I Didn't Know...

The course of a life can change with just one action.

Just like that.

Sometimes it’s big. Other times, it’s so miniscule, so very unnoticeable that a person may never know that THAT was THE one. They are too poignantly ignorant to realize THAT was the act to cause it all to crumble.

For Buffy it could’ve been the night she kept her hairpin from sliding into Angelus’ chest, even though her instant death was assured. It could’ve been before, when she stayed with Angel even when he had wanted them to keep their mutual passion imprisoned under the bitter-sweetness of denial. Or maybe it was much later, when she allowed Angelus to manipulate his way into her lonely bed.

Maybe.

But it wasn’t.

Buffy was damned to dance to a song of lies the moment she came out of her mother’s womb.

She just never knew it.

********

“So what’s the plan tonight, Buff?”

Looking up from her book, the blond girl frowned in thought before shaking her head. “Nope. Don’t have one, Xander.”

“Hmm, what’s this?” Ducking his head so he could see the front cover, Xander slowly read, “Rituals for Exorcism by the Thonga of Natal.” His cheerful gaze met hers. “Nice.” Carefully taking the book out of her hand, lest Giles take offense at his unintentional, yet brutish treatment, Xander grinned crookedly and chided, “C’mon, Slayer. You gotta have at least some idea.”

“About moon based exorcisms or plans for tonight?”

The library was quiet, deserted as usual, but there was a decidedly festive air about the place. Giles and Jenny were busy reorganizing their present stash of occult reference just so they could add a new batch of musty goodness. Willow, Oz, and Cordelia were conspicuously missing, but earlier Xander had mentioned they all planned on stopping by the library in about an hour.

“Take your pick.”

Buffy put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on crossed hands. “Uh, I don’t know…maybe I’ll just decide to make my way to the Bronze.”

“And?”

“And maybe I’ll just decide to wander over to the table my friends usually hang out at.”

“And?”

“And maybe I’ll be in total shock when my friends yell, ‘Surprise!’ before screaming, ‘Oh, my God! How did you guys keep this a secret?’”

Xander’s crooked grin expanded into a full-blown smile. “Good girl!”

Buffy shifted her hands and held them beneath her chin before panting.

At that particular moment Giles chose to glance up from the midst of his mini-fortress of books.

Dropping her pose, she asked sweetly, “Need any help?”

A slight smile touched the Watcher’s lips. “No, thank you. Miss Calendar and I have this under control.”

Shrugging in response, Buffy asked Xander, “So where’s Cordelia?”

“Getting some stuff at Party City.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Big Red. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Taking the proffered stick of gum, she quickly unwrapped the foil and popped the cinnamon sweet into her mouth. “What’s she getting?”

Xander held up one finger. He worked his jaw several times before answering, “No deal, Buffster. I already spilled the beans on this one. No way am I going to spoil the color coordination plans.”

Buffy laughed unrepentantly. She had known Willow was bound to want to throw a party, no matter how morbid, and today was definitely a day to have a party. No matter how morbid. She should’ve just let it lie there, but Buffy found she couldn’t. In the end, it had taken only a couple of candy bars to get Xander to confess.

“What about Willow and Oz?”

“Same place.” His face took on a look of concentration as furiously chewed.

“It took three of them to go to Party City?” A voice in Buffy’s head warned her that she should stop bedeviling Xander, but she ignored it. She was having too much fun.

“I guess.”

Voice pattern definitely sounding evasive. “Really?”

“Mmm.” Xander began tapping the table with his fingers, deftly avoiding her gaze.

“Really?” she coyly repeated while shifting her body until they were on eye-level again.

The dark-haired boy abruptly stopped chewing. “What?”

Buffy kept silent, her mouth lifting with a tiny smirk. Her hazel gaze bored into his, silently demanding an answer.

Apparently Xander felt its force because he reared his head back and howled. “That’s so unfair, Buffy! Your eyes go all gooey and creepy-like---I can’t fight that!”

The Slayer blinked in surprise. “Creepy?”

“Yeah. You had this stare.” Xander’s cheeks took on a rosy glow. “It was like I had no will against it.” Seeing her embarrassed expression, he forced himself to give a mock-shudder. “Next thing you know, I’d give up my Cordy to follow you around. I’d be your butt-monkey, Buffy! HOW awkward would THAT be?”

On cue, Buffy chuckled. However, she couldn’t help but feel a little awkward herself. Was her stare a result of being so close to Angelus? She knew exactly what Xander had meant. She had suffered herself beneath her lover’s hypnotic gaze too many times to count. However, Buffy never knew she was capable of producing such power herself.

Sorry. I didn’t meant to. I was just playing.

Xander may have passed it off as a joke, but the uncomfortable truth was there. Perhaps layered beneath the folds of humor and disbelief, but there was no way to hide the nervousness in his tone.

Angelus. Do you really bring out the best in me? Or are you making me into something just like you?

“So, Buffy, you know if Willow and Cordy find out that I let you in on the surprise party, they’ll roast me, right?”

Tearing her mind away from the persistence of thoughts with no pretty answer, she called up a lighthearted grin. “But they’re not going to find out.” Her slender brows dropped a bit. “Hold still.”

“What?”

With one finger she reached out and wiped a smudge of chocolate from his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

Satisfied with her actions, Buffy nodded smartly. “Destroying evidence.”

“Huh?” Seeing the bit of cocoa on his friend’s finger, Xander grinned wryly. “It’s my weakness. Thanks for the sharp eye. If Cordelia had seen that, it wouldn’t take long for her to put the pieces together.”

“Why?” As she waited for his answer, Buffy realized how long it had been since she and Xander talked like this. It was fun to just be able to hang out and kid around.

Thrusting his lip out in a pout, the dark-haired youth replied sullenly, “Because she thinks that anyone can get me to do anything for chocolate.”

“Can they?”

A sheepish expression took over the childish one. “Yep.”

Both friends erupted into shared laughter as they leaned into one another for support. Perhaps drawn by their innocent glee, Jenny glided up to the table and took a seat on the edge. “Having fun, guys?”

Gasping for breath, Buffy nodded her head and squeaked out, “Tons.”

“Yeah, Miss Calendar.” Xander took a deep breath and attempted to keep his hilarity under some semblance of control. “Why don’t you ditch the books and stay on this side of the library?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

Giles’ head popped up from his beloved stack. “I could ask the same of you, Xander.”

“What?” he good-naturedly groaned. “Buffy asked if you needed help and you said no.”

“I said no to her, not to you,” the Watcher pointed out in a crisp accent.

“Oh.” His grin faded slightly. “Do you need some help?”

“Actually, I do.”

Xander’s chagrined expression inspired two discreet, feminine chuckles. Getting up from the table with a heavy sigh, he muttered, “A simple man that’s what I am. Simple as in stupid. I totally walked into that one!”

Two sets of eyes followed his progress across the room for a moment before turning to each other.

Faced with the pagan’s pleasant expression, Buffy couldn’t help the whisper of discomfort flaring inside. Despite all that had happened in the past few months, the Slayer still felt strange being around Miss Calendar. Originally it stemmed from betrayal, now it stemmed from fear…

“How have you been, Buffy?”

“Umm, fine.”

The dark-haired woman nodded once, her hair brushing against her lovely cheekbones suddenly reminding Buffy of someone else. Eyes widening with shock and more than a touch of embarrassment, the blonde girl ducked her head. For just a moment, Jenny Calendar had reminded her of Celeste. Although Buffy hadn’t spoken a word to either Celeste or her lover Anwaar, the demon couple from Angelus’ party made its mark on her.

“Fuck you in the ass until you come...”

“Do you promise?”

Buffy’s mind widened to remember other things.

“Tell me lover, is it Angel who has you panting, or me?”

NO!

“Is something the matter, Buffy?” Jenny’s dark, watchful eyes swept the younger girl in concern.

Quickly shaking her head, Buffy lied and murmured, “No. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“What’s the matter, Buff?” Xander asked while walking by with a stack of well-dusted volumes. “Not getting enough sleep?” Without waiting for an answer, he loudly cried, “Not that I blame you for being tired, considering how certain unnamed librarians like to work their impressionable, kind, gullible students to death!”

“Back to work, Xander,” Giles evenly ordered. His gaze, however, sparkled with good humor.

Buffy felt the tension leave her body. There was no reason to be so skittish around Miss Calendar. The computer-science teacher had done more than her share over the months to show how sorry she was for keeping vital information concerning Angel to herself. If anyone understood the need to keep things to herself, Jenny was the one.

The Slayer’s stomach quivered a bit.

But that was the reason why she felt so wary around her.

Now that Buffy was a consummate liar, she feared that someone, ANYONE, would be able to see through it. Of all the people surrounding her, she feared Miss Calendar would have the eyes of experience to detect when someone was lying with all her worth.

Buffy let out an inaudible sigh and mustered the focus to pretend to be someone else. “Even though I’m a little tired, I’m not too tired to love that dress. It’s tres chic, Miss Calendar! Where’d you get it?”

The older woman smiled. “Thank you, Buffy. I got it from the Gap.”

“The Gap? Really?” A sly expression lifted the corner of her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s pretty, Giles?”

“Hmm? Pretty?” The Watcher lifted his chin to peer over the top of his spectacles. “Yes, it is. Her dress is quite fetching.”

Buffy’s brows lifted slightly. No blushing or stammering. Wait. Has something already happened between those two? Before she could make a teasing comment or two, her cell phone began ringing.

Glancing around for her bag, Buffy remembered she left it on the other side of the table. Instead of asking Jenny to pick it up for her, Buffy decided to get it herself. Leaning over the table, her fingers had just brushed the bag when she heard, “Oh, how pretty!”

Buffy froze. No, no, no! I could NOT have been that sloppy! I am truly not that STUPID!

A delicate finger gently touched the jewelry peeking from beneath her waistband. “This chain is simply gorgeous!”

Yes. Yes I am that stupid.The cell phone continued ringing. What could she say?

“I have one too, but mine is just silver. Is this real?”

Real. Oh. Oh, God. Yeah, it’s real. It’s ridiculously real. Snatching her bag off the floor, Buffy quickly turned her phone’s ringer off. Angelus is going to be so pissed at me! With a steady smile on her lips, she turned to face Miss Calendar. “No, it’s fake but it looks pretty cool, huh?”

Admiration bright in her dark eyes, Jenny replied, “More than cool. Stunning really. Where’d you get it?”

Shit! “Umm, I can’t remember the name of the store but it was in L.A.” Discreetly glancing down at her phone, Buffy looked to see if Angelus had called again. He hadn’t. “I got it when I visited my Dad last time. Next time I go, I’ll see if I can pick one up for you.”

“Thank you, Buffy. But that’s not necessary. Just the name of the store would be great. Or their web address. That would be even better.”

“Sure thing.” Please can we talk about something else?

“Your phone stopped ringing,” Jenny pointed out unnecessarily.

“Yeah. I guess they hung up.”

“Do you think it was important?”

More than you’d ever know. “Nah. If it was, whoever it was would call back.”

“What’s fake?” Xander inquired breezily while taking a seat.

Oh good. Something even more uncomfortable. “My chain.”

“What chain?” he asked while automatically looking at her neck.

Buffy’s gaze slid to Miss Calendar, waiting to see if she was going to elaborate. The dark-haired woman merely shook her head slightly.

Realizing that avoiding the subject would make her look guiltier, the Slayer answered nonchalantly, “My waist chain.”

“Waist chain?” An appraising smile appeared on his lips. “S-e-x-y. Can I see?”

“Xander Harris! Are you trying to tempt death?”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, the teenage boy cried, “Hold up, Slayer! Just trying to be nice here. No need to threaten me.”

Buffy lightly cuffed the side of his head. “Not me, dummy!” She waited until he finished rubbing his scalp before finishing. “Cordelia would KILL you if she heard you say the word sexy much less asked to see my chain.”

Miss Calendar laughed softly. “She’s got a strong point there, Xander.”

“Fine.” Crossing his arms, the slighted male huffed, “See if I ever pay attention to any of your girly stuff again.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. I think I got out of that one. I hope. Apparently she had, because all too soon the three of them were chattering about everything and nothing. It was so much easier for Buffy to enjoy Jenny’s company with Xander to serve as an unwitting buffer.

Despite the damper of lies and fear, she eagerly reached out grabbed onto the happiness surrounding her. The camaraderie in this room was her anchor, her light amidst the murky fog of deception and shame.

However, Buffy couldn’t forget about other anchors…

Every so often she’d glance down at her bag, hoping to see Angelus’ number. Nothing. Stifling a sigh, the Slayer commanded her spirits to rise. What more could she already ask for? Her life was safe, her friends were safe, her mom was safe, and her lover…

My lover is always by my side.

Eagerly sharing her opinion on the last episode of Friends, Buffy inwardly smiled. Nothing can go wrong today. It’s my lucky day.

********

Oz pulled up in front of the Summer’s residence. He had already dropped Willow off at school with the promise to pick up a cake from the local grocery store. He had every intention of doing so, but first he had to take care of this.

Hopping down from the seat, Oz quickly slammed the door.

UPDATED 10/21/04

A voice inside his head started uncharacteristically screaming, “This is none of your business!” The werewolf ignored it. The steps to the front porch came under his feet too soon. Before he could turn back, Oz rapped smartly on the large front door.

You can still walk away. Ding-dong ditch. C’mon, it isn’t your place to snoop.

Mrs. Summers opened up the door and smiled warmly. “Hello, Oz. Buffy isn’t here right now.”

“Umm, yeah I know.” Oz paused and chose his words carefully. “Umm, Mrs. Summers?”

“Yes, Oz?”

“You see, I was wondering…” Go for it, dude. Just jump right in! “Is Angel coming by tonight?”

Joyce Summer’s head rocked back a bit in surprise. “Angel?”

Alright, did I just step in it? Before Oz had a chance to answer, she asked, “You know about Angel?”

Oz fluently lied his ass off. “Yeah…yes, ma’am. I do. Buffy told me about him.”

“Oh, wow! I’m just a little bit surprised. She was so embarrassed for anyone to know.”

He nodded his chin in false understanding. “I can see why.” Jesus! Buffy’s mom knows about him and is okay with it!

Mrs. Summers’ expression turned slightly cooler. “You think she should be embarrassed?”

Yes! However, Oz kept his mouth shut. He could smell Joyce’s scent change and knew he had to proceed cautiously. “No, ma’am. I don’t. But I can see why she would be.”

Warmth immediately bounded back into the older woman’s eyes. “I’m always telling her you guys won’t look down on her for needing Angel but…” Her voice trailed off in a smatter of laughter. “Buffy feels otherwise.” Cocking her head to the side, Mrs. Summers’ expressed her shock at Oz’s question. “That’s why I’m surprised you know about him.”

“Willow,” was all he could think of saying.

“Oh, Willow knows Angel is tutoring Buffy too?”

“No, ma’am…I mean…” The teen’s normally cool composure began to disintegrate rapidly. Tutor? She thinks he’s her tutor? What do I say? Shit! Realizing that Buffy’s mother would soon begin to think something was seriously wrong with him, Oz began again. “Willow doesn’t know who Buffy’s tutor is but I do because I used him before.”

Confident with his quasi-lie, Oz smiled and waited for Mrs. Summer’s to reply.

“Oh.” She blinked once before murmuring, “I didn’t know you had a tutor.”

“You see I’m part of this band…at least that’s what we call ourselves.” He waited for the elder Summers to smile at his little display of wit. “Anyway, my parents told me I couldn’t keep playing if I didn’t pull my grades up. That’s where Angel came in.”

“But he doesn’t tutor you anymore?”

“No. After my parents were happy---I was done.”

“I see.” Joyce paused before asking, “Is that how Buffy met Angel?”

Yes. No. Which one? Oz rubbed his chin and answered slowly, “I don’t think so. I mean, she was already working with him before we started hanging out.”

“Oh. I see.” She paused for a moment, opened her mouth, before closing it abruptly.

Within seconds Oz could sense a cloud of hesitancy hover about Buffy’s mother. Patiently he waited, tense with anxiety and confusion; tense because his instincts were screaming at him, “Keep yourself together! Don’t show any weakness! Let her tell you everything she knows!”

“Oz?”

Lifting his jaw slightly, he respectfully answered, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you think Buffy…I mean, do you think she and Angel have---” Joyce’s words immediately ended in a gasp. Without conscious thought her right hand clutched her stomach.

Smelling the stink of pain about her, the werewolf quickly sprung into action. “Mrs. Summers! Are you alright?” She nodded her head and swallowed back another cry of pain. Without asking for permission, Oz opened the door further and led her inside.

It took every bit of fledgling control he had not to flinch as the combined scents of Buffy and Angelus’ mating overwhelmed his delicate senses. However, even confronted with his instincts’ obvious proof, Oz still wanted to cling to the belief that perhaps he was wrong.

But the werewolf knew he wasn’t and that was what made this travesty all the more sickening.

He experienced a surge of raw anger on behalf of the good memories and loyalty he had with Angel. Buffy’s been lying to us all. She’s been making us think that her heart was broken, that she couldn’t get past Angel. And all this time she’s been screwing the demon who stole his damned body! Angel didn’t deserve this.

None of his inner agitation presented itself as Oz held onto Joyce’s arm and deftly walked them both to the couch. Once again the smell of sex hit him strongly, nearly making him gag. Even so, Oz helped Joyce sit down, careful to keep hold of her until she murmured tiredly, “Thank you. I’m fine.”

Crouching down next to the faded sofa, he stared intently at her face, futilely seeking the answer to her apparent illness. He came up empty. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Hmm?” Buffy’s mother murmured distractedly.

“This pain. How long have you been feeling this?”

Mrs. Summer’s face tightened into a wince. “Off and on for a few weeks…” Her voice slowly died away into a whisper. Aware of what she was sharing with an adolescent boy, Joyce shifted gears and adopted another face. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been working a lot lately. Pushing myself too hard, even though I know I need to slow down…”

“Why are you then?” Oz asked bluntly.

Joyce looked into his intense blue gaze, seemingly searching for a way to dismiss the question. Something in his eyes inspired honesty. “I don’t know,” she finally answered after several tense seconds. “I don’t know.”

“Does Buffy know how you’ve been feeling?”

Mrs. Summers’ expression hardened briefly. “No. And she doesn’t need to know.” Sitting up quickly, she murmured, “And you shouldn’t have known either. I’m sorry, Oz.” Despite the youth’s small noise of protestation, Joyce stood up and walked back to the door.

Although her smile was friendly, her message was clear.

It was time to go.

Reluctantly finding his feet, Oz walked to and through the entryway. He had no more answers than he did when he first came here. What did you expect? Especially after coming here with no plan.

Pausing at the door, he looked up and said awkwardly, “Well…goodbye, Mrs. Summers.” His gaze discreetly searched hers and saw they were free from pain. It was as if she was completely healthy again.

The older woman nodded her head and replied, “Thank you for stopping by, Oz.”

There was nothing left to say and Oz felt like a supreme fool for even coming. Walking into the sunlight, he caught sight of two little girls riding by on their bicycles. Their freshness and innocence was not lost on him. Even though the outside showed promise of safety and security, the hidden shadows were what really counted. If those girls lived in this town long enough, they would learn that lesson as well.

It was a nasty lesson he was still learning. What now?

“Oz?”

Quickly looking over his shoulder, the werewolf instantly answered, “Yes?”

“He’s not coming by tonight.”

He? Oh, Angelus. “Angel’s not?”

“No. Buffy doesn’t see him until tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Mrs. Summers.”

Joyce nodded her head once more before turning back inside. Even after the door closed, Oz stood on the porch rethinking her stomach pains. It’s not right. I didn’t smell any sickness on her. But the pain was real, I could see that.

He came to Buffy’s house with one problem and now had two.

Walking briskly to his van, his mind busily replayed the moments from when Buffy’s mother first displayed pain until the end.

He easily climbed into the worn seat and sat there, puzzled. Oz knew she had been about to ask him something big. The signs were all there---acceleration of the heart, perspiration on the hands, and rapidness of breath. Whatever Buffy’s mother had been about to ask him, it was something with the power to make her agitated and scared.

Scared? Starting up the van, Oz let the comfort of the loud, rumbling engine lull him into the familiar.

“Do you think Buffy…I mean, do you think she and Angel have---”

His slender fingers began tapping on the steering wheel. Do I think Buffy and Angel what? He let out a long, slow breath and put the van in drive. Rolling down the street, his piercing gaze narrowed abruptly. No. I mean…maybe?

Oz shook his head firmly. No way is she okay with Buffy and Angel like that. He may not know Mrs. Summers’ very well, but she didn’t strike him as the type to allow her daughter to openly fornicate with a man who was obviously much older.

“Oh, Willow knows Angel is tutoring Buffy too?”

Tutor.

Oz eased his van to a stop. Patiently waiting for the light to turn green, he pounced on the word tutor. Buffy and Angelus have started some kind of relationship and passing it off as a tutor-student thing.

The teen suddenly remembered Willow’s enthusiasm of late.

“Buffy’s grades have been really great, Oz! She and I, plus this other girl you don’t know, were the only ones to ace our history test!”

“He really is her tutor.” The whisper was immediately followed by a loud honk. Glancing up in surprise, he saw that the light was green. Moving forward, he lowered his brows in thought. Okay, Angelus tutors Buffy and it’s working. So what does that mean? Maybe everything is cool between them.

The gigantic Wal-Mart sign came into view. Pulling into the parking lot, he had to wait as hordes of people leisurely made their way across the small strip designated as pedestrian right of way. After a minute he was able to move a few yards before stopping again. This time his patience began to wear thin.

“Come on, people,” he muttered softly. “You see a big van here. Don’t go on a power trip just because there’re yellow lines. I could be crazy for cake and decide you’re not worth the wait.”

But of course Oz sat there, keeping his enormous metal beast under complete control because they were worth the wait. Barely.

Everything is cool between them. Yeah, right. Willow told me about Angelus flipping out on Buffy in the cemetery. She also told me about Buffy flipping out on the phone last night because she thought Willow wanted Buffy to kill Angelus. Everything is NOT cool between them. Or at least it isn’t always.

