Disclaimer: Buffy, Angel, Spike, Dru and the rest of the Slayerettes belong to the creative genius of Joss Whedon. The ideas, as well as Star and Mr. O’Toole, are mine, so no copycats!
Author's Notes: See prologue. *As always, questions and comments are welcome at jhorizon77@yahoo.com
Part Four
“All is the fear and nothing is the love,
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.”
The tension in the mansion’s immense front foyer was tangible enough to slice with a finger nail. Still trembling from the bewilderment that Buffy’s revelation had wrought, Angel struggled to find his voice. “Did you know? D-did you know that she was gonna be...”
He felt tears threatening to pour down his cheeks as he lost the will to continue his thought. Repeatedly, her words played in his head, refusing to cease. Was it true? Had his beautiful messiah given so easily into the darkness? Was it he that had driven her to end her existence so readily? As Angel finally began to except the reality of his beloved’s grim fate, he allowed drop upon tiny drop of pink water to course down his pale visage.
Meanwhile, the tiny, black-clad man that had rescued the disconsolate vampire took a few more steps into the room and cursed. “Gees, it’s all sorts dark in here.”
While he started to pace the massive hall, Whistler continued, “Damn, Angel, I-I know you vamps have an issue with lamps and stuff. You jam on the whole ‘let’s-live-in-candle-light’ thing, but...damn! It’s the twentieth century. Live a little. Invest in a bit of electricity. Personally, a think a few lamps spread here and there would add some cheer to this room of carnage...Okay, not *cheer* per se, but some color, at least. Of course, I can see where the Goth candelabras would have a certain intimacy--”
“Please...Please, don’t think I’m not grateful for you saving me, but...I-I need...”
Whistler placed his hands on his hips while his features softened. Angel could tell he was choosing his words carefully as he asked, “What? What do you need, man? Do you need me to end your sorry-ass life? Huh? Is that what you want? Or do you want to do anything and *everything* in your ‘immortal power’ to help her? Come on, wake up. She needs your help with this.”
Almost out of the blue, Angel sprung from of his depression for a moment to snap, “How dare you lecture me. If it wasn’t for you, I would never have even met her.”
Whistler shook his head in amusement at the comment. “Man oh man, Angel, you’re reaching with that one. You and I both know somehow, somewhere you would have met up with her. Buffy’s crossing over...it was written long before you were even born. There is no stopping destiny, but there are ways to reverse it...if you look hard enough, that is.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Whistler. That got old a long time ago, you know,” Angel growled.
With a smug smile, Whistler asked, “Hey, man, don’t you want to be let out of those ropes?” He walked over to his mourning protege and began to loosen the ties. “Of course, you never were one to ask for help, were you? I thought the Slayer might have changed that irritating habit of yours by now.”
After seeing Angel’s glare, he added hurriedly, “Don’t give me that ‘macho guy’ stare...I *taught* you that ‘macho guy’ stare. I’m just saying that you’re still all ‘go away and leave me to my stink.’ When does it end with you?”
The rhetorical question ceased all conversation for a moment as Whistler helped Angel shrug out of the remaining cords. As he stood up, the vampire brushed off the thin layer of dust coating his back and arms he had picked up when the venomous Slayer had flung him like a rag doll. All the sorrow began to well up inside of him once more as his thoughts drifted to his fallen love. Seeing the risen crests upon her face, not to mention the fangs peaking out from between her lips, had been enough to almost drive him into insanity. He allowed this to happen to her.
“Hello! Mother ship hailing Angelus! Are there any frequencies open?”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. His annoyance with the demon unexpectedly burst into fury as he shifted the blame to his old friend. “You. You knew about Buffy, and you sent me to help her, anyway.”
Whistler took off his hat and began twisting it wildly in his hands, before he stammered, “W-well, yeah, okay I-I might have known, but you’re not looking at the big picture.”
As soon as the last phase left his lips, Whistler winced while he watched the vampiric ridges appear on Angel’s face. Under his breath, he whispered, “Uh-oh, red alert.”
