Attack. Distract. Kill her. 

It was furious. It wanted the slayer dead and didn’t care how that happened or how long it took. This little distraction was perfect and with Its two little allies to observe and report back, even better. 

Buffy, the slayer…she had stolen Its most prized possession and killed Its most valued ally. She was going to die for that insolence. She and her pathetic vampire with a soul; no one was getting out of Its harvest alive.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, they had decided to take on the demons here, on familiar territory at least. The cave with Spike and Drusilla could wait. How long no one knew, but there wasn’t a choice. Fight here with retreat as an option, or there, at the cave, with no place else to go. 

“Angel,” Giles called to the vampire as the group scrambled with last minute preparations. Ideally his questions could wait; this was far from an ideal time. Giles worry had not stopped growing since Buffy made her appearance at the Crawford Street Mansion. 

At first he was too happy to see her, alive and well, but then little things began to add up. Buffy’s strange use of pronouns, the way she commented on things that had a decidedly Angelus flavor. Giles had assumed that binding Angelus within her would, in effect, be similar to placing the demon in a box and permanently closing the lid. 

That didn’t seem to be the case, if his admittedly limited observation was any indication. 

Silently walking over to the man he once admired, Angel stared at the aging watcher, waiting. He blamed Giles for the spell – both of them – Buffy did, not more than he blamed himself, certainly, but blame was there. But Angel knew, despite the fact that Giles was probably right and he couldn’t have talked her out of this foolhardy endeavor, that he was the one with the best chance of it. 

“You coexisted with Angelus for close to a century,” Giles began without preamble, too worried to bother, especially when time was running out. “Is what Buffy going through at all similar?” 

Not the question Angel was expecting. “No, no it’s not.” At Giles’ expectant look Angel tried to find the words to describe the differences. He knew Giles was worried but couldn’t bring himself to care. He, Angel, was the only one who was going to worry about Buffy from now on. He and no one else was responsible for her happiness and well being. He had failed in the past but her friends and family had failed worse. 

Angel wasn’t about to let the mistakes he had made before color their future. The change started now. 

“At first Angelus was a…he was like a snarling beast, he hated being caged, he wanted out, wanted his freedom back. Hated being trapped, worse yet, heated being trapped underneath a soul who wanted only to forget the past and the deeds the demon had taken so much pleasure in. Coexistence is probably not the word I would have chosen because Angelus loathed the presence of the soul…of me.” 

Angel glanced behind him to where Buffy stood with Faith, giving last minute instructions to the potentials. She glanced up for a moment and their eyes locked her head tilted in that all to familiar way but she was immediately preoccupied by the girls before her. She didn’t see Angel’s expression harden at the knowledge that Angelus was continuing to make his presence felt.   

“He was always there, but we never really…conversed. Not until the first time we, I, saw Buffy. The demon wasn’t exactly dormant, he knew what was going on in my life, could see everything I saw, hear everything that went on around us, he just didn’t care. Angelus wasn’t as active or close to the surface then,” Angel wanted to add, as he was in recent years, but didn’t. “To Angelus, Giles, the only things I’ve ever done right were die in that ally in Ireland and some how get Buffy to love me.” 

Angel finished trying to explain an entirely too complex situation with, “He objected to fighting demons and vampires and loudly unless it directly related to Buffy then that fighting was acceptable because but he didn’t want Buffy hurt.” Unless, of course, he was the one doing her hurting. 

Shaking his head, Angel admitted, “I’m sorry, that probably doesn’t help. We rarely had a conversation until Buffy,” it was difficult to explain talking to one’s self. Made the whole concept of a conscious take on a new meaning. “And after that, after we saw her, began working with her, it was impossible to get him to lay dormant again. Harder still once I left Sunnydale; before he was indifferent where I was concerned after we left Buffy, he was a rage and a force that was constantly near the surface.”  

The vampire was unaware that he was speaking in the plural ‘we’ sense, as if he and Angelus were closer than Angel had previously admitted. Giles caught it but wasn’t sure what to say about it; he knew how Angel felt about the demon, and vice versa. Was pointing out the fact that they were closer than either admitted wise? Probably not. 

“Now,” Angel continued, oblivious to Giles’ musings, “Now it seems as if he’s a constant presence; rather than being locked up within her, he’s lounging around, feet on the table, not going anywhere any time soon and perfectly happy with that scenario. There is one other thing I can tell you, whether it helps or not you decide. After the spell…before she became so guarded and wary with me she was dazed. Confused.”  

Angel closed his eyes, remembering. “I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on myself it’s always disorienting after regaining control from Angelus. She was calm, eerily so, she told me he was quiet, the rage, the hate were gone asked me why he was so happy when she had betrayed him. I couldn’t answer, didn’t know how to, not then at least. I’m afraid my reaction took the focus away from any explanations and we have yet to return to it.” 

Giles nodded, his glasses in his hand, absorbing the information like a good Watcher. “I see,” he said but nothing else. “Is it because he’s trapped inside Buffy? He’s always been obsessed with her, always wanted her all to himself. Now that he has her, he’s not going to take the chance his hooks aren’t deep enough.” 

“Exactly,” Angel agreed as they watched Buffy together. His eyes were hard with jealously, a deep snarl threatened to erupt from him at the thought of his hated demon being closer to his love than he. And the fact that he, his soul, wasn’t deeply rooted enough to prevent just that. 

“Giles,” Angel asked abruptly, “The spell.”

Turning back him, Angel asked urgently, “Is there anyway to remove Angelus from Buffy and hold him in…something else? I know he has to be contained or the demon aspect finds its original home – me – but does it have to be within Buffy? Couldn’t it be in something else, a jar, a box, a hole in the ground, anything?” 

Giles’ eyes lighted up for a moment as he ran the possibilities through his mind. “Possibly, yes, there may be a way…” He trailed off as several conflicting ideas all tried to make sense in his mind. 

But Angel was already shaking his head, no. “Wait, Giles, no. Angelus would never want to be removed. He’d fight with any and every weapon he had before he allowed that. And if Buffy’s body already accepted him, if her-” he was going to say blood but no one knew about that and he wasn’t going to tell anyone. 

