TITLE: The Fine Art of Blackmail
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: After the events of The Family Business, Giles and Buffy have their daughter back and are running the Council, but will Wolfram and Hart use Giles’ past sins to destroy the life they’ve built?
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL:
. Feedback always welcome.MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
--------------------------------------------------- Part 6: Bloodlust Willow sat innocently on the couch, as if she hadn’t just plundered all of Lilah’s deep, dark secrets. Lilah, however, seemed oblivious to the suspicious silence of her unwilling guests. She was more focused on the other lawyer who had followed her in. “And how would you know that, Gavin?” “I have my sources.” The second lawyer seemed to be roughly the same age as Lilah, handsome, Oriental, the same smug attitude that seemed to come with a Wolfram and Hart paycheck. Watching the two of them, Willow felt almost as if she had ringside seats to a title fight. “Well, I’ll have you know,” Lilah informed him haughtily as she crossed her arms, “that I meant to bring the Slayer here.” Willow sat up straighter. Buffy? Gavin Park shook his head as if amused. “On a rampage, no less. What could that possibly accomplish?” “She’s going to force Angel into a kill or be killed situation. My money’s on our boy for this fight. And if killing the love of his life isn’t enough to turn him dark, then Wolfram and Hart might as well call it quits on this little project.” Gavin raised one eyebrow. “And if she kills him?” Lilah shrugged. “He’s threatened my life more times than I care to count. I won’t exactly be weeping over his loss.” “Maybe you should be weeping over your own. Senior partners find out you got Angel dusted… They’ll sack you. Literal sacks, Lilah.” Lilah strolled closer, putting herself inside the other’s personal space. “Sometimes to get the big rewards, you have to roll the dice. You’d know that, Gavin, if you ever did anything except pester me. Now run along, and when I get promoted, maybe they’ll let you have my office.” Ethan leaned closer to Willow and murmured, “Those two really hate each other.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Duh!” He looked affronted at her casual dismissal. “It’s more than a simple observation. Being a student of Chaos means understanding the relationships between people, the complex web that draws them together or holds them apart.” “I’m not your student,” she insisted petulantly. “Perhaps not. That doesn’t mean you still can’t learn something from me. These two,” he nodded towards the two lawyers who were still trading insults, “push every button the other has. If you pay attention, you’ll know just how to get under their skin yourself. Maybe that might be useful at some point in time.” She shifted away from him. More than 24 hours locked in a room with Ethan was too much to ask of anyone. And what normal person likes pineapple on their pizza anyway? Gavin finally left, making it clear that he left not because Lilah was kicking him out, but because he had something more important to do. Gavin was gone no more than five minutes before Lilah had another visitor. Willow jumped to her feet. “Angel!” Angel smiled at her. “Hey, cutie.” Willow frowned. He was a little more chipper than she was used to. “Okay, you’ve never called me that before.” Lilah took a seat at her desk. “Everything go as planned?” Angel sat across from her, propping his feet up on her desk. “Easy as pie.” Willow’s eyes went round with shock, and she pointed back and forth between Angel and Lilah. “You’re… you’re working for-for…? Angel! How could…? Oh… oh…” She covered her open mouth with her hand as she finally got it. “You’re not Angel.” Not Angelus either, for Willow had seen the ring on his finger. He confirmed her deduction, absently twisting the ring on his finger now that she had noticed it. “No, not Angel. But I know my darling boy well enough to play the part convincingly.” “The information we gave you was sufficient?” Lilah asked. “The police reports? His medical file?” “Plus the parts Drusilla let slip. The parts that made sense, at any rate. The Watcher and I had a fun day together, revisiting some history back at the mansion. I get why Angelus needed Dru to break him. Pain alone won’t cut it.” Willow sank slowly down to the couch. Her hands dropped limply into her lap. “You tortured Giles again?” “And again and again and again.” Angel smiled in her direction, and although she knew he wasn’t Angelus, she shivered all the same when he looked at her like that. “And