"Road to Nowhere"
Author: Alley(NYC)
Email: alleynyc@hotmail.com
Summary: When things heat up between two rival crime families, the lives of Angel Tully, a mobster, and Buffy Summers, a burgeoning artist, crash into each other. Here's what happens.
Dedication and Thanks: This story is dedicated to both indiefic and Calla… indie for getting me excited about writing about my beloved neighborhood, Hell's Kitchen, and Calla, my dear friend and wonderful hard-working beta, for insisting that I write it.
Disclaimer: This is a not-for-profit work of fanfiction. Any characters recognizable from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series belong to Joss Whedon and his associates. No infringement is intended through the use of any of the Buffy or Angel characters. Mickey Spillane, Jimmy Coonan and Kenny Shannon are actual people, the latter two currently incarcerated for their activities related to the Irish mob in Hell's Kitchen. That said, anything in this story about them is fabricated. (If you are interested in learning more about the Irish mob in New York City, Hell's Kitchen specifically, check out "The Westies" by TJ English. Excellent book.) Any additional characters, for what they're worth, belong to me.
Notes: The elevator artwork was an installation (in the late 1990s) at The Kitchen, a performance space here in New York City. Despite much research and numerous telephone calls to the Kitchen, no one can tell me whose work it was. Apologies to the artist; no disrespect or infringement intended.
It was about 4 a.m., he figured, when he heard the branch snap. A noise most people would have attributed to a wild animal or the wind, but Angel knew that sound. Human.
He crept out of bed, pulling on his jeans and grabbing both 9mms from his bag under the bed. Skipping his ankle holster, he jammed the spare gun into his boot and moved as quietly as he could, quietly cocking the hammer on his usual piece. He slipped out the porch door and was halfway around the front of the house when his free arm was pinned painfully behind his back and he felt a gun at his temple.
"Angel, Angel. It's me. Doyle. It's just me. Can I let you go, you not going to attack me?"
Angel nodded as best he could.
"Throw your gun away. Now."
Angel hesitated... throwing his gun, not a good move, but figuring he had no choice, he nodded and tossed it about five feet away. By the time Angel got the extra gun off his ankle, Doyle was already holding his own aimed at Angel's chest.
"Whatcha doin' here, Doyle?" he sneered. "Come up for a bit of vacation?"
"How ‘bout you? You gonna tell me you whacked the girl and came up here to get away and relax?" Doyle bit out. "Save it. I know you didn't kill her. At least not last week when you were supposed to.
"After a couple days, no one'd heard from you... now everybody's looking. McKee's freaking out... thinks you've flipped and gone to the Feds. I figured you might come here, so I go to my apartment to get my stuff, and what do you know, my car keys are gone, my *car's* gone and then I look in my closet and your stuff is all gone including all my cash, and the drawer with Anna's and my passports is emptied and hanging open. You wanna tell me what's going on? You stupid leaving such obvious clues at my place, or just sloppy - losing your touch?"
"Is that a serious question? Yeah, Doyle, I'm stupid, I wasn't thinking. Fuck you!" Angel spat, stabbing his gun at Doyle for emphasis.
"Angel, Angel. Man, I'm on your side, I'm just wondering what you're playing at saving the girl and getting her to safety. They're gonna find out. McKee's talking about bringing in the Italians on this which will cause him to lose face. Lose respect. This is... this is bad, Angel. It's only gonna get worse. I hope she was worth it."
Doyle ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Okay, here's what we do. You come back to town, we say the body's sunk in the lake here.... Is she gonna turn up? Is she gone... really gone? Does she know the drill?"
Angel stared at the ground and gradually lowered his gun, slipping it into the waistband of his jeans.
"Give me your gun, Doyle."
Doyle looked doubtful and made no move to hand it over. Angel was strung tight at the moment -- if he gave it up, would Angel kill him? They'd been friends forever, good friends, but would he do it? He was certainly acting out of character these days.
Angel thrust his hand forward again. "You can trust me, Doyle. If you couldn't, you think I'd have come here?"
Doyle studied him for another moment and then handed it over.
Angel walked past him, retrieving his other gun from the ground and jamming it in his boot. Gesturing to Doyle to be quiet, he led him into the cabin.
Doyle saw the girl asleep on his bed, curled around Angel's pillow, mouth slightly open, clearly naked. Pulling Angel back out onto the porch and around the side of the house, he snapped, "Are you fucking crazy? Why is she still with you? I mean, I get you didn't whack her, I don't know why, but in any case, why is she still fucking with you? You got a death wish... for the both of you?"
Angel pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, trying to get his head to stop aching. "Doyle, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I only know that she's not safe anymore. Hasn't been since she saw Finn clipped and I just... I... Doyle, man, I think I'm in love with her. No, I know I am. Doyle, they'll hurt her if she goes back. And it's all my fault. I mean, maybe not my fault directly, but she's just some poor girl who happened to be a classmate of Finn's and for that she gets killed?
"I know-- I know this happens all the time but Doyle, when I first saw her at CB's all those weeks ago, I just ... I knew when I went to take care of the Finn problem and I saw her, I knew there was no going back. Please, Doyle. Please let us get away. Please don't hurt her. I... I just couldn't stand it if anything happened to her. If you need to kill me, then do it, but promise me you'll get her away. For old times sake. For all we've been through."
