Betrayer

by Regala Electra

E-mail: regala_electra@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17 (however several chapters are merely rated R)
Pairings: Wesley/Lilah, Buffy/Angel, Fred/Gunn
Summary: If you're going to hell anyway.might as well enjoy the ride.
Spoilers: BtVS S6 and AtS S3
Genre: Drama, Character Study, Crossover
Warnings: Violence, Sex. No happily ever after.
Author's Notes: Alternate storyline taking place after events in "Forgiving" and "Brave New World."

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Prologue - The Last Temptation
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The book lay on the ground, a fine sheen of dust collected on the cover. He hadn't moved it since he tossed it all those weeks ago. He hadn't moved anything.

More clutter and shattered bottles dry of their liquor resting in his sink. Medicine mirror yanked apart, new regimen of meds staring back at him. Did not need to see his reflection. The image was not him anymore.

Someone else.

Someone more damned than he.

He walked away from the neat rows of half-filled bottles patiently waiting for him. He'd return eventually. He always would.

It wasn't his fault. Was his fault. He could never decide.

He had heard about Connor's reappearance through Fred.

Fred. What a silly, hopeful girl.

"Hi Wesley," her nervous twang began, "I just wanted to.Connor's back! From Quath Tol! He's.older now. A teenager! I just wanted to let you know."

Wesley remembered cutting her off at that point.

So what that Connor was returned safely to Angel? Why did it matter anymore?

"I think, perhaps, you should leave. Now."

It was still his fault.

And he was sick of taking the blame for it.

He sent her packing with that cold comment, watched the hope die in her startled brown eyes.

No one else had contacted him after she left. Not even Wolfram and Hart.

The book still lay there.

Waiting.

He was damned to Hell. Damned by a misguided attempt to save the one that mattered most in a friend's life. By friends who shunned him.unless he could prove or provide some help for the latest mess they'd find themselves in.

Selfish bastards.

Of course, they'd only see themselves as selfless.

Self-righteous.

He scrubbed his face. The prickly beard remained. He hadn't bothered to care about it. Because he'd have to look at himself in the mirror. And the reminder.the memento.of all his troubles was still there. It would be there forever.

"I'll kill you! You hear me! I'll kill you!!! You took my son!"

Wesley had studied all about destiny and prophecies. He remembered well the tales of Greek tragedy. People's attempts to defy prophecies only brought the pain more quickly in the end. The fall from grace, yes, Wesley remembered those stories well. He just had never thought his story would be the same.

But his life had always followed the same pattern.

Wyndham-Pryce: the brilliant scholar. Through hard work, he made it through Council training despite his outright fear of monsters. Able to store vast amounts of knowledge in his head, he was regarded highly. But in the end, it was only useless.

He was fated to be a screw up.

Knowledge does not equal seeing.

He thought he was doing a good job for once. Felt he had grown up in the past four years and managed to make something out of a child his father declared, often after a great deal of sherry, "worthless." And now, he was still nothing.

Worthless.

But he would always be needed. When the new crisis sprung up at A.I., some intermediary of Angel's would show up, sob story in full effect. Trying to tug at his heartstrings, voice filled with urgency. And because he was Wesley, he would help them.

Wesley always did the right thing. Always.

Not once would they bother to listen to his own tale.

Maybe Lilah would slink back in, viper eyes challenging him to decide. Haughty tones and snotty words, the very presentation of simply knowing more than he.

This is where all his work has led him.

The road to Hell.

Better to rule in Hell.than serve in Heaven.

But it was not his choice anymore.

Either way, it was all for nothing.

He picked up the book. Reopened to the very first canto. He knew the words, knew how the story really ended. But it was not his tale. He had no guide to show him the way, to save his soul.

He walked his path alone.

Turned to the first blank page. And dialed the neatly printed number left just for him.

"Lilah Morgan's office."

Difficult still for him to work his voice. Thick gravel grating as he said, "This is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"Oh." Recognition of his name. He was expected. "Just a moment.sir."

It was added on grudgingly. Soon, it would be used with reverence.

He'd make his own destiny.

^^^**&**^^^
Part One: Master of Infinite Space
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Lilah smirked as she accepted the paperwork from Files and Records. Wesley had come around much quicker than she had assumed he would. It didn't matter though. She was prepared.

Skimming through the pages, she made her way up the elevator back to her office. Just another day at work, just another client. And soon, he'd be a part of their team.

A dark jacket's back was turned from her, staring out the window. She doubted he was actually looking outside to the view most of the associates would kill for. She had killed the best for the view.

"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce," she remarked, settling down her paperwork next to her bar as she fixed herself a scotch. "Have you come to discuss Wolfram and Hart's offer?"

Broken chuckle. He turned around; his clothes rumpled but quite clean. He had shaved that nasty beard he was sporting before, yet it only made the nasty gash on his throat more noticeable. "We don't have to pretend with politeness, now do we, Lilah?"

Setting down her drink, she answered, "Certainly not. So.let's talk dental plans.that is what you want to talk about, right?"

Catching the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, she carried the file over to her desk, sarcastically answering her question as she sat down, "Of course not."

Settling across from her, he stared at her. His eyes seemed blank. Broken.

Perfect.

She wouldn't have to try to set up that vamp attack on Justine then.

Which left more time for real work.

"Come now Lilah, I know you cannot wait to mock me. Why are you here all alone? What, none of your friends tried to stop you?" His mock-voice was quite annoying. Especially because of the grating and broken whisper he took to when imitating her.

Frowning, she shook her head. "Frankly, I don't give a damn about that. The Senior Partners see you as an asset and think you'll make an effective part of the team. Would you like to be shown to your office?" She expected him to be surprised at that.

Instead, he did the exact opposite.

"Not at this moment, no. I wanted to make sure we have the deal firmly defined. You see.the last two groups I was involved with.tended to cast me out at the last and worst possible moment, often when I tended to be in.well, you must know the story, Lilah. After all, getting my throat slit for all my troubles certainly isn't the only reason I'm here." Changing topics and his reflective tone, he looked straight into her eyes and said, "I'd like for all of the details to be drawn out before we begin with this arrangement."

Again smirking, she took out the specially prepared contract out of the file and handed it to him with a pen. "Would you like to look that over with a lawyer?"

Ignoring her sarcasm, he adjusted his glasses as he read it. "`Continued contact with members of Angel Investigations must be fully and completely reported on?'" Looking up at Lilah, a bitter smile formed his face. "Of course. But I certainly doubt that shall occur. `Full expertise on demonic lore?' Certainly."

He read the rest without a sound. Without further comment, he signed the document.

A carefully plucked eyebrow raising in surprise, Lilah replied, "I'm shocked you signed it so quickly."

"Oh, it's only my immortal soul. I shan't miss it."

*

They'd even gone to the trouble of arranging his office supplies precisely the way he wanted them.

Ignoring the false atmosphere of his former office, he picked up one of the several rare volumes lying on his desk. It was incredible. The collection of Wolfram and Hart rivaled the complete works of the Watchers Council.

Of course, these works tended to lean towards creating rather than stopping chaos and apocalypses.

Quickly reading the Guh-shundi, he was surprised by the completeness of the text. According to the records of the Council, the works of the Guh-shundi soothsayers had been mostly destroyed.

This was not so.

When he got to a part foretelling of the "signs," he promptly shut it. He'd had enough with prophecies. Had enough with trying to understand them.

Blearily looking at the clock resting on his desk, he realized it was nearly eight o'clock at night. Shutting the book, he retrieved his jacket from his chair and left the office. He'd be able to study another day.

"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, are you in need of another tome? Do you need me to fetch you another?"

Turning to the worried face of a Miss Evelynn Westminster, he shook his head in disagreement.

"Fraid it's time for me to be going home, Miss Westminster. Good night."

"Goodnight!"

Still, her clipped British tone flickered in fear. Wesley was amused that he had been given a secretary, one in her early twenties at best. Her eyes and voice were often filled with fear and wonder. A poor intern that had selected this law firm for its notoriety and not for its actual purpose.

She'd be dead in less than a year.at best.

Making it down to the lobby, he noticed Gavin Park exiting as well.

Gavin had politely said hello when he first saw Wesley in the hallway earlier.polite if that's what unhanded threats and a display equivalent of a pissing contest were. Like Wesley was there to compete against Gavin, or anyone at the firm.

After glaring at Lilah, who had accompanied him to one of the "small libraries" for a while, he sneered at the both of them, "Linwood's not going to stand for you bringing in a spy for this company."

As though Wesley had anyone left to tell his secrets to.

Getting into his car, he debated whether or not he actually should go home. What was waiting for him? Perhaps Angel had gotten into another scrape and there were messages on his answering machine. Perhaps Connor was trying to kill him. Wesley had studied the little information of Quath Tol and learned any creature there was surely to go mad. If they managed to survive the horrors there.

And Holtz must have raised him.

Holtz. Made a deal with a man out for vengeance, tried to the right thing and all he got was.

Shaking off his anger, Wesley started his car and left the building behind him.

It didn't matter anymore.

He only had to be concerned about himself now.

And damn them all to hell.

*

Unlocking his door, he was shocked to see Buffy in his apartment. Well, shocked was a word that was lightly explaining his reaction.

"Buffy Summers?"

Still, his voice was broken.

Looking up from the book she was studying in her lap.the book..Dante's Inferno, she got up, a nervous look on her face. "Hi.Wesley.Um.it's been a long time."

Trying to get out all the questions that were flying in his mind, he walked into his apartment, shutting the door as he asked, "How did you know where I lived.and how did you get in?"

"I called Giles. He had your number and address.from when you needed him to confirm something.right? He didn't tell me what it was about. Probably some stupid prophecy, right?"

Lowering his head a bit to keep his scar from being visible, he agreed. "Quite right."

"And.you leave your key above the door jamb?" she scolded. "Like it was really that hard to find." She handed back over the key to him; his face still clearly stunned that she had gotten in.

Wesley reminded himself to stop being idiotic by leaving his spare key there and to get new locks.

Didn't want any more intruders coming into his home.

Even if it wasn't really his home. Just a place he resided in.

"I have a problem. Willow. Remember Willow?"

Wesley's mind flickered over to the last memory of her. Worried face and her standing in the lobby. Coming to bring the news.

And she had brought Buffy back.

He wondered if Buffy was actually happy about that. Looking at her, she seemed to be fine. Her hair was much shorter from the last time he had seen her, but then, it had been almost two years since he had last seen her. And he then recalled that she despised him.

So why was she here?

"Miss Summers.I'm sorry.Buffy, I don't quite understand.why are you here? And not talking to."

He couldn't say the name.

"I'll kill you! You bastard!!!"

A flash of something in her eyes, and she hugged herself.Wesley realized she looked much thinner and older since the last time he had seen her.

"I don't think he would like to see me. We decided that we can't.you know?"

Oh yes. Selfless Angel and his decisions.

But then, Wesley never really knew the whole story between Buffy and Angel. Deciding to be a little more vague, he replied, "I understand. So.what is it that you require.Buffy?"

She looked at him closely this time, an odd look of fascination and surprise on her face. "Wow. You really look different. I mean.not in a bad way.just different. But still with the Watcher-ness. It's hard to explain.Tara.she is.was a friend of mine.she." Pausing, she looked straight into Wesley's eyes, a glimmer of a tear in her eyes, as she finally choked out "She died. She was murdered by this. His name was Warren. He'd been giving me trouble, all these stupid idiotic schemes and he's dead now too. Willow killed him. I don't know what's happened to her. She's.the magic's taken her. I don't know what happened to her.I know, but she's going after these other two guys that worked with Warren. Maybe you remember one of them.his name is Jonathan. He was in my class in high school."

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall the name."

"It.it doesn't matter." A brief laugh that sounded suspiciously like a half-hidden sob. "The reason why I need your help is that.there must be some way to stop Willow. She's disappeared. Giles is on a flight back, but he said we need all the help we can get. And she must be gathering power.for something." Looking down at the ground, she said softly, "I think she's going to destroy Sunnydale. The magic, she's become it. From all the work Xander and Anya found in the magic books about what she did. it'll kill her.I can't.I can let her destroy herself. But if I can't stop her.I have to stop her from destroying Sunnydale."

Her voice broke at that moment, and she choked back a sob.

Wesley was stunned. Moments ago, he would've kicked Buffy out, telling her she didn't need his help, nor would he give it.

Moments ago, he wouldn't have cared.

The moments had passed.

But he couldn't.

"I'm sorry Buffy. I cannot help you."

Glassy, wet eyes locking into his face, searching for answers. "What? But.Wesley, I need all the help I can get. I wouldn't be here if."

"I know, Buffy. I know. But I think you should go talk to Angel. Being that I am no longer an ally of his." He tilted his head up and allowed her to see.

Silence.

"What.happened?"

A question he still went over in his mind.

"I don't know if you should hear it from me. But unfortunately.you must. We've had our own share of difficulties in L.A.."

Getting up, he rifled in his kitchen for a bottle of whiskey. Coming back with two shot glasses, he poured one, offering it to Buffy.

"No thanks. As for problems, I'm not surprised." Defeated sigh. "What did Angel get himself into now?"

Biting back his comment of `Darla,' he explained after a bitter swallow of alcohol, "There was a prophecy," acknowledging her groan as she finally took a drink, he continued, "Unfortunately, we were unable to prevent the event. Or understand what it was. Darla.Angel."

"Darla's alive?" The surprise in her voice was dull. Whatever had happened in Sunnydale had rendered her in shock.

"No longer. She.it's a long story. One I was only given second-hand information about. Suffice it to, she gave birth. To Angel's son. His name is Connor."

She quickly finished her drink, making a face as the alcohol burned down her throat. "And when the hell was Angel going to tell me this?"

"Probably didn't even cross his mind." Getting up, he looked out the window, the L.A. smog blocking out most of the stars.

"So.is that it?"

"No. Another prophecy came to my attention. The father will kill the son."

"Oh."

A blank voice.

"It was false. I tried to keep Angel from killing the one person he loved the most. I failed. My throat was slit. I was left for dead. And Connor was taken. He's come back from the Hell dimension he lived in. According to Fred, he's grown up. Fred.she's a member of the group now. You should go to them. Perhaps they'll help you. If you.pay."

"I see." She was silent for a long stretch of time, probably trying to gather all the information he had just divulged. Wesley didn't think she'd be able to understand. He barely did. "You don't want to help me. People could die, Wesley."

"Then why are you here instead of trying to save your town?"

Shrug of her shoulders as she got up. "I need help. All the help I can get. And I don't have time for this. You don't want to help me? Fine. I can't.I don't have time."

"None of us ever do, Buffy," he said as she opened the door.

Turning around, she angrily shouted, "And what the hell is that supposed to mean? You want to talk about time Wesley? I'm running out of it! I can't stop Willow.I don't know how! She's.slipping away.I can't let anyone else I love be destroyed. I won't let it happen. I came here because I thought you'd help. And because the last thing I wanted was to have to deal with Angel. There's."

"Too much there."

Stunned look and a momentary silence. "Always." Broken, pleading voice. "Please Wesley. I need all the help I can get."

Moving over to a discarded piece of paper and a pen, writing as he spoke, he firmly said, "I am sorry, Miss Summers, I cannot help you."

Folding the piece of paper in his hand as he shook hers, he concluded, "I'm not going to help anyone ever again. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." A hollow, confused tone. And like the phantom voice she used, she too disappeared.

And he was alone.

What had he done?

*

"So.the infamous Slayer.and not the one, showed up at your apartment?"

Lilah had such a fucking annoying voice when she really wanted it to be. All venom and confidence oozing out of her. But the veneer she hid under was cracked.

Another time and Wesley would've been repulsed by what he saw. Now.he felt nothing.

"Yes. Apparently problems in Sunnydale. But one of the few things I learned in my brief position as Watcher there, was that there are always problems in Sunnydale."

"Of the Apocalyptic nature?"

Wesley couldn't wait to wipe the nasty smirk off her.

"Possibly."

Eye roll. "You're a part of the firm now, Wes. Have to share all your tidbits. Secrets don't last in this company. Most likely they'll get you killed."

"Oh really? Well, then I can tell you for certain that I told Miss Summers to look elsewhere. I doubt she will. She's always been a stubborn sort."

"Ah."

A single sound spoke more than any of the other comments Lilah had made. They had information on Buffy. They had a lot. And they knew.

They knew.

But they didn't know a damn thing. And he wasn't about to help them learn anything, either.

"Yes, now I'm off to review that prophecy you wanted to me research. Goodbye."

"Wesley, just remember, they may have wanted you to be a part of the law firm. They may have thought you'd help us will our plans. But they also know what you really are. Don't make them or me have to take you down like the weakling you know you are."

"As always Lilah, your threats are exactly like your personality. Cold and a bit too perfected. If you like being such a cold bitch, take your act on to someone else. I'm tired of listening to it. And you can tell them if they want to threaten me, they should do it to my face. I'm tired of being handed warnings from second-rate villains. Villains, that wouldn't even have cushy jobs if newly handed lawyers finally decided to exit the city."

The look she gave him as he departed echoed in his mind.

Desire. Or something close enough to it.

He'd keep her barbs and smirks and lock them all away.

And have something else. Even if it would've disgusted him ages ago.

*

"Good morning Mr. Wyndham-Pryce!" came the tilted chirp of Evelynn.

"Ms. Westminster," Wesley barely acknowledged with a nod. "Everything I need in my office?"

"Oh.yes sir!"

"Splendid," he commented, sarcasm oozing.

Walking into his office, he noticed what a perfect, lovely day it was. He wished otherwise. Messages and memos scattered on his desk, requests for translations, and more reference to prophecies. He dryly noted there was a lot of interest in Connor.

A name Wesley would prefer never to hear again.

Angel's son.

Wesley had thought of taking the boy away, staying with him, raising him. Not a father, nor an uncle, merely a guardian, protecting the child from the one person he should never fear. His father.

But it was all a lie.

The prophecy was not true, he had been duped, quite badly. And he certainly paid the price, but of course, he had to pay more. Because he wronged Angel. And the people he thought were his friends left him suddenly without a second glance.

Cordelia hadn't even gone to see him.

But Wesley clamped down on that irrational surge of rage as he began piecing together his plot.

It was all so terribly simple. Angel Investigations was crumbling apart; they needed a person of expertise in demon lore and one that could speak several languages.

And as Fred had turned to him, eventually, they would show up again at his door. And ask for his help. And they would have no idea.

He'd have to stay away from Lorne, though. Singing or not, he doubted that someone like Lorne would miss the signs pointing to Wesley's.different state.

But that would be easy.

He doubted that he would ever have to see Lorne again. Nor would he want to see him. A nasty knock out tended to brew seeds of discord.

Ms. Westminster rushed into his office, eyes wide. "Mr..Wyndham-Pryce? There's a.thing outside.it.needs a translator."

As she spoke, in glided a sleek, dark demon dressed in heavy robes. Settling in the chair in front of Wesley's desk, the being spoke in a harsh tone.

Immediately translating the demonic language, he replied, "I spoke to Lilah about my meeting with the Slayer. There was nothing of importance to Wolfram and Hart. A slight Apocalypse, but that will be taken care of soon."

The being nodded and commented in a succession of short clicks and hard grunts.

"The report is completed and was sent to Lilah."

More sliding out of its seat then getting up, the being left without another word.

His secretary, standing there as though frozen, replied, "Sir.?"

"Oh, don't fret, Ms. Westminster, they just want to make sure I'm doing my job. What better way then to have a demon known for its brutality to deliver the message? Now why don't you go get yourself a cup of coffee?"

A nervous smile and she said, "Thank you."

No, there would be no thanks for him. Nothing was left for him. Save his last idea.

Save this.

He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

And more and more.it was becoming good.

While things were growing worse.

A while ago, he would've been repulsed by what he was doing. Now.he didn't care.

This was all he had left.

As his telephone rang, he didn't think of a cell phone lying too far away from him to be answered. Of the taste of stained, dying copper in the back of his throat and the wheezing broken coughs he tried to breathe out as he silently begged for someone to help him.

For him to live.

And he didn't give a fuck anymore that he was going to hell. Because he tried his best. And now, the best was going to be his worst.

^^^**&**^^^
Part Two: Bound in a Nutshell - NC-17
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It was raining outside and Lilah entered the pub, soaking wet. Her hair, always meticulously styled, was now flat and drenched to her skull. The matching jacket of her costly suit had turned a darker shade of beige due to the water damage. She had the appearance of a drowned rat.

Another image Wesley would amuse himself with after another pleasant encounter with his personal Wolfram and Hart babysitter. Lilah was always on his trail, always making sure she had an idea of what he was doing, where he was going. And she couldn't leave it well alone. Wesley wondered if she had gotten up in the ranks at Wolfram and Hart mainly due to her ability to toss nasty one-liners.

Draining the remnants of his whiskey, he said without looking up, "Lilah, how. interesting to see you here."

"Ah Wesley," she smirked, grabbing some paper napkins to wipe her soaked outfit. It was a futile venture. "What a surprise. You. Drinking. Tell me, does it actually make any of the pain go away?"

Yes, Wesley really needed to focus on the image of her drowning in the rain to sate his rage. Grimacing a bit as he looked at Lilah, skin flushed and wet, no longer perfectly smooth via foundation and other skin care products, but real, he replied, "There'd have to be pain for it to go away."

Bitter laugh. "How noble." Changing topics rather quickly as she pushed some of her sopping locks out of her face, she asked, "Been avoiding your phone messages?"

"No." He didn't need anymore prodding from her about A.I.'s severed bonds to him.

"Really? That's interesting.say, why don't we have a drink? I'll be right back."

It had been nearly two days since Buffy Summers had come to him to ask his help. Since there had been no reports of Sunnydale mysteriously disappearing or the world ending, it seems that she had succeeded in stopping her friend. Or killing her.

Wesley didn't care enough to find out, either way.

"This round's on me."

A bottle of the best Irish whiskey in the house. Filling his glass, she said, as she lifted hers to her eternally smirking lips, "Cheers."

He said nothing as he downed it. It irritated his throat; his recuperation wasn't going quite as fast as it normally did. The doctor was worried but didn't bother to scold him about his drinking. Even though he had come into the clinic reeking of alcohol. As long as Wesley could pay the bills and the price of medication, it wasn't the doctor's business to care.

"Fred died."

A blank, empty statement. Only Lilah could fill it full of the hateful glee she possessed.

Silence. Wesley didn't have anything to say. He didn't want to think. To remember.

Large innocent brown eyes surrounded by dark frames. Small little nose and an upturn to her lips. She always looked so happy. So.fragile.

And no one had told him.

She was dead.

"Angel's disappeared, as well as his seer, Cordelia. Connor tried to leave Los Angeles, but Gunn and Fred managed to intercept him at a private residence. One that you have been to before."

"Holtz's place." And the memories of a deal made that only ended up damning him to this wretched pub, sitting with a human being that lost whatever essence would've made her human, and a bitter taste in his mouth left over from a wound that would never heal properly swirled around his mind and he couldn't take it anymore. Yes, he knew the place well.

"Hmm. Isn't that.just so funny? You tried to save Connor by making a deal with Holtz. An idiotic deal, but an attempt nonetheless. And the kid grows up, a kid with powers no one's ever seen before on a human except for the Slayer, of course. The son of Angel.and he kills one of Angel's allies. Pretty brutally too. There was a lot of gore and blood involved. Your other.what can I call him? Friend? `Gunn'" she said with a repellent air to the words as though the name was so beneath her, "Barely made it. He's in the hospital. When he wakes up, the doctors will tell him they couldn't save her. I'm sure he'll be all broken up over it. Losing the people you love tends to do that. So.cheers to that?" She tipped her glass to him and finished her whiskey.

He didn't drink. Staring into the amber liquid, he wondered how Gunn would feel. Wesley had never lost anyone he loved. Not really. His mother and father were still alive.

He had a couple of old girlfriends, but it never was anything more than an excuse for a warm body in his bed, a woman who had similar qualities and would enjoy him endlessly talking about the latest book he had just read in some rare and difficult language or his recent accomplishments as a newly trained Watcher.

It wasn't love.

Virginia.yes, but she hadn't been someone he'd imagine himself with forever. She wasn't able to accept that someone had to go out there and fight darkness, even if it meant death, because it was the right thing to do. She wouldn't tell him that though. He had to finally admit it; he had to realize that she would never be able to accept him and his duties.

He had to leave her before she left him. And before they pretended what they had was actually real.

Nothing was real. Especially love.

He remembered occasional glasses of whatever alcohol he had around, drowning in them, thinking of what he lost after he had broken up with Virginia.

He should've lied. Should've closed his eyes to her eyes that no longer had love in them, but a desperate clinging instead.a longing to let the lie last a bit longer. She stayed because she wasn't the type to leave. She wasn't the type to admit to herself that she was with someone she would never understand. Why did he have to go out and fight.why did he indeed? She would've left eventually. Lies never last. They fade, as does everything.

As does the life of a young woman that he sent away with stern words. A young woman bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders with a broken, beating heart carrying an erratic rhythm.

Virginia would not understand why Wesley was doing this either.

But Wesley saw the truth. He knew it all along. To be in this war, a part of this mission, one would always be alone. There was nothing but brief moments of comfort, an occasional drunken stupor, and a mindless fling with someone else who had a life of their own that was eating away at their soul.

Fred had died. And he.it wasn't not caring, but it was something horrifyingly close. He wondered if he would be able to mourn her properly, but for now it was only coldness. A blank gray where he would otherwise be feeling ill and awful. Even in Pylea when he had planned an attack that would kill many men, he still had that reaction, that coil twisting in his stomach, making him feel worse. Making him feel human.

But now.only coldness.

A coldness that he had felt since he translated the damn scroll.

"The father will kill the son."

He finally spoke. "You have no idea where Angel, one of your most important projects, is?"

"Nope." He'd call her tone cheerful, if he didn't think that someone like her could actually possess the ability to be happy. She'd probably be happy when she was able to dance on Angel's ashes.

"You certainly sound quite distraught about that."

"Oh, I don't worry. The Senior Partners will have all our resources used to find that bastard. And then, they'll scald Linwood for his stunt at the Drive-In."

"I think you mean scold."

"No, I meant scald. When you go against the direct orders that the Senior Partners have set up, you tend to get punished severely. Linwood was annoying them anyway. Not even able to drive Angel crazy. Not even able to get him to kill you. Of course, if you died, that would ruin their new plans. Linwood's been.temporarily removed from his position."

"And I'm sure it will soon become permanently."

"You're catching on quickly for someone who used to play for the other team."

"I was a part of the Watcher's Council. They too ran a tight, merciless ship. At least, whenever they weren't bogged down by their bureaucratic nonsense."

"Temper, Wesley," she warned, incredibly amused by his dark bitterness, "Don't want you to get stuck on the past. And besides, you have a new, sparkling future to look forward to. You've been summoned to the White Room tomorrow."

"Really? Am I supposed to care?"

"Probably not. You didn't even shed a tear over the girl you spent so much time obsessing over."

"I get over things quickly when a person tells me that I ruined everything and it's all my fault." Acid bile rose in his throat and he ignored it. "Besides, why should I care?"

"You're repeating yourself."

"As everyone tends to do."

She had been eyeing his scar for quite a while. He had ignored it. "Justine died too. I'm sure you would've love the honors-"

"I have no taste for revenge."

"Right. Only the whiskey, then? Because I thought joining the people aimed to make your former allies' lives miserable would be a message you were aiming for revenge."

"You misunderstood." Damn them all. He made his choice. And he was going to take it all the way through. Even if he had to sever every human feeling, every pain, every regret he had left. His soul was damned, so why not strip away his humanity as well? It dulled the void.

Made it all so much clearer and easier.

"Do you think they'll bury her here or back home?"

Lilah was god-awful at small talk.

"Possibly home. She did.have parents."

"Right. I wonder if Gunn will allow you to go to the funeral. Or, if you'd actually attend, since you're playing Mr. Bad Ass all of a sudden." Getting up from her seat, clothes still wet and skin still slick, she flashed her always-annoying grin, "Been nice chatting with you."

"Oh, there was something I wanted to go over with you," he said, finally removing himself from the seat he had inhabited since sunset.

Confusion mixed with some sort of twisted satisfaction. "Yes?"

"I wanted to tell you.to shut the hell up."

Nasty frown but just before she said anything, he grabbed her, tightening his hold as he kissed her. Roughly.

It tasted like stale alcohol and salt and the fresh rain on her skin had grown foul.

Running a hand through damp hair, he demanded, "My place."

And the cold, unfeeling stare back at him was probably an identical mirror to his own face. Hiding her surprise, she icily agreed. "Okay."

And as he walked out in the rain, not bothering to pull up his jacket, to even try to stay dry, he didn't think of long brown hair and nervous smiles and faltering twangs of a sweet Southern girl he thought he might have loved.

He thought of musty books and ink-blood stained papers, and babies becoming vicious killers, and friends that vanished just like raindrops broke on the ground. No longer noticeable, but still just there.

And he couldn't see them anymore.

*

Lilah stayed the night, nude and unashamed in his bed. Wesley had gotten little sleep. How could her warm body be so cold against his?

A pity fuck or just a plain old fuck?

It certainly hadn't dulled the recent information. He was due for his appointment at the White Room in two hours. It was still raining.

"Hmm.you up?"

"Yeah." His voice was always the worst in the morning, more like a broken echo than a real voice.

"That was."

"Nothing. Get out."

"Sure, be all sweet to me now."

Her sarcasm was wearing thin. But he doubted he'd ever get to shut her up.

Turned back to her from his spot at the window. He was already dressed for another day at Wolfram and Hart. "Let's not make this anything, Lilah. Not leverage, or pity, or sympathy, or anything. Just. A. Fuck."

