‘She didn’t kill him?’
            ‘Nope.’
            ‘Maim him, skin him, torture him?’
            ‘Nope.’
            He shook his head, eyeing his uncle speculatively. ‘Are you sure you know the whole story, Uncle? I mean,’ he hurried to clarify at his uncle’s dark look, ‘that this doesn’t sound like
            her. Not that she isn’t forgiving,’ he hastened again, ‘just that…I mean this is her mate you’re talking about!’
            ‘Yes,’ he nodded slowly. ‘Whom she loves very much.’
            ‘I’m just not so sure I’d forgive my mate if she cheated on me. And I’m not sure Angelus would forgive her if she cheated on him.’
            Snorting, he leaned back and took a drink. ‘Hmmm, yes. When you have the trust issues these two did, then you can talk about it. But I don’t seem to recall you having that particular
            problem, hmm?’
            Slowly, his nephew shook his head. ‘No, that’s not your problem, is it?’ Taking another sip, he rested his head against the booth’s cushion. His nephew had problems all right, but not
            trust ones. Not trust ones between him and his lover that was.
            ‘And the tattoo?’
            ‘Ah,’ his uncle paused. ‘That’s an interesting story, but there’s more first.’
            ‘There always seems to be.’
            'There always is,’ his uncle assured him. ‘Wilbur!’ he shouted, and gestured for another drink. The bartender nodded and held up a menu in question. Looking to his nephew for
            confirmation, he nodded his consent.
            ‘I miss Willy,’ he sighed. ‘Place just isn’t the same without him. Have to admit,’ he added as Wilbur’s young son scurried over with a tray of fresh drinks, ‘the kid keeps abreast of the
            latest. But Willy,’ he sighed again, nostalgic for his friend. ‘He was a good man.’
~~~~~~~~~~
What to do, what to do. This wasn’t at all how It’d envisioned Its future.

There were certain rules, damnit! Rules that the universe followed, that happened before something else could happen. That’s the way things worked. That’s the way they’d always worked. It just was. Until now.

Curse it all, if It’d wanted Acathlan hell on earth It’d have brought it about much sooner! It huffed and continued to watch. Not corporeal, not linear, not in a good mood. Sure, hell, all fine and dandy. But what about It? Stuck here, stuck now. Couldn’t even go back and change things to Its way of thinking.

“That’s what happens,” It said in the form of a long-dead emperor, “when one allows Free Will among the plebians. They fuck things up.”

All of Its wonderful minions were stuck elsewhere as well. Some here, on this plane in this time thanks to Angelus. It wondered if the new Master knew just what he had, who he controlled. The resources, the enemies. The talent.

Probably not, he had a way of killing some of Its finest tribute-givers. The man who called himself Richard Wilkins (I, II, and III), to name but one.

What It needed was a new plan. Something even more speculator than Its last one. Though it was kinda hard to beat upsetting the balance between good and evil by allowing the Slayer to be brought back from the dead, then using the Souled Vampire to open Its seal and take over the world. But one worked with what one had.

The Slayer was looking out over her world again. She did that a lot, surveying the desolate land, watching the town slowly take shape and size beyond her gates. Her silver-green eyes focused in on Its location, squinting slightly as if to make out where It was, what It was.

Unwilling to take the chance, It blinked out of existence, pathetically grateful to retain even those small powers. Yes, another plan. And even though the last one, Its greatest thus far, had taken centuries to formulate, It could start again.

Not that It’d had any success as yet, but It was confident. It was, after all, immortal.
~~~~~~~~~~
He was bored, losing his edge. Maybe that was Angelus’ plan. Make the sodding castle so damned big that any assassin would grow too frustrated to finish the damn job. At this point, he really wanted to kill the damn vampire just for the miles of castle.

Bastard.

His commander wasn’t going to like this. The wait. She expected results, expected him to provide results. He was one of the best: sixteen confirmed kills before this hell mess, untold more afterwards. He was Walsh’s favorite, and in line to become the ranking military personnel on base. They were also in line for some serious funding from the government, or whatever secret organization Walsh tapped into for their cool technology.

