The Beginning of the End

Buffy crouched soundlessly amidst the crushed silk and heavy brocade and intently watched her vampire lover. In sleep he appeared as one taken by death but to her loving eye she saw eternity.

With hushed reverence, her slender fingers reached out and lovingly ruffled his dark hair as he slumbered. Angelus, you’re so beautiful, she acknowledged silently with near-painful euphoria. Is that what keeps me tied to your side? Or is it the sweet memories of our first life mixing with the ones we share now?

Buffy didn’t know and found she no longer cared---quite as much.

Angel.

In an infinite moment between worlds, she remembered what this creature beneath her hand had been like. From the first wary moments in a dank alley to the never-forgotten experience of ultimate love, the memories all passed through her soul.

Not surprisingly, a small smile of regret darkened her features.

Another time, another place. I’m not that same girl anymore. I’m not that innocent. I don’t even think Angel would even recognize me. But Angelus…Angelus does.

The soft strands of dark hair brushed across her skin, causing a subdued source of pleasure to hum through her body. It was lust, yes, always lust---but it was also something more. As Buffy sat there in silent watch she once more felt the quiver of shock that never failed to completely leave her these days.

He sleeps. Even with me playing with his hair, he’s sleeping. A tiny bubble of mirth tickled her throat, but the Slayer dutifully pushed it down. It wouldn’t do to disturb his sleep, especially since this one was apparently without the presence of nightmares.

What bothers him? What makes Angelus so desperate when he wakes? Is it the memories? Something else? Melancholy dampened the light in Buffy’s eyes as she noted that despite their growing closeness, Angelus did not see her as someone he would confide in. Ever. All previous attempts to get him to open up had proved humiliating and painful.

“I just---”

“You just what?”

“I just want to know if I can help, that’s all.”

“Why the FUCK would I EVER need your help?”

“Damnit! I’m asking because I love you! I’m trying to help you because I love you!”

“Oh, isn’t this just SO peachy? Truly, Buff. Is this the part where I break down and talk to you about my feelings? I’m not Angel, you bitch.”

“I didn’t say you were! Argh! Why do I even bother?”

“Exactly. If you want to help, then help by doing the one thing you know how to do---on your back that is.”

Determined to banish any creeping sadness over that sickeningly shameful memory, Buffy whispered defiantly to herself, “But he still sleeps with me. He doesn’t leave or push me out of bed to go. After we finish…finish…doing it…he stays with me. He sleeps.”

Without being told directly, she knew that Angelus never slept with women. He fucked them, he played with them, but he never slept with them. Yet with Buffy, the volatile vampire found rest.

And that fact alone gave her hope that somehow, someday, things between them would be different.

I’m so pathetic and I know it. Sometimes I get so sick of me. If anyone knew I was like this…I wouldn’t be able to take it. I’d probably crack. Stilling her hand’s stroking movements, Buffy chanced leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his temple.

Things are going to get better, she swore with an edge of desperation while keeping her lips against his cool skin. I know they are because he knows me in a way I never thought was possible. He can read my moods perfectly. When I cry he knows how to take the tears away---even if he’s the one causing them.

Pulling back silently, Buffy bit her lip as the direction of her thoughts took a sadder turn. But even so, Angel would never purposely make me cry, would he? Her hazel gaze blindly stared at the luxurious bed curtains surrounding the bed. The question kept repeating itself as the familiar layers of guilt and faithlessness came back to overwhelm Buffy.

With a shake of her head, she willed the tears away. I made my choice that night. I could’ve kicked him off the roof and then saved my friends. I chose not to and this is where I am.

Compelled to touch the sleeping vampire, Buffy placed her hands on his bare arms and once more began a soothing rhythm. As the minutes melted away, memories of her first night with Angelus came rushing to her in a silken torrent of painful passion and hatred.

“Look, I'm giving you the opportunity to be a hero. Their lives in exchange for me in your bed whenever I want."

“This is the last time that I’ll be kept from you. You’re mine now lover. Always.”

“Ssh, baby...I won’t hurt you.”

“One of the first things of torture you learn is how to heal the body---so you can break it again.”

“I want you naked and willing in that bed, do you understand me? If you act the martyr tonight, the deal is off---got it? If you try to fake it in any way, consider them gone!”

“There is no Angel here lover. Only me, Angelus. The only name I want to hear pass those lovely lips of yours is mine. If you say his name...you’ll regret it.”

“You fucking whore! I told you not to call me by his name!”

“Say my name Slayer...Say it!”

“There’s nothing wrong with fucking, Buff. What we do will always be fucking---pure, animalistic fucking.

“Over time you’ll love the pain I give you as much as the pleasure.”

“Do you love my cock, Buff?”

“I don’t share and I expect complete faithfulness from you. In mind, heart, and body.”

“What do you think Angel would think about his precious and pure love getting on her knees and giving me a blow-job? Do you think he’d still honor you?”

“I wonder if a particular angel is weeping now.”

“Angel made me what I am. His disillusionment, his vengeance, his hatred towards the fairer sex, filled me. I took what I was given and made it my own. His betrayal became my creed. All the death and destruction I have visited upon womankind has been because of Angel's final hatred. HE fed it to me.”

Angel, do you know what I’ve been doing? Do you see me even now? Do you know that I still love you…and that I love him? A small trickle of tears seeped from her eyes. They were brushed away quickly before Angelus could awaken at the salty smell of them. You’re gone, but he’s here and I love him. Forgive me.

Although the guilt of turning to his godless twin would never leave, Buffy was willing to carry it in her heart. As long as she had this man, this soulless version of living flesh, she was willing to bear the sins of the world for Angelus’ touch.

Leaning down to kiss his perfect jaw, Buffy caught the musky scent of their passion. Having already washed off the remnants of their night together, she regretted the fact that she couldn’t stay to continue. However, today was a day that she couldn’t push off her responsibilities.

After all, how many people could say they not only knew the date of their death, but also were able to miraculously sidestep it? That was reason enough to party. At least the way a Slayer knew how---by doubling the slaying efforts for the night.

“I never told you,” she whispered. “I almost did, but you didn’t want to hear it.” A solemn smile crossed her pale lips as her hand reverently brushed back his hair. “If I died today I would’ve been happy---happy as I could be---after last night.”

The warm gold around her trim waist suddenly shifted and numerous sapphires pressed into her skin. Buffy’s hand unconsciously reached past her waistband to feel the comforting reminder of Angelus’ possession.

Even though he had given her many gifts throughout their time together, these chains were her favorite.

Looking down, Buffy caught sight of the neatly folded collar and chain. A tiny smile warmed her face as she remembered how Angelus had arrogantly attached them to her neck last night before settling down to sleep. The sane and rational part of her knew she should be repulsed by the message, but she wasn’t. Despite the many incomprehensible layers that lay between herself and Angelus, she understood this and accepted what it symbolized to them both.

You are mine and I am yours.

Buffy laid down the precious tools of submission on the pillow next to his head. Leaning forward she gently brushed her lips against his. Angelus’ lips remained cool and hard as he lay locked in vampiric slumber.

“I’ll see you tonight.” The softly spoken words went unanswered. With another kiss, Buffy placed the collar on her vacant pillow, confident Angelus would understand her message: “I am yours and you are mine.”

“I love you.”

She slid off the bed and padded out of the room. A sense of foreboding quietly seized her soul, making Buffy freeze in mid-step. The urge to run back to Angelus’ bed nearly undid her.

What is this feeling inside of me? Why am I terrified that I’ll never see him again? Why do I feel as if I’ll never be here again? No like this anyway.

Her throat dry and her stomach trembling, Buffy whispered, “Why do I feel as if forever is gone?”

The room remained eerily silent with only the sounds of her erratic breathing left to echo in her ears. Losing Angel almost destroyed me. If I lost Angelus, it would kill me. I know it would.

