Desideratum

“I believe I’ve found him.”

There was stunned silence on the other end of the phone, and he wasn’t surprised in the least. He could well imagine the look on her face, pale, hopeful, wary. Above all wary. She wouldn’t trust this bit of information, no matter who it came from, even if it was him. Too many leads in the past hadn’t panned out; too many times she’d been heartbroken.

“Where?” she finally asked.

And her voice was harsh, rough with repressed joy, hope, desperate need, and love. Above all, love. There was always love there, since the first. And it broke his heart all over again to hear it in her voice and know what had happened.

“Here, after all,” he confirmed with a harsh laugh, “As you suspected. He’s being held in the basement of a local club.”

“How-” she broke off with a hitch in her breath, and his heart went out to her. Still, he knew any words of comfort he offered would be rebuffed. No matter if he’d actually managed to get the proper words out anyway.

“It’s a long story, my dear. I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours,” she promised and immediately hung up the phone.

He looked at his own receiver, wondering what was to happen now. This was something they’d worked for over a year to accomplish, and now that it was finally here, he realized they didn’t have a plan. Ah, well, with the mood she was in, he doubted an extensive one would be needed. Still, best to have everything ready.

Weapons, backup, weapons, location, weapons…possibly a flamethrower. Yes, that would be nice. Take out the entire group in one fell swoop. He wondered where he could get one…

Smiling, he walked back into the main room of the library. “Ah,” he said to his charge as she sat on the table, holding a towel to her neck. “How are you feeling, now?”

“Like crap,” she stated with a glare. “Okay, what’s going on? First I was at school, and this freaky fairy godmother somehow granted my wish, and the next I know, nothing’s changed, but everything sure as hell has.”

“Ms. Chase,” he began, “I understand that you’re a little confused-”

“Little? Look, Giles,” and again he was taken aback that she knew who he was. It was rather disconcerting. “I know you have this tendency to hit your head, and I’m sure by now you have some kind of amnesia memory thing, but understating this isn’t helping. Though I have to say,” she looked him up and down, the brown of her eyes sparking with interest. “The outfit? Much better than the tweed.”

“Tweed?” Giles echoed. “I haven’t worn tweed since my days at University.”

“I thought you were all drug, magick, rock star then.” At his look, Cordelia waved it off. “Whatever. Now where the hell am I?” He opened his mouth, and she jabbed a finger at him, rushing to add, “In one hundred words or less.”

Glaring at her, he said, “As best I’ve been able to figure from what you said about wishing, the Sunnydale as you know it changed when you wished Buffy Summers had never come here.” Again, he glared at her, but she shrugged in return. There was a story there, and he wanted to hear it.

“It’s a long story – she’s not the trouble I thought, well, she is, but not if everyone’s dead because she’s not here.” Perhaps another time, Giles thought, he didn’t have time for this.

“Now, what’s this about Willow and Xander? They’re the Master’s most vicious disciples – here in Sunnydale at least. And you mentioned an…an angel, yes?”

“Yeah,” again, she waved her hand in the air. “Yeah, they weren’t supposed to be a bunch of vamps. And vicious? Don’t see it. Spike and Drusilla, yes. Willow and Xander? Hardly. And can I just say he looks so bad in leather? I always knew he had no taste in clothes, but God! Even dead he doesn’t. Angel was a much better dresser.”

“Spike and Drusilla…” he swallowed, trailed off but she didn’t seem to notice. What did she know of Spike and Dru? Another question for another time. He needed to focus on the here and now.

“Angel? As a name, then? Yes,” he nodded, holding his breath, waiting for her to confirm what he’d suspected when she’d first demanded to speak with Buffy. At his feigned confusion, she’d demanded Angel or someone else who helped the Slayer, other than the watcher who was fired…whatever that meant. “You mentioned that name before. How does this Angel have anything to do with the Buffy you mentioned?”

He’d never heard of a watcher being fired, but then, he’d never heard of a lot of things before he came to Sunnydale last year in search of a missing person. With any luck, that person might be found soon, and all their lives could go on. Such as they now were. Maybe once everything was resolved they could begin the healing process, maybe try to put things behind them…remember fondly if not forget.

Glancing at his watch, Giles hoped she got here soon. It was already dark out, and the library wasn’t a safe haven from vampires.

“Yeah, Angel.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Big romance, big deal, big death…it’s a story, but we don’t have time for that.” She glared at him. “You have to get me back to my world, I don’t like it here! The clothes alone were better!”

“You were saying…?” he prompted, ignoring that particular outburst.

“Oh, right. They help Buffy; Willow and Xander were supposed to, I mean. And Angel – a vampire with a soul who does good and doesn’t eat you unless he and Buffy get it on, and then he turns into this massive killer – does, too. And you.”

“And you?” At her glare, Giles clarified. “If you know all this, then you must help as well, yes?”

“I got sucked into it against my will,” she emphatically stated with a regal nod.

“Ah,” taking off his glasses, he polished them absently as he digested what Ms. Chase had told him thus far. “Well, then,” he looked back at her and frowned at the amused smirk she sent him. “What else can you tell me about this wish, hmm?”

“You know, you watchers never change. I swear it’s something in your blood, DNA or something.”

“Ms. Chase,” Giles promoted.

“Right, right.” Taking hold of her necklace, she showed it to him. “The freaky fairy godmother gave me this, I made a wish, and poof!” she snapped her fingers. “Bizzaro Land.”

“A wish, you say,” he murmured, quickly walking into the cage where he kept his more arcane books and special weapons.

“Yeah, I already told you. I wished Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale. God, why do people listen to me?” There was a pause, and he turned back to face her. Her nose was scrunched up, and she was frowning. “Never mind. But they should listen to what I don’t say,” she insisted. “Not what I do. Read between the lines and all that.”

Looking back at his books, Giles asked, “Did this person, ah, demon, did she have a name?”

But there was no answer. Once more looking behind him, Giles saw Willow draining Ms. Chase, and Xander slamming the cage door closed. Immediately holding a large cross to the bars, Giles felt a grim satisfaction at the hiss of displeasure and growl that issued from the fledgling’s face.

They just weren’t making vamps the way they used to. Time was, crosses did very little but fend off a minion. Now it worked on all but the oldest. Still, lucky for Giles that while Xander was vicious, he wasn’t very strong.

Another moment and the pair was gone. Cordelia Chase was dead, and he was locked in the cage. Sighing, he sat on the cold floor and began to read. He had to wait until Oz, Larry, and Nancy returned from patrol, or she showed up and released him. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn’t where I expected you to be,” the voice said from above him.

Looking up, Giles smiled at the young woman in genuine delight. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a thick braid, and her green eyes were anxious and wary. Always wary, it’d been a long time since he saw anything remotely resembling joy in those eyes, but he remembered the sight well.

“Buffy,” he said, standing. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Giles,” she nodded. “But what are you doing locked in a cage?”

“Vampires. Books. Weapons…it’s a long story.” She opened the cage door, and immediately placed her silver cross against his cheek before he could react.

“Sorry,” she shrugged, not sounding the least bit so, “Had to check.” Glancing at the body on the floor, she asked, “Friend of yours?”

“No, she’s a student here. With an interesting story: seems she knew of you, and several other interesting facts, though they’re not quite the way I recall them happening. Said she made a wish that you never came to Sunnydale.”

“I didn’t,” Buffy pointed out logically. “Not until today. So what’s the story?”

“She knew you’re the Slayer, I’m your watcher, or was supposed to be, and claimed you have friends who help you, well, slay. And that you and a vampire named Angel are a couple.” Giles frowned. “I was a little confused as to some of what she claimed, something about happy and badness,” he shook his head. “But unfortunately,” he glanced down at the poor girl, “I never had a chance to ask her more.”

“Who did this to her?” Buffy’s voice was calm, but nerves were clear to see in her eyes for someone who had known her for several years. Not for what she had to do, not for what she had done. No, but because of what she desperately hoped to find here.

“Willow and Xander, two of the most vicious vampires in Sunnydale.” At her disbelieving looks, he smiled. “Yes, well, it isn’t saying much, but they’re still very high up in the clan.”

“Clan?” she made a show of looking around. “Here? In this nowhere town?”

“I have news, Buffy,” he said quietly. “I believe he’s here.”

For a moment, joy brightened her entire face, and he swore tears pooled in those emerald depths. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried…when her parents divorced? Yes, that was it, but then she’d been surrounded by friends and loved ones, her support group; especially her mother, who’d taken an active interest in her life, who’d been there for her when she’d admitted to her Calling.

Now, she was alone, by her own making, but Giles didn’t know how to breech those walls. But just as quickly as the joy appeared, it was gone; and if he hadn’t been looking, Giles would’ve sworn he imagined it.

“That’s what you said on the phone. Where?”

“Some place called The Bronze. It’s a local club. The Master took it over.” The surprise on her face now wasn’t as easily disguised. “Yes, that one.”

“But why? I mean…no,” she shook her head, her face pale. “That’s not possible. He…”

“I know, Buffy,” Giles said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I know. But it’s true. He’s here, Master of this town, and I believe he’s keeping…” he paused. “I’m afraid he’s in the basement of The Bronze.”

For long moments, Buffy was silent as she stared blankly at the tabletop.  Frowning, she asked, “He’s surrounded himself with a bunch of fledglings?” she shook her head. “I don’t buy it. He’s too smart for that, too powerful, and after this…no, he’s planning something.”

“I agree, yes,” he walked to the table, setting several volumes on the scarred surface before turning back to face her. “There’s a rumor of another, of a vampire cruel enough to be his Right Hand, but no one has ever met him, so I have no idea who this ‘other’ could be. Or even if he or she truly exists, or is just something to tell little vampires so they mind their manners.”

She smiled at his weak joke, and something within him uncoiled. She wasn’t lost to him yet, and for that Giles would’ve walked over hot coals, naked. He’d been so scared that this had broken her…but it hadn’t. Wandering to the center of the library, she stared down at the floor, and he wondered what she looked for.

So wrapped up in her musings, in the power that radiated from the center of the room, arms wrapped tight around herself, chills racing over her body, she didn’t hear the three enter, talking to Giles quietly. Nor did she notice when they moved Cordelia Chase’s body into the back of the school for discovery first thing in the morning. She didn’t hear Oz and Giles introduce her to Larry and Nancy, nor their questions about how the other two knew her.

“Met her in New York,” Oz shrugged.

“Knew her mother,” Giles added. Neither enumerated on their relationship, and Larry and Nancy dropped the subject.

“Buffy,” Oz said, laying a hand on her arm.

Jerking, Buffy automatically caught the wrist, fist coming just short of actually connecting with Oz’s face. Smiling, she hugged her longtime friend. “Mom says hi,” she told him. “And that Geordie is doing just fine with his new…form.”

Oz smiled, leading her back to the table and the group. “Glad to hear it.”

