Lilah Morgan stood before her wardrobe and contemplated her choices.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d actually been there, a day, maybe two, but Angelus had yet to meet with them. It grated on Lilah’s nerves to know that they were the new ambassadors for the Senior Partner of Wolfram & Hart, the largest corporation of evil in several dimensions, and Angelus hadn’t bother with them. Sent his crazy flunky Drusilla to do his bidding.

The vampiress was mad; Lilah had no doubts about that, she was definitely not all there. So why did Angelus trust her? Oh, sure he’d created her a hundred or so years ago; Lilah had already read the file, but so what? Drusilla was a creation, nothing more; she was a vampire who happened to be made by the new god of this world. Lilah still didn’t care.

She was certain that she could do a much better job as Angelus’ second in command than any vampire, no matter how long the two had been together, no matter who turned her, and no matter what place they held in the familial hierarchy. She was smart, organized, vicious, ambitious, and had connections not only through Wolfram & Hart, but to the Western Coast of the Americas Demonic Underworld Union as well.

There were things even Wolfram & Hart wanted to know that Lilah did, and yet here she was, not in charge of Angelus’ minions and working her way up the corporate ladder – so to speak – and into his bed. She’d have to find a way to deal with him, make Angelus see that it was in his best interest to join forces with Wolfram & Hart. And Lilah.

Plus, Lilah thought as she sorted through her formalwear, specifically packed for such occasions as whatever this one entailed, Angelus was a vampire and a handsome one at that. He had sexual needs that she was all too willing to help take care of. Fidelity was pointless to Lilah, and the lawyer had no interests in becoming Angelus’ anything, but if it helped her further her goals – and consequently Wolfram & Hart’s – then that was fine, too.

And again, handsome vampire here – she couldn’t deny that. Usually Lilah wasn’t one for demons; there were plenty of humans out there for her to have her way with. But something about Angelus drew her to him. Maybe it was the way he looked, or maybe – and this was probably more likely in Lilah’s opinion – it was the fact that he now controlled all the power.

Floor length, or above the knee? Well, it was formal, whatever this ceremony was all about that that minion – of all things, a minion how degrading – had informed her earlier. Some kind of Acceptance Ritual. Lilah wished she knew what he’d meant by that, but didn’t want to ask and show weakness, and couldn’t find any kind of information on it. Inside these walls, her communication with the firm was cut off leaving her and her annoying, but handsome, partner to find their own way.

Which was fine, most times, Lilah loved a challenge. In this instance, knowledge was most definitely power, and Lilah wanted as much power for herself as she could grab.

Deciding on the black above the knee – she had great legs if she did say so herself – dress, Lilah shrugged off her robe, and slipped the material over her head. The soft silk slid smoothly over her skin, catching on all the right curves and hugging a body she worked hard to maintain. Image was, after all, everything. Adjusting the straps, she surveyed the line of the dress with a critical eye, not wanting anything to bunch the material. Satisfied, she smoothed her stockings, and slipped on a pair of heeled shoes.

Just because the heat from hell was intense, didn’t mean she couldn’t look good. Of course a little extra deodorant never hurt, and maybe another spritz of perfume. Adjusting her heel on the stone floor, Lilah took one last look at herself.

Angelus was a tall man, the power he easily exuded no doubt making him seem more so. Lilah didn’t want to be at a disadvantage with him, no matter that she was and knew it. Image: if she portrayed the confident lawyer, the sexy confident lawyer, then so much the better. And with the resources she was able to provide him it upped her ante.

Applying a thin layer of dark lipstick, Lilah smoothed her hair once more, adding a few sprays of hairspray to combat the humidity and heat that threatened to frizz her hair, smoothed an eyebrow, and pronounced herself ready. Allowing the shark-like smile to grace her beautiful features, Lilah Morgan shoved all thoughts of her reason for joining Wolfram & Hart aside and focused on survival.

Hers.