Poised between instinct and logic, Buffy finally turned around and slowly walked out of the room. I’m just feeling blue because of my memories, that’s all. Somewhat comforted by her thoughts, she left the decadent lair of her vampire.

However, the beautiful beginnings of the morning left a taste like ashes rotting in her mouth.

********

The gentle murmur of running water alternately competed with the sound of a toothbrush scraping continuously against teeth. Its job was a thankless one, often seen as an unpleasant chore by children and a monotonous one by adults.

But if it didn’t exist, then the cavern we carry around in our heads would deteriorate into putrid blackness.

Just like me.

Cynthia turned on the faucet and held her hand beneath the water. Quickly lifting it to her mouth, she dutifully swished before spitting out the foamy liquid. With efficient movements, the dark-haired girl turned off the faucet and set her toothbrush down before picking up a hand towel. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Cynthia paused in mid-motion.

She saw the faint smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes and the tight set of her mouth. Her dusky skin had a sickly yellow pallor beneath it, making her look sallow and weak. There was no doubt that the last few weeks were really beginning to wear her down. However, it wasn’t the continuous surveillance that had dimmed her energy and spirit.

Before she could chase the thought away it whispered, Am I really doing the right thing?

Putting the towel down with careful movements, Cynthia dropped her gaze to the bright blue toothbrush on the white porcelain surface. There’s right and then there’s wrong. What’s happening here is wrong. No matter how ugly the job may get, I’m like that toothbrush. It’s up to me to clean away the filth. Now is NOT the time to have doubts.

Although not entirely reassured, Cynthia forced herself to feel secure enough to calmly think ahead to tonight’s mission. There was so much that could go wrong, but there was no other way.

Because tonight was going to be the one to finish it all.

Finished with her morning absolutions, she exited the bathroom and walked to her bedroom on near-silent feet. Her dark clothes were already laid out next to the small, dingy photo album. Slipping on the long skirt and matching bulky shirt, she knew she looked harmless enough to perhaps notice, but not nearly enough to warrant a second glance.

Her ebony locks were already in their familiar ponytail, so all that was left was for Cynthia to slip on her sandals. Without hesitation she picked up the album and strode out the door. Her book bag waited for her in the living room, wordlessly reminding her that it wasn’t going to be there ever again.

Although she knew anonymous eyes were watching, Cynthia took a long look at the place where she had just spent over three months of her life being Cynthia DeVarrez. While she wouldn’t pretend that she had been happy in Sunnydale, there was a twisted sense of longing in her that couldn’t be denied. Her face remained neutral, but inside she wryly smiled. If things had gone differently, I still would’ve been here. Maybe that’s why I care a little more than I should.

The apartment windows smiled at her, the pure morning light washing the cozy living room with natural sweetness, as if it agreed with her sentiments.

Picking up her book bag, Cynthia glanced over at the spot where her fish were swimming in ignorant bliss. After a brief moment, she turned away firmly. The hand holding the album clenched slightly before relaxing.

It’ll soon be over. Then I can move on.

The ever-present cell phone rang, drawing Cynthia’s immediate alertness. Don’t tell me I’m going to get disciplined for being human, she angrily thought before reproaching herself. You SHOULD get disciplined. Weaknesses are not allowed here. Especially tonight.

Her full lips lifted into an indecipherable smile. Quickly answering the phone with a calm greeting, she patiently waited for her caller to leave a cryptic, useless piece of information---useless to prying ears anyway.

Instead, the operative heard, “Hey, Cynthia! We on tonight for sure?”

Easily switching gears, she promised with adolescent confidence, “Absolutely.”

The feminine squeal on the other end was in direct odds to the gloomy exterior the caller usually presented to the small town of Sunnydale. “Shit!” the voice laughed out. “I can’t believe this is going to happen! It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“I told you I’d come through,” she reminded with practiced smugness which came off as natural.

“Shit, I didn’t believe it. I mean, I BELIEVE, but…” The words trailed off uncomfortably before joy crept back. “If I die after tonight, I’ll die happy.”

With one hand on the door handle, Cynthia felt her shoulders tense minutely. Duty. Right. Wrong. Sacrifice. They weren’t just words to her. They meant something. They always did. They always would---no matter who got hurt. And why?

Because the greater good always demanded a price.

“It’s going to be so FUCKING on!”

Yes, it is, Cynthia thought coldly, already slipping on the mask that had allowed her to survive for so many years. “Is everyone in?” she asked while unlocking the door.

“Hell, yeah!”

“Cool.” A hint of guilt wracked the dark-haired girl’s conscience once more before disappearing. “We’ll talk about it later, alright?”

“No prob.”

“You ditching school today?”

“Maybe.” The girl’s voice crackled with predictable satellite interference. “How about you?”

“You know me. I need the grades.”

“I hear ya.” An excited sigh drifted across the static.

Sickened with her private knowledge, Cynthia curtly stated, “I gotta go,” easily forestalling more cries of glee.

“See ya, Cyn.”

“See ya, Brianne.” With a flick of her thumb, she ended the call. Standing unnaturally still, she thought, Cyn. You shouldn’t have called me that. Cynthia’s piercing eyes instantly became clouded with pain, for she carried the burden of memories without surcease. No one calls me that anymore.

The sharp wound of hunger and the fading dreams of achievement merged with the remembrance of unconditional love. The ghostly giggles of two little girls haunted Cynthia’s conscience while the incomparable touch of a mother’s kiss burned hotly behind her eyes.

No one calls me that now. No one but Simon.

Remembering the vampire’s stand on tonight strengthened her faltering resolve. I can’t think about you. A disinterested expression slid across her face, leaving beautiful stillness behind.

However, her bloody, beating, mournful heart wept. Sometimes duty had a way of strangling all that fueled its purpose.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Liar! Go ahead---suck me dry! I don’t care! I hope I taste bad and I hope you get sick!”

“I don’t drink from little girls, Nina. Speaking of little girls, what are you doing out here hunting vampires? You look like you’re only eight or nine. You should be at home!”

Even though she thought she was facing Death himself in that glass-strewn field, Cynthia hadn’t been able to completely dismiss Simon’s gentle cerulean gaze. And the years had done nothing to mar the beautiful peace found within. But the gentle vampire who carried a little assassin to her crime-ridden neighborhood without using his preternatural speed in order to keep her calm---because he could smell her tears---belonged to another life.

The wound was still filled with rotting pain. You betrayed me, Simon. Cynthia didn’t want to remember that night. She didn’t want to hear the screams that had tore from her throat as he walked away, leaving her alone with blood and guilt.

Cynthia refused to hear them.

Life changes. Humans change. But you don’t, Simon. And in the end, neither will I.

Drawing strength from the album in her hand, Cynthia neatly shelved her rogue feelings for the Ancient. And this is why we’ll always stand on opposite sides. But I agree with you, Simon: it IS time to bring balance back to this town. So if you get in my way, I WILL dust you.

Without a backwards glance, Cynthia Santiana left the sterile remains of her life as Cynthia DeVarrez behind.

********

Rupert Giles begrudgingly knotted his tie. Although his smooth hands moved with the same precision they always had, inside he could feel an invisible trembling threatening to destroy his perfect composure.

Change. Hmm.

Life had changed so much in the past three months. So many tragedies interspersed with markers bespeaking of duty laced the fabric which bound their small secret society together. Bitter failure had become the familiar taste in Giles’ throat, along with questions of self-worth.

Yet through it all, the children had remained strong. Most of all, his Slayer not only held her purpose, she had embraced it. Enough so that she had entered another level of divine protection.

In spite of, or maybe because of, her broken heart.

Buffy’s love for Angel and her loathing for the depraved beast wearing his body has transformed her into a near-perfect Slayer, the Watcher thought with pride. Her determination and dedication to all aspects of her calling was nothing short of miraculous. Most people who had experienced her loss would not have been able to leave their beds. However, Buffy had not faltered once.