Finally after a ridiculous amount of time, he was able to turn down one of the road aisles and secure a spot. Glancing at his watch, Oz knew he had to hurry if he was going to make it to Ms. Calendar’s room first before he hit the library.

Joining the crush, Oz continued with his turbulent thoughts. Why doesn’t Buffy just come out and say what’s going on? I may have gotten into this club kind of late, but I thought they…we…were always honest with each other. So why is Buffy lying?

Oz rethought his position. He imagined their friends’ expressions of anger and betrayal. Xander especially made no secret of what he thought of Angelus and he did it constantly in Buffy’s presence. And Willow…while well meaning, he still didn’t think his girlfriend understood just how much her friend loved Angel.

And the bitch of it all was that Oz knew more than Willow, Xander, Giles, or any of them, how much Buffy loved Angel. Despite his dirty knowledge and present feelings of anger and betrayal on behalf of his mentor, he KNEW Buffy loved Angel.

Okay, maybe I can see why she’d be afraid to come out and say it. But why is she actively letting Giles think that Angelus only sees her as a coffin-filler? His thoughts mocked his relaxed façade. And why is Mrs. Summers feeling pain that shouldn’t be there?

There were no answers to his questions.

It had been a complete waste of time.

Shouldering his way past the milling crowd, he passed through the automatic doors and nodded his head at the elderly greeter.

“Welcome to Wal-Mart!”

“Thanks.” Forgoing a cart, Oz checked to make sure he had a $20 dollar bill. Willow’s scent came up and greeted him warmly. Faced with his girlfriend’s essence, the confused teen let out a small sigh and a curse as he turned towards the grocery area. No one else needs to know. Whether he found out all the answers or not, Oz now knew he wasn’t going to tell anyone anything.

It’s none of my business. I don’t like it when people stick their noses in my things, so why am I doing it to her? She’s the Slayer, for christsakes! She didn’t ask me to snoop around her house, looking for information on Angelus. She never asked for my help. And she doesn’t seem unhappy. If anything, she’s always laughing and kidding around. I’ve never seen her happier.

”He was throwing her around, beating the crap out of her! Xander wanted to charge out there and stop it, but I wouldn’t let him. If you had seen them, Oz, you would’ve thought one of them was definitely going to end up dead.”

…

“Oz, Buffy was crying so much and there wasn’t anything we could do to help her!”

…

“She said she still loves him, but she can’t…can she?”

Oz hadn’t known how to answer Willow’s question then, but he knew how to answer it now. Yes, Buffy still can, Will. She still can, even if all she has left is Angelus.

“Do you think Buffy…I mean, do you think she and Angel have---”

Mrs. Summers’ had been scared of asking her question. Even without his supernatural senses, Oz would’ve been completely oblivious not to hear it. She and Angel have what? Been together? Was that what you wanted to ask me? But why ask? You already know.

It had been right in front of everyone’s nose and even though they all sensed it, none of them ever bothered to smell the truth.

Even him.

Shaken with his final judgment, there was nothing left for Oz but to walk up to the bakery counter and ask, “Hi. Is the Rosenberg cake ready?”

********

Buffy rapped on the closed door and waited for the man inside to allow her entry. Not even twenty minutes before Father Marion had called Giles and has asked for her to come by the church. Seeing that there was nothing left to do but hang around the library and tease Xander mercilessly, Buffy elected to go immediately.

“Come in.”

She eased the door open and spied Father Marion sitting at his desk. A sincere smile lifted her pink mouth as she breezily walked in. “Is that a sub I see?” she winningly asked while closing the door.

The priest remained silent but nodded his head.

They rarely met in this small room, usually because they were too busy studying demonology under the church, so it was still new to Buffy. Plopping into a chair, she absently noted the beautiful stained glass window.

Saint Andrew stood straight, head tilted upwards, and liquid eyes heavy with the pain of sacrifice and truth. Buffy couldn’t help but shudder remembering his manner of death on the cross bearing his name.

All the pain, degradation, and brutality…done all in the name of God. Averting her eyes, she focused instead on the exquisite glass patterns reaching across the floor. Buffy knew she was merely another instrument in that fight, but unlike those unfortunate saints, she hoped that today was more the norm and less the exception. Hopefully I won’t die that horrifically.

Glancing away from the spectacular play of color and light, as well as her morbid hopes, Buffy realized the priest was watching her somberly. “What’s up, Father?”

He continued to watch her for a few more seconds before replying, “You know what this day is, don’t you?”

She tilted her head to the side and answered dryly, “It’s kind of hard to forget considering I was supposed to die tonight.”

An expression of grief darkened his fine, unlined eyes. “Yes.”

Buffy was on the verge of making a lighthearted joke when she realized Father Marion’s sadness remained visible on his youthful face. “Father, what’s the matter?” She felt the bite of cold fear slowly pump its terrible poison within her body. “Do you…” Buffy abruptly stopped. She couldn’t finish her sentence of, “Do you know something that you’re not telling us?”

The priest took a deep breath. He unwrapped the large sub sandwich and wordlessly handed the Slayer half. He waited until she took it with a slightly unsteady hand. Finally, he broke the silence. “Do you remember what I asked you once?”

Buffy shook her head.

“I asked you what you would feel if Angel and Angelus were not two different creatures inhabiting the same body at different times, but one. Do you remember?”

“Yes.” She held onto her half of the sub, uneaten and ignored.

“Have you given thought to your answer?”

“No,” she admitted honestly.

“Then do so now.”

“I don’t understand---”

“You don’t need to understand,” Father Marion broke in softly. “You just need to answer it for me. Now.”

“Why?” Buffy asked with a subtle trace of mutiny. Immediately, she bit her lip in remorse and dropped her head.

Seeing her apologetic posture, the priest humorlessly smiled. “Oh, Buffy,” he sighed. Getting up, he knew her wide, hazel eyes were now watching his every movement. Pausing at the window, he reached out with one hand and laid it palm down against the cool glass.

“Why? Why indeed?” Father Marion abruptly mentioned, “Did you know this is an original copy?”

“No,” the Slayer softly replied. “I didn’t.”

“When I say original copy I mean the first was originally made by Louis Comfort Tiffany in the year 1908. It was made for a small church in Petersburg, Virginia. This one, here, was made secretly that same year.” The young priest looked over his shoulder and saw the confusion on his pupil’s face. “You’re wondering what this has to do with your answer, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

He shook his head and sighed once more. “Maybe nothing. But then again…” Father Marion turned back to the stained portal and gently ran his hand down the glass. “Tiffany made his fortune creating attainable beauty. Windows, lamps, ornaments for the mantle---such exquisite loveliness must be true, must be pure, don’t you think?” Without waiting for Buffy’s answer, he murmured, “But some darker rumors are that he stole the formula of iridescent glass from his partner. Some say that his fortune is based on deceit and trickery.”

Buffy sat silently, knowing that even if she didn’t understand where her mentor was going, he would soon share the destination with her.

“That may true.” Father Marion tilted his head and stared into the inanimate gaze that seemed anything but dead. “But if you were to put this window next to the first one, you would barely be able to discern the difference. Both were made by different makers, but they’re the same.”

Eyes of the purest blue met hazel. “Even if by different hands, they came from the same place. The same.”

A full minute passed by in silence, prompting the priest to ask, “Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Buffy?”

Angel. Angelus. The same. No fucking way! Buffy unconsciously shook her head.

“The titles are convenient, demon, soul, but they come from the same place. They’re not different at all.”

“They’re not the same, Father Marion,” she vehemently whispered. “Angelus and Angel aren’t windows. They…Angel had a soul. Angelus is a demon.”

“So?” he calmly returned

“So?” Buffy placed her uneaten sandwich on the desk in front on her. “Angelus is a demon! A demon, Father Marion. He was no soul, no…grace!”

“Why does that matter to you?”

“What do you mean?” she sputtered in disbelief.

“It didn’t stop you from being intimate with him. It still hasn’t stopped you.” Father Marion acknowledged, but ignored Buffy’s gasp of shame. “He’s made you into a creature neither here,” the priest opened his arms to indicate the church. “Or there.” His hands flipped over and eloquently gestured with pointed fingers.

The Slayer frowned in pained confusion as she obviously struggled with what to say.

Remaining in his position, the priest fixed Buffy with an uncharacteristic stern stare. “You had better see your love for what he is.”

She clenched her fists while crying, “I do!”

“No, you don’t. You revile Angelus’ darkness even while you cling to it. You remain divided and it is destroying you.”

An expression of grief darkened Buffy’s eyes while a pained frown embittered her mouth. “Angel’s memory deserved more than what I’ve given it. I shouldn’t have let myself fall so easily…but I did. So I deserve to suffer for what I did.”

“Why?”

She blinked rapidly, commanding her humiliating tears to recede. “It’s my fault Angel isn’t here. I caused his one moment of happiness. I made him leave.”

“You really think that’s how things work?” Father Marion asked gently, a note pity undeniably marking each word.

“It is how it works! Jenny told us about Angel’s curse! Angelus’ character clearly proves it! And if it wasn’t for me…” Her voice choked in grief.

He nodded his head, pondering her words. “Let’s say Janna is right. Let’s say her people had the power to control souls. Then what?”

Buffy swallowed once before rasping, “What do you mean?”

“Angel’s soul is gone, Angelus is here. How do you view them? Is Angel perfect and Angelus damned?”

Her eyes darkened with the painful memories of the past three months. “Angel WAS perfect, Father. He loved me with perfect grace.”

“That’s it. Don’t you see? You’ve placed Angel up on a pedestal so high even he couldn’t reach it.”

Overwhelming anger pushed Buffy to snap, “That’s not true. If it was, I wouldn’t be Angelus little whore, would I?”

Father Marion closed his eyes, refusing to see his protégé’s gaze staring into his with shades of betrayal and disillusionment. “Has Angelus shared you with his court?”

Resentment. “No.”

“Has Angelus asked you to pleasure men in his view?”

Scorn. “No.”

“Has Angelus demanded for you to pleasure men and women in his view?”

Disgust. “No!”

“Has any creature touched you sexually since you two began?”

Understanding. “No.”

Father Marion opened his eyes and asked with devastating softness, “Then why do you call yourself a whore?”

Buffy felt the rage deflate instantly, leaving her with raw humiliation. Briefly she considered lying or throwing up an obstinate front, but she knew she wouldn’t. She may be lying to everyone she came in contact with, but she wouldn’t lie to him.

“Because he likes it when I say it,” Buffy whispered in a tortured voice. “He likes making me feel as if I mean nothing more than a woman he pays for. And I’ll do anything, BE anything for Angelus because I love him so much.”

“Love.” He let out a slow, long breath. “What a mess this has all become for that emotion.” Father Marion stepped forward and stated, “Angelus IS what we call a demon. He carries the bitterness and rage, that left festering for centuries, can reach out and destroy everything within its immediate path.”

“I know,” she murmured woodenly.

“I don’t think you do, Buffy. Humans are capable of being the exact same way, without the immortal lifespan. It’s no coincidence that the phrase ‘Conquering your inner demons’ was coined.”

Buffy lifted her pain-filled gaze and stared at the priest unflinchingly. “I want to help him conquer his…Angel’s…past. I want to be the one to make it go away.”

“How can you help him, when you can’t even help yourself?”

“That’s not fair, Father.” She tightened her jaw and stated, “I’m trying to hold it together. I’m doing the best I can and it’s not been too bad either. I keep this town safer than it’s ever been before. I’ve made everyone happy---Mom, Giles, everyone. I even beat this prophecy.”

The priest dropped his gaze while his hand automatically went up to hold his crucifix.

“Well?”

“That’s not for me to say, Buffy.” Father Marion came around the desk and crouched before her. He reached out with both of his hands and gently held Buffy’s. “The bond the two of you share---how have you been handling it?”

She frowned a moment, apparently trying to shift mental gears. “I barely notice it.”

“How does Angelus behave with it?”

“I don’t know…I…”

“Is he feeding only from you?”

Even though Buffy knew Father Marion had intimate details of her life with Angelus, the conversation still had the power to make her blush and stammer. “I-I think so.”

“You only think?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” She took in a calming breath before beginning anew. “Angelus only takes my blood.”

He squeezed her hands once before asking, “Can you control the call between you?”

“The call?” she asked, perplexed at not only all the questions he was asking of her, but also the information she was learning.

“If you were in danger, would you know how to call for him?”

Buffy slowly shook her head and answered, “No.”

“Angelus…he hasn’t showed you how to call him then?”

“No, Father.”

Father Marion nodded his head and said briskly, “Alright. Then let me tell you.”

“I’m all for it, but how do you know?”

A small smile enigmatically flitted across his mouth as he answered, “I know a lot about a lot of things. That’s why you were sent to me, Buffy.”

She smiled in return and clarified, “I know. What I mean is…why now?”

“Because I want to share this with you.” Staring up into her youthful face, Father Marion could hardly resist releasing one hand so he could caress her cheek. However hard it was, in the end he did resist.

“When you have need of him, concentrate all your focus on his face. No matter how much trouble you may be in or how difficult it might be, you HAVE to call out to him like this. If Angelus is able, he will come.”

“I just concentrate on his face. What if I concentrated on his name or---”

“His name works just as well. Just remember to channel all of your available, conscious energy on him. No matter how unwilling he might be, Angelus will come to you.”

“Do I have to be in danger or can I just do it whenever?” Buffy’s expression lightened with mischievous intent. “Can I use it like a supernatural cell phone?”

“Buffy!” the priest muttered in mock aggravation.

“What? I just wanted to know!”

“Buffy, just promise me you’ll remember.” His face lost its amused expression, leaving a dark determination behind. “Promise me.”

“I will but its not like I’ll need it. At least not today.” Father Marion didn’t smile like she had hoped and expected. “C’mon, Father,” the Slayer cajoled. “Haven’t we been in serious mode a bit too long?” “Not when it’s this important.”

His unwillingness to humor her made Buffy grip his palms tightly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The priest shook his head in mute apology and answered, “All I can tell you, Buffy, is the same thing I’ve told you before---your life is out of balance. Even now you’re spinning out of control and I can’t help you. Not if you’re unwilling to stop the madness.”

“Then how do I stop?” she snapped in angry frustration. “Just come out and tell me what’s wrong!”

“I can’t give you the answers to that, Buffy. I don’t have the power.” His apologetic voice ground to a halt. Several seconds passed as he struggled to find his next words. “Just know this: love is not enough.” The priest squeezed her hands and waited until she squeezed back. “Love can be used to spiritually rip open more lives than hate can. If you are going to survive the road ahead, you have to remember that.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy admitted while seemingly searching his eyes for the answers to her problems.

“You can love him, but if you hate yourself just so you can love him---it’s not enough. The same goes for Angelus.”

A hysterical laugh snuck past her tightly compressed lips. “Love? He doesn’t love me.”

A tragic smile lifted his lips. “If only that were the case, Buffy.”

He dropped her hands, stood up fluidly, and walked back towards his chair. Settling in it, he observed the numerous expressions openly racing across her youthful face. Apparently basking in the more pleasant ones, she suddenly took on angelic proportions. Father Marion averted his eyes at the reminder of what she was and what was to come.

“What is your answer, Buffy?” he asked while looking away.

She turned to him, unaware of her exquisite, flawless grace. “My answer?”

“Two windows, two makers, one picture.”

The Slayer made a sound of assent and stared at the stained glass portal, apparently drinking in its beauty and symbolism. After many minutes, she finally answered.

“I’d want to look out it forever. I wouldn’t care where it came from. I wouldn’t care who made it. I wouldn’t care what I had to do to get it. I wouldn’t care if no one thought it was pretty. I’d want it…forever.”

Father Marion’s lower lip drew in slightly, his face resigned, disappointed, yet hopeful. “I understand.”

Buffy’s brow went up in surprise, instantly shattering her immortal cast. “You do?”

“Haven’t I always?” he murmured.

A bittersweet smile lifted the side of her pink mouth. “Yes, you have.”

Without another word, Father Marion picked up his half of the forgotten sub and gestured for Buffy to do the same. The two spent the next several minutes sharing their meal in respective silence. After the crumbs were wiped away, he leaned forward.

“We broke bread together, Buffy. We shared a meal together, many times. It means something. No matter what, remember that as well.”

The man dressed as a priest knew that the blonde girl didn’t understand why he said it. However, before the night was over she would know.

He could only hope she would remember it.

********

She would be told she shouldn’t have gone back.

Cynthia knew it even as her feet carried her quickly up the stairs. She would be severely reprimanded for breaking protocol. Cynthia knew that as well.

However, she didn’t care.

How could I have forgotten? Shit! In a moment of weakness, Cynthia had knitted several more blankets for Emma and Thomas Richardsons’ baby. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had even arranged a date for Emma to come by.

That day happened to be today.

Emma was going to be stopping by her apartment that afternoon to not only bring little Rachel over for a visit but to also pick up the blankets.

And that couldn’t happen.

If the Cleaners find her anywhere near that apartment they might decide to… Cynthia’s thoughts viciously stopped as her feet topped the stairs. The red door mocked her with its glorious color, reminding her that spilled blood was just as morbidly glorious.

The sound of voices within the apartment made her heart hammer. Shoving her key into the lock, she turned her wrist and carefully opened the door. Her jaw was set for battle and her eyes promised bloody revenge if that bloodless group decided to spill Emma’s.

And if they touched Rachel…well, Cynthia was sure to get more than a reprimand by the time she finished disposing of THEM.

However, what she saw nearly cracked her composure and numbed her thirst for carnage.

Emma was sitting comfortably in the armchair, Rachel nestled safely within her arms, while Simon sat across from them both.

“Cynthia!” the vampire jovially called out. “You made it back in time.”

Emma smiled and said, “I didn’t know your cousin was in town.” She laughed with teasing warmth and added, “I didn’t even know you had a cousin. Much less a blond one.”

Simon stood up and quickly walked over to Cynthia. With careless grace, he enveloped her in a tight hug and lifted her off her feet. “I’ve missed you!”

It was so incredibly difficult for the dark-haired girl to return his embrace, but return it she did. “I didn’t know you were here!” she cried out in convincing glee. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”

Setting her down, the blond vampire looked over his shoulder and complained, “Didn’t I tell you she’d nag me for not calling ahead of time?”

Emma merely laughed while shifting her daughter.

Cynthia ran her hands up Simon’s arms and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I decided to drop by a little earlier than I was supposed to. When I got here I saw Emma and Rachel by your door.” He added casually, “I also saved Emma from a group of salesmen buzzing about.”

“I thought it was clear that we have a no solicitation policy in this building,” Emma muttered.

“Really!” Cynthia exclaimed in supportive agreement. “Did they give you guys a problem?”

“Nope. Simon told them what was what and they left. Didn’t look too happy, but they left.”

“Good.” Behind Cynthia’s easy smile, she felt nervous relief. “Guess you saved the day, cousin.”

“Guess I did,” he replied softly while letting her go. He allowed his gaze to drop its familial friendliness and showed her a glimpse of something stronger.

Cynthia met his eyes steadily, refusing to acknowledge the flip in her stomach.

The threesome spent the next half-hour chatting gaily. Cynthia made the correct words come out of her mouth correctly. She laughed at the false stories her “cousin” shared to entertain their guest. She even made a few stories of her own. When Simon had the chance to hold Rachel, she visually gave it no notice, other than to dutifully smile and coo at the baby. When Simon invited her to sit next to him and help hold her precious guest, she obliged him easily.

However, her mind counted each second that passed by with unfaltering dedication. When enough time had passed, Cynthia stood up and yawned, “Well, Emma, it was good seeing you.”

The young woman stood up as well and took Rachel from Simon’s arms. “Thomas is going to be home soon so I better put this little one down and start dinner.”

“I was happy to see you both,” Cynthia murmured honestly. She barely repressed the grimace threatening to creep across her brow upon letting those words loose. Shouldn’t get too close…I know that already. Gotta keep them safe. Gotta do what’s right. Can’t get too close if I’m going to do that.

Simon leaned down and nuzzled the infant’s chin with one finger. “She’s so precious, Emma. You’re very lucky to have her.”

The mother’s obvious love for her daughter permeated every pore of her body. “I know. Thomas and I can’t believe we made something so perfect, so beautiful.” Looking up, Emma laughed sheepishly. “Here I am going on and on, just like every mother out there.”

“Not every mother,” Simon replied softly. “Only the good ones.”

Cynthia inhaled slightly, knowing the source of his memories and the never-ending pain they inspired. Without thought, she reached out and grasped his hand tightly in hers. Realizing her display of weakness, Cynthia attempted to drop her hold but it was too late. Simon tightly gripped her fingers, holding them as if he wanted to never let her go.

“Well, I’ll let you two go. It was nice meeting you, Simon.”

“You too, Emma.” Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Good-bye, Rachel.”

Something in Simon’s expression caused Emma to spontaneously suggest, “Why don’t you two come over for dinner tonight? It’s not much, spaghetti and toast, but it’s cheap and good.”

Cynthia apologetically shook her head and declined. “Sorry, Emma. We’re not going to be able to. You know, family plans and all.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I understand. Maybe another time.” Emma opened the door and paused when Simon spoke.

“Listen. Why don’t you and your husband take this little angel out to dinner tonight? On me.”

Emma began shaking her head and thanking him at the same time. “Oh, we couldn’t. But thanks---“

“Seriously. I insist.” Simon pressed thirty dollars into her hand. “Think of it as our thanks for bringing a little sunshine to our day.”

Cynthia stood there, unsure of whether to support the vampire or squeeze the shit out of his hand. He was bringing too much attention to them. His actions were too conspicuous. They were supposed to blend in the world, not stand out. Nobody acted this nice over seeing a baby. Granted Cynthia understood Simon’s sincerity, but still…

After a few awkward moments, Emma asked, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Right, Cynthia?”

Pasting a wide smile on her face, the dark-haired girl nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! You, Thomas, and Rachel deserve some time out. If you don’t want to go to a regular restaurant, just go to McDonald’s, then take the rest of the money and rent a movie or go to the bookstore. Do what you want! It’s your night!”

