Faith stretched under the blanket she’d stolen from some store that was no longer in business; why more things weren’t stolen from so many of these boarded up stores, Faith couldn’t have said, but was glad that this blanket – and several others – were there. It was soft and big, a strange green color, but it was warm. And she needed the warmth. Not that it wasn’t hot enough in this new world, but Montana, for reasons no one could understand, was not.

Julie said it had something to do with the fact that there was still fresh water there, and that Angelus probably didn’t have as much control over the world as originally thought. In fact, Faith thought now as she waited a few more minutes to start her day, Julie had gone on and on about how this was a good sign, and that if this new demon king, this Angelus, hadn’t spread his influence this far, then there was still hope.

Doyle and Tara had dashed that hope: Doyle with a cynical laugh and Tara with tears in her eyes. Faith really liked Doyle, but then his cynicism rivaled hers, so maybe that had something to do with it.

Apparently, Angelus had created places like Montana on purpose.

He wanted to have an agrarian society with farmers and crops and rain and sunlight, real sunlight. He hadn’t wanted all the humans to disappear, had even issued some kind of edict limiting the number of humans one could kill – it looked like he wanted to keep a set number of humans alive as well, but it was hard to tell with him. So he created a place in the middle of America that stretched from Saskatchewan and Manitoba straight down to Panama; he’d included a large portion of Brazil there, too, but the rumor was that it was for the rain forests there, and the popular and environmentally dangerous slash and burn technique was forbidden.

Upon penalty of death.

No one knew why he’d done this, or why he forbade certain things from happening in certain places. Much of Europe was also destroyed under his rule; landscapes changed from mountainous, lush and fertile, or desert into his vision, his hell. Some places still remained, some ancient buildings, historical landmarks, entire cities. In Europe, another swatch of land remained untouched: the Ukraine, Belarus, parts of Russia, all those tiny countries that were once part of Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia; anywhere that crops grew and grew well.

Most of China was untouched, though their citizens were severely culled; but the Chinese farmland was put to use feeding that part of the world. Australia remained as well, for sheep and cattle farms.

The reports that came from across the world were unbelievable, but still they came. Humankind’s penchant for spreading news, no matter the means, had not stopped because Angelus ruled. Angelus didn’t seem to care. So people farmed, they planted crops and raised cattle and sheep and…other animals, and sold or bartered their wares to humans and demons alike; it was a strange, strange society Angelus had created.

Faith wished she knew why he’d done so, why he’d created such a world. But no one outside his palace seemed privy to that information.

Unfortunately, this new world also meant that some places were bitter cold. Faith hated the cold, it reminded her of days and nights spent huddled under a thin, rough blanket in her mom’s house as she tried to remain invisible to her mom’s ‘guests’. Sometimes she thought she’d never be warm again, not even when the humid Boston summers came, and chased the cold away. She much preferred the warmth, with the hot summer sun beating down on her face as she raced through the streets of Boston.

Montana didn’t have that. By Faith’s calendar, it was summer; it had to be, not that much time had passed between normality and…this. But the days and nights all looked and felt the same, and time ceased to have much meaning anymore.

“Faith?” A soft voice asked from next to her.

Opening her eyes at the intrusion, one she was grateful for as Faith didn’t like the direction of her thoughts, the slayer looked at Tara. The girl was staring at her with wide light eyes; her shoulder length blonde hair tussled from her own restless sleep. Clothes she’d worn for days lay in a pile next to her as she, too, huddled under a warm blanket in what passed for sleepwear these days: flannels. It was degrading to a girl from Boston to wear flannels.

“What is it, Tara?”

“Have you thought about it?” Tara wondered, scooting closer to the slayer. “Have you thought about what Julie said?”

“Yeah,” the slayer nodded. She’d thought of little else, and hated it. Hated the choices, or lack thereof, hated this life. She really hated the cold; it was so cold that it hurt to breathe, hurt to think. Hurt to live.

“And?”

“I suppose we should head there, don’t you?”