Until Angelus fucked the world.

Now he was simply the best they had. Best they had left. No one had heard anything from Washington in months (such a relative concept), and now, seeing the devastation scarred across the landscape, Riley Finn had no hope of anyone high enough to matter surviving.

Turning the corner, he scowled. Gee, this looked familiar, didn’t it. No, wait. Maybe not. The obscenely carved doors he was thinking of weren’t guarded. In fact, he had a distinct memory of walking through those particular doors and into a maze of really large rooms filled with creatures he didn’t have the ammo to kill. These must be new ones.

Squinting, he didn’t see any scenes of screwing humans (demons), but dragons and the like. So a different door, then. One guarded by huge beasts of some sort. Nothing advertised The Door Behind Which Angelus and Buffy Lived quite like guards.

Immediately dismissing going through them, Riley Finn waited. The first one out the door was dead, Angelus or Buffy. It didn’t matter. They were both on the list, but he really wanted to kill her first. She was such an embarrassment. A disgrace to her calling, to the human race. The bitch deserved to die.
~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. Trick eyed the ascended vampire before him. He’d heard of such possibilities, but that was mostly rumor and speculation. Occasionally a nice prophecy, but they rarely turned out the way one hoped they would. The vamps usually fried, though it was always entertaining to watch.

“What took you so long to pay your respects?” Angelus asked.

Trick eyed him in amazed humor. “Have you been outside these walls?” he asked, gesturing around the private office, the palace. “It’s chaos trying to travel. I’m a man of refined tastes and no little discrimination. Walking isn’t for me.”

A smile cracked the god’s lips, dark humor danced in his eyes. Yes, this was the man Trick could happily work for. Worship was another thing entirely, but he was willing to play along, see what happened. Always keep one’s options open, after all.

“Nice digs,” he complimented, but didn’t glance around. He wasn’t stupid, and one never took one’s eyes off the Alpha-predator. “However, that’s not what I’m here for.”

“A proposition, yes,” he said that with a touch of boredom, a hint of denial. Ah, so that’s how it was to be. No big, he could still deal. It was, after all, what he did.

“You obviously have no need of my contacts or a great many of my talents.” Trick smiled, tugging tiredly at his cuffs.

He needed to find a new tailor. His last one was eaten by a gang of the ugliest beasts Trick had ever seen. And before he’d had the chance to finish the alterations he’d promised Trick, too. There was no justice in the world.

“You’ve got things well in hand, from what I’ve seen the past week or so I’ve been here.” Not that telling time was what it once was, but everyone had to adjust. Trick happened to be better than most.

“However, you need someone to take care of the mundane, the minutia. Normally, I’m the go-between,” he explained. He watched the older vampire carefully and was pleased to see some slight interest in those black-as-night eyes. Deeper, Trick realized, he could see more.

Power, all encompassing. Strength, over not just himself, this palace, this land. Everything. It was attractive, in a strictly business-like way. Trick didn’t swing that side of the stake.

“I have Childer for that,” Angelus pointed out.

“Of course,” Trick agreed as if that was obvious. It was, but rumor and speculation were ripe in this place. “But you don’t have nearly as many as a Master of your age and stature should. Nothing wrong with that, procreating the species is difficult when one must weed through the stupidity humanity offers us.”

The snort of amusement reassured Trick, though he wasn’t about to drop his guard. Come to think of it, he hadn’t dropped his guard since he was a four-year-old human.

“Mr. Trick,” Angelus said in measured tones, eyes him once more. “You must realize I need nothing you offer.”

“I realize,” Trick mildly protested, “that you don’t need any help keeping the people of this world terrified. And I’ve really got to hand that to you. I’ve worked for Masters who constantly had to ride their minions, torture their Childer. It wasn’t pretty. You,” he smiled, gave a short, appreciative laugh, “you’ve got it all down.”

Trick leaned forward. This was the real negotiation. This was what counted. “What I’m offering is to be your land steward. There’s an entire world out there, my god, and they can be made to pay tribute. I’m not talking money,” he waved the notion away.