She felt a tiny bit of pressure from the vampire’s hand. I got it! Cynthia smarted under the warning. Now she was the one going a bit overboard.

“Alright. Thanks, you two.” Emma tried to wave, but her hands were too full with baby and blankets, so she just shrugged and smiled. “Bye!”

“Bye, Emma!” they both called back. Watching until mother and child made it to their apartment, the two immediately parted once the door closed. Cynthia efficiently asked, “Where are the Cleaners?”

Simon walked towards the window and peered through the sunny curtains. “Outside. Alpha is stationed forty, no forty-two degrees from this mark on the sidewalk.”

Cynthia’s hand brushed her hip, needing to feel the reassurance of gun metal. “And Beta?”

“He’s one-hundred and ten degrees.”

She nodded her head. “Okay.” The Cleaners were in surveillance protocol. “What did you say to them?”

The blond vampire turned to the smaller girl and answered, “Simply that if they touched one hair on either Emma, her daughter, or her husband, I would ensure each felt the dirty instruments of their work.” His mouth lifted in a ruthless smile, “That is, if you didn’t get to them first.”

Cynthia stared at him, disliking her vulnerable emotions at the moment. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Besides, I don’t think either had any intention of wanting to kill, but…” His words trailed away but their message was clear: if Simon hadn’t had come, they would’ve.

And it would’ve been her fault. Shouldn’t have gotten too close. I was told to be polite, friendly, but fall back into the crowd. Don’t stand out too much. Now look what I almost did. Damnit! Cynthia knew the cameras were recording every mistake, every failure. Asheburne was probably going into apoplexy at this moment.

Her cold, black eyes met his fathomless azure orbs. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

Cynthia looked at his beautiful continence for a second longer than she should have. I know the drill. Walk away. Don’t come to close to his flame. Turning away, she stopped abruptly when he said, “It’s wired to go, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” was her emotionless response.

“What about the others?”

“They’ll be evacuated.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

UPDATED 11/5/2004

Cynthia’s shoulders drew up slightly, her body tense with rage and pain. He thinks I would let these people die…bastard! I’m a soldier not a monster! However, her voice did not betray the gaping wound of her spirit. “Simon, believe what you want. It’s not for me to try to convince you.”

The whisper of linen teased the air with movement. “True, it’s not.” The next words were murmured barely above raspy sigh. “It’s for you to convince yourself.”

Her black gaze remained coolly fixed on the door while her heart threatened to break faith and shout out her secrets. Cynthia could feel his tall, slim body behind her---only conspicuous inches separating them.

In spite of her training, in spite of all that she had experienced and seen, Cynthia couldn’t deny her age or her heart. The well of rejection sprang forward beneath her feet, threatening to draw her into its cold tank of bitter liquid. Even now he won’t touch me. I’m just a child to him. I’m just a little girl---a niña. And no matter what I do, I can’t ever breach that wall.

It wasn’t only a distance of centuries that kept them separate, but beliefs.

The past flickered to life behind the opaque veil of her icy orbs.

“Why do you think they lie, Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do the Watchers lie to their charges? To their Slayers especially?”

“What exactly do you mean, Cynthia?”

“The Watchers tell them that all vampires are soulless and evil.”

“I know.”

“But it’s not true.”

“I know.”

“So why do they do it?”

“Control.”

“I can respect that. It’s necessary. Although…”

“Yes?”

“The truth always works better, don’t you think?”

“Always.”

Simon never lied to her. He NEVER lied to her. But Cynthia was a liar. She had always been a liar and would ALWAYS be one.

“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.”

Her stake was right there, next to her hip. It would be so easy to twist, turn, and plunge. Staring intently at a large crack in the door’s paint, Cynthia allowed herself the luxury of imagining a life without this creature.

Freedom.

Cynthia Santiana would be free of conscience, free of pain, and free of memory.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” The faint Slavic accent whispered in her small ear, absent of breath but alive with heat.

She chose to remain silent, waiting for this immortal predator to show his weapons.

“You’ve already brought me down with that stake. I’m gone, ash and bone on your floors, and you’re wondering how good it would feel…aren’t you?”

Her skin itched with the torturous tingle of knowing Simon was so close. Without looking behind her, she knew he was bent over her, in a mockery of courtesy given the circumstances.

However, it was nothing unique to the moment.

Their height difference complimented and drew attention from the other in solicitation. Simon had often bent closer to make himself accessible to her petite height, even though he never had a problem hearing her every breath. She had always arched her feet up, even slightly, just to try to bridge the distance and meet him halfway, at least figuratively.

But this time was different.

“The truth always works better, don’t you think?”

“Always.”

“Yes.” Her one word was spoken without remorse or inflection. She could’ve been answering any one of a thousand harmless questions.

“Would it feel good?” Simon whispered sweetly as his finger gently followed the line of her arm down to her waist. “Would it feel good to not care about sin…Cyn?”

If she moved her head slightly to the right, Cynthia would feel the smoothness of his cheek against her temple. If she leaned into his hand, she would feel his flawless touch consume her flawed mortality. And without a sound, her whole body screamed in agony.

Simon had chosen his weapons with precise deliberation.

Seduction.

Not a muscle moved on the young girl’s face, yet her ebony eyes overflowed with tears that she could not control. The vampire’s utter lack of feeling, of caring, speared Cynthia’s bludgeoned heart. He knew how much she loved him and meant to barter her obedience for cold passion.

Never before had she felt so humiliated and so worthless for her feelings. It’s never for me. Only for what I’ll do for him.’ Asheburne was right.

“He’ll never love you, Santiana.”

“Because he’s not capable? Tch. Tell it to your idiot Slayers.”

“Watch your tongue and mind your ears! This will save you from the nastiness of heartache, as long you’re not a stupid child. Are you listening? I have no interest of repeating myself again.”

“Go.”

“That Ancient will never love you the way you want because he doesn’t want to love you.”

“Why not?”

“Why? What difference does it make, Santiana? Because he doesn’t want to. He’s said as much and if anything, Simon is a vampire of his word.”

“You’re telling me this because?”

“Because there may come a day when he seeks to use your emotions against you. Don’t be that foolish. If you can’t kill them off, at least have the foresight to guard them beneath indifference. But no matter what, do NOT allow that Ancient to manipulate you through your weakness.”

What do you think of me now, Asheburne? I guess I ended up being a stupid child after all.

The smell of Cynthia’s grief was not lost on Simon. He carefully captured one falling tear with a gentle caress. “Why do you cry, Niña? Are you crying because of what you’ve become?” he asked with an undercurrent of husky want. “Are you shedding tears for my death even now?”

Simon never lied to her. NEVER. Until now.

But this time, Cynthia would stop being a liar and would tell the truth.

“I’m crying because you made this easy for me.” In a movement nearly too fast to see, Cynthia spun away from her captor, pulled out her semi-automatic gun, and pointed it squarely at his chest. The silencer on the muzzle made the weapon seem even more vicious.

Simon’s face betrayed no emotion. In a cold voice, he asked, “Where’s the honor in this? At least with a stake there’s the guise of fair chance.”

“Honor is a word for fools who have the privilege of having people like me doing things like this.” Her mouth tightened briefly before it became an indifferent line.

“You’re not a bad person.”

“Don’t you mean ‘not a bad vampire’?”

“No. I said it right. You’re not a bad person. Man, really. I’ve never met any man who didn’t try to use a woman somehow. You make me think that there are good ones out there. It makes me hope. It makes me hope that Carolina can grow up and see something different than I have. Maybe Mama too.”

“Cyn…you know I care about more than anyone in the world, right?”

“Really, Simon?”

“Really.”

Until now, I cared more about you than anyone else in the world. And now there’s nobody left for me to care about. Without another word, she aimed for his heart and pulled the trigger.

The white front of his shirt exploded but nothing else.

Before Cynthia could betray her shock, the vampire’s eyes bled red and his exotic features hardened into a mask of unforgiving purpose. “That you would go so far...”

Too late the young soldier recalled that a simple bullet couldn’t bring down this ancient vampire.

Too late she realized that she had been goaded into this act of murder.

Too late Cynthia remembered she was merely a puppet in this play.

Simon crouched down in an offensive position and snarled, “You would dare shoot me! The only person left in this world who loves you!”

The dam on her emotions splintered beneath the fury of his immortal rage. “Love? You don’t FUCKING love me!” She jammed her useless weapon back into her jacket. “How can you ever love a tool? You can’t! So don’t lie to me.”

The vampire’s crimson eyes narrowed with menace. “I don’t lie.”

“LIAR!” Cynthia abruptly closed her mouth into a tight line. She was losing control. She was slipping beneath the unpredictable waves of her shameful emotions.

“What’s wrong, Cyn? Losing control?” he whispered with frightening accuracy. “Becoming human again?”

She lifted her chin slightly while forcing her face to fall into the lines of indifference. “Hardly.” Her eyes glinted with unwavering resolve as she advised him with, “Don’t involve yourself anymore than you already have. This isn’t your business.”

“Neither is it yours!” Simon hissed with frightening conviction.

Cynthia’s gaze remained trained on his arms and legs, futilely watching them for warning. “I have to disagree with you on that one, Simon.” It doesn’t matter how closely I watch him…when he strikes I won’t be able to see it.

“Even if you win, you’ll still never be her.”

She dropped her eyes slightly in unconscious acknowledgement of the barb. “Who says I want to be? I have a job to do---that’s all.”

Simon shifted to the left and watched as she did the same. “A job? That’s what you still call it?” He pinned her with a condemning stare as he asked, “Tonight, when you lure those innocent girls with promises of night and passion, only to lead them to death, will you still call it a job?”

Cynthia remained mute, refusing to look into his crimson gaze. “I do what I have to.”

“What you have to?” Simon growled low in his throat. “It’s that ruthlessness that kept you from the calling. That’s why you were passed over.”

Her heart skidded and threatened to stop. All her methodical training deserted the soldier as she gasped aloud with agony. That he would bring up her family’s last moments…her failure! Cynthia’s knees threatened to buckle but she forced her body to obey---even if her mind and heart would not.

“Get off of her! Get off my mother, pinche cabron!”

“What did you say to me, you little puta?”

“You heard me. Don’t you EVER hit her again!”

“Chupa mi pito! Nobody tells me what to do, much less a woman.”

“I’m going to kill you for that!”’

In the end, Cynthia had lied. She hadn’t killed that brutalizing bastard, Alejandro Varguez. Instead, he had beaten her mother and her sister to death before nearly beating her into a grave as well.

Maybe it would have been merciful if she now lay beside Elena and Carolina Santiana instead of facing the one creature still capable of her hurting her spirit. But there was no more mercy for Cynthia Santiana. If there ever had been.

Her voice seemed to come from far away as she murmured, “Is that what draws you here, Simon? To gloat in my face. Or is it her you favor? After all, the Slayer has nothing to do with you---why are you even here?”

Before he could answer, Cynthia murmured dryly, “Don’t tell me you have loyalty to Angelus? After all, didn’t he once attack your precious Marie? So which is it? Buffy or Angelus? Whose side are you on, vamp?”

Simon’s eyes flashed murderously. “Be very careful with what you say, Cynthia Santiana.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. Forgive my impertinence.” Cynthia’s lips lifted into a travesty of a smile as she stated, “I bet I know the answer. But is it any surprise? After all, you’re a man.”

“It’s not like that, Niña.”

Her arm slashed through the air as she hissed, “Get off it! You watch her too!” Swallowing her rage, Cynthia succeeded in training her voice back to its quiet, mocking tone. “As I watch her, you do as well. Do you like what you see, Simon?” Just the thought of this vampire preferring Buffy Summers threw her body into a chaotic rage. “I bet you do.”

Simon remained silent, choosing instead to keep his bloody gaze trained solely on her.

She rocked back on her heels and watched as he shifted in response. It hurt. Knowing that Simon was willing to return the favor of murder hurt. Even though it shouldn’t. But she could accept it.

This, however, she could not.

Cynthia shoved her hands in her pockets and taunted him with, “Although I’m surprised you’re into a girl like her. Her master may be fattening her up, but she’s still a bit on the skinny side. I thought you liked women with a bit of meat on their bones. I guess I thought wrong, huh?”

The blond vampire began to growl in growing rage.

“When Angelus has her bent over, cock shoved far up her little ass, does it make you hard?”

Simon’s growl grew louder. The tiny hairs on the back of Cynthia’s neck sprang to attention, silently demanding that she be quiet. Of course, she was too far past that. “What? No denials?” She could feel a knot of hurt tightly coil itself inside her gut. “Well, there you go. You’re just as fucked up as everyone else when it comes to that bit---“ She abruptly stopped, choosing instead to murmur, “Girl.”

Simon finally broke his silence and stated, “You have no right to hate her. It’s not her fault she became the Slayer and not you.”

“FUCK YOU!” Cynthia stalked over to his crouched body, mirrored his posture, and slapped his face with every bit of strength she possessed. “I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO HATE HER! I SHOULD’VE BEEN THE SLAYER, NOT HER!”

Simon remained still as the death he was capable of giving.

Cynthia felt the bitter tears leak from her eyes, finishing her darkest shame completely. Her sides heaved from the pain of keeping her voice from breaking into the gasps her lungs demanded. “You know all this, Simon!” she warbled not even an inch from his face. “I felt the change happen when I caught that mierda beating the shit out of my mother! I’d been waiting for years! Training for years! I knew everything there was to know!” Her yells collapsed into a whisper filled with rage and loathing, “But It left me and went into HER.” Her control shattered as she began to openly sob, “M-My f-f-family DIED because o-of Buffy Summers!!”

“No, they didn’t,” he stated firmly but compassionately.

“Yes, they did!” she shrieked in return, red-faced and lost.

“No, they didn’t, Cynthia.” Simon’s eyes bled back into azure while his handsome face lost its predatory cast. He reached out to enfold her into his embrace when she slapped his hands away.

Scrambling back, she quickly found her feet and started laughing wildly. “Oh, this is rich!” She rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes and cried, “You’re good, Simon. I forget that sometimes.” Cynthia stopped and looked into his eyes, daring him to use his powers of persuasion. “You got what you wanted, right? You came to see how dead I was, how fucked I was, and now you’ve got your answer.”

“You’re not dead on the inside, Cynthia.” Simon rose to his full height. This time the power rolling off of him in waves meant to soothe not terrify.

“Bull. I died that night, Simon. I just didn’t know it until I came here.”

The immortal stood there silently, letting his gentle gaze met hers without vampiric control. After several moments passed, he asked softly, “The night your mother and sister died or when I left you?”

Cynthia lifted her chin, not caring that mucus was still pouring out of her nose. “You pick.” Glancing down at her wrist, she saw the time and mentally cursed herself. I shouldn’t have chosen this path. I should’ve known better. Hastily she wiped her nose with her sleeve. Her voice returned to its familiar coldness. “This apartment is going to blow in 17 minutes, Simon. Feel free to stay if you wish, but I won’t. I’ve got work to do.”

She turned away and felt her back prick with tension. Let me walk away this time. Let me walk away from YOU.

“We go back to the beginning…”

The whisper was the only warning Cynthia had before her body automatically ducked down. Simon’s arms adjusted in that split-second and caught her.

“No, Cynthia,” he whispered in her ear as he hauled her small body against his. “You are not going to be a part of this madness. I won’t let you.”

The possible feelings of primitive lust were lost on the enraged girl. The only emotions aroused from his body being tightly pressed hers were wrath and betrayal.

“Does Buffy mean that much to you, Simon?” she spat in tormented jealousy as she leaned forward as far as his hold would allow. “Do you want to fuck her too? Is that it?”

The vampire remained silent. His powerful arms brought his captive’s body closer while his mouth descended to the crook of her neck.

Feeling the touch of his fangs, Cynthia’s eyes widened in panic. Instinct couldn’t fathom the uselessness of struggle. Swearing, kicking, and screaming, the dark-haired girl fought to escape his hold. However, all of her training, all the cold logic which had kept her alive for years disappeared.

In Simon’s arms, Cynthia was merely a human girl with no power against this ancient vampire.

“I’m not going out like this! Not after all this…no fucking way!” she hissed in fury as Simon’s fangs slowly broke through the fragile barrier of skin and tissue. “I’ve been compromised!” she shouted into the air. “Agent down! Evacuate all collateral and incinerate location J7341! NOW!”

Then it was over.

Cynthia could feel her blood rush out in a river of lamentation. Cold immediately followed heat, alternating between the two until she could no longer tell the difference. Rage overcame grief but she was helpless beneath the vampire’s superior force.

Distantly she could hear the piercing scream of the fire alarm echo throughout the building. The pounding of feet and the crying of an infant made its way into her fading consciousness.

However, the violation of being drained was only surpassed by the intoxicating ecstasy humming steadily throughout her body. Even the pressure of Simon pressed against her back made her skin come alive and vibrate in pleasure. Cynthia’s womb tightened in expectation as her mouth opened in a languorous moan.

She heard him growl softly before the world exploded in her eyes. Her chest arched forward and her limbs became stiff. “Unh!” The cry escaped Cynthia’s red lips as the power of her orgasm tore right through veins. She felt his wicked teeth slide out, leaving a bloody wound behind.

“I don’t watch her. I watch YOU. And I don’t do this for THEM, Cynthia,” Simon whispered from behind her. “I don’t do this because I pine for the Slayer. I do this because I love you and I won’t let you die for this cause.”

Die? The words filtered through her hazy intellect, but Cynthia found she couldn’t manage coherent thought. Finally, she slipped under the black waves of unconsciousness.

Simon held his precious girl against his body, shifting his hold so that his arms slid beneath her knees. He could hear the Cleaners coming, along with several others. A terrifying smile lit his face briefly before disappearing. Looking up into one of the numerous cameras lining the ceiling and walls, Simon promised, “You’re not taking her back, Asheburne. Finish your intrigue with another tool.”

His nostrils flared as the acrid smell of accelerant instantly filled the apartment. Without another word, he tucked Cynthia against him, turned, and ran straight through the window. Flying into the air, he heard the mortal cries of alarm beneath before a deafening boom obliterated all sound.

Landing on the rooftop across, he arched his back, covering Cynthia completely, as a shower of mortar and glass sprayed over it. Simon knew no one actually saw him or Cynthia---they only saw the window explode right before the apartment did as well. So the residents were safe, at least he would pray they were. But they're not as important right now. He waited a moment, waited to feel the shame his thoughts should’ve created.

Simon felt nothing.

For a creature who had spent centuries ensuring his part in creating balance between mortals and immortals, he felt no balance within at the moment. His body pounded with the phantom memory of adrenalin while his hands shook slightly with the need to decimate and destroy all who opposed him. If he looked in a mirror right now, the vampire knew his eyes would reflect the deepest blood.

And it was all for her.

Simon glanced down at the girl in his arms. Her eyes were closed and a small trickle of blood slid down her temple. Carefully brushing her curls aside, Simon searched for the projectile and found it. He plucked the tiny sliver of glass and threw it aside.

Leaning down, he gently ran his tongue across the wound and watched it close. The taste of her blood summoned the ravenous beast lying in wait behind civility and control. His mouth opened and a glint of fangs broke through. Once more, he leaned over her slim neck and settled his mouth across her skin. The first spurt of delicious blood hit his throat before Simon’s eyes widened in disgust and horror at his unconscious actions.

Pulling back from Cynthia’s insensible body, he straightened up and adjusted his hold. Even though they couldn’t see him, the Watchers would be able to disassemble his illusion and find her heat. Simon had to move them both.

Without another moment of hesitation, the vampire leapt from the rooftop down to the streets below. Weaving through the gathered crowds, he ignored Emma’s cries.

“Oh, my God! I just saw her! Her and her cousin! They couldn’t have still been in there!”

The fading sunlight didn’t burn and the glass shards embedded in his skin didn’t hurt. The only pain Simon carried was the one in his arms. Only it no longer centered on Cynthia’s cold, deliberations….it centered on his own.

********

The music pounded fiercely and the smell of sweat, liquor, and sex was strong. Angelus should’ve been in vampiric heaven right now, but he wasn’t.

He was only at the Cavern.

“Daddy?” Druscilla’s hand clutched his wrist as she sought his attention. Dutifully waiting until he turned to her, the delicate vampiress asked, “Can I dance with my suitors?”

Angelus regally nodded his head and accepted her chaste kiss across the mouth. He watched as she skipped down the stairs and onto the floors. His hooded eyes noted the happiness in her smile as she pressed her slim body against the young man’s.

A cynical smile lifted the side of his mouth. Easy meal.

His hand drifted down to his pocket, feeling the cool metal beneath. The need to dial the number again was strong. With an inaudible curse, Angelus ripped his hand away. She didn’t pick up the last time. I’ll be damned if I dial her again.

The dark vampire lifted the crystal glass and eagerly swallowed his drink. The scotch burned a path down his throat, giving momentary pleasure but doing nothing to erase the feelings of unease lodged in his gut.

Angelus idly glanced around, noting those who were familiar and those who were not. No Simon. Hmm. Wonder where that bastard is. Settling back into his chair, he wondered not for the first time, exactly what he was doing here.

UPDATED: DECEMBER 1, 2004

The vampire ignored his own advice and raised his glass at the passing waitress. It was pitiful really. All the power in this town had been in his hands and now it was slipping away like granules of sand.

The little Mayor of Sunnydale had visited him today and said as much.

“Angelus…I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe that means you should be quiet.”

“Now, don’t take that tone with me, Mr. Gryphon. I’m only here to help.”

“That’s not my last name, pissant.”

“Angelus? Are you going to be difficult or are you going to the Master Vampire I know you can be?”

“Very well. What is it, Mr. Mayor?”

“I know about that debacle with the assassins.”

…

“Angelus…you know what I’m talking about. Silence with me won’t work. Silence with THEM will.”

…

“I’m here to help in any way I can. But in order for me to do that, you’ve got to get back in the game.”

“I never left it.”

“Now, don’t get testy. I know how the pleasures of the flesh can cloud our minds. Temptation is a very powerful thing—Eve didn’t get Adam thrown out of the Garden just for the apple, if you know what I mean.”