Footfalls of the advancing predator and his retreating target were the only sounds in the mansion. When Whistler came up against a wall, Angel continued to saunter over to him until he was practically ribcage to ribcage with the demon.
Sneering, Angel asked, “Then why -- if you *knew* -- would you lead me into something that was destined to fail? Were Buffy and I *meant* to be unhappy? Did the Powers That Be think it’d be a hoot if we were ripped apart time and again? I’d have thought the world was tired of so many damned _Romeo and Juliet_ tragedies by now. Or maybe you’ll tell me it’s because I *chose* to listen to you and befriend her that now Buffy and I *both* have to know forever what the word ‘heartache’ means.”
Glowing gold-colored eyes pierced Whistler’s own as he gulped almost imperceptibly. “I think that’s ‘heart...ache.’ As in two words.”
For a moment he tried to hold his scowl in vain, but it abruptly decayed, only to be replaced with a guilty, long-face. Angel felt his appearance softening into the human guise he preferred, as he managed an almost nonexistent smile for Whistler’s benefit and said, “It’s one word, you undead, demon freak.”
Having said that, he stepped back and allowed his friend to move from his position at the wall. With a smile, Whistler replied, “You’re one to talk, buddy boy.”
“Go to hell,” Angel said half-joking, half-serious, as he walked into one of the living areas where the windows were draped with heavy, jet black curtains. Shaking his head, Whistler joined his friend in the other room, leaning against a large table as Angel took a seat on a plush leather couch. He watched him intently as he said, “Angel, I knew, but if you were listening to what I was getting at, I couldn’t have stopped it. Even if I had never gone near your smelly-ass alley in New York and just left you to scare the kiddies, you two still would have met. As I said, it couldn’t have been stopped.”
After sighing remorsefully, Angel said, “I’m sorry. I-I just--...I’m kinda bewildered, here. This just wasn’t expected. I was hoping we could find her and everything would be all right. Damn it, Spike, why couldn’t you have just left things alone?” Whistler appeared as though he wanted to comment, but Angel continued, “Yeah, yeah, I know -- he couldn’t leave things alone. It was destined.”
Whistler shrugged. “I don’t know. I probably would have let that one slide. The plan was to insult the exulted *William the Bloody*. I just don’t like the guy. Too ‘bloody’ weird, if you ask me. Hanging around with that deranged chick...Drusilla, right? And the hair? Welcome back, 1980’s.”
As he looked over the demon’s clothes, Angel laughed softly. “Sure you aren’t celebrating the same decade, too, Whistler?”
“That’s nice. Mock the guy who helped you out of that woe-is-me slump you were in. I gave you your life back, man. Of course, Buffy was able to do something I wasn’t: get you to open up and let someone in. Cherish that. Don’t dwell on the fact that she’s a creep.”
When Angel’s hard stare drove into him, Whistler added, “N-not that Buffy was a creep before, but--...Just forget it. It was a foot-in-mouth moment. Look, we need to concentrate on the present, all right? Let’s deal with getting Buffy back to the white knights, and *then* you’ll have plenty of time to mope.”
Nodding, although barely enough to register, Angel whispered, “Yeah, we’ve gotta help Buffy, but first...shouldn’t we do something about...Sunshine?”
“Oh, yeah...doggy. Real sad. Defiantly a sad thing. I’m guessing our spitfire Slayer was kinda--” After yet another glare from his friend, the demon switched tactics. “*Okay*...How to dispose of a dead pooch...Burial at land, I guess. I’ll find a box. You get the mutt.”
Angel watched him leave the room to scavenge for something in which to put the tiny dog. He felt like everyone’s problems were being slapped over his shoulders. The notion throbbed behind his eyes as he buried his face in his hands and strove to push the images of the vampire Buffy from his mind. Unfortunately, the corrupted smirk of his lover was etched into his memory, determined not to leave. Every time he closed his eyes, and every time he blinked, there she was -- grinning that immoral grin at him. She ridiculed him.