"Of course, that's all it is. But that? Was great." Knelt in his bed (he'd have to burn the sheets), flipping her now dry hair off her shoulders. "Want another round?"

Trying to keep his face as neutral as possible, but unable to hide the loathing, he said again, "Get out."

Searching for and finding her clothes, she dressed quickly. "You may think that you can write this off as some moment of weakness, Wesley, but you wanted it. Me. Losing everything you once cared about and who do you turn to? Or should I say, who do you slam against your bed, fucking mercilessly until you can't take it anymore?"

"You, Lilah." He reached for her again. And he again tasted the death and blood on her lips. She was certainly a part of Wolfram and Hart. Ruthless. And so.inhumane.

He wondered how many people she had purposely and inadvertently killed. He did not wonder if she cared.

Lilah was incapable of that.

He ripped off her blouse, not caring if he ruined it; he was sure she could afford a replacement. Pushed up her skirt. Nothing underneath. Wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, demanding that she see. She stared into his eyes.

Her own eyes were drugged with lust and rage. It was a mixture of both and the combination disgusted him. But she was there. And she would always be.

Now, he would decide how she would be there for him.

Slammed her against the wall and was amused by her moan of pleasure mixing with a groan of pain.

Began removing his clothes when her greedy, finely manicured hands just unzipped his fly and released him.

"C'mon Wes, just fucking do it."

Positioned her and angled one of her legs around his waist and slammed hard into her. She gasped a scream, voice momentarily rendered in shock.

Taking a gentle path of kisses across her cheek, closer and closer to her ear as he kept his pace brutal, felt her insides hot and soaking and yielding and his broken, faded whisper against her ear, "Now, how'd you like to know what it feels like to have your vocal cords ruined till all you have left are scratches and sputtering sounds?"

Not waiting for an answer, he pulled out, bruising her lips with a kiss neither passionate nor merciful, thrusting hard up into her center. Moving a hand down to manipulate her aching clit, he felt the pressure building inside her.

Her eyes weren't shut but they were hazy and it was clear she was somewhere else, climbing up some wonderful pinnacle and she was about to fall over and she wanted it, she wanted it badly.

And he stopped.

Snapping out of her haze, she looked at him, now still and managed to mumble, "What."

Before he started again, pushing harder and faster and increasing the pace while removing any feeling, he looked at her and said, "This is it."

Anything he felt for her was gone, spiraling down instead of up and he was disgusted and there were no innocent woman with sweet brown eyes coming to his apartment asking for help, instead there was only rain dying as it landed, and alcohol, a warm body that froze him, and her inhuman, horrible promise of a future of chaos.of order.

He didn't know anymore, didn't care what their future plans were, all he knew was that he was spiraling down and she was taking him because he needed a fucking guide and she was fucking him and he was fucking her and it was all so pathetic and vile and necessary that he could scream.

But she did instead.

And he found himself coming, coming to a black, empty state of nothingness and for a moment he was at rest. But not at peace.

This was it.

Lilah sagged against him and he would only have to move back a little and she would fall. But he was tired too and so he rested against her, allowing the warmth that was like ice to sate him for the moment.

Her skin was soft but not gentle-soft. Moisturizers, most definitely, expensive brands to momentarily dissuade time from ruining skin, from decaying it into the wrinkles and creases of the future. His slightly prickly cheek was against her smooth one. He'd have to shave.

He didn't allow this closeness to be gentle or appear caring. No, not that all. Or even as some admission that this was really happening. It was simply a smooth cheek, cut hard, that he rested his face against. Was this where he was always going to end up?

It was soft enough. So he allowed the few worries he actually had left in soul to be comforted by that. Oh yes, it was soft.enough.

*

Wesley and Lilah had silently agreed to leave for work at separate times. Lilah went back to her own apartment to wear something that "wasn't torn and shredded" while Wesley had walked into work with cleaner clothes after a heartless rut in his previous attire.

She was now outside his office, annoying poor Miss Westminster about the appointment.

"Listen, I'm taking him, so you inform him again to get his ass out of his office. Miss Westminster."

Lilah had just a.ruthless edge to her. Yet that was all she was. All edges. Soft, but there was no real gentleness. Wesley didn't need that anymore, anyway. It reminded him of.other things.

Waiting just a moment longer as Lilah finally snapped, "I don't care that he locked his office door, I'm getting in there!"

Opening the door, he commented, "Lilah.lovely as always."

She tossed her now perfect hair as she straightened up and replied, "Wesley. You're almost late. I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Oh, yes, it would be terrible. Shall we go, then?"

A pucker of her lips that seemed to be an amused grin, but he was sure it was just an annoyed tick.

She took him to the elevator and unfolded the slip of paper handed to her by one of the executives. Proudly punching in the sequence, she mumbled, "Now I get to know the combination."

"I beg your pardon?"

With what passed for a sweet look, she said, "Something involving Angel." The dark look Wesley gave to her indicated his disinclination to hear more about it.

As the elevator car finally stopped, she said dryly, "Welcome to the White Room."

And white it was. The light was bright and harsh. It was so clean and the air was not fresh or stale. It was.clinical. Like a hospital. Without the air of impending death. Well, not the air of the dying. Wesley was sure that deaths had occurred on the too clean floors.

"You're two minutes late. I'm not surprised."

A voice came out from the white where no shadows could be. Entering the room from.somewhere else, was.a beautiful woman, no more in her earlier twenties at the latest.

Lilah was unable to hide her surprise. "You.got older."

The woman was wearing a simple black dress as though she was going to a funeral. Her lackluster, plain brown hair was tied back. Hands crossed in front of her, she stated in an odd elderly yet completely childish voice, "Aging holds no barrier against me. I can be a child or a dying man; it doesn't matter. What does matter is who you want to see."

And this.person? Demon? Had chosen the form of a young woman. Going to a funeral.

Brown innocent eyes and hope and death and now they were empty and lifeless.

Wesley wondered what Connor looked like now that he had grown up as well.

"You were summoned here for two things. Lilah can leave now."

"What?"

The woman turned her dull gray eyes at Lilah's defiant form and enunciated slowly, "Your life was spared the last time you were here. Should I test Wesley as well? This time I'll make sure he completes my task."

Lilah left the room in a hurry, causing Wesley to wonder what exactly happened to frighten her.

"You helped the Slayer. Normally, I'd say that's quite a nasty trick you played on us."

"I didn't help her."

"Do not lie. You did. You gave her a binding spell that managed to restore the balance in her friend's power. It made her good. That's an offense I would normally punish. Severely."

The small piece of paper.

A meaningless spell, rarely used, for the person it was cast on would have to have an enormous imbalance in her system for it to work. And most witches and other spell casters knew how to maintain a cohesive balance even when performing a series of powerful spells. Willow must have gone completely mad for that spell Wesley had handed to Buffy to have worked.

And she must have channeled dark forces indeed, for her to further that insanity.

"Are you terribly angry?" He asked without any measure of caring.

Her pale face broke out into a smile that reminded him too much of a demonic grimace. Of death. "Oh, not angry at all. You restored order."

"Yes, well, Sunnydale is one of the most powerful hellmouths on Earth. I'm sure you have plans for it."

"Our plans do not include the Slayer's home. For the moment. Sunnydale is an annoying place, isn't it? So many Apocalypses had to be averted. It was very fortunate that the Slayer became the protector of it. It would have ruined my plan."

"You said `ours' before."

Walking up to him, he realized she was the exact same height as.her. "Does it matter? What's ours is mine and you are mine. And ours. You brought order for the moment. Now.I have to discuss with you a very simple request."

"What?"

"Don't lie anymore. You know the truth. You stupid fool, you knew it all along. We've found Angel. He's been sunk to the bottom of the ocean. By his son. It's fitting in a way. We won't save him. That's your job."

"What?"

"Gather whoever you want. The Slayer. Angel's associates. You'll be given any material or resource you need to get him back. In a week's time, I want him freed."

"A week?"

"Angel deserves some time alone, don't you think?"

Wesley hid a grin. To think of Angel, trapped. Alone. In pain. It was now a thought that gave him.not pleasure, but something unusually reminiscent of it. "Also, you have no idea where Connor is, do you?"

"We have.leads. But he is not important for the time being. Goodbye Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

And with that, she exited.somewhere else.

Returning to the elevator, he remained silent throughout the ride. Even though Lilah was showing signs of anxiety that she wanted to ask, something held her back from saying anything.

As the door opened, she finally spoke.

"You don't have anything to say to me?"

"No, Lilah, I don't. I have work to do. Goodbye."

And with that, he went back into his office. And worked until sunset.

*

Buffy stood in the empty hall of the Hyperion Hotel for an hour before she finally left. There were a few phone messages, but the people seemed to be perspective clients. No Angel.

Angel.

Buffy hadn't gone to the hotel after speaking with Wesley. She had taken the small slip of paper back to Sunnydale with her, had help from Anya, and managed to secure (to bind to that terrible power) Willow, until Giles' came.

And Giles had gotten a source of pure magic from a coven he'd been working with in London. He hadn't explained it all, but together, they all managed to strip away the layers of poisonous magic corrupting Willow.

Although it was clear to all of them that Willow had been corrupted by her own ambitions. By grief. By vengeance. She tried to absorb all the magical powers that a human could touch. However, she couldn't handle it; it drove her power-mad.

She almost destroyed them all.

Willow was now halfway mad with grief and the other half of the time was spent trying to understand what happened. Her mind was nearly gone.

And Buffy had to escape. At least for a while. It was all.just too painful.

It was too hard to see Willow wandering aimlessly in the house, sobbing or stuttering, "Tttara.died?"

So she came here. To Angel.who she hadn't seen since a brief visit after she came back. Angel, who she was sure wouldn't ever want to see her again.

Angel, who still was in her thoughts. Even when she didn't want him to be.

Spike had disappeared. She frankly didn't care. After.the.attack.she didn't want to see him again. She'd kill him.

She had wasted three years by not killing him. By believing that he could.never. He wouldn't ever.she was sure that he wouldn't.

And he did.

She was a fool.

Dawn, she promised Dawn that she would be there for her. Really there for her.

The only thing she hadn't promised to Dawn was for Buffy herself to be happy. To be there for herself. Buffy didn't want to lie anymore. She didn't want to deal with it.

She promised to show Dawn that there was hope in the world, when she didn't believe in that anymore. But it didn't mean that she could fake a smile and convince Dawn that fantasies were real. That Dawn could do anything she wanted.

Giles was currently taking care of Willow. Buffy had seen his eyes after Willow woke up from the removal of her powers. Giles blamed himself for what Willow had done.

Buffy had seen that haunted look in her eyes everyday since she first became a Slayer. Now, it was so pronounced that it was impossible for her to escape it. And now, she could spot the same look in an instant on someone else's face.

Jonathan and Andrew had escaped. But Warren had been murdered. Viciously.

Willow had crossed the line.

The line that Buffy had crossed, for good intentions, but it had destroyed her all the same.

Buffy wondered if Willow would ever be able to come to terms with that.

If Willow would ever be in a state of mind that she could understand what she did.

Giles had told Buffy all about the conversation he and Willow had before he left. He said he was a fool; that he only managed to make the situation worse by leaving.

Buffy simply smiled, a pale and faded imitation of a smile that once was true, and told him that it wouldn't have mattered. She hadn't been able to help, nor Xander. There was nothing Giles could do.

Except be there.

No, she wouldn't start blaming him. She wouldn't blame anyone. This.horrible fact, what Willow had done and her inability to stop it before Willow destroyed herself, Buffy couldn't avoid it anymore.

Willow could've destroyed the world if Buffy hadn't stopped her. And now, Willow was shattered. From all the research they'd done, it was clear: Willow's mind was ruined. She'd never.be Willow anymore.

But then, Willow lost Tara. That would've destroyed her anyway. But if she hadn't tried to use magic to soothe her pain, Willow might still be ok. Still be Willow.

She'd never be able to handle any kind of magic again; the power would be too unstable and would kill her.

And Buffy wasn't even sure that Willow would want to be herself again.

To deal with the truth, the real horror of living, that was too much for some people.

Willow now stared back at everyone with blank eyes. That was when she was most coherent. Other times.no, Buffy couldn't think about it. It hurt too much.

Hugging herself, she continued on her walk along the grim-looking streets.

She had to thank Wesley. Wesley, who refused to help her, yet handed her the key in stopping Willow.

He had changed so much. Gone was the stuffy, impossibly pathetic Watcher. He was much.he looked like he had gone through a lot. His scar.

Buffy didn't need to ask questions. She too had gotten scars from battle. Unconsciously, she touched the lingering scar on her throat.

Knocking on the door, she heard a rushed and muffled "Just a moment!"

As the door swung open a shocked Wesley declared, "Buffy! Ah.I wasn't expecting you."

"What? In the way I just suddenly turned up.again? Umm, can I come in?"

"Uh.now's not a good time."

"What, you have a hot date or something?" she joked. Surprise then realization in her eyes as she quickly said, "Oh.sorry, I'll leave, but I just.Angel's missing. I mean, did he move or something? He's not.um, there. There wasn't anyone at the hotel."

"Wesley?" A woman's voice came from the apartment. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing.Lilah. Get back in bed." Buffy tried to hide her shock at the authoritative tone in his voice.

"Sorry. No." Whoever was his date seemed to be kind of.bitchy.

"Lilah." He again commanded, voice becoming a dark growl.

Okay, now this was creeping her out.

"Ruin my fun. We'll just have to make plans for later." She smirked at him as she entered the living room space, dressed in a very rumpled and expensive business suit. Teasingly running a perfectly manicured nail across the scar on his throat as she left a hard kiss on his lips, she said, "Later." Turning to Buffy, her face turned serious, but eyes seemed cold and calculating, as she said, "Good luck."

"Good luck?" Buffy repeated the words in her head but they still didn't make sense. Turning her confused gaze to Wesley, she said, "What was that?"

"Buffy, it's a long story. And it's not important," Leaving the door open as he walked over to a new stack of musty-looking books and assorted papers on his desk, he said, "Well, it's terribly important, but not for the moment. You have questions. About Angel's disappearance?"

"Yeah. I mean, if it's none of my business."

"Oh, Angel's business is always everyone's else business." Wesley was unable to hide the loathing as he spoke while he carelessly flipped through the book that was on top of the stack. "He is currently residing in the bottom of the ocean."

"God." Unable to say anything or to honestly convert her panicking thoughts into words, she stammered out, "Is he.he's alive right.?"

Buffy wondered when her feelings for Angel would finally die. When it would stop hurting.

"Do you know what happens to a vampire when it is starved?"

"Yeah." She tried to hide the tremble as Spike's voice slid across her memories.the constant playfulness, the mocking. The cold, desperate emotion. No. She couldn't let herself think about it.

Shutting off the memories, she said, "Living skeleton."

Faint ghost of a Watcherly smile on his lips. "Quite right. Fortunately, Angel hasn't been trapped for too long.but if I don't find him."

"You? What about Cordelia? Or.I thought he had other people helping him."

"Cordelia has disappeared. I haven't been able to find her." Nor did Wesley want to. He hadn't been able to use the sources available via Wolfram and Hart to find her anywhere in L.A. and he was expressly told from Lilah to give it up. She wasn't important in the scheme of things. "Gunn.he's in the hospital. He was badly wounded in a fight. Another.she was killed in battle."

"What about.Angel's son.he must be.upset about his father." Buffy could barely choke out the words.

Grimly, Wesley stared at her. "Connor is responsible for Angel's predicament."

"Oh." There was nothing Buffy could say. She didn't know.anything really. She didn't know Angel anymore. She was out of his life.

"I didn't really want to ask you this, you have work in Sunnydale, of course, as well as.how is Willow?"

"She'll be fine. What you.it helped. A lot." All a lie. She'd gotten so used to it.

"Good." He knew she was lying, but didn't mention it. "I may need your help. I.there are some spells I can cast to find and rescue Angel, but they involve someone with a connection to him."

"And since his son is out of the picture," she attempted to joke. Curiosity getting the better of her, "Why you? I mean, you said."

"What I said, it still stands. I am no longer a part of Angel Investigations. However, Angel has a mission."

Yes, a mission he ignored for nearly a whole year.

"Yeah," she replied, voice distant. "Whenever they have a mission, you have to make sure they're there to perform it."

"I'm sorry.if you have objections."

"No. I'm sorry." She was.

Sorry that she promised her sister that she wanted to live in the world again. That she would say yes because it was Angel and still.she loved.not him. She couldn't. The memories. She was in love with the past. When she was happy. When she had hope. "What do you need?"

"Well, the final spell is a tad difficult. To cast it, we need to perform a very taxing ritual involving the summoning of an ancient power."

"Wesley, just tell me what you need from me and I'll do it."

Looking into her tired eyes, sensing the defeat, he suddenly retrieved a boost of strength from some part of his spirit he thought was dead, and said very sharply in a confident Watcherly tone, "Why? Why help, Buffy? I know that Angel.meant.means a great deal to you. But you've had your own troubles to deal with. You don't have to help me. Nor should you convince yourself that it's your responsibility. Buffy," he said, voice fading as his still-healing vocal cords cracked under the pressure, "of all the thing you've been responsible for, Angel, as he is now, is not one of them. You can leave this instant and just forget about what I told you. I shall handle it."

And was it so terrible that for a fleeting second that Buffy considered doing just that? Just walking away, finally burying the past that was hovering beneath her skin, thousands of tiny little shards imbedded inside her? She needed to get them out, she had to, but it was all that was left. Just broken memories and dead dreams.

She took a step back, but as she did, she shook her head. "No, Wesley, I have to do this. It's my job." And she attempted a weak smile but it was really a broken grimace as she said, "It's Angel."

"Yes," Wesley said darkly, gathering his books, he agreed, "It's always Angel."

She had no idea what was in store for him. Nor would she ask.

"Always," came the faint whisper from her lips.

^^^**&**^^^
Part Three: Were it not that I have bad dreams
^^^**&**^^^

There was a warm body next to him.

Wesley was only in the stage just before being awake and immediately following being truly asleep. He had being staying in that phase for longer periods recently.

He could hear the steady breathing. He didn't listen to a muffled heartbeat. There was no heartbeat, of course. Her icy heart wouldn't make a noise, even if he could hear it.

In, out, in, out.

She slumbered easily; Wesley was not envious of that fact.

It was this time that he used to recognize what he was doing.

To accept.

He was making a terrible mess of it all.

He had tried to save Connor and Connor had been taken. The young child had grown up and was now apparently a cold-blooded killer with a taste for torture. How wise was it for him to torture a vampire with the promise of an eternity of solitude and afflict a man, proud of himself as a warrior, with the agony of seeing the death of his lover in a fight?

It was brilliant.

He murdered Fred.

Wesley realized that he would've been sickened by the actions of young Connor another time, long ago.

Now, it was only a begrudging admittance of the boy's skills and a realization that he may become another obstacle in the way to his goal.

His path. His mission. That was all he cared about.

And he'd use them all.

It would be easy to blame the influence of Wolfram and Hart. That place with its not-so-hidden promises of Wesley's most desired wishes. An attractive secretary that was smart and sweet, that was going to be his final test. He knew that they'd give him the choice. Her life or his dedication to their dark purposes.

And Wesley knew that he would choose the latter.

It wasn't dedication, nor love, that was driving him, God no. That had been two other lives he led.when he allowed himself to be swayed by his emotions. Nor was it for vengeance or just to spite the people that betrayed him.

It was for him.

It was so terribly simple and that was the monstrous part of the matter. He was going to do horrendous things and he didn't care.

He was going to murder innocent people if they got in his way.

And now, at this very hour when nothing was clear and everything was no longer murky, Wesley wondered if he was betraying himself. Was this all that his life had been leading to? Years of Watcher training used to help the very people enabling the demonic world to thrive?

And for him to bring the Slayer into his own twisted game.to use a person granted with powers intended to protect the world from darkness.only to have her work for darkness in the end.

A game, a game, it was all a game. A lie. Nothing but things that were tangible. Oracles that told the truth, which was a lie. Nasty lawyers that outright loathed him, riding him hard and telling him to just fucking stop because it was too good and it was just *too* much.

Seers that walked in the work with a blind eye turned to all the pain.

Powers that did not ensure peace, or aide their warriors, instead allowed darkness to corrupt all the hope and joy of humanity.

A twang of an accent and vicious insults blaming him alone, when in reality, it was all of their faults.

Guarded comments and sobering talks with a petite Slayer that briefly made him guilty for what he was doing and was going to do.later.

The sting of alcohol burning his throat even though he shouldn't drink. Against the doctor's orders and all that.

And to think that he'd once been unable to hold down a decent size of alcohol. He was sure he'd be able to drink anyone he met in a seedy bar under the table. He was sure that he would do that, if someone actually dared to come near him. But he was always alone at the bars. No one came near.

Cheap whores out on the streets, desperate for someone to *see* them, but they don't really understand that, no, they don't, he chided himself. Because why would they be prostitutes if they realized that they just wanted someone to *notice* them?

People rarely look anymore.

Look at all the pain in the world. It's gone beyond bleeding and the wound's rotting, the Earth is damned but no one wants to accept that.

There's nothing left.

Wesley had spent too much time in books, in reading symbols and lines and making sense out of it all. When in reality, he should've shoved the book off and said to hell with the rest, he had to go out and look.

And see.

And now there was only a gray room with blank walls and rumpled sheets. A covered window that hid yet another rainy day, and it had been raining for a long, long time.

He didn't even have to look anymore. He had seen too much.

In some cultures, to see All would only drive one mad.

He did not think he was going insane. Why would there be such bleak clarity if this indeed were his growing insanity? No, he only wished he was going insane.

That would make things easier and things can never be easy.

That would spoil the game.

Tonight was the night that Angel would be freed. Nearly two weeks after his meeting with Buffy (he delayed the time frame, saying he hadn't the proper supplies for the spell) and he was going to pull up the box which held a creature that swore he would kill Wesley the very next time he saw Wesley.

Revenge, so easy for the world they did not live in.

Where trying to save a child would be given a hero's reward. Where stealing a child from his loving father would end in the villain's gruesome death.

Where those two things were not one and the same.

Angel had sworn to kill him and now Wesley would save him.

Angel, who would probably still kill him, even after Wesley had freed him.

That was the kind of loyalty Wesley knew. The kind of loyalty that Angel provided. The kind of loyalty that Wesley would never again accept. That Wesley had left.

It was all so horrendously ironic.

Angel could not offer forgiveness because Wesley had done the disservice of betraying him. And forgiveness was not in Angel's, or any of his other so-called friends, self-possession.

To forgive was a divine act, was it not? And none of them, none of them, could be counted among the ranks.

He had read information that would've shocked him ages ago, when he was freshly out of the Watcher tests, gloating that he knew better than the elder Watcher, and proud because he had completed something which his father was sure he would fail.

He read of the former accomplishments of Wolfram and Hart, of the atrocities committed and he didn't even blink an eye.

When he was younger, that kind of knowledge would have made him ill in his stomach.

Oh yes, he could read a bit, even do superbly on the tests, proudly declaring his superiority that he had mastered all this tough knowledge in a short amount of time.

Such a joke.

"Ah.son.you did a.sufficient job there."

That was the best compliment his father had ever paid him. Possibly the only one his father had ever given him. And he had done it in front a crowd. God forbid the man tried to ever say anything without the benefit of an audience.

Because it was all a lie.

Lilah finally raised her head, the long night spend in bed causing her hair to be terribly rumpled and messy. Without a word, she began hunting for her clothes. After a couple of times of attempted conversation out of "Get the fuck over here and fuck me now" she had stopped talking to him outside of making snide comments, what passed for sex talk, and business-related information. This phase they had become accustomed to: walk into either one of their apartments or a horrendously seedy motel, wake up and leave.

She slowly woke up, turning her eyes to him as though expecting something different. The just awake Lilah disturbed him; for a few seconds he could see the woman before Wolfram and Hart. And he didn't like to think that there was anything besides her as she was now.

As she put on her shoes, she said darkly, "You know you can't make a mistake. If the Slayer finds out.or Angel."

Cutting her off, he said in a tone that led for no further commentary, "They have no idea. And they never shall."

She made a face as though she wanted to add something, but she instead left.

It had been two weeks of the same thing. Empty nights in bed, not alone, but empty nonetheless. After Wesley had informed Lilah that the Slayer was going to help save Angel, Lilah gloated, claiming that this would just be more poetic justice.

"You've seen the file. I know you still have that bookish desire to go read everything we have recorded about Angel. And the Slayer's on file. Tragic romance, blah, blah, whatever, but this will be perfect. The Slayer unknowingly working for Wolfram and Hart? That'll be just another thing to drive Angel over the edge. Or maybe he'll be so happy that his precious Slayer saved him, that the pesky soul will be ripped away."

Wesley hadn't informed Lilah that Angel had stopped thinking of the Slayer as a part of his life. It was partly out of some begrudging allegiance to Buffy. She had agreed to help him, when she didn't have to. Because it was Angel.

The poor girl.

She's still in love with him, Wesley thought as he got up and showered. Unfortunate, but it can't be helped.

Love, he assumed, cannot be stopped when it's worked its way into a person's heart. He was lucky that it had never happened to him.

Yet still, her love for Angel could be a great barrier. If she was willing enough to save Angel, would she be wise enough to see what was truly going on?

He just hoped she wasn't going to be an obstacle in his plan. She could ruin it all.

Or she could help it flourish.

*

He shouldn't have come. But he had an hour to kill for lunch and being that he rarely ate now, only when he needed to have something counter-act all his drinking, he had found himself driving to the hospital that now had a patient by the name of Gunn. So, he was here.

The hospital staff had told him that visiting hours weren't until a bit later, but he flashed his best attempt at a worried smile and very kindly told them in a shocked voice that his friend had been attacked when he was on a business trip, and he simply must know what happened, and could he see him, and.

It was quite easy to break his voice at the proper moment, for that extra bit of sincerity needed. Especially since he was lying through his teeth.

The nurse on duty took pity on him and led him to the room, telling him he could only stay for a short while.

Wouldn't be that long anyway.

Gunn had only recently awakened. One leg broken, bruises all over his body, and half of his side bandaged (he'd come in with severe internal bleeding, Wesley read as he looked at the chart). He was a wreck.

Squinting, as his eyelids seemed to be too heavy for his normal gaze, Gunn dryly choked out, "Wes.Wesley?"

"'Fraid so," he said wryly, placing the chart back into its spot. Taking a seat next to him, looking at the wall Gunn must have been staring at since he'd woken up, he commented, "Hospital walls are far too depressing for my tastes. Of course, when one's in a hospital, it's not for a good time, now is it?"

Gunn remained silent.

Trying to offer some solace, he said in a softer voice, "I.heard about Fred.I'm."

"English, don't even bother," he wheezed, "I don't want to hear it."

Wesley snapped out of the faade. He couldn't pretend anymore. "You'll listen now," he said coldly, "Gunn, I've been here too. I nearly died. But that doesn't matter. You didn't bother to see me when I was released, nor did you contact me afterwards, except to beg for my help that one time. Just for Fred's sake. And Fred.I heard what happened, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Connor.I don't know him, you must know him better, but I've recently been able to procure some data.this child.you have no idea what's in store. What he's capable of. Angel's.Connor has seen to him. He's still alive. But sometimes being alive isn't exactly as wonderful as it sounds. Connor's imprisoned Angel somewhere no one can reach him. Supposedly. I'm going to rescue him tonight." Gunn made a noise, either of surprise or disbelief, but Wesley ignored it as he continued, "Cordelia's disappeared. So.that's all I wanted to tell you."

"Why?" Gunn had closed his eyes while Wesley spoke; hiding whatever emotions he was going through. A blank face to hide the pain. The possible rage. It wouldn't help. He opened them up now, slightly glassy, but in complete focus.

"Why what?"

"Wesley.Fred.he killed her. I could hear.I still.the screaming." Gunn closed his eyes again and kept them closed as he forced out, "I'm sorry that I didn't try to talk to you."

"What happened, Gunn?" He did not add, "What happened to our friendship?" He had let it slip away as well.

"We tried to find Connor," he wheezed the pain overtaking him as he spoke. "Cordelia and Angel.we couldn't find them or figure out what happened.but when we went to Connor's room, Fred found something.a scrap of paper with an address.she's smart, y'know? So we realized that Connor had run away and.I can't even remember anymore. We found Connor." Voice turning grave, he said, "Connor wasn't happy to see us. And that chick Justine was with him. Before we could figure it out, he attacked. Us."

"And he killed Fred." Wesley continued staring at the blank wall, voice neutral, unable to allow any feeling to cross his tone or his composure.

"Yeah. He killed her. Justine.I was busy with her, she's dead too." Dry cough and Wesley handed Gunn a glass of water. "He just.split. And I ain't going after him. I.I've lost too many people trying to do the right thing. So.good luck with saving Angel. I.I think I.good luck, English."

Wesley tried not to scoff at the last comment. Like he could save anyone.

Patting his arm, Wesley said in a ironic tone of comfort, "I'll leave you now. Wouldn't want to be a bother."

And he left without another word.

*

The noise struck him first.

There were too many screams buzzing around his head for him to realize how many were screaming.

It was a dark, blank room, empty and fathomless.

Fred's lithe body lay on the black ground, legs and arms bent unnaturally. Her dark hair was splayed out in an obscenely beautiful manner and cold eyes stared upwards, eyes that saw nothing.

Blood was now pooling around Wesley's feet. He stood there, immobile, only able to turn around to view more and more of the room.

Gunn was still alive, facedown. A knife in his back protruded upwards, its polished black handle shining from some light source he could not find. Yet the blood from multiple wounds eventually mingled with Fred's as Wesley watched his former friend, dying, but he would live.

