Nemesis by Holly

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 ::

Part Twelve: One Man’s Rain

On a good day, seeing Xander Harris sprawled on the ground outside what could be considered a Sunnydale slum would have been the cherry on top of the nummiest chocolate Sundae anyone could order. And yet, for whatever reason, the sight provided Spike with no sense of peace, or rest at all. He had spent the better part of his afternoon attempting to track Buffy down and provide all the information he had withheld from their less-than-successful meeting, though the sun had been less than accommodating in his plight. By the time he could maneuver freely, he felt too much had already been wasted.

However, it wasn’t a lost cause until he deemed it so. And William the Bloody was not one to give up so easily.

When the horizon crashed to the inevitable waves of nightfall, something akin to worry began brewing within his chest. Close but no cigar. Spike would not allow himself to worry about her. Not only was it wrong, there was no sense in wasting the energy. She was the Slayer. She could handle herself. She had faced worse. She had faced everything—more than any to proceed her, more than any likely would.

But she was the Slayer, and such came with an unwarranted expiration date.

And it was Angelus.

And there was a rogue Slayer on the loose.

And the odds of two versus one were never good to bet on. Buffy was talented and quick and he had fought her often enough to know to trust her instincts, but she wasn’t invincible. There was a time when he would have scoffed the insinuation that a girl—any girl, sacred calling or not—could render him useless in the seat of a wheelchair. The Slayer was powerful, but the code aligning her existence was weighted in death. There was no way she could overpower both opponents. Not if they struck at the same time.

But he wasn’t worried. No, of course not. He wasn’t worried. Not about her.

He was fairly certain he had overshot worried an hour ago.

Spike prowled the expanse of downtown Sunnydale three times before acknowledging that the Slayer had likely returned to that school of hers. Behind closed doors that weren’t so closed, but remained carefully shut to creatures such as he. He had all but decided to retire at Willy’s—reputation be damned—when he happened across Xander lying in a heap at the side of the road.

And oh, the possibilities. The peroxide vampire wasn’t too terribly familiar with the boy; his own experience with him notwithstanding. Beyond the face-punch and the kidnapping, not much had been learned other than he was willing to do outlandishly stupid things to protect those he loved. Otherwise, Spike had heard a story or a thousand from Angelus the previous year—all laced with seething jealousy and shots of unbridled hatred. He remembered well the tale of how Buffy had used the boy to make his grandsire antsy after returning home that initial summer. The Slayer’s antics amused him, though he couldn’t help the similar twinge of discomfort that shimmied up his spine at the thought of her…well, he preferred not to think about it.

It took all of two seconds for Spike to piece together what had happened. The alley was bathed in Angelus’s scent—followed closely and not outshone by the other Slayer. The rogue. The one he hadn’t had ample time to warn Buffy about in the midst of their recent spat. While it struck him as mildly curious that the Great Poof would leave Xander alive, seeing as the boy annoyed him so, he didn’t care enough to draw the matter out to conclusion. Had that annoying, Buffyesque voice not warned him that leaving the boy was not of the good as far as Slayer points went, he would have turned on his heel and left without a second thought.

As it was…

Bugger.

Spike dragged Xander’s unconscious being out of the road and propped him against the nearest building. The whelp had a bruise on his face the size of Texas and was dozing so peacefully that it nearly surprised him when a low groan perturbed his stillness. It occurred to him that being the first sight the boy’s notably sore eyes would take in might not be in his best interest, and with every notion for withdraw, the Buffy-voice grew louder and more insistent. Besides, if anyone was in doubt of his occupation of Sunnydale, now was no better than later to clear up any potential confusion.

There was simply no sense in hiding when all the good surprises were taken away. Buffy and Willow knew that he was here; everyone else was simply a matter of time.

“Bint better appreciate this,” he growled to the uncaring night air. “Oi, mate. You awake?”

Harris groaned and batted a hand absently.

“Mate?”

Another groan.

“Xander!”

The demanding tone was all the motivation required: the boy’s eyes popped open and he sat forward with demanding insistence. “Okay, Mom, I’m up. I’m up. I’m…” He squinted as he took in the sight before him, not bothering to mask his astonishment. “Spike?”

“No, I’m Spike,” the vampire retorted. “You’re a useless wanker on the side of the road. Now get up an’ tell me where I can find the Slayer.”