And what of the slayers within her? They’d have to at least partially accept both Angel and Angelus if they allowed not only Buffy to bring the demon’s essence within her but allow (was that the right word?) Angelus to, in some measure, turn her. She needed his blood; her Sire’s blood and the slayers somehow didn’t sense that as a threat; they permitted Angelus his last victory when they accepted his blood into Buffy. 

“If her mind and body are already used to him,” Angel said instead, “Then what will happen to her if we forcibly remove him?” 

“We did it to you,” Giles pointed out. “You survived the removal of the demon.” 

Not something Angel wanted to be reminded of, especially when his soul was so easily (not all that easily but it was possible and that was what grated most) evicted. 

“True, true, but…maybe after all this we’ll talk about it some more, there isn’t exactly time now.” 

Giles nodded in agreement and was about to add one more thing when Buffy wandered over to them. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she glared at her lover. “Planning something over here, lover?” 

Giles gaped at her word usage but Angel, at a loss as what, exactly, to say, just shook his head. What could he say that wasn’t going to get her angry? And anything he told Buffy, Angelus was bound to hear. “I was simply filling Giles in on several things that happened in LA. Nothing to worry about, not now at least.” 

She smirked; obviously she didn’t believe him but said nothing as she studied them both with all too knowing eyes.  “We’re ready, then. Robin just reported back saying there’s a large pack of demons on their way here.” 

Giles muttered, “God help us,” and went to oversee the packing once again. But he kept his eye on Buffy; her moves, her stance even. The words she used, the way she held her head high. And the way she looked at Angel. Longing, love, and distance. She was scared. But of what? Angel? Or the demon she held within her? 

Angel gathered Buffy in his arms, not saying anything for a moment, he just held her. “I love you, Buffy. And I swear-” 

“Angel, no,” Buffy cut him off as she stepped out of his safe embrace. Distance between them was best for her right now. “Don’t say it. Don’t swear. Don’t say you aren’t going to let anything happen to me. Because your track record on swearing bites, pardon the pun.” She watched his eyes harden with yet another reminder of her lack of trust. She hated hurting him she truly did, but she was more than terrified of letting him back I to hurt her. So she, in true Buffy fashion, lashed out repeatedly. It was unfair, but Buffy couldn’t be bothered with that now. Maybe later.  

“Besides you know as well as I that something most likely will happen. Just say…say you’ve got my back.” 

“Always, beloved,” he agreed and pulled her closer again, ignoring the stiffness with which she held herself. He kissed her then with a desperation she easily returned. This, at least, they both shared. And they would, Angel vowed, share everything…given the time to do so. “I will always watch your back.” 

Angelus purred in agreement. Not with Angel, but in acknowledgement of Angel’s unspoken words. So long as the body lived, whether the soul or demon inhabited it, nothing was going to happen to Buffy.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I feel like I’m in some bad Western. Or possibly an old war movie,” Faith said as the group stood in three lines, protecting nothing so much as themselves; if they fell, so did the world. 

How melodramatic was that? 

Buffy, Angel, Faith, Gunn, Robin Wood and Connor were the first row. It hadn’t been said, but if something should happen to that row, their finest warriors, the remaining two were, to use the vernacular, screwed. Literally, figuratively, any way imaginable. 

The second and third lines were potential slayers. It was hoped, most devoutly by all, that those second lines weren’t needed. 

Giles, Anya, and Dawn were packing everything up as quickly as they could, using poor Wesley as a carrying case. He didn’t seem to mind, but then it was hard to tell through the stoic mask he showed everyone. Cordelia sat on the couch, useless and feeling it. 

Honestly she wanted to rant and rave, to shout and condemn and voice all those feelings she had boiling and roiling inside of her. But she was mute and that form of expression was denied her. So she watched and waited. She could barely stand, could move only short distances and was, as Anya had so kindly pointed out when she and Wesley first arrived here, dead weight. 

She looked it, too, skin so close to her bones that her joints all but poked through, her face was gaunt and even if she survived and recovered from this nightmare, the wrinkles were permanent and the haunted look in her eyes was never going away. 

Doyle said she was needed, but for what? How was she to know what she was needed for, or when, if she didn’t know why? 

And now Tara and Willow were here? Cordelia had only met Tara the once, when they had brought a distraught Angel to Sunnydale for Buffy’s funeral. He had left from the Sunnydale docks moments before sunrise and Cordy knew that if it hadn’t been for Dawn and whatever the teenage had told Angel, the vampire would have greeted the sun. 