A tiny frown creased the space between his brows. She hadn’t, had she? No. He shook his head and continued with his thoughts. Even though she had taken more and more trips to LA to see her father, well, how could Giles fault her that time? After all, peace ruled the darkest corners of night, even when Buffy was gone. So while alarming at first, the drop in vampire activity eventually became a soothing reminder over how feared his Slayer was by the enemy.

Buffy. I couldn’t ask for a better girl.

Glancing down at his watch, Giles noted he only had a few minutes left. Time. Something so intangible, so fragile, holds us all in its phantom grasp, he thought with typical maudlin sentiment. His musings slid away as a new one replaced it. A small, triumphant smile stared back at him as he gazed into the mirror. But not today.

Today was supposed to be the day of death for his remarkable Slayer…but not anymore.

“Rupert?” Jenny poked her head into the bathroom. “We’re going to be late for school. C’mon.”

“Mmm, of course.” Another smile touched the Watcher’s lips as he remembered exactly why he was not in his bathroom, but hers. An uncharacteristically wicked glint flashed in his eyes. An image of Jenny sprawled beneath him in passion caused his trousers to suddenly become uncomfortably tight.

The dark-haired gypsy appeared again. “You coming or what, Rupert?” Her gaze pointedly dropped down before roving back up. “Let me rephrase that: are we going to be responsible adults or are we going to play, umm, hooky?”

Giles met her playfully lusty expression without hesitation. “Adults first, Love. Afterwards…” His words trailed off, saying everything by saying nothing.

“Gotcha.” Looking over her shoulder, Jenny murmured, “I’d be disappointed in you otherwise…Love.”

The Watcher smiled once more before taking a last glance at himself in the mirror. Perfect. Everything about his appearance was perfectly British and comfortably staid. Just like his life.

Just like today.

********

Perfect. My life was perfect. Until I met you.

Cordelia impatiently tapped her perfect nails against the leather-wrapped steering wheel as she waited for a certain IMPERFECT someone. Fixing her chocolate gaze on the shabby front porch, she narrowed her eyes, silently commanding him to appear…now!

Nothing.

She let out a sigh of disappointment. It didn’t work. Several months ago Cordelia would not have been there, too embarrassed to show the world her dirty interest. Several weeks she would’ve laid on the horn, shrieking her demand of “Hurry up before anyone sees me!” Now, she merely sat in the car and waited, knowing HE seemed to have a personal loathing against punctuality.

Smoothing out the non-existent wrinkle in her mauve skirt, warmed by the morning light, Cordelia Chase thought of perfect worlds and imperfect lives. Everything was so much easier, so much safer… Her wistful thoughts abruptly ended as she caught sight of a discarded gum wrapper wedged underneath the floor mat. Making sure the car was in park, Cordelia leaned down and plucked the offending piece of paper and held it between forefinger and thumb in disbelief. Without another pause she continued her previous thoughts.

And so much CLEANER! She crumbled the insulting paper into a tiny ball and stuffed it into the car’s empty ashtray. Cordelia’s fingers resumed their tapping, but her mind wasn’t nearly as frantic. But I love you anyway, Xander Harris.

Mentally counting off all his many, many, MANY flaws, she could hardly fathom how a twisted thrill had evolved to something more. You’re skinny, dorky, sarcastic, mean when you’re sarcastic, messy, unfashionable---I mean you wouldn’t know Versace from a bagel--- Cordelia’s silent condemnation abruptly ran out of steam as she caught sight of him at the door. Xander lifted his arm in greeting as he poked his head back into the house to yell something unintelligible.

A reluctant smile touched the berry-colored lips. With a sigh she continued. You’re loyal, thoughtful, sincere, brave---you’re not afraid of what people think and you’d rather be alone than conform to what they believe. And I’m not that brave. But the more I’m with you, the braver I get. And I have NEVER felt that before.

Waiting for him to open the door and throw his bag in the back, Cordelia sniped in her usual fashion. “That’s fine. Don’t care about how long I’ve been sitting out here. I’m just some chauffeur who picks you up for school.”

Xander leaned over and gave her a kiss that left her breathless from its sweetness. “Good morning, Cordy,” he murmured as he pulled back.

“Morning,” she managed to return as she leaned into the hand caressing her cheek. You don’t care about my clothes, my money, or my popularity. You care about ME---not what I can give you.

Cordelia exposed her vulnerability by suddenly asking, “You love me, right?”

Xander’s dark eyes softened with sincerity. “I love you, Cordy.” His hand found hers and enfolded it tenderly.

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“I’d never lie about that.”

Satisfied, she slid on her regal pride like a treasured fur. “Better not.” Putting the car in drive, she quickly sped down the street. As the morning light grew brighter, Cordelia Chase gave one last thought to perfection.

I can proudly wear my hair without split-ends. My clothes can be the best. My car can be better than Harmony’s. Everything in my life can be beautiful, but without love it isn’t perfect. And the thing is, love ISN’T perfect. I can’t understand why I love you, Xander, but I do. And because I know I love you, I’m free. I don’t have to hide anymore, I don’t have to lie anymore.

Glancing over at the young man bobbing his head to a beat only he could hear, Cordelia smiled. I don’t have to lie anymore.

********

Buffy’s been lying. All this time she’s been lying.

The secret he unwillingly held had been eating away at his gut since last night, making Oz want to crush the lock beneath his hand. Willow chirped cheerily, as was her habit, about the day ahead, oblivious to the rage steadily growing inside of him.

“Do you think it’d be wrong to throw a party?”

She lied to my face. When I asked her about Angelus, she LIED to me! Sleeping with Angel’s coat---shit! Why was I so gullible?

“Oz?”

Because I wanted to believe Buffy, that’s why! Remembering the awkward scene with Buffy’s mother the night before, Oz still felt the numbing shock travel all the way down to his toes. Her house REEKED of them both. I could smell their sex all over the room, especially the couch. And what I didn’t smell was rape. It…she…was willing!

“Did you hear me?”

What am I supposed to do now? Go to her and say “Buffy. So you into demons now, huh? Cool.” Damnit! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do! Maybe I should tell Willow.

The firm shake on his arm tore Oz away from his confused thoughts. “I don’t think it’d be wrong,” he answered.

Willow blinked several times before finally asking, “What?”

Putting his arm around her, Oz led them towards the stairs. “The party. It wouldn’t be wrong.”

A happy grin brightened her pretty face. “Ooh, I’m so glad you think so.” A little trill of nervous laughter colored the air between them. “I thought maybe it’d be, you know, a little morbid.”

I can’t tell Willow. She’d be totally crushed and I don’t think it’d be because of Angelus. Okay, some, but more because Buffy didn’t trust her enough to share. Easily maneuvering his way up the stairs while shielding his girlfriend’s body from the crush, Oz found himself thrust back into limbo.

How is it any of my business to begin with? Anyway, I hardly knew Angel… His thoughts immediately ground to a halt. Bullshit. I didn’t know him long, but he was the only one who helped me through all this…shit. My enemy helped me.

“Maybe it should be a surprise. What do you think?”

“Definitely.” Maybe she has a reason for what she’s doing. I mean, why is Angelus off limits to her? He’s supposed to be her enemy, but enemies didn’t mean anything to Angel. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to Angelus either.

Self-doubt plagued Willow’s voice. “Are you sure?”

Reaching the second floor, Oz looked over and asked, “Yeah. Why?” Oh, hell. That sounds lame even for me. Angelus is all about vengeance and brutality. Angel loved Buffy. That should be enough to make him want to butcher her. So why hasn’t he? Why has he been in her house? Why is sleeping with her? And why his is scent on her Mom?

“Maybe Buffy doesn’t like surprises.”

What should I do? Oz pulled Willow closer and brushed a kiss across her temple. “Don’t be silly. Everyone loves surprises.” Taking advantage of the moment to take in her pleasant scent, the werewolf immediately felt a sense of calm descend. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Not even to Buffy. Not until I figure out how I should get involved, even IF I should get involved.

