Just as she debated going to the last in line, just as she thought about seeing Giles and clearing whatever air remained between them, just as she decided she wasn’t strong enough to do it all in one day, it happened.

“No, Spike,” she sighed. “I’m just not up to it. I’m too tired.”

“Rough day,” he agreed, still patting down his nonexistent pockets for a cigarette.

For an instant, Buffy felt almost sorry for him, but no. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke and since she had the power to tell him no, she was certainly going to use it. It really seemed to matter in the small things.

“Still, there’s only one to go.” He gave up and sat beside her on the bench that had seen so much today. “You sure you don’t want me to fetch him?”

“Positive,” she sighed. Her shoulders sagged and she was grateful only he could see it. Keeping up the façade was hard. Not as hard as it had been, but it wasn’t yet totally second nature. She refused to think about how she felt comfortable enough in Spike’s presence to relax, even if only for a moment.

“How about some dinner then.” He made a show of looking in the sky, then at his bare wrist. “It’s probably tea time, but if I smell one more pot of tea, I’ll go bonkers.”

She laughed, a weak, tired sound that took more energy than she would’ve supposed. It was tough being a goddess. She laughed again, and caught Spike’s look. “It’s hard being the goddess,” she shared.

He laughed, “Yeah. But it’s good to be…Queen in your case.”

Her laugh was stronger now, and she straightened. “What do I do?” she wondered. “What kind of life am I supposed to lead now? I have so much, but it’s still as monotonous as school ever was. Isn’t life supposed to be full and stressful and angsty?”

“What’re you feeling now?” he asked. “Aside from tired.”

“Empty.”

It was the first thing to come to mind, the first thing she could name.

“Then I think it’s time to fill it up with what you want.”

And why was it that Spike was so damn good with the advice? He didn’t look happy to dispense it, but he was good at it. She might start calling him Mr. Abby. Smirking, Buffy decided to hold onto that little name.

“What I want…”

What did she want? She wanted so many things. This world to return to the way it was. For it to stay so she could have her lover. Was that the only reason she wanted it to stay? For Angelus? No. It was for her newfound freedom. And for the way she viewed herself and her surroundings. It was for the people she’d met and actually liked whom she never would’ve even conceived of before all this.

For the evil that was stamped out, not just demonic, but human as well. The Watcher’s Council who should’ve been good but were too narrow-minded and corrupted to do anything anymore. For the former mayor of Sunnydale…Wilkins? She couldn’t vote, so she wasn’t required to remember politician’s names. If this hadn’t happened would she have eventually fought him, too? Probably.

It had to be added. It had to be said. Or thought in this case. For herself. For her power, not just physically (and that weird mental link between she and Angelus, not to mention the weirdness of her now-really-heightened preternatural senses) but over others, too.

After all, she was only human.

Buffy wanted her friends, but knew now she couldn’t trust them, not really, not in the way it counted most. Maybe, in time, they could have that closeness again. She desperately wanted that. Desperately.

“I want…” and then there it was.

The certainty, the knowledge. Her sister was in danger. Angelus had gone to England to wipe out the Council, but until this very moment, she hadn’t really considered all of the Council. She hadn’t considered Faith.

“No!”

Standing, she closed her eyes, honing in on Angelus. She had to save Faith.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice drifted through her, and she vaguely felt his hand on her arm. “Bloody hell!”

Opening her eyes, she looked took in the scene in one sweep. Later, she’d figure out how she got there. How she knew what to do or how to do it. Later, she’d deconstruct every little thing and overanalyze it to death.

Later.

Now was the time for battle. Of one sort or another.

There was no remorse, no pity or horror at the scene before her. Positive it’d haunt her dreams for a long time, she tuned it out and focused on those remaining. Those living.

“Angelus.”

“Hello, Lover,” he drawled.

The words sent shivers down her spine, but she took a resolute step forward. Now was not the time for distractions.

“Nice work,” she commented without looking around. Her eyes remained on Faith’s, who looked about as calmly scared as was possible.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Faith,” she said to the other slayer.

“Feeling’s mutual,” and her voice was clear, no signs of pain or suffocation.

Just off to Faith’s right, crumpled on the floor, lay a body that looked about as dead as the rest of them. This one drew Buffy. This one seemed to matter. She couldn’t have said why, the blank face wasn’t familiar. But she knew this one.

“Travers,” Faith offered.

Angelus hadn’t moved, but his eyes followed her, steady and undeniable. She could feel his hatred and anger directed to the body on the floor. It was all around her; and she knew this entire building was going to burn hotter then hell.

His absolute terror over her safety. It was stronger now that they were closer, though it throbbed through her since he’d left. Buffy had to admit, it was comforting, knowing his emotions. Of course, she was also losing it.

Then there was his need for her. It burned brightly, a warm flame that wanted to engulf her. She wanted to let it. Almost without realizing it, she let her feelings flow back to him, allowed that strange bond they shared to crack open a little more.

Satisfaction flowed back to her, but more. It startled her that more. Maybe Angelus wasn’t as distant as she assumed. Maybe he did care for her more than she realized.

“He sent the assassin?” Buffy’s gaze pulled away from the body to watch Faith.

Travers…Giles mentioned him.

“Yes. He and Maggie.” Buffy quirked an eyebrow at the new name. “Some scientist from the states. She and a bunch of soldiers showed up one day begging for asylum.”

“The assassin was a soldier, wasn’t he?” she asked the question of Angelus, but still looked at Faith.

“Yes,” Faith answered. Buffy already knew Angelus’ answer – it didn’t matter to him. “Riley Finn. All goodness and straight and narrow. Wanted to rid the world of evil one demon at a time.”