So Cordelia sat on the couch, once tall body curled into herself, in a vain attempt to stop the pain and to hold herself together. She’d be ready, though, when her time came. She’d be ready because she was not going o disappoint Doyle again. Or disappoint herself.
~~~~~~~~~~
The minutes ticked by and it was as if she could hear them. 

An interesting move considering there wasn’t a clock in the whole house. But Buffy knew that things were counting down, even without Connor’s words, Doyle’s appearance, or Willow and Tara’s arrival. 

She resisted the urge to look behind her to her friends. She never got the chance to tell Tara goodbye, the other woman was dead by the time Warren shot Buffy, by the time any of them realized that another of Warren’s bullets had gone wild into the house. And Willow. No matter what had happened between the friends, no matter how far apart they had grown during those months last year, they were starting to regain what they had lost. 

And now it was too late for any more. Buffy hadn’t run into Willow’s arms when she had suddenly appeared, but she wanted to. No, all they had had was enough time to exchange greetings, sort out the ‘No, I’m not the First’ problem thanks to Angel and Connor, and form the bare essentials of a plan. 

“The First smells of death and rage,” Angel had said, Connor nodding in agreement. “None of them smell of anything.” 

“Besides, there isn’t that residual black magick surrounding them,” Connor had added, that serene look encircling him as it usually did now. Buffy gathered, from both Angel and Gunn, that that wasn’t always the case. She was glad that someone, at least, could feel serenity; it certainly wasn’t her. 

Buffy glanced at Angel now, wondering how he was holding up. She wanted to touch him, kiss his aches away, soothe his soul and feel his strong arms around her in return. But in the distance they could hear the sounds of the First’s army moving towards them and there was no time. 

Never enough time, not for them. 

Angelus was there as well, a boiling mass of waiting rage that threatened to overwhelm even her conflicting emotions. Buffy was far from stable at the moment, too many emotions were racing through her for her to even think about being on any kind of even keel. But his waiting, his eagerness to fight, to protect her was all there. 

Buffy sighed as they waited for the demons to draw near enough to attack. Wasn’t it enough that she had herself to deal with? Buffy’s anger and jealously towards Cordelia, Buffy’s hurt and love, jealous rage, hope and suspicion of Angel. She hated and loved Angel, wanted to curl into him and never let go but she also wanted to pound on him until he couldn’t move and she couldn’t hit any longer. 

See, mass of confusion. 

They were getting closer now, the sounds of large beings tramping through the underbrush louder with every passing second. There was something else, off to the side, but Buffy didn't take her attention away from the advancing army long enough to acknowledge it. 

Familiar, though, she thought, it was a familiar feeling that passed through her, strong ties, blood and family. But then the first Turok-Han broke through the tree line right in front of her and a group of green and brown demon to the left and Buffy dismissed it. 

With a battle cry that broke the dusky night and was heard throughout the little town of Sunnydale, Buffy and Angel attacked. She the epitome of all slayers, stronger, faster the ultimate expression of Power, and even that was augmented by the demon within her, raging, shouting, promising a long and painful death to all who touched his mate.

The fact that Angelus couldn’t physically harm anyone was not the point; should Buffy be hurt, he’d find a way to make her attackers pay. 

Her eyes flashed golden as she took her sword, the same sword that was blessed by the knight who had once killed Acathla, and beheaded the nearest Turok-Han. 

Angel was right beside her, no further than necessary despite the battle. His eyes were blood red, his face that of the vampire within even if he no longer carried the demon himself. He didn’t understand it and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but all that mattered at this moment was the battle. Was protecting his mate and winning against the First Evil. In that order. 

His lips pulled back in a snarl and a growl of rage issued from his mouth. He was the First Vampire, not equal but superior to any Turok-Han that attacked them. Angel was the ultimate childe of the First Turok, reborn to be the First Evil’s greatest weapon. A weapon that turned on It and was now used for his own needs. 

Strong and sure, more powerful than any of the Turok’s that emerged from the dense foliage surrounding the west side of the house, his power was augmented by the woman beside him. 

Angel was always stronger with Buffy by his side, just as she was always stronger with him. Together they made a forceful and formidable team. 

Side by side against the attacking hoards, Buffy and Angel stood together, mirroring each other’s stance, each other’s techniques. Death incarnate. All waiting to happen in a bloody but beautiful ballet that sang with their passion and their strength. 

The potentials were now interspersed with the rest of the group, picking off what demons made it past the couple. They were massive; the sheer numbers facing them was slightly on the overwhelming side. It was just past sunset, the last rays of the sun still faintly lightening the darkening sky. Something was going on, something Angel thought he should realize, but before he could figure out what was happening, they broke through the surrounding brush, en masse, and attacked. 

Due to their overwhelming numbers it was easy to do so and that’s exactly what the demons did. In a perfectly synchronized ballet, amid a strange feeling of magickal static, the two warriors fought. Each movement complimented the other and if the rest of their gang wasn’t so busy fighting for their lives they might have taken a brief moment to watch. 

Gunn grunted and hacked away at a large and green demon he never wanted to see again. The Turok’s were left to Buffy and Angel who had the weapons to kill them; blessed swords augmented by their magickally enhanced strength were the only things killing those creatures. 

Connor fought at his back and Gunn was oddly comforted by that realization. Whether it was the fact that the angry young man no longer seemed to be so or that Gunn knew the boy was destined to be greater than all of them combined even he could not say. But the anger and rage which shadowed everything Connor did before being held captive by Angelus was gone, replaced by a purpose few had in life. 

Faith kept her eye on the potentials, feeling an odd affinity with those who were destined to replace her. She tried not to think on it, but the idea was always there, mocking her, tailing her, reminding her that she was the line now and that the girls behind and next to her were the next step in that line, in a line that was now all bound up in Buffy. 

Buffy, Faith noticed as she spared a glance for her sister slayer, who was fighting as if she fended off the hoards of hell every damn day. She had yet to break a sweat, Faith noticed, and was barely breathing heavily. Augmented strength certainly had its advantages. 

But then another demon attacked and Faith was caught in a circle of them, fighting for her life.

Giles watched Buffy. He hadn’t meant to, was in fact supposed to be guarding their backs, but he was worried about her. Especially with the revelations from both she and Angel about the power of the Slayers and the presence of Angelus, respectively. He wanted to see for himself what kind of effects Angelus had on her. 

She was smooth in her movements, but she always had been, controlled, sleek. But there was something about the way she held herself, a recklessness that permeated her being. The smirk of pleasure, the flashing of golden eyes he could see from where he stood, everything about her screamed several things at the watcher. 

One was that Buffy had indeed grown from the too young girl he had first met all those years ago into not only her power, but herself, too. Her style had evolved, that much Giles knew just by all but living with her for several years. The second was that the Slayers within her brought a strength and style to Buffy that he couldn’t have predicted. 

Whereas before his girl had the strength to behead a vampire, now she could do it with one hand, the other engaged in fending off another, while keeping a well-trained eye on Angel. Incredible. 

The third thing Giles recognized was that smirk. Angelus, pure unadulterated Angelus there. The demon captured within Buffy was, as Angel had said, not trapped in a closed off area of her soul, but was there for all to see. And if the expression on Buffy’s face was any indication, he wasn’t happy. 

