Climbing the stairs, Buffy was surprised to find Drusilla leading her to Angelus’ office. Buffy had yet to actually enter that domain, and was both eager to see inside and dreading it. But she wanted to speak with Angelus, and this was the perfect time. Dru waited outside the door for her, and at that Buffy wasn’t surprised.  

Entering, she found Angelus alone, sitting behind a massive desk, and going over a thick pile of papers. “Even in hell they have paperwork,” she quipped, a small smile on her face. “Or maybe that’s just what hell for you was like?” She still wasn’t sure on the whole logistics of the matter. 

An answering smile was on Angelus’ face, a little half smirk that said he got the joke for what it was worth, and that he was still glad to see her. Rising, he clasped Buffy to him, kissing her as if it’d been years rather than less than a few hours since they’d last met. Buffy really needed a watch to keep better time, but then Angelus was molding her body to his, his large hands caressing her bare back, and she forgot about it. 

Pulling away, breaking the kiss to Angelus’ growl, Buffy looked at him. She licked her lips, tasting him there, and tried to ignore that. This wasn’t right, she reminded herself and felt stupid that she had to remind herself. This thing with Angelus, with the soulless demon, it was wrong, she couldn’t do it. 

“Don’t think like that,” he warned as if he really could read her thoughts. And maybe he could, or maybe he just knew her well enough to know the direction of her thinking. Both prospects terrified Buffy. “Whatever you think they want down there, they’re wrong.” 

“How do you know?” she demanded. “How do you know that? I’m here with you because you’re keeping everyone I love down there! They’re prisoners just so I stay here with you.” 

“Yes,” he growled, fist tangling in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to him. “And they’re going to stay down there forever, lover. Don’t think they’re ever leaving.” 

“Why,” she mocked, ignoring the pain in her scalp, her exposed neck…and the arousal pooling low in her belly. “Afraid I won’t stay without them there? This is the only way you could get me, so you’re taking it?” 

Angelus snarled, fangs elongating as a growl rumbled through him. “Be careful, my little slayer; you and I know the truth left unsaid. I’ve been lenient so far, but I won’t control my temper much longer. They’re down there because I wish them to be; you’re here because I wish you to be. ‘Tis you I want, Buffy,” his Irish accent coming out along with his temper, “And ‘tis you I have. Lie to them if you have to, but I won’t let you lie to yourself. And there will be no lies between us.” 

“Why?” She whispered, echoing Willow’s question. 

“You don’t know that by now? You haven’t figured that out?” Instinctively understanding what she wanted to know, Angelus leaned closer, savoring her fear and pain, her heartache and her lust. Yes, even now, her arousal was clear to him, and he (loved, craved, needed) savored it. “You think that I didn’t tell the truth before?” Their eyes locked, red and blue of his power to her silver ones. 

“Never forget, I’m protecting them from this world, not the world,” he laughed, a mocking sound, “From them. Worry more about what would happen if I decide to do just what they want me to. Let them go. The friends, the family, they’re only here for you. I don’t give a shit about them, lover. You do. It’s as simple as that.” With those words, Angelus released her hair, stepping back and turning back to his desk. He hadn’t wanted to admit that to her, not yet, certainly not until she accepted him without reservations. 

Despite her capitulation of the night before, Buffy still held herself away from him and all he offered. Angelus knew this, knew that as soon as her friends, that mother of hers, the interfering watcher got to her, started telling her the things she should be doing rather than going with what she was feeling, that he’d have to fight for and with her again and again. 

Buffy stood still for a long while; Angelus went back to his papers as she stood in the middle of the room and thought about his words. His words, Spike’s reaction to Xander’s maligning of Angelus, her mom’s words, even Willow’s. She thought of the words they spat at her, convinced she’d rather be with Angelus than care about their lives, convinced that she was with him because she wanted to be – that she loved the power, the adoration, the nights in his arms, the days in his bed – rather than that she held their lives, as she always had, in her hands. 

Slowly she took a step forward, then another. 