Another long, incredulous blink. It was more than obvious that he was still battling fatigue; the vampire had the grim impression that Xander’s revelation would not be as nonviolent were he more alert. “Spike?”

“And again with the observation skills. Pick those up at school?”

“What the…” Vigilance was beginning to come in waves, though the platinum blonde was still amused when Xander absently accepted his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “What are you…what am I…” A few seconds of harmless wondering, then his eyes shot open wide. “Angel!”

“Am not!” Spike scoffed. “My hair’s actually presentable!”

“No. Angel’s all with the…being of Angelus. The Angelus being. He’s…” Xander paused and gave his companion the once over, and his gaze broadened comically. “And really with the you being Spike…oh God, I was wrong. This day did get worse.”

Spike ignored him, shaking his head generally. His hands coiled nicely in the fabric of Harris’s shirt, and he had the younger man pressed against the wall before he had time to react. “You saw Angelus?” he demanded, though it was more as additive reminder. “Remember where was ‘e headed?”

“Like I’d tell you!” Harris sputtered indignantly.

A scoff and a release. “Prob’ly don’ even know.”

“Do so!”

“Then bloody tell me! I gotta warn the Slayer, mate. Where was he headed?”

Xander arched an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s oh so convincing. You want me to tell you so that you can warn Buffy? Not, oh say, make her even deader than Angelus aims to? First of all, I trust you about as far as I can throw you. And even though I am well built, that’s not far. That’s barely to the curb…and the only reason you get curb-trust is because I know you didn’t kill Buffy on her birthday when you could have. But that’s the only reason. I’m not about to go make things worse.”

Spike sighed his exasperation and slammed the boy against the bricks for further affect. It didn’t hurt as much as it could have, but it wasn’t the most pleasurable sensation to tickle God’s green planet, either. The vampire knew how much pressure to apply; one of those perks for having enough time for extensive experimentation. “Get off your righteous bloody horse,” he snarled. “The Slayer could be in trouble or dead or God knows what. ’F Angelus is out there, ‘s already worse.”

“Okay, true. But of the two of you, who’s killed the most Slayers?”

There was a heartwarming pause at that. He couldn’t help the fluster of pride that coincided with his nameless recognition. “Well, he couldn’t ever master the right tech…” Spike paused and eyed Xander skeptically. Likely not the best tactical move. “I mean, don’ get your knickers in a twist. I won’t hurt Buffy.”

“And to that, a universal huh?”

The vampire rolled his eyes. “You said so yourself! If I wanted her dead, she would be. Remember? The birthday-incident?”

“I remember her saying that you only kept her alive because it was that or boredom.”

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “Are you really that thick, or do I need to pound it into your skull? Come on, mate. We both know that wasn’ the reason.”

There was a brief moment of recompense before Xander’s eyes opened wide at his blatant insinuation. “Oh really?” he retorted skeptically. “Is there some big, universal reason why a vamp would go out of his way to…” He stopped, shook his head, and started over. “Forget that. I don’t even wanna go there.”

“Jus’ tell me if you’ve seen her! I’ve looked all over bloody downtown an’—”

“So you could…what? Take that shot that you purposefully left open when you—”

“God, is this how you an’ your mates live your lives? Wander around an’ wonder why I din’t drain your Slayer?” Spike shook his head incredulously and indulged a few steps back, chuckling without mirth. “It’s the same bloody thing all over. Will has all these wonky ideas about actual feelings an’ the like. Slayer thinks I used her for…” He trailed off when he realized Xander wasn’t following him around his easily confused bends.

It was just as well. Buffy wouldn’t want him sharing all of their dirty little secrets. Hell, she would likely stake him if he so much as hinted as to what truly transpired the night that had changed everything.

At that, Red’s voice from the night before came soaring back to homeplate. But if you hate her, why do you care what she wants? I wouldn’t think that’d be a priority. Lousy witch. What did she know?

A bloody lot, the vampire grumbled inwardly.

Xander was still staring at him blankly. Finally, when he tired of trying to piece the Brit’s logic into any structure that would appear coherent, he shook his head and demanded, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothin’.”

“Did you see Willow last night?”

A pause. “No.”

“’Cause I definitely heard something to the effect of Willowness in that little onslaught of nonsense.”