Rage glittered in her eyes, eyes that were vampiric golden. A snarl that easily matched Angel’s graced her still beautiful features but Giles knew. The rage, the deadly viciousness toward a perceived enemy, the systematic calculated probing for another’s weakness. Angelus was as much a part of his obsession as he could get and from the look of it he was reveling in it. As much, the watcher suspected, as Angel wished to be.   

“Giles!” Connor shouted, forcing the former watcher from his critical scrutiny of the blonde slayer. Just barely in time Giles lifted his sword, blocking the downward slash from a Bringer. In another instant the would-be Ancient was by his side, but Giles nodded his help off. 

Chastising himself for his lack of concentration, Giles moved forward to enter the fray, leaving Dawn and Anya to finish packing their cars. If retreat was necessary, he wanted to be ready. 

Gunn, Faith, Robin and, strangely enough, Andrew, formed a line between the advancing demons and the potentials. Andrew was battered and bloody and shaking, looking ready to run at a moments notice. Why he was still there was anyone’s guess. Gunn and Robin looked tired but ready to continue the fight. There was nothing super-powered about them but they weren’t about to let a world they swore to protect down. 

Faith was exhilarated. She hadn’t had this much action in ages and even with the seriously outnumbered odds, there was a grin on her face. Her gaze swept back and forth among the dwindling demons and she wondered at the resources of the First. Or, she amended as her gaze took in the falling numbers, the lack of resources. 

That didn’t make any sense. 

Looking at the slowly advancing demons, Faith muttered, “Where are the rest of the Turok’s? I thought they were the First’s big bad army, so where the hell are they?” 

“Waiting?” Anya asked as she joined the fray, wondering the same thing herself as she gripped her sword tighter in suddenly sweaty fists. “Waiting to pick up our pieces or maybe to attack the rest of the town once we’re gone?” 

“A little positive thinking here, please, Anya,” Dawn grunted as she, too, joined the fight, swinging her sword at a fat demon that looked too overweight to move much less fight. Too bad for her he could. 

Angel said nothing as he fought next to Buffy, too focused on not letting any of the admittedly small numbers of Turok-Han’s past him to harm her. The fact that she could take care of herself, more than, now that she possessed the powers of the slayers, meant nothing. She was his, his love, his mate, and nothing was going to harm her if he had any say in it. 

Slash, cut, dodge, jump over sweeping feet, duck swinging arms or clubs, leap to one side or the other as more of the ugly bastards surged forward, intent on taking the place of their fallen brethren. He was suddenly extremely grateful that only his strength was remade into that of a Turok-Han. They were even uglier than Nest had been and that was saying something. 

She flipped over the seven-foot tall vampire all the while keeping an eye on Angel. Make sure nothing happens to Angel, make sure Angel is safe; it was more a mantra to her than keeping herself safe. Buffy slashed through the neck of a Turok, grinning at the sheer exhilaration to be had, and before the dust had a chance to settle, she was fighting off another. 

But Angel was always in her sights. 

Buffy buried deep within her any extraneous feelings she had, except those of her mate’s survival; and even if she wasn’t consciously acknowledging Angel as such, she always had, time and distance had not changed that. Plus the slayers within her knew him to be hers (theirs) and weren’t going to let anything happen to him. 

So she buried everything but Survival – hers and Angel’s – and Buffy became the Slayer. All the slayers within her clamored for the blood of the demons before her, the threat to their continued existence and their mate’s and so Buffy focused. She focused all her strength, her attention and her skills on them. 

Against the combined efforts of every single slayer ever, they never stood a chance. 

Angelus, not to be outdone by a bunch of slayers, though he couldn’t feel them at all, let alone the way Buffy did, lent his knowledge of various demon species. While the others seemed to have that well under control, one or two slipped by them and went for Buffy. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to his mate, either. 

It was his need to protect Buffy that was foremost in his thoughts and feelings. That and his need to see the slaughter of her enemies, even if it was of his own kind. His rage became her own and when one hapless demon who had decided to attack the slayer directly witnessed her eyes turn golden; he was dead in seconds for his surprised hesitation. 

The potentials were terrified. They had fought before, a demon here, a small nest of vampires there. Never this. This was…the stuff movies were made of, this happened in television or in books, or on video games. 

This didn’t happen in real life. 

Their lives hadn’t prepared them for this, even the time they spent here, in Sunnydale first with Buffy then Faith hadn’t prepared them for this. Oh, the slayers had tried, but what good were words when there was no point of reference? ‘Attacking demons’ sounded fine, but how many constituted ‘demons?’ Three? Five? Ten? The number ‘a hundred,’ or ‘hundreds,’ was never thought of no matter what everyone from Buffy to Dawn and even Andrew tried to tell them. 

And now they were faced with that and more. Swords shook in grips and crossbows were wielded with unsteady aim at best. But terror was its own adrenaline and the terrified girls did their best against their very nightmares. 

If they noticed that very few demons made it past the more experienced fighters, none of the potentials commented, too busy fighting off the ones who did make it past. 

With an arm longer than the dozen or so remaining potentials were high, the Ver’zn demon swatted at Corrine, sending the tall Italian girl crashing into the wall. Her sword clattered to the ground and she limply slid next to it. No one noticed when the poor girl didn’t get back up. 

For its effort, the Ver’zn demon was set upon by screaming girls, now more angry than frightened. In a gruesome display of hatred, the demon was hacked to death, splattering the girls with a greenish ooze that constituted its blood. With renewed energy they turned to the next enemy, swords at the ready. 

It finally all made sense to them; it was a simple choice, their lives or the demons. They chose their lives and would now do anything to ensure their own – and those with them – survival. 

Willow, Tara, and Doyle stayed in the background.

Had Buffy realized this at the time, she would have said something. As it was, she was too busy fighting for her life to notice the lack of magickal otherworldly reinforcements. The so-called reinforcements, however, were performing their own ritual. 

This they could stop, this they were allowed to and would, maybe even if they weren’t allowed to. Because this wasn’t IT. This was the forerunner, the pre-show. This was easy. It was the rest that wasn’t. 

It was that rest where interference wasn’t permitted or even accepted. The Blood Harvest could only be stopped by The Chosen and The Souled Vampire. It was written, it was prophesied, and it was truly the only way. Mutable prophecies aside, this one was absolute in its execution and completion Buffy and Angel were the only two who could halt the destruction of the world by the First’s Harvest. 

The irony was that the First Itself was responsible for that.

If it hadn’t intervened all those years ago, during a hot and sunny Christmas, then Its Harvest would have gone off when it was supposed to…several hundred years from now. And then, at that time, when the balance was truly even and the world ready for the final battle, it would have brought about the End Days. 

Unfortunately, the Ultimate Evil was ultimately too impatient to wait. 

And now there was a way to stop It.   

A way that It only had Itself to blame. It wanted Angel, wanted Angel to revert to Angelus, wanted Angelus to rule in Its stead, a Master Vampire, a vicious and cunning sadist who would wield the power It gave him with perfection. In order to attain this perfect weapon, It formulated a plan, a long reaching plan that was as twisted and simple as It was. 

It had made moves in that direction a long ago Christmas, taunting Angel with the Slayer, the one being he wanted, the one being he could never again truly have without major earth shattering consequences. 

Angel left Buffy, causing the two destined warriors to lose both themselves and each other. It thought It had won. It never realized It set into motion Its own destruction.
~~~~~~~~~~
Spike leaned against a tree, arms folded across his chest, playful smirk gracing his hardened continence. 