“No,” Tara shook her head emphatically. “No, I don’t. I don’t want to go there; I have a bad feeling about that.”

“Any other choice you can think of?” Faith demanded, careful to keep her voice low. The others were still sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake them unless she needed to. This no-named town in Montana had been their haven for a while, but they needed to move soon. The locals were starting to look at them strangely.

Mutely, Tara shook her head; no, she hadn’t any other choice, could think of no other option except the one presented them. In fact, it was probably for the best even if she didn’t want to leave. Montana wasn’t so bad; there was sunlight, fresh water, and people. But it was still dangerous.

“Then England it is,” Faith sighed, shutting her eyes again. God, she didn’t want to go there, but what other choice had they? None.

While she still lived, she’d never be safe, not here. And as long as Doyle, Julie, Dawn, and Tara traveled with her, they wouldn’t be safe, either. She thought of ditching them, but that probably wouldn’t help – they were still in danger in this world, at least she could maybe protect them.

Demons hunted her, however, and humans weren’t much better. They thought, all of them, that if they caught and killed the slayer, then the reward would be extraordinary. They were wrong, but fanatics and people desperate enough to believe things like that usually didn’t listen to logic. And Faith had very little tolerance for logic as it was.

The Council it was, then. They contacted Julie through a complicated – and convoluted – system that eventually arrived at the abandoned hotel they were staying at in Nevada. Don’t go to California, don’t step foot on the Hellmouth, and don’t engage Angelus. Needless to say, the news had been a relief. No one wanted to go there, and they had been dawdling in Nevada to kill time.

But the Council had wanted information on what had happened; the ‘god’ and his slayer, this Buffy that Faith had heard about.

Buffy…Faith thought that she’d had a dream about her a few days ago but wasn’t sure. She had an image of blonde hair and desperation. Bone deep fear, unwanted lust, love combined with hate. Misunderstandings and silence coupled with blatant lies to protect.

Faith didn’t understand any of it, but she knew with absolute certainty that Buffy was in a position that she didn’t want and hadn’t asked for, but one that was necessary to survival. Hers and others she held dear.

What the slayer wanted to know was what Angelus saw in the blonde that made him do what he did.

Standing and stretching, Faith went about her morning rituals, no answers forthcoming. But then she hadn’t really expected them, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~
Willow looked around the cage and stretched again.

She felt cramped, like she needed to run a hundred miles to fully stretch her legs. She needed something to read, to learn, to know. Her mind was atrophying just as surely as her body was. Bending forward, trying to ease the ache in her back, Willow wondered what day it was. Why it was important, she didn’t know, but she felt it was. Very important.

Buffy would know, the redhead thought. She should, she was up there…Willow’s eyes moved upward as if she could see through the ceiling, floor, and feet of rock and stone. Her hazel eyes burned with the fierce need to escape, to run and dive and just get away. To see Buffy, to know what her friend was doing. But then Buffy barely came down to see them; and when she did, it wasn’t for long.

Resentment shot through Willow, but she squashed it. She wouldn’t and couldn’t give in to that. She wasn’t going to let Buffy’s obvious freedom hinder their friendship. Well, anymore than it already was. And it was hindered quite a bit. There was something Willow was missing with her best friend, something obvious that she just wasn’t seeing.

“Willow,” Oz said, disrupting her train of thought.

Turning to her boyfriend, Willow wondered why they waited so long. At the time it seemed feasible; she was young and inexperienced, while Oz was not. But he was a gentleman, willing to wait, unable to push her no matter his thoughts and feelings on the situation. (You’re just about perfect, you know? No, I’m not. Yeah, yeah you are. For me. He smiled then, that special Oz smile that said he was thinking along the same lines. But in regards to her…)

Now, however, she wondered why she hadn’t seized the day (carpe diem, that’s my motto) and gone with her feelings. (Well, my philosophy, do you wanna hear my philosophy? Yeah, I do! Life is short. Life is short! Not original, I’ll grant you, but it’s true. You know? Why waste time being all shy and worrying about some guy, and if he’s gonna laugh at you. Seize the moment, ‘cause tomorrow you might be dead.)  

