Disclaimer: Michael and Clarissa belong to me; all other characters belong to and are copyrighted by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and WB. This fanfic was written for fun, is non-profit, and will never make me money, so please don't sue, I'm poor, blah, blah bitty blah.
/ / indicates italics.
Part Five
"Oz!" Willow jumped from her seat suddenly, looking pained. As heads turned to look at her, her eyes turned apologetic. "Sorry. I just, oh, I was supposed to meet Oz at the Bronze fifteen minutes ago."
"Ah, well, I think we've covered everything here...?" Giles glanced at Clarissa, who shrugged and closed the grimoire again.
"I think so. I'll meet with Spike tomorrow night, and we'll work out details to get Angelus on his own, and then we can work the spell."
"Cool." Buffy hopped off the table, even as Xander and Cordelia stood. "To the Bronze it is, then."
The teens headed for the door as a group, with Giles pausing to murmur a word or two of precaution to Buffy. She shrugged him off with an oddly good-natured grin. Clarissa remained by the table, fingers tracing the designs in the leather cover of the book. For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt as if a whirlwind had blown through the library at the mention of going out. Then again, she supposed, they had been working for several hours, and any idea of a break was probably more than welcome.
Buffy paused, halfway out the door, and glanced back at Clarissa. "Hey, you want to come with?"
Clarissa glanced up, blinking, at the girl. Clearly, she was taken aback by the notion of hanging out with someone who was, in no uncertain terms, her mortal enemy. Behind Buffy, Xander was making a pained face, even as Cordelia hauled him further down the hall. Willow had paused in the door as well, and though she also appeared to be surprised by Buffy's offer, she didn't appear to be against it.
"You... really want me to come out to your club with you?" The note of disbelief in Clarissa's tone was undeniable.
"Well, it's not /our/ club," Willow began, "but--"
"Yeah! It'll be fun," the Slayer said chirpily. "Come on, there's no joy in moping by yourself."
"Mope?" Clarissa gave a mental curse. "Why should I be moping?"
"You had a fight with Michael, didn't you? It's kind of obvious..." Buffy came back into the room now, letting the door close. Giles had removed himself behind the table, where he was diligently stacking books and apparently trying to not hear the conversation.
"That's really not your concern," Clarissa replied in a softer voice. "Besides, what makes you think we fought?"
"You seem upset. And the lack of him here kind of adds to it." Buffy gave a gentle smile. "Come on. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Clarissa glanced almost helplessly at Giles, who gave a neutral shrug. Then she turned back, returning Buffy's smile with a tentative one of her own.
"Sure. Why not?"
* * *
The Bronze was an experience. It did seem to be one of the more interesting places aimed towards a youthful audience that Clarissa had seen in some time. Though the atmosphere was dark and rich with shadows, there wasn't much smoke obscuring the air. A band was playing on a stage at one end of the place, which seemed to be a converted warehouse that hadn't gained much in the translation. Groups of teens were gathered around the pool tables, the two bars, and the pinball and arcade games in one corner. The club's upper level was less crowded, with couples and small cliques settled around tables or on couches.
Clarissa followed her new-found companions over to a side area that had been set up as a conversation pit: overstuffed chairs and couches were placed in a rough semi-circle, around a couple of low tables. Xander was the only one who didn't immediately take a seat; he dug for his wallet while glancing around at everyone.
"Diet Coke," Cordelia said, "on the rocks, twist of lemon."
"Same here," Willow chimed in, grinning at Xander as he gave them both a dirty look. Her eyes trailed past him, then, and she hopped up, taking a few steps towards a young red-headed man who was approaching her with a smile on his face.
Buffy leaned over to Clarissa. "That's her boyfriend, Oz," she explained in a conspiratorial tone.
"Ah." Clarissa didn't miss the delight in the pair's eyes as they sat down, Willow firmly ensconced on Oz's lap. Nor did she miss the sudden flare of emotion in Xander's eyes, quickly hidden.
