with that, especially if it meant he could finally shake her out of this quagmire, this misery, this apathetic sense of defeat that he knew wasn't her…
…only for her to keep her stare at him neutral. Emotionless.
"Especially Angel," she replied, her voice soft yet with a hint of hardened bitterness. Then she turned back to reading the pages. "He made his feelings to me perfectly clear. If he doesn't want to fight for what we had, then I don't need to be a burden to him. And frankly, I don't need the hassle, either. It's over. I am done re-running 'The Buffy and Angel Show.'"
She meant it. She loved Angel, was in love with him, she always would be, that much Buffy silently admitted, but she couldn't keep doing this. It was too painful. Too hard. It was one thing if it was hard but they agreed to face it together. But if Angel didn't want her, if he was still making the same damn excuses, then Buffy no longer wanted to keep taking the rides on the Ferris Wheel of Pain that their relationship had become.
"You're wrong about him, Buffy," Doyle insisted, gently. "He does care. He loves you more than you realize."
"Not enough to stick around, though," she muttered, resentful. Angry. Hurt.
There's always hurt when it comes to him, she thought miserably.
"Sometimes, love is not about just sticking around, lass," Doyle said simply, mulling over what he was about to do. As if considering it. Wondering if there was any other way…
But off the dejected, empty look in Buffy's eyes as she insisted on keeping her head down and sitting and reading that damn magazine and doing nothing, Doyle decided that there was no other way.
"Sometimes," he said, slowly reaching out his hand, "it's about action. About knowing how much you want to give up for them. Sometimes…it's about sacrifice."
His hand found itself suddenly on top of Buffy's blonde head.
And then, Buffy gasped, her green irises wide.
And she saw something…
Remembered something…
"When?"
"Another minute."
Buffy's sad, glassy green eyes widened in panic and fear…and heartbreak. "A minute? No. No, it's not enough time!"
Angel's forlorn brown orbs gave her a defeated, resigned look…trying ever so hard to be strong. For her. And for himself. "We don't have a choice," he said quietly, eyes shining through unshed tears. "It's done."
The tears flowed like rain down Buffy's face, pleading with him…begging the man she loved to somehow stop what was about to happen, even though she knew it was impossible. "How am I supposed to go on with my life?" she asked him brokenly, her voice strangled with grief and fear and pain and heartache. "Knowing what we had? What we could have had?"
Love, children, marriage, a perfect life full of more happiness than either of them could have ever imagined…Angel knew what he was giving up. And it was killing him inside.
Yet he knew he had to. For her…to protect her…
Angel felt his resolve shaking. Offered her some meager solace. "You won't," he quietly assured the woman he loved. "No one will know but me."
Buffy looked at him confused, hurting. Bewildered. "Everything we did?"
Angel sadly shook his head. She would never remember it. No one would. The joy they felt, the ecstasy of their union, the bliss, and the unbelievable pain of losing it all…no one would remember it. The grief would be his to bear. And his alone. "It never happened."
That only made it worse. Buffy shook her head, denying it, insisting that their love, that this day, this amazing, perfect, beautiful day, the greatest day of her life did happen. That it was real. That it wasn't some fantasy. That it happened, and it happened to her. It happened to them. "It did!" she insisted through tears. "It did! I know it did!"
With tears in her eyes and grief in her heart, Buffy put her tiny hands on the warm chest of her soulmate…of the one she loved more than life itself. Feeling his long-dead heart beating, and beating for her. Committed every 'thump-thump' sound of his heart to memory.
Angel's eyes pooled in salty sadness, memorizing this moment. The curve of her cheek. Her sad, yet perfect green eyes. The little dip in her cute little nose. The vanilla scent of her, which always felt like home. A home that in seconds, he would lose…possibly forever…
Her voice was watery, a broken, soft sound that broke his heart. "I felt your heart beat."
Angel felt emotion choke his voice, her name coming off his lips like a whispered plea, a plea for forgiveness. To forgive him for doing this. For understanding why he had to. Because he loved her. Because he would do anything for her.
Even give her up, if that meant that she lived…
"Buffy.." he whispered brokenly.
Off the heartbroken look in her eyes, the tears rolling down her face, Angel felt his resolve crumble.
And he took her into his arms.
And they kissed. They kissed forever.
Their lips met, and they each tried to remember it all. Every moment. Every taste. Every smell. Tried to sear it into their minds and hearts so that nothing, nothing, not even space and time and magic and divine wills beyond their own could erase this moment.
The moment when their souls touched. When they were one…
The clock began to tick down to its final seconds, and Buffy felt a fear unlike anything she had ever felt before. A pain unlike anything she had ever survived before. She thought that losing Angel to the depths of hell was torture. She thought his leaving wordlessly into the shadows on Graduation Day was suffering.
This was worse. This was far worse. For life to have given her a glimpse of how happy she could be, how wonderful life with the love of her life, with Angel, could be, only for fate and the gods above to rip it away from her? What horrible thing had she done to deserve this? She briefly wondered. Why would The Powers punish her so cruelly? To give her a taste of perfection, and then take it away?
She didn't have time to wonder it. There wasn't enough time…"No! Oh God. It's not enough time!" she begged silently, crying harder than she ever had in her life.