“Then you’re wonkier than you look. I—”

“Who all knows you’re here?” Harris demanded. “Am I the last…again? God, this is so typical. First with the crashing through sign plus beating up Wes—which, by the way, bonus—and now with the…God, no wonder everyone looked all ‘duh’ when I announced you were in town. It’s not really a mystery, is it? Can’t let Xander in on the fun, now can we? Sheesh, I might as well move to Zimbabwe. Maybe then they’d—”

Spike sighed, bored. “Are you gonna prattle on all night like a useless wanker, or am I gonna have to torture you for information?”

If the vampire wasn’t already feeling helpless, he certainly fell back a few notches at the indifferent look the notably empty threat received in return. When he couldn’t strike fear into Xander, he knew something was off. Even more so than falling topsy turvey for the sake of she who was the enemy. The world was bloody wonky, and he was serving only as its helpless pawn in the continued mission to make him as miserable as possible.

“Please,” the boy snickered, ignoring the scowl he earned. A hand came up and he started counting off rhetorically. “You didn’t kill Buffy when you had the chance. You didn’t kill Wes when you came into town. You didn’t kill Wills last night, so I’m thinking you probably won’t kill me.”

“You sure you wanna test that theory? Already your chirping has annoyed me more to death than I thought possible.”

“Wesley,” Xander pointed out. “He’s alive. And way more annoying than me.”

“You really wanna wager on that?”

“Please. You haven’t even tried to bite me. And we’ve been out here for ten minutes. Not to mention, you found me unconscious.”

Spike sulked a bit, not wanting to concede that he had a point, even if said point was fairly obvious. “No need to rub it in,” he pouted. “But you’re just wastin’ time. I need to know where the Slayer is.”

“Why would I help you?”

The vampire closed his eyes tightly as his fists clenched to keep from lashing out. The urge was becoming intolerable. “Because,” he said slowly, deliberately. “If you don’t, Buffy’s gonna end up with a severe case of dead. Her honey’s out there, ripe an’ willin’ to tear up this bloody town, like you said all of five minutes ago. I’m your best shot, what with your back-up bird bein’ right there along with him.”

It was then that he noted the conviction in the other man’s eyes begin to waver. The sort that would tumble at the cost of every value upheld in his view of acceptability. There was no doubt in Spike’s mind that Xander would crack at that, but for the first time he saw what the move would mean for him. The willful acknowledgement that while demons were the bane of his existence, it wouldn’t hurt him to trust one in order to pull for the greater good. It might hurt him to recognize, but it was essential. And the boy was willing to take that step.

“Look,” he said shortly. “I rather seriously doubt that she’s there, but I called Giles at the library and he hadn’t heard from her since I gave her the lead on the…whatever, but she was definitely planning on heading to her house afterwards for supplies. Since there has been no news, I’m guessing she got distracted or a big on the books.”

“The Books of Ascension?” the vampire echoed.

“Right.” Xander paused. “How’d you know that?”

Spike waved generally. “Ask later. When was this?”

“No, I think I’m asking now.”

“Do you want to see her dead or not?” An uncomfortable moment passed and the boy caved again. There was no good reason to other than the alleged well intent sparkling behind the enemy’s eyes. The very same that he was fool to trust, even if he knew it was for the right reasons.

“Couple hours ago,” Harris murmured in reply.

A nod. Couple hours. Right after she left him at the demon’s apartment.

“If she…” Spike trailed off and shook his head, features hardening with resolve. “You better head on back to your chums,” he said. “Maybe she’s called since. If they haven’t heard from her…God, I don’t even wanna think about it. I’ll head over to the mansion an’ see what’s going on. That’s the only safe place for him…Peaches an’ his new dish. If they have her, it’ll be there.” His eyes set coldly. “An’ he’ll be torturing her.”

There was a long beat of uncomfortable silence. Xander cleared his throat.

“Well,” he began. “If that’s the case…”

“Right. ‘m off.”

The vampire didn’t make it ten paces before facing another interruption. However, Harris’s voice was lower—almost curious—and he could fool himself for a minute that the prejudice that held him firmly grounded was taking a brief leave for the namesake of a common plight.

“Spike?”

He didn’t even bother to turn around. “Yeah?”

“Just out of curiosity, and this by no means excuses your permanent status as a thorn in my side—not to mention all sides everywhere—but why do you care?”

His lips quirked slightly at that, and he looked every-so-slightly over his shoulder. “’Cause the world’s a wonky place, mate,” he answered honestly. “I’m jus’ followin’ my blood. An’ right now, my blood’s telling me to protect her.”