again. What Angelus did the first time and more.” He faced Lilah and finished his report. “Left him in his bed for the Slayer to find. I imagine she’s on her way right now.” Willow wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling like someone had just punched her in the gut. Her head was all swimmy, and she wanted to barf. Poor Giles. She felt Ethan’s hand rest between her shoulder blades, and his quiet touch was more soothing than she would have expected. Then again, he cared about Giles too, didn’t he? Angel removed his legs from Lilah’s desk and stood up, crossing to the window, staring out over the LA nightlife in contemplation. “I still think it would have been easier for me to come to Angel as Buffy, to give him that moment of perfect happiness.” Lilah frowned and shook her head in disagreement. “Angel’s too noble. Even forgetting for the moment that Buffy’s a happily married woman, he wouldn’t risk his soul, not knowing about the curse as he does now.” She came to stand beside Angel’s doppelganger at the window, not looking out over the city, but studying the vampire’s stolen face instead. “And even if you did get him into bed… because that worked out so well the last time you tried it,” she tacked on bitterly. “Do you really think he’d be happy with Buffy, knowing that they could never have any kind of a future, that he would have to let her go home to another man and their children? Even as Buffy, the best you could give him would be another night of perfect despair.” “So Angelus will kill her instead,” he muttered softly. “And he’ll be dark. And yours.” He rested his forehead against the glass. “My poor, darling boy. He’ll still have his soul. His rotten, filthy soul. He’ll still suffer for everything we ever did. And he’ll hate me.” “He’ll be driven to you, same as the last time he hit bottom. Only this time, he won’t be having any epiphanies, won’t be climbing out of the darkness to rebuild broken friendships. He’ll have killed the love of his life. He’ll be messed up, depressed, and pathetic, but he’ll be yours, Darla. Forever. You can have him like that or not at all. Those are your choices.” The ring came off her finger, and the visage of Angel wavered like a mirage, solidifying into the small frame of Darla, Angel’s Sire. She handed the ring off to Lilah, ran a shaky hand through her straight, blonde hair, and walked resolutely to the door. The guards parted for her, but she paused at the threshold, informing Lilah firmly, “When my boy comes for me, we’re finished with Wolfram and Hart. You won’t come looking for us.” “Whatever you want, Darla.” The vampire left. Lilah spared an apologetic look for her unwilling guests. “I’m sorry. Just a teensy bit longer, and you both can go home.” She exited as well, and it was just Willow and Ethan and their two heavily armed babysitters. Willow turned desperate eyes in Ethan’s direction. “We have to get there before Angel kills Buffy or she kills him.” “Shhh…” he soothed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and glancing significantly at the guards. He pulled her in against his chest and wrapped the other arm around her, and Willow didn’t fight him, just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth silk of his tacky shirt. She didn’t care that it was Ethan. She just wanted someone to hold her for a moment, because everything was too overwhelming. She kept thinking of Giles after the last time, how he had been that summer after Buffy ran away, hurting and lost and too stubborn to let any of them help him. Xander had stayed that first night, not because Giles had let him, but because he had been too tired to throw him out. After that, it had been put on a brave front and get back to business and pretend everything would be okay once they found Buffy, like none of them guessed at the nightmares that painted dark circles beneath his eyes or saw the pain flash across his face if he moved too quickly or noticed how he kept forgetting about the finger splints until he absently tried to use his hand and gasped in pain. And now, for Giles to have to go through it all again, just when things were really getting good between him and Angel… Willow started to cry, and Ethan held her tighter. She felt so helpless. Too late to do anything for Giles. And they couldn’t do anything to stop Buffy’s suicide mission. Not stuck here in Lilah’s office like they were. His hand tenderly stroked her hair, a gentle motion that continued down her back. She had never thought of Ethan as gentle before. “Shhh…” he murmured beside her ear. “First law of Chaos: things never go as planned. Not for