There wasn’t really a choice for her; she certainly couldn’t walk away, that led to disaster, and she knew it. But she could’ve returned to their rooms, could’ve let Angelus believe that he’d sufficiently cowed her that she was afraid of him. She wasn’t, and Buffy knew that, too. She wasn’t afraid of him, he would never harm her. No, not her, but her friends. 

“Have you located Russell? Is he here?” She asked instead and waited a beat, then another before Angelus looked up at her. 

“He’s in the guest wing,” he motioned for her to move around the desk. “He’ll be gone by nightfall, however. I plan on having a discussion with him later.” His eyes were black when they looked at her, black with fear that she could’ve been hurt, black with anger that someone dared try to harm what was his, black with frustration over her continual refusal of all he offered. 

“Oh,” Buffy nodded, and yelped when Angelus’ arm snaked around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. His lips attacked the side of her neck and she moaned his name, body already melting into his.

“No more of this talk,” it was almost an order, but Buffy nodded anyway. She wanted to argue, wanted to talk more about it, wanted her friends free. But she understood – more than even Angelus realized – that they couldn’t survive out there, that this was how it had to be. And she understood that maybe Angelus was allowing her this chance, without hurting one of them, because (he loved her, her happiness was all he cared for, he wanted her, he needed her, this was all for her)…because Buffy didn’t know why.  

“Okay,” she whispered, earning a purr of approval as his lips moved along her shoulder, down her arm. His large hand brushed her hair to one side and he continued his homage across her skin. “I won’t bring it up again.” 

