“I heard something today,” Ethan said as he returned to their camp.

He’d been gone a week, trying to buy, barter, or steal any supplies he could find. Apparently, he brought back more than that. Oz took the backpack from their not too trusted ally, and silently waited for Ethan to say whatever he had to say. 

“About who?” Oz eventually asked as they walked together into Wesley’s command tent. Such as that tent was. There was no flap to cover the entrance, and only one chair. Wesley usually sat in it as he kept track of the comings and goings in the camp, supplies, medicine, and any information that could be gathered about Buffy and Angelus. 

Oz suspected he also still kept a journal about their days in Africa for whoever might read it sometime in the future, be it Angelus and Buffy, or some descendant that wanted to know how the world came to be this way. 

“Angelus and Buffy,” Ethan said as they ducked into the tent. 

Wesley looked up as they entered, but it was the names Ethan uttered that caught his attention. “What about them?” 

“She’s dead,” Ethan said, smugness overlapping abject fear. “It’s from an unreliable source, but the rumor’s spreading, and fast.” 

“Dead?” Wesley parroted, standing. This was not of the good, as Cordelia would say. In fact, this was worse than bad. They were all dead. If Buffy was dead, then Angelus wasn’t going to let anyone continue to live. 

“Well,” Ethan hedged, “Missing. They say she’s missing.” 

“Who does, and what do you mean by that?” Wesley demanded. His left knee throbbed in pain and that pain echoed in the pounding in his head. 

“A few days, not too sure on that one,” Ethan admitted with a shrug. “As I said, it’s just a rumor.” 

“And how,” Oz asked, and there was real fear in his voice. Still missing was better than dead. “Is Angelus taking this?”

“Not good,” but this was from Wesley. 

“Actually,” Ethan injected, “It’s worse than that.” 

“It’s only going to get worse,” Oz told them. “You’ve never seen him when he’s not with Buffy. It’s…bad.” 

“And this isn’t?” Ethan snorted.

“No,” Oz countered in a quiet but firm voice. “This is alive. This is surviving. Angelus without Buffy…in Sunnydale, he tried to destroy the world. Wanted to open hell and suck everyone and everything into some hell dimension just because she refused to see things his way.” 

“And what was his way?” Ethan asked, though he thought he already knew the answer to that one. 

“His way,” Wesley sighed, sitting back down and absently rubbing his knee. His body was giving out, unable to keep up with the stress and physical requirements their new life demanded of them. “Is this way. This is what he wanted, to rule the world, Buffy at his side, everyone else kowtowing before him.” 

“This is way bad,” Oz repeated.