either side. The bad guys have had too much luck today for things to play out in their favor. Trust Chaos, my dear. It hasn’t shown us its hand yet.” *** The red convertible came to an abrupt stop outside the Hyperion. The two-hour drive had allowed Buffy’s anger to warm to a nice boiling point, her resolve strengthened as she stewed on what had been done to Giles. She had the crossbow out of her bag and loaded before she’d crossed the courtyard. She banged the front door open, her eyes immediately scanning the interior for her quarry, her slayer senses spreading out, searching, as she had a thousand times before, for that twinge, that spider sense that signaled vampire. She descended the stairs smoothly. Rage gave her the grace of a panther. Kendra hadn’t understood this, that slaying needed to be more than flawless technical skill, that it had to burn through your blood, had to well up from someplace deep inside that you couldn’t bear to look at too closely, someplace primal. Dracula had tried to show it to her; the First Slayer had tried to make her understand, but she had blown them both off with her usual sparkling banter. I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze. I’m gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There’s trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don’t sleep on a bed of bones. You’re not the source of me. She had wanted to believe that there was always the bigger picture, the greater good. But sometimes in the moment, there was only the hunt and the kill, and the rest was just pretty window-dressing. She was the Slayer, the Chosen One, the mightiest of hunters. That she served the forces of good didn’t change her basic nature. And right now, there was only this moment, the hunt, the kill, and her prey. Gunn and Fred stood up from where they were sitting on the lobby sofa. “Buffy!” Wesley came out from the back office, wiping something off a short sword. “Buffy?” She ignored them all and focused on the staircase. She could feel him coming down, his preternatural hearing probably alerting him to his friends’ warnings. He leaned over the railing of the second floor landing. “Buffy?” He sounded pleased to see her, was smiling at her even. Angelus. She raised the crossbow and fired, driving a bolt through his shoulder. Missed the heart. Meant to. A quick death was too good for him. He needed to feel the blows first, to see his death coming, and to know why. “What was that for?” he asked, bewildered, grunting as he pulled the bolt from his shoulder. His friends were coming towards her, as if any of them could stop a slayer. She was reloading the next bolt almost as soon as the last had flown. She was surprised to find that her voice didn’t shake, that it was calm and unrushed. “You tortured Giles.” He stepped back, as if she had slapped him. She fired another bolt, and he caught it mid-flight, tossing it aside. “Yes, I did,” he answered evenly. Wesley reached her side and attempted to wrest the crossbow from her hands. She shoved him hard, holding nothing back, pulling no punches, and he sailed across the room. She dropped the bow and charged up the stairs two at a time. Her feet touched the second floor landing, and she channeled her momentum into a flying leap kick that knocked Angel back into the wall. She advanced on him. “You broke his fingers.” She backhanded her former lover. “You broke his ribs.” Again. He landed on his knees. “You covered him in burns.” She punched him, and his head jerked back with the hit. “You tore up his shoulders.” She grabbed him by the front of his black shirt and hauled him to his feet, shoving him roughly against the wall. “Tell me you enjoyed it. I wanna hear you say it.” He met her eyes. “Of course Angelus enjoyed it. Every minute.” Oh, her rage was a living thing, throbbing in rhythm to her heart. Her hand reached for the stake inside her jacket, brandishing the weapon of her calling over the heart of her enemy. “Buffy!” His eyes went wide with alarm, and he grabbed her wrist, arresting her blow before she could drive it home. “What are you doing?” “My job. Take a beat to appreciate the synergy.” She spun him out from the wall, their limbs locked together, stumbling, crashing through the balcony, landing in a tangled heap on the floor of the lobby below. She flipped to her feet, ready in battle stance. He mirrored her. “Listen to me, Buffy. I’m sorry. I can’t take it back. I wish I could. But it was a long time ago.” “Bored already? Moving on to the next bit of fun?” She swung, and he blocked. She kicked, and he sidestepped. Again and again. He didn’t fight back, nor