He would be living and still dying.

A pale faded arm touched his elbow, he tried to turn, but it stopped him. It was too strong. Keeping his eyes on Gunn, he watched as Connor walked out of the darkness and pulled out the blade. He wiped it on the palm of his hand, showing Wesley the dark stain.

Cold blue eyes staring back, as the son of his former ally Angel said, "You killed them."

Attempting to deny that he was a part of this horror, he stammered out, "N-No."

Connor was instantly upon him, pressing the stained blade against his throat and again simply repeated in his cold, emotionless voice, "We killed them."

"Yesss." Wesley found himself hiss.

"What are you doing?"

He gasped as Buffy appeared on his side, her grip on his arm still strong. There was such a powerful aura around her, as though the darkness itself feared to make her a part of this room. Deadly cool eyes, a detached sense of liveliness in her voice, "You can't do this anymore."

Connor looked distastefully at her and then, adding pressure to his grip, "You have to finish it."

And as Buffy, still holding his arm, reached out for the knife with the other, Wesley breathed a shallow breath of relief.

Yet she only pressed harder. "You're going to kill everyone. Does that bother you?"

Connor, challenging him, asked, "Does it matter?"

He pressed his bloodied hand against Wesley cheek, marking him.

He was forever a part of this.

Forever.

And then, something large loomed over them all, a shadow.

A horrible, ghastly whisper, "You betrayed us all."

But.but he couldn't. He wouldn't.

The screaming grew louder and louder.

Simultaneously, Connor and Buffy said, "Ignore it. They always have to make noise. You shouldn't listen. It'll only make it worse. Stop listening."

But Wesley couldn't help it. He had to pay attention.

And more and more bodies were on the floor.

Two sets of dead, unmoving eyes stared implacably back at him.

"Ignore it," their bleak voices rang together.

Ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it

There were no bodies on the floor.

No the blade was not digging into his throat, the bloody taste rising in his throat.

And no, he couldn't feel the wet blood on his cheek drying into his skin, forever a stain of this cold pain.

But he couldn't do it anymore. He had to pay attention to it all.

"You're sleeping on the job? No wonder why you got fired before."

Raising his head from his desk, he dryly said, "Lilah, how nice to see you."

"Liar," she replied with a dark grin. Sauntering over to his desk, she said, "Aren't you and Buffy the Slayer supposed to go retrieve Angel now?"

Looking at his wristwatch, he commented in an uncaring tone, "Yes, perhaps so. Well, I'm leaving then. The report on my visit with Gunn is here." Handing over the neat copy, he said, "Now I'm off to save Angel."

A fierce grin and she said without any warning, "Don't fuck up."

Daring to peck a meaningless kiss on her cheek, thereby ruining her makeup, he sarcastically promised, "Ah, of course not."

There was no room for mistakes.

Or time to dwell on nightmarish dreams. Which he hoped was not a portent of the future.

He'd had enough of dealing with signs.

*

Buffy shivered as she tightened the jacket she was wearing, hoping it would warm her. The night was incredibly cold and windy, which was kind of odd since it was summer.

She was standing in the back of the boat, staring at the water over the starboard side. Wesley was busily drawing intricate runes on the floor of the commercial boat, which he had declined to inform her how he had gotten it. She doubted that it was a rental; she could see a company having a huge problem with stained symbols on their boat.

Glancing at the ones Wesley was busily sketching, she noticed that she only recognized a few from spells that Willow had cast.

She immediately shut down that train of thought before the pain overcame her.

"I'm ready to begin." His voice was soft, but Buffy could hear the slight hint of trepidation.

"Okay."

"Please stand in the middle."

As she stood, Wesley directed her to look downwards.

He began the ritual in a language she had never heard before. Not in Willow's spell casting or any of the demon lore Giles had spoken in to explain a point. It was harsh and yielding at the same time and as his feeble voice grew stronger with each word (she assumed they were words), she felt a coldness shoot into her heart.

And the thought screamed in her before she was able to bring it to a halt.

She had to get out.

Leave the space. Leave now and it would be okay. She could feel the coldness growing and she stopped breathing.

It felt like damp earth and death was around her and she lifted her head to see Wesley chanting, but instead saw the rotten wood surrounding her.

She was alone again. And rotting away.

She was dead.

And life was forcing its way back into her.

Before she screamed, it changed, cool, gray metal now her walls. It was all she knew and all she would ever see again and her memories suddenly collided together and disappeared in a blinding haze. She knew nothing, she had only been here, and was alone and would always be alone.

And she was so hungry. Darkness swallowed her vision and she could smell.cool death.

And the taste of copper in the back of her mouth.

The taste of stolen life.

She shut her mouth, trying to keep the screaming from coming, from having the taste leave her again.

It had to stay. Stay, with her.

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

She was desperate for it to stay.

And the noise stopped.

All was silent.

There was only one thing that she could feel now. Pain.burning, horrible pain shooting through her body. She had never felt anything quite like it. It was as though every cell of her body was being ripped apart and crushed together at the same time.

"THERE!!!!" She found herself shrieking.

Darkness enclosed rapidly over her and she didn't fight it.

She saw nothing.

There was only peace.

Death.

*

"Buffy? Buffy? Are you awake?"

Fluttering vision and she focused on the grim appearance of Wesley. "Did.did it work?"

As he helped her stand up, she was momentarily dizzy, he said, "See for yourself."

An enormous metal casket stood on deck. There was grime on the outside and the glass window on one of the sides was covered over.

"That's." She was unable to find words. Looking at the boat, the iron chains used in the water for retrieving stuff from the bottom of the ocean still dry, she asked, "How did you get it on the boat?"

"The spell," he said simply. "It was taxing, but it seems your connection was strong enough to not only raise this box from the bottom of the ocean, but to also bring it onboard."

He didn't mention the invocation of demonic gods used to ensure that would happen. It would only worry her. He was sure she had had enough of magic.

As she walked around it, looking for the places it was attached, she tried to rip it open. It didn't even loosen under the strong grip of her hands. "How.what are we going to use to open it?"

"A flame-thrower is always a popular choice."

Grimly checking where it had been sealed, she said, "Give me the flame thrower. I'll have to melt these bars and try to pry it apart."

As the sparks flew, Buffy watched as though it was some slow motion movie, the links around the bars melting. Quickly shutting off power, she watched as Wesley took a crowbar and loosened the bars.

A slight creak and they were close.

Working on the top, Buffy saw everything coming faster and faster, as though a movie reel was being sped up.

Until finally.

THUD.

The lid hit the deck. Hard.

And he was inside, constraints binding him.

Angel.

He had thinned considerably since the last time she had seen him, but he wasn't looking too bad. Her fears of seeing a living skeleton were completely forgotten. It was such a silly fear too. His cheeks were sunken and skin paler than ordinary.

Barely whispering, she said haltingly, "A.Angel?"

Eyes suddenly snapped open and it frightened her nearly as much as seeing Willow with her blacked-over eyes.

They were wild. Insane. Completely amber.

This was not Angel.

It couldn't be.

He made a fierce growling noise and went to move, but he was firmly bound in his restraints.

Wesley, who had disappeared into the cabin for a moment, returned carrying a pint of blood and warned, "I wouldn't get too close. Over several weeks without nourishment will make an ordinary vampire insane in his hunger."

"Yeah," she hollowly agreed, backing off.

Snarling, Angel tried to get out of his restraints and grunted in a barely human voice, "Let me out!"

Wesley, no fear apparent in his face from Buffy's view, walked easily up to him and held out the offer to Angel's face.

Greedily, he slurped it up, quite messily. But it didn't offend Buffy. She had seen much worse. And done even worse.

"C'mon Slayer, you know you want to you."

Shaking it off, she said softly, "Angel? Do you remember us? It's me.Buffy. And.Wesley."

Wesley was staring straight into Angel's face. He gave no indication of what he thought.

"Don't bother Buffy. He's halfway mad right now. Give him time."

She retreated back to her position overlooking the black waters. She did not turn her back to Angel though. She had learned the dangers of turning one's back to a vampire. Instead, she kept herself angled slightly, yet did not look at him.

That was Angel now.

Wesley took a step towards her and a gesture of understanding, but he backed off before he touched her shoulder.

And they steered the boat back to the docks.

*

When Wesley finally told her that he needed to use drugs to sedate Angel, Wesley could see that she didn't want to be there anymore. Whatever she had seen when undergoing the spell to raise Angel from the ocean, it had been quite disturbing. She was still very pale and her eyes were distant.

But he had to do it. Angel had reverted to the basest of vampric states and he didn't doubt that Angel would try to rip out his throat when he released him.

They managed to carry him into Wesley's car, being careful to add a pair of magically enhanced handcuffs (just in case), and they silently drove to the hotel.

She had taken out her stake hidden up her sleeve, knuckles white from gripping it.

"There won't be anyone there to watch over him."

It had been the first time Buffy had said something since they docked.

"No. There won't."

And he didn't let himself think about it. He too had been left, for dead, for worse. He had been lying alone in a hospital bed and was forced to realize that no one would come. That he was alone.

Angel could deal with the pain. He could even regain his sanity.

He could heal.

Wesley wouldn't.

He cast a sideways glance at Buffy and promised, "I shall look after him."

He couldn't let Angel.no he wouldn't let him get the better of him. He had made a deal. And he would keep it.

"I should." she struggled for the words, "Help."

Help.

A half-hearted offer at best.

"You've done a lot tonight." After another long pause, he added hesitantly, but with sincerity, "Thank you."

And she surprised him, by laying a hand over his on the steering wheel, saying, "I had to. Thank you.for letting me. But I would have.I.I had to."

But of course. They all had agendas. He simply couldn't let anyone know.

Couldn't make a single mistake.

He briefly gripped her hand in a half-hearted, unintentional handshake as he removed it from the steering wheel.

Carefully stretching the tense muscles on his neck, he tried not to think of the dream he had today. The dream of the knife.he felt the coldness on his neck. Ignoring it, he parked in front of the hotel.

Silly dreams.

They didn't mean anything.

Turning to Buffy, he asked, "If you could pick up some clothing of Angel's? Or perhaps I should."

"He's not saying here?"

It was a risky move. If Angel realized what Wesley was doing.but no.Angel wouldn't be in a position to understand anything. He'd seen to that. Trying for a hopeful smile, he said to her, "I think I should look after him at my residence. It's smaller, you see, and.it would be for the best."

Yes. For his best. Buffy nodded weakly as she unbuckled and got out of the car.

Watching her retreating back, he looked at the mirror to the reflection of Angel in the back of the car that was not there and said, "Always.the best."

Yes.this was going to be perfect.

As he made sure she was inside the hotel, he dialed a number on his cell phone.

His dream was not a nightmare or an omen. It was merely the truth.

^^^**&**^^^
Part 4 - Yet But A Shadow - NC 17
Guildenstern - Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of ambitious is merely the shadow of the dream.
Hamlet: A dream is but a shadow.
Rosencrantz: Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
^^^**&**^^^

Lilah sat on the edge of her bed, towel still draped around her damp body. After a long stretch of silence as she held the phone in her hand, she finally said, "You're going to baby-sit Angel? What next, Wesley? Are you going to tell him everything? Beg for forgiveness and hope he takes you back?"

Ok, so sometimes she couldn't handle stuff that pissed her off

Sneering at Wesley before he could say anything, "You want to be an idiot? Fine. I could just let it slip that you've been doing more than working for Wolfram and Hart.I'll see to it that Angel rips you."

An oddly calm, yet vaguely annoyed voice cut into her threats, "Lilah, do shut up. Whatever you think, do not for a minute think that I am stupid enough to try to go against the Senior Partners, especially after the agreement I signed. The magics invoked to secure Angel from the bottom of the sea were quite dark and any imbalance in the spirits would negate the spells cast."

"Ugh," she groaned, annoyed, "All this talk about magic bores me."

"To put it simply, as you always need it, I can't simply revoke my binding agreement to Wolfram and Hart. Nor would I want to. Lilah, what did you think, I would leave Angel off by himself while he's half-insane? You tried that last year and it didn't work. What you want is something different. An alternate to a half-mad Angel. Besides, the way Angel currently is, he wouldn't be able to protect himself from sunlight, let alone aiding the firm in their End of Days mission."

Lilah cursed under her breath. What she really wanted was the fucking vampire dead. He'd been a thorn in her side and she longed for him to be ashes. But no, the Senior Partners and their orders about the vampire left no loophole for Angel to "accidentally" turn up dead. And she was tired of it.

And now, Wesley, who had been given a lot of information about the inner workings of the law firm, was going to play nursemaid for the one thing that was bent on destroying their work. Maybe she shouldn't have pushed to take up the project of bringing Wesley onto the team.

But, as she thought fondly of their past encounters, she decided he was a good enough fuck for her to deal with more of Angel's constant bullshit.

"Whatever it takes," she snapped, "Don't mess up."

"I was never intending that, Lilah, dear," he patronizingly snapped back.

Hanging up on him without a goodbye, she ran a hand through her wet hair. This was beginning to piss her off. If Wesley tried to break the deal.but he wouldn't. She had seen his reaction to Fred's death. And the tape from the hospital records. they'd been sure to make sure the hospital was monitored.that had shown him.he didn't care about them.

He didn't care about anything anymore.

And he was completely in the hands of Wolfram and Hart. He was their puppet.

Angel Investigations was now completely ruined.

She smiled at that. It would look good on her reports of the ruined alliance between Angel's simpering friends (currently one was dead, another MIA, one in the hospital, and the other working for them) and Angel, the company's most aggravating nuisance.

Linwood's position.she'd be perfect for it. One of the youngest partners of the company to move up to such a prestigious position, she thought, and all because of one vampire.

One single pain-in-the-ass vampire.

Perhaps all the ruined plans for Angel and all the times he'd manage to screw with Wolfram and Hart were going to finally pay off.

*

It smelled like blood. His body screamed for it.

Take it, take it all, rip it all open and drink down the sweetness.life, death.immortality.

Take it and rule.

Live. Die. Forever.

It was unbearable. He was lying on something soft (bed?) but he did not want to be there. There was something bright out and the small beam from a side of an open space (window?) irritated him when he tried to move on the softness that he lay on.

Whatever it was outside, he didn't want it to be near him. It burned.

A voice was speaking and the words, mostly nonsensical to him, washed over as he unintentionally listened.

"I'm afraid that the spells I used have permanently damaged him. The effects were only supposed to be temporary," there was a note of regret there, "But it hasn't subsided at all. He recognizes nothing. Only blood."

Yes. Blood. Life. He needed some now. Now. But he could barely move.his body was too tired.

He felt like there were bruises over his body, but there was not a mark to be seen.

He didn't look.

"I'm thinking of raiding the blood banks and picking up some human blood, the animal blood hasn't managed to sate his hunger. And perhaps the human blood will manage to snap him out of this state he's in."

As the voice finished speaking, he was shocked by a new scent coming into the space he was stuck in.

There was Another.

"I don't understand Wesley. It wasn't that long that he was without blood and I thought you said it would be okay."

"I hoped that it would be. Apparently, I was deceived. The magic invoked was strong enough to cast him out of the ocean, but the side effects may have scarred his psyche. I wasn't aware that it would happen. But I've researched further. If he's fed and if I use human blood, he may be able to regain his sanity."

"Only human blood." Another's voice said. He liked Another's voice. It was. female. He recognized it, but the scent of her blood, so.so wild and pumping harshly under her skin.that was what he really cared about.

He remembered it. He had tasted her.

She tasted good.

The wanting overcame him and he made a soft whine, as the sense-memory of her blood was a ghostly taste in his mouth.

"No," the one (male?) said harshly. "He'd kill you. This is not like that poisoning. His mind and spirit have been ruined."

"But I have to."

The very barest of a whisper, "You do not have to kill yourself. Not for him."

"But I.I.the spell.it took me there. To where Angel was.I have to.you don't know how much pain he's in!"

"Buffy, please."

Buffy. It was Buffy. She was important. Important. He couldn't remember why.

Attempting to mimic her name, he growled out, "B-buffy?"

A soft gasp, "Angel?"

But before she came closer, he heard a struggle and she did not come closer.

"He may try to."

A long pause and she agreed with a sigh, "Yeah."

They left him.

It was hard for him to see.

There was great darkness and that was all he knew.

And then he opened his eyes.

And laughed for a long time, silently to himself. He wasn't there anymore. It was gone. He was free, free of the metal and the coldness and the darkness and the silence.

He still made no noise of recognition.

He wanted blood. Now. And there was fresh scarlet drops now like rivers pulsating in their veins and he wanted to tear into delicate flesh and suck down, drink it all, and it would be so good and he would be full and never, never the pain again.

He would be free.

Yet he could not move.

A hiss emitted from his mouth, as suddenly an image of cold blue eyes, empty yet full of loathing.

His son.

The pain, the ache, the anger, the hatred.it came back in flash, a memory twisted with smiles that didn't mean anything and a word, a word that didn't mean anything to a child he loved.

"Dad."

"Connor!"

And another name. Hers.

Buffy.

But he did not say it out loud again. It would not save him now.

He was so.hungry.

*

Wesley was staring at Buffy as she sat across from him. She had gone only for a short while after their argument, coming back with a packed bag. She told him that she wasn't about to have Angel causing damage in his state.

She wanted to help.

But he was still refusing to allow her to use her blood to replenish him

Tiredly going over the argument, "Yes, while Slayer blood does have mystical properties, it also will not keep Angel from simply killing you."

"I can stop him."

Biting back his response of "like last time?" he remained calm and said, "Not if he snaps your neck. Which, he may do.unintentionally."

She went to argue, but stayed silent. Eyes cast downward, staring at her coffee, she asked, "Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Watch over him. That's all we can do at the moment."

"So we can't do anything."

She had no idea.

One move and they could change everything. Looking at her hands clutching the cup firmly in her hands, the signs of tension in her posture, he suddenly wanted. To tell her. It was so simple. Just tell her that he had used her because she was the best and most likely link and that he had filled her of all the emotion of Angel at the time he was imprisoned.

And his other plans. Of not bringing Angel sanity, but more insanity. Of a devil's deal gone horribly wrong and that he still couldn't bring himself to care.

A price he promised he would pay, but it was all a terrible lie.

He could tell her. She was the Slayer and she'd shown in her the ability to forgive. But that was another time and now did not offer him the easy out.

There wasn't any time for him to ask her to forgive him for his sins.

And he did not want forgiveness. He didn't need it. Didn't want it.

Couldn't have it.

He had to go through with all of his plans. Even though he was going to destroy so much. The dream returned in a flash and he remembered the looming shadow. Yes, he would have to betray them all.

He would not tell her.

She had finished her coffee and began speaking in an almost distant voice, as though what she said didn't matter, "I tried to deny it. So many years and you know, it was getting better. But still.Angel. I don't think I'm in love with him anymore. That would be pathetic, wouldn't it? Loving someone after he left you and told you it was over. Giles wasn't happy when I told him that I was going to be in L.A. for a while. I finally had to tell him that it wasn't his responsibility. I may be the Slayer, but." she sighed and finally looked at Wesley with tired eyes that no longer held the same energy in them that they had when he had first met her all those years ago (it felt like an eternity away, now), "I'm being selfish, right? I shouldn't be helping Angel."

Even though he knew it would only make his situation more dangerous, he took her hand and said, "Of course not, Buffy. I may not agree with what you want to do, but I am glad that you are here.you've almost become a."

"Friend?"

Wesley ignored the sick feeling in his stomach. "Yes. Exactly." He hoped she didn't notice the pale echo of his agreement.

"It's nice to have someone to talk to. Someone that isn't an evil demon." she snapped her mouth shut, a flash of anger appearing in her face, and shook her head briefly before, "It isn't worth it. Never mind. I haven't been able to really talk to someone for a long time."

"Neither have I."

He couldn't ignore the ill feeling now. He actually felt bad. Well, this was just going to put a damper on his next step.

Feed Angel Buffy's blood.

*

She was very soft. He remembered that fondly. And she was sweet, even though there was a touch of the outside, of smog and dirty streets, clouding her delicate skin.

It was Her.

He made a sound that was not as animalistic as it had been before; it was a moan. Trying to gather the softness in his arms, he took in the fragrance underneath.blood.

Pounding, living heat. It had been too long.

Shivering against her softness, he dared to nuzzle into her neck as he rolled her over so that they lay side by side.

He hadn't forgotten her. Even in the worst moments, when gray darkness was all he could see, whether his eyes were opened or closed, it didn't matter. He still knew of soft flesh, that he shouldn't desire, shouldn't still want, yet did.

There was no cold darkness here. No silence as her strong heartbeat thudded against his still body. This was peace. What he had been forsaken to touch, to know.to feel.

This was what he would never give up again.

He could smell her excitement, tinged with nervousness. He could taste it even better.

He had to.

And he grazed a single fang across the gentle glow of the too sweet flesh.

She made a soft, keening noise as his mouth gently fastened on a spot of scared tissue, barely drawing any blood. Just the tiny taste of coppery- nectar.

He had marked her. She was his. Always. Forever.

So warm, he was cold and he liked her warmth. She was quite hot and it was so good that he had to get closer, closer, and had to feel all of her.

He needed more.

More.

It had been too long.

As one hand held back soft tresses that felt so nice, so soft, in his fingers, the other ventured over slims curves and dips, exploring the soft little thing by him and he wanted, needed more.

He tangled his hand into her hair.she was here and she wouldn't go.

He wouldn't have to go in darkness again. He was safe.

Safe.

No metal boxes and coldness and nothing else but her and her slowing breaths and was there.something.

Wrong?

No, no, it was perfect as he brought her closer, because she had to get closer and never leave him. Stay.

A soft, very soft gasp, and a whisper he did not listen to.

"Angel."

He had to continue, to have the hot flesh close and nuzzled his face against the thundering pulse, teeth gently breaking skin and the heat, the essence, pouring into his mouth.

It was perfect.

He continued to drink, to feel her warm body responding to his.yes, he remembered this longing.

She was moving more against him and for a moment he thought she was trying to leave him.

He kept her even closer, tightening his grip.

She wouldn't leave again. He wasn't going to leave her.

Together forever. Forever.

Perfect.

He did not hear the faltered screaming.

Did not feel the struggling.

Did not hear the silence.

There was no recognition of something being wrong. Of coldness.

Of death.

Until the body grew cold.

Unlatching his mouth, he cuddled against her, trying to wake her up. She stayed motionless.

Confused, he reached a fingertip out to the open wound, her mark.

The little remnant of scar tissue was not there.

There was no mark.

Only a gaping wound, still oozing blood.

He opened his eyes and saw her. Looked at the pale, broken, bleeding body.

It was not Her.

Dark hair tangled and spread over the white of the sheets. Bloodshot gray eyes. They were open and unfocused. Dead.

Not Buffy.

It was someone else.

This couldn't.be.

Some sort of new nightmare.a dream. It had to be. She wasn't dead and he hadn't.couldn't.

Shouldn't.

Wasn't in his nature.

Touched his mouth and felt the still wet drops of blood remaining. No fangs. He wasn't a monster. No such thing. Wasn't a monster.

There's no such thing as monsters.

Shards of broken recollections suddenly came back to him, all unfocused, but they were there.

A monster.

He smelled blood and he found himself loving the scent. But.no.

No.

He had fed from her. A human. A living being.

Wasn't living anymore.

He realized there was someone standing in the doorway.

Struggling for words, his mouth bloody (the taste of the woman still stinging his mouth.he could now taste the fear and shock.there was no passion and love), he said, "W.Wesley?"

A long, cold stare, and Angel could feel the revulsion from him.

"You killed her."

And he shut the door promptly after that comment.

She wasn't Her and she wasn't soft and warm and there was no scar.

She wasn't Buffy. Buffy. Sweet smile that was rarely seen and tired eyes that showed she'd been through it all. Stronger than most and she had an air about her. Buffy.

But this wasn't her.

The body was limp against him, as he still held her, but it was clear to him that her body had been slightly broken. The ribs were crushed.

He broke her.

The door opened again.

Holding several white towels, Wesley said in a gravely quiet voice, "You'll need to clean up. It's possible that the fresh human blood was able to counter the effects of the spell."

A spell? He didn't remember. Yes, there had been many spells.curses.attempts to rip apart the universe if necessary. But they were fragments and hazy details. The thoughts were there in his mind, but he couldn't see them as a whole.

Effects of a spell.

There were always prices to magic, a particular memory chided at him. And for a second he was back in cold steel, locked away amid darkness.

A cold, dead body in his arms.

"I.I killed her." No. He couldn't have. This was just another nightmare, another ill memory.

Yet it was so clear. The already rot of flesh.she was dead now and just another corpse. Life had left her. No, it hadn't. He had stolen it from her.

The dark stains on the sheets.

And Wesley was here, waiting, holding towels, with a look on his face that Angel could not read.

It was so cold.

He had killed her.

Cold.

Like a dark box he was strapped in, with the constant damn silence screaming and memories coming upon him constantly until it was as muddled and dark as the outside he couldn't see.

"Yes, I'm afraid.you did. I had asked Miss Evelynn Westminster, an associate of mine, to drop off a book I needed. But she must have arrived.early. I hadn't given her a key.I had put a spare on top of the door jamb.I should have taken her advice and stopped leaving it there, but I had forgotten." He paused, and Angel took a better look at him.

Though his face was clearly shaved and his clothes were neat, his face looked much older. New wrinkles that Angel hadn't remembered seeing before.

A pillow.

"I'll kill you!"

No. He couldn't have done that. He wasn't.was a monster. He had tried to kill him. But why? Why.

There was no answer.

"I had stopped off for a bit." Angel knew where, as well. The stench of alcohol was unmistakable. "She must have heard you and checked in."

"Oh.God." The word came to him before he even thought of its meaning. God? He had forgotten who was God. Or if he mattered.

There was no God.

Angel left go of the body and moved away from it.

Gently pressing down on the young woman's wound, though it was useless, Wesley continued in his dull, emotionless voice, "I.she won't be.missed. We won't have to notify the authorities.I can.take care of it."

Why was he trying to heal the dead? It wouldn't work. He had closed the woman's. Westminster he had said.eyes.

"The.authorities," Angel managed to choke out, still in shock. "I thought."

He didn't want to let himself accept what he thought.

He thought it was Her.

Buffy.

He was dreaming of drinking from Buffy.

Killing her.

The nauseous feeling was deeply seated in his stomach now, and even if vampires couldn't get sick, he had never felt worse.

Monster.

"That it was someone else?" Wesley's voice sounded different. Not deeper.but darker. Thicker. There was an inquisitive tone and as Angel looked harder, he could swear he saw nothing in Wesley's eyes but a blank pretense of sympathy.

"No!" He protested, trying to hide that feeble part of him that screamed, `yes!' "No.I.I was.I wasn't awake."

Still wrapping up the body in towels, now stripping off the sheets as Angel got off the bed, moving to sit against one of the walls.

This couldn't be real.

Finally, as Wesley gathered the sheets.containing a body, he said in cold, dispassionate voice, "You haven't been awake for a long time."

Angel slammed his knees into his chest as he cradled his arms around him, rocking silently.

It wasn't helping.

This couldn't be happening.

He couldn't have.

He was a monster.

Wesley handed him the last clean towel. "I'll take care of the body."

He left, carrying the large bundle over one shoulder as though its weight was meaningless.

Trying to stop shaking, to soothe the parts of him that felt disgusted and another darker part that still was hungry, he peeled off the pants that he was only wearing, exiting into another room.

There was a cracked mirror over a sink.

Nothing to see.

Turning on the water, he tried to make it as hot as possible. To stop the ill coldness in his body, the strange clawing of something inside him to go out and taste more. To kill.

He had to forget.

Forced his head under the faucet as the stream hit him with the boiling heat. Cells of his skin protesting the onslaught, but he ignored them.

Opened his mouth to the hot water, burning away the taste of dying blood, of the screams flavoring the taste. Washed away it all, hoping for a moment that it would be enough.

That he wouldn't have to remember.

He tried to leave his thoughts, his constant replay of an idle dream turned horrible reality.

The sound of water hitting his body.

Still, too silent.

He heard a noise distantly as he showered.

"Wesley?" came a female voice, attempting to keep her volume low.

Getting out, still dripping wet, he wrapped the towel around his waist.

And froze the second he saw her.

It couldn't be.

He had killed another and this wasn't.couldn't be real. Another dream. Another one and he was still in the shower, because this couldn't be happening. If he sunk his jaws into her, whom would it be that he was killing?

Because it looked like Her and it had to be lie.

She turned to him.blonde hair, hazel eyes. Older, but still so beautiful and it was like a frozen moment, but it wasn't a nightmare or stained red on white sheets and dead eyes staring up at the nothingness. It was something beautiful, but he didn't remember he had ever been able to see such beauty except in her.

It was something else.

A dream.

"A-Angel?" she managed to say in her shock.

Without warning, he slammed her against the wall. God, she smelled the same but he had been deceived before and he wasn't going to be fooled again. He crushed his mouth against hers, because even if it was a lie, it was better than the truth, the horrors.

The constant darkness.

The memory of the place he had been imprisoned in, the cold gray, and the place he hadn't escaped yet.

Groaning slightly, he ran his hands over her, not caring that his towel fell, that he was naked to her. She was here and it was a fucking dream, another nightmare, but he didn't care because there was a dead body and another life he had taken, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

Because the promises and dreams of forever were a lie and why those things were attached to her, he did not know.

And she was kissing him back and he swore he tasted salty wetness mingling with her sweet taste that was slightly bitter now.

He ignored it, because this wasn't real and he was too tired of trying to see.

He couldn't see anymore.