Finally, he grew tired of musing about the Slayer, so he willed himself into a standing position and made the difficult trek into the foyer. Although it was still quite dim inside, seeing as how Whistler had never actually gotten around to lighting any candles, his vampiric eyesight allowed him to see perfectly. It was a power which he regretted as he looked upon the remains of Sunshine. Angel moaned quietly, agony washing over him as he stared at the tiny animal, twin puncture marks marring its furry neck. He took note of the how clean-cut the breaches in the skin were and silently wondered at how someone so young had fed so neatly that early in life.
“Angel, what the hell are you *thinking*,” he chastised himself out loud. How could he have possibly complimented the job she had done destroying the innocent creature’s life? “Just how many mortals has she killed? Did she enjoy it? Want more? God, what did Spike *do* to her?”
Laughing bitterly, Angel suddenly realized that he had no business talking to God -- not after what he had done. This, of course, led him to remember something Buffy had told him during one of her “Nurse Buffy” calls right after the Order of Taraka. The incident with Drusilla had summoned all his old guilt for hurting the former sinless English girl. After listening to him explain with greater detail how he had created the lunatic vampire, and how he thought himself eternally damned, she had sighed and brushed a hand on his cheek.
Softly, she had said, “If there is one thing that I learned from my years of slaying, it’s that no soul who’s possessed by a vampire could ever truly be condemned. Think about it. There’s people like Xander’s friend, Jesse. I’ve told you about him, right?” He had motioned with his good hand for her to continue. “I didn’t know him that long b-before...but I know that he was a good guy. A less cynical Xander, I guess. The point is: he’s not in Hell. He can’t be, although I bet that’s where his demon is.”
Remembering the way she had placed his hand over her heart still brought tears to his eyes as he recalled what she had said next. “This beats for you, Angel. You know that, and I think anyone that inspires love, will be loved. Now and always.”
One of the rare moments that Buffy had shown her true self to him had touched him deeply then, as it still did now. As he crouched over the still form of Sunshine, he took consolation in the fact that his Slayer was where she belonged -- amongst the light.
All of a sudden, a voice shouted from somewhere on the second story, “Okay, I think I found a stash of boxes. I just need to get these hideous looking dollies out of one.”
The reference to Drusilla’s blindfolded, deformed dolls brought a tiny smile to Angel’s face before he dropped to his knees and folded his hands. In the blackness of the entrance hall, he began to whisper.
“Um, hi. I-it’s been a while since I’ve said anything to you...I guess I was just, um...”
This was stupid. He felt like a moron calling upon the deity for help when he had forsaken the being countless times since his crossing. He was about to get back to his feet when the haunting image of Buffy’s demon swirled behind his closed eyelids. A sense of urgency came over him as he started anew, fueled by the anguish of losing the light in his frigid world. “God...let’s try this again. I know I haven’t come to you for...too long, but Buffy...well, you know. I-I just want to make sure that everything’s all right. Is she with you? Does she hate me for getting her involved with me? I-I’m begging you. She told me once that I can’t be damned still, that I could still come to you. Please...I don’t know what t-to--”
He began to break up then, no longer able to think about the sound of her voice calling for him in the far reaches of his mind. Awash in the inner turmoil brewing inside of him, Angel toppled to the ground, surrendering to its song. All he wanted was for everything to end, for the pain to slowly ebb away from his weary soul. Sniffling, he brushed his hand on the tile floor, trying to support himself to stand, and as he did, his fingertips grazed the edges of something cool. ‘Her Claddagh ring.’
Looking at it, he traced the lines with his eyes gloomily for a moment before lifting himself into a sitting position and picking the symbol of their love up. Immediately, Angel was overcome with a jumble of words and images:
Buffy in the sunlight.
“You must choose.”
Demons.
The Bronze.
Xander and Buffy together.
A crystal clear pond.