And wasn’t that irony at its best. 

She loved Oz; he was kind and sweet and gentle, and he loved her back. And just because he was a werewolf…

That was it, Willow realized. That was why she needed to know what day it was. The full moon.

“Oz,” she said and quickly crossed to the bars that separated them.

“I can feel it coming, Willow,” he whispered, and the pain of the transformation was clear in his voice. “When it does,” he continued, eyes closed against the inevitable, “Please stay away from the bars.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oz…I love you.”

He smiled, but didn’t open his eyes. “Love you, too.”

She stayed with him, tightly clasping his hand though the heavy metal bars until it happened. Willow had never seen it actually happen, had never seen Oz change. It looked painful, but fascinating at the same time. The way his face elongated into the wolf’s snout, the way he grew and changed, hair sprouting from various places, before covering him completely. His eyes, so light and knowledgeable, now the yellow of an animal. His clothes…well he hadn’t removed his clothes this time, and now they were shredded. Before he changed back, she’d have to find him new ones.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Willow whirled at the voice, unaware that anyone had entered the room. Angelus stood there, Buffy at his side. Both were impeccably dressed, as always, hair well coifed, the lines of their clothing straight and pressed as if the thought of a wrinkle was anathema to them. Buffy wore ruby jewelry again: necklace, earnings, hair chopsticks holding her tightly curled hair above her neck, a ring, and bracelet.

Wow, totally decked out, wasn’t she. Still, through the rising envy and anger, Willow admitted her friend looked good.

“What is?” She asked, trying to ignore the way they both looked compared to her, and wondering what Angelus meant.

“The change,” he said in that quiet silken voice of his. “The change between man and beast. The way the beast takes over, as if it were meant to all along. Coming out with a roar, announcing its freedom, and all but dancing in the lack of restrictions.”

Willow didn’t have anything to say to that, but wanted to. Instead, she backed away from the cage that housed Oz – were-Oz – careful to keep her movements slow and even so as not to startle the now completely transformed wolf. Oz, her love.

“How did you know?” She wondered, eyes glued to the howling werewolf.

Angelus chuckled, rising his hand, twined with Buffy’s, to his lips and brushing a kiss over the back. Willow saw Buffy shiver – lust or revulsion? Buffy’s normally green eyes darken and a spark of…silver entered them. Cocking her head to the side, Willow wondered at that, too. So many questions, so many things she didn’t know. And she wanted to, desperately.

“I know,” Angelus stated, his eyes once more on Oz. “The change, it takes over, uncontrollable sometimes, but still welcomed. He’s still in there, Willow. He can hear and see you, scent you as his.”

She and Oz hadn’t really discussed it, but Willow had just assumed that when the change happened, Oz was gone, and the wolf was in his place. But now Willow wondered; where did Oz go when he was the wolf? What happened to him? His mind, his consciousness? He said he didn’t remember what happened afterwards, it was like this blank spot on his memory. Was he lying? Or was it still so new to him that he didn’t know how to access those thoughts and memories?

“How do you know?” Willow repeated, though the context was changed now. Her gaze was locked on Angelus, but she saw Buffy quiet and watching next to the vampire. God. Whatever. Buffy looked absolutely relaxed and accepting, and Willow hated that. Was Xander right then? Had Buffy betrayed them all?

“The beast lies in all of us, Willow.” That slow sensuous smile, the wicked gleam in his eyes, the soft, seductive voice. Willow involuntarily felt a shiver race down her spine, not so much at his words but his tone of voice; erotic and deliberate, it felt as if his voice went straight through her. That smile widened at her reaction, and Willow cursed herself.

Angelus’ smile widened not at Willow’s reaction, but at Buffy’s fingers tightening on his; she’d noticed Willow’s reaction as well. Ah, but jealousy in his little lover was good. Just because he was irrevocably hers didn’t mean that he couldn’t feed those flames of envy to his advantage. Returning his attention back to the would-be witch, Angelus waited as she contemplated him.