“You have no need of that; I’m talking tradables. Slaves, grain, objects you or your goddess desire. Since you’ve allowed humans to continue living, they need food – a barter system seems to be springing up, working side-by-side with hard currency. One or the other,” he shook his head, “otherwise it’s pandemonium, and you get nothing but a headache.”

Trick watched Angelus, but the more-than-a-vampire said nothing, still listening. “Humans,” he continued, “also need to be kept in line. Uprisings are infrequent now, but will no doubt gain in popularity and power once the humans finally organize themselves.”

“And you’re the one to do all that? To quell rebellions, collect tribute, see to it all?” Angelus leaned forward. “How can I trust you?”

“That’s a problem, I admit,” Trick nodded. “Trust is a difficult thing to handle. It’s not tangible, so you can’t see it. But it’s not intangible, either. It’s possible to accept it as experienced.”

“And how do you propose I accept your trust.” Inquired Angelus, still completely at ease, still listening. And still not killing him. All good things in Trick’s opinion.

“I could pledge my life, my honor, and my blood to you and your goddess,” Trick offered, “but frankly, you and I both know those are just words. Binding ones,” he conceded, “but words nonetheless. I’m a man of honor, My Lord Angelus, I believe in it, and I hold myself and those who work for me to it.”

“So I should take your word? Just like that?” Angelus laughed, but Trick sensed a crossroads.

“Yes. Now, I don’t propose you allow me complete access to everything, that’d be foolhardy, and we both know you’re certainly not that. I’m suggesting we begin as we would have had circumstances been different. Small steps, little things. Trust builds.”

“Trust,” Angelus mused. “It’s not something that comes easily to vampires, and yet that is exactly what you’re so eagerly proposing.” He was silent for a long moment, but Trick refused to squirm. He wanted to, this was the most difficult interview of his long and prosperous life.

“I agree, Mr. Trick. Provided, of course, you pledge your life, your blood, and your sacred honor.”

Trick grinned. “Nice play,” he complimented. Of course Angelus had no need of his fortune, and frankly that was gone anyway, lost to the fortunes of hell. Still, it was nice to know that his new Master was well read, not the muscled moron most Masters were.

Refreshing.