“Where’s The Bronze?” she suddenly demanded. When she looked up at Giles again, her eyes were hard chips of green ice, determined and ready. Her voice was steely in its resolve, and there was nothing in her posture that screamed woman. She was all Slayer.

“Are you sure, Buffy?” Giles asked, even as he handed her a sword. “It’s their headquarters, so to speak. It’s well guarded and always crowded. You walk in there-”

“You walk in there,” Larry interrupted, “and you’re not coming back out.”

Turning those determined eyes to the stranger, Buffy smiled. Hard, cold, calculating, her smile was that of a fierce predator and made Larry shiver as prey. “Oh, I am,” she promised. “And I’ll have him, too.”

“You walk in there,” Oz repeated, picking up a sword he had yet to truly Master, “and I’ll be right behind you.”

Smiling at him, she nodded, squeezed his hand in thanks, and turned to Giles who was hefting an overstuffed duffle full of holy water and stakes. He hadn’t been able to look for a flamethrower. But it was Nancy who spoke next.

“Are you insane? It’s The Bronze! It’s like Hitler’s Bunker; you just don’t go in there! What’s so important that you have to risk everything we do, anyway?”

Buffy eyed the girl, wondered where she came from, why she fought. But her smile never wavered, and it was Nancy who flinched. “I’m going to find my husband.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The faint sliver of light that came in from the top of the steps was never enough.

Even with his preternatural eyesight, it wasn’t enough. He’d lived his entire life in the dark, and yet now, he wanted the light. Not to walk into it, not to end the existence that now plagued him, but to take comfort in it. To hold it and love it. He was used to that now, used to the comfort the light provided, used to the heat and fire.

Craved it. Needed it. Adored it. Loved it.

Shifting on the hard floor, the clanking of his chains echoing in the quiet of the basement, he leaned against the wall, trying to ease the ache in his ribs, in his broken leg that hadn’t healed all the way yet – it may never, he conceded, and hated that. Hated what that meant, not for him, but for her. They never fed him enough, purposely – he would have done the same; no, they gave him just enough to keep him alive and alert. Enough so he could feel the torture they inflicted upon him.

He wanted to laugh, wanted to mock Willow and her pathetic plaything, Xander. Wanted to show them what true torture was. What they did to him was child’s play. He’d inflicted much worse in his reign, and had sustained worse – hell, Darla and he had played harder than this in their time together, nearly a hundred years ago now.

A smile crossed his face quickly – his lover and he played harder than this, had loved with more passion and pain than Willow could ever imagine. He allowed himself to remember their time together, three short years of love and passion and wholeness. But briefly. Quickly. No use dwelling in the past when there were other things to concentrate on.

They’d play again soon enough. He swore it to Nest when that vampire had tricked him. He swore it to the gods, the fates, the powers, even to God Himself every single day. And he swore it to her. Every morning, every night, every time Willow tried something on him, he swore to his love that they’d be together again. Soon.

Shifting again, he tried not to pull the newly-healed skin, and suppressed a laugh. They believed the matches were hell, that Willow sucking him off was a reward, even if his dick was never fully aroused. They thought that holy water and crosses and the faint hint of sunlight they allowed to seep through the basement windows were enough to break him.

He’d laughed that first time, and for weeks after he’d laughed at them. Laughed long and hard, and when Willow had demanded, with her yellow eyes and hissing speech, her rage that fueled his humor, to know what was so funny as she pressed a cross to his chest, he’d told her.

“You’re a little girl playing in the big leagues. You know nothing. Hell, I’ve met humans with more technique and imagination than you. You are a child, Fledgling, and by keeping me chained and weak, you’re showing your own weakness.”

She hadn’t like that, but he wasn’t expecting her to. Instead, he let her continue with – ooh – knives now. And through it all, he’d stoically endured it. This was temporary, and he knew it. Nest knew it, too, which was why he never ventured into the basement. Never saw he whom he’d betrayed; betrayed by killing his Family, by deceiving his Mate. He never came down to see or taunt or even acknowledge his prisoner.

The door opened now, and he caught Willow’s scent, a fresh kill on her breath, blood still clinging to her clothes and nails, between her teeth. Ugh, don’t they know about personal hygiene? Honestly, just because one was dead didn’t mean one couldn’t be clean. He was getting old, he sighed. But then, that was part of the fun.

“Puppy,” she said, delight in her voice. Whatever happened to her, whoever had turned her, they’d also made her mad. He had a lot of experience with that, and felt that no one could compare with him; hell, he was the Master at that. But Willow was a definite second in the craziness department. Distant second, but second nonetheless.

“Willow,” he sighed. When he didn’t answer her, she got creative – he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Still, he ached. His skin wasn’t closing properly, bones weren’t mending, and he was starving. He knew he couldn’t overpower Willow, and she knew it, too. It was degrading, the worst thing about this whole captivity.

But then maybe that was Nest’s ultimate goal. Degradation.

“I have a surprise for you today, Puppy. A story!” She smiled at him, opening the cage with the heavy set of keys that hung just out of his reach. Another taunt. If he’d been stronger, he had no doubts he could kick the door in, break his chains, and leave. But no. They starved him because they knew nothing else could keep him in here.

Keep him away from her.

Willow sauntered over to him, light eyes bright with secrets he couldn’t possibly care about. Her arm shot out and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him with ease. Unimpressed, he looked down at her with dark eyes, silent as he waited for her next move. One of these days, he knew, she’d mess up, and he’d be free. Unfortunately, that was a long time off.

No matter what plan he tried, what he came up with to get him the hell out of here, with no strength, it was useless. Only his dreams and fantasies sustained him.

“She wasn’t very nice,” Willow confided as she tossed him to the floor, quickly sitting astride him. “Loud and obnoxious, she was a bitch in grade school, and even worse in high school.”

Leaning over him, tongue flicking out to tease his ear, she whispered, “But she had some interesting information to share.” She licked the side of his neck, human teeth grazing the raised scar there. Instead of the normal reaction, a purr, a shiver of desire, immediate arousal, he growled, revulsion flooding his veins as he pushed her off him.

It was the same every time.

“Now, Puppy,” but she was grinning. “You know that’s not the way this game goes. If you’d tell me who the scar belongs too, then maybe we could find you a nice playmate.” Nothing. For an interminable number of months – was it longer? He didn’t think so, but time had very little meaning to him any longer – she’d tried to get this same information out of him, and for all that time he’d remained quiet.

Even when she found hot pokers and jammed them into his legs, arms, stomach, hands, and feet in a mockery of Christ on the Cross. Even when she tempted him with a blonde – unknowing, of course, of the significance the woman had in the seconds before he realized just who she wasn’t, slicing her neck open and laughing at his inability to taste the sweet human blood. Even when she came upon him at night, more so in the early days when he was exhausted and slept most of the time to keep up his strength, and tried to seduce him into giving her the answers she desperately sought, or tried to catch him in a dream, unawares.

But it was amazing what the body could endure, and it was amazing what he’d done, would still do, to keep on. Always a light sleeper, he now knew the movements of everyone upstairs. He knew their tread, their scent, their laughter. Their loves, hates, and fears. How close they came to the stair door, how often they hesitated in coming down the stairs, no matter how curious they were as to the Master’s sole prisoner, the one Willow called Puppy.

Yes, he’d changed. Hardened. But the determination that burned deep within him had not. The will to fight had not.

“No? Not talking today?” Willow shrugged. “Shame. Maybe I won’t tell you the rest of my story, then. It’s a good one, too. The Master was pleased when I told him.”

Looking in her eyes, he already knew – the tingle at the base of his spine, the way the mark on his neck throbbed – and he smiled at her. It was, conceivably, the first time he’d given a genuine smile since being captured by one he once considered a friend. It was the first time since then he’d known, with absolute certainty, that his time here was at an end.

Predator to prey, he looked at her despite their circumstances.

“The Slayer’s come to town.”

Blinking, Willow allowed her shock to show through, unable to cover it. “Wha…? How did…?” But she didn’t finish her questions; just then a match was flung by her, startling her out of her shock as it landed on his chest, another open and festering wound among dozens. Slow in closing, painful for moments on end. It’d heal. Eventually. Eventually, everything did.

He sucked in a deep breath, keeping the pain at bay by the knowledge that she was close. For months, he’d kept the pain at bay with the knowledge that she’d find him. And now that she had, nothing could hurt him.

“Hey,” she turned sharply to her lover. “Watch it,” she scolded, “you almost got my hair.”

Ignoring the two fledglings, he waited. He knew what was coming. His body quickened, adrenaline he didn’t know he still possessed after all this time surged through him. Finally, he was going home. She’d found him, as he knew she would. Hoped she wouldn’t, wouldn’t endanger herself like this. Knew she would anyway. Loved her all the more for it.

Willow turned her attention back to her Puppy, eyes curious as to his sudden change. It wasn’t physical, he knew that. No, he was extremely good at controlling his body, his mind, his emotions. It was something else that gave him away. Well, no time like the present to disabuse her of her pathetic so-called superior notions.

“When you return to your Master,” he snarled, locking eyes with Willow, the more vicious of the two fledglings. “Tell him Angelus sends his regards on a match well played. But he’s just been checkmated.”

It had the desired reaction – Willow was shocked. Clearly, Nest had never revealed his name to anyone. And yet his reputation had made it even to the newly made vampires of Sunnydale. Perfect.

Settling back on the floor as Willow stormed away from the cage, leaving a befuddled Xander to lock up, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

If his Mate was in town, he’d be out of here by the next sunrise.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure about this?” Buffy asked as they approached the former club. But he was there, she could feel him, finally fell him.

It was dark, deserted, and open. Nothing like what Giles and Oz had described to her. Nothing like what she expected Nest’s base of operations to be like. Nothing like where her lover’s Grandsire and once-friend would stay.

“Yes,” Giles stated flatly. “I’m positive.” Buffy looked at him, waiting silently. “He killed Jenny here,” he finally admitted, “and displayed her body outside for me to find.”

Inhaling sharply, Buffy grasped his hand for a moment, silently telling him she understood. He’d never told her what had happened to his wife, only that she was dead, and he knew it. Not sure what to say, what comfort to offer, she finally let go of his hand.

“Then I guess it’s time to kick some Nest Butt, eh?”

Smiling slightly, Giles agreed, and along with Oz, the three of them walked boldly into the Bronze. It was deserted. There was no trap, no Nest, no vampires at all.

“I guess they knew we were coming,” Oz said, holding his sword at the ready, just in case a vamp decided to jump out at him. He’d learned long ago that one could never be too careful when one was involved in this world.

“No,” Buffy murmured, heading towards the back of the club. “It’s something else.”

They watched her; she could feel their eyes on her back as she headed into the backroom. “Well, hello, there, Nest,” she said to no one as she took in the room. It was large, decorated in black and red and not much else. It didn’t look like he put much effort into refurbishing the place. Either he didn’t care, which was odd, or he knew he wasn’t going to stay there long.

Buffy bet on the latter.