Unfastening her pants, she suddenly regained control as she protested, "We.we can't."

He didn't care. But she pushed him away and he felt her strength, she was stronger than him, he was the weak one, so he tried to focus on her, tried to see.

This wasn't real and he could and he would.

"I.this is just another dream," he told her, not caring that it was nonsense to try to tell her that.

"Angel," she said weakly, touching his face with warm fingers that couldn't be real, but he remembered so fondly, "This isn't a dream. I."

She didn't say anything else. Instead, she brought him back to her, allowed him to remove her clothing, and made soft noises, demanding that he stay with her.

Like he would ever refuse. He wouldn't leave again and this was but another dream and there was no reason why he shouldn't rip open the scar tissue that wouldn't be there when he woke, but he didn't.

Instead, he found himself inside, back to a warmth he hadn't been since a long time ago.there was a day somewhere, but it was just another broken shard of a dream.and cried out for the insane rightness and wrongness that it brought at the same time.

But she was with him and wouldn't leave again and there wouldn't be the truth when he snapped out of it, because he was pumping wildly and fucking her and screaming and forgetting of cold gray coffins and eyes filled with hatred and pillows and bodies struggling, but he was a monster and this was his life and he would do as he damn pleased.

And as he felt the ripped remnants of the world he was barely a part of begin to finally tear and break away, he cried out the one word that had started him on this path, the one word that would not save him, no matter how much he wanted it to be true.

"BUFFY!!!"

*

"I'm glad you came," he said to her as she took a seat in the pub, not meaning a single word of it.

Rolling her eyes at his politeness, she snarked back, "Oh, whatever you want. After all, murdering your team members is always looked fondly upon. Actually," she said, after a brief moment of consideration, "Sometimes it is. But still.good little secretaries are hard to come by these days. Secretaries that don't ask questions."

"I didn't kill her." A brief pause to finish off the whiskey he had been staring at while he waited for Lilah.

"Sure, Wesley. You just sent your na Part Five: Madness, yet there is Method in't
^^^**&**^^^

Angel had stayed on his couch almost all night as Wesley tried to sleep in his bed. But thoughts of Ms. Westminster in his bed, of Angel killing her, had only made him uneasy (him, uneasy, he had willingly sent the young woman to her death, came the whispered thought), so he spent most of the night looking at Angel, or staring outside his window, not really seeing anything in the darkness.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, and it was a bleary world indeed without them. Two pieces of glass and everything was much clearer.

He was going to find Connor.

He had to. Angel's son, but it wasn't just that, it was the fact that he was one of the most powerful human beings living, a human that was born of two beings that were demonic in origin. If the Watcher's Council ever found out.

Well, they'd take an interest in him for sure. He remembered their fine collection of specimens.it wasn't only vampires that the Council studied, no there had been assorted demons. Demons that had been dissected.

The powerful reek of formaldehyde and alcohol.dank rooms with rows and rows of bottled and neatly labeled specimens.well, it was paradise for a young Watcher, wasn't it?

To be able to study monsters without having to deal with the horror of confrontation.

So removed.

So.false.

When he was younger, he had been fascinated by all the assorted monsters. Studied everything available in the databases, because if he knew it all, well then, he'd become famous and respected and his father would finally tell everyone proudly, "Why yes, my son Wesley is the head of the Watcher's Council."

Now, he was disgusted that he ever thought that it would have been possible to lock himself away and read the cold, too clean information on beings more powerful and deadly than any Watcher could imagine.

The Watcher's Council had been created as a way to maintain the Slayer's longevity as she fought against the endless swarms of monsters. Then, they began work to stabilize the ability to discern between demons, to find their weakness, becoming as efficient as possible.

And slowly, the Council gained power over the Slayer. Over the fight between humanity and demons. Over everything dealing with the supernatural world.

But they were doomed to fail. They were human.

The words they studied, the laws they lived by, the records they kept, it was all completely meaningless.

And he had once thought that their rhetoric actually meant something.

He knew better now. Oh yes, he'd learned the hard way, on the front of the battle field; not cowering away anymore like when he was removed in expansive libraries with decaying words as his only means of connection to the supernatural world.

Too many of those Watchers were like him when he was younger, sitting comfortably in plush chairs surrounded by the oldest and therefore, most valuable texts, not knowing how many Apocalypses had been averted until after the fact.

How he hated them.

How he hated knowing about them and their reliable sources; the carefully modified demons they planted in the world to tell them secrets, the beings tortured to see for them when they wanted more power, and the humans, whose minds they ripped apart to seek for the word-driven stories that contained a myth, a legend that would give them even more power, more strength, more control.

But the Watchers Council was doomed to fail. They didn't know the real truth. And Wesley had learned it, oh yes he had, for a terrible price. And that truth.that would tear the Watcher's Council to shreds if they ever realized it. The simple truth, which they had tried to twist to their advantage, yet had failed spectacularly.

It wasn't their influence that aided in the fight.

In fact, it wasn't any group's struggle to right (or wrong) things that mattered.

It was only one.

And when it ended, when all the moments before faded away, when time ran out. the final act, the final part, the closing scene was centered on One.

One human being can change it all.

As the gray skies bled a hushed orange-yellow, as dawn approached, he knew it now. It wasn't the monsters that lurked in the dark that the Watcher's Council should fear. It wasn't the vampires (tainted human corpses containing a ruined sample of a forgotten demon forced back to a hell dimension) either.

It was humanity.

People that chose to walk blindly in a world where it just wasn't pain and nightmares to haunt them, but it was their own darkness, the darkness they didn't want to accept. It was the monstrous ability to justify leaving a wounded, desperate man because he had made a mistake and they didn't have to be decent, because it was accepted to be cruel.

Soon, people everywhere would be waking up and walking around, completely blind.

And somewhere, out there in L.A., was one that saw the monsters, but in reality was just as monstrous as the rest of them.

Connor.

And, as it always would end, it would come down to one.

Sometimes Wesley wished he were still sitting in one of the libraries, reading nonsense that he tried to make real, not knowing the truth that cursed them all, was outside in the world.

And in each and every one of them.

*

"You should eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Really, Angel," Wesley sighed, tired of playing nurse to Angel despite the fact that he needed to make sure that Angel didn't realize what was really happening, "You may not be up to it, but you must eat. The spells.while you have been able to regain your mind, it is possible for regression if you don't take care of yourself."

"I'm. Not. Hungry," he gritted through his teeth, eyes flashing angrily.

Glaring at Angel, still dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when Buffy had left, Wesley gave up and said with a defeated sigh, "Fine. You know where the blood is. I have to be off to work, I'm needed for a translation."

Angel wasn't even listening. What a waste of a lie.

But then, that's all he spoke now. Lies.

Buttoning his jacket, he left without another word or a glance to the motionless body of Angel, still sitting stiffly on the couch. During the night, he had curled up and gone to sleep, but the moment he had awakened, he stayed sitting, barely acknowledging Wesley's presence.

Barely acknowledging anything.

Something must have happened with Buffy. Buffy, it seemed to come back to her more than Wesley liked to admit. If she ever realized.if she found out.if she tried to come back, to save Angel.

Well, he simply couldn't allow that.

The Slayer, a woman with too much to deal with, and a woman who had the ability to ruin everything if she found out and tried to stop him.

But no one knew. And they never would.

Until it was too late.

He was running out of time.

And he was running late.

Walking into the large entrance of Wolfram and Hart, he made his way up inside the elevator without a comment to anyone.

There were a couple of glances, hidden badly from his view of course, wouldn't want him to see, as he walked in the lobby. Whispered comments, mostly likely along the lines of "Oh, that's the man that's taking care of Angel. Yes, he was a member of Angel Investigations. Yeah, he's the one that tried to kidnap Angel's son. The scar, that's what he got for trying it."

Some of the looks shot his way were of utter loathing, still angry that the Senior Partners had allowed him to join the firm; positive he would betray them, that he was a spy. Others were of shock, a few of grudging respect, and then, as he found Lilah leaning against his former secretary's desk, there was one of complete and utter distain matched with her cold and steady desire.

"Wesley, and how did the babysitting go? Did you get an extra tip?"

Grabbing her and pressing her too close to his body, her coldness (which would've reviled him another time, far too long ago than he liked to think) a familiar thing that brought him an odd kind of comfort, he gruffly commented, "It went smashingly, care to step into my office for my tip?"

"I'd normally say `love to,'" she said, moving even closer to him if that was physically possible, without an ounce of meaning in her voice, "But you have an appointment."

A suspicious glance. "I wasn't informed."

"Well, he usually isn't in this dimension, it was kind of a surprise. Come on, I'll take you to him."

"Ever my faithful guardian," he sarcastically commented.

"Yes, I'm your Homer, aren't I, Dante?" she smirked.

Rolling his eyes, he patronizingly said, "You know, Dante was shown the path to heaven, hell was just a stop on the way."

"Oh, yeah, I know. Heaven," she noted with a snort, "Pathetic isn't it? Lousy place with no fun, no booze, choirs of singing Angels.and did I mention that unlike Dante, you aren't even going to see it?"

"Repeatedly, but I'm not surprised you're repeating yourself." Offering her a dark smile, "A person of limited intelligence must preserve the few wise things they know they can parrot to appear intelligent."

Her lips and cool breath on the side of his cheek, she mockingly whispered, "You flatter me."

Pulling her away from him, looking at this being he was willingly fucking without a care, he promised, "I never intend it."

Swift march of her heels as she turned away, the wicked smirk still on her face.

As they walked down corridors, following her as she abruptly turned several times without warning, they finally stopped in front of a large set of gilded bronze doors, decorated with writhing creatures in pain.

"Oh how clever," he replied scathingly, "Hell's gates."

"Well, he likes to keep a memento of home when he's in his other offices." She smiled as she drew a perfectly manicured nail down the spine of a starving figure being drawn and quartered by hellish demons. "You know, feng shui and all, it shows that he means business."

"Of course."

The doors opened from the inside. A short, balding man stood in front of them, gray-lined hair neatly combed, with a neatly curled goatee framing his chin. His eyes were almost gray, but they seemed to be mostly washed out due to his age. But even that couldn't hide the shrewd and calculating look in his face.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," he remarked, extremely business-like, "Do come inside. Ms. Morgan, I'd be grateful if you could allow me to speak with Mr. Wyndham-Pryce in private."

Wry twist of her painted blood-red lips, "Goodbye, Mr. Smith."

"Smith?" Wesley asked, assuming the common name was not his actual one.

"Oh," he said with a casual shrug, "My real name's impossible to decipher in the pitiful linguistic ability of you humans. Besides, it's more.incognito to be called Mr. Smith. Not a name that's very memorable, now is it?"

Frowning at the almost pleasant nature to the demon (he assumed), he replied, "Well.yes."

"Good," he said, not really listening, "Now, we should get to business, I don't really like spending time in this pathetic dimension. Barely have enough creatures able to use magic properly, and not quite enough demons that have evolved past `kill, eat, kill' now have you?"

Smith sat down to his large leather chair behind an ink-black desk seemingly made of perfect, glassy marble.

Standing by his own seat, Wesley said, still puzzled by the almost friendly (to be polite and in affiliation with Wolfram and Hart was quite shocking) tone of Mr. Smith, he agreed, "No, this dimension is quite.backwards."

"Well, at least Wolfram and Hart have slowly helped along this world. Now," he said pleasantly, opening a dark folder that Wesley didn't remember seeing on the surface, "Sit down, won't you? While I do work in part for Wolfram and Hart, I'm more of a.special consultant. I come in to make sure that special operations are doing a proper job. This Angel mess." he said with a clucking of his tongue, "Such a hassle for a single vampire. Seems to me that if a vampire's so important to the mess, we might as well make one, soul and all!" He chuckled deeply at that, as though it was an intensely funny joke.

Shaking his head as he continued, "But, as it turns out, it can't really be done. Wolfram and Hart raised Darla from her ashes, only for her to fail in her mission to bring Angel over to our team. And the other one.well, it didn't work out. Insanity and all, a soul isn't made for a vampire. But that Angel, now, he's special."

"Yes," Wesley answered, trying to hide his annoyance of the topic again coming up, "I'm intimately aware of that."

"I bet you are. Now, I have a couple of questions. The Slayer.Buffy Summers. you actually asked for her help in rescuing Angel?"

Not particularly inclined to give away too much information he gave a curt "Yes."

"Either you're completely insane, or have some bravery in you that hasn't been mentioned in your file."

"Thanks for the complement," he dryly noted.

"Well, where is the little Slayer, now?"

"Back in Sunnydale.she and Angel."

A wave of his hand, "Say no more. Her relationship with Angelus was noted. Pathetic true love fated in the stars nonsense, right?"

"Yes-"

"Humans, what stupid dreamers," he grumbled, not listening, writing something in the file, "They actually believe in happiness and all that drivel, it's quite sad, isn't it?"

Not waiting for Wesley's response, he continued on with a much more shrewd and calculating look, as though he was staring right through Wesley and reading his thoughts, "So.you haven't been double crossing us, now have you? While you have had moments of doubt, you haven't given into them. Perhaps if you had joined the firm ten years ago, you'd be a partner already. You've got the mind and talent.but lose the heart. It'll only cause you trouble."

"I do agree with that, but."

"No buts, just listen. Now, when the higher ups decided to pick you up for their special ops program, most of the special consultants were up in arms about it. `This punk that used to work directly for the Watchers Council is going to join one of the most prestigious firms dedicated to restoring the ah.proper order?' Well, I can say I was one of them against bringing you to the firm. But we had tests set up, we certainly did. We left that clue for that clever Winifred Burkle to find. Ms. Evelynn Westminster was handpicked among young and innocent," adding a particular emphasis on the word, as though he loathed to use it, "interns to become one your secretary. And you didn't care when Fred, the one person you had left in your life that could have helped you return to Angel's side, fighting the.good fight, died. You send Ms. Westminster to her death, without a single worried thought. That, right there, that's Wolfram and Hart material. Ruthless when you have to be. Unwilling to left yourself be controlled by pitiful human emotions. And that is why you're getting the promotion."

"Promotion?"

"No one told you?" He frowned and for a second Wesley could have sworn to have seen blood red eyes set in a dark scarlet face looking back at him, "Well, why else would you think that I, a special consultant, would change my physical shape just to conform to this dimension's requirements?"

Furrowing his brow, Wesley tried to stammer out in his surprise (and much to his annoyance sounded exactly like a blabbering idiot), "Mr..Smith, I wasn't aware. that is to say."

"Well, I'm not surprised, they didn't tell you, probably wanted to make sure you wouldn't get too cocky.but, you've made it. You're now a part of the team in every meaning of the word. Welcome aboard, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. We, I most of all, expect great and terrible things from you."

Which was more than anyone had ever expected of him.

"Now," Mr. Smith added agreeably as he shut the file, sending it back from the nowhere he had gotten it from, "Will you be so kind as to get out of my office before it moves back to my usual dimension?"

With a quick nod, Wesley quickly left without another word.

*

Gasping, Lilah regained her senses, finding herself back on her desk, hair matted to her sweaty forehead.

After Wesley had returned from his meeting with Mr. Smith, he'd proceeded to fuck her within an inch of her life.

Damn, that was fun.

""Well," she remarked, not caring that she was naked from below the waist, legs dangling over her desk, "That was an extremely new way of defining victory lap."

He didn't say a thing as he began buttoning up his shirt; pants only halfway zipped up. "Just had to share the.good news."

She smirked at him (but what other way was there to react?), pulling down her skirt that was hiked up around her hips. Sitting up, she said, "Oh, share all you want. But I do have to work on my other projects. I have a meeting in.well, I missed that meeting," she commented, feigning disappointment, looking at her clock. "Oh well. It wasn't that important. Just a client being sued over sweatshop conditions at his warehouses."

"Yes, why would that be considered important?" he muttered, tucking in his shirt.

"Oh, he was only a money scam. Now that he's been found out, well, we have to make sure he stays buried.and silent." Dark look in her eyes as she said, "When someone's value for Wolfram and Hart becomes useless, they get treated accordingly."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You should. After all," she said in an attempt for a softer, more seductive tone as she walked over to him, "It was that big brain that secured this job for you."

She pecked a meaningless kiss on his cheek, as he replied, "And I'm certainly fortunate for it."

"So, you're one of us now. Truly. How does it feel?"

Evading her mouth as it reached for his, he shrugged, moving to sit down comfortably in a chair. "Like nothing's changed. But I do have things I want to discuss with you."

Casting a sharp look at his back, she took her seat behind her desk. He's hiding something. But that was impossible. She had surveillance on him all the time. Hell, she knew that he was just inches away from complete insanity, he wasn't in any mind to try to screw the law firm. It was just a silly reaction. She ignored the unsettled feeling still residing in her stomach. "Fine," she said, pouring herself a drink, "That snotty Slayer getting too curious? Or is Angel staring to come back to his senses?"

A deep chuckle in his throat. The scar still looked angry against his neck, as though it would never heal. "I doubt that Angel will be able to regain himself once I find Connor."

Clank. The glass shattered on the ground. Clenching her jaw, she tossed her hair off her shoulders as she snapped, "Impossible. He's been hiding and we haven't been able to track him."

"Ah, I knew that he hadn't left town yet," Wesley said, as though he was merely discussing the weather, "But you're looking the wrong way. Are you going to kill him just to dissect him for the labs? It would be a waste."

Sitting across from him, she used her most deadly voice, "The waste is that he's still around, making it his business to get rid of any demon that crosses his path. If he's controlled."

"The only person that can do that is dead, unfortunately. Holtz was a brilliant man," Wesley mused, fingers touching the scar for a moment. "He would have trained his son to be loyal only to him. And Connor is now without anyone to look up to. He's but a child, still, isn't he? I doubt he'll leave the city; this is now, for lack of better words, his home. And he hates it. He hates his father. He hates Holtz." Closing his eyes and speaking as though very far away, "He hates that he's different. And that's why it's going to be very easy to find him. He wants to be found."

"And what," she asked, realizing that a steady trickle of blood has been streaming from her palm and neither she or Wesley seemed to care about it, "are you going to do with him? Use him as leverage against Angel?"

Opening his eyes, set on the deep scarlet pool stemming from her wound, he patiently explained, "That would be too easy."

"Then do it."

"Lilah, what I have planned is going to be something far, far worse." And he grinned; a ghastly thing and that cramp in her stomach grew more painful as the grin caused his face to have an almost skeleton-like look. "I promise you that."

*

Wesley sighed as Angel took the first tenuous step out of his apartment building. Since he'd been in Wesley's apartment, he had stayed in there.

But Wesley needed him for this part.

They had to find Connor together.

"I still don't believe he would stay in town, Wesley."

He'd argued with Angel over this for a long time. Wesley believed it was mostly because Angel didn't want to confront his son. Didn't want to think of his son as a monster, as a human, capable of murdering an innocent woman.

A son capable of hating his father.

Which Wesley found ironic, as most sons did end up with hatred towards their fathers, at least it was true in his own case.

"You're nothing but a disgrace to my name!"

"Nonsense. Connor-"

"Stephen," Angel darkly interjected.

"Connor," he repeated, refusing to allow Angel to distance himself from the baby he held in his arms to the grown son that had locked him in the metal box, "has been trained by Holtz. He grew up in a hell dimension. He is a predator. He will stay in the surroundings he is most familiar."

Or at least, so Wesley hoped.

Wolfram and Hart were finally taking a piqued interest in Angel's son. They wanted him. They wanted to use him.

But Wesley could not abide by their plans.

Nor would Connor if they attempted something foolish like capturing the boy if Wesley wasn't able to find him.

"We have to go to every seedy bar, every demon hang out, any place that would have news of an abnormal.an extraordinary boy," he added off Angel's look, "that was able to hold his own against any sort of demon. If lucky, we'll have a lead on where he is. If not."

"What?" Angel said tiredly, looking very old and drained, "What are we going to do? He.he killed Fred. I can't.he took a human life. I don't know what to do."

"Save him," Wesley said, trying to keep the dark laugh from shadowing his encouraging, Hallmark words, "You do what you do best, save him. It isn't his fault, Angel. It never is."

Yes, it wasn't Connor to blame, was it? Oh no, it was Wesley because he tried to avert a prophecy he should have never translated. A prophecy that ruined it all.

A prophecy that made him open his eyes and see.

Shaking off his thoughts, he got into his car, not really paying attention to the quiet as Angel carefully got into the car. His eyes were dark and unreadable but his hands occasionally twitched, a reflex Wesley was sure would never leave him. Trauma from his time spent in a dark box.

Because there are some things that one can never get over.

His hand unconsciously went to the scar on his neck.

Never.

Trying to find some remaining part of rah-rah cheer inside of him, no matter how false it was, "We will find him, Angel."

Angel said nothing, looking outside into the dark night. He didn't have any idea.

They had to. It was the last piece. And then, it would all be over.

Soon.

*

The bar was cramped and noisy, but that wasn't something that Wesley could complain about. He'd been in quite a few cramped and decaying pubs and had gotten used to the stench and the.interesting clientele.

The bartender was a particularly interesting chap with several spikes running alongside his thick arms with several deep scarlet horns protruding from his mottled face.

As Wesley and Angel walked over to him, the demon growled, "Angelus.you are not welcome here."

Angel didn't even pretend to look like he cared. Eyelids half opened, he said tiredly, "We need information."

"Information," the demon growled, spit oozing over its lips, "No. No information for the vampire with a soul."

"Oh," Wesley said, feigning a self-satisfied air of great importance, "You'll find that what we have for you is worthy of much information."

A flicker of recognition as the completely black eyes trailed over Wesley's scar.

"You."

"Me." Hiding a grin, he replied, "We're terribly busy and if you'd be so kind as to offer the information.?"

The demonic bartender made an angry grumbling noise as it shook its head. Yet it was clear of the reaction of what he was feeling. Fear.

It was something Wesley could get used to.

"I.I know little of others' affairs and know nothing that would help you. Nothing."

"I highly doubt that. We are looking for a particularly interesting boy in his teen years. His name is Connor, but it's quite more likely that he goes by Stephen. And," Wesley said, knowing that Wolfram and Hart had kept the details of Angel's imprisonment to themselves; they needed to keep the threat of Angel for the more mindless demons to keep from rampaging the city, "He's also know for the murder of an associate of Angel's."

"The son!" the demon gurgled excitedly, the thought of murder bringing joy to its many eyes, "Yes, Angel's son! I.I have heard stories. He had taken out a horde of Gresks, violently, remnants of the bodies were scattered. It is said he has left, but there are other stories of him attacking demons when they feed on human prey, but it must not be so, if it was true, he would be out slaughtering all of our kind. No, he is gone, he must be so."

"But that is a lie."

"No, it isn't," the demon protested, but it was clear he was trying to keep something away from them. "That is everything."

"Say Angel," he said as loud as possible considering his damaged voice and the loud noise of the patrons, "Perhaps it would be a good idea for us to fight our way out of here. Starting with this fine demon."

Numbly, as though on autopilot, Angel vamped out, snarling as his hands went around the demon's neck.

Yes, once a monster, always a monster.

Wesley ignored the itch on his neck as he said clearly, "You have an idea of where to find Connor, now don't you? If you tell us now, perhaps you won't have to die."

"There are worse things," the demon spat, causing Angel to tighten his grip, choking him.

"Oh yes, I can promise you those things as well. It would be in your best interest to tell us."

"And I," Angel growled, voice rising, "Will make it hurt just a bit more. Where's my son?"

Wheezing, he choked out, "There are rumors.he is.the sewers. Below in the sewers. A lair.I can give you the directions."

"Oh," Wesley remarked with a dark grin, "please do."

*

"I can't do that anymore."

"Do what, Angel?"

"That.I can't.I'm not a monster."

"Good to know that you're having an existential crisis right in the middle of finding your son. Nice to see where your priorities lay."

"Dammit Wesley," Angel shouted, punching a fist against the slabs of concrete making up the grimy gray wall, "What is happening? You didn't seem to haven any problem with killing that demon if he didn't tell us where Connor is. You didn't care when I.when."

Silencing Angel by putting up his hand, he shook his head. "I've been through a lot since I was cast out of your favor. Since people I thought were my friends didn't even try to hear my side of things. I'm doing my best, Angel. It may be considered heartless or that I don't care, but believe me, I do."

"I wish I could."

"Give me time. Now, let's see.the directions. We should be there soon."

Looking at the rotten walls with slime covering the ground, Angel muttered sadly, "I don't understand why.why is he down here."

"Perhaps it reminds him of his home."

"No. He should.he should be up there," Angel said, looking up at the stoned ceiling above them, "Where he belongs."

Wesley bit back his retort. It was so funny that Angel was always allowed to make decisions for others. Buffy, he had to leave her because that's how it had to be. But there were other decisions, other choices Angel made after that, which really showed how noble Angel truly was. Wesley had once thought it was so selfless of Angel to leave her so she might have a life of her own, but now, now it was all a complete joke.

Connor would never have a normal life. He had killed Fred without a thought.

He was something else.

And Wesley had to get to him first so he could finish it.

So that he wouldn't have to feel anything ever again.

*

Black space barely lit by the dim streaks of sunlight straining to come through grated bars and tiny steel holes.

Ah, the sewers.

After two hours of endless searching, of walking through muck Wesley preferred not to think about, they had made it.

A thick, non-descript door.

This was where Connor was.

Angel, whose face had remained blank and passive through much of the trip, suddenly looked mournfully at the door.

"He shouldn't be here," he muttered again in a bleak whisper.

Deciding not to say anything, Wesley motioned for them to push open the door. It was quite solid and it felt like there was something behind it, not a lock, but something to keep things from coming in.

Well, he didn't mind entering uninvited.

Dimly lit candles flickered on turned over cardboard boxes.

There was no one there. Or, so it seemed.

Angel was unable to enter. He seemed to be dully surprised, but not quite so.

And then, as Wesley cautiously walked in, came the attack.

A violent slash of a blade he did not see.cold metal against his throat.the rising scream that could not be freed, gurgling nonsense.blood.it tasted so wrong.and he jumped to the right to avoid it. He was not fast enough; tearing sound as the blade went through his sleeve, missing his flesh by millimeters.

And a young boy, much smaller and thinner than Wesley expected, with frighteningly cold blue eyes, stood in the dim light and said in his voice, too mature for his age, "What do you want?"

He didn't even bother to acknowledge Angel.

Wheezing a breath he realized he had forgotten to take, "I worked with your father.before."

A hiss, a dangerous sound, and Connor got closer to him, pressing the sharpened blade against Wesley's throat.

Oh yes, he had been trained well.

"One of Angel's friends?"

"Your father.Holtz." He could pretend he didn't see Angel flinch. But what would be the fun in that?

Connor removed the blade, looking up at Angel. "And how did you.no.you helped him, didn't you?!!"

A fake flinch as Connor yelled at him. As though anything the little boy could say would actually harm him.

That which does not kill us.

He ignored the thought.

"You," he growled, looking at Angel.

"You may have thought it was wise to punish Angel as you saw fit, but, it was actually quite a foolish thing to do."

"Why does that matter? He deserves eternity. He killed my father!"

"Angel has killed many, that's true. He's killed innocents. Children."

"Is this how you defend him?"

Pausing for a moment, Wesley asked, "When did I say I would be defending Angel?"

"I'm your father, Connor," came Angel's soft plea, "You're my son. And I."

Sneering, "What? You're not my father. My father, you killed him."

Finally, Angel wasn't able to temper whatever he'd been trying to control. "I didn't kill him! He, he gave me that letter to me.and I left. He said that. that he would leave. I didn't kill him."

"Lies. Always lies from you."

"I would never lie to you, Connor. Never."

Trying to keep from bursting out laughing over Angel's claims of honesty, Wesley bit out, "And was Holtz an honest man?"

Connor's eyes snapped back to Wesley and he said, forcefully and full of conviction, "Yes."

Running a finger in the imitation of a knife along his scar, "This, this right here, is a mark of his.honesty. He and I had made a deal, a deal so I could save your life. I was.desperate. So, I sought out Holtz to make sure he wouldn't interfere. And at the last minute.it all went wrong. I was going to take you away, away so a prophecy wouldn't come to pass." Pausing, trying to force the memories from surfacing again, from remembering the cool slash and the hot spurt of blood, "But that isn't how it works. I failed you, didn't I? But that's not important. What is important is that if you don't come with us, you may find yourself being tortured by a group very interested in you, a human that rivals the powers of the Slayer."

"The Slayer?"

"Long story," he commented with a hidden chuckle. "Connor-"

"My name is Stephen!" And with that weak retort, Wesley realized he was simply dealing with a little child playing adult. A child that didn't know anything.

"Connor, listen carefully. You obviously are strong. You can most certainly kill me without much of a struggle. Probably attack Angel again and dump him in the ocean. Although.since Justine was the one who helped you and is now dead, perhaps that part will be a tad more difficult. You seem to have all the power in this situation, don't you," he said, voice a deadly whisper, "I have one question left. Who do you have left in this world?"

Defiant, steely glare. "I have myself. It's enough."

"It may be. But eventually, it will become tiresome. Or you may go mad. You killed someone. Someone very dear to Angel and myself. A.friend." The sour association to the word, no he couldn't think about it. Of excited conversations over math and physics and learning how to use her brain to help them. No, he couldn't think about it. He didn't care anymore. Didn't. Couldn't. "I do not know if you realized what a horrendous action that was. To take an innocent life. Many people cannot come back from that."

Willow killed someone. And now, she was insane.

"What right do you have to judge me?"