"How about you, Buff?" The boy was glancing in the Slayer's direction now, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, uh, frappacino, I think," Buffy replied with a shrug.
"All right." Xander looked over at Oz. "You want a drink, man?"
"No, I'm good." Oz smiled and squeezed Willow, who responded with a giggle.
Clarissa raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "What, may I ask, is a frappacino?"
"It's like an iced coffee drink," Buffy replied. "Tasty. Sweeter than coffee."
"Mm." The vampire looked thoughtful as Xander turned and headed for the alcohol-free bar. Suddenly, with a smile, she stood up. "Think I'll try one."
She caught up to Xander at the bar; he had already ordered the drinks for the others, and she asked the bartender for the interesting-sounding frappacino before turning to Xander. He looked like he was trying very hard not to notice her.
"You didn't ask me if I wanted anything," she said calmly.
"I didn't think you'd want anything," he replied. His demeanor was cool, but Clarissa sensed quite a bit of hostility just below his calm surface.
"Maybe not, but it would have been polite. Is it me you don't like? Or vampires in general?"
The frustrated look in his eyes clearly said that he didn't want to be having this conversation. But he didn't flinch when he looked at her. "Vampires, period," he replied.
"Okay. That's fair. I understand. I'm not trying to start a big warm friendship, here. I would, however, like to call a truce."
"I don't trust you," he said suddenly. She cocked her head and looked at him questioningly, and he added, almost guilty, "I _can't_."
"Ah. Angelus?" she said. He nodded. The bartender began setting the drinks down, and he started to reach for them. She leaned over to help.
"Xander, I'm not asking you to trust me here, but - hear me out, all right?"
His eyes met hers again, almost reluctantly.
"I swear on the name of the Kalderash that I will not harm you or your friends. If I do, then I swear that I'll give myself over to the Slayer and let her kill me."
Xander blinked at her, surprised at the intensity of her words. "You don't - you don't have to say that."
"No, I do."
"All right," he said quietly, nodding. Paying for the drinks, he gathered them up and made his way back through the crowd to the conversation pit. Clarissa took up her own drink, but decided to remain at the bar for the moment. She didn't feel at ease with the group - as if she could, all things considered - and it was comfortable to stand at the bar and watch the mass of youth maneuvering through the dances, the talking, all the trimmings of tender age.
She'd never really been able to experience youth like they did. She had been twelve when they'd discerned the power in her, and from that day, she'd been schooled in the ways of the witch. Though she was occasionally allowed to play and relax with the other children of the clan, there had been a certain separation from them. It wasn't that they didn't like her for who she was; it was almost a respect, or possibly even fear.
Perhaps it was why she never fed off children, even to this day. She couldn't stand to see precious youth wasted and dead before it even had a chance to truly live.
"I thought I might find you here."
She spun, nearly spilling the drink in her hand. The light gleamed off Michael's fair hair, turning it red and blue by degrees. His expression was decidedly neutral, and she bit her lip, unsure whether to go on the defensive or not.
"Well, I guess you were right," she finally replied. "How did you think to look for me here?"
"Giles." One word said it all; he'd been to the library, and the Watcher had filled him in.
"Oh. Did he... what did he tell you?"
"Enough." Michael's eyes flickered to the dance floor; the band had just begun a slower song, and couples were moving together in time to the music. "Would you... would you like to dance?"
Her brows narrowed in confusion as she set the drink on the bar behind her. "Are you trying to catch me off guard or something?"
"I'm trying to make up. You could just tell me to go away."
The look of hope on his face, mixed with worry that she might just do that very thing, made her smile softly. "I'd love to dance."
Across the room, the conversation had wandered from idle chatter about the band playing tonight, some locals who called themselves the Black Plague, to the reason Willow had been late for her hook-up with Oz.
"So, more vampires," Oz summed it up. "But good ones, like Angel was before."