“But where are you?” she asked.

There was, of course, no answer. Instead, she followed the throbbing in her veins and opened a door in the back of this room. “Bingo,” she whispered. She wanted to shout. Wanted to see if he truly was down there, but didn’t. Her senses told her it was only him, that there was no one else there, but that meant nothing. Senses could be fooled.

Anything could be fooled. Even the bonds of friendship.

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Giles and Oz standing at the entrance to the backroom. Without a word, they nodded to her and she descended the stairs. Quietly, taking her time to allow her senses to adjust to the room, the darkness, the torture and pain and fear and…yes, even sex. Rape, release, despair, and the burning ember of his will.

But none of that mattered. No, all that mattered was that her body screamed for him.

“Angelus,” she breathed, quickly and quietly moving down the last steps and across the room towards the cage.

“Buffy?” his words were soft, slurred, and she knew it was because they’d done things to him he’d probably never talk about. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that he was here; she’d finally found him, and she wasn’t ever letting him out of her sight again.

“Yeah, baby,” she whispered lovingly, looking down to where he sat against the wall, struggling to rise. “I’m here. Don’t move,” she quickly instructed when he struggled against his chains and the obvious weakness in his limbs.

God, what had they done to him? She was going to kill them. All of them. Very slowly, and very painfully, and when she was finished, no one would be able to identify the pieces in the moments before they turned to ash.

“Save your strength, Angelus.”

Keys were nowhere to be found, not that she bothered to look for them. Kicking the cell door open with one swift kick, she knelt beside her lover, Mate, husband gently stroking his forehead. His wrists were clasped by heavy chains held high over his head, stretched only so far apart, not allowing much movement. His body looked torn, battered. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Angelus,” she breathed again, pressing lips that desperately wanted to tremble to his, allowing the past months to fade away as their lips touched, as his skin heated under hers.

“I thought I’d never find you,” she admitted, telling him what she could tell no other. That in the months, the years since his disappearance, his capture by one they’d considered a friend, she wondered if she’d ever find him again. Several tears escaped her long-held emotional control at finally being in her lover’s arms once more.

He kissed her tears away, as he had before, murmuring to her in his mother tongue. Soft words of reassurance and love. She held him close, winding her arms about his shoulders, ignoring the faint tremor that racked his body – starvation most likely – and the wounds she could feel even under the rag that was once a shirt.

“Unlock these chains, baby.” He said, still in Gaelic, and she knew his defenses were battered; the only time he spoke to her like that, spoke to her in his native tongue, was when they were alone, usually in bed or sharing a particularly tender moment. “I want to hold you.”

She quickly broke them, her heart clenching at how easily they came apart when it was obvious he didn’t have the strength to do it himself. Soft fingertips traced the burns, fire and holy water, old knife wounds and whip marks that hadn’t completely healed, the ribs she could count from the malnourishment she knew he’d suffered through. What else?

What else had they done to him? She was familiar with vampiric methods of torture, and while this wasn’t what she expected – she’d expected to see him handing against a wall, spread eagle for all to whip and beat, naked and bloody, nearly dead – it was still horrific.

Because it was him. Because it was her lover.

“What did they do to you?” she demanded, but her fingers were still gentle as they traced the evidence of his imprisonment.

“Nothing, love,” he promised, enfolding her in his arms and sighing at the feel of how right it was. His arms and hands tingled with the return of his sluggish circulation, but he ignored that. Buffy was back in his arms and nothing else mattered. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m going to kill him,” she promised, but didn’t raise her head from his shoulder, holding him tightly to her as she straddled his lap. Wrapped completely around him, holding him close.

His laugh was hollow and vicious; a sound that sent chills through her. Not for the cruelty of it, though it was a deadly promise. But because it’d been such a long time since she heard it. Since she felt arousal pool low in her belly at the sound, since she burned with the need to Mate and to take.

“Angelus,” she said, kissing him again. She wasn’t going to do any of that, however. They couldn’t afford the time, and he was weak, she knew he was. Had known it for over a year, now, that whoever had taken him had kept him as such purposely. Nest. She still couldn’t believe it was him. He was going to burn in hell for this.

“We have to get you out of here, baby. I don’t know where he is, but I know he’s coming back.”

“They’re at some old warehouse on the outskirts of town.” The words were whispered against her throat, the cool breath a balm to her soul. “Something about a new dawn.”

“Can you stand?”

She pulled back to look at him, hands refusing to let him go, running through hair longer than she remembered, over cheekbones and brow. Arms that were once strong with muscle and were now nothing more than bone. God, he’d lost so much weight it brought tears to her eyes. But Buffy blinked them back – she wasn’t going to cry. Not until Nest was dead, and Angelus was safe in her bed.

“Barely,” it was a growl of anger that he couldn’t. “They didn’t…” he paused, struggled with the memories of torture, of the rape Willow inflicted upon him, of the knowledge that he was helpless to do anything about it…the helplessness most of all. The feeling of absolute joy in having Buffy in his arms again eclipsed that, or did momentarily. “They didn’t feed me…much…they...”

“Shh,” she said, pulling her jacket off her shoulder.

Later, he could tell her everything. Later they could make love in their Venetian bed, or their villa near Monaco, their estate in St. Petersburg, or their English Manor while they visited her mother, or any other damn place that was warm and isolated and not here. Where he could heal and where she could hold him. Just hold him.

“Later, darling,” she promised. “We can talk about it later. Drink, my love,” she told him. “Drink from me, your lover, your Mate.”

Eyes trained on the pulse beating steady and strong at the base of her throat, he said in a hoarse voice, “Buffy, I’m not sure…I won’t…” a deep growl escaped lips parted in a snarl. “It’s been a long time…I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop,” he admitted, and she knew how hard it was for him to do that. But his lips gently touched the old scar that marked her as his, tongue flicking over the raised tissue, and she moaned.

“It’s been too long,” she said, holding him close. “I’ll be fine. You must drink, Angelus,” she insisted. “It’s the only way to regain your strength. It’s the only way we can leave here and still get Nest.”

He knew that, and yet was deeply afraid for her. He didn’t want to hurt her, never had wanted that. And now he wasn’t sure he was strong enough not to. Desperately afraid that he’d be unable to stop, unable to stop the flow of her sweet Slayer/Mate blood, of the love and lust that flavored it. Of the power and strength inherent in it. In her.

Looking at her once more, seeing the absolute trust and love in her eyes, he vowed, “I love you,” before shifting her closer. Sinking eager fangs into her neck, his cock, surprisingly enough, hard and aching for her, his system already singing with pure bliss at the taste of her blood smoothly gliding down his throat, Angelus drank.

He’d been afraid that he’d never be able to make love to her again, that, despite his amusement towards Willow’s form of torture, he wouldn’t be able to properly function with his Mate. It had been that fear alone that had nearly broken him, but Willow hadn’t ever known. He shuddered to think what she’d have done had she known who he was, who his Mate, his wife, was.

But Nest was either too stupid to tell her, or had something else planned. It was the something else that worried Angelus.

He thrust against her, tasting her love, her passion, and reveling in it. The years spent apart, the abstinence and the need. She wound tighter around him, holding him close, her body silently begging him for more. Rocking against him, Buffy arched into him, one orgasm flowing explosively into the next.

“Ahh,” she breathed, bright lights exploding behind her eyes as she moved against his erection, needing more, so much more than this. Now wasn’t the time, and in the back of her mind she knew that. But oh, the feel of her lover against her after all this time was heaven.

“Angelus,” she cried, climaxing again. She had the feeling of falling, a sensation she didn’t exactly mind in her pleasure, and then his mouth on hers, his fingers working the clasp of her pants. The feel of his hands on her thighs, pulling her pants down, the cold floor under her, his body blanketing hers.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and she did so, slowly, weakly. “Baby, look at me.”

He’d stopped, she realized, though his mouth was still stained with her blood. Her life that she freely gave to him over four years ago when she was first called, when Rupert Giles had first found her and told her a fantastic story about demons, vampires, and the forces of darkness. About how she was to fight them, and he was going to train her contrary to what his superiors wanted.

It was her mother that told off the council, her mother who, not long after she was called and her parents divorced, had warned the council that if they tried to take Buffy away from Giles, she’d make sure all their secrets were exposed. While chances were slim anyone other than the tabloids would believe her, the chance couldn’t be taken.

They’d tried to kill Joyce twice, but Buffy had powerful friends, vampires and witches alike – it didn’t take long before the Council realized the wisdom in keeping Joyce Summers alive.

It was Rupert Giles who had told her, weeks after her calling, of a vampire who was tired of wandering, tired of his life, and who had saved Rupert when he was a lad, though he’d long denied it. The first moment she saw him, she’d wanted him. At the time, she’d been too young to know, to realize, but he had not. He wanted her as well, and he wasn’t one to not take what he wanted. Even knowing who and what he was, she accepted him.

It was as simple as that, though the complications were far more than either could’ve realized.

“I love you,” she whispered, pulling him back against her.

When he entered her, she screamed his name again, tightening around him as they moved together, unnaturally fast, coupling on the floor of his cell, the floor that had seen his humor, his pain, his shame. And now, his redemption.

“Buffy,” he growled, mouth once more against her reopened scar, but this time he didn’t bite. This time he kissed the opened mark, purring for the first time in nearly two years at being inside his Mate.

As his climax exploded through him, he rolled them over, holding her close. There were things that needed to be done. Escape. Revenge. At this particular moment, only she mattered, only Buffy held any significance to him. They were together.

“Buffy?” Giles called. “Angelus?”

Moving faster than he had in all the time he’d been here, Angelus helped her up, dressing first her, then himself, before Giles had the chance to descend the stairs. Buffy’s blood energized him, and though he still ached, though his wounds hadn’t yet all healed, he was better – he could feel it. Bones were mended, or nearly so, he could feel his strength returning; but it’d be a while before he was up to par, and he knew it.

His leg pained him, and he wondered if the break would ever mend properly. Damn, he’d probably have to break it again and heal fresh. Later. All that was for later.

The look of relief on Giles’ face made Buffy smile, though she didn’t move from the circle of Angelus’ arms, holding his hands against her belly. She might not ever move from his embrace again, she figured.

“Good,” and that relief was clear in Giles’ voice, too. “You found him.”

“We need to leave,” Angelus said, threading his fingers with hers and leading his lover out of the cell. The shirt he’d been wearing when he’d first been captured hung about him in shreds, his pants were filthy and torn, but they were all he had. And he wasn’t about to go into this fight naked, even if he was completely unashamed of his body.

“Nest and his group are at some old warehouse on the outskirts of town. I don’t know what they’re doing there, but I know it’s big.”

“How do you know?” Giles asked, leading the way upstairs though it was a joke he could’ve handled whatever they met better than the two warriors behind him.

“Because they didn’t leave anyone here, and Nest knew you were coming, Buffy.”