And that was an understatement.
~~~~~~~~~~
The force that opened the doors to the London mansion in the predawn light was nearly unrecognizable as Angelus. 

Raw power and angry need emanated from the vampire in one huge wave of barely controlled violence. Those waiting for him inside the house barely resisted taking a step backwards at the sheer dominance he exuded, and for the first time since they’d become a Family, they were scared. 

“Where is she?” Angelus bellowed, his voice echoing around the room. He needed to know and he needed to know now. This wasn’t information he could wait on. 

Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, Spike took a step forward. He’d smoked pack after pack of cigarettes within the twelve hours since Buffy’s disappearance, hadn’t had a drop to drink – Angelus would torture him even more slowly if he thought that Spike was drunk while looking into this – and desperately wanted to be the one to find her. 

Besides, he missed her. 

“We don’t know, Angelus.” 

Piercing black eyes locked on Spike, pinning him to that spot and promising him a painful death – if he was lucky. An unconscious growl rumbled from Angelus, part meanness and part desperate need. 

“That’s unacceptable.” 

“Dad,” Connor said, and the desperation in his eyes clicked something within Angelus. This was something they could agree on, something they had in common. A bond formed then that had been lacking between father and son. 

Over the years, they’d managed to form a relationship based on respect, world domination, and some affection, but it was never a true father/son rapport. Buffy was their guide and their mediator. With her gone, there was no one left to smooth over the inevitable fights between Angelus and Connor. And Connor had a sinking feeling that should his sire truly be dead, he’d find himself without a father, too. 

“We’re going to find her,” he said, doing his best to push the fear to the back of his mind. The gnawing in his gut told him otherwise, he still couldn’t feel her, but he refused to believe that. “She’s not dead.” 

“Of course she’s not,” Angelus snapped. His tone warned that if Buffy was, so was he. “Connor,” he said and jerked his head to the stairs. Without another word, he stalked up them, leaving the rest of his family silent in the foyer. 

Once enclosed in his and Buffy’s room, Angelus nearly broke down. Tossing the long leather duster Buffy had bought him only recently into a corner, Angelus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Her scent clung to everything, fresh and dangerous and his. The bed was rumpled still, and a skirt of hers lay haphazardly on the floor. 

“What happened?” He whispered, sinking to the bed. Something else hung in the air, sickly and strangely familiar. 

“We were on the plane, leveling off,” Connor started, standing in front of his father within arms reach. He deserved whatever punishment Angelus wished to met out. “Buffy wasn’t feeling well; I don’t know what was wrong with her, dad. Spike does, I think. She thought I was you, but I said you’d be here soon. Then I told her everything was going to be okay and she was gone.” 

“Just like that?” 

“Yes, one moment she was there, holding my hand as if it were an anchor, and the next she was gone. Neither Toga’sha nor I could find her. I don’t know what happened.” 

“Magick,” Angelus muttered, and resisted lying down on the bed. Letting the blankets still holding her scent surround him. What was he going to do without her? 

“Yes, but we haven’t been able to figure out from where. Or who.” Connor hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry, dad.” 

Angelus wanted to rage at his son, wanted to toss him across the room and beat him to within an inch of his life. Two things stopped him. The first was that Buffy wouldn’t like it. The second was that he hadn’t the energy to care about Connor. 

“I can’t live without her,” Angelus confessed, surprising both he and Connor with his words. The only person he’d ever before opened up to was Buffy. And now she was gone. Taken from him when he wasn’t there to protect her. Because he hadn’t wanted to go to Ireland and confront two hundred year old ghosts.

It was his fault she was gone. 

“She’s not dead,” Connor reiterated, jarring Angelus out of his thoughts. Connor met his father’s eyes with his words; he couldn’t bear it if Buffy was dead. “Whoever took her wants us to think that.” 

Angelus just nodded, saying nothing. 

For a long while, father and son sat there in silence. Neither knew what to say, neither knew what had happened, the fear that Buffy truly was gone devastating in the reality of the circumstances. The sun shone brightly outside, mocking their grief and anger. 

Not dead. Not dead. Buffy couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t leave him. He refused to accept that. She wasn’t dead, they hadn’t killed her, and they weren’t going to because… 

“I’m going to kill them all,” Angelus growled, his fury welling up once more. It was a pulsating living thing within him. “None of them are going to survive, no one on this miserable planet will, if I find out…” he didn’t finish his sentence, and Connor didn’t need him to. 