No one else mattered anymore, because there was no one else left. A small pain shot through her heart, but with the ease of long practice, Lilah ignored it. Her mother had, after all, raised her to be self-sufficient and competent. It was now survival of the fittest, and Lilah intended to survive.
~~~~~~~~~
Lindsey wasn’t nearly so caviler in his attitude.

He wasn’t nervous, though he hated going into a situation unprepared. He was cautious, it was one of the reasons he’d risen so high in the ranks of Wolfram & Hart, but certainly not afraid to take risks should the need arise. No, this whole thing, allowing him and Lilah to stay here, meeting only with Drusilla and not Angelus himself, it didn’t go over well with the lawyer.

He didn’t believe Angelus did anything he didn’t mean, the files (and files and files) he’d studied about the Scourge of Europe told him that much. He was vicious and meticulous; he planned and he executed with precision be it death or simply the procuring of a new house. Suddenly opening Acathla  - and consequently destroying the world – wasn’t exactly what Lindsey would have thought for the vampire, though it seemed to have worked out nicely for Angelus.

New world to rule, hell to reign over, every single being on the face of the planet at his beck and call, and enough power to see they all toed whatever line he wished them to tow. Convenient.

What changed, though? What caused Angelus to decide that bringing hell to Earth was better than ruling a planet full of free food? If he’d wanted to take over, Wolfram & Hart would’ve helped with that. The firm was more than willing to have him on their side, and was already making great strides to bring the vampire around when this happened. Something about a key role in the apocalypse – in Wolfram & Hart’s apocalypse.

Well, yes, Angelus did have a key role. He was the Key to bringing about this apocalypse, wasn’t he now?

That didn’t stop Lindsey from wondering about the vampire himself. If the files he’d read were any indication, then Angel, the soul, should have stopped Acathla, sealing the demon forever and earning his redemption by becoming human. So what happened? What caused the soul to lose control of his body and the demon to again take control?

Lindsey wasn’t sure if the Senior Partners weren’t sharing all their information, or if there was something even they didn’t know. Whatever it was, Lindsey didn’t like it and was determined to find out.

Not for their sakes, but for his. He was in a dangerous game, and while he thrived on those kinds of things – the thrill, the adrenaline rush, the knowledge that he was always one-step away from death – Lindsey was no fool. He took chances because he’d already done the work necessary for the win.

In this case, he wasn’t so sure winning was possible, only staying alive. And that was okay, too. It was all about survival of the fittest, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
Whistler looked up at the window that promised freedom. The too-small barred hole that taunted and beckoned.

The freedom it promised was an illusion. He knew that; knew that there was no escape from this world, even if someone did manage to get out of Angelus’ cells. Ironically, the slayer’s friends were safer here, as prisoners of Angelus, than they were out there. Nothing but death waited them there; none of them were remotely prepared for what lay beyond these walls – for the demonic freedom, for the human deaths, for the bleak redness that killed everything. Lack of sun, lack of fresh food and water.

On the other hand, the slayer was needed there. Fighting the demonic hoards, fighting against Angelus. She’d die, but then that’s what they did. They fought and they died, and then another was called, and the same thing began again. Oh, yes, there was already another one called, that was how things worked, after all. The Slayer Essence was immortal.

When one Chosen One died; the Essence needed a new home. Buffy messed all that up with her not-death, but somehow it all worked out; the Essence wasn’t necessarily split in two halves, so much as a weaker portion found the next Slayer. Buffy was still the stronger of whoever came after her. Dying at the Master’s hand hadn’t messed anything up, not really.

Until, of course, the whole Angel/Angelus soul/no soul thing.

Honestly, a vampire wasn’t supposed to fall in love – it went against their very natures. Souls not withstanding. The man (vampire, god, all-powerful master) was a mass of contradictions.

Whatever happened to the tortured guilt Angel had when Whistler found him, living off rats in the streets of New York? Geez, introduce him to a pretty girl, and he’s just another guy. And a slayer certainly wasn’t supposed to fall in love with a vampire; she was supposed to hunt them, kill them. Not screw them.

It seriously went against the laws of human and demon nature.