Ah, but it was a glorious sight to behold. 

Honestly he could care less about the First and Its ‘Grand Plan to Take over the World.’ Whatever, Spike said to that; every other demon and half the humans on this planet wanted that. No, it was the beautiful scene before him. 

Buffy and Angel fighting unspeakable odds, the so called forces of light diminished to a trickle of nothingness, the witch and the annoying nobody boy were dead, one watcher all but useless by the looks of that spiffy wheelchair, the other too intrigued with the slayer to do much of anything but stare at her. 

Dawn was something else, he had always had a soft spot for the youngest Summers, but she seemed to be holding her own. Spike wasn’t sure what he would do if the niblet wasn’t but so long as she was, he didn’t have to decide. And if history was likely to repeat itself, and the vampire didn’t see what it wouldn’t, Buffy would give her life for her sister. 

She couldn’t even be bothered to take the time to find him when the First had him in Its clutches, too busy playing whore to his sire if Drusilla and the First were to be believed, but Spike was positive Buffy’d save her sister with her last breath. 

The big poof, though, he had changed. Spike couldn’t put his finger on what that change was, but it was there. More, something. Strength, anger, guilt, brooding, hair gel? It was something, Spike was sure. Something other than the blood red eyes he could see from his vantage point. What was that all about? 

Drusilla floated around both him and the tree, dancing to a tune only she could hear. There was a beatific smile on her face and Spike couldn’t help but smile back. This was as it should be; this was exactly as it should be. He and Dru, no one else, no annoying grandsires, no whore of a great-grandsire, no souls, nothing to worry about but what city to visit next. 

Just he and his black princess. 

At the thought of ‘souls,’ his own gave a meager peep that only served to remind the now scowling vampire of the stupidity he had gone through, of the idiocy being a neutered dog on the slayer’s leash had driven him to. He had actually volunteered to have his soul returned. Yeah, he was a loser; no wonder Dru had left him. He was pathetic. 

But all that changed. He had his soul, so what, who cared? It wasn’t the big deal Angel made it out to be, wasn’t the brooding-quality lament that his grandsire took it as. The best part about this whole soul-having thing…was that it could be ignored. 

“Ooh, that had to hurt,” Spike commented from his vantage point as Corrine was knocked into the wall. “No getting up from that. Too bad, too, I bet potential blood has that same kick as the real thing.” 

Dru laughed and stopped her mad dance in front of him, draping her arms about his neck and snapping her jaws near his throat. “Soon, my pet,” she whispered, “Soon the Queen of Hearts will see the board clear and her King will be there with her. They are one and two, two in one, many to each other and only each other.” 

Spike nodded, his attention divided between Dru’s confusing ramblings and the continuing fight before him. “So it’s almost over then, ducks? This fight, I mean. The First’s little party is all set to start,” Christ, he sounded like Drusilla and her ramblings now. “Will the slayer and peaches know this?” 

That had been the debate for several long hours, should he and Dru tell Angel and Buffy of the First’s big plan? Or should they continue to ally themselves with the Evil? 

“They know, my Spike, The Queen and her Kings know, but only half the board has been revealed. It is up to us to take the cover off and show them the rest. If we don’t, daddy loses. And mummy doesn’t like it when that happens.” 

Yesterday she had begun to refer to Buffy as ‘mummy’ and frankly it still freaked Spike out. Why Dru did that was anyone’s guess, but he accepted it only because he hadn’t another choice. 

“So we tell them, then, princess?” He looked back to the battling couple, noting how well they moved together and how easily they dispatched their enemies. Graceful and deadly, rage pouring off the pair of them in blatant waves that attested to their closeness. 

Despite the distance Spike knew lay between them, they still acted as if it had been hours rather than years since they last fought together. More than anything else, that unnerved Spike; if it were possible for the two of them to know each other’s moves so intimately even now, what chance had he ever had? 

None, he had never had a chance with Buffy and he knew that, always had. Too bad he hadn’t acknowledged it before the damn soul. Could have saved everyone a lot of trouble. 

There was more that he was missing, Spike was sure of that. But it couldn’t be helped now; Drusilla insisted that telling Angel and Buffy was for the best, so that was what they were going to do. “Assuming they survive this little distraction.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“There’s something wrong,” Buffy said as she beheaded another Turok. It was almost as if they were coming in just enough of a trickle to distract her and Angel, and keep them busy, but not overwhelm them. 

She was cut in several places but the blood had dried already, her cuts healing almost instantaneously with her supernatural healing. She wasn’t tired, not even winded; there was too much pent up energy flowing through her for that. But she was starting to tremble, just lightly, but it was enough to piss her off even if at the same time she desperately wanted to attack Angel’s jugular and taste him once more. 

Almost as if her body knew that soon she would need her mate’s blood and couldn’t wait. And that pissed her off even more. 

Angelus was not helping the situation; images of her drinking from Angel while the vampire did the same to her were a constant barrage that he insisted on showing her. It wasn’t enough to distract her from the fight, or even from Angelus helping her with that, but it was…distracting. 

“I know,” Angel replied to her statement as he threw off a brown furred demon from the still angry and wired potentials. He hoped they realized that he was a friend, not an enemy. He knew he could take them but that wasn’t the point; they needed all the fighters they had. Injuring any on their team wasn’t in the cards no matter how temporary the injury was. 

“But I’m not entirely sure what.” He finished as he returned to Buffy’s side once more. 

Distance, physical distance was something he never again wanted between them. The emotional distance was something he’d work on in the coming days and months, but if it could be helped, physically he’d never be further apart from her than several arms length. 

Especially now that she seemed to need his blood as well as whatever emotional support he could give. Support he intended on giving in a steady and constant stream until one of them died. 

“You mean other then the fact that as of now we aren’t overrun with the forces of hell?” 

Angel smiled at that, “Yeah, exactly. Either we’re missing something huge, or the First is toying with us.” 

“Or both.” 

“I vote for both,” Angel said, again turning his attention to the side, seeking out the faint humming. There was a small lull in the proceedings and he recognized that feeling now. “Family.” 

“What?” Buffy asked as she, too, looked in the direction Angel was now heading. 