“Think so?” She snuggled closer against him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think so.” His words were meant to be more than an answer to Willow.

“Goody!” Coming to a stop in front of her class, she gave Oz a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.” She turned away before abruptly spinning back. “Oh, and it’s going to be a surprise, so don’t say anything to her, okay?”

Oz’s crystalline gaze lightened with humor. “I know, Will.”

Willow’s cheeks flushed pinkly as she let out a small laugh and ducked her head. “Sorry. I forgot. I guess I’m just wound up because of today.”

“Gotcha.” Feeling at peace with his decision, Oz noticed his girlfriend’s eyes seemed slightly troubled. “Don’t worry, Willow. It’ll be fine.”

********

“It’ll be fine.”

The words stayed with Willow all throughout class.

“It’ll be fine.”

They were with her when she got back another perfect test.

“It’ll be fine.”

They were with her when she finally met up with Buffy and gently scolded her for ducking out.

“It’ll be fine.”

They were with her when she accepted her friend’s apology of why she couldn’t meet up with them last night. “I tried to tell you that I was really tired and wanted a nap, but you hung up. Sorry, Will. Sorry, Oz. I really was asleep by the time you got there. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but before I knew it---I was out. Forgive me?”

“It’ll be fine.”

They were with her long after she and Oz watched Buffy walk away.

“It’ll be fine.”

The problem was that it wasn’t going to be fine because Willow knew something WAS NOT fine.

Even though she hadn’t said much about it to Oz the night before, Willow sensed something just wasn’t right in the air at Buffy’s house. The knowledge was like a sly tickle in the back of her mind. The more she picked at it, the more it itched.

But Willow couldn’t figure out exactly what it was and why she was so bothered. Maybe it’s how the house felt. Cold and quiet, almost dead. Even now, as she remembered the aura of subdued darkness hanging in the atmosphere, she felt an eerie sense of foreboding hit her.

Blindly staring down at the book in her hand, Willow’s pale brow wrinkled in distress as she recalled how strange Buffy’s mother had looked. Her eyes had been bright, almost feverish, and she had seemed so upbeat as she told them that Buffy couldn’t receive any visitors because she wasn’t feeling well.

She didn’t say that Buffy was asleep. She had said she wasn’t feeling well. Why? It could be she just thought that, but I don’t know…

It was just strange.

Oz’s behavior only added to her gut feelings of wrongness. As soon as we walked in, his face went chalky. He looked so sick and even though I asked him about it, he wouldn’t tell me. He just kept saying he was fine. That everything was fine. And then today…

“It’ll be fine.”

Oz still seemed removed and troubled. And although she appeared oblivious to it, Willow knew that what was bothering him was the same thing that bothered her. Something’s wrong and it’s not fine.

A few seconds passed as she began chewing on her lip. Maybe I’m just being sensitive. I should just stick with balloons and party hats. Willow blew out a small rush of air. Or maybe not.

However much she verbally focused on throwing a surprise party, she knew she was just trying to make things normal. Well, as normal as Sunnydale could be. However, inside Willow just wanted to find someone, ANYONE, who would tell her she was just being silly. All she wanted was to pretend that everything was okay, especially today.

The bell rang and she dutifully wrote down that night’s assignment. Packing up all her things, Willow made her way through the student population and into the hallway. Her thoughts were still troubled, even as she saw Xander and Cordelia.

Suddenly a horribly dark premonition seized her mind.

What if what we’re feeling is because we’re wrong about today? What if Acrymydion never stopped being a threat?

The thought inspired a silent scream inside of Willow’s body. Determination carved lines into her brow and tugged the corners of her pink mouth. Giles and Ms. Calendar couldn’t be wrong. Their sources had been checked and triple-checked. No new information had come down the pipes. Buffy was safe today, as far as she could be.

“It’ll be fine.”

Meeting up with the squabbling pair, Willow shared her enthusiasm for a surprise party that night for Buffy. She registered their words of “Outstanding idea, Will!” and “How tacky! Even for you, Willow,” with her normal, cheerful disposition.

We’re not wrong. We’ve never been wrong. Not about stuff like this. I don’t know what happened last night, but it’ll be okay. It’ll fine. It has to be.

A peaceful smile lifted Willow’s lips. “It’ll be fine, Cordelia,” she murmured soothingly. “Buffy’s going to love it. After all, who doesn’t like surprises?”

********

Xander impatiently tapped his pencil against his leg. It was no surprise to know that he was a simple man. He knew this. He wasn’t the kind of guy that went looking for trouble. He wasn’t the kind of dope who wanted to solve life’s never-answered questions.

To be honest, he was a man who enjoyed the finesse of self-imposed stupidity.

His eyes kept drifting towards Cynthia and Brianne. Both girls were slouched in their chairs, their posture even worse than his---as if that were possible---the expressions on their face always cool and disdainful.

Lifting his hand, Xander brought the pencil up to his mouth and began chewing on the soft wood. The action soothed his inner agitation. Sliding his gaze back towards the twin forms of black, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was wrong.

Come on! Quit looking for problems that aren’t there! he sternly warned himself. Think about Cordy---her soft brown eyes, her softer brown hair, her even softer brown nipples. An irreverent grin touched his lips as his mood was instantly restored---along with something else. Shifting in his chair, Xander slipped a hand down his pocket and discreetly rearranged himself.

Satisfied, he glanced up casually and was ensnared by a pair of coal-black eyes. Cynthia’s gaze only lasted a few seconds, but when she finally released him, Xander felt his heart begin thudding to an insane rhythm inside his chest.

Raw crimson burst in his cheeks and forehead. Looking down at his desk, he knew she knew EXACTLY what he had been doing. A flare of amusement had curled for a moment in her obsidian eyes before being replaced by something else.

Pity.

The title on Xander’s closed book swirled into nonsensical shapes. What was that look for? Braving another glance at Cynthia, he noted her profile. Her expression was remote once more, closed off to the world. Xander turned his gaze back to the teacher and filtered in her words. He may be a man who reveled in self-imposed stupidity, but when the time called for it, he had an uncanny knack for seeing what no one else could.

Xander watched as the corner of her mouth sank beneath an invisible weight. And she’s tight. She’s wound up, waiting for something.

Xander took a deep breath and let it out quietly. What is it? His mind busily sped through everything he knew about Cynthia in the past months she had been at Sunnydale High---only to come up embarrassingly low.

While she made it a point to have contact with him, the times were few and far between. The days when Xander speculated that she might have a crush on him were long gone. Which left him where?

The droning noise that could only be produced in an academic environment continued in the background. Glancing up, Xander saw the date written in chalk above their day’s agenda. Acry-Dork was supposed to have his day. He took a deep breath and expelled it out rather noisily.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harris, but am I boring you that badly?”

“Huh?” Immediately straightening up in his chair, his dark gaze swept the room to see every eye trained on him in voyeuristic humor. A sheepish grin stretched Xander’s lips as his fingers began to fiddle with his well-chewed pencil. “No, Mrs. Cary. I just---”

“You just what?” The literature teacher’s voice was even, although the smallest hint of a smile played about the corner of her bare mouth. While there was no malice in her expression, Mrs. Cary was clearly enjoying her pupil’s discomfort.

Feeling the pricks of his classmates interested gazes like a battery of fork jabs, Xander abandoned the path of cleverness and spoke from his heart. “Mrs. Cary---I’m a simple man. Sometimes I have simple thoughts. My simple thoughts can pass themselves off as boredom. It’s just not true. I’m just a…simple man.” Why am I looking for problems that don’t exist? Xander nodded his head once and waited for the volley that was sure to plow its way through the coarse chuckles of his equally simple-minded, minus one, classmates.

“Mr. Harris?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cary?”

“That may have been the wisest thing you’ve ever said.”