He was dark, wicked, and sensual, and Willow wanted him. It was an abstract want...like she wanted World Peace but wasn’t sure how to really go about it. She couldn’t help wanting Angel…or Angelus, but she knew she’d never do anything about it. He was Buffy’s; and it was clear – in both souled and demonic form – that she was all he wanted. Still, she wasn’t blind. Wasn’t blind to the moves he did, that fluid grace, the well-ordered movements, the inherent sexual prowess of the man.

No, she’d never even think of doing something about it…except now she was. And now at the time she had no choice. Oz growled, and she turned her attention back to him. And yes, God, yes, she wanted Oz as well. The coiled power within him, the depth of knowledge, the hints of impatience. The way he kept a tight hold on himself when they kissed.

Willow wanted him to lose that control. He hadn’t…but now, looking at him now, and seeing what the last…days weeks, whatever, had done to him, maybe now that control would snap.

“It’s deeper,” Angelus was saying, and Willow looked back at him, looked at Buffy standing beside him, her green and silver eyes carefully blank. “It’s deeper in some than it is in others; some don’t acknowledge it, are afraid to. But it’s always there. Waiting, watching for that chance to be free. To break out of its bonds, and roar.” Oz howled again, just then, and Willow’s gaze swung back to his wolfy form.

“It lies in all of us,” Angelus repeated.

Buffy remained silent by his side, and Willow wondered why. Was it because of his words? Did the slayer agree or disagree? Was it because he forced her to do so? Was it some other reason? Oh, shit, did she realize that Willow wanted Angelus? Just once, just to see what it was like? No, no she didn’t, and if she did, Buffy wouldn’t ever say.

Unless Angelus did something, and Willow was damned sure he wouldn’t.

Poor Willow, she didn’t realize that Buffy knew what Angelus said was true. She knew Willow wanted Angelus – just as the redhead wanted Angel. And Buffy realized, with a churning of her gut, that she’d fight everyone – vampiress, demons, hell, and even her best friend – to keep her lover.

Yes, Buffy had always known Willow wanted Angel. Angelus. It wasn’t something she thought the redhead realized until now, but Buffy wasn’t blind or stupid. Angel was handsome, powerful, graceful; everyone wanted him. And it was mostly fine with Buffy because she knew that he wouldn’t ever do anything with anyone else…and that Willow would never realize that she wanted Angel.

But now…no, now nothing had changed. Willow wanted Oz; she wanted to feel the freedom and power in the werewolf. And Angelus still wanted Buffy. Which was more than fine with the jealous and possessive slayer.

Because the beast within Buffy called out to the one within her lover; together they caused the world to burn around them. There was guilt there, carefully hidden, and love, also carefully concealed under the craving she had for Angelus, and the aloofness she forced herself to hide behind lest he discover too much about her innermost thoughts.

Willow looked around the room at the other cages, surprised to see no one paying attention to them. Spike stared at Angelus and Buffy, but remained quiet. Giles shared the caged vampire’s fascination, but also said nothing to anyone else. Hank and Joyce were dozing on their cots, Cordelia was picking at her nails, scowling at the ruined manicure. Xander had – predictably – his back turned towards everyone else, and Whistler looked as enigmatic as usual. But no one said anything about Oz.

Why was that? Surely they saw Oz change; surely they saw Angelus and Buffy, and surely they saw the whole thing. Turning back to the couple outside of the bars, Willow wondered. Just what kind of power did Angelus have?

“Oh,” he assured her as if he could read her mind. “They can see and hear us, but with everyone so caught up in their own lives, what’s your predicament to them, little one?”

“Angelus,” Buffy said softly, a frown on her face. Her eyes moved to his face, displeasure clear in the green and silver depths.

A faint smiled graced his lips, mocking and acknowledging. He said nothing more for a moment, and then took a step back, releasing Buffy’s hand with one last soft kiss to the back of it as he did so. Willow watched as the blonde straightened up, forcing a strength into her limbs that wasn’t present when Angelus was next to her, holding her hand. Giving his strength to her.