She frowned, but said nothing. Oz looked over his shoulder from where he stood guard over the empty club, nodded to Angelus, and the four of them exited the building. Larry was where they’d left him, half a mile away in the white van; when they climbed in, he stared at Angelus.

“Who’s he?”

“Angelus,” the vampire said before sitting on the floor and settling Buffy by his side. She leaned against him with a smile, arms wrapping about his waist tightly.

“A friend,” Oz told him. “The one we’ve been looking for.”

“I thought we were looking for the Master.”

“And now we are,” Giles agreed, motioning the boy to the passenger’s seat. “Ready?” Without waiting for an affirmation, he sped away, clipping the curb in his haste. “Angelus,” he asked, “Any idea which warehouse?”

“What are you talking about?” Larry demanded. “And how would he know?”

“No,” Angelus glared at Larry. “She wasn’t that forthcoming.”

“Here,” Oz tossed him a small bundle; shirt and pants, and a small packet of healing herbs. The scent of mint floating through the van. “Tara made that for you. Said it’d help…” he didn’t finish his sentence, but then he didn’t need to.

“Thanks,” Angelus murmured, letting Buffy apply the sticky substance to his still open wounds. Slayer blood was wonderful, but he had a lot of healing to do; more than he could accomplish in an hour. Maybe Tara had something for broken bones, too.

“They’re going to smell me a mile off,” he grimaced.

“Doesn’t matter,” Buffy smiled and Larry shivered at seeing it. “They won’t live long enough to realize it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You sure they’ll show?”

“Of course,” Nest said calmly as the rest of his followers talked amongst themselves. The room was brightly lit and packed. The humans were in cages that lined the walls, and their vampire hunters were circling the room talking, gossiping, and ignoring them. Ah, it was a shame, Nest admitted. Once upon a time he wouldn’t need to cage humans, he’d hunt them until they begged for mercy, cried and pleaded for their lives.

Yes, those were the days, and he sorely missed them. But this was a new age, and one had to keep up with modern times, mustn’t one. Still, his followers virtually ignored the humans, and that said something for the vampires he’d surrounded himself with in this sleepy little town atop the Hellmouth.

Then again, they were all going to die, so what did it matter?

He was positive that this would work. Careful planning and nearly three years of strategy ensured that. And, well, if not, then he’d try something else. He was adaptable, or could be if he so desired.

Glancing at the vampire beside him, he frowned. Shifting in his chair, Nest wondered just what was in it for dear Penn. Enough to make betraying his Sire worth it? Doubtful, but then Nest wasn’t planning on letting him live, either.

It just wouldn’t do to have a betrayer by his side – one never knew when one was the next to be deceived.

Besides, Angelus was coming back to the fold. It was as simple as that. His most vicious progeny, the childe of his dear Darla, the devil take her rotted demon. Imagine, trying to defend Buffy when Nest’s men had come for Angelus. Spike and Drusilla, too. Yes, their loss was deeply felt; the three of them made a formidable team, a wonderful Family. Loyal and devoted to Angelus, and because of that, to Buffy.

But they needed to die – they were in his way, a deterrent to his plan. One that didn’t involve them, though he was sure they’d have come around sooner or later. What truly shocked him was that Darla, impatient and jealous Darla, willingly died for Buffy. What did they know, or – shudder – feel, that he, Nest, did not?

Ah, well, Buffy more than made up for Darla’s loss – but Nest did so miss her.

“The King over all the children of Pride,” Nest told Penn standing at his right side, carefully watching the younger vampire.

“Quoting scripture to me, old man?” Penn laughed, relaxed and empowered.

“Job,” Nest nodded. “Forty-first chapter, thirty-fourth verse.”

Something stirred in the air, and he smiled. Rising, he approached the edge of the dais and called this meeting to order. “My children,” he began. “Today is the dawn of a new era. No longer must we waste precious blood; no longer must we hide in the shadows as the hunted, though we are inherently stronger.”

He nodded to a guard. “Today,” his voice boomed out as a girl was taken from the cage, “is the dawn of a new era!”

He waited, watching with an amused twist to his deformed mouth as the girl was strapped to the conveyer belt, the dozen needles sinking into her skin simultaneously to remove her blood efficiently and easily. It was all about the technology anymore. Once upon a time, he’d have liked nothing better than the hunt, the chase, the knowledge that he could and would track down his prize, drain the life-force within, revel in the primal viciousness of it.

Nowadays, he just wanted to be left in peace. He was getting old, Nest sighed as the first goblet of blood was passed up to him. He’d rather have his blood delivered to him like this, than hunting someone down. Yes, old.

So much the better, then; he had someone in mind as his new second. His successor as it were. And it most certainly wasn’t Penn, the irrational childe of Angelus. What that boy ever saw in the unimaginative Puritan, Nest didn’t know but, for now, the younger vampire suited his purposes.

As soon as his dear Slayer arrived, everything would begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I hear you were waiting for me,” Buffy said as she crashed open the doors.

Yeah, they were waiting for her. This screamed trap all over the place. And backing her up were two humans who didn’t really believe why they were there, only that Giles said so, and they followed. And two dear friends who followed her and Angelus into this because of the bonds of friendship; Buffy probably wouldn’t ever be able to thank them enough for this.

She’d have to buy Giles an ancient book, or a cool sword or something to show her affection and thanks without embarrassing either of them. And Oz...maybe give him lessons on sword fighting. Along with a cool sword or something. Or a way, if there was such a thing, and she believed there had to be, to control the wolf within.

“We’re outnumbered like 1000 to 1,” Oz muttered behind her with a resigned sigh. “Maybe we should ask them to surrender now.”

“One day I’d like the odds in our favor,” Giles added fatalistically. “But I suppose it’s only fair to offer them the option first, yes.”

Buffy smirked at their banter, appreciated it, but was still worried; no, the fact that this was a trap wasn’t what concerned her so. It was the fact that Nest went to all this trouble to capture Angelus, leave him where she could easily find him – okay, eighteen months after taking him but find him nonetheless – rescue him, and feed him.

“Really, lover,” Angelus smirked as he looked towards the stage and Nest, “He is getting old. His plans, never the best to begin with, have slipped. Surrounding himself with fledglings.” He shook his head sadly at the surrounding vampires.

“Ooh,” Willow smiled, sauntering up to Nest’s side, “Puppy’s out.”

“Ah, Buffy, dear. I see you’ve found your Mate.” Nest ignoring Angelus’ jibe and Willow’s presence, strode to the end of the dais, arms wide and expansive as he figuratively embraced the couple. “Such a beautiful pair,” he sighed, as he had when they’d first mated, when vampires from around the globe had witnessed the mating of Slayer and Vampire.

“Always so formidable together, always so powerful. I swear, even Darla had a tear in her eye when you spoke the Joining words in front of us. It was a sight I’ll never forget. Don’t you agree, Penn?”

Buffy halted her forward stride mid-step. Penn? She glanced to her side, noting Angelus’ equally shocked reaction. “Penn?” She repeated aloud, dumbstruck; had that been that odd sensation that raced through her as she crossed the floor? Penn was member of her vampiric Family, was it his presence that caused her reaction? “But…”

“But I’m dead, Slayer?” The vampire sneered, gazing down at his sire and that sire’s Mate with disdain from his position next to Nest. “Guess you’re not the greatest Slayer ever, huh.”

“You betrayed me?” Angelus demanded, his demon roaring to the fore, golden eyes blazing with hatred; not over Penn’s betrayal of him, but of Buffy. His Family had sworn, had all sworn, to protect her to the death. All of them – Penn the loudest, and maybe, Angelus thought as his fangs glistened in the florescent lights and he plotted a thousand and one ways to rip Penn into pieces, that should’ve been his clue.

The crowd of vampires, one or two of whom had witnessed their mating, all of whom knew of the prisoner in the basement, but very few actually connecting Willow’s Puppy with Angelus…and Buffy, circled behind the six people who’d strode into the warehouse as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

The ones who had witnessed the Joining now wanted nothing to do with the Family feud about to erupt. Nor did they agree with what they suddenly realized Nest had done. To betray one’s Family like that was punishable by death – long, tortuous death and rebirth in the ancient sarcophagus said to belong to the Old Ones, to feel the pain of death again and again.

They wished Angelus and Buffy the best of luck, hoped the couple killed Nest more than once, and left.

It was safer that way.

“You were the one to betray me to Nest?” Angelus roared, stalking forward to pull his errant childe down.

In one swift move, he did just that, flinging Penn from his height on the platform to sprawl on the floor at Angelus’ feet. The elder and far more powerful vampire no matter his current health state. He crushed Penn’s chest with his boot heel, watching his childe cave in before stopping the pressure.

“And Spike, Drusilla, Darla?” He snarled, stepping back to fist his hands into Penn’s lapels, hauling him face-to-face, as he planned every means to kill the double-crossing, murderous, unoriginal bastard. “Did you kill them, too?”

“They were nothing,” Penn choked as Angelus’ hand wrapped around his throat. “Too dedicated to you; you brainwashed them with ideas of a future that could never be. Made them think that mating with that tramp wasn’t the blasphemy we all knew it to be.”

The watching audience didn’t move, though they probably should’ve run; maybe attacked, en masse, Buffy and her elderly watcher. But no, they watched the drama unfolding before them with all the interest of the finest opera. They’d heard of Angelus’ disappearance, of course, know of his Family’s deaths, knew his Mate had searched for him, but never knew the entire play would be preformed right before them.

Willow and Xander hopped down, ready to strike at the Master’s order, but didn’t move. Not yet. They were young, brash, but knew enough that if they did something here and now, that the Master didn’t approve of, then they’d be dust faster than Penn.

“So this was what happened,” the older ones whispered. “This was how the great Angelus disappeared. This was why. And this was the reason Penn had moved up in Master Nest’s ranks. But then…”

“Why?” Buffy demanded, next to her husband.

One hand carried her sword, another a stake, and everyone here knew she’d use both with equal skill. Even those who had not seen her in action – defeating the weaker, the scum of their orders, the powerful who sought to throw off the balance of their precarious hierarchy – they’d heard of her.

“She’d once,” several whispered the story, “taken on an all the elders of a local Tro’ok clan – you know, the demons with the weird horns and gray skin? And,” they nodded with gravity and awe, “she won.”

“Why did you do it? What, did Angelus not pay enough attention to you? Did you want to be included in our little Family? Did you think that betrayal was going to win you friends and influence people? What?” Buffy demanded, her heart aching anew at the deaths of those who had protected her and her mother as they’d raced through the underground tunnels, out of their villa and to a safe house.

Buffy hadn’t wanted to leave, but Spike had forced her – pushing her and Joyce, literally, through the magick wall and into the hidden tunnel. “If anything happens to you, Slayer,” he’d hissed as the front door and several windows around the house were broken in simultaneously. “Then Angelus will kill us all. Torture us,” Spike had amended with that cocky smile of his, “for a century or so, then kill us.”