“You won’t be alone, Father,” Connor vowed. 

Angelus grinned at his son, a feral display of teeth and fang. Buffy dead was his worst fear. Without her… 

Where are you, my love?
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy suppressed a whimper that wanted to echo throughout the obnoxiously white room. 

Too white, it was too much, too bright, too there, too much. She huddled under the blanket Connor had wrapped her in before they boarded the plane in a desperate attempt to stop the tremors that continued to wrack her body. Buffy knew whoever had taken her was watching her, from where she didn’t know, but that wasn’t the point. 

She’d show no weakness. It was bad enough that her body refused to obey, and continued to shake; it was bad enough that her blood felt like it was on fire and her skin like ice. But she wasn’t going to give these creatures the satisfaction of knowing that she was this bad off. She was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She was the first ever Slayer turned Vampire. She was Angelus’ Love, Lover, Mate. 

She was strong, she was confident. She would get through this. 

“Angelus,” she sobbed, unable to hold it in any longer. Her body screamed for him, and her heart yearned for his soft touch, his silken words. The familiar and comforting beat that throbbed within her was missing, and Buffy was deathly afraid that he was dead. 

Faith had killed him, oh, God, she had killed him! The dream Buffy had had was true, it was all coming true! Her worst nightmare, the one thing she couldn’t live with. Angelus’ death. 

“Look at her,” the Wolf said, a hungry look in her eyes. For Buffy’s blood, for her pain and grief and fear. For her life. “So lost without her precious Angelus. Look how she huddles under the blanket, look how she moans his name.” 

“Is this a side effect?” The Ram demanded, worried. If something happened to their hostage before negotiations could begin, they all lost. “The spell you preformed, is this one of the side effects?”

“No,” the Hart told them quietly, head cocked to the side as if trying to figure out what had happened. “This isn’t. It must be something else.” He sighed, frustrated at not knowing what was happening. “I’m going to have to go down there and see what the problem is myself.” 

“Oh,” the Wolf cried, “I want to go!” 

“No!” The Ram stopped her. He knew, all too well, what she wanted to do with their hostage, and it wasn’t see how Buffy fared. If the Wolf got her greedy hands on Buffy, all could be lost. 

“I’ll go alone,” the Hart nodded, agreeing with the Ram. 

Buffy didn’t see how he entered, he was just suddenly there in front of her, tall and commanding. And curious. Her eyes narrowed at that, trying to figure out how that was important. Or why. But it was, and she wasn’t letting it go. 

“So you are brave enough to meet me, eh?” Buffy asked, forcing stiff and trembling limbs to stand. No weakness. 

The Hart laughed. “Spunk, you definitely have spunk, I’ll give you that. But you’re weak,” he frowned and there was no malice in his look. 

Buffy laughed. “No, just bored.” 

“Hmm, yes,” he nodded as if he expected nothing else from her but knew she was lying. “Well, it’s ultimately of no concern. Angelus will give us what we want in exchange for your safe return.”

He stopped at Buffy’s laugh. 

“You people haven’t done your research, have you?” Her nails bit into her hands, drawing blood but she ignored the scent of it. “Angelus isn’t going to give you squat.” 

Looking surprised, the Hart asked, “You mean you think he won’t trade for you?” He laughed, arrogance dripping off the sound. “You think that little of your relationship with him, my dear, or you know your place?” Buffy didn’t answer, just smiled – crazed and disconcerting, her smile looked like a cross between omniscience and madness. 

“I mean,” Buffy said slowly. She hoped it sounded like she was condescending, but really it hurt to talk. “That he’ll kill all of you before giving you anything. It doesn’t matter what it is,” though Buffy wasn’t letting these three Senior Partners get her sister. The Key was theirs, and they were going to use her for their own purposes, not whatever these three – or more – had in mind. 

“And if you harm me?” She asked, not waiting for an answer, “Then you’ll wish he only killed you.” 

A flicker of something moved through his eyes and Buffy laughed. Bingo, his weakness. 

Sitting as casually as she could on the floor, and wrapping the blanket around her, Buffy decided for a little question and answer period. Gesturing as if she were Queen of the Realm – which she was – Buffy graciously offered, “Have a seat, Mister I-think-I-can-win-against-Angelus.” 

Hesitating for a moment, the Hart eventually did. The floor was cold, hard, and he wondered why he noticed. Those were ascetics that normally didn’t register with his kind. But then more and more things had been, the longer the three of them stayed in this half-dimension. It was horrible and degrading.