Hunting and killing demons was what the Slayer Essence was all about. The Essence was bred that way, molded and…infected with a hatred for all things demonic. Ah, the irony. Whistler had no idea how those ancients managed it, how they made the Slayer what she was, but they did a damn fine job. And now there were two of them, which, in a normal setting, would’ve been great. Two slayers equaled twice the threats taken care of.

Briefly, Whistler wondered why there wasn’t more, why each so-called Potential wasn’t called; imagine the demonic damage they could do then. Alas, only a second one was called.

But this one was new, not nearly as experienced as the blonde somewhere upstairs. The new one also had no idea what the true situation was, what she was really up against, and just how hunted she was going to be. If she survived the first few days of this hell, Whistler placed the odds against her. Severely against her. Alone, fighting too many demons, most not even from this dimension.

She’d never survive.

Whistler, however, planned on surviving. Buffy was the key to that survival, and the demon already formed a plan to enlist her help. It was based on guilt – it was based heavily on guilt – a promise to help her rally the remaining troops, and a serious play on her slayer heritage, but it was the start of a plan nonetheless. All he needed was some time alone with Buffy to seal the deal, and all would work out fine.

“I need to leave,” Whistler said, desperate as he felt the already opened Hellmouth begin to spew out its arrivals. The already thick air grew heavier with evil, and he shivered at that feeling, hating it as much as he hated being stuck in this pit. Demons could feel other demons around them, but he had a special affinity; because he worked for the Powers, he felt evil all the clearer.

It was a feeling he wanted to erase from his memory and scrub from his skin right now. Because now it was a feeling he felt all over, crawling over his skin, eating his insides, it was awful.

“I need to leave,” he repeated, not realizing that he’d spoken the first time. “I can’t be of any use here; I have to be out there to help at all.” No one said anything, but Whistler knew he had their attention. “If you help me escape, I’ll get the rest of you out, and the slayer will follow.”

Giles looked at the trapped demon with only a modicum of interest. “How?” He asked, “How would you manage that? What would you do? Where would you go? How would you get us out if you can’t even get yourself out?”

Cordelia looked at her cellmate as he asked that, not surprised by his words, then to the destiny demon. Bitter and disgusted by this point, and dirty, no matter that they let her shower, she was still dirty! Some things never washed out, and Cordelia knew she could still smell that sewer from their capture. Why her?

All she wanted was to befriend the new girl how was she supposed to know that new girl was a freak? Honestly, try to do a good thing, and this was the thanks she got. No appreciation for her sacrifices.

Snorting in derision she asked the demon derisively, “Who are you trying to kid? You’re a bigger looser than Xander here,” she gestured at the abnormally silent teen who scowled at her from his own cell. “Face it, you screwed up.”

Shooting a disgusted look at Giles as the older man remained silent, Cordelia turned her glare to Whistler once again. “You and Little Miss Oh- I-know-a-secret-no-one-else-does Gypsy woman. I bet you already knew about Angel’s loophole, and didn’t do a damn thing about it.” With all eyes on Whistler by now, everyone saw the guilty flinch from the demon, confirming Cordelia’s surprisingly insightful words.

“Thought so. If you two had told what you knew about Angel’s curse in the first damn place, then at least tweedy man here,” she jerked a thumb in Giles’ direction in case there was any doubt as to whom she referred, “Could have kept them from getting all groiny. It’s not like he ever does anything important anyway. Better his time than my time or life. At least I had one before you freaks.” No one pointed out that Sunnydale, and hence all the humans in Sunnydale, were probably already dead.

It was a sad, sad day when Cordelia Chase made the most sense in this type of situation.

“That wasn’t my job,” Whistler pointed out defensively. “I’m not allowed to interfere with things, merely guide.” He didn’t have to look around at everyone to know they were shooting glares in his direction and that if those glares could kill, he’d be deader than Sunnydale.

“Hello! In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. I’m A Destiny Demon, we’re trapped in a dungeon in Hell. You’re pathetic. Face it; you’re nothing but a gofer. If you were so important or so powery connected, you wouldn’t need us to get you out; you could get yourself out and take us along with you. You just want to use us to get to Buffy. My God, how stupid do you think we are?”