did he lie down and take it. Defense, but no offense, they danced. “I’m sorry if I can’t move on quite as quickly as you, Angel, but they hadn’t even finished patching him up yet when I left.” “What?” Wesley, Gunn, and Fred tackled her, toppling her to the ground by sheer weight. “Get off of me!” “Damn girl, I get that you got issues, but try wailing on a pillow or something ’fore you go all Xena-crazy-bitch.” Gunn said before she sent him flying, crashing into Fred as he went. Wesley she pinned with a steely gaze. “He turned, Wes. He’s Angelus now, and I have to do this. I don’t want to hurt any of you, so stay out of my way.” She shoved him backwards, as if to demonstrate her resolve on this issue, and then pulled herself to her feet. “I’m not Angelus,” her ex protested, holding his hands out in a gesture of truce. “I’m still Angel.” “Then who left Giles in my bed?” Her eyes narrowed. “You bastard. The same pretty gift wrap you gave him for Jenny.” Angel continued waving his hands in front of him as he backed up a step. “I’m starting to get that something’s happened to Giles, but I had nothing to do with it.” “He told me it was you, and I’m not buying your lies this time. I’m not waiting until you start killing my friends and trying to unleash hell on earth before I do what needs to be done. I understand now, like I didn’t then. Angel’s dead, and you’re the thing that killed him.” She came at him again. He blocked some of her blows, others made it through. She might have been exhausted, sleep-deprived, crazy with grief, but she was still the Slayer, the Vampire Slayer, and stronger than him, a mere vampire. She drove the stake towards his chest, and he deflected the blow, turning with her momentum, using it to send her stumbling. She crashed into the weapons cabinet. Glass shattered at her feet. She reached one arm in and grabbed for the first thing she touched. She twirled the weapon in front of her, admiring its weight and balance. “Nice axe.” She swung at him. The blade grazed across his chest, drawing blood. Another red line across his arm. She could see that all of his focus was centered on dodging each swing. “You know you can’t fight me like this, Angel. Come on, show it to me. I wanna see it. Show me your true self.” He rolled beneath the arc of her swinging axe, and came up behind her. He reached for and grabbed the wooden handle of her weapon, a hand to either side of her. He pulled them both backwards, the length of the axe’s handle pressing beneath her chin and forcing her head back so they were cheek to cheek. She felt the cool breath of his voice whisper across her face. “If I were any other vampire, you’d be dead. You’re upset and angry and not thinking clearly. You’re fighting sloppy, taking stupid risks. You need to stop for a minute, Buffy. You need to cool down.” She held firm to the axe handle, bent over, and used her leverage to flip Angel. His back slammed hard to the floor, and he lost his grip on the axe. She adjusted her own grip, bringing the sharp blade to rest beneath his chin. “What I need… Just a sec, and I’m gonna get exactly what I need.” She lifted the axe for the death blow, but before it could descend, she dropped the weapon behind her, arching her back as a crossbow bolt skewered her right shoulder. She spun to see who had shot her. Fred, standing in the office doorway, gave her an embarrassed little wave before fleeing into Wesley’s office. Angel was standing when she faced him again. His eyes were focused on the protruding bolt, the spreading circle of red at her shoulder. She couldn’t reach back and pull it out from behind, nor could she get a solid grip on the small point that came through the front. Her right fingers were going numb. Nothing for it. She would just have to fight one-handed. Cradling her arm against her chest, she gritted her teeth against the pain and slowly advanced on him. “Smell blood, do you? Your demon is just screaming at you to take a taste, isn’t it? I wanna see him. I wanna see the demon. Show me the monster that tortured my husband.” With her left hand, she hauled back and hit him. Too preoccupied with the scent of her blood, he didn’t block her. The second strike he did block, holding her wrist suspended at the apex of her windup. She changed tactics and kneed him forcefully in the groin. He doubled over, releasing her arm. “Show me your face, damn you!” A left hook, filled with a woman’s rage and a slayer’s power, and she brought him to his knees. He spat blood and snapped his head up to look at her. He snarled, in full game face. Buffy smiled, vindicated. “That’s what I’m talking