"Oh, I may not be a man fueled only be a dark revenge fantasy that spanned a couple of centuries, but I have grown over a few short months. Perhaps even longer than that. I was never tempted to kill someone just for the fun of it, though. When will you get to that point? Fred, it wouldn't have been impossible to knock her out, she wasn't a fighter. Or maybe you just enjoy killing too much. But that doesn't make sense," he added as an afterthought. Coldly smiling, "You would have killed Gunn as well if you had the taste for it."

Connor made a move to strike Wesley, but Wesley stood raising his hand in protest.

"I would ask you not to kill me.yet. We need your help. And you have to come with us."

"I will never help that.that vampire."

"Oh, but wouldn't it be simple if it was that? You should have refused to help me, how do you know that I'm not as horrible as a demon?"

Connor stared at him, the icy cold eyes trying to determine what game Wesley was playing. A futile attempt.

"You ask questions that I don't have answers for. Leave me. Before I kill you."

"Threats like that often don't work for me. Not since your father swore to kill me. But I guess he decided to give me a chance after I saved him from the ocean. It creates a bond, you know. I ask that you leave this little hole and come with us. And, after everything, if you want to kill us, you may. As painfully as possible. Do we have a deal?"

"Never. I will never join with that.thing."

Angel only stared sadly at his son, not saying a word.

Wesley dared to take a close step to Connor, whispering in a very old and assured tone, "I'm not asking for you to join forces with us, Connor. I'm asking you to come with us. What do you have left?"

And the look Connor gave him, meant to be strong and daring, peeled away all the bravado and Wesley saw the scared little boy that had been raised in hell, who was taught lessons of survival and revenge by a man unfit to be a father by any stretch of the imagination. A child that had been trained to be a monster. But he was only human.

And that was more than Connor could bear.

The boy shook his head but as Wesley turned around to leave, Connor said, "I'll come with you. For the moment. But no tricks. I don't trust you."

Not bothering to turn around again, he promised, "I have nothing hidden. Nor does Angel."

This was almost too easy.

*

Connor sat in the cluttered, but recently cleaned apartment. It was lived-in, but not filthy like the small place he had taken for a residence. Nor was it like the hotel that Angel resided in. Scowling at the vampire, sitting across from him with sad eyes that seemed to be forgiving (like a father), he snarled, "Look away, murderer."

"I didn't kill."

"Lies!" he shouted again and Angel was silent as he bowed his head.

Wesley returned with a tray filled with tea, crackers, and a bottle of whiskey. "Anything to drink?"

"No."

"You're drinking," said Angel with a questioning tone, eyeing the bottle.

"Yes," Wesley replied, a frown forming on his face as he sat down in the last available chair around the table (the other had the bag containing Connor's meager possessions sitting on it), "Is that a problem?"

"You've been drinking a lot."

Pouring a glass, "Good to know you care about my well-being. It dulls the pain. Medicine doesn't work very well anymore. Perhaps I've grown resistant to it."

He smiled as though that was very funny.

Tired of the strange man and of the vampire, he demanded, "I want to know why you wanted me here."

"Because you shouldn't be alone. Because you don't have to be out there, Con. Stephen," Angel explained.

Shaking his head, Wesley interjected, "Everybody has to be somewhere. We all play our parts. Destiny and all that rubbish. But you Connor, do you realize what you're doing? Killing off any demon that crosses you?"

"Doing this world a favor."

A laugh that was more like a cackle. Connor did not like Wesley, although he felt for a brief second that he was like his father, they had the same steady and calculating emotion in their voices, with the same quiet strength. And Wesley said he had worked for Holtz.

He tried to ignore that Wesley had told him that Holtz had tried to kill Wesley. Because that wasn't possible. And if it was, it was because Wesley was working with the vampire.

He deserved it. He must have.

"A favor.no, that's not what this world needs. A sacrifice, it'll take that for certain, right Angel?"

Angel only stared at nothing, making no comment.

"Well.it's a long story, as I said, but I think you've already learned about Wolfram and Hart. I've recently procured some information that they're looking for you. The son of two vampires, an impossible heritage, it's more than they could want. More than they could dream of. And I'm sure that they think they'll be able to capture Angel if they get you."

"Why should I care?"

"Because," Angel finally spoke, "If that happens, the world will end. Everyone would die."

Remembering the first friend he had made in this terrible world, Connor quietly remarked, "Everyone dies anyway."

"True," Wesley said, a look in his eyes that was almost exactly like Holtz's, "Very true. But that's not the point. You said that you were doing this world a favor.perhaps that truth is, is that you have a purpose in this world. To protect it."

Angel suddenly looked very angry and spoke roughly, "No, he's too young. He isn't going to spend his life fighting."

Sipping his poured glass of alcohol, Wesley said firmly, "Angel, we can't avoid this. Your son, he's powerful, isn't he?" Turning to Connor, "You feel restless sometimes, you dream of fighting, of battles, don't you?"

Failing to hide his surprise, "Y.yes."

"In this world, a being is born to protect it. She alone will fight the darkness, the monsters. She is the Slayer."

Angel, the one who Connor would never accept as his father, clenched his jaw, anger burning in his eyes. He saw the glint of amber appear in Angel's eyes for a moment, before it went away.

"And she fights well. But you are like her. A supernatural being. You killed a person very dear to me, put another in the hospital. I nearly died to protect you, but only ended up handing you to Holtz. I'll say we're even. And now, it's time for you to make a sacrifice."

"I won't."

"You will."

And he took Connor's hand, which had been idly holding his teacup, and placed it over Angel's hand.

The coldness didn't even shock Connor. It felt.familiar.

"This is your father. Holtz, who raised you, perhaps he loved you as a son, or perhaps he used you as he used everyone he met after Angelus killed his hope and his reason for living, was not your father. And I.I'm your Watcher. It's my job to train you, to help you, to guide you. I raised Angel from the eternal grave you sent him to, I betrayed Angel when I kidnapped you. And now, it's time to forget the past. You have a destiny, Connor. And it's time to accept it."

Looking straight into Connor's eyes, his icy blue glare dark and unreadable, "You are not a monster. You are a human. And Angel is not your enemy."

And all the stories Holtz told him about all the horrors Angel inflicted on humanity, they didn't fade, but he let go the rage and the hatred. And underneath it, he realized what he truly felt was resentment. That he wasn't good because Angel was his father, so he had to be a monster. He remembered killing Fred and for one moment, feeling so sick and horrified that he wished that he could die with her because he was killing an innocent and he had no right to do such a thing. He was no monster.

Holtz, his father, had lied to him his entire life.

The words came to him, in different voices and he could not stop himself from hearing it in his mind.

This is your father.

Like father, like son.

I am not a monster!

I always knew you were just like him.

Please, Connor! Stephen! No!!!

Blinking away the burning wetness forming in his eyes, he shook his head, "I. I.can't."

As he walked out, he heard Wesley one more time, "Give him time, Angel, he'll be back."

And Connor was not foolish enough to lie to himself that that wasn't true.

He would be back.

*

"What the hell are you doing?"

Angel's sharp and angry tone caused Wesley to pause as he put away the liquor bottle.

"You've changed."

A hollow, empty sort of chuckle, deep in his throat. "Yes, and pray tell, when do you think the miraculous epiphany occurred?"

Dangerous look in his eyes and Wesley was sure that one little push, one carefully chosen word and Angel would kill him. And for a moment, Wesley felt something like peace, only much more empty.

But the moment passed all too soon.

"Since the last time I saw you. Before."

"Nearly dying tends to do that to a man. Isn't that what they say about near-death experiences?" He titled his head slightly, not listening to anything. "But yes, I've changed. I've learned to survive on my own. And I don't work for you anymore. I took care of you, I helped you, I disposed of a body, but that's the end of my allegiance to you. I'm going to help your son."

"He killed Fred."

"Yes, he did. And how many innocent people have you killed? We've all done terrible things. It'll take time."

And in an instant, he was within an inch of Wesley; rage boiling just under his surface, "I want my son to have a normal life."

"Your son is not an ordinary child. He won't go to college or get married or have kids. I'm sorry, but that's not Connor's future."

Angel roared at that and went to hit Wesley, but in his blind rage, missed him. Wesley moved away, watching him tear, destroy, scream. As Angel slowly gave up, as the rage simmered away, Wesley watched as Angel gave up the dreams he had for his child in slow, bitter, aching seconds.

Slam.

Gone was Connor finishing at the head of his class, waving his diploma high in the air, the lights from cameras flashing, taking in his young, hopeful face.

Crash.

The woman he would marry and live with in the sun until he grew old and gray, she never appeared to listen to his stories of a strange, supernatural world, believing every word he spoke.

BAM.

The children, Angel's grandchildren, fluttered away like ghosts that never existed.

THUD.

Connor turning to his father and saying the word "Dad," and meaning it in its purest, basest form, seeing his father standing in the sunlight, the dream, the hope, the lingering thread that connected Angel to his path, that gave him a reason when all others had failed, it too broke away and faded into ash that was unloved, unwanted, unknown.

And Angel fell to the ground, bloodied hands covering his face, and it was all over.

"I have to do this, Angel. This is my purpose now."

Shaking his head, moving his hands to reveal emotionless, dead eyes, Angel weakly said, "You've changed, Wesley."

That, Wesley thought, handing Angel a towel to wipe away the blood, would be too easy. No, he had always been like this. It had just taken time for it to blossom, for it to die.

"I survived. I've learned how to make the best out of being a nobody."

"I don't think I can trust you, Wesley. I think you're lying. How did you know Wolfram and Hart were after my s.were after Connor?"

Surveying the destruction, Wesley replied, "The company I'm doing freelancing for. Besides, it was obvious. They're obsessed about you."

A mere glance from Angel and Wesley realized he made a deadly mistake. Too confident, too knowing, dammit, this was going to make a mess.

Frowning a bit, he said in the hushed tones of someone confiding something, "After we.parted ways, I was approached by Lilah. She offered me a deal. I refused. But she mentioned Connor, that they wanted him; that they'd get him. They knew. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.I.I didn't want you to think that I would."

"It's fine," Angel suddenly said, tone shifting instantly, looking behind Wesley, eyes focused on something, no, someone else.

Staying fixed to his spot, Wesley dryly said, "Now should I say hello to Connor, or should you?"

*

The call came at a ruined pay phone, the glass panes broken and shattered. He waited for several long moments, filling in more quarters, worried that there wouldn't be an answer.

And then he heard a tired, but polite, "Hello?"

"Buffy?"

"A."she swallowed and continued, the surprise clear in her voice, "Angel?"

"Hi.I.I needed to talk to you."

"What.is something wrong? I.I was about to go out.patrol."

"No." Collecting his thoughts, "Maybe. I don't know," he confessed. "We found Connor."

"Your son? Yeah. I mean, that's great.is he.I.I really don't know what to say."

"I need to.I need to talk to you. Listen, it's about Wesley. He.he's changed. I think, I don't know, I think something's wrong."

"I don't think I can help." Her voice had become shut off and distant, even for the poor telephone connection, Angel could hear her breaths becoming sharp and clear, like she was preparing to leave, "I.I mean, God, Angel, do you know all the work Wesley went through to rescue you?"

He heard the unspoken everything I went through but didn't comment on it.

"I know, I know." Scanning his eyes around the dark street, making sure that he hadn't been followed, he said in a clear but low voice, "It's just that he mentioned this.lawyer.that she had approached him. I.I think something.damn, I don't know. I don't trust Wesley anymore. He's changed. Connor listened to him, listened to Wesley talk about Holtz, and Wesley just stood there with cool eyes while I held her and."

"Angel," she cut in, real panic in her voice, "Are you okay? Do you need me to go to L.A.?"

Trying to form a coherent sentence that tied in all the little facts.Wesley drinking, the stink of perfume and woman on him as he returned, long showers like he had been in filth for a long time, books he opened to read, and pages ripped out, constantly leaving for his consultant work, or was it freelancing, now? An empty voice, "you killed her."

"He said that Lilah confronted him."

"Lilah?" she asked, confused, "His girlfriend?"

And then, all the pieces fit perfectly together and Angel felt physically ill.

"You've met her?"

"Kinda. She told me good luck, it was strange, I.I really didn't get a chance to talk to her."

He choked out, "She works for Wolfram and Hart. Hell, she is Wolfram and Hart. It's her business to make my life a living hell."

A pause. "Maybe I'm wrong then, maybe."

Without allowing his thoughts to be filtered, he spoke, slowly fitting the details, "You used a spell to find me, to rescue me. Wesley was always good with books, but he'd have to have access to resources like the libraries of the Watcher's Council. And I doubt that they'd allow him to look through their books for ways to save a vampire. Where did you see Lilah?"

"At his apartment.but-"

"I killed someone, when, before we.I was out of my mind. I.I thought it was a dream. But Wesley showed up and took the body away, as though it didn't matter. Now, Wolfram and Hart would be able to dispose of a body."

He needed blood.

And Wesley and Buffy had fought outside the bedroom door, as she offered her blood to Angel, once again. But this time, Wesley refused.

Because he had a better plan.

Swallowing harshly, trying to ignore the memory of the young woman's blood coursing down his throat, the taste more delicious than he remembered, he said, "I need you here. Now. Met me at the Hyperion. When can you be here?"

"Soon," she said, as though it was a promise that couldn't be broken, "Soon."

And Angel hung up, without saying goodbye, thinking of his son, sitting in the apartment, listening to Wesley lecture him on being a protector of the world. Thinking of Wesley fucking Lilah in there, telling her that he had it all planned out, that he'd be able to bring her Connor and Angel without them even realizing it, until it was too late.

And then he thought of Buffy agreeing to help Wesley, not knowing that he was a part of the darkness she had sworn to fight.

He walked down the road, trying to keep all the horrible truths from returning to the one he feared the most.

He dreamt of killing her, his Buffy, and loving it.

His son finally pushing down the stake over his dead heart, but he didn't burst into ash, instead, he snarled and snapped the neck, eyes so blue and unlike his own, they would stare at him, dead, forever.

And Wesley now appeared, a new addition, a grin as vicious as the angry red slash around his throat.

And Angel did not know that elsewhere Wesley sipped his tea as Connor gloomily stared outside, telling Wesley about the time he had gotten lost in the wilderness of the hell dimension.

Elsewhere, Wesley could count the moments when it would all be over on one hand. And his version of peace, a frozen cold, was deeply seated in his stomach and he was content for the moment.

It would all be over soon.

^^^**&**^^^
Part Six: Into my Grave
^^^**&**^^^

After a surprisingly short bus ride (or maybe it was that she spent so much time thinking that time has passed her by without her even realizing it), Buffy stood in front of the doors of the Hyperion Hotel.

The hotel had gotten dusty, but that didn't seem to faze Angel. He was standing in front of the counter, aimlessly sorting through papers. Biting her bottom lip, she hesitated at the doors.

If I just turn around, he won't even notice that I came. I could just turn around.

She pushed open the doors.

He was still thinner that he was supposed to be, than he had been when she had first seen him after she returned from the dead. His dark clothes hung loosely on him and he moved with a nervous energy she hadn't seen on Angel since.well.ever.

"Hey."

He moved quickly, body coiled in surprise. "Buffy. Hi."

"So." she trailed off, dropping her quickly packed bag on the counter, watching the dust fly up and fall down again with a detached look on her face, "Something's up. You want to really fill me in now?"

Shuffle of his papers and a clipped tone. "Wesley's working for them."

"Wolfram and Hart. Big Bad. I got that."

"This isn't a joke, Buffy," he snapped, letting go of the papers he was holding, falling carelessly to the ground, "Do you have any idea of what he did? Of the powers he invoked in bringing me back? You said it was a lot of magic."

"It would have to be," she choked out, memories of the spell forcing to the forefront of her mind (death.despair.I belong here.), unbidden, "I mean, Angel, we had to.I had to.I wasn't going to."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and for a moment she wanted to push it away, to tell him to take his fucking hands off of her, but she didn't say anything.

And if she closed her eyes, maybe she could pretend that he was about to take her into an embrace and tell her it was going to be okay. That everything was going to be alright.

Her eyes stayed open.

"What I meant," he explained, "was that this whole time, he's been working for them. I.I didn't realize it until tonight. He was able to get Connor to trust him, in the same kind of voice.full of promises, really just lies, like one of them. Those lawyers."

He made an angry face, lips pressing together into a firm line. Yet when she looked into his eyes.well, she didn't like what was there. He continued, eyes blazing with some other reason, some kind of madness, while his voice was too calm, too precise, "Sure of his words, even though they were lies. He lied to us."

"Us?" She shouted, stepping away, "You, you Angel! Wesley, he listened to me, he helped me even when he didn't have to."

"And what did he do?"

"He saved Willow." Off his blank look, she snapped, "Willow nearly destroyed the world. Wesley gave me a binding spell, it managed to keep her from destroying herself completely."

"And he did it out of the goodness of his heart."

"He wasn't going to," she mused, voice soft and not really speaking to Angel, "He refused to help me at first. But he did. Without anything to gain from it."

"But your trust."

She faced him. "No. He wouldn't."

"Betray you? Just like he wouldn't take my son."

"There was a prophecy," she muttered feebly, already feeling so tired, so strained, "He thought he was doing the right thing."

"It doesn't matter now," and Angel moved away from her, eyes flashing, "I have to stop him, to keep him from taking my son."

"You think he's going to do that?"

"I think.that Wesley will do anything now. I don't trust him."

"Even though he rescued you. Even though I worked with him."

"Especially because of that. Why, Buffy, why?"

And she tried to pretend a tear wasn't trailing down her face as she shouted, "Maybe because we didn't want you to be stuck at the bottom of the ocean! Maybe.maybe because that's what we do, we save you. I run to L.A. when you ask me to, I leave L.A. when you don't want me there because you can't stand me, maybe it's because I still fucking love you, but it's a classic, pathetic joke that keeps on being told because it's one that never gets tired, even though I can't stand loving you! And I don't care, I don't care if Wesley's the Big Bad because I had to seal Willow's windows so she wouldn't jump out and I have to lock her doors and keep away any metal objects since she realized Tara's dead and wants to die because it hurts too much! I don't fucking care anymore. I'm tired, Angel, I'm just tired and I'm going to go back home because I can't do anything to help you with your new obsession, go take your son, go move somewhere else, but don't you fucking call me again, telling me what to do because I can't help you anymore. I don't." And here, she broke down, sobbing, yet still standing up, "I can't love you anymore. It's over. It's fucking over. I give up."

Grabbing her bag, she turned around, leaving too fast for Angel to react, to stop her.

He stood there, in his abandoned, empty lobby, and felt the very last thing he had keep secretly buried in his heart die, like all his other hopes he wasn't supposed to want.

And then he selected several weapons from his extensive collection and went on his way.

*

A loud knock on the door and Wesley walked over, opening it. A set of hazel eyes, distracted, stared back at him.

"Buffy." he trailed off, unable to suppress the worry he suddenly felt, "I'm surprised.you're back."

"Yeah, I am." Her voice was clipped and urgent. Not quite like her. "And I have some questions and you have to answer them. Now. I'm leaving soon."

Forcing a smile even though he felt his stomach anxiously lurch, "Please, do come in."

She walked in, a forced air of pleasantry as she said, "Hello, Connor."

The boy was sitting by the window, reading one of Wesley's texts written in Latin. Holtz had taught him well. Staring at Buffy, he said, unsure of himself, "H.Hello. And you're.?"

"Buffy Summers. But I really don't have the time. So," she said, casting her eyes at Wesley, " Your girlfriend Lilah works for Wolfram and Hart?"

She stared at Wesley's face, eyes challenging him to dare her.

To lie to her.

"Yes." and in that moment he found himself slammed against the wall, Buffy gripping his collar tightly, cutting off his air.

Squeezing her grip tighter, she said in her most controlled, most I'm-a- fucking-bad-ass-Slayer-don't-fuck-with-me voice, "So, Angel was right about that. Now. Are you working for them?"

"No." A bout of dizziness as she slammed his head against the wall, seeing shapes and colors impossible to see save for the man with a concussion. Talking through the haze of pain, "I swear, Buffy, I'm not."

"Angel thinks so. You're dating someone who works for them.hmm, that's all a little suspicious, isn't it?"

"I had told you it was a long story, what I did, I was trying to find a way, a way to find Angel. I found it."

"Please, Wesley," she asked, a slight break in her voice, letting go of him, "Please, just tell me the truth."

"The truth is," he began, a sudden feeling, want, in him to reveal everything, "it's that I am not working for them. And I never would."

"Angel said that you disposed of a woman, that he killed." Swallowing, she didn't finish that statement.

"She-" he began, with a resigned air, casting his eyes downward for a moment, attempting not to recall just how much Evelynn Westminster had reminded him of Fred, "she was a spy, working for Wolfram and Hart.I didn't realize it, until. afterwards.after she had helped me gather the texts on rescuing Angel. When I finally did.I told her to go to my apartment.she was working for the same company that I was doing that extra work for, I was going to try to pry out anything she had found, perhaps information on Connor.but she arrived too early. Wolfram and Hart take care of their own.I confess I was involved in helping her into the hearse.I cannot talk about this. I.I haven't joined them at all. When I realized what had happened.I called Lilah."

A shred of truth in a sea of lies.

Lies spilled from his mouth too easy, nowadays.

Taking a seat, noticing that Connor had been absorbing every one of his words. such a curious child.he finished with, "Lilah had been seeing me after.well,

after I got out of the hospital. She has a fondness for humiliation and she found my pathetic tale to be the most amusing one she's heard in a long time. So.it turned into something else."

Buffy's demeanor changed for a moment, face looking almost sympathetic, but it soon returned to her neutral cold stance.

"Then tell me this, what are you doing, Wesley?"

She didn't even have to look at Connor to make Wesley understand what she was talking about.

"Connor has been granted a gift, Buffy. He's as powerful as you are. I was raised a Watcher, you know that, and I'm not going to let him waste his life. I'm not going to let him murder innocent people. That's not his place. Nor our place, is it?" Pausing, he said more clearly, "I'm not going to do anything. And I would never work for Wolfram and Hart."

"But." she began, at a loss for words, "why can't you explain this Angel?"

"Because I betrayed his trust once and I can never be his friend or ally again. And that is why he called you, he called you, didn't he?" She nodded and he continued, "I should have never brought you into this."

"I was the one who asked. You couldn't stop me."

No, he thought with an inner smile, he could have. He could have stopped them all.

But he wasn't going to do that now.

It was too late.

"You have to go," she said, voice betraying not a single emotion, "Angel's coming."

"I know a place where it's safe," he replied, motioning to Connor to follow him, "for the time being at least. We haven't a moment to spare."

*

The oracle is neither a child, nor an adult, neither an elder, nor a prophet. She (or he, depending the form taken) is merely a being that sees order and arranges events to fall into those arrangements.

Sometimes, there are obstacles, but mostly, there is chaos.

The oracle does not like chaos. She has been in the white room since the firm existed, in a place where time or space cannot touch her. She moves within her own universe, in the center, on the outskirts, seeing and working, making sure that their order is in place.

The oracle is neither a singular or plural being, yet she is both as well.

She follows the trail of events happening the exact moment it happens, seeing how it bends and warps the future, where the events fuzz into that gray chaos she loathes so, where she could manipulate it into becoming correct, into order.

And she giggles when humans and demons alike, shed blood in violence and anger.

That is like a cherry on top of perfect ordered existence, for her.

But the vampire and the Slayer, they annoy her. Usually, she could see past them, to their ends: her own, quiet and futile, giving up after too many battles drained her spirit and finally, she closes her eyes and never opens them again; his, impassioned and wild, mind gone, broken words on his lips, remembering the people he had lost, the lives he had destroyed, the world he had damned just by trying to save.

How she loves that vampire's pain.

Now, she sees nothing.

Turning over to the path of Wesley, her new favorite human, she's surprised to be blocked there as well. There is order there, but she could not breach it, could not luxuriate in its bleak perfection as she always does.

Frowning once, causing her face to take its true form (but that form had never been seen by any living or unliving being for it to be remembered, for it be described), she calls the Senior Partners to inform them that something has gone wrong.

Pouting much like a little girl would, she patiently sits on a stool, clutching the teddy with the razor teeth in its mouth, waiting for them to arrive so she could tell them the bad news.

Someone has done a very, very naughty thing. And it's time for a punishment.

*

Connor wasn't really what Buffy expected. At all. He was thinner, more compact, built for a life spent on the run.or out on the streets. His light brown hair was raggedly cut and his eyes were a shocking blue.

He caught her looking in the mirror and he frowned a bit, reminding her of Angel. It was strange, but Connor didn't seem much like Angel at all, physically.

Darla's.she realized, they were Darla's eyes.

Blinking, she realized the features, built soft and gentle, yet still having a sharp angle to them, were almost exactly like Darla's.

It was easier to pretend that Connor was the son of one of her enemies, instead of Angel's son. But it was also impossible.

She couldn't stop herself from thinking Angel's son every time she thought of him.

And perhaps Connor truly was the enemy.

He hadn't said much since Wesley convinced them that he knew a place where they could really talk, where "prying ears won't listen," as he intoned in a regretful voice.

They were still driving around the city; it was nearly 3 am, without asking him to tell them where they were going.

But she had left with him. He (who Angel claimed was working directly with Wolfram and Hart) could possibly be taking them to be set up, but she didn't care at all about that.

She could take care of herself.

It was everyone else that she failed.

She idly wondered why she had agreed to come. After all, she had gone into the apartment with the full intention of beating the shit out of Wesley. He had lied to her and she was fucking tired of lies.

But not enough that she wouldn't stop lying to herself.

So, she was in a car with a teenager that had killed an innocent woman and had devised a horrific torture for Angel, and a man that had dumped off the body of a woman (who, as he claimed, was supposedly a spy) and was sleeping with an evil lawyer (and yeah, she got the irony), yet she felt completely safe. They weren't going to hurt her; they weren't going to break her.

They were harmless.

They weren't her friends. And it was sick to think like that, to realize that she had more faith in strangers than her own friends and family. It was true and she didn't deny it.

Yet she kept a wary eye on Wesley. He was hiding something.

They finally reached the destination, the docks. Hurriedly getting out of the car, Wesley gestured for them to do the same. Unbuckling, Buffy cast her look at Connor in the rearview mirror.

Such cold eyes.

Ignoring the momentary shudder, she got out, hearing the heavy door shut against the car.

"We can talk freely here," Wesley said, his voice low. "They don't trust me, not one bit, of course, I haven't really given them anything, but it'll be safe.it'll be safe, at least."

Frowning, Buffy asked, angrier than she intended or actually felt, "What the hell is going on?"

"I knew this would happen," Wesley said in a stronger, more confident tone, as though he couldn't care to put on his weak and troubled disposition, "You see, I had a rather brilliant plan, but it won't work now. But then, it was for myself, I didn't realize that I would.ah, form attachments."

Biting her lip, Buffy shook her head. "Bullshit, Wesley. You don't have to keep things from me. Tell me the truth, whatever it is. I won't judge you," she added softly.

And how could she? She woke up every night in the middle of the same dream, remembering fingernails tearing open dank earth and breathing in the decay that was her own stench. She watched Willow, wasting away, refusing to eat. In her more lucid moments, Willow would threaten to kill herself. Xander, he was barely able to speak to Buffy without his red-rimmed eyes challenging her, asking why she hadn't stopped it. And Giles, Giles hadn't berated her at all and it made her feel just so much worse.

He didn't care enough to tell her that he was going to stay. He didn't even tell her that he was going to leave. But she knew it anyway.

Everything falls apart. Nothing lasts.

That was her life.

Everything had shattered; she lost the meaning of living a very long time ago, but she promised her sister that it would be okay.

She was too fond of lying.

Wesley had ripped open something inside of her when they rescued Angel and she wouldn't forgive him. She had seen it all, the pain and chaos, the madness, and not just when Angel was stranded in that box.

The time last year, before her mother's funeral, when he was broken and went insane, trying to fight a war he couldn't win.

And she saw him tearing off Darla's clothes, screaming that he didn't want to feel the cold anymore.

She remembered things she had never known, things that didn't belong to her.

The price of a spell.

But she would never tell anyone.

It was hers to keep. To remember.

She would never forgive him.

And she didn't know if she meant Angel or Wesley.

For Angel, it wasn't that he had slept with Darla; it was something else.a despair, a sadness, that he wasn't able to reach out to her, to speak with her. Selfish, really, yet that was the real moment when it had ended.

He couldn't reach out to her because he never wanted her to know how he felt and that, that was what hurt most of all.

He didn't trust her.

And Wesley had willingly performed the spell and let her see the truth, let her see what she had blinded herself to and she was just. so. angry.

He had betrayed her.

And yes, she wouldn't judge him, wouldn't tell him. That wasn't her job. It wasn't important.

What was supposed to be important to her wasn't.

And what was.well.she didn't know if anything really was important.

And yet she stayed, listening.

*

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and said, "I had a plan to make sure that Wolfram and Hart would be destroyed. But I'm afraid that things have gone. awry."

"You work for those people," Connor said, voice hardened. "I've seen them, talking to demons, I do not like them. They are worse than any demon I have killed."

"That they are," he agreed, momentarily lost in a memory, "And they.they wanted me to work with them. I.I'm not. But I am."

"You," she said, voice working, but her mind obviously not wanting to catch up with it, not wanting to see the lie, even though she had it staring in front of her all along, "you are."

"Yes."

The silence stretched on until Wesley spoke again.