Spike let loose a bark of laughter through still cracked lips. “He knows how stupid you bints are, or why else would you all be in cages?”

Cordelia turned on him and sneered. “Oh, like you’re so much better. Remind me again why we needed you? Some big bad vampire you are; you and a Slayer couldn’t keep one measly vampire busy so we could re-curse him? What kind of waste of space are you?”

No one noticed Xander’s guilt, no one noticed how his eyes focused on the floor, and his shoulders slumped, and the guilt that he was responsible for this began to eat away at his stomach. No, he thought looking up at the group lest they realize he had a secret. It wasn’t his fault. Not his fault, he was in the right, he was totally in the right – he should have killed Angel when he had a chance, all those months ago when he – he Xander and no one else – had saved Buffy.

It was Buffy’s fault. It was her fault she fell for that blood-sucking freak, that killer. She was the one who should’ve stopped Angel; it was her job to kill her bloodsucking boyfriend in the first place.

She couldn’t do that before, before they even knew about Ms. Calendar’s curse. And Buffy sure as hell couldn’t do that now, that was more than obvious. Now, now that they were all in this dungeon, and she was all coiffed like a princess in a fairytale, she had her precious boy toy back.

The little bitch, she had it all, while he had nothing.

“I’ll be around a might longer than you, cheerleader,” Spike’s voice interrupted Xander’s growing anger towards his (former, the little slut) friend. “I, at least, have family going for me.”

“Ah yes, we saw that close bonding-thing as Angel whacked you around like a demented tennis pro on steroids,” Cordelia smirked back.

“Not him you loudmouthed bint, my Dark Plum.” Spike was sure that Drusilla would get him out. She would never go against Angelus, but his beautiful princess could talk the elder into letting him go…eventually. And, as painful as it was most likely going to be, Spike knew Angelus wouldn’t kill him. So all he had to do was hold on until Dru worked her magick. Painful, but effective.

“Ha,” Cordelia snorted, “The loony nut? You are so history.”

“You leave Dru out of this,” Spike shot back, then changed subjects, just to get back at the humans here. They were the backups to the bane of his existence, and if he could needle them, then his day was made. “How long do you think Angelus is going to let you all live?” He demanded with a wicked smile across his battered face. “You’re nothing to him; he only keeps you around for amusement’s sake.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Willow interrupted, shaking her head. “Well, maybe to him,” she conceded with a nod. “But not to Buffy, she wouldn’t…she wouldn’t let him do anything to us.”

“Like she can stop him with the hoards of hell roaming the land. Wake up, Red; Angelus is in charge, and whatever he says goes.” Spike didn’t bother to tell the gang that he knew Angelus’ weakness. Buffy. It was always Buffy. Buffy, and whatever she wanted, she got. He’d remade this world for the two of them, and yet none of these white hats seemed to get that. On second look, maybe the Watcher and the demon did. They knew something they weren’t sharing with the rest of the class.

“No,” Willow whispered, then stronger, “He wouldn’t have bothered to keep us alive in the first place if his goal was to see us dead. Why go to all the trouble of kidnapping all of us during the daylight? And Buffy,” Willow continued, positive in her convictions, “She would never let anything happen to us.”

“No,” Spike admitted grudgingly, “No, Red, she wouldn’t.”

“He’s right,” Whistler interrupted, annoyed at the conversation. They should be trying to figure out how to get him (right, and them) out of here, not bickering over their pettiness.

“I am?!” Spike asked and then recovered quickly, adding smugly, “Damn right I am.”

“We’re living on borrowed time,” Whistler continued as if the vampire hadn’t spoken at all. “Borrowed time that Angelus can’t afford. Maybe-”

Joyce broke into the conversation she only half understood. She was tired, sore, scared, and still disbelieving. And if they thought that Buffy would do nothing to help them… “How dare you insinuate that my daughter would let that psycho-”

Whistler, impatient and growing more than a little scared about all that evil converging outside, coming together a few floors above, snapped, “Wake up lady. Don’t you get it? We’re collateral; he’s using us to keep her neutralized. She doesn’t dare fight him, doesn’t dare run, or we die.  But even that won’t last long; this is no Angelus of old.”

“Why would Angelus care about bribing Buffy?” Willow wondered. “All he’s done was try to kill her these last months.”

“Not likely, Will,” Xander interrupted. “His little love notes? I’d say that’s one sick demon trying to make with the slayer smoochies.”

“Xander!” Willow gasped, but couldn’t dispute him.