“I agree.” He nodded, kneeling on one knee as he said so. The real ceremony would take place later, there were preparations to be made, Angelus’ Slayer Mate to inform, the rest of his Childer. But this was the start of a long and glorious partnership.
~~~~~~~~~
Showered, dressed, groomed, and annoyed already, Buffy glared at Serra and Drusilla and left the room. Just once, she’d like to dress herself. Not that she had any idea how to get her hair into the dos they did, but that wasn’t the point. It was annoying.

A simple ponytail once in a while was perfectly fine, thank you very much.

Plus, she was still pissed at Angelus and his little temper-tantrum with that hell-whore, and she had a busy day she couldn’t reschedule. God, rescheduling. What a concept. She growled in frustration and anger again. Chocolate. What she needed was chocolate. Desperately.

Buffy was also left with a lingering question. Despite her killing the whore who dared touch Angelus, despite the fact that she supposed she had forgiven her lover for his little (hurtful) deed, she was left with one burning question.

Why did he love her?

She’d never thought of that, not once in all the time he’d been…out. Here. Back. Hers. Never believed he loved her until Drusilla. Only fell further and further in love with him. In love with Angel…Angelus. In love with the demon devoid of soul instead of the man she’d originally loved.

“No confusion there,” she mumbled, stalking down the obscenely long hallway.

He’d done this for her. Because he loved her. Wanted her. Why? To prove he could? To prove he could change the world on a whim for someone? That he wasn’t completely selfish?

Buffy growled as she came to the double doors leading away from their private wing. Clearing her mind of all thoughts related to Angelus and his feelings, or lack thereof, for her, Buffy reviewed her schedule for the day.

Daily breakfast in the kitchens so Delia could see she was eating properly. (It was embarrassing how the vampiress fawned.) A walk in the gardens with B’amotswee to discuss the Acathlans and some upcoming celebration that needed celebrating. Possible visit to the dungeons. Maybe she’d have her dad brought up for dinner instead. Uh, not that kind of dinner.

Do something nice for Spike.

Contemplating this last as Vasu opened the door for her with a bow, Buffy almost didn’t acknowledge the tingling, that something’s wrong feeling.

The gun was silenced, but she heard it clearly anyway. So did Donato and Vasu, who both jumped (an incredible feat for such huge demons, and clearly the reason they were chosen as her guards) in front of her. But the bullet never touched them.

Buffy wouldn’t allow it.

With gentle hands, she pushed her guards out of the way. They sidestepped a tiny little step, allowing her to see her assailant through their massive bodies. Always ready, always alert. Buffy suppressed a smile at their actions. Now wasn’t the time for sentimentality.

Firing as quickly as his trigger finger would allow was a human. Tall, muscular, determined. A black ski mask covered his face, and Buffy figured he had to be sweating under it. This was hell, after all. And how was it no one noticed the tall human in a ski mask?

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Angelus was already on his way, she could feel his rage as he swiftly moved from his private office, where he was meeting some demon or other, to the double doors leading to the rest of the palace. She had seconds before he burst through and murdered the man before her.

“I am your assassin,” he said, lowering the gun. The idiot then threw a knife at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes, foot tapping in annoyance. Honestly, if bullets couldn’t kill her, did he seriously think a knife would? That’s what happened when one followed the rules of ones’ job. Assassin or not. Think outside the box, people!

“Yes, so I see,” she commented. The knife hung in midair, still as stone. “You’re very well trained if clearly stupid to brave this particular den. And not English, so I’m going to rule out Watcher’s Council.”

He said nothing, but something in his eyes shifted. It was minute, nearly invisible. Yet she caught it. (Panic. What the hell had happened to her? How did she know? What had he done to her? But then the Slayer was there, all reason and reassurance. She knew because she was the Slayer.)

“You’re Council?” she demanded, more alert with that revelation. “You’re not, no,” she continued, Angelus bare steps away now. “But you’re working with them.”

There was no way she could save this man’s life. Wasn’t entirely convinced she wanted to, either. He’d just tried to kill her. Not very well, but it was the thought that mattered.

“You had to know you’d fail.”

The man stood straight and so very soldier like. Not that she’d ever met a real soldier, but she’d seen them. They usually stood like that. Like her guards. At attention. Ready.

“I know,” he said and looked straight at her, “that you’re a traitor to your calling. That you’re screwing the enemy. That you’ve become that enemy. The human race once depended on you, Slayer,” and the word sounded like the worst curse he could think of, “and this is how you betray them.”

Angelus burst through the doors just then, wrath flowing off him in waves, snarling nonstop. He didn’t glance at her, but then Buffy already knew he knew she was fine. The assassin before her, however, was another matter.

Not many could look an angry vampire in the face and not quake in his boots. Angelus was so far beyond that – angry and vampire – that it was amazing this human before her hadn’t fainted from it all. But no, he continued to look straight at her, conviction so clear on his face, in his eyes, in his posture.

“Then you haven’t done your homework,” she said. “And as a man of such honor, you don’t recognize it in others. Not that you’ll have a chance to contemplate any of that. Pity. Maybe you could’ve learned something then.”

Angelus’ hand wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing just enough. “You won’t live long enough to wonder where you went wrong,” he promised.

The entire exchange took maybe a minute.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Earth shook with the strength of its new master’s rage. In contrast, no harm was actually done to anything or anybody. That was its new mistress’ doing. Conscious of it or not, Buffy refused to allow anyone else to get hurt because of the Council’s blunder.

They’d get their due soon enough, she had no doubt of that.

With a heart simultaneously heavy with one more death and hardened against caring for one who’d tried to murder her, who treated her as nothing but a being to be eliminated through any means necessary, she watched Angelus. Not the human. Angelus.

True to his word, he was going to deal with anything that tried to harm her.

She could feel Angelus’ rage, his fear. Terror at losing her. Knowledge that she wasn’t safe anywhere. And something else, a strange later sensation. As if he was telling her that later he’d indulge. Coddle her, pander to those fears he refused to verbally acknowledge. Awash her in love and affection and the vows he took so seriously. To her, to them, to her safety.

(Yet he’d betrayed her. (Almost) fucked another. Promised and loved and needed. Her. Anger and resentment and denial. Her. But that was there, too. His love, his need. For her.)

Watching the retreating figure of Angelus stride down the corridor, her would-be assassin dangling by the throat, feet barely touching the ground, Buffy pushed it away. Was she always going to be blamed for this? Was she to be forever hunted for failing her calling? For thinking too much with her heart? For loving an enemy, a vampire?

“Mistress,” Donato bowed. “Tis not your fault these actions of others. The human deserves all My Lord Angelus plans for him, as do those who sent him. Your compassion does you justice, but is misplaced.”

Buffy turned to look at him, this behemoth of a being, her trusted and loyal guard. He and his Clan had taken a vow they held with more respect than her friends. (Xander betrayed her with his hatred and anger, his jealously over what she felt for another.) They’d let nothing happen to her; die protecting her. A rush of affection ran through her.

“Allow me to escort you to the kitchens,” he continued. “I understand Delia has a wonderful meal planned for you.”

Slowly, she nodded. Tears threatened, but she willed them back. In a way, Donato was right. It wasn’t her fault, the commando’s actions or his death. A part of her, however, couldn’t help but care.
~~~~~~~~~~
“How long has it been?”