Crucifixion.
“Protect them.”
Kissing his Slayer in the daylight.
A swirling portal.
The library.
“You must choose.”
“Protect them...”
Clasping a hand to his sweaty forehead, Angel whispered, “Dear God.”
“I’ll say. Would you *look* at the size of this? Man, that daughter of yours was really into the dolls, wasn’t she? Must have pulled out a hun--”
He stopped talking as he noticed the vampire’s state. Whistler laid the box on the floor and lit a row of candelabras that were lined across the back wall of the foyer. He returned to Angel and sat beside him. “Did something happen while I was away? I-it’s just a hunch I’m goin’ with.”
Angel shook his head. “I--...The ring. I picked up her Claddagh ring that she tossed on the floor, and...I remembered everything.”
When Whistler did not respond, Angel continued, “She met me on the other side before I was brought back to the library. She gave me the option of staying here until after the vampire Buffy was defeated or joining her.” A beat later, as agony pulled at his soul, he wailed, “Oh God -- Hell. I saw her b-being brought over! They-they showed it to me nonstop, relentlessly pounding it into my head. Telling me that I caused it all, that it was my fault. A-and Xander and my Buffy...”
His voice creaked and then was no more. The vampire slipped the petite Claddagh ring onto his pinkie finger as he crunched himself into a shivering ball on the floor. Eerie shadows, cast from the flickering light of the raven candles, intermingled on his body as he sobbed about the horrors he had experienced in Hell and the gut-wrenching pain of losing his lover again and again on the demons’ screen. Every now and then, he would wail the fallen Slayer’s name, disconcerted and still reeling from the memories the ring had bestowed onto him. As he wept uncontrollably, his friend ran a comforting hand across his back.
And for once, Whistler had nothing to say.
* * *
The sun diligently made its way through the sky, oblivious to the fact that it alone kept the peacefulness in the seemly tranquil town of Sunnydale. Its mission was to rise every day and spread warmth and light, although it also hindered the former guardian of the sleepy community from raising the panic among the Slayerettes that she desperately wanted. Final vengeance for night after restless night of fighting for her life was at hand, but not soon enough for the blonde fledgling pacing the barren warehouse floor.
Chuckling to himself as he walked into the large room, her sire cocked his head to the side and asked, “Bored, Love? You’re wearing a bloody trench in the floor, there. Reminds of the first World War. What a party that was. The best part was sneaking up behind the gents and tapping their shoulders. The looks on those officers’ faces when they spun around was--”
“You know, Spike, I was getting ‘F’s’ in history, and do you want to know why? History *bores* me. What’s in the past, stays in the past in my book. Shouldn’t you still be sleeping, anyway?”
With a shrug, Spike said, “Eh, Dru’s mumbling about the killer cows, again.”
Buffy was not sure what to make of that statement, so she opted to stare change the subject. “Angel’s not dead. I saw that annoying short guy, Whistler, heading up to the mansion as I was ducking into the manhole, this morning. I guess it works out, though, ‘cause I have a new plan. We’re going to get Angel back on our side, and I don’t care if I have to go through the whole damn Watcher’s Council to do it.”
Eyebrow raised, the bleach blond said, “No need for violence, Pet, much as I’m a fan. All you need to do is wait for some rain. Then you play a little ‘night music’ and get horizontal. Bloody worked well enough last time.”
He sat down on a rusty assembly belt and smirked at Buffy’s outraged look. “Do you *know* what my baby’s gonna do to you when she finds out that you drained Sunshine?” He folded his arms across his chest and continued, “Much as the hound nauseated the ever-loving crap outta me, I never would have had the guts to *kill* the damn thing. Man, it’s gonna be a hell of a show. ‘Course, I love a good cat fight. Mind putting on something a bit more tight-fitting before Dru wakes up?”
“Male chauvinist swine.”
Spike laughed. “Bloody whore.”
“Lapdog.”