It was a painful promise to make, but she did it. Scared to do otherwise, and yet Buffy knew that even if she did bring it up…maybe, just maybe…Angelus would understand.
~~~~~~~~~~
The guest rooms of the palace Angelus built were just as magnificent as every other part of the monstrosity the so-called god lived in, but Russell didn’t care.  

He planned on enjoying the rooms, the view, and the…hospitality for as long as he could. As long as he felt like it. And then he planned on taking over. 

He wasn’t much for worshipping, despite his former occupation. But then, that was many lifetimes and several names ago, and the rabbi part of him was long gone.  

No, Russell much preferred to be in charge of things. Angelus’ unexpected opening of Acathla proved only that the other – and younger – vampire knew his lore. Worthiness had nothing to do with it. No, Russell was certain that had he been the one to find the stone demon, then he’d also have been the one to awaken him. And then he’d rule this miserable planet. 

Alas, plans had not worked that way, and now he was trapped in a world not of his own making. He’d been forced to bow down to a vampire many centuries younger than he, who dared soil the Aurelius line with a slayer. What was worse, was that the demonic masses, who didn’t know squat, followed Angelus – and adored the girl. 

They blindly followed Angelus as the world changed into the hell dimension Acathla promised his followers. They followed the younger vampire as he accepted their accolades and their praise. The followed him when he introduced that slayer as his goddess.  

Russell shuddered, and it wasn’t from the release the vampiress kneeling before him gave him with her enthusiastic blowjob. No, it was with revulsion. A vampire and a slayer? What was Angelus trying to prove? That he could master the Greek comedy single-handedly? That Shakespeare had nothing on him? 

“Leave,” Russell instructed the minion, tucking himself back in his Armani pants.  

His plan was simple, Russell left nothing to chance. And yet, already the palace was abuzz over the attempted assassination of the slayer. Apparently, she had powers far exceeding those of normal slayers; either that or his childe, Florence, had fucked up royally. If that was the case, Russell planned on destroying her entire line – if that was not the case, then she was already dead, and there was no need to kill her again. 

Still, if that was the case, then he needed to step up his plans.  

Angelus was an unstable vampire, smart, cunning, vicious, true, but arrogant to the point of idiocy. Otherwise, why bring the slayer into this in such a capacity? Why not just imprison her? Seemed a better solution than actually raising her to the equal of a vampire king. 

Unless, Russell thought as he stared out the windows into the barren landscape of the town that once housed the Hellmouth. Unless, there was something more than that. Did Angelus have feelings for this slayer? Was she holding something over him? Was it something else? 

Turning, Russell paced to the trunk he brought with him mere days ago. His power base was in Los Angeles, but at the first signs of the changing world, he quickly moved to gather the necessary items he’d need to change the already changing planet. For centuries he preyed on the weak and strong alike, always stronger and more powerful than they. Now, his slow and methodical plans for domination were gone. 

Gone, but only if he waited. By acting now, he usurped Angelus and installed himself as king…and got himself a tasty slayer in the process.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus stalked through the palace he’d created specifically for him and his slayer. 

The rooms were massive, out showing Versailles, Buckingham, The Winter Palace and the Taj Mahal…combined. Their wing – the Royal Wing – spanned all of what was once Sunnydale and beyond. They certainly didn’t need that much space, Angelus liked to keep Buffy close and too much space didn’t permit that. But he reasoned that the king and god of this world would have no less. 

And he knew his slayer. Knew she needed space, needed to move around. Before settling on the massive rooms they now occupied, Angelus briefly contemplated holding Buffy in a separate cell, small, cramped, confined, until she acquiesced to his demands. No, this was a much better idea. Giving her the freedom to do as she pleased ensured both her cooperation and her eventual capitulation. 

The contrast between her and her friends below was stark and vivid, and Angelus knew they understood the situation, maybe better than Buffy admitted she did. 

The guards lining the guest quarters didn’t flinch as their god walked past them, anger shimmering off him in waves of color and light. They were Acathla’s elite, those charged with protecting their god and his nobles from the unstable world they originally inhabited. But that was then, and Angelus didn’t seem to need any help. In fact, when the captain of the guards asked how he could be of service, Angelus had made it plain that his only duty was to see to the slayer. 

His safety was secondary to hers, Angelus informed the stunned captain. Should something ever happen to her…the threat had trailed off, but the captain – and all those in hearing distance – understood. If anything happened to their goddess, then their lives would be forfeit, and this world would burn, along with everyone and everything in it. 

Bowing, the captain let Angelus on his way. 

Now, as Angelus stalked down the corridors towards the suite of rooms he knew Russell occupied, he tried to calm himself. No use killing the vampire without first making a prime example of him, was there. 