“Good. But if that ‘protect’ turns into ‘eat’, you know I’m gonna have to take you out, right?”

At that, he couldn’t help it; he spared a bark of laughter. A few naughty pictures fluttered in and out of suggestion, but he knew better than to voice them. “Right,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

To say that Giles was unaccustomed to worrying about his Slayer would have been more than misleading, but after three years, he knew enough not to let his apprehension control his already overactive nerves. Buffy was efficient; she was hardly reliable when it came to such idle concerns as reporting in and double checking to be sure that all went well in the land of demon-hunting. However, the past few weeks had known a difference in stride. She had been behaving oddly, but with more caution than he could have asked for. Nightly patrols concluded with calls and reports—usually a check-up on Faith’s behavior. He had grown accustomed to it. Now it was nearing twilight, and word had yet to come in.

He knew he should not worry. After all, it was Buffy. And yet worrying was being done.

It was rather ironic that her attentiveness had strengthened since Wesley’s arrival. As though she was compensating for his release by attempting to be the Slayer he had encouraged her to be throughout his tenure as active Watcher.

Giles occupied himself with books in the meantime, trying to block out the shrill of the younger Watcher’s complaints. He had been going on for the better part of a half hour about the negligence of either Slayer, demanding to know what this ‘Spike’ business entailed, and pouting remorselessly when answers were denied.

Not everything fell under the subheading of all for not. With research on the Ascension pending, information and speculation about Mayor Wilkins was running on leaps and bounds and into the limelight of rationality. However, when Oz revealed that the man in question had indeed been alive for approximately one hundred years, shards of new knowledge and theory burst with vibrant luminosity.

It was Wesley who decided to offer the brilliant; “He’s not human,” observation, earning a wide variety of looks that all resulted in the natural conclusion of ‘duh.’ And yet, despite the levity of the situation and the hope presented with a bevy of new information, the elder Watcher was not at rest.

Hours had passed and Buffy had not checked in. She never checked in, but it was bothering him.

“I hate to spoil the mood,” a familiar voice said as he entered the library, attracting five pairs of eyes up with a continuous ‘what now’ insistence. “But this is so much worse than you think.”

Willow’s brow furrowed in concern. “Xander, what happened to you?”

“The question is more, what didn’t happen to me?” The boy flexed his shoulders with a weary sigh. “For someone who’s constantly out of the loop, I do have a lot of things happen to me. And again with the not knowing where to begin.”

“Is this about the Mayor?” Wesley asked, maneuvering around the table with pert interest. “Did you find something?”

“Oh no. When I say worse, I mean worse.” Xander’s eyes wandered back to Willow, and he all but chuckled at the confusion written plainly across her face. “You know how some people hate to say I told you so? Not me. I told you so. Angel's back in the really bad sense, and uh, I told you so.”

A long still beat settled through the library.

The younger Watcher stepped forward with the utmost seriousness. “Angelus has turned? Xander, this is terribly serious. Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes and gestured to the growing swell on his face, managing to withhold a snicker as everyone gasped with newfound realization. Was the mark invisible? It certainly didn’t feel like it. “Gee, let me think. Kind of hard to tell. Last thing I remember was his fist. And then Spike.”

“Spike?” Willow asked weakly. “He was there, too?”

“No. He came later. Was off spurting a bunch of nonsense about…well, I guess it’s not exactly nonsense. The guy seemed really wigged about the potential ‘impending slaughter that is Buffy’ department.” Xander paused dramatically. “Call me crazy, but I think there’s something going on between the two of them.”

Cordelia made a face. “Buffy and that peroxided moron? Oh, gross. Her lack of taste is becoming clinically serious. At least Angel knows the basic essentials of hair-care. I shudder to think of how that bleach has—”

“Okay, slightly more serious than the accessorizing part of Buffy’s new love-life,” Xander interjected sharply, tossing Willow an annoyed glance. “How about the soulless part? The evil ‘he’s tried to kill us, let’s list the ways’ part. How about the murdering half of Europe part? Or—”

“He’s different now,” the Witch murmured.

“Is that right?”

“Way! He’s so completely…” She flushed and glanced down. “I mean…I wouldn’t know.”

“Kinda blew that cover, Will,” Oz informed her with a gentle smile.

She returned the glance as best as possible, but her eyes were wide with conviction. “Okay, so I ran into the guy last night,” she confessed. “I was on my way back from…well, it doesn’t matter. And yeah—we talked. Quite a bit, actually. He was all drunk and mopey and—”

“So you naturally assumed that he’s an all right guy now?” Xander demanded irately.