What an odd thought: Why would Buffy need Angelus’ strength?

“I brought you something to read,” Buffy said with a smile, one that Willow recognized as the slayer’s ‘I’m just fine’ smile. Now, with everything that was going on, Willow wondered just how well she read her best friend. And just what she was missing behind that smiled that had fooled her for so long. Even now, if Willow hadn’t witnessed the scene between them, she wasn’t sure she’d really believe that Buffy wasn’t just fine.

“Really?” (Interest, hope, friendship.) Oz growled again as Willow walked to the door of the cage. (Jealously, trapped, out!)

“Yes, Angelus has some interesting books here. History, chemistry, magick,” Buffy looked at her friend, and smiled – it was a movement of her lips, well practiced, that told so very little, even as it tried to convey so very much. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so brought an assortment.” Handing a stack of about seven books through the bars, one by one, Buffy waited.

Willow’s eyes widened; she hadn’t seen the books before Buffy said something about them. “Thanks, Buffy,” she said, setting the books down on her cot. She turned back, and Buffy was still there, still waiting. Awkwardness. Now what happened?

“So,” Willow said, once more walking to the door of the cage. The differences between the two friends was so obvious: free, prisoner; impeccably clean, barely so with what little shower time Angelus allowed; well-dressed, groomed, and beautiful, rags and scared.

“May I sit?” Buffy asked, waiting for an answer. When Willow nodded, Buffy pulled a chair – from where Willow didn’t know – and sat before the redhead. Graceful in her finery, back straight, a strength Willow hadn’t known the slayer possessed emanated out from her as if she was the one holding all the cards. Was this another thing to do with Angelus?

Willow so wanted to ask but couldn’t. She had no idea how to…and no idea if she really, truly wanted to know the answers to her questions.

“What’s been going on up there?” Willow asked, her voice pitched low.

Shrugging, Buffy slid her eyes towards Angelus. The tall vampire was leaning negligently against the door, watching everything with those too-knowing eyes. Willow had the feeling that he knew everything that went on between Buffy and her, between Buffy and…everyone. But then Buffy smiled, a soft knowing one, and Willow wondered just what she’d missed, being trapped down here.

“A lot,” Buffy admitted, looking back at Willow. The smile was there again, small and real this time, but Willow wondered. Was it for her? Or was it for Angelus? “More than you realize.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It was a while before Buffy left, a while before Willow realized that her friend had stayed longer than normal.

Angelus had stayed the entire time, watching silently as the friends talked. He hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything but stand there. And watch Buffy with those swirling eyes of his, power equal to Buffy’s, all but knocking her over. Still, it had been nice to talk with Buffy again, find out what was going on in her friend’s life, so distant now. And what was happening in the rest of the world. Such as that world was.

Oz growled, again throwing himself against the bars holding him captive. Again falling backwards to try again. He hadn’t ceased since his change, hadn’t stopped trying to escape. A howl echoed in the background, and he responded, front paws resting on his cot as he shouted towards the small window high on their prison wall.

Willow shivered. Fear, deep, swift, primal fear coiled within her, spreading, spreading, reaching out. Oz’s golden eyes turned on her, predator, fierce, swift, deadly. Willow scooted backwards on her cot, further away from Oz…from the werewolf that he now was.

(‘It lies in all of us’) Angelus had said. Was he right? Did it? Was it now sleeping within her, waiting for her to weaken and succumb? No, it wasn’t possible. Oz was bitten by his cousin, and Joey was bitten by…actually, Willow never did discover how that happened. But Oz had told her that his aunt, uncle, and cousin were all now werewolves. He’d joked that now it ran in the family. (We’re our own pack now, and I think Uncle Rod, the transvestite from Oakland, is one, too. Oz had laughed. Never thought my family would turn into a bunch of werewolves.)

Were they calling to him now? Was that why he answered, so desperate, so desolate? Was that why he strained to escape, to join them? Maybe they could survive out there as werewolves; as beings, creatures who blended in at least three nights of the month. Eyes on the same window Oz was calling through, Willow wondered what happened to her own family. Her parents, her Aunt Jean, Uncle Robert, cousins, Rachel, Joseph, and David. Her grandmother and her grandparents on her dad’s side.