“The boy’s right,” Whistler said before another full-blown argument could erupt. Looking around his rapt audience, Whistler pushed his advantage, still trying to further his own agenda. He needed to deal with the slayer; needed to get her on his side, to get her to trust him so he – and she – could escape. If he could persuade her friends first, then that was so much the better.

“Face it; we’re all here because we either tried to keep her from him, somehow, or him from her. Eventually we’re going to die one by one. Angelus of the past had obsessions, but nothing like this in over a hundred and something years. Drusilla,” he directed this comment to Spike, “Didn’t compare to what Angelus did and will do to the slayer. Angelus never once was possessive about his latest obsessions. They were fleeting moments to pass the boredom, and to make his life more entertaining. Certainly, nothing of this magnitude.”

Looking everyone in the eye: Buffy’s clueless parents, her scared friends, the vampire who knew all this already, and the Watcher who hated that he knew all this already, Whistler finished with the crucial piece of information. The one that made this obsession so very different from all of Angelus’ others, the one that stood out as the ultimate sign of (love) (hate) (need) (dominance) (control) (affection) (love).

“He destroyed a world to have her.”

Giles shook his head but his eyes showed the truth of the demon’s words. “The world,” he murmured, “As we knew it wouldn’t tolerate a vampire and a slayer together, they’d be hunted by the Council, any demon who caught wind of their relationship, and any demon hunter out there. This world would never accept them together, so Angelus made his own. Good lord…I couldn’t have known.” Giles whispered, realizing his mistake in not telling Buffy of Angelus’ strange and dangerous affections, in the fact that he didn’t keep a better eye on his slayer.

“I should have known he would have been judged worthy.” Giles said it aloud, but his attention was focused on Whistler.

“Exactly,” Whistler nodded.

“What have I done?” The (former, angry, bitter) watcher murmured. “I suspected…that he wasn’t running true to form. The gifts…the behavior…I knew but I kept...”

“Giles,” Cordelia snapped in frustration as everything came together, and she had one more person to blame for her situation. Then again, still alive there, so maybe that poorly dressed demon was onto something. “Get over yourself already.”

“So what exactly are you saying?” Willow asked, timid, scared. “He wants her all to himself? All this…hell, kidnapping us, taking Buffy…it was to that end?”

No one confirmed Willow’s words, and Cordelia added, “I wonder what would have been worse: a vamped Slayer or hell on earth.”

“Maybe,” Hank stuttered in disbelief, “You people are crazy. I’m not really here, I’m drugged up to make me think that I am, and it’s all some kind of…” Truthfully, he was at a loss for what it could be, but anything was better than this, just to make himself not go mad.

Cordelia snarled at him, her best Queen C look. “God, no wonder Buffy is such a loser with you two for parents! Wake up and smell the sulfur, dimwit. Again,” she turned that look on Whistler, “What exactly do you expect us to do? We’re all going to die here, either because Angel is tired of us, he loses and those hoards of hell trample us, or something equally horrible and icky happens. We’re still stuck in here, and I am witnessing no super powers from you on the freeing of us.”

“But if he kills us,” Oz reasoned, his first contribution to the conversation that really didn’t matter anyway. “Then there goes his advantage over Buffy.”

“I doubt,” Whistler shrugged, “He’d be that obvious; maybe some incurable disease for him,” he nodded at Giles. “A demon wanting revenge against a representative for the powers in my case.” A nod to Xander, “He supposedly kills himself in despair. And one by one, we all die, and Angelus can sit there and tell the slayer that he kept his bargain. He didn’t kills us, didn’t touch us, well, except Spike.”

A glare to the vampire sitting in silence, smugly knowing he wasn’t going to die. Torture was another thing, but death was not in his cards. “His sire is in favor of that one’s life, and if she wants him whole, then eventually she may get Angelus to relent.”

“She’ll do it,” Spike said confidently. “I know my dark princess, and she’ll do it.”

“No,” Whistler insisted, “There’s always someone else. Someone to curry favor in Angelus’ eyes.”

Willow looked at her boyfriend (but not lover and now maybe not ever, and why did they wait?) and offered, “Maybe,” she said, “Maybe I can do a spell…”

“Like what?” Cordelia asked, tired of all this. She wanted to sleep in her own bed, with her soft sheets and mass of pillows, and not worry about any of this…the demons, the death, slowly rotting in these cages…it was all Buffy’s fault anyway. “Because we all know how well the last one went!”