Doctor Maggie Walsh looked up from her notes, annoyed at the interruption. The fact that she was interrupted by Travers did nothing to improve her mood, though he had welcomed her and her teams with open arms.

“Time being relative,” she said calmly, in that superior way one spoke to an underling, “I’d say not long. However, by Dr. Frost’s calculations, confirmed by your, ah priestess,” she sneered, “I’d say about three months.”

Travers growled, an impressive sound coming from a human. Walsh didn’t bother commenting. She had more important things to do than pander to him, with his superstitious ways and old-fogy thinking. Magick and charms, fairy-tales and books - bah.

“He’s dead then,” Travers shrugged. That had Maggie’s full attention.

“What do you mean?” she asked, heart rate accelerating at the thought. “Angelus?”

“Finn. If it’s been three months, and you estimated it’d take him no more than one to cross to Angelus’ domain, even allowing for complications, Commander Finn is dead.”

“I doubt that,” she said, haughtily. “He’s the best we’ve got, Quinton. He’s had over a dozen confirmed kills, and that was before this Hell your little vampire created.”

Travers laughed. It was disturbing, even to Maggie who enjoyed directing such things at others, the condensation, the joy, the…she couldn’t quite place that last emotion. And that made it all the more disturbing. She didn’t really know what went on in the rest of the labyrinth of this compound, didn’t care, actually. Travers and his Council were alive and functioning with basically the same goals as she had. That was all she needed to know to join them.

“My dear Maggie,” he smiled, all magnanimous English and pomposity. “Your precious Finn is dead. His little record of kills? My slayers managed that in a night. In a night,” he reiterated, leaning forward on her desk, manicured hands resting on her valuable papers.

“Finn went because I couldn’t send the Slayer out to do the job. She’s got more responsibilities here than one vampire. He went,” he added with one final deriding smile, “because you insisted he go ‘root out this evil’, I believe you said.”

“And yet,” Maggie countered, refusing to be ruffled by the ass before her, “you authorized it.”

“Tut-tut, Maggie,” he straightened, his face settling back in those ostentatious lines. “I did nothing of the sort. You’re your own entity, Dr. Walsh. You were the ones to beg entrance to our compound, refugees from America. I have no authorization over you or any of your people.”

“What,” Maggie asked, eyes narrowing in anger, planning all the ways she could kill Travers, “makes you think Finn is dead?”

“The world hasn’t changed back,” Travers shrugged, moving towards the door. “And I suspect the tremors you felt were Angelus’ temper letting itself be known.”

He closed the door, always with the last word. But Maggie wanted to know how he knew an earthquake, even in England, was associated with Angelus. What connected the two? And what didn’t she know that this Council seemed to?