Chances were, she’d never see them again.

A tear escaped, and tracked down her grimy face – no matter how she scrubbed, it wasn’t the same as a real bath in her own tub. All that was left of her world was here, in this room. Oz, Giles, Xander, Cordelia. Even Spike and that demon whatever, Whistler. Buffy…Buffy. Did she count? Yes, Willow had to believe she did. Because the redhead refused to give up hope for the slayer. Refused to believe that Buffy had succumbed to the darkness within her, and had willingly, knowingly gone with Angelus. Went to Angelus.

Another howl, closer now.

How did they know the moon had changed? Willow couldn’t even tell when it was day or night here. Her body slept when it was tired, ate when Angelus’ minions brought food three times a day, and wondered every other minute of the day.

(To break out of its bonds, and roar.) Was that what awaited her? Darkness, blackness, a beast within her? No, Willow refused to believe that. Oz was a werewolf. She wasn’t. She was human, completely human.

“There are all kinds of darkness, pet,” Spike’s voice drifted through the cells. “It doesn’t take a demon to make one a beast.”

Willow looked at the vampire silently. She had nothing to say to that, either.
~~~~~~~~~~
Cordelia watched. Hungry, jealous. Trapped as well.

She heard what Angelus said to Willow, little Miss Buffy by his side. Groomed, dressed in gorgeous clothes, her hair done to perfection, her skin…paling, Cordy thought now. Not in the cave-monster way, but in the way that happens when you don’t go to the beach often. Her skin was becoming a soft milky-white that hummed when she was next to Angelus.

(‘It doesn’t take a demon to make one a beast.’) Spike had said after Buffy left the dungeon, handing a few books to Giles as she did so. The Watcher had only nodded his thanks, taking the gifts with watchful eyes. Mistrust and sadness heavy in the depths.

(It doesn’t take a demon to make one a beast.) No, no, it didn’t because Cordelia could feel the beast within her howl. Why not her? Why was it Buffy? Why was it always her? Cordelia knew how to dress, she knew how to play the part of the socialite – because she was one – and she knew all the proper things to say – or not say.

And yet it was Buffy who managed to stay out of the dungeons, who wore silk and jewels. Who had Angelus at her side, the darkly handsome demon with his sensual grace and erotic voice. Cordelia had always wanted Angel, at first because Buffy had so definitely held his interest, and he’d had eyes only for her. And then because she couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He was sex incarnate, and so many of her most secret carnal thoughts revolved around him.

So why? Why was he with that short, blonde…bitch? Why not her? Why did Buffy get the gowns and jewels, and Angelus between her legs, pleasuring her in every way imaginable? Demons worshipping her, the world remade just for her. And she got shit.

Cordelia sighed, wistfully. She wanted that. She had it once, the adoration, the material things, the men, and wanted it back; somehow, she’d find a way to get it back. Because she wasn’t staying down here. Here, in this filthy place with people she really never should have got involved with in the first place. Honestly, what a bunch of losers. Then again, they were alive. That counted.

So she was alive. Plus. She knew what she wanted – out of here. Plus. She knew who she wanted. Well, if she couldn’t have the big vamp – Angelus was way too involved with Buffy to notice her, especially now that he’d gone to all this trouble for the blonde bitch, and really, that whole drinking blood thing? Gross – then she’d have something equally as good. That prince guy, Bent or something.

He wanted her. Oh, he was a demon, but really, there were no humans left, from what anyone could tell, in power. She shook in revulsion, but shoved it aside for more practical things. Out of here. Well, demon prince it was. He was a prince, so that was a plus, too.

Now all she needed was to figure out a way to get him to take her out of here, clothe and bejewel her, and never, ever, send her back here. If she never saw any of these people again, it still wouldn’t be enough.

Look out, demon-world. Princess Cordelia is making an entrance.

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