Shock on his face, he said, “Hey, now Pet, that’s getting a little low, even for your oh-so infamous Slayer jibes. Put a bloody stake threw my heart, why don’t you?”
Buffy, tired of their verbal sparring, sighed and resumed her pacing. “You know what I want?”
Smirking, Spike said innocently, “Two more inches to your height?”
She glared and said, “I want all their heads hanging on the back wall, and I want a set of really expensive darts -- at your expense, of course--”
“Of course.”
“--and I’m going to throw said darts at them every night for all the *crap* they put me through. ‘Sacred duty,’ my ass.”
Spike chuckled. “My, aren’t we the bitter one this afternoon. I think baby needs her rest.” After receiving her patented ‘I’m gonna stake you’ stare, he said, “Easy, I was just playing with you...But you’ve gotta admit, your plan lacks your usual Slayer flair. I mean, number one: those heads would become decayed and all smelly-like after a few weeks. We’re not even going to mention the stuff that would ooze out every time that you hit your mark. Number two: what about my bloody sire? Take an ax to that soddin’ rat, and all ya got is ashes, and I don’t fancy you hanging a plastic Zip-lock ‘Bag-O-Angel’ on the wall.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and said, “Didn’t you listen? I don’t want Angel dead. I just want his soul kicked the hell out. You never realize what you have until it’s gone, you know? What Sunnydale really needs is Angelus to spice things up. The problem is how to get him back. I don’t think sleeping with the vampire Buffy is our soulful friend’s idea of true happiness.”
“No way, Pet, not again. I would give you anyone’s heart on a platter, but I swear to what ever omnipotent being will have me that I will never allow Angelus within a country’s length of me or Dru *ever* again. Bastard almost bloody ripped her away from me for good, and that doesn’t score high on my checklist of good boys and girls. No. No Angelus under my roof or on my territory. Is that clear?”
Before Buffy could continue the rapidly escalating argument, a soft singing came floating to them from down the hallway. As the source of the sounds came closer, they identified the song, and all Spike could do was grin. Drusilla waltzed into the room, caressing a porcelain blonde doll in her arms. She slowed to a stop before her lover, and leaned towards him. “Jessica, here, couldn’t sleep this afternoon. The bad sun beat down on her, and it was all she could do to not scream.”
After briefly kissing his lips, Drusilla backed away from him and arranged herself on a dusty crate. A pang of curiosity mixed with a shade of dread rose in Spike’s mind as he saw his mate sitting calmly in her own world. He did not recognize the doll in her arms. “Uh, Ducks, would you mind telling Daddy where you found...Jessica?”
“Nowhere. Everywhere. Jessica found me. When you were playing rough with the boys over who was the true Master in Sunnydale, Jessica came to me in the park. I think she was lost.” Her smile shifted from saccharine to sinister as she added, “Or at least her mortal companion was.”
Spike threw his arms up in the air as he shook his head. “Dru, I love you to pieces but have *got* to stop doing that out in the open. I take it you didn’t even move the body?”
While she slowly twisted her long fingers in the doll’s hair, Drusilla ignored the question and said, “I want Miss Edith. She would have known what to do with the body.”
Smiling, Buffy presented the her with the delicate doll. “Mission accomplished. Miss Edith...I think.”
The older vampire’s eyes almost twinkled as her lost treasure was returned to her care. She began to sing the song she had been when she had entered the room. “You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine. You make me happy when--”
Drusilla turned her head to the former Slayer and furrowed her eyebrows. “Deary, didn’t you say you would fetch my sweet Sunshine?”
As Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, Spike could barely contain his laughter long enough to speak. “Yeah, Pet, didn’t you say you would fetch her sweet Sunshine? Or...yes, I remember, now. You decided a little pre-dawn snack was in order. Wasn’t that the way of it?”
Buffy jumped to her feet, combat instincts awakening as Drusilla stood slowly. “You...killed...Sunshine?”
Spike could only chuckle when his goddess pounced on his new daughter. “Better than cable,” he whispered.
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