“So you believe that we will fail in securing our prize,” the Hart said as senses that had long been dormant struggled to life. “You think Angelus would rather take the chance to see you harmed than simply giving us that which we seek.” 

“Of course not,” Buffy stated. “As I’m sure you know, if you’ve been watching us this long, Angelus’ primary concern is me. Tell me,” she said, leaning back against the wall. It was hard and rough against her sensitive skin, but she did her best to ignore it. 

“You’ve watched us, I assume, and think you know what we’ll do, how we’ll react. What do you know of Angelus?” 

“Everything,” he said, once again arrogant in his knowledge. 

“Well then, you remember something called Acathla?” Buffy asked, watching him closely. 

“Yes,” the Hart said with a nod. “He was a demon-” 

But Buffy waved his explanation off. “What Acathla was is of no importance. What Angelus’ purpose in awakening him is. Do you know that?” 

Intrigued, he asked, “Why don’t you tell me?” 

“He couldn’t have me,” Buffy confessed, letting him in on a secret few knew or understood. “He wanted me, willingly at his side, and I, in my infinite humanness, refused. He didn’t try to end the world because he was tired of living in it,” she went on, smiling as understanding dawned in his eyes. “He tried to bring Hell on Earth because he didn’t want a place to exist where we couldn’t be together.” 

“Why not just kidnap you?” He asked, “Why not twist reality to his liking?” 

Buffy shrugged. “Maybe that was his intention, maybe he was going to force my human self to be by his side in the Hell that covered the Earth. You’re missing the point.” She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment. Angelus, I need you, she thought, missing him more and more every moment. 

“Why do you need the Key?” Buffy asked instead.

“You have it, we want it,” he said simply. 

It, Buffy noted; he said, It. Not she. “And what,” Buffy wondered, idle curiosity in her voice, “Do you know of this Key? And why do you think we have it?”

The Hart was quiet for a moment, debating on what to reveal. He couldn’t see the harm in letting her know their reasoning, in letting Buffy know why they wanted the Key, what purpose they had in securing it. Oh, there was that risk that she’d use this knowledge to her advantage, but then wasn’t that what everyone did? 

Even if the three of them somehow failed in obtaining the Key, what he was about to tell Buffy still couldn’t hurt them. And he might gain some knowledge on the Key and the Family’s purpose in keeping and using it. 

“You have the Key, we already know this,” the Hart began. “We want to destroy it.” 

“Why?” Buffy struggled to keep her voice even. She was losing control and knew it, and desperately hoped that she revealed nothing to them as her body broke down. 

“What do you know of Wolfram and Hart’s Senior Partners, Ms. Summers?” The Hart asked instead. 

Buffy shrugged. “You guys run the show, all evil interdimensional and whatnot.” 

“Not a lot, eh?” 

“There’s no need to worry about you when we destroyed your buildings, your employees, and your legacy.” Smugness radiated off Buffy, and she laughed at the creature opposite her. “The name ‘Wolfram and Hart’ means little here any more, simply one more thing that fell to the Family.” 

“We’re so much more than that,” he assured her. “Multi-dimensional we are, true; we have offices of one type or another in several connecting dimensions. On Pylea, where your Angelus rescued one of his team – Fred I believe – and here just to name two. Why do you think we’re involved in so many worlds?” 

“You have nothing better to do? Immortality can be such a bitch sometimes,” Buffy scoffed, “If you don’t have the right person to share it with.” 

Inclining his head in agreement, the Hart added, “We like the power. It’s what makes life worth it, what takes away the tedium of immortality.” 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t making sense in this, and she had the feeling that he was teasing her with this knowledge. “And there are only three of you?” 

The Hart nodded, watching her steady eyes as her body shook. What was wrong with her? 

“Three of you…and where were you originally from?” 

“Elsewhere,” the Hart answered, then, “We were the strongest from our world – powerful, nearly omniscient, we ruled the world and all her inhabitants.” 

“What happened? Forget to bribe the guards and there was an uprising?” Buffy asked, already knowing the answer. She’d heard it before, was very familiar with the story.

This was Glory’s story. 

“Something like that,” the Hart conceded with a scowl at the memory. “Many millennium ago we were sent to an in between dimension – a place we couldn’t escape, but one where we could…contact others.”

”Such as Earth,” Buffy guessed with a nod. All she wanted to do was sleep, sleep and dream about Angelus’ arms around her, his cool touch, his hot words. His delicious blood. 

“Exactly,” the Hart said. 

“And now you want to get back?” 