“Cute.”

“I think so too. Now, you cannot continue to favor the Slayer the way you have. Raping her in front of the Gathering—that shows domination. Taking her on weekend trips and buying out the Gap does not.”

“I don’t need lessons in domination, Mayor. I’m a pro at it—among other things.”

“Angelus, there’s no need to bring torture into this. As a partner, no, as a friend, I’m strongly advising you to end this liaison you have with the Summers girl.”

…

“Listen to me! Forget the fact that the city of Sunnydale gifted you this nice penthouse, worth millions I might add, in return for services still non-rendered. If you let things progress the way they have been, you will lose everything you’ve worked so hard for! I can promise you.”

“And who’s gonna take it from me? You?”

“Not me. The Clans.”

And that was the bitch of it all. The Mayor had been right. His time was running out and apparently not only Angelus knew it.

Accepting the glass from the waitress, the vampire directed her in a clipped voice to, “Bring the bottle.” He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The pulsating music pounded into his body, driving it mad. He was deep shit. Deep, deep shit.

Killing your own minions was one thing. Killing the delegation from a neighboring clan was an entirely different affair.

It was murder without honor.

Angelus was in up to his eyeballs and he couldn’t even claim that it was all Buffy’s fault.

I did this to myself.

There were no witnesses to his crime, but the whispers were loud. Already he had a delegate call him this afternoon. After cutting through the crap, he had been asked if the order was still out on his lover.

So what had he answered?

Yes.

To reply any other way was to admit to fault. However, the delegate’s call was but a subtle warning. The Clans smelled betrayal.

The nameless waitress promptly returned with his bottle of liquid sin. Flashing her a typical, lusty grin, Angelus accepted her coy, feline smirk. He watched as she sashayed down the aisle, but his sight was blind to the server’s abundant charms. Vaguely he wondered if had already fucked her. He couldn’t remember. There had been too many to count in the last two months.

His lover’s heartbroken face suddenly appeared before Angelus.

If Buffy had any clue that he had been screwing girls almost nightly…

Nausea roiled about in his gut. A grimace of pain and sickness flashed across his face before he remembered where he was. Angelus could not afford to show weakness, not tonight, not ever.

Uncapping the bottle, he carefully poured the scotch. He couldn’t let the watching patrons know he needed the drink badly. Can’t be weak. Can’t show ‘em anything.

However, he couldn’t dismiss the twisted fear he felt at the thought of Buffy finding out about his sins. While he never fed from his conquests, he did share his body and that would be enough to drive his Slayer into a jealous rage.

It was wrong in her eyes and if he were to be honest, it was wrong in his as well. At first he had started it as a way to show the world…himself…that HE was in charge. He had to prove to the night that Buffy did not hold his cock hostage.

But instead of boldly telling his whore what the deal was, Angelus had slunk about in the shadows like a cowardly piece of shit.

He bit back a curse. It shouldn’t be a big deal to begin with! The flesh meant nothing. It was a lurid, anonymous way to find release. He looked at the girls he had taken the same way he would look at his hand—a means to an end.

She was the only one who slept in his bed. She was the only one meant anything. That should be enough!

Yeah, right.

Still, if Buffy had any clue that he had been screwing anyone else other than her…

“You made my mom think she could have you! She can't! NO ONE CAN!”

“You’re mine Angelus, and I’m not sharing. Ever.”

“I told you that you were mine! Mine—you stupid, dead, son-of-a-bitch!”

“I don’t know what we are, but I can’t take the thought of you being with anyone other than me. I’ll…I’ll go CRAZY if that happens.”

“I won’t be a replacement for another girl. No matter what I’ve done for you, I won’t do that.”

Irrationally, he wished he could undo what his libido and pride had wrought. She can’t know. She can’t ever know. More lies to spin, more secrets to keep. It seemed all Angelus did was keep the ever-revolving wheel of self-preservation turning.

He sipped his scotch, nursing his fears and disgust in the way he did centuries before. Wrong. In the way ANGEL did before. He let the sharp smell of alcohol waft across his senses, dulling them to the point of toleration. Existing in this half-life was driving him mad. Sometimes the memories of life and death were mixing together in a messy jumble and Angelus didn’t know what was his.

And then Buffy sure as fuck didn’t help either.

Ever since their bond had opened to allow him to feel her, everything had changed. While Angelus took perverse joy in her chaotic emotions of passion and hatred, the path went both ways. By feeling her emotions, apparently he was forced to feel his own. There were times when he could swear that what he felt had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his own feelings.

It was disgusting.

So the more Angelus felt, the more he tried NOT to feel. It was working, at least for a time. Then Buffy had walked out on him and then everything went to Hell.

He had become a vampire without shame, a gutless creature possessed by the need for his woman.

It was humiliating.

Angelus refilled his glass and drank it down instantly. Sloppy, sloppy. Now I definitely look like a vampire who’s trying to get drunk. Topping off his glass once more, Angelus downed the liquid fire again. So what? I’m getting drunk. Who really gives a shit? I don’t. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

The crush of sex and blood suddenly became overwhelming. Angelus kept drinking, not caring about his fading image of power. Bottle after bottle visited his table while Druscilla danced in glee on the floor. Through his alcohol haze her joy reminded him of another’s.

Buffy.

It was sick but Angelus could not escape his pain. He existed to keep her by his side. He craved to live through her joy. The more she felt, the closer he came to being real.

In her arms, Angelus became something more than an abomination. Buried deep inside her, he became a man. Buffy’s passion made him something worthy of adoration. The more she cried out for him, the more he could pretend to deserve it. The more she said she loved him, the more he wanted to know love.

But the more he fucked faceless females, the more he knew he only deserved Buffy’s hatred.

I’m so fucking pathetic. Pain visited the empty hole inside his chest. I’m going to destroy us both. Angelus felt hollow and worthless. He was nothing but a whore. He whored himself for pleasure, for power, and for prestige.

The vampire shook his head. It’s the booze. It’s making me stupid. Unbuttoning his shirt, his hand slipped to the crucifix lying boldly against his skin.

A nasty smirk etched itself into his beautiful face. Soon after, wicked laughter seeped from his mouth. If there was anything to take from the debacle of his emergence in Sunnydale, it was this. I’m the only vampire of this clan to reach this kind of power. First the Slayer and now God. Nothing can stop me. A dark scowl transformed his face into brooding perfection. Buffy. She made me like this. I need her…

Automatically, his drugged mind stretched out, seeking to find Buffy. In an instance he saw her. She was leaving the church, a smile on her pretty face. Buffy reached up and hugged the slender man in black. Angelus’ hand tightened on his glass until it shattered. He was beyond caring what any of the interested immortal spectators might think of his uncontrolled actions.

They were beneath him.

They were nothing.

They could go to Hell and stay there.

It wasn’t their mistress in the company of Christ. It wasn’t their girl who constantly reminded them of how abject and beneath grace they were.

Focusing on the loathsome scene before him, Angelus watched as the hated priest returned her affection and waved his hand in farewell. The drunken vampire immediately closed the connection.

This was why he loathed opening up his mind to her. He HATED seeing her with any man, regardless of purpose. And he ESPECIALLY hated that fucking priest.

Angelus’ smile disintegrated into a poisoned parting of the lips.

I’m the Master here. I do what I want. Everyone in Sunnydale lives or dies by my command.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Angelus fished out his cell phone. With minimal movement, the dangerously intoxicated vampire connected with an ever-present minion.

“Master Angelus?”

“I want you to do something for me tonight.” The silence on the other end was one of absolute obedience. Angelus looked out onto the dance floor and saw a world of wickedness. The club lights made him feel dizzy and drunk with power. He focused on Druscilla’s gothic beauty, her innocently evil joy.

Poison. The prettiest poison in the world is found in a woman’s smile. I fucking hate them all. Angelus suppressed a bark of nasty laughter. Focusing on his rage, he whispered, “I want you to take care of someone. A priest.”

“His name?”

“Marion. I want you to slit his throat and bleed him dry. Don’t turn him…just make him disappear. You got that?”

“It will be done, Master.”

Angelus closed the connection with a flip of his wrist. Stuffing the phone back in his jacket, he felt numb. His demon rejoiced.

THAT FUCKER HAD IT COMING! THE BITCH IS LUCKY YOU DON’T HAVE HER BLED DRY!

His knuckles stood out sharply against his pale, elegant hand. The vortex of his fears and nightmares came to macabre life, mocking Angelus with the terrifying feeling of helplessness.

“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.”’

Angelus stood up abruptly. His black eyes narrowed in silent command. “Dru!”

The fey vampiress froze in the midst of her spirited dance. Raising her head, she immediately caught her sire’s gaze. Druscilla’s shoulder’s slumped slightly as tragic melancholy seized her spirit. This is how it ends. Daddy’s eyes will cry oceans of sacrifice before Mercy visits him.

Helpless inevitability flamed the heat of madness. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t warn him. All she could do was listen to the stars and watch as her body played their will.

Druscilla became one with Fate.

She obeyed it blindly and went to Angelus. When she reached his side, she could smell the stench of liquor. The amount he drank would have easily killed two grown men. As it was, it only made Angelus extremely intoxicated.

His arm snaked around her slim waist. With a leer, he asked, “When’s the last time I fucked you, Dru?”

“I don’t know, Angelus,” she murmured with a choked sigh.

He leaned forward and soundly kissed her lips. “I want you tonight. Here. In the back room.”

Druscilla dropped her gaze and nodded her head.

He didn’t bother to speak to his childe any further. Instead he walked off, expecting her to follow him obediently.

She kept pace with Angelus’ large, menacing form. The crowds parted and the whispers began. Soon, the serpent would find its way to the Slayer.

And when it did…nothing would be the same again.

**********

Buffy walked towards the Bronze with a slight spring in her step. After leaving Father Marion, she had rushed home to shower and change. The little black dress with matching jacket and heels made Buffy feel ultra sophisticated.

It was just one of the many outfits Angelus had bought for her recently. Although she hadn’t wanted him to, he insisted on replacing the entire wardrobe he had trashed the night their relationship had went on meltdown.

She, of course, had gracefully accepted his will.

Buffy’s feet walked their familiar route, heels clicking loudly in the night. As usual, the streets were nearly empty. So it was a surprise when she heard an unfamiliar voice call out her name.

Abruptly coming to a stop, Buffy watched as a stranger walked up to her. The young woman looked to be about in her early twenties. Without preamble she asked, “You’re Buffy, right?”

The Slayer sensed the stranger was completely human. So the question was obvious when she answered, “Yes.”

“You’re going with this dude named Angel, right?”

Buffy wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question, so she asked one of her own. “Why?”

Apparently her question was answer enough. A look of empathetic anger twisted the stranger’s mouth. “Well, I just want to let you know that I’ve been played before and if someone had just told me when to catch my asshole ex-boyfriend in the act, I totally would’ve appreciated it. AFTER I kicked his ass.”

Buffy felt her stomach twist queerly in fear. “What do you mean?” No. No, this isn’t happening to me.

“I just saw your man go into the back room with some chick.”

The world dropped out from beneath Buffy’s feet. Oh my God. No. No. No.

“It’s not like she was even really that hot. She was some anorexic skank.”

Buffy’s face blanched as one name came to mind. Druscilla.

The Samaritan continued. “I don’t know her name but it sounded like Pru…Priscilla. Something like that.”

“Druscilla,” Buffy replied in a flat monotone. He lied to me. He made me think I was all he ever wanted…all he ever needed. I’ve been so stupid. Stupid…

“Yeah! That’s it.” The woman’s voice dropped into a sympathetic tone. “Anyway, like I said, I don’t want to bring anybody down by spreading rumors and shit. But when I saw you, I just couldn’t let you walk away without knowing. Every woman deserves to know when she’s being played.”

“Being played,” Buffy repeated evenly. “Yeah.” She drew a shuddering a breath and dropped her gaze to the handbag in her grasp. Angel’s silver ring flashed beautifully beneath the dark light filtering in from the moon. Angelus knows I love him. He KNOWS it! But it’s not enough for him? Even after last night?

“Will you be different tomorrow, Angelus?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will this be over once the sun rises? Will you change your mind and break my heart?”
“No, Buffy. Tomorrow will be the same. And the tomorrow after that. And the one after that. Nothing will change.”
“I believe you. I believe you.”
“Nothing will change.”’

Rage ravaged all of Buffy’s reason. Her heart exploded with the agony of betrayal. Her small fists tightened and her body began pulsing with the need for vengeance. “That dead son-of-a-bitch!” she hissed, already dismissing the fact that someone was still there. “I’m going to fucking kill him!”

The informant nodded her head in satisfaction and agreement. “Listen—you can still kick his sorry ass. They went in not even ten minutes ago.”

Buffy whipped her head up and demanded, “Where is he?”

With a thumb, the woman gestured, “In the club back there.”

“Club? You mean the Bronze?”

“Oh, hell no!” she exclaimed. “Not there. At the Cavern.”

Buffy’s mouth tightened. “I’ve never heard of it. Where’s it at?”

“Just down that alley. There’s a big, blue sign. You can’t miss it.” The Samaritan turned away before calling out, “By the way, there’s no cover charge tonight, so you can go right in.”

“Wait! Where are the back rooms?”

“There’s two sets. The ground floor is for regular people like us. The top floor is private. I think it’s for the owners or something. You know, the VIP crowd. That’s the one he’s on.”

Buffy’s face was a mask of demented rage as she stated sincerely, “Thanks for your help.”

She smiled widely and answered, “No prob.” The smile disappeared abruptly. “Now kick his ass AND his slut’s too.”

Without another word, Buffy rushed by the young woman, her mind completely trained on destroying both Angelus and Druscilla. So intent was she on her prey, Buffy never heard her Samaritan whisper, “Subject A on the make.”

********

The light hurt her eyes.

Cynthia groaned softly as she started to shift to her side. Her memories of Simon assaulted her along with the light. I can’t believe that fucker actually bit me. Bastard. Cynthia cautiously glanced about, seeking to find out how much trouble she was in, based on her surroundings. Scuffed hardwood floors greeted her but nothing else. The only sound in the air was her breathing.

Simon’s Slavic voice whispered suddenly in the silence. “You’re awake.”

There was no point in denying it. The vampire had already heard the biological responses signaling consciousness. Cynthia sat up gingerly while swallowing several times. Her shoulders bowed in pain as she winced from the overhead light’s brightness.

“Are you thirsty?”

She nodded her head once and waited. His footsteps echoed eerily in the room, making Cynthia feel tense with wariness.

Simon’s legs neatly dropped into a crouch. He held out a bottle of water and murmured, “It will go away soon. You’re body is just trying to--”

“Be quiet,” she croaked, refusing to look at him. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m some dumb human you picked up off the streets. I know what’s happening, Simon.”

Chastened, he remained quiet. After she drank the entire bottle he spoke again. “You’re not turning.”

The glare she stabbed him with should’ve turned him into a pile of bones and ash. “I know that. I’m still as human as I ever was.” The bite in her words taunted the vampire with the issues that lay between them.

Simon’s eyes gleamed with an inner fire built on determination. “Asheburne isn’t going to be looking for you right now, so you’re safe here. At least for a few more hours.”

“I’m not staying in this room.”

“Oh, yes you are,” he contradicted coldly. “You’re not moving from here until I say so.”

“You’re wrong.” Cynthia’s dark gaze met his in challenge. “You can’t stop me, Simon.”

His lean face held no mercy within its hard lines. “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness, Cynthia.”

“Kindness?” she spat. With a black stare, she accused, “Keeping me in this cage with no furniture, blankets, or even a toilet is kindness?”

Simon stood up and stared down at her from his awesome height. “You know I can’t trust you right now. An empty room is the safest option for you.”

“Why don’t you just finish it off and chain me up? Or better yet—why don’t you just bite me again and put me in my place?”

“Because I don’t need to. But try me, Cynthia…” The vampire’s warning communicated itself easily.

She felt her cheeks flush from frustrated fury. As long as Simon kept his distance, he held the upper hand. Apparently the vampire knew it as well. Taking a deep breath, Cynthia forced her body to find some measure of calm. If she allowed her emotions to rule, she would never be able to outwit Simon. Calm down. Wait him out. He’ll screw up. He has to.

Slowly, she felt her control returning. Cynthia’s gaze dropped to her wrist and saw the time. Shit! I slept too long. I’m running behind! Her calm dissipated immediately and she nearly screamed aloud in rage. The scenario was unfolding fast and if she didn’t watch out, she wouldn’t be there to take her place.

“Your anger is loud, Cyn.” His tone was faintly mocking. “Where’s your composure, Nina?” Simon watched as her face became a blank canvas. “Shutting off your feelings like they don’t exist isn’t going to help you, Cynthia.”

She remained silent. Her gaze became fixed on the barred door.

The vampire followed the line of her sight. He let out a weary sigh. “Let me take you away from here. Let me help you.”

“It’s a little too late, Simon, to act as if you want to help me.”

“I DO want to help.” He walked in front of Cynthia, firmly blocking her potential escape route.

“Oh yeah? Well, where the hell were you two years ago?” Her voice burned from the lack of emotion. “Where were you when I was getting my head kicked in?”

Simon winced with severe shame.

“I’ll tell you where,” Cynthia answered blithely. “You were washing me off your body for the millionth time. You were hiding from me, convinced that you were some child molester because we made love.”

“It was WRONG, Cynthia. A fifteen year old should not—”

“A fifteen year old shouldn’t be working for power-driven Watchers either, should she?” she broke in brutally. “A fifteen year old shouldn’t have been helping take care of her baby sister since she was three herself, because her mother was out working in a factory for less than minimum wage, should she? A fifteen year old shouldn’t have been wiping the same sister’s tears while her mother was off sleeping with whoever would take her, just so she could make a little bit of extra money, should she?”

Cynthia’s eyes remained hard as she finished with, “A fifteen year old shouldn’t have watched her mother and sister get beaten to death in front her either, should she?”

“Nina…” The vampire’s eternal agony was there for her to hear in his one word.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Her breath became agitated, little beads of sweat appearing on her dusky brow. “I hate it when you call me that! I’m not a little girl, Simon. I’m a woman. I have been for two years.” Her gaze rose in bitter challenge. “You made sure of that…or don’t you remember?”

Simon dropped his eyes in disgrace.

“I came to you that afternoon. I came to you for help. And what did you do? You turned me away. You refused to see me.”

“I’m sorry.” The whisper dripped with audible grief and sincerity.

“Your sorry doesn’t mean shit to me, Simon.”

He swallowed several times, struggling to find his belated words. “I shouldn’t have let what happened…between us…interfere with our friendship. I should’ve let you in.”

Cynthia’s black orbs glittered with cynical frustration. “What happened? That’s awfully clinical of you, Simon. You make it sound as dry as one of my reports.” She raised her voice and stated evenly, “Female adolescent engaged in sexual activity with adult male at approximately 01:13. Lasted five minutes twenty-three seconds. Male ejaculated, female did not.”

Her barb struck beautifully. Simon’s jaw clenched with an undefined emotion.

“Although, to be fair,” she drawled hatefully. “I would add that the adult male performed once more until the female adolescent achieved physical release.”

“Stop it,” he commanded with a growl.

“You stop it!” Cynthia screamed back. “You turned your back on me because of your own hang-ups, Simon! Not mine!”

“Damnit, girl!” he roared, slamming his hands onto the floor. Without conscious thought, the vampire found himself right in front of Cynthia. Only inches separated the two. “It’s not a question of morals. It never was!”

“Bullshit.” Her face became tight and drawn. “The fact that I was underage bothered you. Let me clue you in on something—fifteen and eighteen aren’t that damned different. If the age of consent in this country was twelve, would that have made you feel better?”

“If I wasn’t so sure it would break your neck,” Simon growled. “I would slap you right now, Cynthia.”

Instead of being intimidated, the dark-haired girl yelled louder. “Go ahead! Slap me! At least you’d be showing some type of emotion for me. You accuse me of being some ice queen, but you’re the one who’s made out of ice!”

Simon grabbed Cynthia and held onto her. “That’s not true!” he all but screamed. “You mean everything to me and you always have!”

Pushing at his chest with all her strength, she shrieked back, “Liar! LIAR! I loved you and you let me down! I should’ve hated you for it, but did I? No! I didn’t! I still loved you! I wanted to leave with you! I wanted to quit being this…this…supernatural freak agent! Do you understand what that must’ve meant to me? Are you even capable of comprehending it? I was willing to give it all up for you!”

The vampire’s eyes bled from azure to crimson. Not in rage, but in unmentionable lamentation. “I didn’t want you to! I didn’t want you to become my human pet, don’t you see?” Her silence eloquently told him no. Heaving a sound of pain, he apologized. “I’m sorry, Cyn. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I should’ve taken you with me. When you came to me, I should’ve taken you. I should’ve…” Simon’s voice trailed away into nothingness.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t and I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life.”

“No. You won’t.”

“How can you say that to me?” Simon cried in a strangled whisper. “Of course I will! I’ve regretted it every day since! Do you know how often I wish I could take it back—all of it?” He dropped his head and said in revulsion, “If only I hadn’t allowed myself to fall into my weakness…if only I hadn’t…”

“What?” Cynthia demanded in the ensuing silence. “Made love to me?”

The vampire met her hard gaze and replied quietly, “Yes.”

Inside she could feel her heart crack along a long-scarred fissure. It didn’t break, but it bled in humiliation. “You still want to see me as a little girl, don’t you?”

“I can’t,” he whispered while laying his head against hers. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Why?” Although Cynthia’s voice was even, inside her heart began beating from a different type of fury. She remembered the wicked sensation of falling apart in his arms and wanted to feel it again. Two years of feeling nothing, of being nothing, disappeared in one act of subjugation…and she loved it.

Cynthia gave thought to Buffy and felt her cheeks pale. Months of watching the Slayer get fucked by Angelus in nearly every conceivable position had left her physically unmoved. The only thing the Slayer had stirred in Cynthia was cold disgust. As she filtered through the raw images, Cynthia had judged Buffy, seeing her as undisciplined and weak.