"Right," Buffy confirmed, and Xander rolled his eyes. He had continued to watch Clarissa as she and Michael had gone out to the dance floor; the pair were standing close to each other now, with her arms wrapped around his neck, looking quite as if the world had completely disappeared but for the two of them.
"It's turning into Vampire Central around here," was his only comment.
Willow gave him a look. "It's the Hellmouth, Xander, you know that. And this whole Angel thing."
"Yeah." The look on his face had become decidedly obstinate. Cordelia, fortunately, wasn't about to stand for any more of it. She stood up, set her drink down, and grabbed his hand.
"You need to get your mind off vampires and on something else," she informed him with a haughty tone and a hint of smile. When she turned and moved towards the dance floor, he was quick to follow, and a smattering of giggles trailed in his wake.
"Never thought I'd say this, but good for you, Cordy," Buffy observed with a wry smile.
"Really," Willow agreed, grinning. Oz murmured something in her ear, and then she looked over at her friend. "Is it - I mean, is it all right with you if--"
"Go dance," Buffy replied, managing a smile for Willow's benefit. "Don't let me stop you crazy lovebirds."
"We'll be back," Oz promised as the redhead stood up and he reclaimed his lap. They headed to the dance floor hand in hand, and Buffy found herself alone in the conversation pit.
It was all right with her, though; for the moment, she wasn't really jealous of any of them, or wistful about past memories. It was even kind of funny that Willow got to dance instead of her, instead of the other way around like it used to be. She stirred her drink and sipped slowly, letting her mind wander down familiar trails.
How long had they been coming to the Bronze as a group? Sure, before she'd moved to Sunnydale, it had been Jesse and Willow and Xander; but since her first day of school, she'd been putting in time regularly at the only decent place for kids her age to hang out here. Of course, there had also been the occasions when she'd been forced to put in an appearance at unscheduled moments; the time she'd gone hunting for Angel, just after she'd first learned of his true nature, sprang to mind, as did the time she and Cordelia had been kidnapped by Marcie Ross. Despite the less-than-happy moments, however, she still enjoyed hanging out here, enjoying the music and the company. It was a good place just to be.
Michael didn't want to let go of Clarissa even after the slow song ended, but as the dance floor became crowded with bodies again, he reluctantly released her. With a firm grip on her hand, he led her over against the wall, a little away from the noise and density of the crowd.
"So, you gonna catch me up on what's going on?" he said, reaching over to gently brush some stray locks of hair back from her forehead.
"It's a long story," she said. She looked as if she was about to say more, but when her eyes moved past him for a moment, she suddenly froze. Michael blinked at her and then looked behind him to see what had caught her attention.
Standing directly behind him was a tall, thin vampire with a serious David Bowie affection. He was grinning faintly, and Clarissa's unease at his presence was obvious.
"I thought you said two nights," she said sharply. Michael's gaze swung back to her, full of confusion now.
"Ah, I got bored. Sue me." He fairly brimmed with mirth, though his expression rapidly switched to a level look of vague interest. He offered a hand to Michael. "I'm Spike. I don't suppose your sweetheart there mentioned me?"
Clarissa glared at him. "Thanks so much for not giving me a chance. Spike, this is Michael. Michael, Spike. We met the other day. He has a business proposition for us."
"So to speak." Spike glanced around the room, noting with unconcern that the Slayer had not yet sensed his presence. "Perhaps we could head outside and discuss it?"
"Yes, let's." Clarissa took Michael's hand and aimed for the exit with no further hesitation. The air outside was humid and stifling, but the number of mortals was proportionately low, giving the vampires more privacy to talk. Spike trailed them out, his manner casual and breezy, the hem of his leather overcoat flapping about his knees.
Michael turned to him the minute they were away from the bouncer. "So, talk."
Clarissa stepped between the two, placing a gentle hand on Michael's arm. "I'll fill you in later. Trust me on this, all right?"