He’d sighed then as Darla called for him to get his bleached ass back there. “Imagine,” he’d finished in a dramatic voice that had her grinning even as she stepped through the wall, “protecting the Slayer. What is this world coming to? It’s a good thing I like you,” his voice was fading as he raced back and she pulled her mother away. “We’ll meet up in Greece in two days, don’t forget the plan!”

But it hadn’t worked like that, Buffy thought as she jerked herself back to reality. Seconds, only, must have passed, because Penn was still choking his anger out at her and Angelus. No, it hadn’t happened like that at all – Spike, Drusilla, Darla, and at least fifteen of the rest of the vampires, and three demons, who were at the house had died protecting her escape. But Spike had been right, she knew, then and now, though it didn’t ease the guilt and grief at their deaths.

If anything had happened to her, Angelus would’ve gone ballistic. Of course, at the time, neither had known that he was also being taken on his way to his meeting with Nest. On his way to a prison he’d wallow in for months until she found him again. And Buffy stupidly believed the Master when he’d expressed his surprise, sorrow, and support for her over Angelus’ disappearance. Offered help, guidance, troops in her search.

She was so going to kill the bastard.

“I did it,” Penn sneered, “because the two of you are an abomination. Because I have the power now. And because, dead, you’re worth a lot more to me than alive!”

“Wow,” Buffy blinked. “That’s pretty lame.”

With a roar, Angelus lost whatever control he had on his temper, whatever plans he made regarding Penn’s prolonged death, and ripped the vampire’s head off. “Never,” he snarled as Penn’s ashes drifted around him, “insult my Mate.”

For a moment, there was stunned silence in the factory as the impact of that move – and statement – sank into those listening. No one moved, not even Willow who desperately wanted to punish Puppy for his transgressions, for lying to her all these months – a lie of omission was still a lie as far as she was concerned – and for daring to sleep with, Mate with, the enemy. She hadn’t known that, had never heard that Angelus mated with the Slayer. But then, she remembered with a glare at Nest, she also hadn’t known Puppy was Angelus.

“Kill the humans,” Nest said blandly into the silence. “But leave Angelus and Buffy alive.”

With an unspoken prayer for her comrades, and a wish that maybe they should’ve brought backup of any kind, let alone the magickal kind, Buffy leaped forward. She had a score to settle with Nest, and wasn’t about to be deterred from it. However, as luck would have it, she had to fight her way through several determined vamps first.

Angelus turned to Willow and smiled. Teeth, fang, a menacing glint in his eye – no, it wasn’t so much a smile as it was a reckoning. Buffy needed to kill Nest, and he’d let her for her pain, for the months he lied to her. He needed to kill Willow.

“Ready, little girl?”

Willow ambled up to him, her stance, her face, all sure and cocky. But Angelus had been around a lot longer than the fledgling, and knew when one was scared. Willow was petrified.

“Thought I’d be an easy target, hmm?” he taunted. “That maybe I’d decide to bow at your feet, lick your boots or something? Actually,” and here he laughed, looking her up and down with disdain, “want you?”

He eyed her, keeping most of his attention on Buffy. He’d just got her back; nothing could happen to her now. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to survive it if anything did. She moved with grace and sureness, more powerful than he remembered, or maybe just more determination.

Before, she’d been the Slayer, true, but she’d had help. Always had a member of his Family backing her up during those few times he couldn’t be with her.

With their deaths, she’d had to grow – as a woman and as a Slayer. And the result was magnificent.

“God,” he sighed as she flipped over her target, thrusting the stake through his back and into the heart. “I’ve missed this.”

She blew him a kiss, winked at him, before making sure that Oz and Giles were doing okay, that Larry and Nancy were still alive. Returning his attention to the oddly jealous Willow, he smirked.

“You really think you have a hope in all the dimensions of hell in defeating us?” he laughed. “You had to chain me up to keep me there, Fledgling. You had to keep me weak to torture me. What does that say about you?”

“It says that I’m smart enough to know when to feed you and when to fuck you,” she countered loud enough so this Buffy could hear.

Jealous, yes. She was jealous. Jealous that her charms could be so easily dismissed when everyone in the Master’s court wanted her, offered her anything she wished for a taste of her. Jealous that her greatest prize, the one her Master himself had given her, continued to thwart her every move.

Jealous that her Puppy preferred a Slayer to her.

“Fuck?” he mocked. “Is that what you call it? Please, little girl,” he waved a hand, moved to the balls of his feet, and prepared to strike.

He wanted to take his time with Willow, show her how it was really done. But that wasn’t for today. If he could capture her in the melee, he could instruct her on the finer points later, but now he needed this over and done with quickly, so he could help his beloved.

“If that’s what you think it is, then you’re worse off than I thought.” With that, he moved, covering the short distance between them in one leap, holding Willow by the throat before she could do anything, and twisting – just enough – so that she was out, not dead. Not yet.

Oz had fallen, wounded by a vamp he hadn’t sensed behind him – Xander had blindsided him with a well-placed punch to his temple. “Ah, the leader of the White Hats,” he laughed as he circled Giles. “Finally.”

“Oh I do wish you people would come up with new lines. Do you think I haven’t heard them before? Or that I care what you say to me?”

Buffy grinned at the watcher before turning her attention back to Nest. “Why?” she demanded.

The rest of the vamps had either fled or weren’t stupid enough to get in her way. Larry and Nancy had managed to open the human cages before succumbing to the hoard trying to kill them. At least some were free.

“Why?” Nest repeated. “Why go to all this trouble? Simple, my dear. Power. Yours, mine, Angelus’.” he paused, shrugged, and admitted. “Mostly mine.”

The lone occupant on the dais, comfortable with his position, his power, what he knew was going to happen. “Let me break it down for you, my dear Buffy. Angelus is in love with a Slayer. A strong one at that, and one that’s unique in every way that truly matters. Now, say this Slayer is mated to the Scourge of Europe,” he smiled, as best he could with his permanently deformed mouth.

“One of the most powerful and truly depraved creatures of the last century; one who enjoys those things I, centuries older, find tedious. Imagine what you could do together. Imagine the fear you could strike into the hearts of the world, my child. The world. Not ours, not merely the demonic one, but the entire world. Now Penn,” he shrugged.

“He was simply a means to the end. He wanted to get rid of you so that he might have the power.” Nest spared a brief glance to the floor where Penn’s dust now mingled with several other vampire remains.

“Well, he was shortsighted. And not terribly original. Whatever Angelus first saw in him, it was pretty much all he had.”

Dismissing Penn and Penn’s shortened life, he continued. “Now, Penn wanted Power – he wanted Angelus to acknowledge his…whatever he wanted Angelus to acknowledge, and he wanted to destroy that which hunts us. I, on the other hand, am a farsighted being.”

Crouching down, he offered to her that which he’d spent years planning, since first hearing of Angelus’ obsession with the young Slayer, and her equal need to be with him. “Power is what makes this world survive. You, my dear Buffy, are part of that power. You are part of the cycle that makes us stronger. And together with Angelus, the two of you are strongest of all.”

Angelus strode up to his Mate then, vamp face to the fore with the scent of blood, fighting, hatred. He was weak, still, and they all knew it, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not now. Not with Buffy there.

“Together, the two of you could run my Empire. Imagine it, my dearest children. Imagine Angelus – Buffy a vampiress, Buffy forever by your side as the two of you, eternally vicious, eternally together, rule by my side. Turned, Angelus, she’d make a beautiful demon – gorgeous, cunning, ferocious, and – most of all – loyal.”

“No.” Angelus laughed, hard amusement in his tone. “No one’s touching what’s mine. And Buffy, as my Mate, is mine. If I wanted her turned, I’d have done it years ago when we first Mated.” He took her hand, dropping the stake to the ground to kiss her palm. If she was going to kill Nest, she’d need something bigger than her typical stake.

With someone that old, she’d need a 2x4.

“There are other ways,” he whispered in Gaelic.

“I was afraid,” Nest sighed heavily, “that you’d say something like that. Well then, boy, I suppose if I turned her,” and he gestured to someone behind them and everything went silent. The sounds of the fight, of humans fleeing, of vampires dusting, of the old factory emptying out suddenly died to the tiniest whisper at Nest’s hand movement.

“I’d get to enjoy her, too. Enjoy her lithe body, her pretty mouth. All that strength and passion. As my childe, that would be mine.”

Buffy, afraid to turn and see what was happening yet afraid not to see, glanced over her shoulder at the reason for the silence. Two dozen guards, dressed in black Kevlar and holding enough ammunition to take out a small country, surrounded them.

“Not in any lifetime, fruit punch mouth,” Buffy hissed as she looked back at her true foe.

Willow growled at her, but Nest threw back his head and laughed. The sound sent shivers of unease down Buffy’s spine. She’d faced worse things in her time as the Slayer, including the eighteen months without her husband. She’d searched the world, mostly alone, save for a few close allies.

Giles, Oz, Tara – a brilliant if shy witch Giles had discovered and relocated to England and his friend’s Coven. Dalton, the scholar of Angelus’ Family who hadn’t been in the house when she was attacked. And Mr. Trick, who preferred to be called just that; said it made him sound respectable, though his activities outside of serving Angelus, who’d saved him from a particularly angry mob in Depression-era Atlanta, were about as respectable as his activities in Angelus’ employ.

And yet the sound of Nest’s laughter had Buffy uneasy to a degree she wasn’t aware she could even be, let alone from one she’d previously considered friend.

Heels clicked on the factory floor in rapid succession, the echo of a more manly gait following leisurely behind. Unable to stop herself, Buffy once more turned to face whatever had just entered the building.

The Trap.

So this was the trap. Not the outnumbered 1000 to 1 bit, not Penn’s appearance, may the bastard roast in hell. No, Nest actually had a plan, and a damned good one it seemed.

The Trap, in the form of a pair of exceptionally well dressed couple, stopped several feet from her and Angelus, coolly appraising them for a moment.

“Master Nest,” the male said with a nod.

“Lindsey,” Nest grinned, that grotesque movement of his lips Buffy wouldn’t have called a grin had she not been absolutely certain he was entirely too pleased with himself, “and Lilah. I’m so glad you could make it to my soirée,” he chuckled. “I’d like to introduce you to the guests of honor.”

Another grand gesture to include them; Nest always was big on drama. “Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Mate of Angelus, Scourge of Europe, Killer of Thousands, and my heir. My darling children,” he nodded again, “the representatives of Wolfram & Hart, inter-dimensional law firm, evil to the core, and current allies.”

“You allied yourself,” this was from Giles whom, Buffy noted gratefully, was still alive if more than slightly bruised. “With lawyers?” he shook his head in mock grief. “Unbelievable that you can be so old, and still so stupid.”

Willow stalked across the floor, whipped out a hand, and knocked Giles out. “Stupid White Hats,” she muttered, but her eyes gleamed with joy, and Buffy wondered what she’d do to Giles if Nest hadn’t wanted everyone’s attention.