about, baby.” *** Cordelia groaned, one hand trying to keep her head from splitting in two and spilling her brains across the floor while the other hand valiantly scrabbled for the phone just out of reach. Her fingers touched a magazine that rested beneath the desired item, and she inched it closer to her, hoping to drag the phone closer as she did. The phone toppled off the coffee table, landing on the side opposite her, putting it even further out of her reach. To make matters worse, the receiver had dislodged from the cradle and soon began beeping steadily, seemingly in rhythm with her throbbing head. She swore colorfully, a long string of obscenities that only Dennis would be unsurprised by. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to gather the strength to pull herself off the couch and crawl over to the phone. She felt the receiver touch her fingers as it was placed in her hand. Not opening her eyes yet, she gave her roommate a faint smile. “Finally, Dennis. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Her eyes snapped open. A man was kneeling beside her. A strange man she didn’t know. She would have jumped backwards, maybe vaulted over the back of the couch and made for the door, that is if any part of her body would cooperate with such a plan. But two visions in one day definitely vetoed any plan that didn’t involve sleeping. Seeming to sense her fear, he backed away slightly, sitting on the coffee table. “I’m Dennis,” he told her softly. “Ri-ight,” she agreed. Let’s not provoke the crazy man who broke into your house. “Sooo… whoever you are, do you mind if I make a quick call to my friends before you knock me out, rob me blind, or otherwise kill me?” “I’m Dennis,” he insisted again. “Uh-huh,” she agreed again, her fingers dialing the number for the Hyperion as her eyes remained focused on her uninvited guest. Fred answered, handing the phone over to Wesley when Cordelia asked for him. He sounded distracted. “So how’d the thing go? Did you get there before those kids woke the angry zoo monster?” “I’m rather busy at the moment, Cordy. We’ll talk when I get home.” “Wait!” she shouted before he could hang up. “I had another vision. Buffy’s coming there to kill Angel. He should leave. Town. Like I hear China is nice this time of year.” She heard his laugh, dark and dry. When he spoke, he sounded entirely too blasé about the whole thing. “Really? Buffy’s coming here to kill Angel? Well, that certainly explains the lunatic slayer currently trashing our lobby. Thanks for the heads up.” “She’s there?” “I believe I just said that. I really have to go now, Cordy. I’m trying to mix a tranquilizer capable of incapacitating a slayer with the few ingredients I happen to have lying around the office. I feel a bit like McGyver at the moment. Fred, no Fred, bottom drawer. I have a full set.” His attention returned to her. “We’re doing our best to stop her without getting our necks broke in the process. You just rest now and let us take care of this.” “That’s just it, Wes. My vision. You don’t have to stop Buffy. You have to stop Angel. He’s going to kill her.” “Are you certain?” “Uh… yeah. Got the sneak preview, remember?” “All right. Rest, Cordy. Two visions in one day…” “You don’t have to tell me. It’s my head. Maybe the crook who broke into my apartment will be kind enough to bring me some painkillers before committing felony larceny and assault.” “Cordelia?” “Nevermind. Good luck. See you later. Hopefully.” She hung up and warily studied the man currently perched on the coffee table beside her. “I am Dennis,” he insisted before she could say anything. “Again I say: ‘Uh-huh. Ri-ight. Sure. Whatever you say.’ See, here’s the thing: Dennis is dead. You don’t look so dead to me. Plus, there’s the whole I can see you thing, which is a dead giveaway that you’re not Dennis.” “One time you stayed up all night to watch a Star Trek marathon.” “Xander got me hooked,” she protested feebly. “You eat frosting out of the can with your fingers, listen to Madonna’s Evita while you clean house, and sometimes in the shower-” “Okay, okay, so you’re Dennis,” she finally relented, and then paused thoughtfully as she studied him with new eyes. “Somehow I thought you’d be taller.” *** Chaos never fails. It is the one true god. It doesn’t always give you what you want, what you’ve asked for, what you’ve prayed for. Ethan isn’t so esoteric as to believe that it even gives you what you need. But it always gives you something. Something delightfully unexpected, deliciously unpredictable. As the world tries to bring order from chaos, chaos strikes back and tears things