Angel stalked off to the side, homing in on the feelings running through his blood. How could he have missed this before? Familial ties were strongest, second only to mated bonds; he should have picked up on the presence of two of his childer immediately. He couldn’t say why he hadn’t, whether the demon was actually residing within him or not hadn’t made a difference so far, it shouldn’t in this, either. 

Even before the scent reached him, Angel knew it was Spike and Drusilla. No one else had an interest in this town, these people. And no one else was involved enough with the situation to care. If Robin was to be believed – and Angel figured there wasn’t a reason not to believe the son of the slayer who wanted revenge on Spike – they were in league with the First.

A low constant growl emanated from him but Angel didn’t notice, too intent on getting to his grandchile and rending him limb from limb. Twice. Before the real fun began. He felt Buffy next to him, felt her anxiety and concern, her mistrust and suspicion and her hatred and loathing. Which emotion was directed at which vampire was anyone’s guess. 

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Angel felt the tension within her and stopped his stalking. She was what mattered, not the two before him, only Buffy. She relaxed slightly under his hand, turning to look at him for a moment. With a nod, they moved forward again, knowing they wouldn’t sneak up on the vampire couple but not caring. 

This wasn’t about a sneak attack, but about confrontation. 

Unfortunately, Spike didn’t see it that way. 

The youngest vampire pushed away from the tree and, allowing that motion to carry him forward, attacked Buffy. Rage and betrayal were pumping through him, making him careless and aggressive in the face of the odds, which were decidedly against him. 

Buffy easily held him off; she had done it before being changed, now it was as easy as swatting a mosquito. Easier, actually, as Spike’s assault was emotion-based, he never was one to play it cool. Throwing the blonde against the tree on handed, Buffy snarled at him. “Stay there, boy, or I’ll forget that you once helped her…me.” 

Angelus’ rage washed over Buffy and again she was forced to wonder why he had never displayed these possessive and almost caring feelings for her when they had first met. What changed between then and now? Not that it mattered, Buffy supposed, but she was curious and Angelus wasn’t sharing. 

Shaking her head, regaining her bearings, Buffy turned to Angel, always the first she looked to, that hadn’t changed no matter what happened between them. He stood there, a snarl directed at Spike as Dru floated around him. That display wasn’t helping her roller coaster emotions in the least but the look Angel’s face was priceless. 

He looked angry, extremely so but…scared. 

Of what? Buffy tried to pry the lid off Angelus’ memories, but the demon had over a century to become used to sharing both body and thoughts with another, Buffy had only days. He wasn’t budging, not letting anything escape from the carefully concealed memories. Why? Something slipped through, though, something about Drusilla and…Darla? 

Yet another item on the ever-growing list of things for her to ask Angel. 

“I thought I told you next time I saw you, Dru,” Angel growled, slipping into his vamp face as his eyes quickly flashed blood red before reverting to their normal brown. “I’d kill you.”

Dru whimpered, “Daddy’s mad…no, no, daddy’s gone, he’s hiding, with her, in her.” 

Angel shot Buffy a glance, both wondering how Dru seemingly knew about Angelus’ new status within Buffy. And what the mad vampiress was going to do about that information. 

“Spike,” Buffy said in a low voice that held no emotion whatsoever, sparing a brief glance at Drusilla who had moved away from Angel and was looking between the slayer and her vampire with confusion. She had really never wanted to see the mad vampiress again. “And Drusilla; and here I thought, Spike, that you were in trouble.” 

‘Hello, Drusilla, my pretty.’ Angelus purred in happiness, ‘How’s my favorite childe?’ 

Drusilla said nothing, but began to hum to herself as she floated around Buffy. The slayer did nothing but it was obvious she was uncomfortable: crazy vampiress who hated her more than almost anything in this world dancing around her like a Tchaikovsky ballet? Only discomfort to be found there. 

Angel was torn between laughing at the situation – it wasn’t every day his beautiful but crazed childe danced around his even more beautiful mate – and growling at Drusilla. He knew as well as Angelus that she sensed the demon within Buffy. 

Still, Dru spinning around Buffy was indeed a sight to behold. 

Buffy growled at her demon; that one sound enough to let Angelus know her jealously. The demon smiled and purred right back at her. ‘You know I love only you, my sweet mate. But Drusilla…she’s my finest creation. Everything I ever imagined in a childe she is and was; I truly adore her. Most times.’  

‘Pride in your…creation, Angelus? I’m thinking lustful possession is more likely.’ Buffy shot back, eyes turning to Angel to see his reaction to the increasingly bizarre situation. She knew he hadn’t been the one to create Drusilla, but was there still some attachment?  

‘She’s beautiful, admit it. And a good fuck; I did, after all, teach her everything she knows.’ Buffy scowled then and Angel had to wonder what his – her? – former demon was saying to cause this reaction. Angelus simply laughed.  

‘But you, my beautiful love, are truly the only one for me. I worship you and you know that; Drusilla is a pale comparison to you, a simplistic watercolor to your vibrant life. You are beyond a doubt my everything, too bad I’m not in a position to prove – over and over throughout several long days and nights – just how true that is.’  

‘I so don’t want to hear it, lover,’ Buffy shot back sarcastically, jealously clouding her vision more than the rage from before. 

Angelus was trying to get a rise out of her and was succeeding. He was also trying, Buffy suspected, to get her to figure a way to put him back in Angel’s body. The body? Semantics were a real bitch. Not the point, Buffy thought as she tried to remember how to breathe again, hoping to level her system. It wasn’t working. 

She tried to clamp down on her rising emotions, knowing Angelus had a firmer control when she was out of control. Between Cordelia’s arrival and Angel’s reactions to her, Buffy’s own conflicting emotions when it came to the duel natures of her vampire, Angelus’ torturing of the seer, Spike’s obviously alive and not in trouble presence before her, and now Angelus’ comments about Drusilla, the fact that Buffy knew Dru wanted Angelus back…it was all too much. 

Angelus pushed his way through, again, and didn’t take over Buffy so much as severely skewered her emotions to those he wished. 

Buffy growled deep in her throat and snapped at Dru in a show of vampiric foreplay which had the vampiress squealing happily. She leaned forward, catching the petite slayer in her arms and pressing her cool lips to the slayer’s warm ones. 