In this minute of moral decay, Cynthia knew Buffy. She WAS Buffy.

“Why?” she repeated again, an edge of desperation not wholly belonging to the vampire sounding clearly in her voice. If she feels even a tenth of what I’m feeling right now, than I…I finally get her. I know why she lets Angelus in her. I know why.

“You know why,” Simon replied in a regretful murmur of embarrassment.

He pulled away from her slowly. Even though his head was bowed, Cynthia could see his prided balance faltering. When Simon dared to stare into her gaze, the dark-haired girl let out a painful gasp. She could see the battle raging inside of him—a brutal battle between his humanity and his vampiric need to dominate.

“Simon,” she choked out.

“I can’t forget you,” he rasped. His iron grip eased, just so both hands could glide up her body. The vampire’s fingers came to a rest right beneath her breasts. Cynthia could feel tiny tremors flow from his body into hers. “I can’t forget how you felt…how you made me feel.”

The small girl stayed in his embrace, needing to give into it. She lifted her face and leaned into his mouth. Simon backed away immediately.

“Don’t!” she demanded.

He froze, torn between following his heart and listening to his logic.

Emboldened by the vampire’s stance, Cynthia reached out and held his exotic face between her two small palms. “Don’t…” she repeated again in a husky voice. Her mouth brushed against his. “Don’t turn away from me, Simon.” She kissed him softly and groaned from the sensation of finally having his cool mouth on hers. “Please don’t…please make it right,” she whispered before flicking her tongue against his. “Let me make it right.”

“It’s wrong,” he groaned, lost within his love.

“No, it’s not,” she replied in a comforting voice. “This has always been right.” Cynthia smoothed her hands across Simon’s lean back. When he kept his same tortured position, she took his unresisting hand and boldly placed it on her breast. “I’m here, right now, Simon. I’m here.”

He carefully tightened his hand, inspiring a moan from them both.

“Cyn…”

“Ah…harder.”

Simon’s slender fingers obeyed before unerringly finding her nipple. His face crumbled into the lines of a man drowning in sin. “Please stop me. Please stop me before it’s too late.”

Cynthia leaned her body closer to his, practically purring in pleasure at his touch. “If you really want to stop, Simon, then stop,” she sighed while kissing the corners of his hard mouth. “I won’t force you.” She punctuated her statement with a firm squeeze between his thighs.

“Don’t play this game with me,” he hissed while jerking his hips against her hand.

“I’m not playing…you are.” Without another word, she crushed her mouth against his.

With a guilty whimper, Simon gave into temptation. Kissing Cynthia was hell but it was worth every moment of penance he was sure to suffer. He dug his fingers into her breast and elicited a cry of pleasured pain. “I’m sorry,” he apologized while pulling away.

“Goddamnit, Simon,” she said while reaching up to pull his hair out of its neat queue. “Quit treating me like glass.”

Her words, while harsh, lacked in heat. She played with the rich blond strands hanging down about his handsome face. Cynthia rubbed her cheek against his for a brief moment before moving away. She wound her fingers in his shirt and then ripped it apart.

The initial violence became a sweet, torturous contrast against the heat of her tongue, lips, and teeth. She latched onto a smooth nipple and moaned in abandonment as Simon tunneled his hands within her curls. When he growled, she looked up, teeth on his skin.

"I need you, Cyn.” Simon’s eyes were two orbs of crimson glass, hungry and wanting.

Her reply was a slide of her body and deep, voracious kiss.

The tall vampire broke away several minutes later and began kissing whatever patch of feminine skin he could find. With greedy hands, he removed her loose top and threw it over his shoulder. One clawed finger reached out and slit her bra. His eyes dilated as the intense passion he felt for Cynthia decimated all logic and guilt.

“Beautiful,” he whispered in an exquisite sigh.

Settling on her small, perfectly curved breasts, Simon took her brown nipple in his mouth and devoured it. Her gasps of ecstasy tormented even as they exalted. He could feel her petite legs tighten about his waist and it made the vampire feel the fires of Hell in his cock.

“Kiss me, Simon.” Cynthia’s demand was cloaked in a pretty plea, one that made him cringe even as it made him grow harder.

He released her plump breast instantly and moved up her body. When he leaned over her parted lips, she placed one hand on his mouth and shook her head. “Kiss me,” she repeated while presenting her neck.

Simon’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “No!”

“Yes,” she demanded while bringing her neck closer. “Yes.”

The vampire fought the instinctual clamor for blood. “Cyn, no.”

“Simon…yes.” Cynthia settled her neck against his mouth and waited for him to bring her to the edge of intoxicating death. “I know you…I’ve always known you,” she murmured. “Don’t hold back from me…do it.”

He closed his eyes and committed blasphemy.

Simon’s needle-sharp teeth broke through her satin flesh and exposed the bloody tissue inside. He could hear her heart quicken. Spurts of Cynthia’s blood rushed out and exploded in his mouth. The vessels contracting in her body worked to give him everything he had ever wanted and desired.

And Simon was dying inside.

Seemingly oblivious to his sorrow, Cynthia clutched him tightly and writhed her hips against his. Her cries grew louder and louder while his grew silently in tandem. Locked in their mortal embrace, both felt as if the world lost all meaning and substance. The only thing that was real was blood.

Swimming through a crimson cloud, Cynthia could barely remember why she was there. She could barely bring herself to care about Asheburne, Buffy, Angelus, Spike, or the Hellmouth. She could barely see a world beyond Simon. His hunger, her pain, and their love was all that mattered.

However, barely was not enough and now more than ever, she wished it was.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon. Following her silent apology, Cynthia exploded in glorious sensation and screamed his name, “Simon!”

The vampire immediately retracted his teeth as he held her with complete adoration. The scent of her release invaded his system, whipping it into a frenzy of need. It was a testament to Simon’s age and control that kept him from ripping his pants off and driving into her body.

Oh, but it hurt. It hurt badly.

Once Cynthia came down, his tongue flicked out to heal the punctures when she jerked her neck away.

“No,” she sighed in satisfaction. “I want to keep them.”

“But it’ll scar,” he warned.

“I know.”

The symbolism of her decision moved the vampire to raw humility. Simon laid his head against hers, smoothing back her curls with a gentle hand. His chest remained still, but fine tremors ran throughout his body once more. “I love you, Cyn.”

Cynthia’s throat grew hoarse. “I love you too.”

Simon heard the unmistakable physiological sounds of grief in her body. Raising up on his arms, he was about to ask her what was wrong when his cell phone suddenly began ringing.

Simon reached into his pocket to turn it off when Cynthia rasped, “Answer it.”

“Later,” he replied firmly.

“Don’t be irresponsible,” she murmured. “It might be important.”

The phone kept chiming, shrilly demanding to be answered. Simon held her enigmatic gaze for several seconds before complying slowly. Flipping the phone open, he gruffly said, “Hello?”

As expected, Cynthia could hear the other end clearly.

“Simon, we’ve got trouble.”

“What?”

“The Slayer is here.”

Simon shoved up off Cynthia’s prone body. “What?!”

“She’s here! The Slayer’s here! What should we do?”

“Keep calm, Evian,” he stated soothingly while glancing down at his lover’s body. The dark-haired girl avoided his gaze, choosing instead to turn on her side. “When did she get there?”

“Just now! She just came in.”

The blond vampire stood up and walked several feet before stopping. “I see.”

“Simon, we all know this is a no-kill zone, but she doesn’t! What do we do if she starts pulling out her stake? I’m not into killing girls, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let her dust me just for being a vampire!”

“Stay calm. I’m coming right over.” Simon gave thought to Cynthia and held back a sound of frustration.

“Should I call for evacuation?”

“Not yet.” Simon paused for a moment. “Is Angelus there?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in one of the rooms?”

“Yes.”

The blond vampire cursed softly. “That’s why she’s there. She’s been led to him.” He glanced over his shoulder to give Cynthia an accusatory stare only to see empty space. Shit! “Evian, take the Slayer to Angelus. Don’t interfere, don’t be antagonistic. Just take her to him.”

“But—”

“I’m hanging up now. I’ll be right there.” Without waiting for an answer, Simon shut off his phone and whirled to find Cynthia.

Only her heartbeat gave her away a second too late.

Excruciating agony shot through every part of his being. Following the pain came the nightmarish horror of numbness. Simon couldn’t feel his body. His supernatural abilities were gone.

It was then he knew.

They had planned this. All of it. The Watchers and Cynthia had run their scenarios and played him as a mark.

With a strangled curse, he dropped to the ground. His heavy-lidded gaze barely saw the weapon in her hand, but he recognized it immediately. It was small and looked like a taser. However, electric current wasn’t what ran through its mechanics. If it was, Simon wouldn’t have been brought down. No, it was a device far nastier than electricity. Its sole purpose was to drain massive amounts of energy. Immortal energy.

And there was nothing he could do.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” her whisper came from the darkness. “I really am.”

“Don’t…” he croaked out as he flopped about weakly.

“I have to go, but you’ll be alright here.” She reached out and smoothed back his disheveled hair. His stare bore into hers, demanding an explanation for her betrayal.

She heaved a small sigh and stated, “We don’t matter right now, you know that. If it was just about me and you…maybe it’d be different.” Her eyes glimmered briefly with tears as she kept the siphon against his bare side. “But I can’t let you interfere.”

“Damn you…” His slim face started convulsing, the muscles tripping without control and reason.

Cynthia’s hooded gaze slid from his, hating to see the helpless terror in Simon’s eyes, knowing she was solely responsible for it. Her voice flattened into a staid cadence. “I screwed you over. I know it. I’m sorry for it. I wish I didn’t have to do it, but that’s neither here nor there. This is where we’re at.”

“Cold…”

“Cold? Maybe you’re right.” Cynthia retracted her weapon, stood up, and walked away. She scooped up her discarded shirt and slid it on. When she reached the door, she stopped.

“I said I wanted to know you,” she shared in a low, pained voice. “But instead now you know me. This is ME, Simon. This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been.”

“No…”

“YES!” Cynthia’s voice dropped down into softness. For the first time in all her months in Sunnydale, she expressed her self-loathing and disgust. “I will lie, I will manipulate, I will even kill if it means that the world can keep going one more day. My whole life has been about this. That won’t change. It can’t change.”

“Doesn’t…have…to…be…”

“Yes, it does,” she contradicted. “You think I’m here for vengeance on the Slayer, but I’m not. I accepted what happened to me a long time ago. Do I still hate her guts? Fuck yeah I do. Is that going to change at the last hour? Hell, no. To top it off, Angelus is a head-case and prick to boot. They both make me sick.” Cynthia took a deep breath and muttered, “But it doesn’t matter. In a few hours, I’ll be out of here and onto the next profile.”

“Wrong…”

“Even if you’re right, it won’t change anything. Buffy and Angelus chose this path, Simon. No one forced them to make these choices. They could’ve turned back at any time but they didn’t.”

“Don’t…wrong…”

Just finish the job and move on. Cynthia swallowed the pain and doubt his words inspired. “Goodbye, Simon.”

“Cyn…don’t…Cyn…thia…”

With a heavy conscience, she opened the door. Stopping in the doorway, she suddenly rushed back to Simon’s prone figure. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol. Crouching before him, she pressed the weapon in his hand. “Here. Just in case.”

Simon’s hand limply held the weapon and he gave no acknowledgement of her presence.

She didn’t dare give into her tears, so she jumped up and walked out. She knew she had just burned the only bridge that mattered to her. Inside her heart, a voice screamed, “Go back! Stop this craziness and just go back to him!”

Cynthia ignored it. She couldn’t take a chance with Simon. She tried once and it had blown up in her face. No, she couldn’t count on love. She couldn’t trust in her emotions. The only thing that could be trusted was her work.

It was a lie, but it was one she had no choice but to believe in.

Her feet kept their rhythm, one foot after another, and soon she was out on the street.

As planned, a figure melted from the shadows. “Cynthia.”

Without hesitation, she walked over to the man and the small detachment of soldiers. “Asheburne,” she stated as greeting.

The older man’s pale eyes noted the dried blood peeking through his protégé’s partially buttoned shirt. “Is the Ancient down?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The smile he gave was chilling. Gesturing to the black van behind him, Asheburne ordered her to, “Get in and get changed. We have a little visit to make.”

As Cynthia climbed into the vehicle, she automatically accepted an array of antiseptic, gauze, and medical tape. Her hands efficiently scrubbed down the wound before patching it securely.

Without care for modesty, Cynthia removed her shirt, skirt, and shoes. One of the soldiers passed her several articles of clothing, which she took without a word. As she started dressing herself, she heard Asheburne ask, “You let him scar you. Why?”

“Because I don’t want to forget,” she answered while hooking her bra.

“Forget what?” he snapped in irritation. “What could you possibly need to remember?”

“Love, Asheburne.” Her black gaze rose to meet his in challenge. “I lost love tonight for this stupid thing we call a job. I wanted something to remember my sacrifice—even if it’s just another scar on my body.” She returned back to her task as the van started up.

“Did you fuck him?” The Watcher asked the question in a pleasant voice, but Cynthia recognized the hatred and resentment hiding beneath.

“No.” If she had thought her honesty was enough, she immediately found out she was wrong.

“Perhaps I should rid you of Simon, Santiana.” The words were barely above a whisper, but the menace was as strong as a roar.

Even though Cynthia’s breath stopped for a moment, her smooth movements never faltered. Sliding into her government-issued pants and knit turtleneck, she coldly replied, “You wouldn’t do it. If you did, the Council would see it as a decision based on personal agenda.”

Asheburne stared at Cynthia for several seconds, his thoughts effectively hidden from her averted gaze, before leaning back against his seat.

Thank God. She strapped her weapons securely on her body and waited.

The night of reckoning had started and there was no going back. Not for her. Not for Simon.

And especially not for Buffy.

Somehow, Cynthia Santiana didn’t feel the satisfaction she had expected. All she felt was sorrow and rot.

********

Blue and gray.

Those were the first colors Buffy noticed.

Industrial steel made up the soaring walls, while blue lights climbed up every surface with frenetic energy. The iron floor pulsed with blue beams, doing nothing to disguise that half the bodies weren’t human.

An immediate awareness of her presence shot through the club. Buffy could see malice staring at her as the bodies drew to a slow undulation.

What the hell is this place?

The humans continued with their amusements, oblivious, never realizing the undercurrents whipping throughout the club.

On another night, Buffy might have felt wary after realizing she had just walked into a vampire den, but her rage had taken away all fear. These vampires didn’t matter to her. Her smoldering gaze scanned all faces, intent on finding just two.

When she noted the heavy, black staircase Buffy remembered the Samaritan’s words.

“There’s two sets. The ground floor is for regular people like us. The top floor is private. I think it’s for the owners or something. You know, the VIP crowd. That’s the one he’s on.”

There was no hesitation in Buffy’s stride as she unerringly made her way towards the stairs. Bodies parted, iridescent gazes filtering through the Slayer’s mind as unimportant. Later she would care about this den of immortal iniquity. Not now.

Reaching the top, she paused, feeling a sliver of confusion. Buffy’s head whipped to the side when she saw a vampire cautiously making his way over. Her dispassionate gaze noted the creature’s short, slender build and handsome face. The green eyes meeting hers were wary but not hostile.

“Slayer, I know why you’re here.”

“Really?” she replied in a chilling tone.

The vampire’s gaze dropped briefly to her clenched fist, apparently relieved not to see a stake clutched between her fingers. “You’re looking for Angelus.”

Mention of the vampire’s name visibly enflamed Buffy’s rage. “Where is he?” she choked out.

“Please, follow me.” The small vampire turned around and purposely strode down one of the aisles. He heard the Slayer’s footsteps and knew without looking that she was inches away from him. Just having this human creature so close to him made Evian feel sick.

Not with hatred, but with fear.

As he approached Angelus’ suite, Evian caught sight of his mistress. Her eyes were wide with undisguised fear and he knew it was for him.

“I love you,” Laura whispered inaudibly as the two walked past her.

Evian’s gut clenched with vulnerability, wishing he could go to her, but knowing he couldn’t. He nodded his head briefly in way of response and prayed he would live to see another night.

Buffy saw the silent communication between the vampire and the human girl. The tray in her tightly clenched hands announced her profession of waitress. Buffy’s ears heard the whispered confession the cinnamon-haired girl’s love to the vampire. The glimpse Buffy got from the same vampire’s profile showed he returned it as well.

Both lovers were scared of her and their fear had the power to pierce through Buffy’s rage. She allowed her flinty gaze to roam over the immortal faces on either side of her. She saw much of the same fear, along with curiosity, contempt, and amusement.

Before Buffy could process her discovery, he came to an elegant stop. His low voice easily reached her ears. “Angelus’ suite is down this hall. It is the second door on the right.”

Buffy nodded her head shortly, feeling that a “Thank you” would be ridiculous and misplaced given the circumstances.

The vampire turned away and quickly disappeared into the club’s artificial darkness.

Faced with the closed door, Buffy knew this was it. Whatever she saw after this point would change her forever. She raised her chin even as her stomach twisted itself in knots. Suddenly, her toxic memories spewed up an image from the past. Buffy remembered when she once stood on one side of a door with Angelus on the other.

Only then it had been the beginning of their relationship. This time it was the end.

UPDATED DECEMBER 12, 2004

Swallowing her fear, she walked with unwavering purpose down the hallway. She could feel her back burn with the force of a thousand stares. All eyes were on Buffy and she hated Angelus more than ever for betraying her. They all know. I bet every single one of them know what’s happening to me. To them I’m just a joke. A jilted lover. A stupid human.

Buffy’s ears roared with blood and her mouth became bitter with the taste of failure. A part of her wanted to curl into a ball and hide. There was doubt Angelus was being unfaithful to her and had been for a while. The fact that the vampire who brought her here knew why she was there—it made her sick to soul.

However, the other part of her…that part didn’t care about pain.

That part wanted to split Angelus’ skull again. That part wanted to rip every bit of hair from Druscilla’s head before slitting her throat. Staking would be too easy. No, Buffy didn’t want to make things easy anymore. After all, because she had been stupid and trusting, she had made it easy for Angelus to make a ridiculous fool of her.

Buffy had trouble swallowing back her rage as her feet drew to a stop before the impressive, black door. The pitiful part of her that wanted to curl up came to the front, effectively smothering her fury. Her breathing became jerky as the pain possessed her bleeding heart. She closed her eyes. Tears burned her lids, making them hot and itchy.

Buffy had never been as scared in her life as she was right then.

She was a Slayer, one who had faced demons, masters, monsters, and assassins. She had survived twelve years of school with her sanity still intact. She had survived her parents’ divorce. She had survived knowing her mother believed she was a delinquent and a disappointment. She had survived the rejection of her father’s busy lifestyle.

She had survived Angel losing his body because of her.

But how was she ever going to survive the next five minutes?

Buffy’s cowardly side wished she had left for the Bronze five minutes earlier or five minutes later. The hateful side of herself wished she had never seen the stranger out on the street. The weak side of herself wished she had just kept walking.

This hurts so much. Too much! How am I going to open this door and lose him?

Low masculine laughter suddenly drifted from behind the shut door.

Buffy immediately recognized the tone of Angelus’ pleasure. Her eyes flew open with indescribable anguish. She had heard that husky, triumphant chuckle in her ears countless times. The useless part of herself was thrown into a black pit, locked away, and something darker was left in its place.

How am I going to lose him? Easy.

Without hesitation, the Slayer kicked open the door.

The large, silver-draped bed, black-stained concrete floor, and windowless walls did not make any impression on Buffy. Only one thing held her dangerous attention.

Her hard hazel gaze took in the sight of Druscilla kneeling before Angelus’ splayed thighs. Buffy’s worst fears were confirmed when she saw his hard cock freed from his leather pants.

The wicked pair took her appearance in different manners.

Druscilla’s cold blue eyes lightened with malicious, feminine victory. She turned away from the smaller blonde girl and continued her vulgar ministrations.

Meanwhile, Angelus’ face turned chalky white. He froze beneath Buffy’s condemning, dead stare. His dazed gaze dropped to the small bobbing head and life returned to his stilted body.

“Get off me,” he hissed while pushing Druscilla to the ground. With unsteady hands, he tucked himself in while distancing himself from the vampiress. “Buffy—”

Buffy stalked into the room and stopped. “What, lover?” The last word was said with emotion so beyond hatred it was terrifying.

“This isn’t…it isn’t…”

“I CANNOT believe you are going to even TRY to tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” Her face matched his for pallor but the blood pumping through her veins drummed loudly with life and adrenaline. “Are you truly that stupid?” she snarled venomously. “Or is it that you think I am?”

Angelus felt all traces of alcohol dissipate beneath the enormity of what had just happened. He was stone cold sober and wished to all hells he wasn’t. Even though Angelus was looking right at her, standing less than a few feet away from her, he couldn’t process the truth. Buffy had FOUND him. SHE FOUND HIM! She had discovered his vile secret and now there would be hell to pay.

“How?” he managed to mumble, keeping a wary eye on Druscilla’s unfolding form.

Buffy intercepted his glance, ignoring his unfinished question. “Why you looking at her, Angelus? Scared I’m going to hurt your precious slut?”

At the insult, Druscilla slunk over to cower behind her sire. “You’re not going to let her hurt me, are you Daddy?”

Angelus clenched his eyes shut and wished the floor would swallow him whole. Oh, shit… Now he was in the position of defending his childe from his mistress. He was tempted to toss Dru over in the hopes it would appease his lover. Just as quickly as the idea came, it was discarded.

Regardless of how much it would damn him, he could not allow Buffy to hurt Dru. Perhaps it was their shared blood, history, or maybe even guilt—whatever quagmire of emotions he suffered, Angelus knew he wouldn’t allow it.

Christ help him now.

“Well, Daddy?” Buffy hissed as she came closer, hazel eyes harder than the most vicious demon in existence. Her gaze was that of a spurned woman and nothing in the world was more terrifying than being the recipient of such a stare. “You gonna protect her from me?” Buffy’s voice dropped into a deliberate whisper. “Because you know that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do.”