Doyle blinked several times. "This is *that* girl? The looker from the bar?"
Angel nodded, watching him carefully. He had all the firepower but he hadn't patted Doyle down.
Doyle scratched his head, bewildered. Of all the things he expected, this girl being up here with Angel wasn't it. He'd figured she'd be long gone and Angel'd just be up here getting plastered and shooting out his neighbors' front porch lights. But to be up here waiting like a deer in hunting season... not doing anything... and clearly making no effort to *do* anything.... Oh Christ, they were fucked.
"They'll kill you, Angel. They'll kill you and they'll do worse to her. What if Spike gets wind of this? Or worse, your father? They'll... Christ, Angel, if you love this girl, you had better get her out of here. You know what they're like. You know they'll get here. And I'll be the one leading. It's only a matter of time."
"I know. We'll leave in the morning. But Buffy, she's a strong girl. She's going to put up a fight."
"I should think she'd just be happy you're saving her life," Doyle snorted.
Angel nodded sadly.
"She does know you're doing that, right? She knows what's going on?"
Angel stared at the ground.
Doyle combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Oh, Angel. She doesn't know who you are? What does she think you're doing up here? Vacation? Oh, Christ."
Shaking his head again, he turned to leave, hand held out for his gun. "I got to get out of here. I never seen you, okay? And, listen, talk to her. Tell her who you are and get the hell out of here. Go up north, to Canada or something. Just get lost. And don't ever come back, okay?"
Angel nodded, and after taking the clip out of Doyle's gun, tossed the .40 back to him, shrugging apologetically. "I took the money Doyle, from the kitchen, and the extra piece. And your car..."
"That's what it's there for. For emergencies. You know that. And forget about the car. I'll jack a nicer one next time," Doyle smiled in the dim moonlight. "Be safe, Angel. Be safe and have a good life. The McKees were never the place for you... this is your chance to get out. Take it."
Angel smiled sadly. "Okay, now I know we're gonna die," he joked, swallowing. "But, Doyle, thanks. For everything. Always."
"I love ya, man. Be safe."
Safe.
"So, where are we going again?" Buffy called to him from outside the cabin.
"It's a place my uncle lives. It's not too far from here. It'll be great to see him... it's been years." Forever, Angel thought. He knew his mother had a brother in Boston... or at least she did when she'd left. *Fifteen* years ago. Hopefully, he'd look his uncle up and he'd know where his mom was... that she was still alive... that she wanted to see him. He hadn't thought about the Cowans in years -- not since Gunn had given him that note. The kind uncle who'd written him was still in New York, most likely, so going to him for help wasn't a possibility... did any of the others even know he existed?
Angel gave the counter top a once over. He had to be sure he left behind no trace of them... dusting the entire house both for fingerprints and so it'd look uniform. Dumping out the milk, gathering the trash, cleaning hair out of the bathtub... not doing too good a job to be suspicious, but for sure making certain Buffy's paints were cleaned up.
Then they'd hit the road, hopefully be to Boston before nightfall.
When they got there, he'd tell her. He promised himself he'd tell her.
"Hey! You Buffy?"
Buffy yelped as the man came up behind her. "I'm sorry. You scared me. Are you looking for Angel?"
She stopped packing the trunk to study him. He was cute, about her age, maybe a little older. Nice face, but his eyes... they seemed sort of cold. "Sir? ‘Cause he's in the house."
"Oh, sorry," he said, shaking his head. "No, no. I'm looking for you actually. I'm a friend of Angel's. I was hoping to surprise him.... See, it's his birthday. He probably didn't tell you, huh? Nasty fucker's so modest. Want to help me?"
Buffy was bewildered. It was Angel's birthday? Now, she knew why Angel wanted to go see his uncle. She couldn't believe he hadn't told her. She couldn't believe she hadn't asked.
"Come here," said the blond man, smiling conspiratorially. "Let's play a joke."
Buffy smirked back as she walked towards him. He held his hands behind his back, hiding something. "What's your name?" she asked. "And how did you know we were here?"
"Doyle told me."
When she reached him, he grabbed her and, turning her fast, covered her mouth with a cold hand, his other digging hard into her ribs as he began to drag her into the woods. "Shoulda known Angel'd not kill you. Not follow orders. Fucker has no balls. But don't worry, princess," he said, licking her neck, his breath reeking of liquor and stale cigarettes, "I'll take care of you... sweet young thing like you. I'll treat you so nice, fuck you deep and hard. Maybe tie you up and push my cock in your ass, you like that?"
He laughed as she fought to get free, but five days a week lifting weights at Mid-City meant she was no match. "Oh, not good enough for you? I could pass you around. I'm sure everyone's gonna want–"
Two shots rang out and the man fell to the ground, taking Buffy with him. She struggled to get out from under his body and as she rolled over, she looked up into the barrel of a gun.
A gun held by Angel.
She screamed. She screamed and kicked and fought him every step of the way. She just wouldn't stop. He didn't know how to calm her down without knocking her out and, Christ, they needed to get out of there.
"Buffy, Buffy, please. I won't hurt you. Please, love, please stop screaming. You need to stop! Please, Buffy, you're going to get us killed. Please, we have to leave. We have to leave *now*. Buffy!"