Her tears, her grief, finally broke Angel, tears streaming down his face as he pulled her close, as if holding her could somehow shield her, protect her from what was coming. Could protect their love from the divine will of the cosmos that was unraveling…
"Shh, please. Please, Buffy, please…" he whispered, begging her one last time to understand. And above all else, to try and forgive him.
"Please, please…" he soothed her, holding her like his life depended on it.
Buffy clung to him, desperately. Holding on to him like the waves of time and space around them were drowning her soul, and he was the only life preserver. Silently fighting through the tears, fighting the universe as its hands reached out to tear them apart once again.
"No," she whispered, trying one last time to fight the universe. To fight for their love. To fight for their happiness. She silently burned the memories into her brain, remembering every kiss, every love-making session, every warm moment, every drop of joy and love they created on this wonderful day. She shook her head desperately, fighting something that was trying to tear this precious memory away from her. "I'll never forget. I'll never forget. I'll never forget. I'll never forget, I'll never…"
And then everything exploded into a pure, white flash…
Buffy dropped the magazine, stumbling out of the seat as she pushed Doyle away.
Her breath exploded out of her in harsh, angry pants, and Buffy realized that she was hyperventilating. Clutching her chest, her big green eyes wide and afraid and bewildered, she looked around, searching for Angel for a moment, yet remembering where she was.
Here, alone in this house, talking to a dead man. And not the dead man who she had given her heart to long ago.
Doyle's blue eyes gazed at Buffy in pity, sad that she would have to relive this. But it had to be done, and Doyle knew it, Powers be damned.
"Buffy, take it easy," he gently coaxed her. "Breathe. Relax. Slow breaths. In and out…"
Catching her breath, Buffy looked up into his eyes, her own clouded in confusion. And shock. And…and pain. So much pain.
"Wh…what…why was…" she looked at Doyle in long-forgotten hurt and agony. "What was that?"
The sloppily-dressed servant of the Powers let out a sigh, knowing his old pal Angel was probably going to hate him forever after this. "Something that was taken from you."
Yet he pursed his lips together in resolve. "Something it's about time that you were given back."
Gasping, Buffy felt the back of her eyes burning and stinging, fought the urge to let the tears roll down her face again. "That was…that was real?"
Doyle shrugged, making his way over to the living room table. "There's a lot that you need to know, Buffy," he said simply. Then he sat in a chair on the other end of the table opposite from her.
Clutching her head, a wide-eyed and weary Buffy watched, puzzled, as the half-Brachen demon took out his deck of cards and began to shuffle them.
Like he was playing some sort of game.
"But since you don't seem to want to get back in the saddle," Doyle said, his eyes focused on his shuffling of the deck, "and I don't have any other place to go until you do…or until the spell wears out and I fade back into the ether, whichever comes first…I don't suppose I can interest you in a little game?"
Buffy's worried eyes never left the former Seer as he kept shuffling.
"I presume you probably know how to play Poker, lass," he said, looking up briefly at The Slayer with a half-smile. "Let's play a few rounds. Best of seven. I win, you get back out there, and you fight like hell to get your house back. To lead your friends into battle for The Awakening."
Buffy eyed him in guarded caution. "And…if I win?"
Doyle smirked. "Impossible, I was a dab hand at Poker in my day. But say the impossible does happen and you beat me…" He paused a beat, meeting her eyes. "Then I'll tell you everything about what vision was all about. And then I'll leave you alone and face whatever temper tantrum punishment the PTBs have in store for me like a big boy."
Buffy frowned, considering his offer.
"And hey, who knows?" he smiled mischievously as he slid a card towards her.
Slowly, Buffy reached out and picked up the card.
Turned it over in her hand…
The Queen of Hearts.
The card of love.
The card of intuition.
The handsome half-demon winked at her knowingly. "Maybe Lady Luck is on your side, gorgeous. Up to you, though. You in, Summers?"
Buffy still wasn't completely sure she could trust this guy, even if he was a friend of Angel and Cordelia.
But if there was one thing Buffy Summers would never back away from…it was a challenge.
She had to know what those flashes and flickers of memories with Angel were. What had happened. What they meant…no matter what, she had to know. I have to…
Stealing her big, pretty, round green eyes in resolve and squaring her jaw, she pulled up the other chair and sat down opposite Doyle.
She placed the Queen of Hearts right on the table.
Her lips were a thin, hard line, her eyes set in the way they would before battle.
"I'm in, Doyle," Buffy replied with steely resolve, determined to learn the truth. "I'm all in."
To Be Continued…
Next: As Buffy continues her heart-to-heart with Doyle, Darla searches for Connor on the dangerous, abandoned streets of Sunnydale. Can Connor be saved, or is his descent into darkness inevitable?
Meanwhile, Faith lays down the law, and Angel and Spike finally return home. But will tempers fly and hearts break when they discover Buffy's exile at the behest of the friends?
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! That feedback inspired me to write this chapter a lot faster, honestly. You guys rock!
I decided to add in some more backstory on the Guardian that we saw in the second-to-last episode of Buffy. That was another weird thread that I thought needed some more details. Hope you enjoyed it.
More on the way soon!
Please read, review and follow!
Best,
Jean-TheGuardian