He laughed. “Oh, no, my dear, nothing like that. See, there’s nothing to get back to. We destroyed that miserable backwater ages ago. No, we want the Key because you have it.” 

Her brain was muddled, and Buffy couldn’t really understand what he was saying. Still, she wasn’t going to ask. Call it stubborn pride, or whatever, but she wasn’t going to give these Senior Partners the satisfaction of knowing that she was so far gone she couldn’t grasp simple concepts. 

“Because we have the Key,” Buffy said carefully, not wanting to reveal all they knew of the Key’s origin and existence, “You want it. Afraid we’ll find your little dimension and destroy you, too?” 

The Hart grinned, laughing in sheer delight. “You are as smart as we’ve heard,” he said. “Quick, too. But, no, that’s not the reason.” Not all of it at least, but he wasn’t about to let Buffy know that. “We want it,” he said, “Because you have it.” 

“You want all the toys, eh?” Buffy shrugged. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed this guy, but then she wasn’t entirely sure she understood everything he was saying, either. Her mind was fuzzy and refused to process everything spoken today. 

“Something like that,” the Hart nodded and stood. “But if you think Angelus will find you here, I’m afraid you are very much mistaken, my dear.” And he honestly sounded saddened by that. Buffy blinked up at him in confusion. Wasn’t he the bad guy, wasn’t he supposed to taunt and laugh and mock? 

“Why do you say that? Think your Fortress of Solitude will save you?” 

“You are no longer in your own dimension, my dear,” the Hart told her. “There’s only one way in or out, and we control that.” 

“You’re wrong,” Buffy laughed, confidence in her words. Of this she was certain. They hadn’t killed Angelus, he was alive and they were counting on him to deliver Dawn to them in exchange for her, Buffy. Buffy wasn’t about to let that happen. Oh, she knew that Angelus would give them the world in exchange for her safety, nothing but she mattered to him, but he wouldn’t. 

“He’ll kill you before bargaining with you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“You told her too much!” The Wolf raged when the Hart reappeared in their anteroom. “She knows why we want the Key now!” 

“She knows only what we wish her to,” the Hart countered. “She’s sick, it looks like withdrawal, but I’m unsure what she was addicted to. Vampires aren’t known for being addicts.” 

“Maybe we should feed her,” the Ram suggested, as he watched Buffy curl on the floor once more. “She doesn’t look good at all.” 

“Couldn’t hurt,” the Hart nodded and retreated to his own rooms. “But then she’s not going to be here long.” 

“And then,” the Wolf smirked, hungry eyes still on Buffy’s silent form. “The Key will be ours.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus calmly walked down the stairs, Connor beside him. His face was impassive, showing no anger, no fang, no bleeding red eyes. He didn’t rush, he didn’t rage or demand; he didn’t howl or tear apart with his bare hands. 

Spike whimpered. He was so dead. 

It was his job to watch Buffy, his job to see to her safety, his job to see that no harm came to her while Angelus was on the Continent fighting a bunch of would-be pretenders. 

He’d somehow failed in that, though he couldn’t have foreseen them taking Buffy from a plane 30,000 feet in the air. Didn’t matter. Angelus didn’t care. And now Spike was going to pay for that. 

“William,” Angelus said in a deceptively composed voice. “I believe you have a report to give?” 

Fuck. Bowing his head once in acknowledgement, Spike stepped forward and followed Angelus into the study. The door closed behind their backs, though Spike wasn’t sure how – there was no one else there to close the damn door. 

“Explain to me,” Angelus continued in that eerily soothing voice that freaked Spike out, “Why I shouldn’t kill you now. Why I should bother to let you explain how you fucked up. How you let my Mate be taken.” 

Spike had no idea. There wasn’t a reason – logical or illogical – that he could give that would appease Angelus and they both knew that. Wishing for another cigarette, even though Saffir assured him that he already smelled like a chimney, Spike launched into his speech, knowing it wasn’t going to save him anything. 

Either Angelus tortured and killed him for ‘allowing’ Buffy to be kidnapped off a fucking airplane 30,000 feet high, or Buffy killed him for revealing her addiction to Angelus. 

“Don’t pin this on me, buddy boy,” Spike said, going on the defensive instead of listening to his brain. “This is all your fault.” 

“Mine?” Angelus growled and advanced towards his wayward grandchild. 

“I didn’t take her, Angelus,” Spike reminded him. “I’m just as upset that Buffy’s gone as you are.” 

“I highly doubt that,” Angelus snarled, within arms reach now. 

“Okay, okay, not like that,” Spike conceded and took a step back. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to do that. No help for it now, and Spike had a really strong sense of self-preservation that was now kicking in full force. It was how he survived nearly fifteen years with Angelus the first time. 