He knew the Russell Buffy spoke of, knew what he was capable of, and what he most likely wanted. He wasn’t getting it. Buffy, this world, and Acathla’s powers were Angelus’. None of it was negotiable. 

When Angelus questioned Drusilla over the incident, he was unsurprised to learn what the kitchen staff had done to the traitor. Led by his childe, the staff and Buffy’s guards all reacted as he expected them to; Florence was tortured, ripped to shreds, and her heart kept for Angelus to claim as his. And he would, showing everyone what happened to all those who defied him. 

That could wait, however; he had to hunt down Russell Winters first. When Angelus did, the other vampire would never know what happened. The torture was going to be long, painful, and creative. And then Angelus would really get started.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy looked out over the gardens once again.  

She wasn’t sure when she decided she enjoyed them, was it because they offered a respite from the inside of a place that demanded she be something she wasn’t? Was it because here she didn’t have to nod and accept the reverence of demons she should stake?  

Maybe; or maybe it was just because she felt at peace here. She felt as if God hadn’t abandoned her, as if here, in this little piece of land that wasn’t a stark and empty expanse, He didn’t curse her name. Breathing deeply of the rich fragrance, of the colorful flowers, Buffy thought that maybe peace and absolution were attainable.  

Deep inside her heart, she knew it wasn’t, because no God, no matter how forgiving He was, could exonerate her of her sins.  

But just for a while, she thought that maybe it was possible and that He could understand and accept her decisions. 

“The interloper has made his move,” Drusilla said, with a smile up at the other side of the edifice Angelus called home. 

“Who?” Buffy asked, pulled back into her reality. 

Drusilla clucked her tongue, her eyes bright with knowledge as they turned to Buffy. “He thinks he has power, but the Old is gone and the New isn’t his to play with. Not his toy to break. Daddy doesn’t like it when someone takes what’s his. He doesn’t like it.” 

Buffy frowned, “You mean this Russell guy? Angelus doesn’t like it when others try to, what? Take over his throne?” 

“Poor, poor, Buffy,” Dru said, and the slayer wondered how often the crazy vampiress actually used her name. “You still don’t accept what you already know. It wasn’t for him, but for you.” 

For long minutes, Buffy stared at her companion/guardian. The guards from earlier were scattered throughout the gardens, watching every conceivable path – she thought there were more than the original six as well. But here, it was just her and Drusilla, as strange as that sounded. Dru’s words resonated deep within Buffy, but the slayer refused to acknowledge them. 

Russell wanted to kill her to prove Angelus wasn’t a god, and she wasn’t ‘worthy’ of being his goddess; he wanted the power Angelus had for himself. Buffy’s eyes followed Dru’s as she looked to the point where she knew Angelus was; his anger called to her just as his passion did. He wasn’t about to let this go, not the threat to his power, and not the threat to her. 

Buffy could say nothing about that – she didn’t mind one less vampire in the world, especially if he was a threat to her. Because without Angelus in charge of things, then she had no bargaining power and her family in the dungeons below were as good as dead. 

Shivering at the thought, Buffy sent a smile up at the window where she knew Angelus to be and hoped he understood what it meant. ‘Go for it, baby,’ her mind whispered. Whether he heard it or not was immaterial.  

“Walk with me?” Buffy asked Drusilla and stood. She wanted to return to her family and friends, but had to build her defenses back up first. The last visit hadn’t gone well at all.  

“Tell me how you met Spike,” Buffy asked, curious and desperate to get her mind off the coming confrontation in the dungeons. 

“My William,” Drusilla said dreamily, and she seemed to float beside Buffy. Her tall, willowy frame seemed suddenly lighter and more carefree as if it was a pleasant memory, and one she enjoyed reliving over and over again. 

“My poor William,” she said again, sighing dramatically this time, “His heart was broken, and I fixed it for him. And she was so delicious, too,” she confided as they walked.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Russell,” Angelus said in that low, seductively dangerous voice, as he slammed open the door to the vampire’s rooms. “I hear you don’t like the way I do things.” 

Russell didn’t answer immediately, but the stake that launched itself at Angelus spoke volumes. Looking down, amused, Angelus raised an eyebrow and looked back up at Russell. Shaking his head, the god continued to look at his enemy for a long moment, waiting for the failure to sink in. 

“Nice aim,” he chuckled, and pulled the long wooden stake out of his chest, dead in the center of the heart. “But it won’t work anymore.” 

Twirling the stake in his hand, Angelus advanced a step towards Russell. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. What with you being so old and knowledgeable and all. Once Acathla’s powers are imbued in someone, they can never be withdrawn. Should’ve done your homework, Russell, boy.” 

Not one to be deterred, Russell launched himself at Angelus with spikes, swords, and minions. Nothing affected the god. Stunned as he found himself held within Angelus’ grasp, Russell looked at his rival and snapped. 