The two males were too shocked to do anything but watch as the slayer, who hated the vampiress, and the mad vampiress, who hated the slayer, kissed. Angel growled in jealously: it was bad enough that Angelus’ essence was within Buffy, living closer to the slayer than he, Angel; it was worse to have Angelus distort her viewpoints as much as he could, but this. This was intolerable. 

Sharing Buffy’s affections with his demon half was one thing, having that demon half control – at least Angel hoped it was Angelus’ influence that caused this little scene – Buffy enough to kiss his childe? 

Stalking forward, Angel grasped Buffy by the arm, prying her away from her ostensibly eager embrace with Dru. Both whimpered in protest. 

Buffy was scowling, both internally and externally. Damn it all, had she really just kissed Dru? She had Dru-germs now, ugh. Dru, for her part, was purring like a kitten, hands fluttering over Buffy’s face. Angel stood a mere foot away, not sure what to do. 

“Mummy’s angry, she’s all confused but she’s so strong now. A thousand and one, a thousand and one, all for her, all for him, all for eternity. The Queen of Hearts knows what and who but does she know where?” 

Angel had no idea what his childe was crooning about but he didn’t like it – was she still his childe if he no longer carried the demon? Too many questions for him to worry about now, especially with a harvest to stop. And a diversionary battle to stop; glancing over his shoulder somewhat guiltily, Angel noted that the troops were handling the minions just fine. 

Good for them.  

“Dru, what do you know?” He asked in his best Sire Voice. Demon or not, he knew the drill. (Carrying the demon or not? A demonic soul? No, no, his soul wasn’t demonic, how about a souled demon? Then what was he before? Damn, this was too confusing. Best not to think on it too much.) 

Whimpering, Dru looked from Buffy to Angel. “Daddy?” She floated over to Angel again, murmuring to herself too softly for even the two vampires to understand her. “No, daddy’s gone, divided and whole. He’s happy now, so content in his new square. He’s sharing, you know, sharing with the Queen.”

She was looking at Buffy when she said that but looked to Angel now, still too close to him for either Buffy’s or Spike’s liking. “Daddy?” She asked again, then, “So different, but still in the same square as the Queen of Hearts, no longer sharing space with the black king, this white king, no, no, but he’s still the same, still the same.” 

Buffy resisted asking, ‘Huh?’ and decided to remain silent. She had enough confusion without adding Drusilla’s. Angelus was mentally licked his chops, still cooing from Dru’s kiss. 

Buffy wanted to hit him. She settled for ignoring him, blocking him out of her as much as she could manage. 

He didn’t like that and retaliated by injecting scenes of Angel setting fire to Drusilla, Darla, and a bunch of humans. What…? Buffy let out a soft sob which was ignored by Dru and Spike but which Angel heard. Looking into her eyes, he wondered which of his many sins Angelus was sharing with his beloved. 

Straightening from against the tree, where he had watched the entire scene play out, the blonde vampire snorted in derision as he warily eyed the slayer, his consort and his grandsire. What the fuck had just happened? And what the fuck did Dru mean? 

“Drusilla, pet?” He asked, pulling her attention away from the couple who were inching closer to each other, seemingly unknowingly. Some things never change. “What was that all about?”

Before Dru could answer, though Buffy wasn’t entirely sure that answer was going to make sense, the slayer said, “Spike, what happened to you?” 

“The First had me, but I think you know that by now. Wanted to turn me into one of Its minions, an ally to use against you and your little friends. And you did ever so much to help me didn’t you slayer?” He taunted her, rubbing her nose in the fact that she had promised to do just that. “I’m just fine, as you can see,” he added with a flicker of his cigarette. 

“Things spiraled out of control a little too quickly, Spike.” Buffy said, defending herself all the while wondering why she was bothering. What did she care? Guilt was the only thing she felt towards the second ensouled vampire; guilt for not being able to help Angel when he first received his soul, guilt for being too scared of her own feelings to help him thoroughly the second time. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?” 

“No,” Angel added, barely resisting the urge to rip the younger vampire in two. He had rage issues and wasn’t sure who to direct them to first; Angelus, Dru, Spike, or Buffy. “It doesn’t. What does matter is where you’ve been and why you’re still alive.” 

Spike laughed again and it was that sound, more than anything, that confirmed Angel’s suspicions. His grandchilde might have had a soul, but it wasn’t the dominant factor in the being. The demon was. Briefly Angel wondered if the U.S. government approved chip still functioned. 

He was betting no. 

Just then Drusilla cooed at Buffy, “Daddy’s here and the Queen of Hearts has him. She has daddy, she’s mummy.” Dru smiled, caressing Buffy’s cheek with a hand, leaning in closely to whisper, “Hello daddy, hello mummy.” 

Laughing, Dru nuzzled Buffy’s cheek and just as quickly, before the slayer could respond by moving away or perhaps staking Drusilla, the vampiress jumped back, crying as if burned. 

“A hundred thousand and more, they’re all in there, too many, so much, she has it all, she is all. The Queen is all powerful and daddy’s not getting out.” She shifted her eyes to Angel and continued in her sing-song voice. “Daddy’s hers, he always was, and he always will be. Always, always, always.” 

Angel couldn’t dispute that and doubted Angelus could or would, either. But why had Dru acted as if touching Buffy burnt when mere moments ago they had been kissing? That jealous rage that hadn’t really died surged back to life as if someone had stoked the embers.

Spike looked from Dru to Buffy. “What? Dru, luv, what are you talking about?” 

“The slayers, my Spike. She’s the slayers.” 

At first Spike didn’t hear the plural part of the word ‘slayer.’ All he heard was ‘She’s the slayer’ and was about to comment that of course she was; where had Dru been for the last several years? But he didn’t, pausing just before the words could leave his mouth. 

Suddenly everything made sense. Or, well, started to at least. 

Turning to Angel he squinted at his grandsire once more, listening, really listening this time, to the vibrations in his blood. They were still there: a faint thing that he could – and did – overlook when in close proximity to Angel. The same feelings were coming from Buffy now, too, only…stronger? 

“Bloody hell! How…? What happened? What’d you do to yourself?” 

He still didn’t understand the ‘slayers’ part but the tingling slayer feeling he usually got off Buffy was magnified. About a thousand fold.

Buffy’s eyes flashed golden and before she had a chance to clamp down on him again, Angelus gleefully reared forward. 