Willow shook her head rapidly. “No! Oh God, no! No, I was very much on my toes. Of the really. I’ve seen drunk, irrational Spike before, remember? He said about a thousand times that he was all evil-like and didn’t care about Buffy, but…I dunno, the vibes he was giving off were really…ummm, not evil? He was in pain of the massive sort. I think it’s because Buffy gave him the brush-off. But he is different. I know that much. He even walked me home.”

“Okay, rewind,” Cordelia interjected. “You let drunken Spike walk you home?”

She shrugged. “He kinda insisted. Thought there’d be some beasties or whatnot on the way home. Said Buffy wouldn’t take it kindly if I got myself all dead.” A still beat waved through the library at this new information, and lasted until the Witch couldn’t contain herself. “He’s so smitten.”

“Spike’s smitten?”

“Very smitten. Won’t admit it, though. Had a wig attack of the large variety when I called him on his ‘I love Buffy’ Freudian slip.”

Xander looked nauseous. “Okay, so first he’s smitten, and now he loves her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Willow decided the next second. “I think he’s confused. Hell, I’m confused about his confusion. And it’s obvious that Buffy’s confused. But at least they can be confused together. Or…there…”

“Sorry if I don’t feel like bursting into glorious song about my best friend going out with another vampire…one that doesn’t even need a happy to go all ‘kill her friends’-ish.”

Wesley stepped forward at a diminutive attempt to play his nonexistent authority. “As riveting as this all is,” he said, clearing his throat, “it is highly irrelevant. There are more important matters abound. Xander, where did Spike go after you two parted ways?”

“To the mansion. He was…” The boy stopped and blinked as though he needing to stutter over his own words. Funny how this hadn’t seemed at all peculiar fifteen minutes earlier. “He was worried about Buffy. Thinks that Angelus and Faith might—”

“Faith?” Willow echoed helplessly.

“Oh, did I leave out the best part? Guess who's Angel's new playmate?”

Cordelia snickered. “Kinda late to guess, Mr. Revelation Man.”

The Witch had effectively caught whatever epidemic had seized Xander and looked a bit woozy. “Faith and Angel? Together?”

Xander snickered. “Imagine the possibilities.”

Throughout the entire debate, Giles stood soundlessly in the back, attempting to absorb everything on a level of rationality. He knew he could not allow himself to dwell long, though he couldn’t find the willpower to move. A cold flush had settled through him and it lacked direction in where to resolve. There was simply too much to accept all at once. The knowledge of his Slayer’s imminent danger. The revelation of her relationship with one of the most dangerous vampires in history. The compilation of the Mayor’s unraveling plan as well as oncoming verification of Faith’s treachery. It was all too much to take.

Most importantly, she was in Angel’s clutches. And she didn’t know.

When a Watcher of his experience drew the line, it was definitive. He wasn’t sure where one thread of worry ended and another began.

She didn’t know. He hadn’t told her. She had left before he could tell her.

“Angel hasn’t transformed,” he said softly.

The entire flow of movement in the foyer came to a definitive standstill as all eyes landed on him in open-mouthed horror.

“People!” Cordelia exclaimed, exasperated. “Which is it? Soulless or soulful? Make up your minds, already!”

“And to that, the entire room said, ‘Huh’?” Xander took several furious steps forward. “How is he not evil? As I recall, claiming me as his personal punching bag was a characteristic of the evil Angel, not the we-tolerate-him-when-Buffy-makes-us Angel.”

The elder Watcher shook his head gravely. “The Mayor put a contract out on Angel’s soul,” he explained. “It was his misfortune that he chose to remove it through means of an old acquaintance of mine. Once it was revealed what the Mayor intended, my friend came to me and shared everything. Angel is only playing the part of Angelus as a farce so that he might extract as much information about the Ascension from Faith as…” He paled and trailed off. “I had hoped that Buffy would set the entire thing up with him before…but given the tension between the two of them recently, I took it upon myself. And today, she left before I could…”

Comprehension came in waves, and everyone’s gaze transformed from revolutionary to accusatory.

“You let her leave here without telling her?” Willow all but screamed.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Giles protested. “She was out the door before I could—”

“And you didn’t chase her down?!”