“A slayer, Angelus?” He spat, eyes red with blood and madness. “I thought you had better taste than that! And to make her your equal? That little move will only cost you in the end.” 

Angelus’ hand tightened. “You have no idea, Russell, what I’m capable of now. What I was before matters not; what this world will see now that I own it is all that they need worry about.” He leaned down, uncaring of the dust that settled around them from Russell’s minions, uncaring that his chest had already closed three times from various stakes in a vain attempt to turn him to ash.  

“Buffy is mine, Russell, as is this world.” His eyes were colorful, the powers he now possessed making themselves known. “You can’t take it, and now, now you won’t even live in it.” 

In the blink of an eye, Russell found himself not in his rooms, but in an empty dungeon, manacles lining the stonewalls, the only light from a large barred window high above. Before he fully realized his change in location, Russell was chained to the wall, his arms pulled tight above his head, his legs spread far apart in an uncomfortable position, even for a vampire.  

“Now then,” Angelus smiled, all fangs and swirling eyes. “Where shall we begin?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Drusilla waited patiently as Buffy looked at the heavy door for the second time that day. 

She’d wanted to visit her friends, to somehow make them understand her position without telling them outright. But now, as she stood before the door, she didn’t want to enter. Entering meant accepting everything Angelus wanted her to, entering meant distancing herself from her friends. If she didn’t, then they’d all die, and she couldn’t handle that. 

Taking a deep breath, Buffy nodded to the always-there guard, and he obediently opened the heavy construct. Tilting her head, holding herself stiff and untouchable, she strode through, eyes sweeping the room swiftly and carefully. Everything was the same as it had been when she left hours before, and everyone’s eyes were on her. No one spoke for a long minute.  

“May I see my Spike, mummy?” Dru asked in a quiet voice. “I miss him so.” 

Buffy nodded, remembering the story Drusilla had just shared about how she met – and turned – William, and stayed with him for over a hundred years. As soon as the slayer agreed, glancing at the cell as she did so, the cage door opened. Dru squealed and entered, leaving a confused Buffy behind to speak with the friends who had still said nothing to her. 

How the hell had she done that? How had the door opened when she willed it to? More unanswered questions, more worries over what she’d become, what she was even now turning into. She took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm herself, trying not to break down and panic. 

Finally, Hank Summers walked to the bars of his cell. “Buffy,” he said, then paused, clearly at a loss on how to proceed. “How was lunch?” 

Drusilla giggled at that and blew Buffy a kiss from Spike’s cell. The large metal door had closed behind them, the guards staying out there as Buffy instructed, so they were alone. She didn’t want them inside with her friends and family, especially if she truly got the chance to tell them of the agreement with Angelus.  

Talking with her dad, Buffy was a little surprised that no one had asked how she’d opened the cell door. Not that she had an answer for them, but she was surprised they hadn’t asked. Relating the events of lunch – leaving out the whole goddess part – Buffy talked with Hank as Dru fawned over Spike. 

“Why did you try to checkmate daddy, Spike?” Dru asked, as Buffy talked with her dad. 

The slayer wasn’t fairing well with her friends, the mean board not liking their new Queen and trying to check her; it wasn’t working, the Bright Star was stronger than all their army and knew the game well. 

Poor Bright Star, they didn’t understand though. And they didn’t want to understand. But Buffy’s daddy did. Or maybe he just didn’t like the rest of his army, the white players falling now, dissension in the ranks, sides being taken and conflict arising. 

“I didn’t, pet,” Spike said as he breathed in the nicotine from the cigarette Dru gave him. His lips were cracked and bloody, the minion vampires he was fed daily not nearly enough to heal Angelus’ rage. “I was trying to save the family.” 

“But daddy was going to be king, Spike,” she whispered, shooting glares at the mean demon who looked like a well-fed rat. “He changed the world for us.” 

“He changed the world, Dru,” Spike insisted as he happily drew in another puff of smoke, “For his slayer.” 

“Pssst,” Dru leaned in, and stroked the side of Spike’s face.  

“I have a secret,” she told Spike, her blunt teeth teasing his earlobe. Spike shivered and leaned closer, part to hear her secret, part in hopes she continued her lustful teasing. “The party’s just beginning, and all the players aren’t yet here.” 

“The party’s already started, pet,” Spike said, but filed her words away for later. His Drusilla always knew, and this time wasn’t any different. Just because he had no idea what she was talking about, didn’t mean squat. 

“No, my dear William,” Dru pulled back and looked at him with serious eyes. “It’s nowhere near ready.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy cut her visit to the dungeons short. Again. 