He shook her hard, desperate to stop her hysteria. She was squirming wildly and wrestled an arm free, smashing it across his face. Gaining a momentary surprise advantage, she kicked him hard in the balls, immediately turning and running into the dense brush, as Angel collapsed moaning to the ground. Through pain-addled, half-open eyes, he watched her run far and deep into the woods until it hit him that by getting away from him, she was likely closer to danger. He bit his lip hard, did his best to ignore his throbbing groin and, jamming his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, fought to stand and began to chase after her.
She was far ahead of him and although he had a longer stride, pain was slowing him down. He could do no more than keep pace with her until, after long moments, the ache gradually began to subside and he was able to catch up, to get close enough so that when she glanced back at him and tripped on a rock -- falling hard to the ground with a strangled groan -- he was able to get to her. He tackled her as she tried to stand – forced her onto her back, straddled her body, using his weight to hold her sobbing form to the ground as he grabbed both of her arms and pinned them above her head with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. But, even physically subdued, she continued to fight him, tears pouring down her face, her screams muffled…. He only hoped she caught some of what he said.
"Buffy. Please. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't you think I would've by now? We've been here for days. Haven't seen a soul. If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be long dead, sunk in the water. It's right there. I could have done it days ago."
Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at him in horror.
"Now, listen to me, I need you to listen. Spike, the guy who attacked you, he's a bad guy. The worst. He's... Buffy, I'm not a good guy. I'm not. And I'm so sorry you're a part of this but you are. Spike... he's the guy who killed Riley. You saw him do it, whether you actually remember what he looks like or not, and there were orders to take you out so you couldn't harm the family." Angel swallowed hard. "*My* family." Angel stared down at the woman he was in love with, as her entire world... her safe world filled with love and friends... went up in flames.
"Buffy," Angel continued, his throat tight, struggling to get the next words out -- he could see it in her eyes... she would hate him forever for this, "I was going to tell you... I *swear* when we got to Boston. I swear it."
She lay still finally and he gently released the hand over her mouth, stroking her hair away from her face. She shook her head hard, making it quite clear he wasn't to touch her. Wasn't to be trusted.
"Boston," she said acidly. "Your uncle – if he exists at all – lives in Boston? That's like six hours from here. What the fuck is going on, Angel? Who the hell are you?"
"Buffy, I swear I'll tell you everything, but right now... if Spike found us there could be more guys coming, in fact, they're probably on their way. We need to go, but I swear I'll tell you today, just later. Now, we have to go."
"Fuck you! I'm not going *anywhere* with you until you tell me what's going on."
"Buffy, please. *Please* don't do this. They're coming here to kill you. And before you say anything, the police can't help you. Not with these people. You have to trust me. We need to get out of here. Now."
"Trust you? *Trust* you?" She snorted. "You must think I'm stupid... I guess I am. ‘Oh, Angel, you have such an honest face.' ‘Oh, Angel, I know *you'd* never hurt me.' And now you want me to *trust* you?"
Angel stared into her eyes, eyes filled with so much hate he could almost feel it, and answered simply: "Yes."
He climbed off of her and, once standing, reached down a hand to help her up. She ignored it, remained on the ground, glaring at him, silent. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, wanting her to see what he was doing, he slowly retrieved his usual gun off his ankle, grabbing the second from his back as he rose again to standing. A look of terror flashed across her face and with a strangled yelp, she skirted back from him, trying to get away.
But then he held one out to her, barrel pointing towards himself.
"What are you doing?" she asked, astonished.
"Here," he nudged. "Take it. I was going to give it to you anyway. You want to kill me? Do it. Just do it."
He stood and waited patiently as she stared at the offered gun… at the gun in his opposite hand, which currently hung limp at his side… and then back up at his face, swallowing hard. "Is this a trick? I don't want it. No!"
"Take it. I need you to take it," he pleaded, pushing it at her again, his eyes burning into hers. Trying to communicate that she could trust him. She could hate him, but she could trust him.
"Is it... loaded?"
He nodded, again pushing it towards her. She reluctantly reached forward and took hold of the pistol, looking down at her hand as if it were an alien limb that had just grown out of her body.
"I could kill you," she said, astonished, standing up, pointing the gun at him.
"You could," he said, throwing his own weapon to the ground and holding up his hands.
She stared at him and at the gun she held for several moments, until she finally lowered it, her eyes filling with tears.
"I can't.…" She began to cry.
"It's okay, Buffy," he said, choking. He reached out for her, wanting to hold her, but she quickly took several steps back, aiming the gun at him anew.
He moved slowly, picking his 9mm up off the ground, showing her he wasn't going to use it, and slipping it into the waistband of his jeans. He took a tentative step towards her, his hands in plain sight, clearly away from the gun, trying not to scare her anymore than she already was.
"Buffy, please listen to me. Spike, if he found us, it could mean ten other guys are on their way. I'm only one man, Buffy. If they started shooting, I couldn't protect you. We really need to get out of here and hit the road. You can trust me. I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you. Why do you think you're here, alive, in the first place? I couldn't hurt you. It's just... it's not in me."
"But, that guy said..."