down. Science has already concluded that chaos will be the end of all things, entropy killing each star, felling each world from its orbit, the whole universe losing cohesion and expanding into nothingness. That makes Chaos the most potent force in all existence, more powerful than good or evil, right or wrong, and Ethan Rayne worshipped at that altar. As its servant, he found his prayers answered more often than those of the many misguided people who pray for order and meaning. Gavin Parks walked through the doors of Lilah’s office, as though delivered by the very hand of Chaos. “Lilah isn’t here?” he asked with a puzzled frown. Willow was still tucked into herself on one end of the couch. Poor thing, still dwelling on whatever cruel torment had been heaped on Ripper’s broad shoulders. Throwing herself a little pity party in honor of all the things they couldn’t do from their 28th floor prison. Ethan nudged her gently to gain her attention. Watch and learn, little grasshopper. He smiled at Gavin. “No, she’s gone.” A servant of Chaos has an eye for the great tapestry of life, understands the precarious balance involved between people, whether they are drawn together or forced apart, and knows just which threads to tug to unravel the whole sorry mess. Ethan smiled at the lawyer who was firmly in the employ of darkness, whose eye was always cast towards the light, as if that were his only foe, but who was blind to the subtle gray of Chaos. Ethan would blindside him. “I believe she’s gone to inspect her new office. Senior partners are impressed by her strategy. Seers smell the slayer’s blood on the wind. Lilah smells promotion.” Pick, pick, pick. All the little buttons Lilah had pushed when the two rivals had argued in this office only a few hours before. Ethan worked those sore spots like punching in the access code on an electronic keypad. Three. Two. One. Freedom. Less than ten minutes later, Ethan bestowed a gloating grin on his reluctant partner. They were standing on the sidewalk outside Wolfram and Hart, Willow desperately trying to hail a cab while he enjoyed a long awaited smoke. Gavin Parks had freed them, far more interested in Lilah’s failure than his own success. A clever story about how he was only trying to ensure that Angel didn’t get dusted, and Gavin might even be commended for his actions. “We have to get there before one of them gets killed.” “And what are you going to do when you get there? Hmm?” He casually tossed aside his cigarette butt, letting it fall wherever it may. “How are you going to stop a death match between slayer and vampire?” “Well, I… I’ll…” she faltered, completely forgetting about the taxicab for the moment. She took a deep breath. “My… I could…” Poor thing. Little bird whose wings were clipped, never remembering until it landed on the ground that it could no longer reach the sky. “Use your magic?” She screwed her face up into an expression of determination. “No, I’ll… I’ll talk to them. Tell them it was really Darla.” “Right,” he said, laughing. “Before or after they knock you across the room?” A cab pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolled down. The driver leaned over, asking them if they wanted a lift. Willow seemed torn. Ethan could feel her teetering on a precipice. Just a little push, and she would be closer to him and farther from Ripper. And it would seem so innocent, really. He motioned for the driver to wait and closed the distance between himself and Willow. He brushed the hair back from her face, fire red like the magic he could feel boiling beneath the surface, and bent to whisper in her ear, “It’s the only way to save Buffy. And wouldn’t Giles want you to save her?” He called the man Giles, as the children did. But not children any longer. She lifted her eyes to him, too ensnared by the choice before her to balk at his proximity. “You have magic. You could…” “One of us needs to go back in for the ring. Need magic for that, too. ’Sides, what are the chances Buffy or Angel either one’d believe me? It’s the only way to save her, Willow.” Who could resist their deepest, most selfish desire when offered to them wrapped in the rationalization of selflessness? She nodded decisively. “Okay, Ethan, do it.” “Really?” She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips. “Just hurry up before I change my mind.” The last poured from her mouth in a rush, belying her outer bravado. He closed his eyes, senses reaching out to feel for the skeins of Ripper’s magic. He gripped her shoulders as his mouth began mumbling incantations, searching for the key to her chains. He felt Ripper’s magic ripple against