Amidst the groans and good-natured laughs, Xander felt his psyche come to peace. Cynthia was just a girl with her own deal. He was just a guy who wanted to walk the road of least resistance. And for one night he wanted to not think about other people’s problems. Not tonight.

Just think of how hard we’re going to party.

Even though his stern, silent musings left a smear of uneasy peace, Xander leaned back and felt his mouth quirk up in a grin. He refused to look at Cynthia. He refused to let out another sigh. He refused to think about anything other than his simple thoughts.

********

“My life should’ve been simple, Miss Edith. It should’ve been happy. It should’ve been over.”

Druscilla sat perched on the edge of her dainty, damask chair. Her cherished porcelain doll held its place of honor across, the faded inky eyes still managing to hold its audience’s stare.

Miss Edith saw all. She saw that which should never be spoken. She saw that which could never be forgotten. She saw that which would never be understood.

A slim white hand reached out and gently grasped a silver handle. Lifting the full pitcher with easy effort, Druscilla poured Miss Edith a cup of tea first before filling her own. After spooning the appropriate amounts of sugar, the vampiress took a sip of the native brew and smiled.

“It’s not as strong as it used to be,” Druscilla sighed in delight. “But I can still taste it, Miss Edith.” Setting her delicate cup down on the pretty matching saucer, the petite vampiress waited patiently for her cherished guest to do the same. Only after their thirst was appeased did Druscilla begin.

“Do you remember how I wanted to marry a good, strong farmer?” She leaned over the table in a conspiratorial fashion. “I actually hoped to set my cap on one who herded sheep,” she whispered with a little smile. Pulling away, the pale beauty let out a tiny sigh. “I wanted to have little babies of my own.”

A distant scream of terror rent the air, making Druscilla’s eyes waver with maniacal glee and human disgust. “I wanted a little boy and two little girls. I would’ve been a good mum, Miss Edith. I know I would have.” The rustle of satin helped drown out the demonic laughter filtering through the factory only slightly. “But then Daddy came.”

Miss Edith leaned forward minutely, her charcoal stare intently holding that of her mistress.

Druscilla, unable to meet her beloved confidant’s gaze, looked down at her clasped hands. “He said I was bad. When all my family lay there bloody and cold, Daddy said it was because of me. He said it was my fault that they couldn’t see me anymore, that they couldn’t hear me. He said it was because I saw bad things that I became his. Because of Daddy all my dreams of sheep and babies died.”

The screams ended abruptly, even though the laughter continued.

“And then I died.”

Druscilla’s fist twitched before becoming still. “I’m insane, Miss Edith. I know I am. I was crazy long before…Daddy…Angelus…came to me in that church. I was never going to marry anybody, much less a sheep farmer. I was never going to have babies, not any born on the right side of the blanket.”

Several minutes of tense silence slid by. Druscilla lifted her head and caught Miss Edith’s questioning stare. “Why? You know why. The whole village knew about my sight.” A shadow of pained anger crossed her brow before disappearing. “They whispered about it loudly enough.” The vampiress reached out and lifted her cup, sipping the dark liquid delicately. “They were scared of me. Even after all these years, they’re still scared of me.”

Druscilla looked over her shoulder. The enormous antique bookcase practically groaned beneath the weight of hundreds of porcelain dolls. Their blank eyes flickered with life before settling down to a familiar dead stare.

“Even you too, Miss Edith.”

The treasured doll slipped slightly, the muffled sounds of muslin sliding against wood barely making a sound.

In the distance, the echoes of demon sport were over. Only the gruff murmurs of, “Where will we bury ‘em?” and “In the back, with the others,” reached Druscilla’s tiny ears.

The slim vampiress made a “tsking” noise even as she reached across the table. “So clumsy you are, Miss Edith.” Placing the doll in a secure, up-right position, Druscilla cooed. “It’s fine, luv. I forgive you.” Her lilting voice hardened slightly. “Even if you can’t ever forgive me.” The doll’s cracked porcelain texture seemed to assume a pale pink glow before fading away.

“Forgiveness.” Druscilla’s laughter was wan in the ensuing silence. “Do you know that Angel asked me to forgive him? Not Daddy, but Angel.” She ran the tip of a well-tapered nail around the golden rim of her cup. “He asked me to forgive for making me, for bringing in someone to make you.”

She cocked her head to the side, the curls of her dark locks brushing softly against her bare arm. “Would you forgive him?”

This time the bookcase groaned, its creaking dreadful and angry.

Druscilla whipped her head about and hissed, “I WASN’T asking YOU, you detestable children. If you continue to test my patience I will lock you in the trunk again.” The sounds abruptly stopped.

Satisfied for the moment, she turned back to Miss Edith. In a soft, kind voice, she asked again, “Would you forgive Angel? Would you forgive me?”

Silence greeted the delicate vampiress.

Druscilla sniffed once before raising her head regally. “Of course you wouldn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I have everything I want. I will be queen again.” Her crystalline gaze flickered with pity. “And Daddy won’t be king anymore.”

Straightening her spine, she allowed the pity to fade. Determination made her lovely eyes hard with ambition. “I will never be his queen if he’s king. Only my Spike will grant me that honor. And tonight…tonight…this will be my court again.”

Her hands began trembling violently. The antique cup fell onto the saucer, somehow surviving without damage.

She clasped her head tightly as she bowed her shoulders. “But it hurts…oh, how it hurts! I love him, not how I love Spike, but I love him all the same. Once his little bird is gone, Daddy will never be the same. He will lose his crown, his glory, his name. His road is dark and paved with glass. It will tear at his skin, rip his knees to shreds as he crawls in penance!”

A small whimper fled from her throat. She started rocking back and forth, causing the legs of her dainty chair to squeak in protest. “There will no chance for him, Miss Edith. None. It started long ago. The moment Grandmother gave Daddy to the night, he’s been walking to this…to her!”

Druscilla suddenly stilled, all cries of distress locked in her throat. “I HATE HER! I HATE HER!” The venom in her voice seemed to bring Miss Edith closer. Sharp fangs slid across soft flesh. The vampiress slowly raised her head and locked gazes with the doll.

“You think I shouldn’t hate her, don’t you? You think I should hate Daddy.” An expression of misery glazed Druscilla’s blue orbs. “How can you blame me? How can you judge me for loving the one who hurts me…Miss Edith…Mummy…when you made me this way?”

As usual, silence was Druscilla’s only answer, just as it was a century before. With a cry of rage, she knocked everything off the table with a sweep of her hand, including the unblinking doll.

Springing up from her chair, she started pacing, the crimson folds of her dress swishing angrily as a result. “That Slayer brought this on herself. She should’ve stayed away from beautiful, evil gods. She shouldn’t have opened her cage to THIS master. He will crush her but not before she crushes him. It isn’t my fault! I only SAW it. I didn’t make it happen. Do you hear me, Miss Edith? I DIDN’T MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

Collapsing with a strangled cry, Druscilla fell onto the hard, musty floor. Her eyes remained fixed, unblinking. “I couldn’t say anything,” she whispered. “The old ones came to me. They told me I was to keep my tongue behind my teeth. My Spike knew and they knew that he knew. They said it was alright. They said it was all part of the path.”

Shifting her gaze Miss Edith, the vampiress noted their similar positions and felt remorse. “I hurt you again, didn’t I?” Druscilla finally closed her eyes and murmured, “I always hurt you. When I speak like a naughty little girl, I hurt you. When I keep quiet like a good little girl, I hurt you. Will you put me in the trunk again, Miss Edith?”

A slight rustle sounded.

“You can’t anymore.” A crafty smile lit Druscilla’s eyes with malicious glee. “Daddy made it so. He made all of you my playthings. He said it was only fair since that was all I was to you. To YOU, to all of YOU, I had no more feelings than a doll. So now I can do whatever I want to you. Daddy gave me the power.”

The smile changed to one of fierce pride.