“Yes, yes. We’ve established that I’m a complete and utter git, all right?” The matter might have been pressed from several angles had everyone not noted how visibly the Watcher was shaking. “I really thought she would have checked in before…before…”

“Umm, Giles,” Willow said meekly. “This is Buffy. Remember?”

“There is every possibility that this can work in our advantage,” Wesley volunteered. “If Buffy truly believes that Angel has turned, her performance of reaction will be all the more convincing.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed. “And how exactly will she react to the Spike factor? He’s on his way to ‘save’ her right now.”

A foray of troubled glances was exchanged—all except from Cordelia, who looked beyond bored, and Oz, who remained forever indifferent.

“Well,” Willow said finally, color still drained from her face. “Buffy was wondering what it would take to know how she felt about him. Guess she’s about to find out.”

“Did I mention that I have a bad feeling about this?” Xander wondered feebly.

“I think it’s a given,” Oz offered in his customary monotone.

“Yeah. Figured. Just felt the need to say it.”

Willow shook her head with a sigh. “You’re not the only one.”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. It was right there; right before her, and she refused to accept it. Refused herself that line of plausibility. Every nerve in her body was numb with the purity of astonishment. The blood in her veins ran cold, and she was sure every demon within convenient proximity could hear the calamitous pounding of her heart.

Déjà vu in the worst sense imaginable. That familiar dread that grasped her heart. The falling of her stomach as she felt herself crumple from the inside. The downward spiral that surged through her veins as she shoved the end of a sword into her lover’s gut. Complete and utter despair. The need to die in retribution to feeling it had happened already. All over again. A measure of redundancy.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted…

A tiny irrational voice wished that Spike was with her, if only to remind her that she wasn’t who she had been a year ago.

Buffy blinked and indulged a series of rapid breaths, but the scene before her refused to change. Angel. No, not Angel. Angelus. He was Angelus. That gleam. That tone. The face that belonged to another. Angelus.

Angelus was back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she battled the scream that climbed up her throat from escaping. No, she wouldn’t allow him to see her distress. She wouldn’t give him that much power. She wouldn’t let him know that every part of her was breaking. Kill him. That’s what she had to do. She had to kill him. She had to call Willow and get her to do the spell again. She had to do something.

She had to not cry.

She had to escape.

She had to escape now.

Angelus was advancing, favoring her with a lavish leer. The neon of his eyes sparkled with ferocious intensity, and he ran his tongue along the side of his incisors. “You know, I never properly thanked you for sending me to Hell.”

That was it. Her willpower broke. Her knowledge to hold on remained steadfast, but her strength wavered as she felt every sensation in her body collapse. “No,” she protest pitifully.

If anything, her reaction encouraged him. The smirk on his face was unbearable. “Yeah, and I'm just wondering where do I start? Card? Fruit basket?” Somehow, he had gotten near enough to grab her by the shoulders and pull her flush against him. “Evisceration?”

Kick him away! the Slayer within screamed. Don’t turn into a talking doll! Do you want him to kill you? And yet she was firm in her denial, unable to stop her tears from trailing down her cheeks. “No.”

“Yeah, I know what you're thinking,” Angelus continued conversationally. “Maybe there's still some good deep down inside of me that remembers and loves you. If only you could reach me. Then again, we have reality.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to break her out of her daze. Buffy’s façade hardened and she glanced up through her tears. “Never happen,” she spat, utilizing her superior strength to wriggle away, surprised when he didn’t put up more of a fight. Then again, Angelus loved the chase. It had always been more important than any part of the outcome to him. “I will kill you before I let you touch me.” She began retreating slowly, eyes never leaving the shadow of her boyfriend, ignoring the singsong, Told you so, told you so’ that sounded internally at full volume for her negligence in seeing this from the beginning. “Faith, we need to get out of here. Now.”

She whirled just in time to see the Slayer in question reclined quite comfortably against the entryway, arms crossed and an eerie look of complacence on her face. “Speak for yourself, B. Me, I like it here.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in realization, and she felt herself shatter even further. Faith. Angel. Angelus. Oh god oh god oh god.

Once more, her mind called out for Spike. Stunning and quick, as though coming to that lasting resolve. Such surprised her but didn’t; she wouldn’t second-guess herself now. It was the last thing she would remember. The world around her collapsed as stars blocked her vision, and she fell to the ground at the force of impact. A whirlpool of blackness consumed her, and then nothing at all.

All was still.

Submit a Review!