“Come now, Spikey. Haven’t you figured it out yet? Then again, you always were the slow one. I know my baby Dru here already knows.” The sounds (near purrs) were coming from Buffy but the words weren’t hers. They were…Angelus’? 

“What the hell?” Spike was at a loss, completely unsure what to say. Or do, or think for that matter. It was a mythological demonic fact that once someone was turned into a vampire, the demon took over the body and the soul was free to leave. Now in the case of Peaches over there, his soul was stuffed into his body to cohabitate it with the demon.

Spike ignored his own soul situation with the argument that that stupid jaunt to Africa was some kind of mental breakdown brought on by the deteriorating government approved chip in his brain. 

Still, there was the presence of the demon, Angelus. How was it that the demon was now in Buffy? Spike squinted at the slayer as if myopic and wondered if his little theory was accurate: Angelus was within Buffy and Angel was all soulful goodness and alone – for the first time in a hundred years – in his own body. 

Who else was confused here? 

“So, Peaches, now you really are a soul-having Poof. How’s that feel, to know that Angelus is all cozy within the object of his obsession?” Spike cast a sly look at Angel and noted the jealous anger there. Could this day possibly get any better? He grinned and thought probably not, it was pretty damn good already. 

“Wonder what kinds of plans the good old scourge has for her?” His voice dropped to a conspirital whisper that all could still hear. “Wonder what kinds of memories he’s sharing?” 

Angel growled, his eyes flashing red, a move that had Spike rethinking his next words. So he swallowed whatever he could have possibly said because while it was the best of fun to needle his (former) grandsire, he wasn’t sure what words were going to come out of his mouth. This situation just got way stranger. 

Of course the interactions between Angel and Buffy were the same, the blonde vampire thought as he absently searched for another cigarette. 

Angel took Buffy’s hand again, sensing the anger that threatened to boil over, confirming his suspicion that when she experienced strong emotions Angelus was able to move closer to the surface. Caressing her cheek with his free hand, Angel tilted Buffy’s head so their eyes locked. 

Leaning down until their foreheads touched, Angel murmured nonsensical words in Gaelic and continued to stroke her cheek, his lips inches from hers.

Nodding once, Buffy took a deep breath and turned back to the couple. Spike looked like he was about to die from apoplexy – was it possible for vampires to die from strokes? – and Dru still cradled her hand, rubbing her lips every few seconds. 

“You broke Vampire Law, Spike,” Angel said. His voice carried a hint of menace, more compelling for that soft lilt, his eyes flashed red but he stood perfectly still. “You touched my mate, you, who are my Childe’s Childe not only touched her in one of the most intimate of ways, but professed feelings towards her.” 

Spike shifted against the tree, suddenly wondering about the rest of his unlife. Angel’s voice echoed around him as if in a cave but the younger vampire knew it was only an effect. It happened to be a damned good one. 

“By law you should be staked to the ground to await the first kiss of the rising sun as word of your disloyalty, your betrayal spread among the underworld. Personally,” Angel continued with a smile, “I’d rather rip you limp from limp and use every single method of torture ever invented.”

Dru whimpered, Spike wanted to bluster at Angel’s words but the best he came up with was, “You aren’t my bloody Sire, peaches, you’re just a vampire who lost his demon and is infected with a soul.” 

A growl escaped Angel and the elder stepped forward. Buffy stepped next to him, his emotions washing over her to meld with her own and Angelus’ and it was too much, really. 

“Leave. Now. The both of you.” Buffy squeezed Angel’s hand, grateful for his support even if he was glowering and ready to strike out any second. “I don’t want to ever see the pair of you again and this time,” she stressed, glaring at Spike, “I mean it. Wherever else you go make sure it’s not within a hundred miles of us.” 

When no one moved for long minutes Angel asked the question that was on everyone’s minds, “What’s the First’s plan?” 

“Its Blood Harvest is nearing,” Dru said in a surprisingly sane voice. “It begins at dawn. It has Its innocents and only needs the final ingredient.” 

“Do you know what that is?” Buffy asked. 

Shaking her head, the vampiress added, “No but Its close. The pawns are in position and the Queen and her Kings are ready.” 

Buffy nodded. And Angelus surged forward, single-minded in his goal of keeping her from harm. ‘Kill her, lover, kill the both of them. Can you really guarantee that they won’t come stumbling back? Spike did and tortured the soulful one over there to within an inch of his life it was pathetic. If he can’t protect himself how is he going to protect you? And what makes you think this time will be different than the last?’  

Buffy stood there, stunned. If it wasn’t Angelus who wanted the vampire couple to leave, then…it was her? Refusing to give into his demands, intent on resisting him any way she could, Buffy stood her ground. 

“Take him Dru,” she instructed the vampiress. “Take him and go because he doesn’t do well without you. But make sure you don’t ever return to the Hellmouth, Dru, or within those hundred miles I warned you about. 

Angel still said nothing. This was her decision, he knew, and he would stand by that decision. He wouldn’t like it, but he’s stand by her. 

“Mummy’s freeing us, my Spike,” Dru said as she clasped his hand. “Daddy’s angry,” she looked to Angel. “And Daddy wants to see her safe from everything, even us,” here she looked back to Buffy but the group figured she was really looking at Angelus. 

“I understand, mummy.” Dru said and kissed Buffy once more before tugging Spike away. 

Angelus’ rage was a burst of light within her. ‘Shh, lover,’ she soothed him. ‘I had to let them go. I had to because…because Spike did help me in the past. Because he’s only good with Drusilla; he really is a bitch for love. Because Dru is only good with him; all he’s ever really wanted was her back again. I’ll probably have to kill them in the future, but it won’t be without giving them a fighting chance and time. If they’re smart they may manage to avoid us indefinitely and they’ll get that unlife together now.’  

“Buffy?” Angel asked as he watched his childe and grandchilde disappear into the night. Turning, sword still in hand, he held the other out to his beloved. Had she let Spike go because she had feelings for him? Or was it because she wanted to see he and Dru try once more?

Angel didn’t know but suspected it was the latter. Only because she had come to save him. If that didn’t prove one’s love, what did? 

“Ready to stop this thing, love?” 

Buffy smiled at him, grateful for his understanding even if he hadn’t said the words. “Let’s go kick some First ass.”

Next part        Previous part

Home        Christine’s Stories        Dominion Index