“Wow, you really don’t have any other lines,” she said instead. Then dismissed Willow with a flick of her wrist and turned her attention back to the real danger.

“And what could a bunch of lawyers want with us?” Angelus asked, seemingly relaxed and at ease with the situation.

Buffy knew better. She knew the tension that coiled within, the fatigue that tugged at his limbs, the strain fighting had taken on him so soon after release from his chains. He needed rest and blood, and she definitely needed to sleep. Since his disappearance, and the diminishing of their bond, she hadn’t slept well at all, averaging only a couple hours a night.

Offering him her blood hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever had, and had weakened her more. For now, she waited, prepared to fight their way out of the abandoned factory, determined to keep Angelus alive and see the future he’d once promised her.

“To rule, of course,” the woman, Lilah, laughed. “Wolfram & Hart is very interested in you,” she smiled, nodded, “the two of you, actually. At the head of our organization, you’ll have unlimited power, endless resources.”

“To do what?” Buffy demanded.

“Destroy the side of light,” Lindsey injected from Nest’s side. “Bring about our apocalypse, and let the Old Ones come forth from their exile.”

“You really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Angelus said to him, saw the knowledge of that poor plan in the human’s eyes. Lindsey might not agree with Nest, but he wasn’t saying so, either. “What’s the real game?”

“It’s always about Power,” Nest said before either lawyer could. “The power to control, to decide destiny. I will rule Wolfram & Hart, and as such the world, with you by my side, my dear children. You, Angelus, my heir, Buffy as your Mate; together nothing can stop us.”

“Except me,” Buffy said. She wanted to shiver in trepidation, but didn’t. What would have her life been like if Angelus wasn’t with her? Wasn’t on her side, helping her fight, keeping the balance? What if she’d had to fight him? She couldn’t even imagine, didn’t want to.

“In your current Slayer state, precisely, my dear,” Nest nodded. “Envision it, Angelus,” he continued. “A world where your beloved is as vicious as you. Where the two of you rule by night, the terror of the world. Undefeatable. Immortal.”

Angelus could envision that all too easily; even Buffy could see that though she didn’t look at him. It was easy to visualize, and she knew her husband, knew the things he dreamt of but would never tell her. Wanted, though would never change because he loved her just as she was.

“Yes, yes,” Angelus dismissed it with a small movement of his shoulders. “Turned by you, your childe, yours to have, yours to hold over me. Not happening, Nest. Get it through your ancient skull. I just told you,” he continued in a hard, firm voice that carried over the room. “Buffy is mine. No one else touches her. Ever.”

“Yes,” Nest sighed, “so you did.” He almost looked sorry here, did look resigned as he said, “Lilah, Lindsey…”

The room erupted in chaos then, shots fired, humans running forward, vampires trying to escape before the wooden bullets found their hearts. Angelus scooped Giles over his shoulder as Wolfram & Hart’s soldiers swarmed from all sides, attacking any vampire they could reach, while Buffy frantically searched for Oz.

Damn, she couldn’t find him. She wanted to shout for him, but doubted she’d be heard over the confusion in the room; plus, she didn’t want to draw attention to them.

Any more attention that was.

“Quick escape?” she asked, running beside Angelus towards the door they’d entered through. He was tired, wanted to take him into her arms. They needed to rest before taking out not only Nest, but now this Wolfram & Hart, too.

She needed to hold him, desperately hold her husband, and Buffy wasn’t going to let Nest and his insane plan stop her from doing just that.

“I’ll kill them all later,” he promised darkly, dumping Giles’ unconscious form on the floor of the van and racing to the driver’s side.

“Going somewhere, Puppy?” Willow asked, standing in front of him.

“I don’t have time for this,” he sighed, lashing out.

Willow danced back, laughed. “But Puppy, we were just beginning! And I so want to make your Slayer slut watch.”

“Now Willow,” Xander said from behind Buffy, “no fun not sharing.”

“Party crashers,” Buffy sighed. “Just once I’d like to have a peaceful evening alone.”

“Dinner, candlelight, a night of hot sex where you scream my name until you pass out?” and tired as he was, he attacked Willow.

Angelus smiled, though he danced around with Willow as the fledgling showed her extreme lack of fighting skills. She was strong, strong and vicious and furious, but she was still a fledgling. He had two and a half centuries on her.

“Yes,” he sighed. “I can see that, too. Chains, whips, knives…it’s been too long. Later, lover,” Angelus promised.

With a sultry laugh, Buffy turned to Xander, watched as his attention alternated between Angelus’ fight with Willow and her. He was the weaker of the two, no less vicious; no, Buffy would never make that mistake. But he was weak, easily led.

“You’re going to die, you know,” her voice was soft, and she moved a step slowly forward. Her voice was pitched low and even, and using every technique she’d ever learned, Buffy set about hypnotizing the vampire. She really was too drained to fight him, though it did sound appealing – he had a hand in her lover’s torture and imprisonment.

“Die?” His head swiveled back to face her, eyes wide. Adding an extra swing to her hips, Buffy smiled. She knew her power, knew how to wield it, what to do with it. It – she – had grown in the last year, had discovered more than even Giles had known about the Slayer within, and about herself.

“Die. You shouldn’t have touched him,” she said. “Only I can. Only I hurt him. Only I make him bleed. Only I make him suffer. Only I have that right. That power.”

“Power,” Xander nodded, focused completely on her. “Yes, my Mistress. Only you.”

His scent changed then, from hunter to slave, needing her, wanting her. His hand dropped to his crotch, slowly stroking himself as he continued to look at her, mesmerized. Xander leaned forward, waiting, eager. Buffy waited, watched, listened to Angelus’ fight with Willow.

Xander dropped to his knees, still stroking himself, all but kowtowing to her.

Buffy couldn’t help the smile, even as she heard Angelus’ fight wrapping up. Smiling benevolently down at her new slave, Buffy ordered, “Rise.”

Eagerly, Xander did, his erection prominent against the shiny leather of his pants. Sighing at the look, so very pathetic, Buffy beckoned him closer, never moving, staring directly into his eyes, calm and assured of her power. Without thought, for Xander could no longer think on his own, the vampire did, willing to do whatever his Mistress demanded.

Whipping out the stake, Buffy plunged it into his heart, turning away before he crumpled to the ground in a shower of dust.

“Way too easy.”

Angelus already had Willow knocked out once again, bound and gagged in the van, though where he got the chains Buffy had no idea. Was that something Giles carried with him? Interesting.

“Took you long enough,” he scolded as they left the deserted parking lot. It was only a matter of seconds before Wolfram & Hart realized what happened and that their prized prey were gone. Nest wasn’t going to be pleased, and that was something they’d hoped not to see. Still, there was time.

“Ha, right. Did you see how easily he fell?” Buffy shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. She was exhausted, not just from the fight, or from months of searching for him, but from the amount of blood she’d lost, too. A week’s sleep was something she’d kill for.

“I hate it when you do that.” Hated that she could make anyone want her, fall down on their knees and beg to please her. Hated that they wanted her, though he couldn’t blame them. Jealousy was a hot fist in his gut at the thought of Buffy with anyone else.

“Yeah, you and me both. It makes my teeth ache.” She stretched her arms, brushing the back of the seat. A slight throb pounded behind her eyes, and her teeth really did hurt, but other than that, and the sleep she desperately wanted, hypnotizing Xander hadn’t harmed her at all. “Did you see Oz?”

“No. But I heard his wolf’s roar.”

Buffy jerked up. “Then he’s still alive? Angelus-”

“He’s in the wood by now, and safe enough.” Angelus reassured her. “He’ll meet us later, I’m sure he will.”

Buffy let it drop, but the lingering seed of guilt remained. She should’ve saved him before then. She never should have let him come with them. She’d send Mr. Trick or someone to fetch Oz once they were set up.

“We’ll need a plan,” Angelus continued.

“Dalton was behind me, a few hours or so. By now he’ll have a place for us to stay, backup, answers. Trick’ll be there, too, with more information.”

“Good,” Angelus nodded. “Call him.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dalton was as good as his vow to Buffy, and had found them a suite of rooms by the time the couple had arrived in San Diego. It wasn’t the same without Spike, Drusilla, and Darla, but that couldn’t be helped. Angelus would mourn his Family later, as he had the months he’d been prisoner. He’d celebrate Buffy’s life, their life, soon, too.

Now was for revenge.

“Mr. Trick,” Angelus nodded to the black vampire the moment they entered the room. “What’ve you got for us?”

“Angelus, you old bastard, good to see you.” Mr. Trick laughed, but he looked Buffy up and down. Instantly kneeling before her, he bowed his head, waited for her hand on his shoulder she almost immediately placed, and rose. Frowning at her through narrowed eyes, Trick motioned for one of the minions to fetch food and water.

“And blood, too,” he added, glancing at Angelus.

“Mistress,” Trick embraced her briefly, now, affection in his voice, relief. Angelus swore he saw tears in Trick’s eyes. The low growl that escaped him at Trick touching his Mate brought everyone back to reality. Things had changed once again.

With a slow nod at Angelus, Trick took two steps back, but his eyes strayed back to Buffy. She was still in charge as far as he was concerned, and Trick let everyone – the minions, Buffy, and Angelus – know that. Angelus may have saved him, and Trick owed him not only the loyalty for that but a friendship that spanned decades, but Buffy was his Mistress.

“Wolfram & Hart,” Trick began, taking the blood and handing it to Angelus. Once Angelus sat, with Buffy on his lap, much to Trick’s tender amusement, he handed the plate of food to her.

 “Or more precisely,” he glared at Buffy when she made no move to eat, but one glance at Angelus stopped him from forcing her. It was no longer his job, but her Mate’s, now.

Angelus nudged her, whispering into her hair too softly for even the vampires to hear, “Eat, love. We have vengeance to extract, and I want you healthy for it.”

Buffy sighed, but took the plate piled with fruits, cheeses, cold chicken, and green peppers Trick handed her.

“The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart,” Trick continued with a satisfied smile when Buffy shifted on Angelus’ lap, nibbling. He nodded at her in approval, and she offered a small, tired smile in return.

“They’re considered Old Ones, but they never quite made it as such; several branches, LA, Milan, New York, Moscow, and Beijing. The easiest way to get to them doesn’t exist.”

“Unacceptable, Mr. Trick,” Angelus shook his head, sipping the warmed blood from the mug. He’d have to reassert his authority now, show the fledglings his power; later, all that was for later. Revenge still loomed before him, waiting.

Trick was eyeing Buffy with a frown – her shirt was torn, her pants slit up the thigh and stained with blood and ashes. “Find your Mistress new clothes,” he snapped at a hovering woman. “Where’s your brain?”

The minion bowed and scurried away to do just that. Angelus watched the exchange with interest, noted the same offer of clothing wasn’t made for him, and wondered what had happened in the eighteen months he’d been away. There was a lot to catch up on.