"Perhaps I should explain this part out.without interruption. I.I don't think it'll make much sense. It's almost over.and I think I've made a bit of an error." Closing the gap he had made by standing in front of Connor and Buffy, voice dropping lower, into a slightly broken whisper, "I was so sure that it was everyone else's fault. That I had done the right thing. But eventually, eventually, I realized.it wasn't quite true. So.I had to accept.I have done you a disservice, Connor. But I have also done you right. You didn't have to grow up with a father that couldn't go out in light. And, I ruined your life by inadvertently sending you to a hell dimension. But that was never my intent. I never wanted it. I never wanted to believe that Angel would kill his own child, but I couldn't stop myself from being afraid of it. By being weak, I didn't tell anyone.there wasn't anyone who would listen. And then, Justine slit my throat and I should have died, but I didn't. Angel nearly killed me. I was all alone."

Eyes closing, making the dark circles of sleepless nights more apparent, "I was offered to join Wolfram and Hart. I.I called them. Because I didn't care anymore. So what if I was exiled.who had the right to tell me what I had left? But I am not a part of them. Nor could I ever be."

"Then why are you working for them? Why.why everything, Wesley? None of this makes any sense."

Her disappointment in her voice spoke more than the weak words she used.

Wesley finally decided it was time. And he needed to tell them. It was.time.

"I sold them my soul. I'm damned, you see. But it doesn't matter. In a few hours, it won't matter at all. All I need is the sun to rise. And for the squad to arrive. We've been followed for a bit, but then, you must know that."

Not even bothering to turn her head, she replied, "I was hoping not."

"Hope is a foolish thing."

Shrug. "I'm not exactly a genius."

"Nonsense, Buffy. How long have you expected?"

"Not long," she answered, completely realizing the change in topic back towards what Wesley was doing, "And, for a long time. It was more.I didn't want to believe."

"Ah.that's the hardest way to be forced into believing. It's often the way life goes, apparently. I don't really care. When they come, how many can you handle?"

"Enough."

Connor, who had remained silent, unstrapped a lean knife under his clothes and said coldly, "I will fight as well."

A dry look and Wesley commented, "No killing."

"Why?" Connor's sulky look was quite stunningly similar to Angel's that it momentarily unnerved Wesley.

"It'll ruin everything."

Turning back to Buffy, "Are you prepared as well?"

"I didn't realize I had a choice."

Already she was in position, ready to attack any that dared to go after her.

She already made her decision.

She had made it a long time ago.

"We always have choices," he said, watching the armored vans stop in place, the personal soldiers of Wolfram and Hart coming out, "Yet we tend to make them before it's asked of us."

They were hopelessly out-matched, even for a Slayer, as the soldiers had tasers, but decided to hold them off for a bit.

Unable to see what Connor and Buffy were up to, but hearing plenty of sounds, solid kicks and punches met, thuds of bodies, he was sure they were doing fine.

Unfortunately, he simply wasn't. Arm grabbed when he made a weak punch, he felt the dry crack but didn't scream. Just a sprain at the most, not real pain, but it.oh god, it fucking hurt.

Forcing his body into one of the black clothed thugs, he found himself sitting on top of an unconscious soldier. Well. That was a bit better.

And then the light shot through his body and there was a pang of momentary darkness.

But not enough.

Wanting to scream or to protest, he didn't, instead he listened.

It was quiet.

Connor and Buffy had stopped fighting.

Opening an eye, he saw the two of them, battle weary, but in good condition. Several soldiers were scattered around Connor, most likely dead despite Wesley's request. He had his arms shackled together in front of him and didn't look too happy.

Buffy, on the other hand was patiently waiting, eyes seemingly giving away nothing, but Wesley understood it all in a moment's time.

Understand the plan.

Sore, bruised and bloody, Wesley entered the van without another sound, watching Connor and Buffy slowly make it to the van as well.

And Buffy politely accepted the handcuffs, magically enforced, by the broken-nosed soldier, keeping herself from smiling at the angry man.

It really was amusing to think that these soldiers thought they had actually won.

*

Lilah's hard clacking of her heels on the tiled floor annoyed Wesley, but he didn't comment on it.

"And what the fuck do you think you're trying to do? Outsmarting us? You actually think we didn't have your apartment tapped?"

"Of course, I knew that Lilah," he managed to work around a bloody mouth, having had a nasty fall when he was throw into the glass-walled prison. At least he hadn't lost any teeth. "Next question. Would it be a tad rude to ask for lawyer?"

She glared at him, icy venom without that resigned cold lust he had become accustomed to seeing in her eyes.

"We have Connor," she hissed in a barely controlled voice, trying to go for pride, but failing in showing her anger, "We have *the* Slayer. The other one, Faith, is in prison and she's going to stay that way. You've actually given us a lot of ammunition on our side. Too bad you tried to double-cross us."

"Such clich,s" he softly tutted, dead copper tang of blood still on his tongue, "ammunition? Double-cross? Let's try to be original here, Lilah dear-"

"Don't," she snapped, stopping her pacing, low warning in her voice, "ever call me that again."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He had successfully mastered a grin without smiling on his face, so he continued on, in a casual, conversational tone, "I'm sure that killing Connor would piss off Angel a great deal. Adding Buffy as well? It'll do wonders, I'm sure."

"Our oracle saw you trying this even before you did, you know. Did you think you'd be able to trick her?" Lilah began, moving closer to Wesley, voice dropping. "You, pathetic, down on his luck, former bumbling Watcher, rejected bumbling employee of Angel.you tried to actually take us on. You, the one person that can fuck up everything except for a decent fuck, thought you'd be able to do that. It's a real riot. Well.you lose."

He looked at her dispassionately, wondering if that was it.

Swallowing back blood so he could give his answer, "I wasn't playing to win. I don't really care for games, but that's all you were. A distraction. A cheap fuck. An easy.lie. Who do you think I was thinking about when I was fucking you? The next question is: does it matter?"

"You were there," she hissed, "There trying to forget your precious non-girlfriend. Trying to forget all the friends you didn't have. I wasn't there. Face it, Wes, you're good in bed, but that's it."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She didn't grin or react at all. Instead, she turned away from him. "You really thought you could destroy Wolfram and Hart. We've been around longer. far longer than the Watcher's Council. And.we're going to win. You just helped us catch a nasty little Slayer that would have been a problem in the future and someone that'll be fun to chop and dissect. As for Angel."

Wesley knew exactly what the plans were for Angel.

"He's after me."

"Yeah. I love it." She turned, grinning terribly, "Do you think we would be the ones that'll kill you? No, that would be too easy. Too much a noble death for you. We're going to let Angel finish you off. And.you can tell him about his precious son and his little Juliet, the Slayer, but I think he'll just make the pain last longer. Mmm.maybe you should tell him. You don't get to be the martyr. You don't get anything you want. You lost, Wes."

She planted a kiss against the glass, giving him a triumphant smile.

It was terrible. But it didn't faze him.

Dignified, or at least as much as he could be after being beaten up, bloodied and bruised, he replied, "That's where you're wrong."

Cocking an eyebrow, "Is this the time to tell me how you have a brilliant plan and what is it.`you'll never get away with it?' Face it, you fucked up. That shouldn't be a big shock to you. When have you done something right?"

He met her look with a solemn glare, not telling at all.

"Perhaps I should speak to that lawyer now."

Infuriated, eyes cold, the anger she never was able to hide very well shattering her cruel mask-like perfect face, she stomped off, unable to say anything.

Unable to enjoy her small victory.

Which she had no idea was merely fleeting.

"Oh dear Lilah," he sighed, softly, unable to hide a small, secret grin, "what a dim-witted dragon you can be."

*

He was hunting.

After finding Wesley's apartment vacant (and he was not surprised by that at all), he tore through the rooms, searching, looking for any hints.

Wesley's car was missing as well.

And he no idea where he went.

He took Connor.

And.the other scent in the apartment.

Buffy.

Did he take her as well? Back to Wolfram and Hart? He didn't know.

Couldn't risk going there yet.they had to have prepared a trap.ready to capture him.

Too easy.

Wesley wouldn't go there.

He couldn't.

So.he had driven around the city, not aimless, but still without a clear plan. He could find an informant. Find someone. Anyone.

He had to.

And the sun was soon rising, the smell warning him and he didn't care. He could still walk in the sewers, could still continue on his hunt.

And eventually catch his prey.

*

They had been locked up in the cold gray room for quite some time. It was already daybreak.

No one had come to see them yet since they were tossed in without a single word or threat.

"This is such a joke," the blonde woman muttered under her breath. Buffy. She didn't seem too old physically, yet the detached tone in her voice, the cold steadiness as she had fought against those men, those were the make of a warrior. A highly skilled, very old warrior.

And she was something to Angel. An ally.

She hadn't talked to him since they'd been thrown together into the room. She had looked for ways of escape, and finding none, she decided to quietly sit directly across from the doorway. The door was solid and heavy, they had forced their weight against it to no avail. And it was locked from the outside, no knob that the house doors in this dimensions usually possessed. Just a dark door.

"What have they done with Wesley?"

A question he was sure was answered already.

Wesley was dead.

Not answering him, she replied casually, "Why'd you try to kill your father?"

"I didn't-" but that wasn't what she was asking. Why did he try to kill him. Angel. "He killed my father."

"Obviously somebody told you the wrong story. It happens."

"My father," he repeated, "was murdered."

And although the past day he had been told differently, he still wanted to believe in it, even if it was a lie; his conviction in it wasn't able to dissipate. Because then.he'd have to face something else.

Something he couldn't fight and destroy.

"I lost my mom," she said, not really listening to his protests, "She was supposed to be better. And I found her.the body. I couldn't save her. Couldn't.do.anything. When she passed away, Angel went to my funeral. Told me that life went on. I think I bought it.for a moment. And then I killed myself.for my sister's sake.for the world. But partly because.it was easier."

Wryly turning her eyes over to Connor, she commented, "Believe what you want. But whatever you're going to do, that's what's real. You killed someone. A human. Wesley led a woman to her death. He may have just handed us over in an act to get his bosses' approval. The people you trust can sometimes stab you in the back. The person you love can forget you and leave you to fucking die. That's what happens. If you're going to be the president of the "We Hate Angel" club, then don't make up an excuse to feel better. Whatever he's done to you, he's done worse to others. And whatever happened to Wesley, it doesn't. Fucking. Matter. Right now, we have to get out of here before we're cut and dissected, got it?"

Blinking and he wondered just who this person really was as he asked of his cellmate, "Is all of that true?"

A small, ghost-like grin as she quipped, "Of course not. But I think it's time for us to leave. Don't what them to think that we're becoming permanent tenants, right?"

Not really understanding, he agreed somewhat slowly, "R-right."

"Goody. Now.we can finally open the door." And, although they had been searched for weapons, she proceeded to pull out a very fine needle and walk steadily over to the door.

"You know how to use that to open the door?"

Flashing him a bright smile, she said softly, "No idea. But they don't know that.yet."

And the door opened, three stern guards, all demons, standing outside, holding stun guns.a useful device Connor had found but had also become wary of.

"We shall take that.Slayer.your tricks cannot."

But before he finished that threat, Buffy had managed to fake him out by pretending to hand over the key just as a sharp snap kick sent him flying backwards into the other two.

Not wasting a moment, Connor jumped into the fray. No time to waste, as soon as the guards were down, he felt himself being grabbed, tugged into a direction, and running down a long white corridor, aimlessly until they found a flight of stairs.

"Do you have any idea where you're going?"

"None," she gasped, winded from the adrenaline-laden fight and the run, "I'm hoping on beginner's luck, Murphy's law, or any theory about us suddenly finding a way out without any trouble."

Just at that moment, they found a clearly marked "Lobby floor" handing over one of the doors in the stairway and opened it without a moment to spare for that thought of relief came the trouble.

A female lawyer, icy calm in demeanor, smirked at the two as she stood directly in front of them, too far away to be attacked.

Standing behind her was a well-equipped, small army of nearly two-dozen armed soldiers.

Guns pointing to the both of them.

"Did you really think it would be that easy," she easily chided, glee evident in her tone. "Buffy? Did you think we'd just let you two walk out of here without a fight?"

"Oh, I don't know, Lilah," drawled Buffy, trying to make it like she always ended up in these situations (but, Connor reflected, perhaps someone with the title `Slayer' truly did have this happen to them regularly), "The hapless guards? Good touch. Made me think you guys were really that incompetent. Oh well. Guess I should just let you guys slice me, dice me, make me into julienne fries."

If she always talked like this, perhaps her silence towards him was a benefit.

"And just how are you going to fight? Have a new death wish? Or is the old one still working for you?"

Buffy merely smiled sweetly at Lilah, but for a moment, Connor realized how powerful the little blonde was. It was like an intense blaze that he had seen in battle. With some of the greater demons he had fought, there came a moment where the power simply overtook them.

And showed Connor what they really were.

It was rare, but it happened.

And it just did.

He would never be able to defeat Buffy.

And that realization was both a blow to him, once always assured that he would always be victor, and a pleasant surprise.

He wasn't alone. He wasn't the only human that could fight demons.

Oddly comforting.

"Now Lilah," Buffy began, "Are you sure that you even want us? I mean, what's to gain? If you've been watching, and I'm sure you have, I'm currently on the outs with Angel. Connor's tried to kill him and failed. I don't think we'd make good bargaining chips and from what I've heard, you've got it bad for Angel. Or, at least the firm does.have you all set up some ass-kicking system for him on a daily basis?"

Lilah worked her mouth around the words as though she was spitting them out, making it very clear to Connor her intense hatred of the vampire, "We don't want Angel."

"Oh right. Angelus, huh? Crazy bastard, kinda ruined my life for a few months. Oh, and killed some of my friends. But that's not important. I'm sure Angelus will make a great team player-"

"That doesn't matter," Lilah hissed, growing impatient. " And you're stalling."

"Stalling? For what?" she scoffed. "I'm merely making observations. Seems like I've only been doing that lately. Going through the motions, blah blah evil singing demon-casting spellcakes. Now, I'll go quietly, I really don't have anything better to do."

Connor, who had remained silent during the exchange, finally spoke.

"Angel."

The vampire tossed off the thick, dark cloak. He had dared to walk in sunlight so he could enter the doors.

He looked.strange. Like the monster that Holtz had told him about. Insane eyes. Merciless.

A demon.

Carrying a long broadsword he replied in a terrible, empty voice, "And where's Wesley?"

Lilah, whose face had turned deadly pale, nevertheless smiled as warmly as possible as she turned to him. "He's busy. If you're trying to save your son and the Slayer."

"I'm not," he roughly interrupted, an idleness in his voice. Bored, he asked again, "Where is Wesley?"

Lilah said nothing, cool and collected, but Connor could sense her fear.

She did not want to die by the hands of the vampire. And that was all that Angel was offering.

"Paris. Morocco. Fiji. Papua New Guinea. Take your pick."

He didn't even look at Buffy as she spoke, didn't look at Connor.

The vampire was on the hunt.

Because that's what made him different, as Holtz had told him. Angelus was one that exacted pain as though it was an art. Painstakingly careful, reckless only in brutality.

A beast worse than others because of that devout passion.

"I just want him."

The vampire.his father.had gone insane.

Lilah snorted, a nasty sound, "Sure. You have the precious Slayer Buffy and the little brat and you only want Wesley. Please, I'm not an idiot-"

The sharp sound of one of the weapons readied to fire stopped Buffy's hard laugh from continuing.

Hand on her hip, toss of her hair, and Lilah was assuming total control with an airy breeze to her words. "We got rid of Wesley."

"She's lying," Buffy commented indifferently, looking at her fingernails for some strange reason. Addressing Connor, "Think I need a manicure?"

He merely stared; puzzled by the odd way she was acting.

"Of course she is," Angel answered, still acting as though Buffy wasn't there. As though Connor wasn't there. He hadn't even looked in their direction. "Give me Wesley and I'll leave."

"Mmm.I think not." Wave of her hand and a new group of warriors entered, these armed with stakes as well as stun guns. "I think that I'm about to bring in the most desired players that Wolfram and Hart has ever been after. And I think I'm about to be promoted."

"No!" Connor impulsively shouted, a seize of hate for the woman, of something else for Angel; he couldn't stop himself, but then Buffy placed a hand on his arm. She merely shook her head, eyes asking him not to continue. And he felt compelled to abide by her request.

For the moment.

Angel stood there, face not reflecting a single thought. Grim, cold stare and he finally moved, turning back, "Then I'll just have to go."

"No," Lilah said, her commanding poise faltering just enough, "you see, you don't get to leave. Not this time. We've let you escape too many times."

"Give me Wesley and I won't fight you."

"You really are insane," Lilah gloated, a horribly bright look in her eyes. "Fine. Bring him here," she demanded of one of her lackeys.

"Oooh." Buffy gasped, looking at Connor as she spoke, but speaking loudly for everyone to hear, "Angel's about to have his big revenge. Can't wait. Too bad there isn't any popcorn."

Turning to Buffy, Lilah snapped, "Aren't you supposed to be depressed and suicidal?"

Mock eyes feigning shock, Buffy replied in an overly emotional tone, "Oh.I am?!! Why.why didn't Angel tell me? Instead of rehashing the Buffy and Angel show, he should have reminded me that I'm supposed to be depressed. Dammit Angel, you're supposed to tell me these things. And then tell me it's for my own good that I'm by myself after fucking Spike, who, by the way, tried to rape me last time I saw him, but that's okay because if I don't think about it, if I push it deep enough inside me, I don't have the urge to scream. C'mon, let me hear those words again. `It's for your own good.' Apparently Lilah-knows-all has reminded me I'm supposed to be sad and moaning `oh woe is me.' Nah, I'm better off keeping it inside, there's nothing there that can hurt me anymore. I'm the one that's fucked up.not you or Wesley, or even Lilah. Especially Lilah," she added with a completely fake grin.

"Buffy," Angel began, but she dismissed him.

"Nope. That's not allowed. You came here to kill Wesley and let them cut up your son and.well, it doesn't really matter what happens to me. You hold onto that. Reason's never been your strongpoint."

Rolling her eyes, Lilah asked, bored, "Is this little spat over?"

"It's always been over," Buffy replied, eyes staring distantly at Angel. Facing Lilah, "I'm really going to enjoy kicking your ass."

"I'd like to see you try, little girl," she hissed back.

"Oh Lilah, you can't ever be polite to my friends? How are we supposed to have a healthy relationship if you cannot even respect my friends?" came the disapproving, feigned displeasure of Wesley's voice.

Connor tried not to wince when he saw him. He had seen plenty of battle scars, had treated Holtz's wounds when he was older and his father had become weaker, but Wesley.

Held between two soldiers, looking as though he could barely stand up straight, it looked as though he was ready to pass out.

His shirt was torn and bloodstains, some very fresh, were all over it. Bloodied knuckles oozing, unable to heal properly. Bruises all over. And his mouth.his mouth.

It reminded him of a vampire's.

Blood dried round the corners.

Grinning, but it was a truly awful thing, with that red mouth, Wesley said, "What? Is all this pomp and circumstance for me? I'm honored."

"Of course it isn't," Lilah answered, yet Connor detected something off in her voice. Like.like she was hurt and wasn't trying to show it. She was terrible at hiding it.

"Give him to me now," commanded Angel, aware of the guards ready to strike him if he attempted to move.

"Ah, Angel," Wesley said, focusing his eyes to the vampire, "Good to see you found me. Knew you'd be able to."

"He's here to kill you," Buffy said as though she was discussing a mundane detail.

"Not surprised a bit. I did, after all, prepare to set him up. I doubt he's very happy about that."

"This isn't a fucking joke," Angel growled, his face reverting to its true form, "What you did.my son, you were going to.you have."

"Done nothing. Yet."

"May I cut in?" Lilah asked with the glee of someone with juicy information that she alone held that she simply had to share.

"I would be truly shocked, Lilah, if you didn't. For you to keep your mouth shut.well.keeping your mouth open is one of your talents."

Lilah turned an interesting pink flush from his comment, anger making her awful smile even more repulsive, but continued on, "Let's not pretend you didn't come to us because you wanted to play evil for a while. You were the one that wanted to do this. You were involved in our project to rescue Angel. And you were the one that decided mind fucking him would be beneficial for Wolfram and Hart's plans. You were the one that decided to find Connor, to bring him to us. And you, you have done all of that, but you tried to double-cross us. And now, you get to leave. With Angel."

"That's very kind of you, Lilah," Wesley said agreeably, as he was let go by the soldiers, nearly tumbling down, as he had to stand by himself now.

"It isn't," Angel promised, monstrous with his vampric face.

"Oh but it is." Wesley spat, dark red, he was still bleeding from a cut on his lip He didn't even bother to wipe it away. "You're not going to kill me."

"My, aren't we deluded," Lilah smirked.

"Yeah, you know, you kinda are," Buffy said, thoughtfully.

"You know I could just have them shoot you down," Lilah threatened, twisting her face nastily, "A weary old Slayer isn't that important, plus, there is another one of you."

"Ooh.thanks for the warning. And old? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You'll have to start; I think one of your makeup layers is staring to peel. Unless you just have really loose skin."

"I've had enough of your fucking-"

"Gosh Lilah, I'm sooo scared. Why don't you come over here so I can kick your ass? C'mon, I'll promise I won't pull hair-"

"Please," Wesley implored, taking small, feeble steps over to Lilah and Buffy, "No fighting for the moment. I believe this is Angel's shining moment."

A snarl, the temper Angel must have been keeping inside, a rage that Connor had never truly seen but had been told of constantly, and Angel had made his way to the middle of the lobby, knocking Wesley down, blade resting against Wesley's neck.

And then Buffy tackled Angel, causing confusion and chaos.

Ducking, worried about the soldiers, he avoided them, his smaller frame better as he made out Angel and Buffy, fighting each other and any that tried to get into their way.

It was amazing.

They were fast and well matched, Angel used moves and techniques he had never even shown Connor, and Buffy.

Buffy was truly extraordinary.

Lithe and small, she moved with a determined yet recklessness to her skills.

But he couldn't keep his eye on them forever.

Wesley, recaptured by a few soldiers, with Lilah running off into the back, demanding more soldiers, `sealing the doors, windows, EVERYTHING,' and Connor wasn't too busy, they didn't seem to come after him after that dull crack he gave to a soldier's neck.

He made his way quickly, not thinking, not allowing himself to ask why he was doing this, why he wasn't leaving when he had the chance.

And there was a violent jolt and he watched the red soak into his dull gray shirt, raising his head upwards to the shocked, wide eyes of Lilah.

He didn't hear Angel's demonic roar, the sounds of battle rising to a fevered pitch.

Only saw Buffy, taking out the knife slowly, staring at the wound, mouth opened, a distant look in her face.

And he remembered being picked up, remembered coldness, until he saw black.

Until he saw nothing.

*

When she had shoved the blade into human flesh, a part of her had died.

But Buffy had had her reasons.

When she had seen her mother's body, lying there, she lost the will to go on.

And she ended up jumping without fear.

Yet now, this boy, who was around her sister's age, he was dying and she felt something.

She actually wanted to help him.

His eyes were closed, skin clammy to the touch, breath shallow. There was so little time.

Buffy was not sure that they were going to make it.

How had they made it past the guards, past Lilah's wrath? It was like a strange dream, broken snippets, nothing of real substance but that one moment when everything stopped.

When they heard the strangled scream.

She nearly killed Angel. She would have. So much hate, so much bitterness.

She hated being guided by her emotions. When she was younger, she thought doing what was right was equal to how she felt. You don't kill humans, because it's wrong. You save your friends because of love, of duty, and of your own will.

And then, she learned she was wrong. She sent Angel to hell on a kiss that she didn't tell him was a goodbye. She watched Willow's grief take her friend away, corrupted, disrupted, she would have killed her friend because.

That was the right thing to do.

And now, she was just so tired of it. Tired of being told who she was, who she was responsible for.

And yet, as they rushed to a private doctor (who Angel insisted on taking Connor to, she wouldn't ask questions), Angel carrying his son, Wesley leaning hard onto her shoulder, she cared.

Only bad things could come of that.

The plain brick building wasn't impressive, yet the interior was clean and very much like a hospital. A dark woman was waiting for them; her eyes cool and face emotionless.

"The patient?"

"Connor.he's been stabbed.he's.he's lost a lot of blood."

"This way," she said coolly, bringing them down a corridor.

It was exactly like an operating room. She was preparing, washing her hands, putting on gloves, and attaching a mask.

"You'll have to leave. I'll check over the rest of you," she said, eyeing Wesley in particular, "in a moment. Don't worry, he'll be fine," she added as though those words made a difference.

Buffy was forced to drag Angel with her as well as help Wesley leave the room.

Angel didn't waste a minute, going after Wesley, grabbing him, snarling, "You fucking did this! You!"

Anger seizing in her before she could sway it, she landed a hard punch against his jaw. "NO! Not here, not now. Not when your son could die! Fuck, Angel, why can't you just stop this. It isn't Wesley's fault. You know who did this? Lilah. Wolfram and Hart. Not Wesley. If he's to blame," she said bravely, raising her chin defiantly, "then I'm to blame as well. You gonna kill me to?"

Too late for that. Besides.he already did.

She ignored that thought.

"If I."

"Don't finish that, Angel," Wesley said quietly, from his position leaning against the wall in the corridor.

"You don't get to say anything to me right now."

"Really, is that so, Angel? Very well, I'll just bleed all over this wall. I'm sure that red will match nicely with this beige."

"Your son may be dying. And this is how you're going to act."

"You sided with Wesley."

Keeping herself from decking Angel again, Buffy replied, "I sided with myself. Don't.don't do this. You'll regret it."

"No. I won't."

"I don't even recognize you. Angel, Wesley made a mistake."

"My son is there. You were almost killed by them. Does that matter to you? Don't you get it?!!"

"I do. You don't. C'mon Wesley, I'll help you sit down."

"Appreciated," he said, something of a flicker of a smile (while really, to Buffy it was a grimace of pain). Turning to Angel, voice somber, "I did hate you for a long time. Blamed you. Blamed myself. But I.I never wanted to hurt your son. I only wanted to protect him. But I was wrong. And I don't want you to forgive me. Or to forget. I did betray you. But I was once your friend. Remember that at least."

"I remember," Angel said gravely, turning to stand vigil at the operating room.

"There's no point in that," she told Wesley, as she settled him into a chair, using the bandages found by the table to momentarily take care of his wounds, "he doesn't.do you really want to know what happened to him?"

"While he was trapped.?"

Shaking her head, trying not to worsen Wesley's damaged flesh by pressing too hard on the black and purpled bruises, "No. I.that spell worked really well."

Can't you feel the cold?

Biting her lip slightly, "I think you should leave now. Go to a hospital. Under an assumed name or something. I.I won't tell him. That you left."

"He'll ask," Wesley said softly, taking her hands off of him, rebuttoning his tattered shirt.

"Yeah. But I won't tell him. I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure?"

She wanted to pretend that he meant about his leaving. But she knew he meant about her taking care of herself.

"I'll be fine."

"Goodbye, then," he said, staggering up, face pale.

He had lost a lot of blood.

She hoped that Angel would be distracted long enough not to notice.

"And Buffy," Wesley whispered, voice cautious yet strong, "you shouldn't let any of this concern you. It's just.life. It can be dealt with accordingly."

She merely nodded, arms crossed, feeling all the wounds she hadn't allowed herself to feel suddenly seize with pain.

She'd deal.

*

He'd run, but that was not possible.

The destroyer, the betrayer, the vampire with a soul, the slayer, the prophecies.the false pretense of free will.

The loss of blood.

Hailing a car ("Shit, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? Fuck man, are you.Christ, get in, I'll take you."), Wesley tried not to let himself think too far.

To think of the future.

No, he couldn't, because he had nearly screwed everything up by doing that. Recruiting Connor, it had almost been a terrible mistake.he hadn't thought of Angel.even though it was always about Angel.

His mind was unraveling.

But one thing stayed with him, even as he felt himself strapped to the gurney, rushed into the bright whiteness, voices asking the driver what happened, checking over his wounds, demanding a clear path.

He'd done it.

Finally, he'd completed the one thing he'd set out to do.

He'd defied them all.

Fucked destiny.

And it was over.

About to begin.

He'd be fine.

^^^**&**^^^
Part Seven - Epilogue - The Rest is.silence.
^^^**&**^^^

"Where did he go, Buffy?"

"You can keep on asking that. I still don't know."

He glared at her, unable to be patient, unable to do anything. Except sit by his son lying motionless on the bed.

The doctor had managed to stop the bleeding but told them that Connor would take a long time to heal and the scar would be permanent.

Angel really wanted to kill Wesley.

Drag out the torture a bit.

That would do just fine.

Buffy also sat by the bed, across from him, eyes dark yet empty. A nasty bruise marred one cheek, the swelling had gone down but it still looked tender.

I could just touch it.

He stopped that thought instantly. That was a long time ago. When he was foolish to believe that his touch didn't bring pain. Now, he knew the truth.

His son, he almost lost him again.

He had lost his son.

Forgiveness, no, he could never grant that.

His thoughts were broken, were too scattered to last long enough for any feeling to last. He would feel great rage, towards Wesley, towards Lilah, even towards Buffy, but his thoughts would change to his own self-loathing. His single-minded-ness had nearly cost him the life of his son.

His son had locked him in that cold dark cell.

There was no way to keep his memories held together as tightly as before. It was like madness, only not, for he knew it, he realized it. Instead, he kept close the real moments, the little things, holding his son in his arms for the first time, rain-slicked, a moment that was tempered in its bliss, for Holtz could have ended his child's life right then.

The opening of the doors to the hotel, seeing Willow.and knowing. Well, just knowing.

The cold. So cold, and that was all he could cling to.

Shutting the doors, condemning his enemies to death and his other enemies, his other family, to freedom, because he just didn't care anymore.

Those kept him in check. They kept him from running out into the streets, hunting Wesley, exacting brutal revenge for Wesley's treachery, for his betrayal.

Kept him from leaving his son and losing him again.

