Title: Hello Goodbye (Part 5 of 12)

Author: Jeffrey Patrick

Description: The gang must discover their gifts in order to bring back the dead Slayer.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a rubber machete and a nose for picking good partners! Joss Whedon and the fab folks at Mutant Enemy own Buffy and all related characters. It’s their ocean. I just wade in it.

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Angel cursed beneath his breath. He had searched all over Sunnydale for Spike and was coming up empty. Then, near a construction site, he caught the familiar scent of Spike’s tobacco. It dawned on him the significance of the place, and his heart went cold. Stepping through a large round hole in the stone wall, he made his way inside. There he found Spike taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing it the ground. He didn’t stomp it out. Instead, he stared at the glowing butt until it died.

“Why are you here?” Spike asked without ever looking up.

“Looking for you,” Angel said, stepping on the butt. “We have a shot to bring her back.”

Spike looked up at him with questioning eyes. Angel stared back and was surprised to find actual caring. Then suddenly Spike’s eyes turned cold, and he looked away. “What will she do then?” Spike asked.

“She’ll live. She’ll be with us,” Angel said, not understanding.

“She was WITH us before, Sunshine. Fat lotta good that did her. She wanted out, man. You had to have seen that. Once her mum died…”

“I know,” Angel said. “She shut down. Xander told me about it.”

“Lackbrain talked to YOU? He hates you.”

“Maybe. But Xander and I… understand one another better than either of us likes to admit. He called me shortly after Willow came to bring the news.”

“Yeah, well, Droopy’s in bad shape,” Spike said, rubbing his jaw. “He took it out on my chin. I’m the only one that wants to admit what happened.”

“Or maybe you want to believe it so you feel better about letting her down.”

Angel had expected a violent response. Instead, Spike pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it with his trusty Zippo. He took a drag and slowly exhaled the smoke in a thin jet.

“We can get her back,” Angel said. “We can make things better… for everyone.”

Spike looked up at him. “What’s the catch?”

Angel shook his head. “I don’t know. Cordelia said the powers were going to test us. All we know is that if we fail…”

Angel blinked. “She’ll never…return?” He looked about him. The construction site was gone. He was in a clearing. The moon was in the sky. Darkness wrapped around him as comfortably as his duster. He knew the place well. He glanced at his watch. “Damn.” It was midnight.

“You remember,” a voice said. A chill shot from the base of Angel’s spine to the back of his head, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention. “You do, don’t you , Liam?”

“You aren’t real,” he said, refusing to turn and face her. “She’s dead. Long dead.”

“That I am,” she said softly. “But not gone from your heart, dear Liam. That is why I was chosen by the Powers to lead you to your task.”

“I was buried over there… on the other side of those trees.” He took a step in that direction, then hesitated. “Until…”

“Until tonight,” she said. “When you were born again.”

“Not the terminology I would use,” Angel said. “This is it? This is the night that Darla..?”

“Go and look,” she said. “None will see you.”

Angel moved toward the trees, hoping the girl wouldn’t follow. He crept through the trees, feeling the need to be quiet. He saw the clearing on the other side. There was movement. He got as close as he dared and stayed hidden lest the girl’s statement prove false. He crouched to get a better view, just as Darla’s familiar form moved gracefully toward the grave. For the next few moments, he watched and listened. He remembered the moment as though it were the day before. He suddenly felt very empty and not a little disturbed.

A displacement in the air along with the scent of lilacs warned him the girl was just behind him. “Why are you showing me this?” he asked as the newly risen Angelus and his mistress Darla strolled off into the night. “The Powers don’t need to remind me that I have a lot to atone for.”

“This is not about atonement, Liam.” The girl touched his shoulder, and the view before him changed. He was still crouching, but found himself in front of a familiar home.

“Not here,” he whispered.

“Yes, Liam. The truth lies within those walls,” she said.

“I won’t go in there.”

“You must,” the girl said, “or you have lost the gift you hope to give.”

He stood to his feet. After he took a moment to steel himself, he stepped toward the familiar site. He hadn’t stepped inside it since that night long ago. It was a night he had done his best to drive far from memory. He stood at the door for a long while. It was the servant’s entrance. Horror crept across his mind, gripping him with icy fingers. He actually felt himself tremble.

“Step in,” the girl said. “The door is of no consequence.”

He did as she said, and passed through the door as though he were a specter. On the other side, he found an empty servant’s quarters. He had spent many a night there, taking advantage of her right under his pious father’s nose. It had been such a joke to him then. He hadn’t cared for the woman at all. She was a distraction… nothing more. She was just another way for his actions to hurt his father, which was, for the most part, his only ambition in life at that time. He made his way to the door on the opposite side of the room.