“Daddy can do anything he wants! He can do what the rest of us can’t. Daddy is a god.” Druscilla rolled onto her back and stared at the blackened ceiling. “I won’t be a goddess, but I can be a queen. Tonight I will be a queen and my Spike will be the greatest king.”

Her laughter started as a whisper but ended in a roar.

********

Spike’s cold, hard gaze softened as he heard his princess laugh. Ah, not princess, mate. Queen. Dru will be a queen.

His quarters held not one trace of mutiny. There were no links to tie him to tonight’s plot. Only his memories and those of the Three. Arching his foot a bit, Spike grimaced as the familiar impatience dug him down. With a suppressed growl, he pointed his remote at the small television set and began flipping through the channels. The plain cotton sheets beneath did little to warm him, not even the blanket across his lap could penetrate the coldness.

Settling on a trashy talk show, Spike attempted to calm himself. His little liaison had already contacted him the night before, confirming what he already knew through Druscilla. The Prick was going to fall tonight. He and his little slut.

Still, it didn’t make the waiting easier. Cynthia’s cool words suddenly came to him.

“Spike, you’ve made it this far. Don’t burn out on the final lap.”

“I’m not a bloody child! Quit speaking to me as if I was!”

“Then stop acting like one. I know it’s hard for your kind, but attempt to use what frontal lobe you have left and think.”

“We’re all just animals to you, aren’t we peaches?”

“No. I like animals. They serve a purpose. They don’t kill and maim and torture just for the fun of it.”

“Neither do we.”

“Ah, really? So the name Spike just came about on a whim? It had nothing to do with railroad spikes being driven through the flesh of your victims?”

“You have no idea what it’s like.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to justify using superior strength as a reason to be cruel to those who are weaker.”

“Pray that you never do, sweetness. You just might find it’s not as easy as you think it is. But maybe you’ll get to find that out for yourself tomorrow night.”

“Look on your own paper, Spike. Not mine. You want Sunnydale, right? My organization is willing to give it to you. All you have to do is supply the bait.”

“Don’t I always? And you’ll supply the little doves. I thought you said you don’t hold with bullying the weak?”

“The greater good, Spike, the greater good.”

“Sure, tell yourself that. That makes you different from us, doesn’t it? It doesn’t make you as much a piece of shit as us?”

“You feel better now?”

“Actually I do.”

“Good. Just sit tight, Spike. Angelus is hanging himself tonight and all you need to do is watch.”

Cold little bird that one is. However right Cynthia might be, Spike couldn’t help but feel unmanned by the whole situation. Planting seeds of discord and subterfuge was one thing. It required subtleness and illusion. But for the final battle, Spike preferred to show his face and not hide behind a fucking wheelchair.

“Damnit!” Instead of laying in this bed, he should be on the front lines kicking ass! Clenching his jaw tightly, Spike blew dead air out of his nostrils. Another moment passed before he started chuckling. That bird was right about one thing: he WAS acting like a child.

Oh, Miss Watcher Bitch, why can’t I gut Irish before he swings?

No, he had made it this far with his hide intact. Angelus’ mounting obsession with Fluffy had given Spike enough freedom to grow a crop of rebellion. Angelus’ stupidity came through his cock, like it always did.

When the harvest came, Spike would have sickle in hand and be there to deliver one of the last killing blows.

Mood restored, the blond vampire settled his focus on the television. The ‘guests’ on stage were in the middle of screaming profanities at one another. The baseness of their actions amused Spike tremendously.

“Bloody humans. Without a firm hand over them, this is what they amount to. A pile of meat that makes noise.”

*******

Father Marion sat at his desk quietly. He stared blindly at the carpet, the sounds drifting in from the chapel doing nothing to move him. The power of sermons and the holy word could not rouse him out of the depression settling over his form. The sunlight streaming in through the stained glass created beautiful shadows on the conservative carpet he stared at with such fixation. Simple, natural beauty could not move him. Not today.

Humanity. No matter how high Man seeks to fly, in the end he’s only human. Nothing natural can change it.

How well he knew the words! They came to mock me, to prove that despite his holiness, despite his beliefs, he was no different from the ones he sought to protect---flawed and weak. The collar around Father Marion’s throat seemed to tighten. He resisted the temptation to run his finger between neck and cloth. It wouldn’t help because it was illusion. An illusion like everything in Sunnydale. An illusion like Buffy’s life.

An illusion like Father Marion.

A solitary tear rolled down his smooth, youthful cheek.

The scent of smoke and candles reached his nose.

A grimace tightened his mouth.

Father Marion would die tonight. He knew he would. In the end, he knew that it would come to that.

“Oh, Buffy. Why did you make this choice? Why couldn’t you see past your heart? Why?”

He already knew the answers. He already knew the outcome. He already what would happen.

Father Marion would die.

And so would Buffy.

And then her suffering would truly begin.

Another tear slipped down, falling to land on the cross around his neck.

********

“Buffy.” The word was drawn out in the suffering tone only a mother could make. Bending down to pick up the pieces of clothes scattered across the floor, Joyce began humming to herself. It was such a pretty day. She was tempted to take the laundry outside and let it air dry.

I haven’t done that since Buffy was a little girl, she mused to herself. A sparkle suddenly caught her eye. Going down on her knees, Joyce peered beneath the dresser. There was definitely something shiny there. She put down her messy bundle and reached out.

Feeling past a stray dust bunny, her fingers closed around the sparkly object. Joyce sat back on her legs and looked at the treasure in her hand. A hairpin. Peering closely at the jewel, Joyce realized in shock that it wasn’t paste like she assumed but a sapphire.

I’ve never seen this before. Where did she get it? Joyce quickly ran through all possibilities. It wasn’t from her or Buffy’s grandmother. Hank? No, she was pretty sure it didn’t come from him. Although she and her father appeared to be getting closer, as her recent visits to him showed, Joyce was sure that she hadn’t seen this among all the other things brought home.

A frown creased her brow as she stared down at the beautiful pin. Without realizing it, she found herself whispering, “Did a man give this to her? But who?”

Angel.

The urge to be sick hit her, causing Joyce to drop the pin. Clutching her stomach she let out a shaky laugh. Where did that come from? Of course, it wouldn’t be Angel. Why would it ever be Buffy’s tutor?

The quicker her mind danced away from Angel, the better she felt. Joyce took a deep breath and reached for the fallen pin. “Hank.” It had to be him. No one else would’ve given Buffy such an expensive gift.

Brushing the hair off her face, Joyce belatedly realized how much the suspicion of Buffy with her tutor was making her sick. Every time she contemplated a personal relationship between the two, she felt nauseous.

Although she was embarrassed to admit it, she did find Angel attractive. Very much so. Once, for a very short period of time, she thought he had an interest in her. If he had, it disappeared for he was always courteous and polite with her, but nothing more.

Joyce was fine with it. Buffy came first. It wouldn’t have ever worked anyway. Buffy would’ve hated it. Vaguely she wondered if her daughter had been jealous. A sharp pang tightened about her gut. No, of course not. Buffy isn’t like that. She’s not interested in Angel. She never talks about him and she hardly treats him like a crush. No, she treats him like a teacher.

The pain immediately receded.

Depositing the pin on Buffy’s dresser, Joyce made a mental note to call Hank in the evening. She’d tell him to make sure he let her know if he bought their daughter any more extravagant gifts. She leaned down and picked up the bundle of dirty clothes.

Angel. What was I thinking?

Angel was committed to her daughter’s success, more so than Buffy’s own father, and because of that, she would forever be in his debt.

Because of Angel’s help, Buffy’s grades had risen dramatically. Her last report card boasted of a line filled with A’s. There was no reason to think that it was a passing trend. Buffy earned those grades and would continue to do so.

Now she could look forward to going to a good college. From there it was a step to a great job, a lucky husband, and beautiful children.

Closing the door to her daughter’s room, Joyce smiled brilliantly. Buffy’s future was so bright. She could hardly wait to see how wonderful it would turn out to be.