He glared down at her, his eyes chips of ice. The tentative truce between them was still fragile, and Clarissa could tell that he was about ready to turn and walk away without looking back. /God, I'm sorry, I'll make this whole thing up to you, I promise,/ she begged silently, gazing up at him with pleading eyes.
After a few tense moments, he slowly nodded, and the tension in his posture eased. Clarissa would have breathed a sigh of relief if she still had the ability to draw breath; instead, she lifted her chin and faced Spike. "So you want a decision?" she said in her most casual manner.
"Would be nice, yeah." Spike's eyes sparkled with dangerous humor.
"All right. We'll help you out." Her hand squeezed Michael's arm, willing him to silence. "Now you tell me exactly what you want done."
"Fair enough." Spike patted at the pockets of his coat, then reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook. He paused to light a cigarette and puff on it before speaking. "I've got this mate, Angelus. He's become a bother lately. Always hanging about, nattering on about killing the Slayer, and he never will. And now he's moving in on me girl. I want him out of the picture."
Clarissa thought that if she impressed her fingers into Michael's arm any more, she'd hit bone; but, thankfully, he didn't ask questions. "Angelus, eh?" she managed lightly. "I've heard of him."
"Thought you might. I'll get him out of the house so you can ambush him, and the rest is up to you."
"You don't mind if we play with him a little first?" Clarissa did her best predatory grin, receiving an answering one from Spike.
"'Course not. Just make sure you finish the job proper-like, all right?" The white-haired vampire's eyes narrowed, and Clarissa swallowed a sudden cringe of fear. She still didn't know if her newly-rediscovered magicks would be of any use without the spells to drive them.
She nodded weakly. Spike finished his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, using the toe of his boot to grind it into ash. "All right. It'll have to be tomorrow night. Be ready."
"We will." Clarissa leaned against Michael then, as Spike gave them one last smile and calmly walked away. His arms came around her, and she rested on him, trembling, letting the fear inspired by Spike move through and past her.
"Okay. Talk." Michael's voice was cool and intense, but not angry. Clarissa gave mental thanks to the gods before she began to spill forth the details of her encounters in Sunnydale to date. When she was finished, her lover's expression had turned from annoyance to surprise to disbelief. He let go of her hand and began to pace slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"You're going to kidnap Angelus, make Spike think you're killing him, and then you're going to restore his soul?" he asked.
Clarissa nodded. "Pretty much."
"Okay. I have a question, it's probably going to sound stupid, but: Why are you doing this?" He stopped mid-pace and looked at her, obviously bewildered. "Clarissa, you don't know these people from Adam. I can understand you wanting to get rid of Angelus, after all the shit he did to you..."
She let out a frustrated sigh, realizing that he wasn't going to listen after all. Her hands tried to busy themselves with playing with her hair; she stuck them in her jacket pockets instead.
"Because it needs doing," she replied. "Because he's a monster the way he is now, and... well, if there's a better way to pay back Angelus for killing my family, I can't think of one."
"But think about all the things he's done since he went bad again," Michael argued. "He's been killing, torturing, things that can't be forgiven." He stepped closer to her, letting his voice drop as a group of teenagers came out of the Bronze in a burst of music and laughter. "He nearly killed you, love. I can't lose you."
The tenderness of his voice made Clarissa want to cry. She bent her head as Michael gathered her close, letting him wrap his arms around her. "I know," she whispered. "I know, but... I need to do this."
He rocked her gently in his arms for a few moments, pressing kisses to the top of her head. Softly, she heard him murmur. "I know."
"I'm going to do it anyway, no matter what," she said to his shirt. His hands lightly soothed the tense muscles of her back.
"Just... tell me what I can do to help."
She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. He was smiling down at her, one of his faint little-boy smiles, the kind that always made her want to kiss him. Pushing to her toes, she did so, and murmured a soft, "Thank you," against his lips.
He held her like that for a moment before releasing her. Hand in hand, they went back inside to tell the others of the meeting with their unknowing conspirator.