Angelus swallowed what little moisture he had in his mouth and tasted the acridness of scotch and something darker: fear.

If I can get out of this alright, if I can make it okay, then I’ll change. I’ll never be so stupid as to get shit-faced again. I won’t stick my dick in whatever hole a pretty girl’s attached to again.

Angelus, the master of hiding his frailties, exposed his fear through use of a shaky hand. He wiped his brow in agitation and rasped, “Buffy,” before trying again. Approaching her cautiously, he reached out and placed his hand on her arm gently. “Buffy, let’s go somewhere else and talk.”

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?!” she shrieked in disbelief as she threw his touch away. “Talk! Are you fucking insane? I just caught you getting a blow-job from that bitch! The bitch that you swore you were never seeing, that you were never—”

Buffy’s pained screech cut off abruptly as her memories opened.

“Would it hurt you, lover, if minutes before I came here, Dru had her mouth wrapped around my cock?”

“Oh, my God…” she whispered in soul-wrenching agony. In a movement too fast for Druscilla to see, Buffy’s small hand immediately shot out and grabbed her by the neck. With hardly any effort, she had her lifted and slammed down to the ground.

“You weren’t kidding.” Buffy’s eyes became glassy with bitter tears as the truth gutted her again. “You WEREN’T kidding!” The Slayer’s hand tightened around the vampiress’ neck. Her mind was oblivious to the claws scratching viciously across her skin and the terror flashing brightly behind yellow eyes.

Angelus saw Buffy slipping beneath frenzied rage. He knew she was only moments away from sending Druscilla into oblivion. While it might have been easier for him to just pry Buffy off his childe, he couldn’t take the chance. Buffy was unpredictable and dangerous. The glee he once would have felt, knowing he was the cause of her darkness, failed to make an appearance.

“YOU WEREN’T KIDDING!”

Angelus had no problem following Buffy’s seemingly erratic thoughts. So he did what any man would do—he lied.

“I was Buff,” he babbled uncharacteristically. Angelus was not ever going to admit how long he had been unfaithful. If he could just pretend this was his first infraction, he was sure he could get Buffy to forgive him. She always forgave him. Her forgiveness would then include Druscilla. This time would be no different. It couldn’t be.

When he stated, “I WAS just kidding,” Angelus believed in his ridiculous falsehood. “I fucked up, Baby. I know I did. But this is the first time. I’ll make it up to you. You know I will.”

Before Buffy could eloquently scream out, “LIAR!” Druscilla made the dreadful mistake of speaking up.

“Daddy isn’t being truthful, Slayer,” she choked out pitifully.

Buffy’s hand loosened slightly. Her hard hazel gaze pinned the yellow one beneath her, freezing the vampiress’ halting movements. “What do you know?”

“He’s been very naughty with me and with…” Her words trailed off dramatically before returning in a hiss. “Others.”

“Others?” Although calm on the surface, Buffy’s voice held traces of hysteria.

Angelus heard it clearly and sprang into useless action. In a panic, he roared, “She’s fucking lying, lover! Shut-UP, Dru!”

Buffy removed her hand from Druscilla’s neck, only to haul her up roughly to her feet. “What others?”

Angelus immediately grabbed his childe away from Buffy and backhanded her into the wall. She collapsed to the floor with a pitiful whimper. “SILENCE! You be quiet Dru or you WILL feel my whip against your flesh.”

“But it’s the truth,” she mumbled as she drew her legs up.

Angelus stalked over to her and pulled the vampiress up by the hair. “Do you want me to rip your tongue from your mouth?” he growled not two inches from her frightened face. “Again?”

Druscilla shook her head quickly, even as she drew her shoulders up.

Familial loyalty and mercy evaporated beneath the fires of his ire. Angelus wanted to destroy Druscilla, tear her apart, and scatter her ashes to the wind. “Tell her the truth, you fucking bitch! You tell her how you’ve been lying. You tell her why you lied. You tell her now!”

Angelus could feel the world spin out of control. He was going to lose Buffy. He knew it. If he didn’t fix this tonight, he was going to lose her. That can’t happen. It can’t. Driving his fist into Druscilla’s side, he felt the flesh give way. The bones beneath cracked and her cries of helpless fear echoed his own. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her now. I need her.

Buffy watched the unfolding scene with a sense of the surreal. Seeing Angelus abuse someone weaker than himself, even if it was Druscilla, made her sick. Knowing that he had done much the same to her for months, made her sicker.

“Tell her now!”

“But it’s a lie!”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

“You tell her now!”

Buffy knew what she should do. All logic and pride told her to let Angelus take his wrath on the frail vampiress. Why should she stop it? After all, Druscilla had just been giving her lover a blow-job!

Still…how could she let someone get battered in front of her? How could she just stand there and watch it? How would that make her any different than Angelus?

But why should she care?

The Slayer’s face tightened with weary acceptance. Why should she care? Because Buffy Summers wasn’t built any other way. She DID care and that was the end of it.

Goddamn…I’m such a chump. Her feet began moving before her thoughts were finished warring between themselves. She couldn’t let him hurt anyone, even Druscilla, in front of her. If Buffy had the power to stop it, she had to.

“Get off of her, Angelus! Let go of her now!”

The enraged vampire’s eyes widened incredulously. Letting his errant childe drop to the ground, he turned to Buffy and asked, “Why?”

All the months of twisted affection, of humiliation, of suffering cleaned the surface of Buffy’s mind. Suddenly she saw the vampire in front of her for who he really was.

Angelus was depraved, remorseless, and weak.

And so was she.

“You’re so sick, Angelus!” she screamed while pushing him back. “You are so fucked up in the head! You beat the crap out of Druscilla over something YOU did!”

“Buff—”

“YOU cheated on me! YOU lied to me! YOU messed this up! Not HER, not THEM, YOU!” Each sentence was punctuated by a slap to the face. “YOU, ANGELUS!”

He wouldn’t hit her back. He did nothing to stop her from pummeling his body. He limply accepted her punishment and it made Buffy crazy.

“Come on! Where’s the domination, Angelus?” she sneered while throwing him against the unyielding concrete wall. “You’re my master, aren’t you? You’re just gonna take it?” Buffy rose up on her toes until her face was as close to his as it could be. “I only had to look at you the wrong way before I found myself over your lap, getting my ass beat until it glowed.”

Angelus’ eyes, normally opaque and hooded with black glee, seemed to struggle between hiding and exposing what lay behind their immortal orbs.

“Fight back, you bastard!” Her curse was punctuated by a solid punch to his muscled stomach. Once more, he ignored Buffy’s command and accepted her punishment. Except this time he finally spoke.

“There has been no them, Buffy. Only you.” Angelus reached out to Buffy and watched as she backed away from him in disgust. “Lover, there’s only been you! You have to believe me!”

Buffy had never heard Angelus plead for anything. She had never heard him beg. Yet, the voice coming from his voice was most definitely a plead for mercy.

“LIAR! LIAR! YOU GODDAMNED FREAK OF A LIAR!” Enormous amounts of pain consumed her, driving her mad from the reality in front of her. Angelus wasn’t hers anymore. She wasn’t the only one he could see. He doesn’t see me. I’m just another body. A bit of variety, but nothing more.

“I’m not lying!”

Buffy felt her legs collapse beneath her as she whispered, “Liar.” She didn’t get a chance to hit the ground because Angelus rushed to catch her. The need to struggle for freedom fell beneath the misery drowning her soul.

When it was too late, he showed her this face.

When their world was over, now he was exposing the frailty beneath his dead heart.

When this sickness was all that was left, he was taunting her with the promise of more.

Tucked within his arms, Buffy could feel her spirit crack. She could sense the darkness yawning beneath her feet and she needed something good, something pure to hold onto. If she didn’t find it, she was gone. She would fall into the sickness inside.

“Lover…don’t do this.” Angelus was holding Buffy tightly while repeatedly kissing her cold cheek and unresponsive mouth. “Don’t believe her. Believe me. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have. I know it. It’s just…you didn’t answer your phone…and I was mad. I made a bad decision. I know. It won’t happen again.”

“A bad decision? That’s what you call it?” Buffy’s eyes slid to the shaken vampiress a few feet away. Druscilla was apparently locked in her own world. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, oblivious to Angelus and herself, yet all the more aware. Buffy closed her eyes. I’m looking at myself. I’m looking at who I’ll be the longer I stay with this monster.

“Buff! Buff! Look at me. Look at me!”

Buffy opened her eyes and saw Angelus. His beautiful face blurred briefly before coming in focus. “I see you,” she answered with pain. I see who you really are.

A shaky smile parted his bloodless lips. “It’s going to be alright, do you understand? Look.” He lifted up her ringed hand with his. “You see these rings? This means you belong to me, Buff.”

Her silence continued.

Angelus cried, “You belong to me! Say it, Buffy. C’mon. Just say it. Say it and make things right.”

Beneath her eyes, his handsome face looked as ugly as her weakness. Buffy turned away from him and murmured, “You raped me, Angelus. You raped me in front of all those demons and I forgave you.” Her words were heavy, loud, and lingering in the small room. “Do you know why?”

The vampire shook his head and swallowed back another jerk of nausea. “No. Why?”

“Because I thought it was my fault. I thought it was because I couldn’t be honest with you, because I couldn’t share my feelings. I felt that I drove you to it.” Her voice trailed off in a lamentation of sorrow before returning again. “Just as I drove Angel to it, just as I made him do something he didn’t want to do, I thought I drove you to it. You kept trying to make me admit what I felt and I wouldn’t. You kept trying to get me to say something, ANYTHING, and I just wouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We moved past that a long time ago.” Even as he spoke the words, Angelus felt as if he had been staked in the gut. The pain was raw, intense, and festering with unspoken apologies and madness. Now more than ever, he wished he could take back the actions caused by his brash arrogance.

He could have easily seduced her in front of the Gathering. It could have had the same effect. But he hadn’t because he thought it would’ve been weak. He had needed to prove to the world, including the would-be suitor Paul, that Buffy was HIS.

Instead, he had showed them his darling girl. He had let them see Buffy at her weakest. He had disgraced her in front of them. Then and now.

“No, we didn’t. You did, but I didn’t.”

“Lover…” Angelus’ voice cut out. What could he possibly say? His control, his power over everything, including this tiny girl, was gone. He was a shell of a man and Angelus knew it. Faced with the end, he knew it.

“I was so scared, so angry, so helpless on that table. All those eyes watching me, watching what you were doing to me. It made me so worthless.” Buffy sat up and felt his arms trying pull her back. With barely leashed violence she shoved away, leaving him in an ignoble sprawl. “I thought it was all my fault. But I forgave you anyway. And I fell in love with you. Stupid me.”

Buffy’s glittering eyes met his. In other circumstances she might have been shocked at the misery in his gaze, but not this time. Buffy couldn’t feel anything but numb defeat right now. She had wanted to come in this room and the beat the life out of Angelus and Druscilla. She had wanted to walk out of here the victor.

But where was the victory in this? She loved Angelus. Right or wrong she loved him. She loved him and could never be with him again. No matter what she had done for him, she could never share him with anyone else. She couldn’t break that final vow. No matter all the other promises she had made to herself throughout the months—that was the one promise she could not break.

And so, they were dead.

Buffy and Angelus were done. Staking him would only make permanent what was already so.

Killing Druscilla wouldn’t make her feel better either. She was looking at a specter from the future and how could you kill the messenger? How could you drive a stake in the messenger’s chest for telling the truth?

Maybe somebody else could, but not her.

Buffy knew as long as she continued to allow Angelus to dominate her, rule her every thought, her every emotion, she would soon be as broken as the doll in the corner there. If she killed Druscilla, she would walk a little closer to the line separating herself from THEM.

So nothing would ever be right. She would never have vengeance. She would never have her pride.

The darkness suddenly came for Buffy, wrapping its slithering arms of hate around her.

So what? At the very least, Angelus deserves to die. Doesn’t he? Look at him, sitting there, all smug in his victory over you. You just caught him betraying you and he still sits there with his life. What kind of Slayer are you? Let Druscilla go, if you want. But Angelus…he deserves to die.

“Buff, let’s just go. Anywhere you want. Let’s just go.”

He took Angel away from you and then breaks your heart every chance he gets. He raped you twice.

“What’s with the stake, Buff? Wait a minute! Buffy!”

Once then, and now. All those eyes peering at your naked body are now ears—hearing every dirty word between you.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

They’re laughing at you, calling you weak and stupid. They think you deserve to be abused. After all, if you won’t stand up for yourself, why should anyone give you respect?

“For fuck’s sake, Buffy! I don’t want to hurt you, so put the damned stake down now!”

Get a backbone! For once in your life, don’t do things because it’s right. Do it because it FEELS right. C’mon! Just do it!

“STOP IT!”

Buffy felt the blows on her body, but that wasn’t what made her finally respond. It was the flesh giving way beneath her stake that jerked her back. She looked down and saw Angelus sprawled beneath her. The wound on his pale chest closed before her gaze, but not before imparting its significance.

Her eyes dilated in shock. She scrambled off him and the metal clang pealed in her ears. Buffy had been moments away from staking Angelus with a stake he had once given her. Oh, my God! The wall behind her back couldn’t have been any colder than the ice settling inside her gut.

Buffy hadn’t been silent during the last minute.

“Buff, let’s just go. Anywhere you want. Let’s just go.”
“Anywhere I want? How about anywhere I want YOU to go?”
“What’s with the stake, Buff? Wait a minute! Buffy!”
“Oh, I’ve been waiting too long, Angelus. It’s time.”
“Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like how, lover? I SEE you, Angelus. Do you understand? I SEE YOU.”
“For fuck’s sake, Buffy! I don’t want to hurt you, so put the damned stake down now!”
“Hurt me? You can’t hurt me anymore, Angelus.”
“STOP IT!”
“NO!”

The reality of nearly losing Angelus made her vision spin madly. The blood rushed to Buffy’s head with sickening speed. What’s wrong with me? How can I slip into this insanity every time something like this happens?

Her shaken gaze met Druscilla’s. Once more, she saw herself. The vampiress’ clear, crystal stare reflected pity and worse. Understanding.

Without another word, Buffy stalked out of the room. The hallway disappeared and so did the watchful inhabitants of the club. She needed help and there was only one person she could go to.

Father Marion.

UPDATED JANUARY 18, 2005

Angelus heard Buffy walk out and the silence following her departure was filled with nothing. Absolutely nothing. It reminded the vampire of how it was before he had crawled out of his grave centuries before. Terror and rage had come later, but in the moments before realization furled in his conscious mind, he had felt nothing.

There’s nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Suddenly, the seductive lyrics of a song drifted to him from the club’s darkness.

What the hell had been in his mind tonight? Why tonight? Why did everything fall apart on THIS night?

Angelus wished he could explain the unforgivable. He wished he could take back every demented thing he had ever done to her. With Buffy gone, he finally realized what he had. Before this moment he had suspected, but now he knew. I woke up one day…realized the world was dead…and it was all in my head.

Staring at the grey ceiling, he wondered if this was what living death felt like. The ability to feel anything was gone. Emotionless logic replaced all sentimentality, leaving Angelus as a shell of the bastard he was an hour ago.

It’s over. She hates me. She fucking hates my guts. She tried to kill me. Buffy almost left me as dust.

Abruptly, the nothingness grew. It transformed quickly from shock and emptiness into something malignant.

As he lay there on the floor, Angelus could feel it suck out every bit of joy, every bit of life, every bit of who he had been for the past three months.

It was over.

Three words had never caused more damage than those. It was over.

Buffy would never consent to being his again. How did it go so wrong? She was supposed to be his slave, his possession. So why was he the one feeling abandoned? Why was he the one feeling that his existence meant nothing?

The vampire felt something wet touch his face. Looking up blankly, he saw Druscilla leaning over him. Angelus watched in empty fascination as the crimson trails snaked down her thin face to fall onto his.

“Why are you crying, Dru?” His voice was low, devoid of curiosity or even anger.

“Because you can’t.” Her haunting answer held no trace of madness. Her pale lips parted in a tremulous smile, one that was half grievous and half pitying. Crouched before her sire, Druscilla forgave his previous cruelty with one touch. “Because you CAN’T,” she repeated while cupping his cheek.

Angelus felt his shell crack and a torrent of feeling attacked him.

Without thought, he buried his face against her lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. Misery flayed him alive, reminding Angelus that he was a creature beyond pity, beyond redemption. He deserved the scorn of all women. He deserved to be punished, to be beaten, to be tortured, to be locked away, and loathed by all those he had ever touched.

“Why? Why don’t you hate me?” he whispered in an agonized voice. “I hurt you. I always hurt you. I shouldn’t…but I do. You should hate me, Dru.”

Druscilla’s face crumpled. This would be the last time she ever spent company in his presence, as he was. This would be their goodbye. She knew it, just like she did a century before. Only this time instead of punishing her, Angelus was seeking comfort from her, even if he didn’t know it.

“I don’t. Not really.”

“Tonight…why did you tell?” Angelus’ tone wasn’t accusing or angry. “Why did you tell her?”

The fragile female bit her lip, unsure of how to answer something she barely understood. “Because I hated her. I hated her and wanted to hurt her. But then I saw her soul and knew she was dying inside. She was dying for you and I couldn’t let it happen.”

Angelus remained silent, processing her wispy words, before rasping, “You DO hate me.”

The tears continued to rain down in a crimson gale, anointing her skin and his.

“I should hate you, but I can’t. Your pain here,” she pressed against Angelus’ chest in emphasis, “is as great as mine.”

“No,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Yes!” she retorted sharply, her voice barely above a breathy whisper. “It hurts more than you can bear it. I know because I feel it. But where I hide behind madness, you hide behind cruelty.”

“Not true…”

Druscilla rested her arms across his back and her face against his hair. “What you did to my family is unforgivable.”

“Not asking…”

“Yes, you were. You asked it when you brought that black priestess to me. You asked it when you commanded her to ensoul every single offending member of that village in my dolls. You asked it when you ensured I would control them like they controlled me. You asked it when you gave me my mother…Miss Edith.” Druscilla’s whispers became even softer. “You asked it when you gave me Spike.

“I didn’t make him,” Angelus groused sourly. “You did.”

“You let me make him. And later, even though you hated him and could’ve staked him at anytime, you didn’t. You didn’t because you know how much I love him. And I do love him. I love him more than I love anything else in this world. More than the hunt, more than the kill, more than the sun.”

“Waste of your love…”

Druscilla laughed brightly, careful to keep her voice down. “The same could be said of you, Sire.”

Angelus remained buried in her lap, silent and noncommittal. After several moments, he growled, “Don’t.”

“To love is not the end of the world, Angelus. Love is strength, not weakness.”

“Stop.”

“Loving the Slayer does not make you less fearsome a ruler. If anything, it’s made you more—”

Angelus reared up, throwing her sympathetic touch aside. “It is not the same for me and you know it!” he hissed in her ear, careful to keep others from hearing his thoughts. “I cannot trust…I cannot chance it!”

Druscilla met his fiery gaze. Calmly, she slipped her hand into his shirt. Immediately her face presented signs of tremendous pain.

Realizing what she was doing, Angelus gritted out, “Dru, stop—”

“No,” she choked out. “You can wear…this…because of her. You can do what…the rest of the…clan…can’t because of…HER.” Druscilla watched as Angelus enfolded her burnt hand in his. The proof of his affection, of who he really was lay in that unconscious action.

“How did you know?”

The smile she graced him was one filled with weariness. “How do I know the multitude of things I do? I just do.” Angelus accepted her explanation, knowing its origins belonged to the gift she had been cursed with. “You would never have been graced if you were unworthy.”

“Worthy? I’m a demon, Dru. So are you! We take pleasure in what we are. We’re monsters!”

“The greatest monsters in this world were saints once. The greatest saints were once monsters.”

“I didn’t do it for grace,” he whispered hotly. “I did it for power.”

“But you did it,” she replied in his ear. “The Master spent centuries, training his body to take the cross, but it never fully worked. You did it in months. Why?”

Angelus stayed his mouth, not even sure how he could answer her question. Finally he answered, “Doesn’t matter. I’m losing everything because of Buffy. Even now the jackals are waiting for me out there.” His voice turned into self-loathing. “They heard everything. They heard my weakness. They heard me puking for her forgiveness. They heard her kicking my ass.”

“They also heard her leave you with your heart intact. They know she did it because she loves you. That alone makes you greater than them.” Several moment of uncomfortable silence passed. Druscilla pressed her lips against his cold cheek and stated, “I would’ve loved you best if you had only been capable of returning it. But you could never love me because of the guilt.”

Angelus’ head shot up. His eyes widened with shock and discomfort. “I don’t love…”

The vampiress brought up her healthy hand and laid her fingertips against his mouth. “Don’t let the same happen again. Don’t lose everything tonight. Don’t lose the Slayer because of guilt and pride.”

Angelus stared into her open gaze, searching for the answer to his life. “Dru…”

“She loves you best. She loves you, even though you dirty her body.” Druscilla flitted her hand over his smooth check. “She loves you best even if she’s going to die tonight because of it.”

The entire world disintegrated into ashes. Angelus’ eyes ran to emerald and gold. “What?!” A buried memory shoved aside the confusion and sickness overwhelming his mind. The dark vampire remembered the night when Buffy had been inconsolable, weeping without end even as he took her body.

“Eventually it’s going to end.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to die. Slayers don’t last long and my time will be coming.”’

Angelus buried his growl and whispered, “Die? NO!”

“Yes.”

His hands snaked out and gripped her slender arms. “What do you know, Dru? Tell me now!”

The weight of years settled into the ethereal lines of her face, briefly replacing eternal youth with utter weariness. The Fates aligned against her, using Druscilla like they always had. Obligingly, she opened her mouth and intoned dutifully:

Angelus’ reason couldn’t keep up with the words pouring from his childe’s mouth. Even so, he realized the verses she uttered lay its roots in prophesy. Each line meant nothing on its own, but as a whole they painted a tableau of destruction. How could this happen? Did Buffy know? So many instances, so many little things now made sense. The hints were there, dropped by Buffy herself all the way to the beginning.