********

“What will the future hold? What will it be?”

Simon held his fingertip on top of the quarter while his other hand kept flicking it. Satisfied with its speed, he carefully removed his hold and watched as the dull coin spun dizzily. As it slowed, the metal disk began to wobble.

“Up or down. Heads or tails. Which way will you fall?” His crystal eyes narrowed as he predicted, “Heads.” The desire to reach out and influence the outcome was strong, but Simon resisted the urge.

The coin’s descent grew slower and bigger. Finally it fell, but not before slapping the table several times and sending its echoes around the room.

“Tails.”

A crooked grin lifted the corner of Simon’s mouth. “After all these centuries, I still make a crappy gambler.” Leaning back against his chair, the enigmatic vampire calmly thought of the upcoming night’s events. The balance of the world was shifting, much like the coin did earlier, but it too would find its way.

Only there were those who were determined to force it to their will.

“Cynthia.”

An image of his darling girl appeared, her black eyes alternately alight with laughter and fury. Simon’s hand pulled open a desk drawer of its own accord. Without looking down he felt for the pictures by memory and pulled them out.

Placing them in front of him, the blond vampire sat still for several moments. A Polaroid image of a tiny pre-adolescent girl next to much larger man peered back.

It’s been eight years. A long time to be sure, but it’s only felt like a few seconds.

Simon loved this picture for many reasons, one being that it was their first. Sitting on the steps of the local library, they had both smiled for the camera, seemingly without a care in the world. The takers had been a tourist couple, new to Dallas and all its Texan delights. He and Cynthia had agreed to let the couple test their new camera, even though both had been on their way to meet with a demon informant in the library basement.

Idly he wondered if the tourists thought him her father. Maybe. After all, the Gods above could testify to how he had been her protector. I protected her, even when she didn’t want it. So why wasn’t I there when she really needed me?

Carefully moving the top picture to the side, Simon sifted through his precious stack until he was staring at a fifteen-year old Cynthia. The school photo was small, wallet-sized and typical of yearbook pictures. Stock gray background with a head and shoulders shot of the subject. The picture may have been typical, but Cynthia wasn’t.

Her purple shirt was baggy, neatly hiding the blossoming form beneath. A narrow headband held back her ebony curls and unlike other pictures of the past, her smile was dazzling.

Simon remembered their conversation from the night before her sitting so well.

“Don’t forget to smile this year.”

“Why? It really doesn’t matter. It’s just another shitty yearbook photo. They all turn out bad.”

“Cynthia…”

“Sorry, sorry. I forgot you don’t like cursing.”

“You don’t sound sorry, but never mind. I can’t stay annoyed at you when you smile at me like that.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“I do.”

“Alright then.”

“What?”

“I’ll give you a smile so big, so wide that you won’t ever be able to stay mad at me, no matter what I do. Every time you get annoyed with me, you’ll have to take my picture out and then forgive me.”

“I don’t need a picture for that, Cyn. I could never stay mad at you. And I’d ALWAYS forgive you.”

“Just remember, Simon. When I smile tomorrow, know that I’m smiling just for you.”

An image of Cynthia’s face, bandaged and bruised, came to mind. It overlaid itself across the picture in front of him with hideous determination.

The breathing tube had been obscene, but not nearly as obscene as the swelling in her tissues. Cynthia’s beautiful face had been monstrous, swollen to nearly twice its normal size. The damage to her body had been just as grotesque.

The doctors hadn’t been sure if she would ever regain consciousness and if she did, they were sure she’d have inoperable brain damage.

But Cynthia was strong. Even then she had been strong. It wasn’t until later that her strength abandoned her…

She had come out of her coma, only to find what little ragged world she had left was gone. Her mother and Carolina. Gone. Only Cynthia had been left.

Simon felt the pain behind his eyes beg for release. His cerulean orbs steadily turned to crimson as he questioned himself once again.

“I should’ve told her then how much I love her. I should’ve told her yes. I should’ve taken her with me. I should NOT have let THEM keep her. But how was I to know? How?”

“Simon, please! I love you! Don’t leave me! You’re all I have left now.”

“No, I’m not. You have---”

“NO! I don’t want that life anymore!”

“It’s what you’ve been working for all these years. It’s what you gave up your childhood for. Don’t throw that away.”

“My childhood was gone the moment I came into this fucked up world! Don’t you see, Simon? It didn’t work, Simon. Don’t you see? I didn’t work! I was rejected and now I’m only human. They don’t have use for me now.”

But the Watchers did have use for her. The helicopters and military force surrounding them both eloquently spoke for that truth.

“I love you, Simon. I don’t care if I die one day. I don’t care if you get tired of me. I don’t care if I have to share you. Just…don’t turn away from me. Take me with you. Please.”

“No.”

Simon’s grief shuddered through his lean form. Tiny ruby spots dropped onto his pale hand. Carefully to keep his precious pictures clean from his misery, Simon wiped his eyes with his other hand. The blood crept into his skin’s small crevices, staining them with the proof that he would never lose his humanity. As long as he was alive, as long as he existed, no matter what form he had, Simon would always be human.

And that was why no matter how many centuries had passed he was capable of unknowingly inflicting great harm on the one he loved.

At the time, he had thought it was best for Cynthia to be under the protection of her ancient organizations. He had wanted her to be strong. He hadn’t wanted to be the center of her world. If he had taken her, he thought she would wilt and fade away, just as how most fiercely independent people did. With no identity, no purpose other than to be with him, she would dissolve into nothingness. It would’ve become a socially acceptable form of slavery.

And he hadn’t wanted that for her!

Simon hadn’t wanted her to lose her spark, to become a shell of a person, dependant solely upon him.

Simon had wanted Cynthia to be strong, not soulless.

Raising her picture to his lips, he gave the inanimate image a gentle kiss. The memory of their last words still brought pain to his heart.

“This town is small enough that I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong Simon. We may see other, but we won’t be meeting again. Consider this a warning between old friends: if you ever come inside my apartment again, I’ll be sweeping you with the trash that same day. I promise you.”

Cynthia believed her words. She meant them. She would stake the one man, vampire she ever loved.

And that was why Simon was going to break his own rule and interfere.

Holding the treasured picture close to his breast, he whispered solemnly, “I won’t let you destroy yourself, Niña. That is the one thing I will not allow.”

********

Angelus lay still and unmoving, even though Buffy had left several hours before. An arrogant glint brightened his eyes as he amended his memory. Since I ALLOWED her to leave.

Buffy had no idea he had been awake during her entire early-morning vigilance. The urge to keep her with him had been strong, but in the end Angelus had let her go. The world was a different place than it once was. Buffy could not survive in it if she was ignorant.

Therefore school was a necessary evil.

“Ah, but it is becoming harder to allow her to go…” the dark vampire whispered as he touched the golden collar by his pillow.

The alluring, innocent scent of Buffy’s body still clung to Angelus like a second skin while the delicious taste of her stayed in his mouth.

Beneath the sheets his cock sprang up, mutely demanding the return of his mate. Reaching down with one hand, Angelus began stroking himself. It wasn’t enough, but it was still good.

Maybe I am just a fucking animal, he thought through the dancing mists of pleasure. All I want in my life is to feed, fuck, and play. There is nothing deeper than that in my non-existent soul.

Angelus rapidly brought his hand up and down, seeking release without courting, without civilized movements. It was all about lust. Within seconds he felt the familiar burn wash over him, yet his eyes remained open and his face betrayed not one bit of pleasure.

“I never told you. I almost did, but you didn’t want to hear it. If I died today I would’ve been happy---happy as I could be---after last night.”

What the hell had she meant by that? Normally, Angelus would've just demanded an answer, but something had held him back. It still held him back.

“Why do I feel as if forever is gone?”

Buffy’s melancholy words whispered in his ear, tormenting with the knowledge that he too felt the same.