"Later, love. I promise I'll tell you everything later. Please."
"And if I don't want to stay?" she asked, starting to walk toward the car, clutching the gun tightly, never letting Angel get outside her range of vision.
"Later, Buffy. Later."
After a tense, silent drive, they reached Boston around 7:00 p.m. and found a motel in Framingham to spend the night. It was a generic Motel 6, but it was near a wooded area and he was able to semi-hide the car. He'd have to come out later and get some new plates...maybe even jack another car, but first he needed to deal with Buffy.
He'd picked up Chinese for the two of them and they sat on the floor of their room staring at it, neither of them having any appetite. At her request, he went through his entire history, filling in all the blanks he'd left before… about his mom and sister, his dad and the work he'd done for him, about Doyle and Spike and then about the McKees... their dealings, their businesses, their relations with the Italians.
He explained the hierarchy of the family and the "rules" that were in place. He told her that the McKees loved Bill and in turn Angel and Spike... Michael McKee, the head of the family, had, for several years, clearly been grooming Angel to take over a large portion of the business. But, despite this, number one rule: You didn't kill within the family, not without permission. They'd avenge Spike's death and Angel's traitorship. Traitors didn't live. They were taken out... usually over the course of several days of specific, malicious torture.
The whole time he was talking, Buffy sat silently, staring at the carpet, her only movement wiping up the tears that rapidly spread down her face. He'd wanted to comfort her, wanted to somehow make it better, but whenever he tried to stroke her hair, tried to touch her, she just shook her head: No.
His heart died.
He hadn't said where he was going, just placed her gun in front of her and told her to lock the door after him. She stared at the gun for a while trying to see if she could force herself to stop breathing, if that would kill her or at least make her pass out. She just wanted to ... forget. She just wanted to sleep and wake up and find them both in bed at her apartment. She just wanted to be that happy again.
And she hated that *that* was the moment she wanted to return to. After everything he'd told her, she still loved him, still wanted to be with him. She just still *wanted* him.
Who was he? How did she know that what he'd told her was even the whole truth? And as it was, he'd done unspeakable things. The stories he'd told of endless killing and "enforcing" and collecting on bets. And, oh God, how they disposed of the bodies. She just couldn't believe that *that* was Angel, that Angel could be capable of any of it. He was so good, so loving, so caring towards her. He seemed to really care about her.
But he hadn't blinked when he killed Spike. He'd just stayed cool and said, ‘we need to go.'
How had this happened to her? How had this become her life? The whole thing was a nightmare, a crazy nightmare that she and Willow would laugh about when she finally woke up. God, if she could only wake up.
Angel was supposed to kill her. He was sitting in front of her apartment that day planning to kill her. But he didn't. He said he couldn't. He said, when he saw it was her, the girl from the bar, the girl he'd been dreaming about since the night they'd met, he just couldn't ruin her life by killing her. Instead, he wanted to be with her, know her, breathe her in. He said she was like the sun, a breath of fresh air. She was, in a certain way, his salvation.
He was like two people. He seemed to care about her, seemed to feel the same way she did, could be so romantic and gentle with her. But his brother... he'd killed his *brother* in cold blood. She was just... it was like her brain had shut down. She figured she had to be in shock because she hated him, and was afraid of him, but when he'd left her to go do… whatever it was he went to do... she didn't leave. She couldn't. Was it because she was afraid for her life? Or afraid of him?
She felt numb. This wasn't happening. It wasn't.
It was very clear to her that, by choosing to save her, she was not the only "mark," as he called it, but that now he was one too. That, while she could never go back, neither could he. That by being the one chosen to kill her, he'd saved her life. Because if someone else had been assigned to do it, given what he'd said about his family, she would have been dead over a week ago. And likely raped and tortured.
If the room hadn't been so quiet, she wouldn't have been able to hear him tell her that last part, tell her what they would have done to her. How he knew the drill because it had happened before. He'd seen it happen before. Firsthand.
He said he understood if she never forgave him. That he was so sorry, incredibly sorry and that he wished he could make it all go away, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do now but protect her.
She could say nothing to him. Couldn't bring herself to speak. After several moments of silence, he had left for parts unknown, left her with a gun and walked out.
He got back shortly after 2:00 a.m. He found her where he'd left her... on the floor in front of uneaten Chinese food, sound asleep, tear tracks still clearly evident on her face. He picked her up as gently as he could and lay her on her bed, not having the heart to do anything other than take off her shoes and pull the bedspread over her. It was quite clear she hated him now. That he could never touch her again.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, listening to her breathe. His heart ached... he was so sorry she'd ever known Riley Finn, so sorry she'd ever moved to New York, so sorry... no, he'd never be sorry he'd met her. Never. Even if it was wrong. He was glad to know that he'd die having loved her... die being in love with her.
She could never speak to him again but he was going to make sure she was safe and had a long life. He swore it.
She awakened when the door clicked shut. She could hear him in the bathroom showering. Hear, she realized now, him crying. Stoic Angel was sobbing in the bathroom.
She stood for several minutes listening through the door, debating what to do. Would she go in and see blood? Had he killed someone? Where the hell had he gone? If she surprised him, would he hurt her? She went back to the floor in front of the bed and grabbed her gun. Better to be safe....