“Take a number and get in line, Angel. I’m sorry to say that this time you don’t have first dibs on me. Oh, by the way, there’s going to be a new sheriff in town so I suggest you leave. She won’t be as nice as I’ve been.”

A series of events came and visited his mind, reproaching him for being so blind, so arrogantly stupid to not realize the burden Buffy had carried. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me? he thought in supreme, helpless rage. How could I have not known?! I rule this town! I should’ve known!

Druscilla’s fey voice reached the yawning cavern in his mind, yanking him back to the present.

“Do you understand, my love?”

He blinked slowly. The cold concrete floor was finally affecting his limbs. However, discomfort fell to the wayside as he began putting the pieces together. The urge to bolt was a poison paralyzing his reason, but instinct kept Angelus still. If he was going to control this event, he had to understand it.

“Unlike power but like—a girl. Buffy.”

She nodded her head and waited for him to continue.

“Touch the creature and find life or everlasting banishment…Keep it clean.” Angelus’ brows knitted in concentration. “Touch the creature. Touch Buffy sexually and find life—that’s me. Everlasting banishment—that’s Angel. Right?”

Druscilla dropped her eyes in apology.

“You don’t know,” he stated unnecessarily. “But keep it clean? What the hell does that mean?” His mouth drooped in confusion. “Keep her virginal? Is that it? If that’s so, it’s too late. Shit! I don’t know and neither do you.” His eyes pierced hers with fervor. “What were those lines about the new faith?”

“The newness of faith will hold all/lies and truth/all the same.”

“Newness of faith. Christianity holds all. Lies and truth…lies and truth…” Angelus turned to his silent childe and asked, “Do you understand what this means, Dru?”

Her crystalline gaze met his. “Someone close to the Slayer, someone Christian, has been lying to her, but not.”

“What the hell? That doesn’t make sense, Dru! Can you please try to be less cryptic and more straightforward?”

“Someone Christian has been telling her the truth, but in a lie.”

Angelus nearly spit out a string of profanities when the message of her words broke through his fog. Shit! His eyes held the fires of hell in them, forcing Druscilla to automatically back away. Relentless, Angelus approached her and whispered blackly, “When tonight?”

Her expression gave the answer away. “Now.”

Angelus screwed his eyes shut. A veil of nothingness possessed his mind and despair opened up in the space where his cold heart lay. Prophecies never lied. They could be averted possibly on technicality, but they never lied.

She’s gone. She’s going to die. She’s probably dead.

The darkness bled away to something else. Something more frightening, more demented, more crazed.

I’m not going to let her die. I’m not going to fail.

His arrogance was always his downfall. This time it would be his saving grace.

Arrogance took over everything—all the pain, fear, and misery. They all disappeared in a vacuum where his will was stronger. Buffy was not going to die. He wasn’t going to just let her walk to her death like Angel had. Not this time.

Angelus rose to his feet. “Thank you, Druscilla,” he stated softly. The kindness in his voice was in direct odds to the ruthlessness carved in his face. “Of all that I ever turned, you were the best.”

The slender vampiress walked to his side. Reaching up for his face, she waited until he leaned closer. Gently her lips touched his for a moment. “Goodbye, my angel.”

His gaze held hers and saw finality. In a flash of stark awareness, Angelus wondered if he was ever going to come back tonight. Chasing that moment of thought, he realized he didn’t care. Without another word, he turned away and quickly left the room. The malicious and mocking stares touching Angelus meant nothing to him. Only one thing mattered now.

One thing.

The only thing.

********

“Jesus! Where’s Buffy?” Cordelia complained loudly. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Willow, Oz, Xander, Giles and Jenny were planted around the library, hands busy with last minute party preparations. Xander spared his seated girlfriend a glance and answered, “No, Cordy.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Cordelia.” Willow broke in dryly. “Xander told Buffy the party would be at the Bronze.”

“Why would he do a dumb-ass thing like that?”

Giles looked over his shoulder meaningfully. The brunette cheerleader caught his disapproving stare and muttered, “Sorry.” Apologies finished, she continued on her irritable rampage. “Xander, why did you tell her that?”

Plopping down several empty balloon bags on the table, he pulled out a chair. “Gee, honey,” he murmured sarcastically while seating himself. “Thanks for helping me blow all thirty-six of those suckers.”

“Hey, don’t complain to me. You should’ve rented a helium tank instead.”

“Budget didn’t allow for it.” Oz’s five-word sentence or less was at work again.

Shrugging her shoulders, Cordelia’s attitude explicitly implied, “Not my problem, losers.” Oz shrugged his shoulders in return and continued with the snack table.

Not finding another object for her ire, Cordelia turned her attention back to her boyfriend. Narrowing her eyes, she hissed, “Xander Harris. If I have to ask one more time…”

The dark-haired youth recognized the line he was approaching by his girlfriend’s tone. Immediately he replied, “Because we didn’t want Buffy to spoil the prep.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched once. “So how is she going to get here for her party if she’s stuck at the Bronze?”

“You two are gonna get her.” Willow’s angelic smile held a hint of malicious darkness. She continued to wrap the long box containing Buffy’s specially engraved stake, making sure to get the corners nice and tight.

“I’m gonna what?” Cordelia’s arms automatically crossed each other over her impressive chest in typical annoyed fashion. “You gotta be kidding me. I’m supposed go pick her up?”

“We, Cordy. We.”

Her frosty glare speared Xander on the spot. Turning away from her chastened boyfriend, she asked in a saccharine tone, “And you guys planned on telling me when?”

Giles and Jenny wisely kept out of the discussion. They continued to hang streamers across the library. However, one hand was on the black crepe paper while one ear was on the eminent adolescent explosion.

“Now seemed good.” Willow met Cordelia’s enraged gaze. Her hand shot out and plucked a chip from Oz’s bag as he walked by. Munching on it, she waited for her opponent to serve another blistering volley.

Cordelia’s cheeks turned red and her mouth opened once before closing. She dropped her head slightly, finding the library counter as good a place as any to focus her stare. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” Willow’s reply froze in her throat. Xander’s angry glare and warning head shake silenced her immediately.

Xander slid his chair over. His arms came out cautiously, not sure if Cordelia would appreciate the gesture or if she’d turn and hiss at him instead. When she remained still, he took it as a sign to continue with the nurturing approach. “Cordy, honey? Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m just someone who’s good for a ride.”

All occupants in the room stopped in mid-task.

Hearing how her words could be taken, Cordelia clarified in angry embarrassment, “I mean I’m just someone who has a set of keys and seats.” Paranoid now, she growled, “I mean—”

“We know.” Xander stopped her from further verbal mix-ups.

Contrite over Cordelia’s hurt feelings, Willow said in a rush, “I went too over the top. Sometimes I don’t know my own badness. I should be stopped. I’m sorry, Cordy.”

“I can get Buffy,” Oz offered quietly.

Xander stroked her hair in a comforting gesture. “I think that’s best. Thanks, Oz.”

“No prob.”

“No…I’ll do it.” Cordelia sat up and grumbled, “It is my contribution to this little secret society. You know—being speedy and reliable.”

“Are you sure, Cordy?”

“Yeah, Xander. I’m sure.” She stood up and glanced at her delicate watch. “She should be there by now, right?”

“What time is it?”

“After eight.”

Xander shot up out his chair and nearly toppled it over. “Oh, man! We’re late!”

“Oh, jeez. I just got finished saying how I’m speedy and reliable. Now you’re telling me we’re late?”

“I know, honey. Sorry.” He snatched her hand. “We gotta go.”

Cordelia allowed her Xander to pull her along for a few moments. “Wait!” Looking at Willow over her shoulder, she asked, “Doesn’t Buffy have a cell phone?”

The redhead frowned slightly in thought. “I think so.”

Jenny remembered the phone ringing earlier in the afternoon. “She does.”

“So let’s call her up and make sure she’s at the Bronze.”

Willow shared slowly, her brow really furrowing, “I don’t have her number.”

“What? Really?” Cordelia’s finely waxed eyebrow rose an inch. “What about you Giles?”

Laying the streamer roll down, the Watcher shook his head. “I wasn’t even aware that Buffy had a cellular phone.”

“Oz? Ms. Calendar? Xander—although that better be a no. No one?”

“I actually have the Slayer’s number, but I don’t think now is the time to interrupt destiny.”

The entire room froze as the coldly handsome Englishman walked further into the library. Following him were a small detachment of black-clad soldiers. The men and women quickly positioned themselves around the academic center.

“Black decor. Balloons, streams, even plates. Very fitting. Very…wake-like. I approve.” A small smile curved his thin mouth, lighting the gray eyes with something akin to amusement. “Come now. You were all so talkative before.” He paused delicately as he glanced at each silent face. “At least the brown-haired Colonial one was.” The man’s beige overcoat flared slightly as he turned to Cordelia. “Cat got your tongue, Miss?”

His mocking question broke the spell holding them all in place. A cacophony of voices swelled at once.

“Who the hell is this and how does he know Buffy?”

“Who are you? And for your information, I am NOT a Colonial—you Brit. No offense, Giles.”

“Asheburne. The council never notified me of your impending visit.”

“You know him, Rupert?”

“Okay, definitely not good here. Oz? Oz? What’s wrong?” Willow’s terrified voice drew all concerned eyes towards the dating pair. Oz’s chest heaved violently while his eyes wildly scanned the room. His hands tugged at his shirt, tightening as if ready to tear it clean off his body.

Asheburne’s urbane voice cut through the confusion holding the group. “What’s wrong with him could be something known as guilt.” His mouth turned up slightly as he added, “Or perhaps it could do with this.”

His lofty gesture drew the group minus one’s attention to a black-clad individual holding a small charm. The solid silver disk pierced with a silver line was of simple form but apparently effective.

All remained mute. The three teens drew closer to their wounded friend, their eyes glittering with unspoken fear. Jenny stood by her love, ready to aid him in any way. The Englishman brought himself to the front, instinctively taking the position of leader.

None of their actions, or the reasons, escaped the attention of the intruding visitors.

Giles risked a glance back and saw Oz’s body collapse to the ground. His face tightened with impotent horror. He swung towards the other Watcher member and cried, “What is the purpose in this, Asheburne? Release the boy immediately!”

Asheburne’s steely eyes narrowed in unspoken scorn. “The purpose is you don’t know this genetic failure as well as you think you do.” He signaled with one arm while murmuring, “And your ignorance doesn’t just end there.”

Stop playing with them and just get to the point. Cynthia’s face did not betray her impatience as her feet automatically obeyed her mentor’s command. She knew what to do, had known it from the moment she stepped foot in Sunnydale.

Good. Let’s just get this over with.

Feeling the room’s eyes on her, she swung a small briefcase onto a nearby table. Her gaze commanded two members of her attachment to set up video. Their efficient movements lasted less than a minute. Two small screens sat on the table, ready to betray their terrible knowledge.

Xander recognized her first. “Cynthia?”

Willow looked up from her crouched position. Holding Oz’s head and shoulders within her strong arms, she whispered, “But you’re in 3rd period…”

Cynthia ignored their questions and stares. Realization would come to them quickly enough. Withdrawing a syringe from the briefcase, she flicked it several times. She turned towards Oz and walked towards him with purpose.

Just as she reached the werewolf, Giles planted himself directly in front. “You WILL remove yourself from here, young lady.” His vicious snarl drove a chill up his allies’ spines, but not Cynthia’s.

Respect flickered in her coal eyes. “If you want me to help him, Giles,” she shared softly, “you will step aside.”

“No.”

“I will move you myself, Rupert Giles.” Her voice deepened to one of complete authority. “Step aside now or risk adding more charges of misconduct to your record.”

“Try me,” he hissed while assuming a defensive stance.

Asheburne neatly stepped between them, eliminating the contest of wills. “Now, now. There’s no need for violence. Although, Giles, I’m tempted to let Cynthia bring you down a notch.”

The insulted Watcher narrowed his icy gaze. “I doubt she’d be able to.”

A small bark of contemptuous laughter peppered the charged air. “You think your Slayer is the only one who can break men?” While not touching Cynthia, his possessive stance made it clear who he favored. “Strip away Buffy’s powers and she’s nothing. Whereas this one…well, only a fool would think to go against her.” Asheburne’s smirk indicated exactly what he thought of the Watcher.

“Shut your word-hole!” Xander yelled as he stood up.

“Xander!” Giles snapped in return.

“No, forget this! Who does this guy think he is? Trashing Buffy’s name like that!” Directing his ire against the unknown Englishman, Xander pointed out derisively, “She’s put her life on the line for every person in this room time and time again. You have no business talking crap on her!”

Cynthia stood, seemingly unmoved, but inside she wondered at the strength of loyalty Buffy inspired. If things had gone differently, would these same people say the same of her? A silent sigh passed inside of her. Probably not. She would not have even let them know who she was.

Initially, she had criticized Buffy’s decision to allow her secret to come to light. In theory it still made sense. Never let anyone know who you are. Blend in the shadows. Stay out of the light. The public’s safety depends on your anonymity.

But Slayers generally never stayed alive longer than three years at most. Maybe the lack of people backing you was the reason why.

Cynthia snarled silently in disgust. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to reform Slayer benefits. She was here to break the old regime.

Madre de Dios. When they find out what’s on this disc…when they SEE what’s on this disc… It would destroy their loyalty and love for Buffy. Just as it was meant to do. Once more, she wondered at the course of tonight’s actions. Once more, she doubted the wisdom of destroying one life just for ambition. Just for control.

She filtered in Asheburne’s arrogant command. “Get this aggressive child in line, Rupert, before he causes even more damage to this unpleasant situation.”

“Child? Hey, screw you, buddy!”

Giles’ hand slashed out. “Xander!” Waiting until he had the incensed boy’s attention, he said, “I understand your anger, but please control yourself!” Without waiting for the younger man’s answer, he turned back to Asheburne. In a voice of aristocratic calm, Giles demanded, “Exactly why are you in my library?”

Steel gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A smile hovered about the corner of his lips and it was apparent to all he was enjoying his position immensely. “Very well, Rupert. Let us dispense with all the trivialities. Cynthia.” Waiting until she joined his side, he gestured to the silver syringe in her small, capable hand. “She is going to inject yon werewolf with a cocktail of genetic structures. The exact ingredients will no doubt bore you, so suffice it to say, once the injection takes effect, he will no longer be of the lupus variety.”

Silent during the entire exchange, Cordelia finally spoke up. “That can’t be true. He’s a werewolf. Even the Council can’t change that.”

Asheburne heaved a small sigh. “Why is it people who know very little of what they say speak the loudest?” Not expecting an answer, he continued in a hard voice. “The Council can very well change it because we’re the ones who made him this way. Temporarily mind you, but the results are the same. We made him, we can un-make him.”

Giles inhaled sharply. “Genetic tampering. That practice was outlawed three centuries ago.”

“No, it wasn’t.” The smile lighting his thin, handsome face never reached his eyes. “That’s all you need know. Now, are you going to spare this young man further pain or are you going to continue to waste time?”

The need to rub his temples was great, but Giles ignored the growing discomfort. Looking about the room, he saw the various bodies. The soldiers were ready and willing to use lethal force. He had to think quickly on his feet, but the right answers were eluding him. He had no idea what Asheburne wanted and it angered him. How could fight this crafty opponent with intelligence, if he was missing the intel?

His gaze flitted to the door. Was Buffy on her way now? If she arrived in the midst of this, what would she do?

“She’s not coming, Giles.”

The soft pitying tones grated against his ears. However, he turned his attention to the smaller girl and listened. “How could you possibly know?” Giles felt cold fear gnaw hungrily at his thin control.

“We’ll explain everything, I promise. But right now I need to inject Oz. Your friends are already frightened by our presence. Your position is not helping their fear. I understand you’re angry. But I know you care more about Oz, Willow, Xander, Cordelia, and Jenny than your pride.”

Seeing his protest, Cynthia quickly broke in. “Remember your training, Giles. The Council is exerting its authority here and you have to obey its will. So please, don’t force violence in this situation. You know what we’re capable of. Keep your wards back and let me do my job. Oz needs this injection or the charm will systematically destroy every trace of the mutated lupus strain. Either way, he will not continue as a werewolf. How he leaves here is up to you.”

Beneath the gentle words, Giles recognized the real threat. Shaking with bottled rage, he stepped aside. “Don’t try to stop her,” he gritted out to the others.

Cynthia approached the pain-ridden boy and felt sympathy for his plight. It hadn’t been fair to use him like this. There had been no real reason to test this failed strain on anyone. However, once Oz had been inducted into the Slayer’s circle, the Council had felt justified in their gamble. They had been hoping he would be drawn to the motley group because of his sense of supernatural isolation. They were right.

But they weren’t satisfied.

Unknown to him or anyone else in Sunnydale, Oz’s particular strain held an enormous mental beacon that he couldn’t control. His thoughts and feelings were on broadcast twenty-four hours a day. Not satisfied with video and audio surveillance, the Council had a team of telepaths listening to everything he felt and experienced.

Asheburne had wanted to see how long it would take Oz to discover Buffy’s secret. From there, he had wanted to study his lupine nature in reaction to it. Her mentor had been hoping Oz would seek to destroy Buffy, his hatred for vampires and their consorts consuming his conscious mind until bloodlust destroyed predator and prey.

But he was wrong.

Oz’s humanity had allowed him to keep silent out of respect for Buffy. Now hopefully he would be free.

Feeling the group’s suspicious and accusing glares, Cynthia gingerly took his left arm. She could feel Willow’s fear battering her, but she ignored it. There was nothing she could do to alleviate their feelings. Better they accept her will and be done with it.

Yet, out of respect for what they were going through, Cynthia made sure she was exceedingly careful with their fallen friend. It wouldn’t help much, but if she was rough with Oz, treating him as no more than a lab animal, his friends would suffer more.

I’m always soft when it comes to times like this, she criticized herself in mild disgust.

Oz’s skin felt cold and clammy, but the vein was easy to find. With a quick jab, she depressed the liquid into his body. Cynthia looked at each pale and frightened face and explained patiently, “He’s going to go into convulsions in a minute. Xander, I’m going to need you to trade places with Willow right now. Hold Oz down or he’ll hurt himself. Willow, Cordelia, I’m going to need you to hold down his legs.”

Waiting until they reluctantly obeyed her, Cynthia continued. “This process is going to hurt Oz. A lot. But it’ll last for only four minutes. Once he stops seizing, sit him up, Xander. From there, it’ll be over.” Turning to the silent Gypsy, she handed her a small pill. “Jenny, give this to him as soon as they sit him up. All the adrenaline going through his body is going to leave him drained. This will help balance the electrolytes in his system.”

“Will he be able to swallow it?” Jenny’s voice was tight with the effort of holding onto her emotions. “Or will he choke?”

“It will dissolve once it hits saliva. But Oz will be weak and thirsty so make sure you also give him plenty of water.” She pointed at another table and the group saw a case of bottled water. Glancing at her watch, she murmured, “You have twenty-three seconds left. Get ready.”

Standing up, she walked back to the briefcase and slipped the syringe back to its foam bed. Behind her, she heard the first sound of agony slip from Oz’s throat.

Even after all these years, Cynthia had never developed the ability of immunity to other’s pain. She hated hearing the screams of suffering. Even in the creatures she disposed of in the name of goodness. Therefore, it was no surprise she had learned to execute opponents in the quickest way possible.

But now, she had no choice but to listen to every gargle, every whimper, every scream.

Unbidden, images of her ugly past rose up to haunt her. Acidic drippings of rage splattered across her mind and made her recoil silently. Desperately, Cynthia focused her energy on Simon’s peace before skittering away. She had betrayed him. He would never welcome her to his serenity again.

Is it all going to be worth it?

It was a question she had asked herself time and time again throughout the years. It was one she knew she’d never receive the answer to. At least, not until she was dead. So Cynthia forced herself to turn around and watch Oz’s struggle. It was the least she deserved for taking a hand in this.

His friends fought to keep him down, but they were being pushed to the limit. Jenny attempted to help Willow with one hand, but her focus was torn between helping and keeping the pill from tumbling on the floor.

Giles let loose a loud stream of curses. He was poised between helping those behind him and throttling the Watcher before him. “The Council will be hearing of this, Asheburne,” he snarled while flexing his hands.

Instead of being threatened, the other man replied, “Don’t you think your limited time is better spent helping?”

Giles whipped away, clearly leaving their fight for later. Dropping to the ground, he held down both rigid legs. The minutes wore on as Oz’s body lost its stiffness. His screams grew louder and louder until the strength of his tortured cries filled every corner of Sunnydale High.

Beyond the close circle of suffering, the observers stood unmoved. Not even Asheburne betrayed pleasure or pity for the boy’s suffering.

Finally, Oz’s back arched once and then collapsed abruptly.

Xander’s cheeks were wet with tears and his sobs echoed those around him. But his arms were strong as he sat his exhausted friend up. Jenny carefully opened Oz’s slack mouth and slipped in the pill. Without a word, Cordelia jumped up and rushed for the water. Carrying several bottles in her arms, she immediately came back to the group.

“Willow. Help me.” Although the brunette’s voice was shaky, it held authority that was impossible for the other girl to ignore.

Willow tearfully pulled away from her now-human boyfriend and accepted the bottle. Both made short work of opening the lids. Tensely, they all waited.

Oz gurgled once. Another minute rolled by. Finally, he whispered, “Water.”

Serving his need, the group hovered close, afraid to leave him. After three bottles were drained, Asheburne announced, “It’s time for the final demonstration. To the table, children. Now.”

Jenny contradicted the cold order with, “He’s tired. We can’t possibly move him—”

“You can and you will.”

Trying to lessen the purposeful brusqueness of Asheburne’s tone, Cynthia stated in a kind voice, “Time is something we no longer have the luxury of at this moment. Please, do as you’re asked.”

“Don’t you mean ordered?” Willow answered bitterly.

Asheburne raised his elegant brows. “Don’t take your bitterness out on the messenger, dear child,” he admonished. “If there is anyone who is to blame for this nasty turn of events, it’s the Slayer.”