* * *
"Xander, we need to talk."
The boy glanced up and smiled at Willow as she took a seat next to him. Despite the fact that the school cafeteria was crowded, Xander was sitting alone. Willow had hoped to catch him thus; it would make what she had to say easier without any witnesses. She was still upset over his negative statements of the past couple of days, especially the way he'd been last night at the Bronze, and she could no longer hold back her feelings.
Xander's smile faded gradually as he absorbed the serious look on her face. "What's what, Will? Something bugging you?"
"Well, sort of." She folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. "Xander, you're, you know, my best friend and all, and that's why this is really hard to say."
"Just say it, Willow." He watched her, concerned now, trying to guess at the subject that was worrying her.
"You're being a real jerk lately, Xander. I mean, you still act like you've got this thing going for Buffy, and you get all weird whenever you see Oz and me together, and Cordy says that all you ever seem to talk about is Buffy or me."
She took another breath while Xander was still blinking, and plunged back in. "And now, Buffy has the chance to get Angel back, and all you can do is be totally negative about it."
The automatic protest came out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I don't _like_ Angel. I never did, and--"
"Xander, shut up!" Willow's voice rose on an agitated note; she had to force herself to calm down. "We know how you feel about him, but come on, don't you think Buffy deserves to be happy?"
He was still reeling from her snap, so she hurried on to her next point. "The thing that sucks the most is that you're hurting Cordelia and you don't even know it. I never thought I'd say this, but she doesn't deserve that. So I guess what I'm really trying to say is that you should wake up before you do something really stupid."
"Are you through?" he demanded in a hurt voice. She nodded. Her eyes beseeched him - /please, understand/ was written all over her face - but her observations had been all too true, and her words had cut to the quick. He stood abruptly, snagging his backpack from the floor, his face set in stone. "Fine. I'll see you later."
"Later," she agreed in a tiny voice.
Buffy came into the lunchroom just in time to see Xander storming out the far exit. She came over to Willow's table and set her backpack down, giving the redhead a curious look. "What happened to him?"
"I did." Willow didn't meet Buffy's eyes; her fingers traced the straps of her bag, and she looked like she was about to burst into tears. Buffy sat down hurriedly, her own eyes full of concern.
"Will, what did you..."
"I... I couldn't help it, I just got so mad thinking about what he's been saying, the way he's been acting and all, so I let him have it with both barrels." She continued to stare at the table, only stopping her fidgeting when Buffy reached over and snared Willow's hands with her own. "And, and you know he wouldn't have taken that from anyone else, so it had to be me, and now he probably hates me and he'll never talk to me again."
"Willow." Buffy forced her voice to calm strength, repeating her friend's name when she didn't seem to hear her at first. Willow looked up slowly, her eyelids blinking rapidly; she seemed to have passed the crying stage by now. "You did good."
Willow's eyes widened. "You think so?"
Buffy nodded forcefully. "You're right. He had to hear it. Someone had to tell him, and you've been his best friend since forever, so you were the logical choice. It'll make him think, and if he's smart - which, despite the occasional idiotic Xanderisms, he is - he'll think about it, realize that he's been a jerk, and move on."
"But what if he doesn't?" Willow's mind was already jumping ahead to the worst possible outcome.
"He won't," Buffy denied firmly. "And... if he does, well, then, we'll deal with it."
It wasn't the best answer she could think of, but it seemed to calm Willow down, so Buffy counted it worthwhile. "Now. We free for world saveage tonight?"
Willow nodded, reaching for her backpack to dig out her lunch. "I told my mom we're doing a study group here, so you can all say you're at my house and it'll be cool."
"Great." Buffy eyed Willow's sandwich and apple thoughtfully. "Now I just need to figure out what to wear." She caught Willow's confused look and grinned. "Hey, it's been a long time since I coordinated an outfit for a prophecy. I gotta look my best."