She quietly opened the door, not wanting to startle him. She could see him through the dingy curtain... he was sitting naked on the floor of the tub, face pressed against his knees as he hugged them close... his shoulders shaking as his body hitched with sobs.
"Angel?"
No reaction. She carefully placed the gun on the sink and crouched next to the tub.
"Angel, it's me." She pulled back the curtain and leaned over the side of the tub, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, rubbing his back, and finally leaning over and gathering him into her arms. He seemed to cry harder, his right hand reaching to grip her upper arm as he leaned into her.
They sat like that for fifteen minutes -- Buffy gently rocking him, her heart breaking for him, getting soaked in her clothes, trying to soothe him – until he seemed to quiet a little. She leaned over with her free hand and turned off the water, talking to him, telling him what she was doing, telling him to let her go so she could get towels, helping him to stand and drying him off. She tried to dry herself over her clothes and finally just gave up, wrapping a towel around her hair and leading him back into the room.
She helped him into bed and took off her sodden clothing, pulling on his discarded T-shirt which lay crumpled on the floor. She lay down beside him and wrapped her arms around him, continuing to talk to him quietly, continuing to tell him lies, that it would be alright, that everything was alright.
He gripped her arm, held it painfully in his grasp, relaxing only when, after many minutes, he'd cried himself to sleep.
Angel woke up staring at Buffy's sleeping form in the bed opposite his. He would have thought the night before had never happened had she not been wearing his T-shirt. But sometime in the night she had left his bed for her own.
He woke her at 8:00 a.m. telling her they needed to leave. She said nothing as she took her clothes into the bathroom to get dressed. She said nothing as she packed her things and threw away the Chinese food left on the floor and avoided his eyes as he gave her a much overdue lesson on how to work her gun and how to assess a situation. He didn't know what she was thinking.
He'd hoped -- remembering how she was the night before, how she'd held him and taken care of him -- that maybe she didn't hate him after all. He longed for that… to be right with her again. But it was clear. In the harsh light of day, he realized she'd been kind only because she was a good person... because she'd help anyone in trouble.
It had nothing to do with him.
When they left the hotel, they had a new car. A Ford Escort that appeared to be about ten years old. Doyle's car was nowhere to be seen. Just another crime, Buffy thought. Add that to the list.
Angel said they were, in fact, going to see some relatives of his. Turns out the mystery uncle was real. She balked at going until he made it clear these were relatives of his mother's. Buffy found it odd that Angel would go to them for help given what he'd said about his mother's departure from his life. She had a sneaking suspicion that his uncle would slam the door in their faces, but Angel had this idea that it would be okay.
And so they went.
His uncle was very nice but knew nothing about where his mother was. Apparently, dead to the family really meant dead. He said the only relative who might have known was her step-brother Rupert -- his uncle from New York – who was also considered a "black sheep" of the family. But he had died two years before of AIDS.
She stayed in the car as he "ran an errand" -- an old friend of Doyle's got the passports fixed. They looked pretty good, good enough to get across the border, he thought. She'd be safe in Canada. She had to be.
When he came back to the car, she finally looked at him... finally met his gaze and his blood ran cold. Her eyes had changed. No longer happy and carefree, they were hard. Like Darla's.
"Where are we going?" she asked flatly, as they headed up Route 9 through Maine. "Now that we can't find your mother, that is."
When he didn't answer, she wasn't sure he'd heard her, but then he pulled the car off to a rest area on the side of the road. Turning off the engine, he rubbed his temples for a long moment and then got out of the car. Walking around to her side, he said through her open window, "Walk with me?"
Her heart grabbed in her throat. The place was deserted, they were in the middle of nowhere, hadn't passed a car in at least an hour and now he wanted to take a walk? Should she take her gun? Was she going to use it to kill him?
"Here. Take mine, too," he said, handing her his gun as he opened her car door.
She took it from him and climbed out of the car, following him into a small picnic area and sitting beside him at one of the tables.
"I'd say I'm sorry but I can tell by the look on your face that you're sick of hearing that. But I am, Buffy. And I'm sorry that my mom wasn't around to take care of you."
He stood and paced in front of her, keeping his hands where she could see them, afraid she would shoot him, she supposed.
"Buffy, all I want is for you to be safe. I need to get you somewhere where that can happen. I ... I was thinking we go to Canada and get you a place there in some small town. Somewhere where you can blend in, maybe get a teaching job, do your painting. I want you to have a normal life. I want you to have the life you had before all this happened. So, I thought Canada. Nova Scotia. No one there will know you, right?"
Buffy met his eyes for the first time in hours. "Canada. So that's why the passports, huh? Okay, Canada. You think I'll be safe in *Canada.* For how long, Angel? Until the rest of your family catches up to us? How long before we have to run again? From what you've told me they won't stop looking until we're dead and long gone."
He stopped pacing and stared into the trees. "You're right. They won't. Buffy, you're going ... Buffy, I want you to be safe. And there's only one way that'll happen.
Swallowing hard, he continued. "When we get to Canada and find you a place, I'm going to... I'm going back, Buffy. I'm going back to the city."
She jumped up, gripped his arms. "What?! Why?! They'll kill you, Angel! No, no *way* are you going back. No! Angel... Angel, they'll kill you," she said, her voice breaking.