his own and knew that he had nearly picked the lock. He pressed his lips to her forehead, the kiss not necessary for the magic, but when else would he have the chance to steal a taste of her? Snap. Ripper’s magic crumbled beneath his own, and she was free. Ethan stepped away from her, smiling. What a glorious protégé she would make indeed. One finger tapped her beneath her chin, signaling that she could open her eyes. “Fly, my little bird. You’re free.” She did not seem as light as she should, but weighted down with guilt. How did Ripper engender such loyalty? He would need to free her of that as well, for why should she feel guilty for reclaiming what was always hers? Willow climbed into the cab and was gone. Ethan spun on his heel and headed towards the door he had exited only a few minutes before. Back into the lion’s den. He murmured the words to the spell, becoming unnoticed and unacknowledged. Dimming, dimming, he marched through Wolfram and Hart’s massive revolving glass door, past the security guard, and was gone. *** Slayer and vampire were evenly matched. She no longer had him beat in strength and speed. The pain from her wounded shoulder and the necessity to fight one-handed handicapped her. If anything, he was gaining the upper hand on her, now that he had allowed the demon to rise to the surface. It was a mixed blessing. Seeing him in vamp face quieted any inner turmoil she might feel in fighting him. He was Angelus, not Angel, when he showed her that face. On the other hand, he was stronger, no longer holding back, no longer trying to maintain the illusion for his friends that he was still Angel and would never intentionally harm her. In his yellow, demon eyes, she could see his bloodlust rising in proportion to her own. Lesson the first: a Slayer must always reach for her weapon. I've already got mine. Angel had his, fists and fangs, while hers were on the other side of the lobby in the discarded duffel bag. She had clearly not thought this plan completely through. Every time she attempted to maneuver herself closer to her weaponry, he cut her off. She could fight hand-to-hand for as long as she had to. If she tired, she need only remember the sight of Giles’ battered and broken body arranged in their bed, his small gasp of pain as they lifted him from bed to gurney, the doctor’s face as he recited the list of injuries, before she found her second wind. Holding her ground was one thing, but she needed a weapon to have any prayer of finishing Angel. They were locked together, each trying to topple the other’s balance when it hit her. A small prick, not like the bolt from before. Her eyes flicked down quickly to find the dart sticking out from her thigh, its flights painted with the British flag. Wesley. She couldn’t feel the fingers of her right hand. Useless. The left was still grappling with Angel. Leaving her no hands to pull the dart from her leg. The room was starting to spin. Wesley must have dipped the tip in something potent, something fast acting. Her knees were already beginning to give out beneath her. Holding tight to Angel, she pulled him down with her, landing on her back, the crossbow bolt driven further through her shoulder, a great crack as the end broke beneath her weight. She cried out with the pain, arching her head back, her good hand still twisted in the fabric of Angel’s shirt. Angel landed on top of her, his fangs so close to the neck that was quickly bared for him, the smell of slayer’s blood hot in his nostrils, the siren call of his demon impossible to resist with the fog of bloodlust still upon him and the adrenaline of battle still in his veins. Like that long ago night before graduation, before the Mayor’s Ascension, when Buffy had tricked him into draining her, into taking the slayer’s blood that would cure Faith’s poison, by goading him into battle until the demon was in control and the man was a mere witness… The beast rose, and the man faded. He sank his teeth into the scars he had left from that night and drank. He felt her struggle beneath him, but that seemed unimportant, far away, nothing like the heady taste of her warm blood across his tongue, driving out all human thought and leaving only the demon to savor the way each beat of her heart pumped another mouthful for him to swallow eagerly. He dimly registered the others moving towards him, three heartbeats quickened by desperation. The demon inside him gloated that they had hesitated just a moment too long, that their movements were just a little too slow, that their pathetic mortal strength could not hope to wrest a vampire from its prey in mid-feed. The