* * *
The library was full of activity as soon as the final bell rang. Giles prepared weapons and protection for the hunt as the Slayer and her Slayerettes made their way into the library.
"We all set?" Buffy asked jauntily, slinging her bookbag on the table and inadvertantly knocking over an array of crossbow bolts. Giles gave her a perturbed look as he began to gather up the fallen items.
"Almost. There are just a few things left to do." Soon enough, the tasks had been handed out: Xander and Oz set to carving up a couple of stakes for last-resort usage, Willow was double-checking the spells that would be used for the night, and Cordelia and Buffy were assembling materials for the casting.
The Slayer heaved a sigh as she re-entered the library after a trip to the restroom, her objective - a bowl of water - carefully balanced in both hands. "Here you go, Watcher mine. Now what?"
Giles looked up from the pile of books he had just finished moving to the counter, his gaze turning toward the west-facing windows. The sun was beginning to set, filtering amber-golden rays into the library and dappling its inhabitants in rich color.
"Now, we wait for nightfall."
* * *
As darkness fell over Sunnydale, night greedily reclaiming the shadows stolen from it by the day, the town came alive with activity. Young couples and groups of friends hurried to their favorite hangouts, there to linger with the standard air of bored disaffection. Others wandered the night without any particular destination in mind. Restaurants and bars catered to the older generation of Sunnydale's residents.
Chances were if any of them had been aware of the danger that stalked among them, they might have reacted with terrified screams, panic, general terror. Or perhaps not; the current attitude to maintain seemed to be apathy, after all.
Death walked the streets in the guise of one of the couples casually strolling. Her look was strictly Goth - she was pale, with a rich fall of raven hair done up in an incomprehensible series of tucks and curls, and her antique, Empire-waisted gown was a deep garnet red in hue. He had more of the look of casual youth, but there was definitely something intense about him, even when he laughed lightly at a comment of his companion's. Still, no one gave them a second glance, which worked in the favor of vampires on the hunt.
"See anything you like, honey?" Angel asked as he leaned over to brush a kiss across her cheek.
Drusilla's eyes were wide and bright with glee. She pointed at a woman pushing a double stroller along the sidewalk across the street. "Them," she murmured. "They smell sweet, Angel."
"Your wish is my command," he replied, giving her a half-smile, and led her across the street.
It was the work of a moment to enthrall the young woman, who clearly enjoyed the attention and compliments Angel gave her while Dru cooed over the babies. Before the infants could begin to cry, the vampires had drawn both mother and children into a deep storefront door to feed.
Angel had almost taken his fill when he noticed that Drusilla had stopped without finishing her meal. She continued to cradle the second infant's body in her arms, rocking it, while she crooned a demented parody of a lullaby.
"Dru? You okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Your mummy's gone away," she was saying in a low voice to the child. "Just like mine. I'll never be a mummy. Can I be your mummy?"
"Dru, it's dead," Angel said in disgust.
She didn't seem to hear him; her eyes were distant, unfocused. "She's waiting... waiting for you. Would you like to go to her?"
Angel watched Dru with one eyebrow raised as she gently set the tiny corpse back in the stroller next to the other. Her eyes flew up to meet Angel's then, but there was no recognition in her gaze. He realized, belatedly, that she was in the throes of a vision.
"What do you see, hon?" he prompted gently, stepping over to her.
"The girl," she whispered. "She's with all her friends. They're waiting. They want you to come to them. They want to put you... put you..." Her hands fluttered to her temples, and she whimpered softly.
"A trap," he muttered. "Is that what it is?"
She just looked at him with that dazed deer-in-the-headlights expression. He patted her shoulder. "Dru, why don't you go ahead and go back to Spike? I'll take care of them."
"Be careful, Angel. They have new tricks," she warned.
"I will. I promise." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and watched her walk off down the street before turning to go in search of the Slayer. So she wanted to trap him, huh? Well, he'd have to see about that.
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