Kissing the top of Buffy’s head, Angelus settled her more comfortably on his lap. His leg throbbed, his skin itched, and he wanted a shower, a bed, and Buffy, not in that order. He needed more blood. He also needed to know what’d been happening in his Family, or what was left of it, while he’d been…gone.

For now, he wrapped his arms around Buffy and held her.

“Best thing to do,” Mr. Trick continued as if he hadn’t interrupted himself, “if you want to maintain the balance and not involve yourselves in an interdimensional war that’ll take years to win, is to destroy their powerbase. By the time they rebuild, the End of Days will be here, and we’ll all be long gone.”

“And what is their powerbase?” Angelus demanded.

“Where’s it located?” Buffy asked at the same time.

“The Hellmouth in Sunnydale,” Trick sighed. “I looked into the one in Cleveland, but it’s not nearly as old or as strong. Also, it seems you drained a lot of the power by destroying most of the evil there,” he added with a nod at Buffy.

“The one in Rome is counteracted by the Catholic Church, more or less. The Forbidden City might work, especially since there’s a Wolfram & Hart branch in Beijing, but that’s not for certain.”

“Why not build a branch directly over the Sunnydale Hellmouth, then?” Giles asked. He was leaning against the doorjamb, holding an icepack to his head. He looked like hell.

“They did,” Trick nodded, gesturing for Giles to sit and waving another minion away for more food. “It was destroyed in the earthquake that ruined the town in the thirties. Too much power for even them, I guess.”

“Find a way to destroy them,” Angelus ordered, patting Buffy’s back in a signal for her to stand.

Leading her out of the room and into their private ones, Angelus wondered for a minute if his orders would be followed. Everyone seemed to bow to Buffy now. And while he wouldn’t have it any other way, he was their Master. Closing the door between rooms, he shut out not only the rest of his Family, but, for a few moments, everything else but he and Buffy.

Collapsing onto the bed, he brought Buffy down with him. There was a timid knock on the door and the minion who went to fetch clothes appeared. She placed the clothing on a stool, head bowed.

“Mistress,” she whispered, “do you require anything else?”

“No, Carla,” Buffy shook her head tiredly. “Actually,” she wrinkled her nose and tried to concentrate when all she really wanted was sleep, “yes. Draw a bath, please, and more food; also bring more blood for your Master.” She lifted herself onto one hand to look down at him. Watched him carefully for a minute or two then nodded.

“Clean clothes for him as well. Take care of Mr. Giles, too – food, medical attention, whatever he needs. And have Mr. Trick send a detachment to find Oz; he’s in wolf form, or was last we saw him. Bring him straight here. Contact Tara and have Dalton apprise her of the situation.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Carla curtsied and retreated.

“What,” Angelus asked after a minute of stunned silence, “has happened since I was gone?”

“Things changed,” Buffy said quietly, running a finger along his jaw. She rested her head back on his chest, snuggled into him. “I missed you, baby.”

Angelus relaxed, ran his fingers, still scarred and callused from Willow’s attentions, through her hair, over shoulder and arm, down her back. Buffy sighed again, and he felt her melt into him, liquid need and tiredness, relief, acceptance, and love. Her warm lips pressed against his chest, and Angelus felt another layer of the wall he’d built around himself over the months fade away under Buffy’s touch.

“They had to change,” Buffy continued, rising back up to see him. “You were gone, everyone else was dead, and I had to be everything to the Family. Mistress, leader, huntress, goddess. It was the only way for them to accept me, and the only way for any of us to survive.”

Angelus cupped her face and kissed her, fiercely, passionately. “God, I want you.”

For the first time in ages, Buffy laughed. “Bath, first,” she nodded, leaning down to caress his lips with hers. “Don’t leave me again,” she said quietly, tears in her voice. “I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

Tightening his arms around her and drawing her head back to his chest, Angelus simply held her. The sound of Carla running their bath drifted to them, but neither moved, content to simply hold each other. “I promise, muirnín.”

It was while they bathed that Angelus discovered her tattoos.

For a long minute, he stared at her back, shocked. Gently, he traced the lines, black calligraphy decorating her lower back. Inside the Celtic cross, their names were spelled out.

Darla

Drusilla

Spike

On her right shoulder, in the same place as his own tattoo, an identical gryphon held a heart with the word, Forever.

“When?”

“A month after you disappeared. I went back to the house in England…everything was destroyed.” She looked over her shoulder to watch him. “Everything was gone, burnt, ripped just…” she trailed off, unable to go on. When she did, it was with a steel in her voice he’d only heard from her when she was fighting.

“I found a few pictures,” she said quietly, and he knew she saw the scene in her mind, knew it wasn’t something that’d be forgotten. “Reglued the smashed bit of pottery to a couple of Dru’s things and a few of her dolls, rescued three of Darla’s paintings, and the one she did of the mansion there. And Spike’s leather coat. That was,” she trailed off again, “that was all that was left of them.”

Buffy closed her eyes, felt the helpless well of tears and forced them away as she had so often since that awful day. Since her Family had been slaughtered. “I didn’t want them in hell, they didn’t deserve that. They deserved so much more, they deserved…. This was the only way I could think of to keep them from there. To keep them with me.”

He swallowed, hard, before asking, “What happened?”

Slowly, she told him, let the memories, all the memories, into the open. Let herself remember every detail so that Angelus might know. She told him of the fight, of Darla pushing her to the escape tunnel and Spike making sure she and Joyce really left.

Of hearing the sounds of battle come from behind her, but being denied the right as Mistress to join the fight.

 Of them sacrificing themselves for her life.

“I never thought they’d die,” Buffy admitted quietly, once again held tightly against Angelus. Her tears were dried, her voice steady, but the pain was there, as real now as it had been when it happened.

“It makes sense now – Penn. He would’ve been the one to breech security, he would’ve been the one to betray all of us and murder his Family. And if he used Wolfram & Hart’s people, that’d explain how they were overpowered.”

“I should’ve gathered Penn’s ashes and burned them,” Angelus growled, “ensuring his trip to Hell.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t make love to his wife that evening. She broke his leg instead.

“Just drink!”

“Baby,” Angelus growled, glaring at Trick who personally brought in three warm mugs of blood – human, of course. Trick, for his part, said nothing, merely kept that carefully blank façade he often presented when in a situation he had absolutely no desire to even hear about, let alone be in.

He and Giles got on great in that department.

“You’re weak enough as it is. I’m not taking any more blood from you.” Angelus nodded at Trick who promptly left – but the Master vampire swore he heard the other man’s laughter.

“Angelus,” Buffy sighed, sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed only in a flimsy silk robe. She was clean, fed, and once more at peace with Angelus beside her. And spitting mad at his obstinance.

“If you don’t feed, then how’re you supposed to torture Willow?”

Glaring at the low shot, Angelus swiftly drained mug #2. “Willow will wait,” he growled, shifting against the pillows, feeling the softness of boxers against his skin.

It felt strange to be on a bed again, the softness of it, the comfort. Pillows – there was another luxury he was unused to. Angelus briefly debated lying on the floor, but he didn’t want Buffy to worry more than she already was. And arguing over feeding from her versus other blood? That proved to him that worry was about as tame a word as he could imagine.

Finishing the last mug before it cooled too much, Angelus shifted again. He was healing, he could feel it. Wounds closing, bone knitting back together, strength returning to his muscles. That, however, was going to be a long process. He’d held his own in the factory, but that was because he’d just tasted Buffy. Well, that and adrenaline pumped through him as it hadn’t in a very long while.

Now he felt every ache, every single thing Willow had ever done to him. And his leg itched. But now, set straight and with several mugs of blood in him, Angelus was confident it’d heal fine. No more limp. One less reminder of his imprisonment, of his time away from Buffy.

“Buffy,” he sighed, reached for her. Drawing her down against him, Angelus stroked her back, her hips, arms, any part of her he could. Just to feel her again, just to physically remember the way she felt under his hands. He hadn’t forgotten, necessarily, but it’d been so long…and so many things had happened to him since they’d last touched.

“Muirnín, I’ll be fine. I just need to hold you.” Angelus stopped, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Buffy. “Please, baby. Just let me hold you.”

Without another word, Buffy relaxed against him. She’d already ordered him not to move his leg, for fear of it healing badly and them having to do this again. And, maybe, she was overprotective. Always had been, true, but this was different.

She was scared. That he wouldn’t be the same, that he’d have changed in the months they were apart. That what they shared before Nest’s betrayal wouldn’t be there when she finally got him back. He’d blame her for taking so long. For his Family’s deaths. For his own incarceration.

A shuddered rippled through her once, but she forced the tears away. She was finished crying, through wondering at all the what ifs she hadn’t been able to change. She had him back now, and she wasn’t going to let him go.

Even if it meant reigning in her strong desire to take care of him, to never have him in danger again.

Pressing her lips to his chest, Buffy drew the blanket over them and reached to switch off the bedside light. “I won’t let anything happen to you again,” she said in the dark quiet. “I don’t care what I have to do.”

“In that, my heart, we agree. You’ll never be in a position to get hurt like this again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It took them nine days to plan their attack.

Dalton was sent to investigate all the ancient texts and archives he could find until he was half blind; Giles researched how to properly close a Hellmouth, which, apparently, had never been done before.

“And isn’t that just typical,” he’d groused, pouring himself a finger of Scotch. “That’s got to be what they’re counting on, though…us not able to close it. Mr. Trick!” he’d shouted though Trick had just entered the room. “When’re Tara and the Coven arriving?”

Mr. Trick, ever the composed demon of class and elegance, glanced at his watch. Covering the mouthpiece to the cell he used, he told Giles, “Five hours, twenty-two minutes. I’ll pick them up personally,” he promised. And went right back to negotiating with whoever was on the other end.

Buffy wanted Angelus to sleep while she and the others planned their strategy. Angelus and Trick wanted her to rest. Giles wanted them both to rest, but refused rest himself.

And Willow was currently in a private room in the basement of the hotel, chained to the wall, awaiting Angelus’ retribution. One the third day when Angelus went to play with her, she looked about as ragged as he had when Buffy found him.

“What’s this? The captor at her best,” he laughed.

“You had to chain me up and starve me to get me,” Willow spat, though her eyes were wide and wild with hunger.

Angelus roared with laughed and snapped his fingers. “Hardly, Willow. You’ve only been here three days. And yet look at you! Pathetic.”

A single glass of blood was brought in and Angelus nodded to the minion to feed Willow. Once the glass was drained, he strode over to her. “Now, my dear, I’ll show you what true torture is like. What to do to truly break one’s subject. You never mastered that, thinking because you were stronger, you had the power.”

Shaking his head, he rocked back on his heels. “You never understood that, or me. Even without Buffy, you’d never have broken me. I’m stronger, older, smarter – I have decades of torture behind me. And,” he leaned in, smiled, “I’m about to teach you a much needed lesson.”

He turned to walk away and said over his shoulder, “Lesson number one: Always use magickally enhanced chains.”