man inside him knew the demon was right. Her struggles quieted, her form limp in his arms, and still he drank. The demon was never satisfied with stale blood, warmed in a microwave and sipped primly from a straw. This was what it hungered for: fresh blood, still tasting of life, coppery and sweet and tinged with fear, human blood, taken by force. “Back!” He was ripped from his prey by invisible hands, thrown backwards to slam into the wall, and pinned there by a foe he couldn’t see. Panting, he shook his head, trying to clear it. “Willow?” She had stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Buffy. Buffy… Oh, God, what had he done? He felt his features shift back to human, the horror of his actions sobering him out of his bloodlust and battle-induced stupor. He still had the taste of Buffy in his mouth. “Is she…?” Gunn and Fred were already at her side. Wesley was on the phone, and Angel’s vampire hearing informed him that the man was calling for an ambulance. “Her pulse is really weak,” Fred advised him, her voice shaking with her concern. She pressed one hand over Buffy’s shoulder, the other over her neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Gunn plucked the dart from her thigh. Angel’s eyes flitted desperately from one face to another. “I didn’t mean to. I’d never… You have to believe me.” He felt Willow’s spell release him, but the shock of his own actions held him immobile as surely as any magic. Willow stepped closer, giving him a sympathetic head nod. “It’s okay, Angel. We get it. Really. Wolfram and Hart set this all up. They stole the Ring of Gorlois, pretended to be you, kidnapped Giles, and pretty much convinced Buffy you were Angelus again by recreating all the bad stuff you did back then.” “Now, Angel.” Wesley walked out from behind the front desk and joined the rest of the group in the center lobby. He was trying to be the voice of reason, perhaps trying to prevent another descent into darkness like the one after Drusilla turned a resurrected and human Darla before she could earn her redemption and his. Perhaps Wesley was right to worry. Angel was feeling the urge to lock a bunch of Wolfram and Hart lawyers in a room with a vampire. Only this time, he’d like to be that vampire. “Let’s think this through calmly,” Wesley insisted. “Gather all the facts before charging off on a rampage.” Angel focused on Buffy, lying there, unconscious, bleeding, possibly dying because of him. He listened for her heartbeat: weak, slowing. He had drained her nearly to the point of death. Another second and she might have died in his arms. “If she dies, they die. Every last one of them. And you won’t be able to stop me.” “You do that, and they win. You’ll have given yourself over to the darkness.” Wesley paused significantly, his face grim. “Angel, you won’t be able to come back from it this time.” “I won’t want to.” Willow laid her hand against his bicep, and he looked at her, bracing himself for whatever speech she was about to offer him to change his mind, whatever words she had planned about his higher purpose and the city of people who still needed his help, prepared himself to hear her say, This isn’t what Buffy would have wanted. As if she was already dead. As if he had already killed her. What Willow said, however, was unexpected. “You want something to kill? Kill Darla. She’s the one who was wearing the ring, who tortured Giles, who set Buffy up to come after you. She’s expecting you, I think. Expecting you to join up with her again, not to kill her. Find Darla, and beat the crap outta her, whatever dark, twisted things you want to do to those lawyers. Get it all out of your system, and then stake her.” That seemed like a sensible plan. Far better than Wesley’s “wait around and do nothing” approach. Angel strode out of the Hyperion, grabbing Buffy’s duffel bag as he went. He assumed she had packed weapons enough to kill vampires, hopefully weapons suitable for a slow and painful end. Holy water. Crosses. Buffy had mentioned once how she had beheaded a vampire with an Exact-o knife. Maybe he would try that. Angel was also remembering the time she had stuffed a crucifix down a vampire’s throat until it revealed the location of her captured friends. That would be satisfying. After all, Darla was definitely a screamer. And then there were the things he had done as Angelus, things he had done with Darla. Now he would do them to her. He hoped she would enjoy the irony. She had always appreciated a sick sense of humor. Darla wanted her darling boy back, and she would have him. ***
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