He drifted slowly down familiar hallways, recalling long forgotten sensory perceptions. The scent of fire drifted to his nose. It came from the family room where his father was taking his after dinner nap. There was a tapestry in the hallway. He stopped and stared at it. It depicted several Bible stories in intricate detail. His mother had purchased it from a sailor who claimed to have brought it all the way from India. She had been so pleased to find her Western religion depicted in a piece of Eastern art, that she purchased it for a hefty sum without ever bothering to consult his father. As a boy he had listened for weeks to the arguments centered around the purchase. His father had found out from a London patron that the tapestry was as phony as the sailor who had sold them. It had been crafted in an orphanage not 50 kilometers outside London proper.

Angel smiled. It hadn’t made a bit of difference to his mother. She kept it on display as proudly as if it were genuine. His father eventually gave up the battle to have it removed. Angel stepped forward, uncertain if he would reach right through it.

“You can touch it,” the girl said.

He ran his finger along the weave. It was made remarkably well to be the work of children. His index finger came across a small cut in the fabric. He had put it there as a teen, practicing his fencing in the hall after his mother had asked him to stop. She had been terribly upset with him, but he had blown it off. “It’s only a stupid picture,” he remembered saying. He put his finger through the slice and felt the cold wall behind it.

“She was sewing in the parlor,” the girl said. “She always did this time of night.”

“I remember,” he said softly. He moved to his left, down a shorter hallway. Candlelight flickered from an open doorway.

“You must go in,” the girl said. “In there lies the gift you seek.”

“No,” he said, feeling a cold tear run down his cheek. “There is nothing in there for me but terror and damnation. It began here. The torment I rained upon this place… upon all of Europe… started here.”

“Your life began here, Liam. Both births brought pain and difficulty. You had the face of an angel,” she said. “But somewhere in your soul, you were sick long before this night.”

He took another step toward the doorway. “I know.”

“Go in,” she said. “Only by facing this moment will you understand. It is why you were brought here… to this place and time.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll never know what you had to give the Slayer.”

“My love,” he said, anger rising in his voice. “I gave her my love… my heart. I gave her everything.”

“Except what she needed, Liam. You were to move on toward your destiny. Had you found your true gift for her, she might never have died. Had you learned the truth… had you faced your failings, instead of falling back into them…”

“When Darla returned?”

“Yes. Had you not stepped off the path, the Slayer would still be alive. Yet now, when faced with the chance to correct it, you want to hide.”

“I’m not hiding,” he snapped. “You don’t understand. In there is everything I fear.”

“In there is a truth long denied you. Why do you seek to avoid it?”

“I avoid it because I live with it every day… every moment. I know what I’ve done… the atrocities I’ve committed.”

“No,” she said quietly. “You avoid it because guilt has become your home. You avoid it because, of all the darkness you have rid yourself of, you hold this one as a remnant. You cling to it as a reminder of your sin… your failure. But you are blind, Liam. Go inside. Open your eyes.”

He stood there, staring at the dancing light on the door. He turned to face the girl for the first time, but she was gone. He looked back at the doorway, and slowly made his way to it. The sight beyond it brought a smile to his face, even as tears dropped from his chin. His sister twirled around to some imagined tune. Her doll, Lady Katarina, was in her arms. He remembered she was never without it, in spite of his constant teasing that she was far too old for dolls. They both looked like heavenly creatures in the candlelight.

He had bought the doll himself as a Christmas gift several years earlier. A German wanderer had sold it to him for the cost of a warm meal. He said it had belonged to his daughter, also named Katarina, who had died nearly three years earlier. The wanderer had nothing left of her. He had begged Angel to let him keep the doll. Angel shuddered at the memory of the man stuffing the food into his pockets, weeping all the while.

There was a light knock at the door. Angel stepped inside frantically. “No!” His sister stopped her dance and looked at the door leading to the courtyard. “Don’t open it!” He knew it was hopeless. She couldn’t hear him. Still, he kept yelling. “You can’t let him in! He’s…”

The young girl unbolted the door after a momentary struggle to loosen it. Angel cringed at the sight before him. Angelus knelt on one knee until he was just below the girl’s eye level. “Liam?” she asked. “How can… how can it be you? Father said that…”

“Father was wrong,” Angelus said with a grin. “He often is, you know.”

She stepped back, obviously confused at the site before her. “You are not dead?”

“I’ve never felt more alive,” he answered. “Though I may die of cold if not invited in.”

“Don’t do it,” Angel pleaded from behind her. “Please! Please, just don’t…”

“Perhaps I should get Father,” the girl said.

“No, darling,” Angelus said. “I wish to surprise him with the good news myself. Sweet sister, do you doubt me? It is truly I. Your darling Liam has returned. Surely you have not forgotten my face. Only a few days have passed since last we spoke.”