Giles stood up. Facing the invading group, he stated angrily, “I’m sick of your enigmatic insults! Buffy has done nothing to earn the disrespect of the Council! Considering her lack of initial training, she’s served her duty well. She’s never failed me or the Council.” Despite his incensed speech, inside, Giles suffered a moment of disquiet. The Council smelled blood. There was no other reason why they would send this particular creature.

Something was wrong and Buffy was at the center of it. Remembering what tonight signified, Giles trembled. No. It’s no more than coincidence.

Cynthia watched as the Watcher’s face became pasty. Her gaze slid to Asheburne’s self-satisfied smirk. Cat and mouse. Cat and mouse. You love playing with the mouse, don’t you, Mr. Cat? Cynthia waited for the destruction to begin. When it came, it arrived as a softly spoken question.

“Do you know how long your Slayer has been a Master Vampire’s whore?”

The air left Giles. “Whore?”

“Yes. Whore. Angelus’ whore to be exact.”

The Watcher’s face crumpled in shock and misery. “That’s not true!” he gritted out.

“Oh, it most definitely is true.” Gray orbs shifted to the pale-faced boy on the ground. “Isn’t it, Oz?”

Oz’s cerulean gaze narrowed as rage overtook his tortured body.

Willow shook her head and whispered, “Stop it. Please, just stop.” Whether she was imploring the Watcher or her love remained unknown.

Xander, Cordelia, and Jenny lowered their heads, unsure of what to say. The trauma of Oz’s transformation, the realization that their lives could be so easily manipulated, the truth that happiness could be taken in a moment, left them cold and numb. However, the ugly word hung in their fractured minds.

Whore.

“Come now!” The object of their suffering clapped his hands. “To the table. I have something rather enlightening to share with you.”

Hesitation nominal, the entire group shuffled to their feet. Their hands were careful with Oz, but his moans of pain only stopped once he was seated.

Asheburne waited until his audience was appropriately situated. “Very well then. If I can direct your attention to the screens please.” The Englishman waited until he secured their obedience. His voice turned hard, flaying each seated person with his tainted knowledge. “The Slayer and Angelus have been sexually involved for the past three months. She has used your trust and faith in her to her and Angelus’ advantage. Giles, each time you thought she was in Los Angeles to visit her father, she was sprawled beneath her Master, serving his every perverted whim.”

Asheburne waited for a barrage of denials but only received stony silence. Twisting the knife, he purred, “Oz knows. He’s known for a while, even though he allowed himself to be soothed with flimsy deceit.” The older man turned to the younger boy and mocked him. “She was sleeping with Angel’s coat and that’s why you smelled his scent on her body? My goodness, boy. Even my newest recruits had to laugh at that one.”

Break his little leg, Mr. Cat. Break it and smile, that’s what you do. Even though she was staring straight ahead, much like the other members of her squad, Cynthia watched the expressions of blank confusion flicker into anger. Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry. Up.

Giles didn’t glance over at Oz. Instead he chose to state, “It’s easy to smear her name, Asheburne. It’s no secret how Buffy felt about Angel. But Angel is not Angelus.”

“Really?” His thin mouth lifted in a superior smirk. “Since she has been so ridiculously adept at deceiving you, I bring proof of her misconduct.”

Jenny took that moment to ask a question of her own. “You obviously have something incriminating to show us. How can we know it isn’t doctored?” Her black eyes bored into Asheburne’s, unconsciously searching for falsehood.

“Astute question, Ms. Calendar. You won’t. But by the time you finish watching our surveillance—”

“Surveillance!” Giles broke in, outraged at the scope of the Council’s interference.

“You won’t have any doubts about the veracity of our information,” Asheburne finished smoothly, despite the jagged interruption. “Shall we begin?”

Xander shifted uneasily in his chair. His hand reached out blindly grasped for Cordelia’s. When their eyes met, they reflected the same emotions. This can’t be happening. Cordelia looked away and met Oz’s alert gaze. Worried, she studied him, searching for any signs of lingering danger. Even though his face was haggard, a crimson flush suffused his cheeks.

And that’s when Cordelia saw it—guilt.

It’s true. Oh my god. It’s true. She whipped her attention away from him. Staring at the blue screens, she wondered morbidly what the Council had on Buffy. Despite their surface differences, a part of Cordelia wanted to believe in Buffy’s innocence. The other part…that part knew the truth. That part knew when she looked in Oz’s eyes.

Without further warning, the screens flickered to life.

Cordelia bit her lip and turned away. She could see the rest of the group follow suit. Whatever happened after this would change everything.

She was right.

There on the small screens, the Slayer’s tale of guilt, lies, lust, and empty adoration was shared with all.

The dialogue was clear at times, at others nonexistent. From the first moment in the cemetery when Buffy and Angelus nearly killed the other, to all the subsequent meetings, they were all there to be digested in a most unflattering way.

The audience never saw Buffy’s struggle against Angelus. They only saw her desire.

They watched as the dark vampire courted their friend with roses, strawberries, jewels, candles and a fur. They watched as Buffy took visual delight in each offering. Soon, the story descended into a tableau of vampiric lust and female capitulation.

Graphically.

Buffy’s awakening under Angelus’ unforgiving hand made Giles drop his head in shame. To see his Slayer eagerly clasping her demonic lover made him feel ill. But to realize it had all occurred beneath his very nose…

“Who’s fucking you? Who’s fucking the almighty Slayer?”
“You are! You are, Angelus!”
“That’s right, ANGELUS.”’

Willow turned her mortified gaze away. She risked a glance at Oz only to see his attention fixated on the screen. Anger glinted in his pale orbs, making Willow remember Asheburne’s accusation. He doesn’t look shocked. He looks…pissed. Unfettered realization blossomed in Willow’s mind. Following it came pain. He knew. He really did know. If Oz knew, why didn’t he tell me?

The sounds of Buffy and Angelus’ violent coupling drowned out Xander’s rapid breathing. His rage became palpable as the images left no doubt to Buffy’s willing participation. I trusted you. All this time I trusted you. You made me think that he wasn’t in your life anymore and he was!

And there was more.

The camera bluntly showcased the secret meetings with unmistakable candor. Angelus’ hedonistic appetites were displayed with an unflinching eye. The viewers saw clearly how his carnality was surpassed by Buffy’s eagerness to appease them. While their marathon sessions were not shown in their entirety, there was no confusion on how many times the Slayer had submitted to her demon lover.

Nor was there any doubt that, for Buffy, the encounters were more than physical.

“I love you…I love you…I love you…”

Asheburne studied the effects of his perfect proof. He felt jubilation at the Slayer’s downfall. To know Fate had been so wrong in choosing Buffy over Cynthia was his only satisfaction. That and the ability to rub it in Giles’ face.

His gaze slid over to his beautiful protégé. Immediately, her coal orbs turned to his. Asheburne’s body clenched at proof of her perfect obedience.

While it would be easy to glut himself on Giles pain, it was almost time for his flawless tool to be on her way. On silent feet, Asheburne walked out of the library. He couldn’t hear her footfalls but he knew she was behind him. Once more he burned for his own power over such a dangerous creature.

Coming to an elegant stop, he fixed his gray stare on her blank face. “Did you enjoy your triumph, my dear?”

“Mine?” Cynthia whispered in return.

Asheburne gave into temptation. His cool fingers traced her high cheekbone. “Yours. Giles saw for himself the worthlessness of his Slayer. All our work proves that Buffy should NEVER have been called.” He leaned in and glided his cheek across hers. “You should be the Slayer. Not her. Never her.”

“It didn’t turn out that way.” Cynthia’s cheek moved of its own accord against his. “I’m not the Slayer and I never will be.”

“That’s true.” Regret echoed in his sigh. “At least for now.” Asheburne’s hands glided down Cynthia’s waist and settled on her lush hips.

“Now?” The question was sharp in her whisper. “What—”

“Ssh.” His strong teeth nipped her delicate earlobe. His possession’s shudder of pleasure reached out and entrapped him. “Are you ready to finish this tonight?”

“Yes.” Cynthia’s arms remained by her side.

“Good.” Asheburne nipped her again, this time on her shoulder. “When it’s over, we’ll come to you. And afterwards, how would like a vacation?” His teeth dug in deeper and elicited a low, feminine moan of desire. “Perhaps to the Seychelles? I haven’t been there in years, but I’m sure we’ll enjoy the waters.”

“Council wouldn’t like it,” she murmured as her hand reached up to clasp his head.

“So what? The Council doesn’t have power over us.” His mouth hovered over her neck, grazing the site of Simon’s scar, before purposely moving to the other side. Asheburne tugged at her sweater and latched onto the smooth skin beneath.

Cynthia stared into the darkness shrouding the hallway. Even in the midst of her body’s pleasure, she remembered Simon’s words.

“I don’t watch her. I watch you. And I don’t do this for them, Cynthia. I don’t do this because I pine for the Slayer. I do this because I love you and I won’t let you die for this cause.”

“Will you really?” she whispered as she leaned into her mentor’s slim, hard body. “Will you come for me or will you let me die too?”

Asheburne paused in the midst of caressing her exquisite backside. Slowly, he pulled away. His hand gripped her small chin and pushed her head back. “You doubt me?”

Cynthia remained silent but her glittering gaze met his unflinchingly.

“I won’t let you go, Santiana. Ever. You would do best to believe in that.” His cold, handsome features warmed with passion. A sensual smile softened his cruel mouth. “Besides,” he breathed as he leaned closer to Cynthia. His lips brushed against hers. “You are my perfect tool. Who else would keep you safer than me? After all, I am your maker.”

Cynthia opened her mouth obediently. She allowed the familiar pleasure to awaken. She welcomed the warmth pooling between her thighs, knowing it gave her life. As her tongue slid against his, Cynthia never considered the moral issues of kissing a man twenty years older than herself. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter a year ago when she first crawled into his bed—it didn’t matter now.

Asheburne nearly lost his head to the passion Cynthia effortlessly aroused in him. Considering the disc had over an hour left of playing time meant he had no need to be in the library. Knowing that none of the soldiers would dare leave their post, or allow the occupants freedom, meant he could take Cynthia now without impunity.

But he hadn’t reached his position by allowing passion to rule him.

Still, it had been several months since he last mounted her. It was sweet to have her this close again. So sweet. The taste of Cynthia’s mouth intoxicated him, but knowing a filthy vampire had invaded nearly made him gag. Bastard. Releasing her reddened lips, Asheburne snarled, “Did you enjoy him?”

Cynthia had no trouble understanding. She stared into his hard gaze and answered, “Yes.”

“Would you have given him this?” The older man’s furious question was punctuated by a hard push to her mound.

“Yes.”

Rage flared frightfully behind his eyes and she felt fear. Asheburne’s boast of her ability to break men was no lie. However, there was one man she couldn’t beat and he was standing in front of her. When his pale hand touched her throat, Cynthia swallowed once.

“Never again,” he hissed. “Do you understand me? NEVER again.” Asheburne yanked down her sweater once more. “I don’t care if you love him, Santiana. I don’t care if you think tonight is just a stupid job. This is going to be removed. I don’t want any part of him left.”

A shadow passed across her face. There was no point in his threats. Simon was done with her. A vampire so filled with honor could never forgive her dishonorable actions.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” She dropped her gaze as the pain washed over her. Several cries of horror seeped through the library doors. Cynthia imagined it was due to watching Angelus whip Buffy and hearing her beg for more. We all judge you, Slayer. But what right do we have? At least you loved Angelus. What about me?

Asheburne’s voice turned into a soft purr. “This weakness will pass, Cynthia. I promise.” His mouth settled over hers once more. This time his kiss was gentle, persuasive, and so very precious. Asheburne smirked when she responded as expected. “He’ll never love you more than I do. I’m your world, Cynthia.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight you’ll perform beautifully, my dear.”

Accepting his hot caresses, Cynthia waited until Asheburne pulled away to kiss the underside of her chin. “When I’m pretending to want Angelus, what then?”

“Angelus, if he survives, will be too distraught with grief to care.” His gray eyes flared with smugness. “He’ll revert to his old self, needing to drown his emotions until he doesn’t feel anymore. Besides, you’ve courted him well throughout these past weeks. He’ll see you as the anti-thesis of his little whore and jump into your welcoming embrace.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Cynthia’s voice turned impassive. “Will you still be my world?”

“Of course.” Asheburne enveloped the small girl in his arms. “I plucked you from the gutter, darling. I nurtured you. I grew you like the most precious bloom in my garden. No one can mar your petals. Especially not that beast.”

No one except Simon, Mr. Cat. Cynthia closed her eyes. “What a pretty way to say, ‘Give him your body. Whore yourself for our cause.’”

“You’re clever enough, Santiana. If you don’t want to have sex with him, then substitute one of the collateral. As charming as you are, he won’t be particular.”

Cynthia remained silent, her body cooling rapidly. Instances like these reminded her that Asheburne didn’t love her. Not as he claimed to. She was just a tool. How could anyone ever love a weapon? I’m stupid to believe otherwise. Just like Buffy.

No matter how much physical pleasure a man brought to a woman, if he didn’t value her spirit, her sense of self-worth, then it wasn’t love.

Cynthia knew it. She was sure on some level Buffy did as well. However, logic had a funny way of leaving, especially when a hard body rode yours into carnal oblivion.

Buffy. I’ve hated you for so long and now I wonder…I wonder is it you I hated? Or what I saw of me in you?

All the cold resentment and harsh judgment Cynthia had built up for two years crumbled away, leaving her wilted and tired. Publicly, she spouted contempt for Buffy Summers. Privately…that was something else. It had been ever since she came to Sunnydale. Months of watching every detail of Buffy’s life had worn Cynthia down.

Gray. Everything is always gray. Why do we fight it? Why do we always try to categorize life in terms of black and white?

Asheburne thought she was superior to Buffy. He believed the Slayer’s addiction for Angelus made her an unclean warrior. He had drilled it into her consciousness for two years. How am I better? Other than technicality, how am I better? A memory of their last night together before Sunnydale played in her mind.

“You should have been the Slayer. Not her. You’re better than that bitch.”
“But then Giles would’ve been my Watcher.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“Then who would?”
“I would. I would be the power behind the almighty Slayer.”
“Power. It’s your drug.”
“Absolutely. That and you.” What Asheburne didn’t see was how he was really no different from Angelus.

And that made Cynthia no different from Buffy.

Cynthia’s mentor had granted her hours of intoxicating pleasure. Their bodies had joined in countless ways, feverishly at times until even their superior physical stamina had worn out. Asheburne had taught her numerous skills, each more perverse than the last, but it wasn’t love.

At least you have love on your side, Slayer. At least you love your master. While I…while I have something else for mine.

Her heart ached for Simon while her cunt throbbed for Asheburne. It was sick, dirty, and twisted.

And now Cynthia was to go out and pretend she liked being who she was.

Her self-loathing did not go unnoticed. Asheburne kissed her on the lips once. “Just a few more hours, Santiana,” her cruel lover whispered while tracing light patterns on her breasts. “Then we’re done. Buffy will be replaced with Faith and we’ll be gone. Just think about the Seychelles.”

Cynthia clenched her jaw. “I’m not a child, Asheburne. There’s no need to tempt me with sweets.” She pushed away from him and stalked down the hallway. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back. I’m almost done. I have to keep focus. Emotions mean nothing except weakness. Can’t be soft.

“Santiana!”

Her feet froze in place. The quiet click of footsteps approaching her made Cynthia tense.

“Don’t fail me tonight.”

She turned around and shrugged. His beautiful gray eyes flickered with silver flame, reaching out and battling her black air. “I’ve never failed you, Thomas. Only myself.” With a parting smile, Cynthia walked away and prayed for release. Please let me get through this night. Let me get through and I swear I’ll make it up. I’ll do it. You know I will. I always do, don’t I?

The answer Cynthia prayed for never came. But then again, it never did.

********

Buffy tore through Sunnydale’s streets. The pretty, clean, tree-lined avenues sickened her. The quaint, brick buildings with their gold-lettered signs enraged her. She hated them all. How could anything look so beautiful, so comforting, and be so putrid?

She wished she had never come here.

She wished she had never heard of the Hellmouth.

She wished she had never laid eyes on Angel.

She wished she had never fallen prey to Angelus.

She hated him.

She hated herself.

She hated him more.

Bewildered expressions rose up to meet her as she pushed her way through the sudden crowds. Distantly she realized the local movie theater had just let out. Several people fell to the sidewalk as she barreled her way through. However, shocked faces and scraped bodies meant nothing. They all lied. Appearances meant nothing. They all courted disillusionment.

If the good people of Sunnydale thought she was a head-case, they were right.

Her coat suffocated her skin, restricting her wild flight. Buffy tore it off. She flung it on the ground, along with her purse. Her shoes were next. Kicking them, she bent down and threw them into the street. Buffy’s skin was still crawling. She couldn’t stand feeling anything of Angelus on her body. Without another thought, she ripped her dress off.

Now clad in her underclothing, she went to tear her panties when she felt the chain.

“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Why shouldn’t I? You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Liar!” With that whisper, Buffy’s finger rent the flimsy material. Her arms automatically yanked the black bra before tossing it into the street. Her hands slid down, their intention clear. Yet, when her nails grazed the jewel’s warm surface, she could feel her body begin to shake.

I can’t do it. I can’t do it!

Turning down a side street, Buffy felt the hot tears leak from her eyes. The crazed fury was giving way to desperation. Her nakedness was symbolic. After it was all said and done, this is what she had left. Nothing. Everything she had worked for in the past year, everything she had sacrificed—none of it meant anything. None of it meant anything because she no longer had Angelus.

Self-hatred welled up inside of Buffy. She screamed aloud in rage. “WHY?!” The high-pitch yell echoed back, forcing her to hear how broken she was. He made me like him. He made me dirty and wrong…just like HIM. He made me love him and then he made me NOTHING.

Her view of the world blurred, running to shades of black shame.

Buffy crumpled onto the ground. Bits of rubble dug into her skin. She sobbed silently as the pain rent her world apart. Everything hurt so badly. Angelus and Druscilla. Angelus and Others.

She lunged to the side as her stomach finally gave into sickness. Bitter vomit spewed from her mouth and splattered the concrete. Wiping her slack mouth with the back of her arm, Buffy forced herself up. Not now. I can’t break just yet. I have to get there. I have to…

The wind snaked through the alleyway and elicited a shiver. Shaking her head, she stumbled on. Cries of shock filtered through the pounding in her ears. Someone tried to wrap a jacket around her, but Buffy kept walking. Her nakedness didn’t matter. Modesty was something that belonged to someone with a life.

The road hurt her feet, but Buffy pushed past the physical discomfort. The church was only two blocks further, but it felt like a continent away. The idea of using one bit of her unnatural power disgusted her. If she couldn’t make the journey with her own untainted skills, then she wouldn’t make it.

But she had to make it. She just had to. She needed Father Marion. He was only one who could help her. He’ll understand. He always does. He’ll help me make it through the night. He’ll keep me from hurting like this…

Buffy abruptly collapsed against a wall. The bricks rough surface dug into her sensitive flesh. A keening wail whistled past her bloodless lips.

Why does it hurt so much? Why can’t my head take control of my stupid heart?! He cheated on me! He belonged to me! ME!! I HATE HIM!!! I HATE HIM SO MUCH!!!!

Lifting her bowed head, Buffy saw the dark steeple looming ahead. She pushed off the wall and stumbled forward. In the distance, she could hear a police siren and knew it was for her. Some concerned citizen probably called the police over her nakedness. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth your pity. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.

The church steps came closer. Sanctuary was nearly in Buffy’s grasp. Father Marion…please. Please be there… One of the large doors swung open. Appearing at the entrance was salvation.

Buffy’s shuffling steps quickened. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she ignored the acute pain battering through her body. “Father Marion!” she whispered in desperation.

Her savior saw her coming. Instead of rushing out to meet her, the priest stopped at the top step.

“Father…” Buffy rasped pitifully. Agony began shooting through every limb. Gracelessly, she crashed onto the sidewalk. The skin on her knees split under accidental violence.

Father Marion met her grief-stricken gaze. With a heavy head, he began his walk towards doom.

Blood oozed from her wounds, making Buffy cry. “Help me. Angelus. Angelus…he…” Her words slurred dangerously as her skin grew numb.

Aware of Buffy’s pain, but unable to ease it, he looked straight into the Slayer and read her heart. Each step passed beneath him along with a memory. The air grew colder and the night blacker. Only the light of Buffy’s soul led his way. Duty is the cross I bear. Duty is the stone I carry. Worthiness is what I determine.

Sunshine.

Thirteen steps.

Death.

Twelve.

Innocence.

Eleven.

Childhood.

Ten.

Pain.

Nine.

Disappointment.

Eight.

Shallowness.

Seven.

Responsibility.

Six.

Love.

Five.

Misery.

Four.

Passion.

Three.

Obsession.

Two.

Heartbreak.

One, Buffy. It always comes to one.

Love.

Reaching the final step, Father Marion smiled at the naked girl sprawled before him. Her dull hazel gaze rose to his. “Father,” she whispered while struggling to her knees.

“Buffy,” he began kindly. Although he knew she needed his comfort, he could not reach out with his body—only his voice could touch her now. “Your world has come to an end. Hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Drying tear tracks marked her pale cheeks. “It’s over. Angelus…Angelus…” Buffy began sobbing, the ugly heaves filling his ears with her awesome pain. “Angelus…”

The priest’s eyes darkened with purpose. “Strength, Buffy. You must have strength.”

“I can’t!” she wailed bitterly.

Father Marion reached up and undid his collar. Dropping the symbol of his priesthood on the ground, he stated, “You have to.”

Buffy’s expression of crushed confusion transformed into helpless horror. Before she could draw in breath, a hand reached out from behind Father Marion. The wicked glint of steel flashed once. And then it was done.

Crimson blood burst forth in a deadly rain. The deep gash on Father Marion’s neck formed into a hideous grin.

Without a whisper of pain, the priest closed his eyes and fell forward.