He reached his hand up to wipe away the tears now streaming down her face. "Buffy, love... it's the only way. The way I see it, I get some of your blood on me and then I go back, say you were a good... a good lay and that I wanted to have some ... fun before I killed you. They're guys, they'll probably believe it, they'll laugh about it and it'll be done. You can live your life as you wanted to, meet someone who's a good person, someone who can…. Buffy, I made my choices a long time ago. I've lead a messy life. You have a good life still. And I want you to have that."
"You idiot! What do you think? That I'll just go off and fall in love with someone else and live my life, laughing and partying... la, la, la, ‘oh, yeah, I was in love with this bad boy once', all ‘how's it goin', eh? Yay, Canada?' You are such an asshole. If you want to leave, just say so. Don't give me this bullshit about how they'll forgive you, because they won't. Did you forget about Spike lying dead at Doyle's place? What do you think – they'll just ignore that? And who's going to take the fall for that – Doyle? Are you okay with that?"
"I'll tell them what happened. We had a fight, he wanted to rape you and kill you and I wasn't done with you yet. There's protocol about women, Buffy -- even marks. And most of these guys hate Spike... he's a vicious bastard like my old man... hell, my old *man* hates Spike. He'll be happy he's dead."
"That's not the point. You don't know what they're gonna do. You really think you'll get away with this?" She reached up and stroked his face. "Oh, Angel. What if they don't believe you? It's not like..."
He leaned into her palm, his face stubbley and warm. "It's okay, Buffy. You'll be okay. I promise you. You'll be safe. You have to let me do this. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. Please let me do this. I need you to be okay."
She could see the look in his eyes. He'd made up his mind.
He held her in his arms as she sobbed.
The end came less than twelve hours later.
It was just before dawn and they were leaving the Pine Cone Inn in Wesley, Maine when a foot kicked out the back of his knee and he fell to the ground, his left hand pulled up painfully behind his back.
He felt the cool metal of the gun at the base of his skull.
Buffy was off getting a soda and he prayed... please, God, please don't let her come back. But it was a small motel and Angel knew there was no chance. They were both dead as they were standing. He only hoped they'd kill her quick. Please, just make it quick.
"Well, here's my boy. On the run. Lousy sack of shit! Didn't I raise you better than this?"
"Hello, Da," Angel bit out, "So, you decided to come and kill me yourself?" He wracked his brain for a way to get away, to save Buffy. His father fingers dug into his arm. Please, Buffy, please don't come back.
"Well, you took care of William, that was clear. Shoulda known. He fucked up the Finn killing, surely he'd fuck up killing your girl. Tell me, son. Is she worth it? Is she worth dyin' for?" Angel fought to stay silent as Bill wrenched his arm up higher, and leaned in. "Will I enjoy her, hmm? Tell me."
Enraged, Angel fought to stand, only to be slammed on the back of his head with the pistol. His father laughed bitterly as Angel fell back to his knees. "Did I teach you nothin' about women, Angel? Soon as they find out about you, soon as they find out what you really are, there's no love. Love doesn't exist, Angel. Not for us. I thought it did once, but then that fuck Finn went and fucked it up."
"No, Dad. It wasn't Finn, it was you! You think she left because of fucking Joe Finn? No, she left because of you. Because you slept with Victoria... because you cheated on her. And then when she found out about the gang, it was just the last straw. Maybe she would have left anyway, but we'll never know. You broke her heart, Dad. She cried for weeks after Spike showed up. You never saw it, but she cried for weeks."
Bill was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, son. I took an oath and I got my orders. And unlike some, I follow them," Bill said, his voice breaking. "Why'd you do it, Angel? You're my boy. Why'd you betray the family?"
"I love her, Dad. I didn't think I could love anybody, but I love her. She looks at me the way Mom used to look at you, you remember?"
"Yeah, son. I remember." Angel could hear the tears in his voice.
He heard the deafening shot, felt the body slump next to him, saw the blood pouring out of his dad's stomach. Bewildered, he looked behind them at a crying, shaking Buffy, gun held in her trembling hands. She fell to her knees, dropping the gun as she covered her face and began to hyperventilate.
Stunned, he turned back to his father who was looking up at him with unfocused eyes. "Dad?"
"Angel, this is... this is what it should be… tell your girl.... She's in the Gaspé. It was ... far as I could get her. She always said... all that private school french... never got her anywhere." He grimaced as he chuckled.
"Dad?"
"Adele Carson. Hope Town, Quebec. She liked the town name... she said it was what she needed. I did my best for her... I do love her, son. More than my life. Please tell her – Please –"
His hand turned limp and dropped from Angel's to the ground -- his eyes stared blankly up at Angel.
"Dad?" he gasped, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Da?"
He knelt by his father for an eternity. Or so it seemed. Watching the blood pool around him, conflicted by his feelings of loss, his feelings of hurt. His father chose the McKees over him. His father would kill him or Buffy. In cold blood.
But then, his father knew where Katherine was. At least he thought it was Katherine. And he seemed to want Angel to escape, to go to her. He seemed to want him to be safe.
He had a headache. His head felt ready to explode.
He gradually recognized the wailing in the distance. Buffy lay on the ground behind them, rocking back and forth, her breath hitching as she sobbed.