Damn. Riley was dead. He’d been her star, rising through the ranks, loyal to her. She’d had plans for him and his ultimate position. Damn.
~~~~~~~~~~
“They did what?” Faith demanded.

“Sent an assassin,” Doyle repeated. He wasn’t any happier this time than when he said it a moment ago. “Commander Finn’s head suddenly appeared in the center of Travers’ precious Council table this morning. Right in the middle of his briefing.”

“Why?” Though they’d both have liked to see that.

“Angelus’ little joke?” Doyle shrugged. But they both knew her real question.

Why had the Council and the refugee band of soldiers sent an assassin in the first damn place?

“He’s going to kill us all.” The whispered statement carried all the force of a shouted command. “This isn’t something he’s going to just let go,” she continued, eyes unfocused, hands gesturing wildly as she did when hyped up. “This is something he’s going to avenge.”

“Yeah,” Doyle nodded, finishing his glass of whisky he’d started several minutes ago when the too-late-to-do-any-good vision sent by the pretty-much-useless Powers slammed through him. The sixteen ounce glass wasn’t going to be enough, he suspected.

“I can’t let him do that.” Faith closed her eyes, seeing not the darkness she craved, the oblivion of nothingness she desperately sought, but blood. Bright red blood splattered across the walls and floor. Heads decapitated, limbs missing, blood running down necks, not from a vampire’s bite, but from a vampire’s angry claw, slashing open.

“I won’t let that happen,” she said more firmly. Rising from her cot, Faith looked to Tara’s bed, empty now. She hadn’t slept in their shared room since Dawn…unwillingly, Faith’s eyes landed on Dawn’s empty bed. Perfectly made, with the stuffed bear some old and kindly Watcher had given her propped carefully and lovingly on the pillows.

“It’s far past time,” she told Doyle.

Doyle, for his part, was captivated. Faith was a sexy woman, she was strong, opinionated, and wild. He cared for her more than he ever had another, even his wife. (Poor Harry, dead in the initial chaos of Hell. He’d seen it, not through a vision. With his own eyes. It was the first thing he’d seen, unable to look away, when the world changed. When darkness descended and demons rose up. It was where Gunn and his crew found him, screaming as the visions hurtled through him, too many to see. Too much death. Gunn. Gunn who’d sacrificed his own life and those of his team to see him safely out of LA. He wondered if things had been different if he and Gunn would’ve ever been friends, or if they would’ve even met. He hoped so. Gunn was a good man.)

“Doyle.”

Faith’s voice snapped him back to this horrific present. Yes, she was different now. Stronger than she’d been when they’d first met up. More in control of her life. More sure of herself, not just her body, her powers, her destiny.

Her destiny. God, why hadn’t he seen that before?

“What are you going to do?” he asked. He wanted her, had since the moment they’d met, but now, now Doyle wanted more than her body. He wanted all of her. Even the parts he didn’t and had no hope of ever understanding.

“I’m going to take over.” She strode to the door, yanking it open almost absently. Not bothering to close it, not looking around her, the Slayer moved down the hallway with sleek, sure movements.

For a moment, he wished he was telepathic. He wanted to warn Julie about this change, wanted Tara to be here in case Faith went wild or descended back into her dreams. On the other hand, Doyle wanted this all to himself. This vision of strength and femininity.

Three floors up, one smashed two-foot thick steel door later, and Faith was in the private offices of Quinton Travers. She’d amassed a following on her trek, and the long line of Watchers who’d gathered behind Doyle watched in fearful stillness.

Only a couple had bothered to even try and stop her, the last ill-fated one with a dart. No doubt poisoned. It hadn’t worked. With a single blow and barely a break in her stride, Faith killed the man and kept right on going.

Julie joined the crowd, and he suspected Tara was someplace in the group, too. He didn’t look around or take his eyes off Faith.

“You sent an assassin to kill Angelus and the Slayer,” she began the moment she barged into Travers’ little meeting. The eight or so others sitting at the table with the egotistical ass looked at her in shock and wonder. Doyle knew exactly how they felt.

“What’s she doing?” Tara whispered at his side.

“Leading,” Doyle murmured. He felt her hand in his, and squeezed tightly. The gift of, and the receiving of, compassion and support.