“Hmph.” Rolling to his side, Angelus experienced a burst of impatience. A golden strand of hair caught his attention, easily cutting through the vampire’s self-directed anger.

Languidly reaching for it, Angelus made sport of twirling the long wisp about his finger. Buffy. No matter what he did, no matter how many others he lost himself in, it always came back to Buffy.

His bitch.

His whore.

His sun.

My sun? Angelus flung himself out of the bed and angrily stalked to past the viewing room into the bathroom. Habit caused him to stop by the pond and feed his hungry fish. Blindly staring down at the smooth, gliding bodies, Angelus remembered when he first saw Buffy here playing with his fish.

The sex afterwards had been incredible. But it paled in comparison to what they had now.

It was what Angelus wanted. He wanted Buffy to be his completely. He wanted her dependant on his every whim. He needed her to be unable to BREATHE without thinking of him.

He needed…

He needed…

He needed his space.

“You scared of a little joy, Buff?”

Angelus’ mocking words came back to haunt him. In the end, he was the one scared of joy. Last night he had been utterly happy for once in his damned existence. Perhaps it could’ve been termed perfect happiness.

“If you could, would you?”

…

“Would you?”

…

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“You know it’d be forever, don’t you?”

“Isn’t it already forever?”

“Yes, it is.”

Angelus stepped into the mammoth shower and subjected his body to a blistering spray of heat. Looking down, he noted how his skin quickly took on the appearance of life. The temptation of his thoughts slunk towards a dangerous line of thinking.

“Buffy…”

Images of his lover swollen with his child tortured Angelus. The desire to leave something of himself behind in the world mocked the vampire even as it pitied him. He could clearly see her holding an infant, one with his dark hair and her bright eyes.

Angelus could imagine the years passing, years filled with a certain kind of peace, as they raised their son together. He could even picture the home he would buy for them. Home? No, more like palace. Only a palace would be worthy for the mother of his child and heir.

Leaning his head against the marbled wall, Angelus commanded his mind to cease its useless journey.

Defiant, it continued.

He could see Buffy growing older, her hair dark from nature, until it finally grew light again. Only with grey. He could feel the texture of her skin as it became creased and fragile from age. He could hear her final breath. He could see himself standing next to their son, their immortal hands filled with dirt from her very mortal grave.

Pain twisted its poisoned claws in his gut. Angelus growled at the sensations coursing madly through his body. Panic gave birth to the need to escape, to leave Sunnydale and never look back.

Angelus finished his absolutions with an angry hand. Storming out of the shower, he despised the light coming through the protective windows. Unless he fancied crawling through the sewers, Angelus would be forced to stay inside until nightfall.

Snatching a towel out of the armoire, he roughly dried his hair before attacking his body. It was sick! He and Buffy had been attached at the crotch for too long. He’d have to remedy the situation immediately.

The Cavern.

Tonight he would take Dru out. Buffy would just have to sleep alone tonight.

Just like she will when she’s dust in the ground?

The question took him by surprise and opened up a festering wound of fear.

Stalking into his bedroom, Angelus felt the walls coming closer, filling him with a panic so strong, so insistent he nearly gagged.

Stay with her tonight. Don’t see anyone else and stay with Buffy tonight.

The thought instantly soothed his desperation.

“No. No. NO!” Angelus left his room, suffocated by her scent, by her presence. Feeling as if the most vicious demon was pursuing him, he fled to the only room without Buffy’s ghost. Slamming the office door shut, Angelus impatiently waited for the room’s contents to soothe his agitation. His eyes wild with barely contained madness lit upon the proof of his power.

Grabbing the crucifix, Angelus held it to his skin. There was no pain, no burning. The metal felt cool to the touch, almost comforting. The vampire collapsed in his chair, fingers still clutching the symbol of Christianity, and laughed. The laughter grew louder until it was a mighty shout.

Abruptly Angelus fell silent.

He closed his eyes and whispered aloud, “She means to much too me. Her body has become my existence. So much so that THIS doesn't matter as much as it should. Only in that I can't be kept away from her by Christian means anymore.”

“Oh, please!”

“Do you want it harder?”

“Only if it…ah…please you, Angelus.”

“Angelus?”

“M-Master!”

“Faster?”

“Mmm…please...Master!”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes! I live to…ah…love…oh…you!”’

“And now I existent to suffer her love.” Closing his fingers tightly, he felt the image of Christ dig into his skin. “I have power above the darkest vampire and yet…”

Angelus was not who he once was.

His madness did not blaze forth to consume the whole world, only Buffy’s.

“Every time she gets too close, I push her away. I make her cry and push her away. Then I bring her back. I kiss her and hold her and make her feel as if she’s a goddess. I revel in her sweetness. I live for her laughter, for her joy. Then it starts all over again.”

Opening up his hand, Angelus stared at the cross without the heady thrill of mastery and triumph. “No matter how strong I am, with her I’m weak. My success means very little if I can’t control how I feel.”

Laying the cross on the table with careful hand, Angelus turned his chair towards the window. He pulled back the curtain and peered at the lazy street below.

City Hall looked back at him, silently reminding him what the penthouse ultimately meant.

Payment for Buffy’s death.

His voice turned inwards, locked away in the front of his mind. At the end of the night, I’m nothing but a paid demon. I was paid to kill her. To kill Buffy. And she doesn't even fucking know it. Angelus’ eyes turned hard but remorseful. I’ve done many shitty things in my time, but I’ve never broken my word. If I said I was going to do something, it was done.

Now Angelus was a caricature of the demon he once was. Traces of Angel’s memory were taking over him---at least that was how it felt. Nothing seemed black and white anymore. It was all gray.

Was he truly evil? Would he kill Buffy?

A frown of disgust marred his handsome continence. He already made his decision to keep her by his side! Why was he doubting himself?

Because it’s all different now. I’ve broken vampire law and reckoning will come.

Angelus had dispatched of Buffy’s assassins, assassins HE had called, and it was never done. As long as the Slayer killed those who opposed her, it was fine. But Angelus had interfered, his damnable fear and obsession clouding his mind, and he had murdered his own kind.

The vampire world would eventually find out.

No. I can control this. I’ll call them off. The clans will just assume the Slayer did it. No one will ever know.

However, Angelus felt hollow inside. His kingdom of sin was crumbling about him and his power no longer could satisfy the ache inside. Buffy was destroying him and he knew it. If he had any real sense of self-preservation, he would kill her and be done with it.

“Safe. You’re safe.”

“You came. They told me you wouldn’t.”

“Safe.”

“I’m sorry that I believed them.”

“I can’t risk you anymore.”

“Angelus?”

“Close your eyes, my love.”

If Angelus could see the expression on his face he would’ve howled. Naked pain transformed the coldness in eyes, leaving them vulnerable and miserable. “I can’t kill her because I adore her. I adore her so much,” he murmured in a tortured voice. “I’ve never treated any of my mistresses as cruelly as I have her---not without extreme provocation. None of my mistresses have ever loved me as much as she has. Not even Druscilla. I’m always calling her bitch, whore, or slut. And she forgives me. She accepts me.”

Angelus was now in a hell of his own making. Every eye was trained on him. When will he kill the Slayer? they all whispered. Although he commanded awe because of his conquest, eventually that awe would turn to questioning, if it already hadn’t.

To keep his power, he was expected to kill Buffy. To keep Buffy, he would lose his power. Power meant everything.

Self-doubt equaled weakness.

Weakness equaled loss of power.

Loss of power equaled the end of his existence.

The Slayer was going to lead to all three.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Angelus muttered grimly. He’d find a way to keep himself occupied until nightfall. Then he’d forget. He’d lose himself to his base desires and forget all about it.

Buffy’s words once more came through to haunt him.

“Why do I feel as if forever is gone?”

Angelus closed his eyes and answered, “It’s not gone, baby. It’s not.”

And deep in the pits of his own truth, the tormented vampire knew he was lying. He just didn’t know why.

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