She couldn’t stand the reproachful looks, the condemning silence, and the whispered thoughts she could all but hear as those she did this for stared at her with reproach and contempt. They didn’t understand, and she didn’t know how or what to tell them. Except for her dad. For some reason, Buffy expected Hank to be the one who damned her the most, he didn’t understand any of what had been going on the last couple of years, and yet he, more than Willow or Giles, or even Joyce, seemed to accept her. 

Buffy didn’t know why, and didn’t care. She was grateful for his understanding and conversation, no matter the reasons. 

Walking back into her rooms, exhausted from the emotional battery, she was ill prepared for the attack. 

Angelus waited until she closed the door before slamming her against it. His arms wrapped around her, his body pressing close to hers, his mouth on her neck all within the first moment. In a second, Buffy realized what was happening, who it was, and responded. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms holding onto his shoulders, and her mouth seeking his. 

“Angelus?” She asked when his fangs scraped her neck. “What-” 

“Russell is no longer a threat,” he said, resting her weight against the door and pushing her skirt up to her hips. The dress was never going to be the same, not after this day. “He and his line are wiped out.” 

“I know,” Buffy breathed, her own hands drifting to his waist and opening his pants. His desperate need to feel her somehow jumped to her, and Buffy needed him with the same intensity. Or maybe she just did, maybe she just needed Angelus so much, too much. 

Maybe she was tired of being the martyr, maybe she was tired of pretending she didn’t enjoy what she felt with him just so those below wouldn’t hate her.  

Growling, Angelus sank into her moist depths, the fingers of one hand teasing her clit, his mouth again on hers. Buffy held on, her body moving with his. Suddenly, nothing mattered but him, but being in his arms and being one with him. Here, nothing could touch her; nothing could harm or damage her. 

Quaking as her orgasm crashed upon her, Buffy sank her teeth into Angelus’ shoulder, clamping down on him. Another growl, this time of her name, as he came, emptying himself into her. Lips closed on her beating artery, Angelus leaned back, tearing the dress over her head and walking to their bed. 

Wrapped around each other, naked and sated, they drifted off to sleep.  

Buffy sighed and moved closer. This, she thought drowsily, was something. This was definitely something. 

‘I need a drink,’ he said, ignoring the groans from his audience. ‘What, you think telling this story is easy?’
‘But Uncle,’ his audience began…
‘Give me a minute, don’t worry, this story is far from over.’

~*~*~*~*~*

And God watched His Children and wept.  

He wept for the Bright Warrior who fought alone in a world that would not and could not accept her and her love. He wept for the Dark Warrior who could not understand this world so remade it in his image, feeling the need to do so all for the love of the Bright Warrior. He wept for the Second Warrior who had no idea what was happening and her significant role in the coming days; He wept for her family, those who she so recently met and those who would fall for her in her quest to restore the balance…a feat she could no longer do. 

The balance had been destroyed, and evil had overrun the Earth; now all the Second Warrior could do was fight the best she could. There was no winning; there was no victory in this battle. But there was hope. He knew she had that, and He was proud of her because of it. Her destiny was such that He could no longer help her, only guide her through the coming years. 

He wept for the Bright Warrior who did not fail, but who followed her heart and did her best, and even now still believed in Him, her Faith battered, but not buried, never buried. He forgave her her trespasses and hoped she understood that; hoped she understood that if it weren’t for her by the Dark Warrior’s side, this world would be in more chaos than she could possibly imagine. 

It would be an inferno, and no one would survive.

He wept for the machinations of Those who would see them torn apart, who made the love of a Vampire and a Slayer impossible when nothing in His world was. And He wept for those who were caught in the path of the Vampire’s wrath, who were destroyed needlessly in the Vampire’s desire to claim his Bright Warrior, his Love. His children, all His children, be they man or demon for He created All, were caught in a world of the Vampire’s making.  

May they make the best of it, and may the Vampire rule wisely, justly, and honorably. 

God looked down on His Children, and his own wrath was terrible against those who allowed this to be. The so-called Powers That Be, the ones who allowed such a thing to happen, who allowed the torture of a soul, one of His souls, forced back into a body that had committed unspeakable crimes against His people. That should never have happened, but because it did, this was the consequence; He would see His Soul avenged. 

The one called Whistler was trapped not because of them or of the Dark Warrior, but because of Him. Because His vengeance was swift and just, an eye for an eye. Beings who abused their power, who called themselves The Powers, who believed themselves to be Higher Beings, higher than He, were also trapped on this plane, unable to move, unable to leave…accessible to the Vampire when He judged the time to be right. 

He was All-Powerful; He was Loving and Just and Vengeful. Because of the Powers’ intrigues, His beautiful world was ash, dust under a hellish sun. His Vengeance was indeed swift. 

God Almighty looked down upon His Children, and wept.

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