“And how well,” Buffy asked, mocking tone matching Faith’s, “did he succeed?”

“Rumor has it,” Faith smirked, Angelus’ hand still wrapped around her throat, “twelve.”

Buffy waited for more. “Twelve? That’s it? Not twelve dozen or twelve hundred? Just twelve?”

“Yup.”

“Loser.”

The party was quiet for a bit then, obviously taking their lead from Buffy. It startled her when she realized that, but only for a heartbeat. Of course they watched her. She and Angelus were the leads in this little drama.

Drusilla hovered over her left shoulder, silent but anxious. Turning, she watched the vampiress, hands waving, eyes flitting from Angelus to Faith back to Buffy.

“What role did you have in this?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Angelus spoke up.

This was it then. This was the choice.

Yes, it does, Buffy insisted.

The last lock opened and everything she was flooded into Angelus, she could all but see it, though she was positive it was her imagination. And there he was. Inside her, around her. If he could crawl into her and stay there, he would.

Staggered, she had no time to analyze it, to death or not. Buffy carefully put it aside for later discussion.

He did feel more than she thought he did.

No, my love. It does not. They lived at my behest and will now die because of their utter stupidity. The rules of this world are simple – no one harms you. Ever. And everyone worships me.

She could hear the grin in his voice, though his face didn’t so much as twitch. Buffy took a step closer, fingers itching to touch him. The day seemed so long, yet it truly was only a few hours since he’d left her in their bed.

And we’ll talk of that later, she promised, flashing him an image of her looking over her shoulder in the mirror.

Hmm, his eyes flicked down her gown, and she knew he pictured her naked, hovering over him, cock buried deep within her. I look forward to that.

She’d opened up to him, everything she was, and now understood her choice was much more far reaching than simply that. She understood what Giles had been telling her forever now. She understood her dreams (nightmares) about the First Slayer.

She just didn’t understand what she had to do.

Let Faith go.

He didn’t move, didn’t bother to protest. He wasn’t going to. Was there anything she could say to spare her sister’s life?

No. There’s no plea you can offer that will save her.

Angelus…

She took another step closer, mind frantic to find a way. Flashes of their time in the ancient cave as they were raped and violated; of the First Slayer; of the anguish binding them…

Without her, the world will crumble.

The world will do as I say. I am the world. You know that.

Yes. Yes she did. And then she knew what she had to do. Her heart skipped a beat, frozen with realization. (Dear God, please no. I can’t do it. It nearly killed me last time. I can’t do it again.)

God was suspiciously silent. Buffy felt tears in her eyes, saw and felt Angelus’ anger and helplessness.

You finally understand, then. He still hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. It’s all about the balance.

(Was she now the only slayer to ever truly fail the world?)

(Her heart breaking, and Angelus could smell the hopelessness on her and the fear and the despair and the aching love that she could never quite figure out if it belonged to Angel or Angelus, soul or demon.)

(She knew what she had to do and was determined to let nothing stop her…Except she was too late.)

But…but if you know this, why…?

Confused, she flicked her gaze from him to Faith who hadn’t moved. No one in the room had.

It’s about your choice. What you chose.

I…but I can’t…no.

This time she was firm. She wasn’t going to play by their rules any longer.

I don’t have to choose again. I know what my choice was and what I want.

And what is that?

(Freedom. Balance. Security. Earth. Home. Peace. Sleep. Life.)

You. But I won’t let you kill Faith. Another Slayer will be called and this’ll start all over again. You’re right. Balance is important in life or this life at least. But can you provide that balance?

Lover, I can do whatever I want.

With that, he tossed Faith against the wall, anger still seething through him. Buffy stayed where she was, but heard as much as felt the collective sigh of movement from the rest at something finally happening.

He’d let Faith live, not for Faith’s sake, nearly for Buffy’s, but for the world’s. Almost the world’s, there was probably more her than the world, but once again he used this to his advantage.

She fought back, doing her best to attack but only defended her life. Her two human friends attempted to help, but Buffy refused to allow them to be killed, too. There was a connection between the three she almost envied. It reminded her of her past with Willow and Xander, and she hoped Faith could, in the end, count on those two more than she’d been able to.

Angelus was furious. His rage was an abyss unfathomable, deeper than almost his need for her. Buffy had no doubt abating this anger, this fear, would take a long time.

Faith slid past her, gasping for breath now, bloodied, bruised, cracked, but not dead. Buffy watched, but did not help. Then suddenly Angelus was before the other humans.

“You live at my behest. I rule this world. Never forget that. Find the next Slayer before I do.”

And then they were gone. Back home, Spike and Drusilla in their rooms, those few demons Angelus had taken with him at their various posts, and the two of them facing off on the balcony.

Buffy didn’t worry about being overheard, overseen, or even noticed. Powers she feared since their inception coursed through her and she reveled in them. Wanted them. More powerful than even before, she could do anything. (Nearly anything.)

And right now, before she beat Angelus to a pulp for the tattoo on her back, before she forced him to remove it since she’d so far been unsuccessful, before they argued and fought, she needed him.

Already wet for him, Buffy was glad she (again) wasn’t wearing any panties.

With one thought, she stripped, leapt at Angelus, and wrapped her legs around him. She could feel his hard cock against her, and wanted more. Always more.

“Don’t think we’re finished,” she warned.

Then he was naked, too. The hard stone rail was against her back as he leaned over her, his eyes that intoxicating swirl of colors and feelings. With one thrust, he was within her, pounding against her in uneven movements.

And that, more than anything else, showed her how much he truly did feel.

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