An argument broke out among the humans then, over the pros and cons of Willow attempting a spell to get them out of Angelus’ grasp. It was no use, and even they knew it. Outside, they’d be faced with all manner of demons and death.

Which led Whistler’s thoughts back to the new slayer. A part of him hoped she was okay, that she made it and was fighting the good fight. A smaller and increasingly quieter part hoped she was dead, and that the next one would die a quick and painless death, too. Hell was no place for an Angel of Light to be. It was bad enough that their wings were always tipped in blood, the blood of their friends, the blood of those they couldn’t save, the blood of their innocence and youth.

This was worse, a thousand, thousand times worse. 

But, if it had to be one of them, Whistler preferred it to be himself and not just for obvious reasons. He wanted the Slayer to live, true, this place needed all the help it could get, and she could manage to survive alone. But the Destiny Demon had things to do, other places to be. He had his own destiny to complete; he wasn’t meant to be here, trapped on this hellish plane with no way to escape.

Therefore, that was what he needed to do, escape, so as to help the new slayer. Because, alone the new slayer had no chance of surviving.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Spill,” Faith said.

Doyle looked around the more than sparse accommodations, the lack of pretty much anything but a couch with a couple of thin pillows and equally thin blankets, a table, and a dozen or more weapons. “Hey, cool sword,” he said, looking at Faith. She only nodded back, but he could see her eyes light with appreciation at his comment.

“It is,” she agreed, “Jules,” she continued looking to her watcher, “This demon says he’s here to help.”

“Hey!” Doyle protested, “I’m only half demon! On my mother’s side.” The two women stared at him in silence. “Tough crowd.”

Jules, the young, redhead, blue eyed, almost too young to be a watcher woman before him, watched the half demon in anticipation. She didn’t trust him that Doyle could see. But she was willing to listen to what he had to say. A step above the normal Watcher mode of kill all demons, and be done with them. Doyle was not appeased.

“I get these visions from the Powers,” he told the women. “They show me people in need, things like that, things we need to know. I was working with a street gang of vamp fighters in LA when this,” Doyle waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed the world now, “Happened.”

Closing his eyes against the constant pain that now radiated from his head, even when he hadn’t a vision, Doyle remembered Gunn and his gang. They were all they had, yet they managed to make the most of it, fighting what they knew went bump in the night. Some fought because they’d lost loved ones to vamps and other demons, some because they had nothing better to do. Some because Gunn was a natural leader, someone you could trust, someone who wouldn’t let you down, and they followed him.

He hadn’t let Doyle down. The tall black man, with his homemade sword and his gang of vampire hunters, with his natural charm and charisma, and that fierce fire that burned through him to clear his streets of demons and vampires. His sister, the beautiful Alana, and the protectiveness with which Gunn treated her, and the love she held for him.

The last thing Doyle saw, before speeding out of sight, was Charles Gunn going down under fifteen or so hungry vampires, all eager to get a taste of the human who’d tried to hunt their numbers.

“They gave their lives,” Doyle whispered in grief and loss over friends he’d known for all too short a time. But they accepted him, and they befriended him. “They made sure I escaped, that I could get out of LA and find you. They knew you’d be a key player in this, and wanted to make sure that I found you.”

“What happened?” This was from Jules, and Doyle answered with a shrug.

“Hell on Earth,” he said, and his Irish accent was tinged with bitterness. “Apparently, when Acathla opened his mouth and breathed, the first breathe in hundreds of years, it opened a portal to his dimension, overwriting everything that was here, and making it there.”

“Acathla?” Julie asked, intrigued. She’d heard of a demon called that, she was sure of it. But where…?

“Yeah, big stone demon, ugly bastard.” Doyle shrugged again. “I don’t know all the facts, the Powers don’t see fit to send them all to me, which is just fine, those visions hurt like hell…” Doyle winced, “No pun intended.”

“Do you know who opened Acathla?” Julie asked, frantically trying to remember where she’d heard Acathla before. Damn it! She was usually much better with these things. The stress of the last few days was wearing on her.

“Angelus.”

“Oh, fuck,” the normally straight-laced Watcher said and Faith knew she, they all were, in trouble.

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