“It is not that,” the girl said. “I could never forget the face of my brother. It is the face I have long treasured. You are my angel and dearest friend.”

“Then look deep into these angel eyes,” Angelus said with his most charming smile, “and invite your brother in.”

“No,” Angel whispered as he heard the invitation from his sister’s lips.

In horror he watched as his familiar face gave way to a demonic visage just seconds after entering the home. His sister was the first. In moments, her limp body slumped to the floor as Angelus licked her warm blood from his lips. Angel knelt beside her unable to stop the tears. Angelus swept out of the room, headed for the parlor where Angel’s mother would be the next to die.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, touching the girl’s cold cheek. “So sorry.”

“Listen to her,” the voice said. He turned, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to his sister. Her pale, thin lips moved slowly. She was trying to say something.

Angel fought back his tears and put his ear close to the girl’s mouth. Her breath was light and tickled his ear. He got even closer. She was saying something so softly, he could barely make it out.

“Not… Liam. Not… my… angel. Not… Liam.”

“I realized it was not you,” the voice said. He turned to see his sister standing before him in her prettiest dress. “Because you could never hurt me.”

“I killed you,” he said, looking away.

“No. Angelus, the demon, killed me, Liam.” She let her hand rest softly on his head. “You and he are not the same. Even then I knew what you do not.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Angel argued, picking up her blood stained doll. “You said yourself I was soul sick long before I was turned.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yet you were always there for me. You were my world, Liam. I danced that night, in spite of my sadness, because I felt you there. When I danced with that doll, I was dancing with you again. Even in death, you lifted my spirits… comforted me. I loved you so.”

“I stopped dancing with you,” he said. “I was too busy to be bothered with you. I bought that damn doll to take my place. I left you long before I killed you.”

“No,” she said softly. “Angelus killed me. You know this, Liam. Why do you cling to it? It is not what keeps you on the path. It is not what drives you to redemption. What make you a hero is the angel that I always saw inside you. Your heart may have been poisoned, but you hadn’t completely lost the ability to love. I felt it, Liam. Your eyes lit up when I danced for you. In spite of your struggles, you loved me.”

He turned to her, unable to see through his tears. She put her arms gently around his neck. It was nearly unbearable. He wept and wept, not knowing if he would ever be able to stop. When he finally regained his composure, she smiled at him warmly. “There is a question, Liam, that I must ask. Think long and hard before you answer it. If you do not answer correctly, your gift is lost. You will never have it to give the Slayer, because it will never be yours to give.”

He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and nodded.

“What gift do you have to offer the Slayer?” she asked.

Angel closed his eyes, letting his memories of Buffy flood over him. He recalled sitting with her beneath a tree in the cemetery the day of her mother’s funeral. It had been the last time he saw her before her own death. There was a question in her eyes, one he couldn’t answer for her at the time. Then his mind ran over everything his sister had shown him. He puzzled over it all for what seemed like hours. All the while, his sister smiled at him, as though she believed he would eventually understand.

When it finally dawned on him, he spit it out before taking even a moment to second guess himself. “Forgiveness,” he said. “My gift is forgiveness.”

Her smile disappeared. Had Angel’s heart been beating, it surely would have stopped at the sight. “Why do you say forgiveness, Liam?”

“Because, you were right earlier,” he said softly. “This one death I have hidden away… for the sole purpose of punishing myself over and over again. It’s been a cancer to my soul… to my heart. When Buffy’s mom died, she blamed herself. With my words I told her she could have done nothing.”

“But she didn’t believe you?” the girl asked.

“No. Her eyes told me she didn’t believe. I let it go, because…”

“Because?”

“I let it go because I feel the same way. I know in my head that Angelus the demon did the horrible things I atone for, but somewhere deep down inside…”

“You didn’t believe it. You kept this moment in your memory, buried deep. You thought about how I trusted you… how you used that trust to kill me. But it was never you, Liam. I knew that before I passed into the ether.”

“And because I never forgave myself, I couldn’t reach Buffy that night. Her despair continued to grow. Her guilt continued to fester. Spike may have been right.”

“Perhaps,” his sister said. “Perhaps not.”

“But if I forgive myself,” Angel said, “I can offer that forgiveness to her. She won’t have to return to the guilt and anguish that she left with.”

She smiled at him. He couldn’t help but return it. She was so beautiful. He had nearly forgotten how she lit the room with her presence. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her cheek gently. She smiled.

“You’ve been given another moment, Liam,” she said, kissing the tip of his nose. “Can you hear the music?”

“With you,” he said, lifting her into the air, “there was always music.” He spun her around as he had countless times before. She laughed. He closed his eyes at the beautiful sound of it. He knew beyond a doubt that when he opened them again, she would be gone. But she would always return to him with the strains of music and the familiar scent of lilacs in bloom.