So he instead stole a glance at Buffy, her hand unconsciously moving to examine the damage of the wound on her face. Because that, this, what was true, what was happening now, that kept him from forgetting.

He was the one that had hit Buffy. Because it was the only thing left to do. She had betrayed him as well. Yet, if she asked for forgiveness, he wondered if he would crumble, resolve breaking, and give it to her. He once willingly gave her his heart.

He once loved her.

"We'll have to move soon," she informed him, playing with the bandage on her right arm. "I bet Lilah's pretty pissed."

"They'll probably kill her," he answered, looking over his son. "We managed to escape and for that mistake, for the mistakes she's been making, I doubt they'll let her continue on."

"But then, they did hire her." Buffy smoothed back the hair on Connor's forehead and Angel wondered why Buffy was so concerned about him. Why she hadn't asked a single question about Connor. She had merely accepted it. Looking back at him, "Are these really the people that have been giving you so much trouble? I mean.they're kind of."

"Dumb?" he asked, oddly feeling lightness inside despite his worry and his anger.

She didn't grin but her voice sounded a bit brighter, a little less faded, "Yeah."

"They would have killed you."

Killed her slowly just to see how much pain a Slayer could bear. Killed her and he would have left her there because that didn't matter.he had to kill Wesley. Damn everyone else.

He had to remember that, it was important. It couldn't happen again.

She bit her lip, a dark amused look in her eyes. "You would have killed me."

Snapping his gaze back to her, the apology began instantaneously, "I-"

"Say you're sorry," she warned, hand forming a fist without her meaning it, "and I'll be forced to finish what I started back there."

"You should have left too."

A derisive snort and she asked, "Excuse me?"

"It's just that.you don't want to be here, Buffy. You've told me that. You told me."

"It's over."

"A lot of stuff has happened over the past year," she cut in, a weariness beyond her years. "Before even helping rescue you. I'm dealing. I'm tired. That's it. Don't ask me to choose sides; don't ask me to leave. I.I'm doing the best I can do. And I want to make sure Connor wakes up. He'll be.he's okay, but he's not. He's had a life on his own, you didn't raise him, and he feels resentment towards you. In the huge daddy issues way. Maybe he'll get over it. Maybe he'll never accept you. But you, hunting down Wesley, not even caring about the future of your son, that's what's going to ruin you in the end. Are you here because you want to make sure that Connor's okay? Or are you hoping that I'll somehow reveal where Wesley went? Because, I don't think you realize what you nearly lost this morning."

Choking back words, trying to forget the memories of his only son being taken, the only chance he had to save Connor ending up dooming him, he whispered, "That's not true."

"Of course it isn't," her hand moved, touching the pulse point at Connor's right wrist, and his hand, it was only an inch away. As though realizing that, she quickly let go and moved her hands back onto her lap. Where it was safe. Away from him. " I don't.I don't know anything. I was able to trick myself into believing I'd be okay while Willow destroyed herself. I told my sister I wanted to show her the world when really, the things that she hasn't seen will kill her. Like they did me. Wow. That's self-absorbed. Sorry."

"You don't," he said, a breath that did not exist caught in his throat, "don't say that."

"Or you'll kick my ass?"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, trying to find signs of the girl he had fallen in love with, the girl he had convinced himself was someone worth fighting for, but seeing instead a hardened warrior, a woman that he did not know but still. there lingered something just as strong as the memory of his love. "Something like that."

He went back to his silence, back to watching over his son.

"Connor will be fine," she informed him with that tone of voice that wasn't assured at all.

"I know that. I just.I just wish he didn't have to be."

Be alone. Be without Angel's help. But his son had grown up and he had lost the chance to make it work.

He was sitting by his son, but he had lost him.

"You wish you could be his father." She did not look at him while she said that.

"Yes. But.that time has passed. I." Angel said, searching for the words, "He has to leave. Wolfram and Hart will be after him. Constantly using him as a tool against me."

"There's something else."

Always something else.

"Everything he did," Angel replied, caught in the memories, trying to dissociate the pain, the feelings, or he wouldn't be able to finish it. "He.he wanted to. A human. My son. Killing Fred. I.I don't want that part of him to destroy him."

"You want to save him." Her voice was steady, but there was pain in it. Pain she was trying to burying, but it came up before she could keep it hidden. Before she could lie again.

A deep, heavy sigh and he answered. "I can't."

"Maybe you should just let go." She did not look at him; perhaps she was looking behind him. "Maybe he'll find his way."

"Maybe all he'll think he is," Angel paused, the word too easy, too simple, too real to be true, "is a monster."

"You can't know that. You just have to.do. Whatever. Let go. Forget. Remember. Accept."

"Forget," he whispered more to himself. Not that again. A path he had tried but only found misery as his companion. "He's my son, I can't.I won't."

"You can't hide him from the world," she gently reminded him. "But he can't be in your world. Not just yet, Angel. He has to accept it. And maybe he'll come back."

He looked at her and that sadness, was that really the Buffy he had known? The one who made jokes and bantered with her enemies.. No. This was different

Cracking something of a dark grin that was more a sad grimace, the pain unavoidable, "I don't think that theory has ever worked for a person."

"Yeah," her voice a sickened whisper, "It hasn't."

A look passed between them.

What have I done to her?

"Buffy."

"Stop. It's over. Not again," she pleaded, "I waited a while but I gave it up. Eventually I'll be able to stop it from being anything but a distant memory, unable to affect me."

Unable to contain the memories suddenly flooding him, kisses in the sun, prophecies he once believed in, and vows he made that he would always remember, the things he could never forget, no matter how tragic, all this emotion, this love, overwhelmed him. And he spoke, "Even if it doesn't matter.I love you. When you died.I did shut down. But that's, that's not why.it's still too dangerous."

"It's too old," she reminisced, hugging herself as though she had gotten a chill, "An old wound. Nothing lasting about it but the scar."

And the memories faded like a long-ago dream and it whispered away like a fragile wind.

"Is that really-" he began, not wanting to know the answer.

Cold, all too sad, yet perfectly clear eyes greeted his own.

"Yes."

*

She'd scream, but they had taped her mouth shut.

Hot flames surrounding her.Christ, they really were going to burn her at the stake as a punishment.

Skin flushed damp, she was so hot, it was so hot, it wasn't her fault dammit! She had to make a choice and.and.

Fucking Wesley. He had it planned.

But if she hadn't sliced the brat maybe they would have been lenient.

Maybe she would have survived.

Everything was fading.

And then, the burning stopped. Her skin was relatively unmarred. Bruises and cuts, but that was all.

"There is something more important we have to attend to," said one voice. He was one of the top partners of the firm, beady eyes cowering behind thick glasses still cast in a strange light from the fire that no longer was there.

Arm untied, she tugged off the binding around her mouth, stopping herself from saying anything that would land her back up there.

"Find Wesley," said a dark clothed being (definitely not human). "You will not be spared. But find him. He is still alive. Bring him back that way. No help. Just you."

"M.me? But."

"Do it," the one with the flickering light cast on his eyeglasses commanded, "We must find the Slayer and Angel. And we will find the son, if he has survived in spite of your involvement."

"I."

"No time," the dark one hissed, a low voice barely human, "Go. Now. And do not try to run. We know you've stolen files. You cannot blackmail Wolfram and Hart, Lilah. You belong to us."

She shivered, but she preferred to think it was a reaction to the lingering heat. "I will," she promised, trying not to show either fear or arrogance in her voice. She had fucked up.

They hadn't killed her.

She was one step ahead of the game.

And then the earthquake came and she fell to the ground, helpless to the tremors as she was jostled around.

Scrambling up, she made her way as the earth under her feet protested, shuddering and shaking for a long time.

This was no ordinary earthquake.

Magic. Tons and tons of magic. Someone.something.

"The portents!" shouted the demon under the cloth, his robe falling off, an elongated skeleton-like bird with slimy black webbing as a mottled skin. A monster.

One of the best partners at Wolfram and Hart.

Lilah wasted no time, no thoughts, she simply ran out of the building, into the darkness. It was evening. It was only a day since she had stabbed Connor? Less than a day.it had been morning when it happened. It had felt longer.but it wasn't.

Chaos outside, but there was an order to it. Just an earthquake, California had been through plenty. But it wasn't stopping.

It was getting worse.

This was not ordinary at all.

*

He would be fine. He'd laugh but there was no real reason for it.

Especially after the earthquake hit, causing quite the panic in the hospital.

He truly hated the banal walls, the smells of death, and the noise.

The insistent buzzing.

So, he decided to leave. There was enough chaos, just enough, so he could escape quietly, although he was still badly beaten, he would eventually heal. Besides, he wasn't going to die, so that was an improvement from before.

Dressing the best he could under the circumstances, his clothes fortunately decent enough to walk outside, he carefully unhooked himself from the I.V., walking out, trying to stay in doorways and around corners, hoping the doctors and nurses rushing about, shouting about how many cases they'd have tonight ("But it's not really that bad, is it? Can't be more than a."), wouldn't take any notice of him.

Making his way in the hustle, he took the stairs, trying not to wince as his body protested moving.

Taking a breath of fresh air, he tried to think of his last thoughts before he had passed out when he was taken to the hospital. Yes, he had a brilliant plan and things had not followed it.but they were close enough.

It was enough.

"Three.two." he muttered under his breath, hoping his calculations were correct, "one."

And then, the earthquake stopped as quickly as it began.

"Beautiful."

Perhaps he'd go for a congratulatory drink.

Hmm.but he'd better pick up some fresh clothes.

The bloody look was so pass,.

Hiding a dark grin from appearing on his battered face, Wesley continued on his way, taking small steps, while inside one thought was running through his mind.

It's all over.

*

They had sat helplessly by Connor, hoping that the earthquake wouldn't knock out the power. Fortunately it hadn't.

Connor had managed to wake up, telling them very weakly that he'd be fine before going back to sleep.

Buffy, tired of sitting vigil, excused herself to the bathroom.

Washing up, she observed the already diminishing bruises on her face, the cut on her bottom lip healing. If she pushed her tongue hard enough on her lip it would split open and she'd taste the tangy copper again.

Shaking away that dark thought, she attempted to make herself at least look like she hadn't been involved in several biker brawls. Her hair was messy and matted against her head, so she half-heartedly tried to arrange it normally.

Her clothes were beyond repair, another ruined outfit added to her always-growing clothing bills. And she had left her bag in Wesley's car.

Great. Just great.

Stuck with Angel.

Dressed like the poster girl for some third world country.

Just survived: a fight, a love proclamation by someone she really didn't want to hear it from, and an earthquake.

A usual day in her life.

Leaving the restroom, she was surprised to see the doctor there, looking immaculate, right in front of the door.

"Miss Summers."'

"Umm.I didn't catch your name."

"Unimportant. You and Angel are fine. I will be having more patients arriving due to the circumstances. Present and future," she added with a wry smile as though it was particularly funny. "You will have to depart. As well as the vampire."

"But.Connor."

"Is in my care. And will stay as long as is required. No more than a few days. I have learned many healing secrets. Believe me, Connor is under my protection."

She smiled again and Buffy realized she had never looked at her eyes. They weren't dark in color; they were burning, burning with some unusual light. Like a night sky on fire.

Buffy had no idea where that thought came from.

"I have procured a few garments. A shirt for each of you, considering the state of your own." she trailed off, not needing to finish the statement. "I left them in Connor's room. Oh," she added as she walked back down the corridor to the elevator of the converted apartment building, "Wolfram and Hart, an organization I do not want to interfere with my work, seem to be after you two. I can protect the boy for now. But not you two. I'd suggest you leave. Now."

"I.yes. Got it."

"Goodbye Miss Summers. Take care of yourself."

Walking back to the room, she saw Angel had changed into the dark gray shirt. He was scowling; obviously the doctor had already spoken with him.

"We have to leave," he told her, the irritation causing him to bite out his words sharply.

"No we. Just you and then, well, me. I'm going and you can brood and lurk until Connor gets discharged. Just not here."

Shameless, she pulled off her shirt, not really giving a fuck if Angel was looking, because it wasn't the time and she didn't care what he saw; she was wearing a bra and that was enough.

"You lost a lot of weight."

"Nice way to start a conversation, Mr. Peeping Tom. Even heard of closing your eyes.?" she trailed off as she saw him wince. Bad choice of words.

"Yes," he stated, tone unclear.

Damn. He was being difficult.

Shaking her head, she told him, "I'm going. I have to get my bag and then I'm off."

"I could drive you." he offered in a tentative tone.

"No." She moved away from him, standing by the doorway, "You really don't have to."

"I.I should."

"I thought you were pissed at me." She cast a scrutinizing gaze at his face as she turned around, "Isn't that why you decided to leave me back? Well.besides the fact that you wanted to kill Wesley, of course."

"Buffy," he said, exasperated, "Look at what he did. My son."

"The same son you were going to leave there. With me."

"I don't want to talk about this. With you."

"Then we won't, okay?" she offered, trying not to raise her voice to a shout. "I'll just leave and that will be it. I'll go home and deal with my life because I'm tired of constantly being dragged into your dramas."

"I wasn't the only one who asked you. And the first time.you came on your own, Buffy."

"Yeah. That was me trying to do the right thing. Being an idiot. I'm leaving."

"Buffy, please, can't you at least.?"

"What?"

"Let me drive you there," he repeated, voice more insistent.

"Fine." It wouldn't matter. It would be quicker and she'd be able to go home and pretend that none of this had mattered; none of this had affected her.

She'd do what she did best.

And then everything went dark and all she heard was screaming. Howling. And she knew what it was.

Demons.

*

They came outside not because they wanted to. Not for food, for they had fed upon the city for a long time and knew that they could never mount an attack or take over.

They came because it was time.

Vampires, a feuding demon, never able to properly unite together, joined together in the streets, the false human visages gone.

The demons who could not hide under a mask of humanity, they rose from the sewers, from the dark places, voices terrible in their own tongues, for they knew it was time, it was.

Time.

The gaping holes left by the earthquake, the panic in the air, this was what they waited for, the air was dark and heavy with magics from the past bloomed fully into some twisted rotted form.

Into the now.

And, as though there was a siren calling for them, they all took a slow, steady march to one place, the only place.

The place they had to destroy.

The offices of Wolfram and Hart

*

"How all seasons do inform against me," he commented before turning around. A grin and he replied, "Lilah dear, you've certainly seen better days."

"You.you fuck," she wheezed out, her appearance.soiled by the best of terms. Hair oily and matted down, the slight singe around her clothes, the bruises. she had never looked more real. Forcing her voice to work, she snipped in her haughty tone, "Practicing Shakespearean soliloquies?"

Smiling, he toasted her with a quick tip of his champagne flute. "Only for my personal amusement. You must sit down and celebrate. It's the end of the world you know," he added cheerfully.

"It is.it fucking is, isn't it? You.I helped you. Gave you the plans." Even in her state, she remained icy cool, sauntering up like a cat circling its prey and not like the doomed creature she truly was.

"You never helped me." His eyes narrowed and he continued, "I did help you, but that doesn't quite matter right now. I'd say it's a good thing they let you out otherwise you wouldn't have lived long enough to watch the demons bring down Wolfram and Hart. The very creatures you tried to control.well, they're freed. Freed from both sides."

"It'll be a bloodbath. Thousands killed."

"Yes. Complete chaos. Completely.what you hadn't wanted. Perhaps you should run. Maybe you'll get to live a little longer. Thirsty?" he asked, filling up an extra glass he had next to the bottle.

There was no one in the bar. They'd all left. To run, to hide, to pray, to get lost in the confusion. Creatures outside, destroying the streets, attacking any that dared to come outside.

It was everything that should have happened when Wolfram and Hart took over the Earth.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Going around the bar, she found the scotch, pouring herself a glass. Wincing as she drank, throat sore, she hissed, "You know, I'll bring you in."

"In where? By now, I expect any beings at headquarters to be dead. Probably not the little oracle-girl. She's quite clever. She saw this all, didn't she?"

"Only saw chaos."

"Yes, well, it was foolish for her to think that she could actually control it. You see, it's letting go, that's where the true power lies. But what do I know? I'm a former Watcher with a price on his head. God, that's pathetic."

Letting her voice break, she whispered, "I don't want them to find me."

"Of course not. Always thinking about yourself. I'd think you'd be able to take care of yourself better, but alas, I was wrong. I mean, how did you think this would end, Lilah? You becoming the princess of Wolfram and Hart? You weren't even able to follow the simplest of orders. No, perhaps it was blackmailing them, weaseling enough money to go someplace warm for the rest of your life. Like Lindsey did. But no," and with this, he shook his head, putting down his glass, "you're not like that. I bet you're going to stay. Try to get me to come with you. That's the problem with you Lilah; you actually think that you can do something original. But you're a walking clich,."

"Speak for yourself," she mumbled, drinking more, obviously trying to find that pleasant intoxicated buzz that would give her a reprieve from all this fucking truth.

Wesley was currently experiencing the same, although he was celebrating the truth. Something he hadn't been able to do for quite a while.

"I never do that. Tends to get me in trouble. Far better to watch the world as I knew it be destroyed, then to comment on my sorry state of affairs."

Glare and she said accusingly in a how-dare-you voice, "You're the one who did this."

"I merely set things up in motion. Really, what I needed was for someone to truly screw up the prophecy. Shanshu," he said with disgust, shaking his head. "The prophecies about Connor. And the ones you allowed me to read. The ones I read without permission. I was given an insight no human being should have ever known. Would drive a lesser man insane."

"Of course you being so great."

"Me being so tired," he cut in, swiping the bottle away from Lilah, forcing her to listen, "I didn't let myself get swayed. Didn't try to stop anything, because then, I would have played into their game so perfectly. I'd assume you know what I'm talking about, but then, I never really understood what they hired you for. Certainly not a brilliant mind."

He let the pause last just long enough before he revealed to her, "I know."

"I have no idea."

"Lies," he interrupted, voice more disappointed than angry, "No time for them. By the time the sun rises, Wolfram and Hart will be powerless, the Watchers Council will notice a large disturbance in the magics of this area, and I'll be on my way, doing whatever I must to survive. And I know that this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. But.this is a way. The only way, now. Tell me the truth. Tell me what should have been, but now, will never be."

She let out a sigh and moved back to the bar, sitting next to him, turning the glass she held in her hand around and around. "You were supposed to bring in Connor."

"Yes."

"He'd work for us, eventually." Lilah pushed away a wet lock of hair from her face, making the purpled black bruises all the more noticeable. "We'd tell him the lies he wanted to hear about Angel."

"Yes."

"If.if we couldn't bring in Angel, well, the son was powerful and.and."

"And you could mold him into the perfect little soldier. Force him as though he was a misshapen puzzle piece to finish your game. So you'd win. Without Angel. If not him, well.Connor is his son, after all. That was the missing piece in the prophecies, the one thing that eluded me. If not Angel, then someone just as powerful. Someone like him enough to solve the dilemma of Angel's decision in the upcoming Apocalypse, enough to sway the power back to your side."

"That." she trailed off, looking at him with a genuinely shocked look that could be almost comical. "I wasn't aware."

He took the glass she'd been gripping with bloodied hands, each finger tipped with a torn fingernail.

"Now, Connor may be alive or dead. He isn't important now. Angel will never join you, nor will you be able to use his son against him. You let go the only active Slayer. When Faith is released, or escapes, doesn't really matter actually, she'll likely fight on the so-called good side." He squeezed the cold hands that would have looked like a kind gesture, but it wasn't like that at all. "So, now you know what I was doing. You were trying to play a game. The Powers That Be, they too were playing us. The Watchers Council.you know how powerful the backlash will be once Wolfram and Hart crumbles in this dimension? Oh, it'll be stupendous."

"It's the Apocalypse," she replied in a dull voice.

"And no one's prepared for it. The demons will fight amongst one another. humanity, well humanity will do whatever they want. Wake up and see the truth. Stay blind. It doesn't matter. I don't matter. Here's to a glorious future," he cheered, finishing his champagne, the empty bottle lying sideways on the bar.

"I'm leaving," she managed through a drunken haze, her mind unwilling to process the horribly careful plot Wesley had laid out, the final outcome too horrifying to accept.

She didn't matter. Nothing did.

It was the end.

"Do be careful and not get yourself eaten, is that clear?" Wesley chided like an overly protective father. "Some demons may be able to sense some Wolfram and Hart stench on you. It's quite dangerous, considering the energies out there are mainly focused on destroying that."

She mumbled something, not able to think of anything witty or clever to say, as she stumbled outside, watching the blazing fires of the demons burning.whatever they could get their hands on, while a slight, unhurried rain carefully drizzled down in a strangely delicate pattern on the ash-strewn streets.

"Will you walk out of the air, my lord?" he unnecessarily asked in the empty bar, already knowing the answer.

*

It hadn't been necessary to rip open the passenger door of Wesley's car but Angel had insisted.

Collecting her bag, she sighed as she wiped her already dampening strands away from her face. "Rain. Great. Demons and rain. Perfect. I think being in Sunnydale is actually more fun than being in L.A. That's really sad."

"There have been less demons the further we got from the city."

"So I noticed," she remarked, looking around as they stood in the vacant lot. The streets were mostly empty; everyone seemed to be staying indoors. A good idea. "Something's up. Wolfram and Hart?"

"Yes." Voice deflating, he said, "You.you don't have to.fight."

"Oh, why not," she said casually, "it is my job and all. Besides, killing things would actually make this night a little more bearable."

"But.you should go. You."

"You should stop ordering me around. It's getting boring. It's not like I'm going to listen." Continuing on, not meaning to be harsh, but they were stuck together in a car and she really wanted to go back to Sunnydale, and it was easier to be cruel than to face the old feelings springing up along with some new ones, "The last time you gave me advice I ended up jumping off a tower. Hmmm.that should tell you something, shouldn't it?"

"Was that really.?"

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment, shoving her backpack behind her seat as she got back into Angel's car. "No. It was.a lot of things."

"I was." he attempted, unsure of himself, "when you died."

"Grief stricken? Horrified? Pissed off? Need a thesaurus?"

"Yes. Angry. I.I didn't think of you dying." He started up the car and pulled out of the lot. "Buffy.I couldn't imagine you being dead."

"Angel," she said loudly, snapping him out of his brooding, not wanting any tears to suddenly cloud her vision, "Slayer. Shelf life. Limited. Big Picture, see it? I'm not meant for long years. I'm twenty-one, I've died twice. I think that should be a clue."

"You're not just the Slayer."

"It's what I am." What she could only be.

"You're Buffy."

Not anymore.

"Spare me that, Angel. I don't want to hear it." Biting her lip, she paused before saying in a sharp voice to keep herself from giving away anything, "Any `I love yous' or anything else said like that, and I'm jumping out and hitching a ride back to Sunnydale. I.I can only take so much."

I want my life to be with you!

You belong, Slayer, with me.

She snapped out of those thoughts in an instant. God, she hated remembering, hated having a past that didn't stay off in the distance. No, her past always came up, reminding her, bringing up old feelings. Opening old wounds. Helping to create new ones.

"Fine. We have nothing to say to each other," he muttered darkly.

Sadly, she looked past the windshield into the world gone awry and agreed with a slight nod to her head

Nothing to say.

That was it really. Three years ago, he had walked away, left Sunnydale, without a word. It was better that way, better in retrospect, because what could he have said, what could she have said? There was nothing.

Chaos surrounded them. She could sense the demons, but they weren't close enough, they weren't there. Yet.

She knew they'd find them. Defeat them.

It's what she had to do.

Yet when they came across the rubble she couldn't help but feel nauseous. The ground was cracked here; Angel was forced to slow down, to stop driving when the giant splintered crack, a gash dividing the street in half, came all too quick.

"This.this is." he softly muttered, not to her, no, not to her at all. To himself.

"Like hell." Oh God. She had never really felt like this, not even when she had to jump off a tower, when she had to slice into Faith's stomach (And she had to do it.even if it changed.everything), when she gave a goodbye kiss punctuated with a sword's jab, when she felt the teeth break her skin, the despair that if she hadn't followed her destiny she wouldn't have felt the cool waters, never drowned, maybe she'd be just another girl.

But that's not who I am.

This new feeling was just wrong.

Like hell.

They got out automatically, Angel popping open the trunk, weapons, yes. They needed those. Needed.needed to do this. To stop them.

Across the divide, the demons gathered, some watching as Buffy and Angel quickly prepared themselves, others simply continuing.

Continuing.

They moved like somnambulists, sleepy, practiced moves. Like a spell. A dream. A nightmare. Buffy didn't have any time to pick one.

Not like she actually would.

The steady thud and crackle of fire, the rain had slowed enough, unable to meet the demands of the fire, unable to do anything as the flames reached up, licked at anything solid, tasting the air that the flames could not find purchase on.

Hell.

And fewer and fewer demons took the time to look as Buffy and Angel were prepared: Buffy had selected a coat she had mindlessly tossed in her bag when she had prepared for the journey back to L.A., stakes ready for use, heavy sword (taken from the truck) in her grip, Angel, with his long duster, an unreadable face, held a heavy axe securely.

They had no time for these warriors; Buffy could read that in their expressions immediately. They had other things to do.

Braving the crumbling chasm of the gash, finding the spot that was still somewhat held together on the far right side, they made it and easily, too easily, rushed into the fray.

Flesh was torn and sliced and new gashes in various shades of demonic blood splattered, but as long as none of the stains were her own, she would be fine. Shutting down her mind, shutting down her thoughts, she hacked away, ducked, parried, fought.

It was blindness, maddeningly foolish and she felt.alive. Not like what she had promised Dawn, not the peace or the warmth or the gift of hope, no, that was not living. That was something else. Something after life.

This was living, breathing, ducking, moments that were not waited on; they were acted, instantly, thoughtlessly.

And with each moment, every demon that tried to attack (which she easily defeated), she wondered if it was possible she could live like this forever.

Fighting.

The days that stretched between these fights, the peace of those moments; that was the horror, the pain. That was what had sunk her, she thought as her blade neatly went through neck, muscle and sinew too soft to stop her blow from ending. This, this was being the Slayer, being the protector.

The warrior.

Buffy continued on, not caring, finally, being free and breathing, locked boxes and darkness and rot could not touch her, this was being something else entirely.

Being alive.

Damp hair flicked away from her face, she had to see, had to continue, this was it, this was her time, her place.

"Buffy!!!"

And he shouted, breaking the silence like a shattered spell, only she wasn't a maiden that needed rescuing.

Not listening, she continued, the demons coming closer. More of them dared to challenge her and she'd kill all of them, kill to live.

Never die.

Arm suddenly appeared and she wasn't fast enough, couldn't stop the hand from reaching, capturing her wrist, turning her around, and then, no.she saw.

Angel stood in front of her, wounds from their earlier fight still healing, new ones over the old ones, a shattered, yet tightly clutched axe in his hand. "Stop."

If he hadn't used that soft, desperate plea, she would have easily broken his grip and brought down a deathblow without a final thought.

Without a care.

"I." She was lost, at a loss, what had just happened? It was like something else had possessed her, something else had taken over her. A cold shiver and Buffy hated that feeling. Being controlled, being possessed, it was all the same terrible thing. Went to brush something off her cheek, too numb to be shocked that it was blood.and not her own.

"There's magic here," he replied and she wanted to snap at him. Of course there was magic here, she could feel it. The deep gash they had crossed, it wasn't natural; it thrummed and rumbled all on its own, but she hadn't known it.until.

They crossed the border.

"We." she said, the veteran warrior in her, taking command, plans forming, ideas slowly coming to light (and she really, really hoped she was terribly wrong), "We have to get out of here."

"Exactly what I was thinking," he commented darkly, looking around them.

Bodies. Body.parts. All over. The smarter ones hadn't stayed, hadn't bothered to challenge them.

The other ones.were dead.

She'd be sick, but the energies violently thrumming around her, demanding like some sort of blood-call for there to be more, managed to cancel each other out.

Shakily nodding her head, she slowly backtracked, taking hesitant steps back, back to the car, back to where it wasn't like this, war and blood and screaming and.wanting.

Her hand still held the sword as though it was a part of her. Looking over to Angel, she realized he was carrying his weapon the same way.

"How?" she asked, yet there wasn't a single question she wanted an answer to.

"I.I looked at you. And you weren't." he sighed deeply and started again, "I can't explain. But it wasn't right. So.I managed to stop. Just in time."

"Oh." And as they made their way back, Buffy felt the sword grow heavy in her hand, dropping it without a care, when before, she wasn't able to contemplate not having a weapon.

Shoulders shook as she fell to the ground, weary knees making contact with the still-slicked wet cement, etchings of the pavement beginning to mark her skin. She'd heave, empty and harshly, but there didn't seem to be a point. It was like being drained, like death, some sort of unsettling weariness, and she really wanted to be tucked into a soft bed with some cocoa and a warm kiss, a promise.

"Mommy will be here."

But that wouldn't happen, couldn't, so after a few dizzy moments, she felt the cold hand, cool as the wet night, brush her cheek, and she looked up. Taking Angel's hand, she got up, daring a glance back towards the destruction, towards the ruin that they had participated in.

"We have to stop this." His voice was commanding and certain.a piece of the old Angel, the battle-hard one, showing through this one still laced with insanity and rage. Too thin though, she thought, and too not like her Angel to make her allow any of her ill-timed delusions or hope to resurface.

They got back into the car, Buffy had taken off the jacket, thankful that most of the splattered blood was on it, and well, she hadn't really love it, so she left the discarded piece of clothing in a trash bin, making sure all her stakes were taken out of the sleeves.

She immediately stopped any ill-timed cracks about tricks up her sleeves before they came up.