“What I don’t get,” Spike said, and tried not to take another step backwards, out of Angelus’ reach. His body moved backwards anyway. “Is how they knew. Whoever did this,” Spike continued, Angelus looking not at all appeased, “Knew more about Buffy than anyone left in this world should.” 

Angelus paused in his advancement. “You think the rest of the resistance in Africa did this?” He laughed, harsh, cruel, demeaning. “I doubt that, William. They can’t even take care of themselves. They’re dying off there just as nicely as if I had done it myself.” 

“Of course they have nothing to do with it,” Spike admitted. “That’s not what I meant; they wouldn’t be stupid enough to piss you off like this. I’m sure Wesley knows enough to realize that in taking Buffy he’s effectively signed his death warrant.” 

“He already has,” Angelus assured his grandchilde with quiet menace. At Wesley or at Spike, neither could say. “So who did this?” He was rapidly losing whatever patience he had. And that wasn’t much to begin with. Buffy’s soft voice called to him, needing him in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. 

“Don’t know,” Spike sighed, already anticipating the blow. “But whoever did, wants something.” 

”Obviously, you fool. Now, do you have a point you plan on making before you’re unable?” Angelus’ hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms drawing blood. The scent caused his nose to twitch, his gut to clench. Buffy.   

Snorting, the younger vampire glared at Angelus. “Think Angelus, only the deeply stupid or someone who wants something would do this. Someone who knows just enough about you and Buffy to be annoyingly dangerous. That means, mate, that at some point you or Buffy have come across them before, whether it was that poof soul or the Slayer. ”

Angelus’ hand shot out, curling around Spike’s throat. “There’s more, I see it in your face William. What aren’t you telling me, boy?” He demanded, fear making his words harsh, anger making his eyes yellow and his fangs itch to bury themselves into Spike’s soft neck. 

“Ah,” Spike hedged, weighing his options. From his standpoint, he hadn’t much choice in the matter. He could tell Angelus the truth, that Buffy was addicted to his blood, let his grandsire beat the shit out of him, and then suffer Buffy’s wrath when they found her. Or he could keep quiet, keep Buffy’s secret, let Angelus beat the shit out of him now, and then again later when he discovered that Spike knew all along. 

There wasn’t a choice.

“You bloody wanker,” Spike hissed as Angelus’ hand tightened around his throat. “Even now, when you are together all the bloody time, you still don’t realize what’s happened. She’s addicted to your blood, you fool. So addicted that she can’t function when you’re apart for too long.” 

Shock had Angelus’ hand dropping back to his side. For one split second, silence reigned. 

“WHAT?!” He roared, and the sound shook the windows. Before Spike had a chance to react, though he should have expected this, Angelus swung. Fist connected to flesh in a never-ending sound of blind fury as Angelus took out his fear, his frustration, and now this, this new knowledge from Spike. 

Spike didn’t resist.

“That’s it, you poof, blame everyone but yourself.” Spike taunted, though he needn’t have bothered. Still, he wasn’t the leader of this Family, he wasn’t the one the others followed, he wasn’t the one with the world domination plan. If Angelus fell apart – and Spike had to witness it, may the gods not curse him that way – then the world as they’d remade it would most likely cease to exist. 

“Told me,” Angelus was growling, looking very much the demon he was. “You should have told me immediately, William. Buffy endangered herself and like a good childe, you should have said something. I don’t care what she made you promise what she threatened you with,” though he could imagine all too easily that his beloved had. And that pissed him off even more. 

“She was going to torture me and stake me outside,” Spike admitted through bloody mouth, swollen eyes, and a broken nose. Fuck, this hurt. “And you know she’d do so, all that and more to protect you.” 

“And that,” Angelus snarled, dropping the nearly broken body of Spike onto the ruined carpet. “Is why I’m not going to kill you, William. But,” he leaned closer, red-black eyes boring into Spike’s bloodshot ones. “You’re going to wish I had.” 

In a swirl of anger and blood, Angelus left the room. The doors crashed open, banging against the wall so hard they splintered. The hapless minion that happened to be walking by never realized his Master was there until his last second of life, so swift was Angelus’ rage. Walls crumbled, pillars cracked, minions were killed, and Angelus didn’t care. 

Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. 

All that mattered was her. All that mattered was finding her. All that mattered… 

“Buffy, love,” he whispered as he slammed closed the door to their rooms and was once more assaulted with her scent. “Where are you?”

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