The sirens were getting closer. Focus, Angel. They only had a minute. Maybe less. He needed to protect her.
"Buffy. Buffy, get up!" She didn't seem to hear him as he approached. Instead, she just cried harder.
"God damn it, Buffy. Get the fuck up," he snapped, slapping her across the face.
She looked up at him, shocked... stunned. He reached down and grabbed her gun, wiping it frantically on his shirt, trying to clean off her prints.
"Listen. Adele Carson. In Hope Town. In Quebec. Go there. It's my Mom. She'll take care of you. Go there, now!" He picked her up roughly, and pulled her toward the car, opening the door and stuffing her into the front seat, wincing when he accidentally smacked her head on the doorframe.
She sat motionless, staring at the steering wheel as if it were a foreign concept, making no effort to leave. He leaned across her and shoved the keys into the ignition.
"For Christ's sake, Buffy. You need to go now. Go!"
The sirens were getting louder. He could actually make out two separate sounds. Two patrol cars coming.
"I ... I don't…. You have to come too," she said, flatly. She sounded like she was in shock.
"Jesus Christ, Buffy. No. You go. Adele Carson. Hope Town, Quebec. Go, live the life you had before. Go now, Buffy. They'll chase us and I'm dead to the family anyway. Please go now."
She finally seemed to process the situation, and looked at him in horror.
"No! I'm not leaving you. No! You're not going.... Angel, they'll kill you."
"Do you love me?" he asked her, staring into her eyes, memorizing her face.
"I –"
"Do you?" He leaned in and stroked her cheek. He needed to get through to her. There were only...
"You know I do. Oh, Angel, I'm so sorry."
"No, love. I *love* you. I will always love you. Please go. If they come, we're both dead. Please let me know you're okay. Please let me have that. Please."
"Angel –"
"*Please* go. For me." She stared into his eyes for a moment, tears streaming down her face, and crying harder, nodded and let him close the door.
As she started the car, she turned and leaned her cheek into his hand. "Angel," she whispered, pleading, choking back her sobs, "I love you, Angel. I love you, always."
He stroked her cheek one last time and, smiling sadly at her, he let her leave, watched her drive away.
As she passed out of sight, the two patrol cars screeched into the lot. They found Angel sitting where Buffy had stood, her gun clutched in his hands, tears streaming down his face.
An Assistant U.S. Attorney for the Southern District had flown in. Seems in addition to the murder of his father and brother, the Feds were bringing racketeering charges for his shylock business. He was looking at about 75 years, minimum. Technically. But it didn't bear thinking about. Angel knew that soon enough, Michael McKee would send someone to finish the job. He'd betrayed the family and he'd learned years before that Michael McKee allowed *no* mistakes. No disrespect.
He spent four days in the Maine jail, waiting for the transfer back to Rikers, laying on his cot, thinking. His mom and sister... had Buffy found them? Was she okay? He was very worried about her... he'd meant to get clean plates before attempting to cross the border. And was her passport good enough? Did she get caught?
He prayed. Something he hadn't done in about twenty years. He'd long ago passed the point of redemption, but Buffy was good... she'd never done anything to harm anyone. She'd shot Bill protecting Angel. Surely God would protect her. Surely she deserved his mercy. Right?
And he thanked God for his three weeks with her. A lifetime wouldn't have been enough but he was so thankful for what he'd had. He'd long ago given his heart up as lost, as cold, as beyond any sort of deep human emotion. But in three weeks, it had melted, it had opened. His sun, she'd poured her love into him. He never thought he could be in love, definitely not this much in love, but there it was. She was his soul.
When the cell door opened, he stood quickly, expecting to find a cop, but instead he stared into Doyle's face. So, this was who Michael McKee had chosen. Sick fuck. His best friend.
Doyle looked understandably troubled.
"So, they sent you? To finish the job?" Angel asked, smiling sadly.
"So to speak," Doyle said, looking at the floor.
"Doyle, we've been friends for a long time. And you know, despite what you've got to do now, that we're like brothers, right?"
Doyle nodded.
"I made my choice, Doyle. I chose to ignore orders and I knew what would happen. I don't blame you and I don't expect you to disobey just because of our history. Do you get that?"
Doyle nodded, sadly.
"But, before we're... done, I'm gonna ask you to do me a favor. For old times sake. Can you do that?"
"Sure, Angel," he said, nodding sadly.
"Make sure the McKees think she's dead. Say anything, but just make them believe that, okay?"
He nodded again as Angel sank back down on his cot. In a way, he was glad it was Doyle. He was glad to see him again, he knew he'd go quickly. But he also knew Doyle would feel guilty. And that, he hated.
"Was it worth it, Angel? To do all this, to protect her, to give up your life for this girl you met three weeks ago in a bar?" Doyle asked, his voice shaking as he reaching towards his back. Towards his piece, Angel supposed.
Angel shrugged and answered simply. "How far would you go for love?"
It was strange to be back in Canada. Strange to remember what it was like.
She'd spent two years there... living with Adele and her daughter, Laure. Learning about Angel through his mother's eyes.
It was beautiful and painful. And God, how she missed him. Some days she could barely speak. Others, she would walk down to the sea and sketch and paint, creating abstract, anguished pieces of chaos.