Willow grunted in anger and continued struggling against her bindings. All to no avail.

~~~~~~~~~~

Angelus stood before them, his Family at his side. Buffy, as always, to his right, strong and powerful as her own due; Trick, Dalton, Giles, Oz, Tara and her Coven spread out behind them. He missed his childer, Spike and Drusilla; Darla who surprised everyone when she embraced Buffy and her and Angelus’ Joining. When she vowed to protect Buffy with her life.

She had. They all had.

“Master,” the obvious leader said from his kneeling position. “We did not know what Nest had done, nor what he planned. As he deceived you and our Mistress, so he did us. We wish to join you in your right and honorable vengeance against such a deceiver.”

“Are you prepared to take the Blood Oath?” Trick demanded.

“Yes,” the leader looked up now, and held his arms out, palm up.

“So was Penn,” Giles needlessly reminded them. “He vowed to protect his Master and Mistress to the death. And yet he betrayed them as surely as Nest did.”

“Yes,” the leader said again. “As such, we’ve come with collateral.” He didn’t gesture to those behind him, but they all held out their arms in anticipation of the Oath as well. “Our First Childer,” he said, and the door to the hotel suite opened again, admitting fifteen more vampires, one for every vamp currently kneeling.

“We swear on our lines, on our Childer’s lives and their lines, that we will obey and honor the Oath. We will follow your orders, we will protect the Master and Mistress with our immortal lives, and we will accept any punishment you, Master Angelus, bestow upon us.”

“Will you join our Family?” Buffy asked, the first words she’d said since the group arrived.

She was second only to Angelus and everyone knew it; yet when she spoke, they all listened. They knew what she’d become since her Mate’s disappearance, the drive, the determination; knew that to disobey her was worse than death.

Clearly prepared for this question, the leader nodded. He never lowered his arms, but looked directly at Buffy. “We pledge,” he began, “Our lives, Our families, Our lines, and Our honor. While we cannot, in good faith, repeal our Oath to our own Clans, we propose a merger.”

“An extension of our Family,” Buffy asked, “to include yours? Which Laws will you obey?”

“We will obey the ancient codes set forth millennium ago, Mistress. Angelus and Buffy of Aurelius first, our lives second.”

Buffy nodded once, didn’t look at Angelus, and waited. It was now his decision. She didn’t do that too much, didn’t like that she had to relinquish her power, but that was how it was. And one of the many, many things they needed to discuss now that he was back with her. The balance between them and how to handle it.

Angelus was the elder; vampire or not, it was all about age with them. If she were older, then the final choice was hers – the laws of vampiric society didn’t base things on gender, but age and strength. But Buffy knew that no matter what happened, he’d never make a decision that she didn’t like or agree with.

This one, she did agree with.

“Welcome,” Angelus said, and nodded to Trick to present the ceremonial daggers, “to our Family.”

~~~~~~~~~~

They strolled into the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart, a party of forty-five, blatantly carrying swords, stakes, and Giles’ coveted flamethrower. Trick’s eyes had lighted like a little boy at Christmas at the request, and he’d eagerly gone to find one.  In addition to the fifteen vampires who’d joined them in their revenge – and their Family – there were several demons who wanted in, too.

Whether that was because of the potential for destruction or out of a real need to get back at Nest and his duplicity, it was hard to say. In addition to them, there was enough backup circling the building to catch any strays to make Napoleon’s Grande Armée whimper in jealously. Oz and his pack, all in wolf-form, circled the building, letting no one in or out.

The lobby was decimated. It didn’t take them long to find Lilah’s and Lindsey’s offices, what with the convenient directory next to the elevators. They were next on the list.

Nest was with them, sitting at the head of the conference table, looking severely out of place in the glass and chrome room. Waiting for them, but with their unsubtle entrance, that wasn’t difficult to do.

And he was Buffy’s.

“Nest,” Buffy’s voice rang across the hallway. “You took my Mate, betrayed your Family, killed those closest to me. As Mate to Angelus of Aurelius, I come for vengeance.”

Nest laughed. “Buffy, darling child. You still don’t understand. Everything I did, everything I continue to do, is for you. You and Angelus. And your children.”

That made her pause. It was noticeable, but she said nothing.

Children? Human children? Or vampiric childer? Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d long ago reconciled herself to the fact that, with Angelus, she couldn’t have children. And she wasn’t letting Nest turn her so she could make childer, either. If she wasn’t letting Angelus do it, there was no way in the hell she planned to send Nest to, that the old bat was going near her with that intention.

Without acknowledging either his words or him, Buffy attacked. This was her right, though they all suffered for Nest’s betrayal. She was present when they killed her vampire Family, threatened her mother. She was the one to whom Nest offered help and guidance. She was the one who was going to exact revenge.

Angelus had Willow to play with and had already killed Penn. And while a strong argument could be made that he, too, had the right to Nest, Buffy won.

The old bat was hers.

Where Nest got the sword was a mystery. But the battle between Slayer and Master ranged across the conference room and into the hallway. Angelus watched the remaining members of his Family clean up on the lawyers. Giles happily went downstairs to start the fire. After they were finished here, they’d go back to Sunnydale and close the Hellmouth. 

“You can’t beat me, child,” Nest said as he drew Buffy’s blood.

“No? Think you’re so strong?” She rallied in a flurry of motions Nest never could’ve expected her to have. He might’ve orchestrated everything with the sole purpose of possessing her power, but even he hadn’t realized just how much the Slayer had grown. How strong Buffy was, how determined.

“Think you can get away with it all? That’s the problem with villains these days, talk, talk, talk!” she laughed, flipping over him, just scraping the ceiling.

Landing behind him before he could blink, let alone turn, Buffy thrust her sword into his heart. Twisting, pulling upwards, creating a hole big enough, just big enough, to see the heart. Whipping out her stake, she quickly jabbed the dead organ, puncturing it for the final death knell.

“When you get to hell,” she snarled as Nest began to slowly disintegrate into black particles of ash, “tell your friend Penn what a loser he is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Six months later

The waves lapped at the beach, the hypnotic sound comforting in the predawn hours. Chilled, Buffy shifted in their bed, stretched out an arm to find Angelus, to curl beside him. Nothing. Opening her eyes, she searched the bed, but it was empty.

She sat up, thoughts flying through her mind as to what could’ve happened to him. He was sitting in a chair next to the open balcony, hands clasped before him, watching her.

“Angelus?”

“Are you cold?” he asked, standing to move the sheet and thin blanket over her. “I’m sorry,” he kissed her gently. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Come back to bed, baby.” Buffy clasped his hand, tugging. Without a word, Angelus complied, climbing in next to her. He was silent as she resettled herself, leaning on one elbow to face him, leg thrown over his, warmer now though he exuded no heat.

“What were you doing?”

“Looking at you,” he said. Then, more slowly, “When I was in the cell, all I could think of was you. Your skin, your scent, your smile. I wanted you so badly, Buffy, I was afraid I’d give in just because of that.”

“You wouldn’t ever,” she whispered, partly afraid of interrupting him, but needing to say that. “I know you too well, Angelus. You’d never give in.”

“I knew who took me from the first; I knew it was Nest. I didn’t know what he wanted, he never said anything to me after that first time. After he laughed and told me that he was sorry, but there was only one thing more important than Family and trust. And he was about to get that. I thought you were dead.”

He shivered then, drew her closer, but still stared at the ceiling. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tightened his grip on her before continuing. Haltingly, never letting her go, but finally talking about what had happened to him all those months as she’d scoured the world for him. Unable, unwilling, to give up.

“I couldn’t feel you,” he whispered. “It was terrible, that empty place inside. I never realized until it wasn’t there, that that emptiness was what I’d felt for so long before I met you. It was why I wandered, I guess. The bond, it wasn’t…it just wasn’t there. I thought Nest had killed you, though I couldn’t imagine why he’d do that. Not after he’d gone to such lengths to bless and acknowledge our Mating.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around him, kissed his shoulder. She had no words, now, nothing that would help him say what he had to. So she’d hold him, comfort him. Love him. And hope that was enough.

“But if he had killed you, I expected one of my childer to exact revenge. Or Nest to say so at the very least. Flaunt his victory. No one came, and Nest never ventured back into the basement. He always sent Willow. It took a while, but I realized the energies coming off the Hellmouth were blocking our bond somehow.  That you were alive, but I couldn’t feel you…. I knew you’d come, that wasn’t ever a question. But I didn’t know what kind of man you’d find when you did. What kind of husband.”

Buffy kept her head on his chest, holding him tightly. Her tears fell, and she was unable to stop them. Sometimes he woke, panting harshly, shaking next to her. Or his body would be doubled over in pain, clutching his now healed leg, or probing ribs and belly for wounds he never spoke of. He never said a word, never told her what happened. He could survive the torture, the rape, the starvation, that wasn’t the question.

The question was what happened now. No matter how insignificant he made it out to be, the fact remained that for nearly two years he was held prisoner. Tortured and starved until even with her blood, it’d taken months for him to truly heal. It messed with one’s head, and Angelus was no different.

“But I’ll give the old bat one thing,” Angelus snorted, and his tone changed. Gone was the harshness of memories too painful to bear. In its place lay conviction, strength. And an underlying knowledge that he had to do something about it. What it was, Buffy had no idea, but she waited until he finished.

“You’re mortal, a Slayer, yes, but that works against us just as it does for. Everyone’s after you, or everyone,” he amended, “who doesn’t know who you are. Who you’re mated to. Still, with your accelerated healing, your aging process is slowed.”

“I won’t let you turn me, Angelus,” she said softly, not looking up. But she wasn’t budging on this point.

“No, I don’t think I would,” he chuckled thoughtfully. Rolling them over, he kissed her hard. “Your demon would be beautiful,” he said moving his mouth to her breast. “Dark and vicious. But I love you for you soul.”

“Demon? No way, lover.” But Buffy moved a hand to his head, holding him close to her breast. “You married me for me, there’s no way in any hell dimension you want to visit that I’m letting you replace me with a demon. Got that?”

He chuckled against her belly, cool tongue tracing patterns on her skin, moving leisurely back up her body. “Never, my love. I could never give you up.”

She gasped when Angelus bit down on her nipple. “There might be another way,” she added. “We can have Giles look into it.”

“Later, lover. Later.” And with that, he entered her, catching her cry of pleasure with his mouth, reaffirming to both of them that they were alive and in each other’s arms. And never leaving.

Curling once more around him, Buffy drifted to sleep, the sun just breaking the horizon. “Tell me?” she asked quietly. “Tell me what happened to you? I love you, Angelus. Nothing can change that. Ever.”

He stroked her hair, his large hand cool in the rhythmic gesture. Haltingly, he began. And when he eventually stopped, when he could go no further, he made love to her again, showing her with actions and whispered words of love, just how much she meant to him.

“I love you, my heart,” he said, the sun high in the sky now, lighting their balcony. “I never stopped. I never can.”

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