Hands, still somewhat shaking, pushed back hair and wiped away the dirt and. blood on her face. Angel managed to hand her a piece of cloth as he silently drove (somewhere.away), and she tried to clean herself the best she could. The rain had been reduced to a slow, gentle trickle, but in the rearview mirror, the burning reds and oranges still lit the dark night while little yellow bulbs overhead cast that strange yellow gleam on everything below.

The bile was still residing in the back of her throat but she ignored it. She had lost control back there, and it wasn't emotional, the control that had been lost, not that. She had lost herself. Lost Buffy.

It was like becoming the Slayer, becoming the thing that had haunted her in a dream, had told her that they were creatures destined to be alone.

But Angel had fought with her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wanting to ask him what would come next, wanting to know that this really wasn't the apocalypse. She was so drained, so tired. But the magic hadn't left her system and it called for more, for more fighting.

And she knew that if they stopped, she'd take care of that itch.

"To the hotel."

"The.the Hyperion?"

"Yes."

"I thought.I thought you'd want to go back.to Connor."

"I'm not welcome there." There was something in his voice that sounded.tight, but he didn't explain any more.

"Oh. Angel, we should."

"Buffy," he sighed and she would have remembered nights where he said her name so soft and graceful that she knew he loved her. Now, it was weary and resigned. "She'll.she knows how to handle these situations. I'm sure that she's prepared. Right now, he's safe."

Angel said it all in a very terse voice, as though he was trying to convince himself that it was the truth. And since she wasn't inclined to argue, she simply nodded. A silence, which seemed to her to stretch long and uncomfortably, so Buffy replied lightly with a wry cock of her eyebrow, "Seems wherever I go, I always end up having to handle some apocalyptic situation."

The car jerked to a stop, a red light overhead.

Angel turned his steady, pained gaze over to Buffy, "That's not true, this. this is something that Wolfram and Hart planned.but-"

He cut himself off, turning to look back at the road ahead, but Buffy wanted to know what he was about to say. "This is what, Angel?"

She watched his jaw clench, eyes revealing nothing but a steady gaze on the road. Slowly, he commented as the light changed to green, "They wouldn't do it like this. They.they have.*had* a plan. And.the demons. They were all going.moving.in the direction of the offices of Wolfram and Hart. Like they were drawn there."

"By the magic," she whispered and it all fell into place and she wondered why there wasn't the plink-plink of piano keys as it all came together. She'd gasp, or cry out, or make a sound, but it was too terrible, too true.

And it was so plain to see.

"I-" he started again, something angry flashing across his face, "They were going there to destroy them."

A nervous upward twitch to her lips as she said slowly, digesting the information, "The demons are taking out the Big Bad."

"And probably killing each other as they do it. And after."

"Everyone, they're indoors, aren't they?" she commented, asking about the people. "They're probably scared but they don't realize."

"There were some humans," Angel said softly. "I could smell them. But. Yes. They're indoors. And they know that something's wrong. But.I think the magic's acting as a barrier. For now. Right now.the demons are drawn to Wolfram and Hart."

"You can feel it," she asked, shifting in her seat, the calling still residing inside her, "Can't you?"

"Not like them," he said with something like genuine shock. "I don't know why."

Angel had fought with her. He had followed her, told her to go back.

"It's the spell. It.it's drawing up demons. But it can't affect you. You're.blocked from it. Somewhat."

And then.the final part was laid out. The spell that Wesley had cast to bring back Angel. The fact that she had see into Angel's mind, had felt the same. It wasn't just to rescue him from the ocean. It was to protect. for later.

Wesley.

He had planned this all from the beginning.

She bit her lip and tasted the coppery tang. This was really happening.

This was real.

The car screeched to an angry halt and she could see the rage, fully, wholly on Angel. She could almost smell it, and that, that made her realize that they weren't free from the magic, she still felt the violent calling, no matter how ill she was feeling, it was still there.

Waiting.

Slamming of doors and they were both out in the open. An empty alley. No demons would be here.

Only them.

"He...he planned this!" Angel shouted, pacing with the energy of someone who wanted to hit something really, really badly.

"I." she started, but she wasn't going to defend Wesley, nor was she going to stop Angel. Because Wesley had known all along and been nice (like a friend), but this had been planned for a long time. "I know," she finished weakly.

"Did you?" he suddenly yelled, grabbing her arms, pulling her close to him. "Did you know Wesley could do this?!!"

Sucking in a shocked breath (too close), she shook her head, pushing him off. "I didn't! I.I just put it all together, Angel! I.I.I think I'm going to be sick."

Yet she never wavered or leaned over to release the bile still clinging inside. She was torn, between the Slayer that was currently overdosing on magic energies clogging her insides and the little girl that she once was.the little girl she had thought she had lost a long time ago.it was tearing her up.

Mind reeling, all the possibilities.faith, hope and trust; she was always picking out the lies.she was too horrified at the reality of everything to do anything.

Currently, she was too stunned to form a proper reaction other than a very dull shock creeping through her body.

His anger seemed to be buried instantly, but she knew he was closing, burying it inside, closing it off for the moment. For only this moment. Concerned, he said, "We.we have to get to the hotel."

"No," she moaned, hating the sound of her pleading voice. Too ill, too tired, too ready to fight.it was like being torn in several directions. Being ripped apart. "I'm not going back there."

"We have to."

It wasn't a demand or a request, but there was an authoritative tone to it nonetheless.

"You're pulling rank?" she asked, disbelief in her voice. "On me? Nice try Angel. I think.I'm going back to Sunnydale."

"I'm taking you then."

"No."

She didn't want this anymore. She wanted a soft bed and a quiet house and no more apocalypses (which really made wanting to go back to Sunnydale a really brilliant idea, only not).

Raising her chin up slightly, meeting his eyes, she replied in her strongest voice, "I'm going home."

A blatant lie.

"Don't."

"You want me to stay?" she challenged and before she was able to tell him he didn't get to ask that question she found him standing over her, face to face (the term a breath apart seemed to make a lot of sense at this moment), and she suddenly realized that she needed him much, much closer.

She reached closer, actually daring to touch him, to feel him, so solid and steady, unwavering, but they were both still thrumming with the magic, still feeling the pull of.something.

Buffy smoothed her hands over his back, enjoying his coolness compared to her rising heat. They stood against the car, tense, but fully knowing that this moment, this single moment, would be it.

She didn't even feel cold or damp, despite the final drops of rain still clinging to her body.

He lowered his mouth and she reached towards him, warm and wonderful feelings overwhelming the weak protests in her thoughts.

She listened to one thing, one soft little thought ringing clear and true over all the jumbled worries and frantic emotions.

It'll be okay.

He pressed harder and she suppressed a whine.

Their lips opened together, perfect timing, simply perfect. It was as though they had never lost any time, had never been apart. Yet she could not delude herself to believe that, no matter how much her body remembered, how much her lips rejoiced in the passion rising, growing more and more hungry, more and more...

More.

Hands, not like the steady growing fire of their kissing, she finally moved them to the front of his body, skimming down his chest, pushing away his shirt, unbuckling his pants, eagerly relishing the feel of smooth skin just above there, just above his hardness.

His mouth, that taste was something dreams, good dreams, were made of, and she just needed.more.

Pushing down pants and boxers, freeing him, yet not looking at all, mouths still fused together, playing, taunting, challenging, she pressed her body against his, against him.

Excited, she began unbuttoning his slightly torn shirt, ripping open the white tee underneath without a thought or hesitation. Too many clothes and she wanted him...now.

Hands making a gentle exploration of his bare chest, not allowing herself to go any faster...she wanted it to last, for the moment to stretch beyond time, but that would never happen, so she smoothed her hands flat as she explored the smoothness, then gently skimmed fingertips all over, enjoying the feel of his skin, loving the small pleasing (pleading?) sounds he made as she gently moved her hands, caressing the flesh.

His own hands stayed tangled in her hair, so gentle, but insistent, so wonderfully smooth, so perfect, she was dizzy just from his touch. From just him.

"We are not," he whispered, that strangled kind of whisper that she realized she would happily listen to over and over again and never get tired of, breaking away from her mouth, staying close to her cheek, "going to do this out here on the top of my car."

She panted harshly, trying to find her breath.

She would have pleaded, have teased him (he was ready, she knew that), just to have him close, just to have.him.

Instead, she slowly nodded, slightly dazed, admiring the droplets clinging to his pale flesh, the rain had stopped, but they still were wet, and she had to hide a smile as very naughty thoughts suddenly came to mind. If she didn't stop them, she would have pushed him onto the car, damn his request, she wanted it now, but instead, she managed to drag what little willpower she had left and moved away.

Looking up into his dark eyes, she managed to softly say, "Oh.okay."

Not showing her disappointment as she watched him pull his pants and boxers back around his waist, quickly securing them, he gave a very small upward turn of his lips to her as he gently took her hand.

"Let's go."

*

He didn't know how he managed to stop her. She had undressed him, in the middle of that alley and it was everything and nothing like several of his fantasies of being with Buffy again, and he had stopped her.

There was something in his head that sounded suspiciously like "idiot" but he managed to ignore it for the most part. They had been prepared to part once more and never speak to each other again and now they were going back to the hotel.

To fuck?

He wasn't able to properly explain to himself why this was a bad thing. The word "curse" was repeated in his head, but he wondered if it was even possible for him to have perfect happiness ever again.

That kind of blind hope had been torn out of him against his will.

But he didn't want to think of that. In fact, his thoughts weren't really concerning him. The fact was that Wesley had called for the apocalypse to begin, Wolfram and Hart was most likely destroyed (or about to be), and he and Buffy were currently trying to pretend that they weren't affected by the magics at all, despite obvious evidence to the contrary.

He had told her he wasn't affected by it, but that wasn't true. He didn't have a desire to storm the doors of Wolfram and Hart (did that already). Didn't want to go out and destroy everything, unless it was a demon.

No, what he wanted was what was his.

Wesley's blood. Connor, back in his protection.

And Buffy.

He'd laugh bitterly, that it still came back to her, but he didn't. Wouldn't.

Because she was coming with him.

Because she had nearly taken him out on top of his car and he certainly wouldn't have disagreed if she forced him.

It was too damn long, but they made it to the hotel. Buffy had impatiently sat in her seat not saying a word. Which was oddly enough, good, because he was very tempted and very, very.hungry. But it wasn't a hunger like blood, it was something else, something deeper and he was about to break and crumble, about to forget Wesley and apocalypses and fires and rain that fell down uselessly.

"Angel."

And just a word, like a spell, broke him. Reclaiming her lips and he realized she had bit open her lip before. He hadn't.known before. It was good.

Somehow, they managed to get out of the car fully clothed. But that didn't matter.

What did was getting inside and pulling at each other's clothes, shirts coming off, pants being almost removed.

And he again managed to stop himself long enough to mutter against her mouth, "Upstairs."

"Kay," she mumbled distantly, sounding very.satisfied.

Hands claiming every part of each other's bodies, hands making their way

without a care or damn to Angel's request to get upstairs before they started fucking on the floor.

And her bra was unlatched but still on her as the door to his room was opened and they made it onto the bed.

"Buffy, he managed to say between tastes of her skin, making a path down her neck (the scar was still there and he didn't have any time to feel guilty about that), skimmed down her chest.settled in the valley of her breasts.

And the touch.the feel of her, warm and slightly wet and a rain-sweetness to her skin although they had both just been in a battle, she was amazing and it wasn't a lie when he told her he still loved her, it was deeper than anything he had ever felt in his existence and why was he getting all these maudlin thoughts as she laid on the bed, still somewhat dressed?

He keenly took the task of undressing her, making sure to tenderly examine every part of her, leaving kisses where he could and making sure to leave deeper ones in places that made her moan in pleasure.

"Mmm.Angel."

And he would have come if he hadn't been too concentrated on making sure her breasts had been completely and utterly tasted and teased in every way possible.

Wanting very much to hear that again, he flicked his tongue against one rose-tipped peak and she moaned in a way that was similar to that sound, but not quite the same. He made his way down, loving that she was so warm and smooth, reaching her sex, the core.

And he, very slowly and carefully, made a steady lick against her outer lips and she.

Screamed, "God yes," and hips went into the air, legs pushing her up, reaching, begging without a sound. He had wanted to make this slow and long and wonderful, but that plan was gone, just was, and he greedily dove in, tasting her essence, so wonderful and sweet.and he wanted to feel her.to see her.

Come and it was quicker than he expected.

Hand tightly tugging in his hair, the pain not even noticed, she was nearly sitting up, thrusting into his face as fast as possible, screaming louder and the words becoming a babble, "godyesAngelGODFUCKINGYESANGELANGELANGEL!!!!"

Pants that he hadn't quite managed to take off completely were gone in an instant and he was right back in there. Warmth. And god.

Fucking yes.

He let out a muffled groan against her throat, sliding into that tight heat and he was so.fucking on the edge.

And about to fall over.

This was the reason, a long time ago. This was why his soul was ripped away. This was perfect goddamned happiness, but it wasn't the same as those years ago, but it was god.

Close enough.

She was undulating underneath him, eyes begging, chest rising as she tried to get closer to him and she wanted it just as much as him and this wasn't.

Right. But it was.

Right.

There, and he was pounding into her, going back to her mouth, that sweet mouth with the copper tang that still resided there.

Her legs were crossed around his back, hands hungrily searching, touching, caressing, but not as soft as before, and this wasn't going to last no matter how much he wanted it to. She was meeting his furious pace and it was something so perfect.

It could never end.

Reaching down and he easily found her clit and he watched her reaction watched as it began to wash over her.

"Buffy," he said and it was whisper sweet against her ear, and he felt those wonderful contractions against his cock, felt her and there was nothing really like it.

Like something he would do anything for.

She moaned as she came, this time it was slow and sweet, just as he wanted. But just as she came back from the bliss, he found himself on his back, Buffy sitting atop him.

Riding him.

"Buffy.?" he managed in a half-surprised but very pleased voice.

"Shh." she pressed a finger against his mouth and he instantly obeyed.

Watching her, god, watching her, this wasn't some dream and if it was, he was going to be very pissed, because this was just too damned good to be true.

Warm, soft Buffy on top of him, riding him and he could only watch with a stunned silence, but not stunned enough not to participate.

Hands touching her, that smooth flesh, touching that rising chest, he brought her down, touching that soft, slightly damp hair, because he needed more, this was something he would want forever and he realized that he wasn't going to last.

Faster and they were pushing against one another, bodies wild now with need, not caring about anything else than finishing, than coming.

Together and just as she let out a hard breathless gasp, grasping him inside and out, he began pumping wildly and fuck yes, this was.

"BUFFY!!!" he shouted, changing positions with her again, on top, trying to get deeper, to get more.

And as they fell over the edge they had been dangling on, drifting off into some wonderful sex-laced dream together, he whispered very, very softly, "I love you."

"Angel." she began, but they fell asleep before she remembered what she was about to say.

*

It was this beautiful, peaceful face that had always gotten to her. So fulfilled and not marred by the weight he carried on his shoulders, by the nightmares of his past. This was the Angel she had wanted to be with, the Angel that she wrote about in the diary of little-girl fantasies.

This was one of the Angels that she loved and he was the easiest to love. No past or issues or pain surrounded him as he slept, still caught in the wonderful dream, perhaps the wonderful memory of before.

But as she got up and put on the few articles of clothing that had made their way up with her, it was this Angel that was the most dangerous of all.

It was this Angel that she would always be desperately in love with.

No matter what.

He was beautiful and it had been beautiful. To be with him, really be with him, and she wondered if Angelus would be the one who woke up, but she doubted it.

If perfect happiness existed, it did not for Angel or Buffy.

As she made her way to the door, she turned and looked at him one more time.

If I kissed him.

She shook her head as though she had disagreed with herself. If she did that, she would stay in bed with him, wake up to his kisses and his promises that they would be able to fix this, that they would do it.

Together.

And that wasn't something she wanted.

Love, she loved him, still, and she had called it a sad joke a day ago, yet that had changed.

She left, quietly walked down the stairs, put on the shirt left on the floor, and she knew exactly why she was leaving.

For his own sake.

She wanted to think that it was over, that this was the goodbye they had been too cowardly to say to each other, but that wasn't it either.

It was her choice this time; her decision and she had had too many choices taken away from her and not this time.

Not like this.

So she left, taking the pack in Angel's car, tying back her hair as she looked out into the very early dawning of the new day.

Just a half hour till sunrise.

Plenty of time.

*

Lilah had spent the night running and she was too tired for the moment to continue on. She looked like a nightmare, torn and bloodied, hard to believe that over 24 hours ago, she was an in-charge, commanding, and well-feared partner of one of the most infamous law firms.

Which, according to the news had "mysteriously" burnt to the ground last night. She shuddered as the waitress poured a second cup of (awful) coffee. A cheap 24-hour place and they let her in, so she was happy for that. Too risky to go to her apartment and the little cash she had miraculously still possessed in her pockets were good only for a cheap meal.

"You sure you don't wanna go to the hospital, hun?"

"No," she muttered, attempting not to wince at the too hot and too strong coffee-flavored murky water.

"Yeah, well, they're plenty busy with all the earthquake victims," the waitress tssked, tap-tap-tap of a heel as she spoke. "I was plenty scared, wanted to stay home, but.I have to pay the bills, y'know how it is."

"No." Lilah tried for a nasty "go away" stare, but it was either too pathetic with her bruised face or the waitress was too dumb to take a hint.

"Sugar, I heard that there were some rival gangs fighting during the earthquake. Burned up a building awful rotten. Police don't seem to be very concerned, but ain't that always the way with the po-lice?" She added with an annoying emphasis on the "po."

Well, maybe that was because the police were too busy celebrating Wolfram and Hart burning down. Their hatred of the lawyers had always been openly hostile.

Putting down her coffee, tossing down the appropriate change, she said, "I'm leaving."

"Take care of yourself, honey," the waitress chirped in a way that showed it was something she said to all departing customers, not meaning it all.

"Not likely," Lilah commented more to herself as she squinted, adjusting to the early morning light.

Maybe she'd be able to get to her apartment, take what was needed, and get the hell out.

Maybe there was time.

Lilah was not stupid enough to believe any of that, but she continued on her way.

*

The sound he made as he got up from the floor, stiff muscles making it just that much worse, was quite an ungentlemanly sound.

"Uggghhhh." he grumbled, blinking, trying to make the blurry vision come into focus.

He was in a bar.

Right.

Empty bottles `round him and he didn't even have a headache. That was a surprise, but he wasn't awake enough to even attempt to be shocked by that.

Stumbling out of the bar, he shielded his eyes as the too bright sun penetrated the slight hazy fog caused by the rainfall of last night. Damn. He'd think about sunglasses, but it was too early to go purchase a pair. Of course, there were probably a few broken store windows.perhaps he could simply borrow a pair.no. He didn't need to.

Walking on, the air was still cool, pavement still damp. Taking small, measured steps, he was tempted to whistle a jaunty tune, but first he needed to make sure it hadn't been a drunkard's dream.

Had to be sure it wasn't a dream.

It was all over the news. Earthquake, fires, rival gangs (how quickly everyone jumps back to denial), and the destruction of a large office building, burning out from the inside. Wesley did not feel any victory, but there was numb sense of knowing that he had done it. And that was better than winning.

No word on who had died last night, if any, but Wesley was sure that the numbers of Wolfram and Hart were likely to have been depleted and, at the very least, completely scattered and powerless. He did not think of the humans that had tried to go out into the streets last night.

The magics couldn't save everyone.

Just the entire world. It was up to the individual to save himself or herself. He groaned, the lecturing tone of his thoughts giving him the much-delayed headache.

Shaking it off, he made his way down the street. He had several options. Leave town immediately, but that would be most foolish.

Try to contact the Watcher's Council and inform them that they were about to be drawn into the war to end all wars. Too boasting, that.

He'd been fired and he decided that his information didn't have to be shared with those stuff-coats, overseas and too far away to do anything.it was too late for anything, really.

Go back to his apartment. He desperately needed a shower and a shave, fresh clothes. However, there was the possibility of Angel being there. Or Buffy realizing what he had done. That could end in a very bloody painful death.

Yet, he took the walk back to his apartment, not confident he would be safe.

If he died, that was fine.

He didn't matter anymore.

He should have died a long time ago, yet he didn't.

And he wanted a fresh change of clothes. Simple as that.

*

"Buffy?" he mumbled as he woke up, her fragrance, their combined scent, still hanging in the air.

Raising up his head, he looked around the empty room. Frowning, he got up, calling into the hallway, "Buffy?"

Not there.

Going back to retrieve his pants, he walked downstairs, to the lobby.

Not there.

And neither was the shirt that she had tossed off.

She wasn't there.

No.

She had left.

"Buffy?" he asked, more to himself, not wanting to accept that she had left. But.why?

There wasn't an answer to his question

He went to go to his car, see if she had taken her bag, that she was really gone, "maybe she just went to go get something to eat," he tried to reason in his head, but he was panicking, panicking, she had left.but they had worked it out.

It was supposed to be okay.

Not like this.

Angel managed to stop himself from walking out into the sun, a foolish thing, but then, he wouldn't be feeling this horrible thing inside of him. Another dream broken, no, it was more than that.

It was reality shattered, a promise that was lie, this was this thing inside of him, clawing at, mocking him.

She had left him.

Her choice.

I love you.

He never heard her answer. She never answered him.

She was gone.

Closing his eyes, he sat down, the burden too much this time.

She hadn't stayed.

It had been.goodbye. And she hadn't told him.

He'd feel rage, god, he wanted to, wanted to scream and yell and burn, yes that was it. Because this hollowness hurt just too much.

But after a long moment, he got up.

He had a war to fight.

And to win.

Alone, if necessary.

Forever.

*

She got up from her seat, facing the door as it opened.

"Hey Wesley."

He managed to look somewhat shocked, yet didn't seem surprised at all. "And where is Angel?" he asked, by way of greeting.

"At the hotel."

Where I left him.

"Ah. Well. I.I think you've figured it out, haven't you?" he asked sharply.

"Yes. I.don't go. I wanted to talk to you."

"Really. That surprises me. I was sure that you'd be furious. As you rightly should be."

"What I am is." Sad. Alone. Ready. "I think I understand."

She hoped that what she wanted to believe in was somehow true.

That there was a reason for this.

"I hadn't intended to have you become a part of my plans, Buffy," he said softly, leaving the doorway, entering the apartment. "Not at all. But. things changed, I'm afraid. I had to do the only thing I had left. If I hadn't, they would have won."

"Wolfram and Hart."

"Yes."

"Then tell me this," she asked, the fear and worry leaving her and she suddenly felt.strong, stronger than she had in a long time, "why start up the Apocalypse to end it all? Why, Wesley?"

"I answered that question to Lilah last night. Yes, she's still alive," he added off her look, "Not for long. Those that survived the demonic uprising will be after her. She was involved in bringing me to them; she was the one that helped me finalize my plan. Without her knowledge, of course."

"Then, they're after you too."

A reason to fight.

She could live like that forever.

"No. Too weak at the moment. They lost their power last night. They lost the battle. Now.the war, the rules, it's all up the air. We're free. I'm free."

"Is that why you did this?"

The stake was sharp, whittled to a fine point, pressed against her skin, underneath her loose sleeve. And if that was the only way.then she'd do it.

"No," he said with a resigned sigh. "I'd like to say I was going mad, that I am insane, but I did it.this, because that's the only choice I could make. I had to make a choice. Destiny.prophecies.they're null and void as of now. Rendered without power."

"Many people died."

"More demons died. People have been saved."

"A lot of people are going to die in the next days."

"Yes. I'll have to do my best. It's time now, you see. This isn't an apocalypse than can be fought by the few; it will eventually need the masses. Soon.humanity will have to fight to save their world."

"Why?"

A simple question with no answer. She asked it anyway. She needed a reason.

"I changed it Buffy," he said, looking straight at her and what scared her was that there wasn't a mad glint in his eyes, no, there wasn't an ounce of insanity in him. It was perfectly clear. "The Powers That Be have no authority anymore. The dark forces have been scattered. Demons will rise, demons shall always come, but a unified force no longer binds them. It's all over."

"You really believe that?"

"I know it. That is all. I lost my beliefs. I lost a sense of myself, the person I was before. Even if you don't trust in me, believe that."

"I know that," she said softly. Make that final decision, the thought whispered. She dropped the stake; it clattered to the floor. He wasn't surprised by it. "Wesley, I'm coming with you."

A frown and he asked, "But Buffy."

"No. I'm the Slayer. I handle the apocalypses. It's my job."

My choice.

He put a heavy hand on her shoulder and replied, "What you are saying.I hope you understand."

"I do."

He nodded slowly, still sluggish and she realized that he reeked of alcohol and hospitals. No doubt about where he spent the night.

"I shall take a shower and get dressed. Pack up, and then, we'll have to leave. To Sunnydale. I.I wanted to make sure that the Hellmouth doesn't resurface considering the magical imbalances that occurred last night."

"You're going to seal it," she replied, somewhat amused.

"Yes."

"That's all it takes? A spell?" A bitter smile crossed her face. She could have been released of her duties; she could have gone elsewhere to college. But those choices were taken from her. And now, she had made one for herself that would last forever.

"Slightly more complicated that a simple spell, but the Hellmouth can be bound to prevent it from reacting to the changes. L.A. is facing the end of days now, and my attention must only be on that."

"Your attention. Got it. You did plan this out."

"No. I planned a way to stop the order to bring chaos. What happens next, that is not planned at all. That is life."

"Go, Wesley," she responded, the answers given to her in full. She could live with them. "I'll go ahead, tell Giles what happened."

"Yes. A Slayer must inform her Watcher," he said, going back to his old lessons, the old beliefs he no longer cared for.

"No. Not for that. Because.we have to prepare for the war. And.I need to say goodbye. Once we leave Sunnydale, I'm not going back unless I have to."

Unless I have to fight there.

"Is that your decision, then?" he asked, no judging in his voice, just a resigned, measured tone.

"Yes. It's.it's what I have to do."

He gave her something like a smile and told her, "I shall be grateful for your help. Thank you."

He walked into the other room and she went over to the window.

Everything had changed.

And she was actually happy about it.

This was her choice, her reason. She was going to live.

She left for Sunnydale; walking into the daylight.ready for goodbyes and battles and for once in her life she was ready for whatever came next.

Her choice.

She smiled, looking much like the girl that hadn't know her future, that hadn't known she had a sacred destiny. Yet it was a knowing smile, one of a warrior who was prepared, who was ready. For anything.

For whatever happens next.

This hurt less.

She didn't have to feel. It was freeing.

Like being alive

*

Lilah quietly entered the apartment, gun drawn, but she wasn't really hiding at all.

Wesley watched her enter, pointing the pistol at her head and drawled, "Now is this the way we must say goodbye?"

She turned swiftly, aiming her gun at his head as well. She certainly looked better, like the slinky ice princess that that slunk into his apartment and left him a book and a number, telling him to choose his destiny.

And he picked something else.

"I think killing you will just be really fun," she said, voice steady and cold.

"No. You won't. And what a way to say bon voyage! I'm leaving the city for a bit, you know," he said in a polite, conversational tone as though they both weren't aiming guns at one another.

"They haven't found me yet. And they won't. I kill you and I leave town."

"No, Lilah, I doubt it, my favorite little clich,." Taking careful steps towards her, he had the gun again her forehead, hers against his own head. "We could end it like this."

She dropped the gun. He followed suit.

Wesley looked over this woman he felt nothing for. The ice princess. The bitch. The one that was once there in a time of desperation.

She did not want to die; Wesley knew that much. This woman who lost her humanity and took up a mask instead, she still feared death, still trembled. Remarkably human, that, especially for Lilah.

He reached over and tasted those cool, perfect lips. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It had been something that had kept him from insanity; she had kept the solitude from breaking him.

A reprieve from reality.

"You won't escape," he warned her, not out of any feeling, but a mutual broken bond they had unknowingly created whilst they fucked and tried to pretend that nothingness was better than actually having something.

Yet Lilah was too stubborn, too used to winning at the last moment to listen to his warning. She straightened up, breaking away from him, "No, that's you. I'm free."

"Yes, it could appear to be that," he agreed, a swift kick putting both guns out of reach. For now. "But even if you left, you'd start over again, do the same thing, try to be the evil one, when really, you're just as lost as most people. You cannot hide what you are, Lilah. No matter how hard you try. Neither can I."

"That isn't true-" she tried to interject, to save her reputation, refusing to see that it was shattered beyond repair.

"So predictable, we all are. So pathetic. We always make the same mistakes." He thought of Buffy then, adding, "Or we change when it is too late."

"Ooh.lecture me again Wes," she snapped, but she did not move towards the guns. Insolent and stupid in her fury.

Grabbing her wrist, he said in a deathly whisper, "Pay attention. One last time. If I see you again, I'll be forced to kill you. In fact, I'll do it happily. Perhaps give you a matching wound across your lovely neck. You always seemed fond of staring at my own. You do know too much, but you can't do anything with it. Yet.if you try to do anything rash or get into my way."

He trailed off and dragged a finger across her neck for emphasis, unsurprised to see the dark thrill in her eyes.

"It's a new world, Lilah, new rules," he said, taking up a heavy, packed suitcase with everything he needed. "Or rather, no rules at all."

She gave him one final look as he backed away, walking out and leaving her there in the ruins of the city, the destruction of all her planning and plotting. Finally, she asked in a weak, distressed voice, "Is this how it's going to end?"

Not turning around, he promised her, "Lilah, my dear, this is how it's going to begin. Well, that's also an awful clich,, isn't it? Not really anything else to say, though. Let's just say, this is the end. The rest is."

And he left.

The End.

Better Buffy Fiction Archive Entry

Betrayer