She was like the sea... floating, torn, battered. Changing... nowhere.
She'd heard through Adele that the Feds had taken down the remainder of the McKees. They'd had an operative planted in the family and when everyone was arrested, several members had seen the handwriting on the wall and flipped. In return for their cooperation, they'd be protected... get the witness protection program. They'd be on the run for the rest of their lives, but they'd be alive.
She knew the feeling.
The trial got very little press in Canada and she was glad of that. Thinking about it made her catatonic.
True to his promise to Angel, Doyle had protected her, kept her safe. The McKees thought she was dead, and once the family was incarcerated, he arranged a new identity for her. No longer Buffy Summers, she became Kerri Fielding, an art teacher, living in a small community in Montana. She started a new life. It was quiet, peaceful.
She painted and lived in stasis.
Until Tim. She hadn't hoped happiness was possible again, it was such a huge dream, but then there he was. Her lover, her soul mate and now, her husband.
When she found out she was pregnant, she knew it was time to go back. Adele had been her mother when she'd so needed it... when she didn't deserve it. She'd forgiven her the worst things... the fates of her husband and son. They'd cried bitter tears, but Adele had never blamed her... she'd made that clear. And she'd be eternally grateful for Adele's compassion and understanding... her love.
She wanted to tell her about the baby in person... not over the phone. She wanted to give that to Adele for whom family and children had been so important. It was Doyle who suggested a party. He said it would be difficult to pull off but that he could do it... get them there without jeopardizing anyone's safety.
And so they were all gathered. Her family. Tim, Adele and Laure, Willow and Oz, Cordelia and Devon. And her newest friend, the federal agent who had given her back her life, Doyle O'Connor.
They'd all understood Doyle's motivation -- understood why he'd done it. Taking down the McKees, who had killed his father and destroyed his mother... it was a vendetta... it was righting a wrong. It was about saving the people you loved from more pain.
It was so good to see her friends again. To catch up on everyone's lives, to share her family with one another. To speak about all that had happened. To finally put it all to rest.
The group was talking animatedly when she glanced up and saw him in the corner, looking sadly out the window. The past was always hard for him.
"Adele, can I borrow your son for a little while?" she whispered in her ear.
Adele looked stricken for a moment, but then caught herself, chuckled and shook her head. "Sorry. I guess I just don't like to have him out of my sight." She smiled at Kerri. "I'm so glad he has you. Bring him back, okay?" she asked, a tinge of worry creeping into her tone.
"Always," she promised, kissing Adele on the forehead as she stood up.
She thought about the past few days as she crossed the room to him. How scared he'd been about seeing his mother again. Would they be putting her at risk? Would they be putting themselves at risk? Would Adele accept him... accept all the things he'd done? Would she spit in his face? Despite her constant reassurances, she could tell he was unconvinced until he'd walked through the door and Adele had held open her arms to him. His face had crumpled and he'd fallen to his knees and buried his face in Adele's stomach, sobbing for long minutes as she rocked him, telling him how much she loved him, how much she'd missed him, how sorry she was, how he was a good boy, a good man, and it was all okay. Kerri had quietly left the room, unable to watch this incredibly intimate and sad reunion, retreating to her old bedroom before dissolving into tears herself.
Arriving across the room, she trailed her fingers through his hair, and when she felt him shiver, she smiled. She loved that. "Walk with me?"
He took her outstretched hand and smiled down at her, as she led him outside, deep into the back yard, away from the house lights. It was a gorgeous night... clear, warm. Thousands of stars in the sky.
"Look," she said, drawing his attention to it... her mind suddenly assuaged with images of another night like this one, a beautiful night, a night spent making love on a roof in Manhattan, constellations obscured by the bright midtown lights.
"It's been six years. Today," she said, tears filling her eyes. "Six years since ...."
He pulled her back into his chest and kissed the top of her head, laying his hands protectively over her belly. "Do you regret it? Regret your life... what it's become? Living in hiding... never able to return home?"
"I could never regret it," she said, turning in his arms to face him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Because if I did, I'd regret you...meeting you, being with you. And that ... I'll never regret. *You* are my soul, my life. Do you get that?"
She pierced his gaze as best she could in the dim light, trying to convey the truth, knowing he'd probably always have his doubts. After a long moment though, his face relaxed into the small half-smile she loved, his "content" smile, and she knew that he believed her, that at least for the time being he'd let go of the guilt. He leaned his cheek into her palm and rubbed his familiar stubbled face against it, his eyes closing as she pulled him down for a kiss, lingered inside his warm mouth. She'd never be tired of kissing him. It just wasn't ever gonna happen.
She smiled mischievously as she leaned up and nibbled on his ear, making him chuckle. She loved that, loved to make him laugh. And then, remembering all that had happened, everything that had led them here, she kissed his neck and whispered her promise. "I love you, Tim. Forever and always," and then pulling herself up to his ear, she breathed, "Always, *Angel*. Never forget that."
He sighed as he pulled her to him, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe, answering with his whispered pledge. "Love.... I love you too."
They shared a tender kiss and lay down on the ground, staring up, remembering.
Leaning her head on his chest, she held his hand, and told him the stars in the sky.
The End