“You brought his anger down on us all because you thought you could win. You thought that by sending a toy soldier to do a Slayer’s job you could deny it all. Or save the day, if it had worked. Tell me, Quinton,” Faith smiled, a predatory curving of her lips that had the masses shivering.

“What did you hope to accomplish with this hypothetical death?”

“Getting rid of the evil that plagues this world is what we do, Faith.” Quinton said, still sitting. He leaned back and folded his hands across his belly. “Or have you forgotten. You are the slayer. Killing one vampire such as Angelus is your job.”

“The balance is already destroyed, you arrogant fool. There’s no going back. Killing Angelus will not return this world to what it was. It won’t bring back those already dead, and it won’t stop the evil that crawled along the earth long before Angelus was ever turned and would have continued to do so long after he was staked.”

She moved like the wind then, grabbing Travers and tossing him across the table. “Angelus is going to kill us all now. I hope you realize that. And I’m going to make sure he starts with you.”

She turned, surveyed the room with eyes that were no longer brown, but glowed faintly silver. “Once upon a time,” her eyes landed on Quinton for a bare moment, “before the Council, the Slayer led. Those who demanded absolute power corrupted that power, perverted it to their own purposes.”

“I am the Slayer. I am in charge. This council is hereby dissolved. And when Angelus comes,” she continued, “and make no mistake, he will, I will fight him.”

And when he kicks my ass and I die, I hope my sacrifice isn’t in vain.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You’re okay?”

Patiently, Buffy nodded. Again. It was the four hundred millionth time he’d asked her, and each time she’d said the same thing. “Yes, Angelus, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, couldn’t, actually. The bullets,” she added to her patented response, judging the time to be good for more information. “Disappeared. Or seemed to.”

She paused there, frowning. What had happened to the bullets, anyway? And where’d the knife disappear to after Angelus had come barging through the doors? She’d have to ask one of her guards. Maybe they saw.

“When are you going after the Council?”

“The moment I’m positive you’re alright and safe.” His voice was back to its snarling state. The one that told her he was furious and the world was lucky it wasn’t one giant spinning ball of nothingness.

Angelus looked silently down at her, his dark eyes unreadable in the hazy red light. Intense. They were intensely watching her: her every breath, every shift over their monstrosity of a bed. Stalker. He was her stalker, hadn’t he all but admitted that before? Obsession. A much more accurate portrayal of what they had. Angelus’ obsession with her. And, Buffy admitted slowly, hers with him.

With the intimacy of the moment, Buffy wondered if now was the perfect time to ask him why he loved her. However, considering he hadn’t actually ever admitted that he did, she kept her mouth closed on that particular subject.

She could ask him what he planned on doing with her human Council assassin, but she didn’t want to know. Or, Buffy supposed, she could ask him about his business meeting she had no interest in and he hadn’t wanted her at, anyway.

“Why were you with that woman?” she heard herself ask instead. And wanted to bite her traitorous tongue off.

He stiffened at her question, but didn’t move. His hand was still a gentle slide down her back, occasionally tracing odd patterns over her shoulder blades. He suddenly seemed inordinately fascinated with her back. Weird. His body lay on its side, naked and alluring and so close to hers.

“I wasn’t with her,” he corrected. It lacked his typical superior sneer. “I was…angry,” he admitted. “Relationships,” he continued slowly, and Buffy wondered if she looked as shocked as she felt. Fervently hoping not, she didn’t want him to stop, she desperately schooled her face into what she prayed was jealous-lover interest.

“Aren’t something I have any experience in. Since that unfortunate incident,” he smiled wryly here, “I have since come to realize that what we have could be classified as such.”

“And now,” she began when he remained silent long enough to indicate a response from her, “that you realize we have a relationship, you plan on acting accordingly?”

You better, she thought, I love you – wouldn’t want to kill you.

He laughed, and Buffy wondered if she’d said it aloud. But then he leaned forward, lips on hers, and she willingly forgot everything but him. For now. She still had no answers, very much wanted them, but for now…she’d let him think he won.

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