"Encore - Precious Pain"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Our musical accouterment comes from one of my personal Goddess', Melissa Etheridge, and can be found on the CD 'Never Enough'.
Thanks: To the bestest beta readers in the whole wide world, with a special shout-out to Esmerelda for helping make this chapter better than it was initially -- you also have her and her little "let Lindsey live" banner to think for the one-armed man's continued presence in my universe. *g*

Everybody's got a hunger
No matter where they are
Everybody clings to their own fear
Everybody hides some scars

Buffy was having the most delicious dream.

The mood was soft, like you'd get from a room lit with a hundred candles. Silk sheets rubbed against her back, and Angel was on top of her, spreading adoring kisses to every part of her body. His hands swept over her flesh in long, unhurried passes, and his lips whispered sonnets against her skin.

Peace and contentment blended with satisfaction and belonging, meshing into a perfect lassitude that settled gently over Buffy and Angel's bodies. Buffy couldn't distinguish between the two of them any longer. They were One, at last and finally, inseparable as they moved together in perfect harmony.

"You make me feel alive," he whispered, his eyes full of tears and love and the same complicated mix of bliss and want she was feeling. "You make me feel human."

"Me too," she replied, her voice soft. Such inadequate words, but they were all she was capable of. He meant =everything= to her and there just weren't words enough for that.

In her dream there was nothing to be afraid of, no monsters ready to leap out from under the bed at them. In her dream everything was quiet and still, and the only thing that mattered was the joy she and Angel were taking in each other's arms. In her dream, Angel whispered that he loved her, and he called her his wife.

In her dream, she couldn't move her arms anymore . . .

"Well, I guess you were right. I got you tied up pretty damn fast. I thought that maybe we could play for a little while. But looking at you . . .Buff, you look pretty soulful to me. Plus, the things you've been whimpering in your sleep . . . not exactly the stuff violent, bloodthirsty dreams are made of."

"Oh God," she whispered, refusing to open her eyes. If she kept her eyes closed, this wouldn't be real, =couldn't= be real . . .

"No," he assured her, leaning close to her face, "not God."

"Angel," she almost-sobbed, forcing her eyes open. Some part of her was still hoping to find warm chocolate in his gaze.

All she found was icy blackness.

"Now you've got it!" he congratulated heartily.

"What happened?" she muttered, more to herself than to him. Out of reflex, she tugged at the bonds holding her wrists to the bed -- he'd used the same magic shackles she'd tied him with. Angel always had been a fan of irony . . .

"Actually, I'm still kinda fuzzy on that myself," he admitted, his tone casual. "Of course, that's the norm for coming out of hibernation." He slapped his knees. "Y'know, after the ripping pain of that pesky soul leaving my body had passed, I looked over and saw you next to me, and damned if I didn't get a little hot and bothered. I figured the burden of being so stalwart and true had finally gotten to us and when you woke up, you'd be ready to party. I'm still not too clear about last night. Fuzzy, remember? But I do remember being =awfully= happy." He clucked his tongue against the back of his throat. "Lookin' at that horrified expression on your face, Buff, I'm thinkin' last night wasn't as good for you as it was for me."

"You really love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" she asked snidely. Regain composure. This is not your lover. This is the demon that wears his face . . . except now, Buffy knew just how much of Angel this demon really was. He =was= Angel, minus the conscience and add a few psychopathic tendencies . .

What a difference the little things made.

"I know what they're all going to be thinking," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken. "Not THIS again. First Buffy, now Angel? They sure don't make souls like they used to." He traced a dangerously gentle trail along her cheek, touched, but did not wipe away, her tears. When had she started crying? When did she become seventeen again? How could it be the morning after the first time she'd ever made love, take two?

"This can't be happening," she whimpered, trying to pull away from his touch. Her bonds, however, were secure, and he gave no ground when he was in the mood to play.

"I'll show them, though, my love," he confided quietly, once again ignoring her. "I'll show you. I'll make you all remember that whatever viciousness you might have shown them was but an echo of what lives and howls inside of me." He smiled, almost pleasantly. "Which one of them do you think I should kill first? The little witch, maybe? She just hasn't been the same since you took a bite out of her special friend."

A few more tears rolled down Buffy's cheeks, and she didn't think she could stop them if she tried. She'd stopped trying a few minutes ago. This was unreal. What had happened last night? All she could remember was . . . She kept a hysterical giggle from vocalizing itself.

Perfect happiness.

"Oh, Buff . . .baby, I've missed this." He pressed his lips to her jaw. "You were a deliciously wicked demon, and I admit, you won me over. I was really willing to give it a shot. I even forgave you for staking my sire. Do you know what a big no-no that is?"

"Penalty can't be too severe," Buffy quipped, "you're still here."

He made a tsking sound in the back of his throat, but if she'd actually wounded him with her comment, he hid it well. His expression was intent as he bent toward her face.

"I'd almost forgotten how goddamn =good= your tears taste." He lapped gently at the tiny rivulets of agony that slipped silently down her cheeks. "Your sorrow . . . " He inhaled deeply. "It's like a fucking art form unto itself. No one hurts like you do, Buff. You feel pain with your whole body, and I gotta tell you, it's a better aphrodisiac than all the scented candles and oyster dinners in the world combined."

"Bastard," she spat, trying -- and failing -- to regain her composure. What composure? some hysterical voice inside her head wailed. You've had composure when it comes to him? Ever?!

"I've missed you, Slayer," he murmured fondly. His hands trailed over her body, and with a sigh of regret, he stood. "But I've gotta run. You know. Places to go, people to kill. My love to the family." He winked. "Soon, love," he added, before he slipped from the room.

Buffy didn't bother to scream for help. No doubt Angel remembered what she'd said to him when their positions had been reversed.

She only hoped her inactivity didn't yield the same results.

Precious pain
Empty and cold but it keeps me alive
I gave it my soul so that I could survive
Keeping me safe in these chains
Precious pain

He always drew the short straw.

Xander hovered outside Buffy and Angel's bedroom door. He =really= didn't want to walk in on Naked Buffy and Angel again. The images were burned into his brain, and no matter how hard he tried to exorcise them -- and he'd TRIED -- it was futile. It always seemed that the stuff you wanted out of your brain the most was the stuff that Super Glued itself to your memory. Try to remember your girlfriend's birthday, or your parents' anniversary, and all that hard-fought for memory sifted through your metaphorical fingers like grains of sand.

The breakfast hour had come and gone without word from Buffy and Angel. Cordelia insisted that -- his Darla-obsession notwithstanding -- Angel had always been a stickler for checking in after he'd gone off to fight some unspeakable evil. Given that it had been Buffy's first outing since her . . . Xander shied away from that topic. Thinking of Buffy dead -- even =living= dead -- was way creepy.

It didn't stop him from loving her, though. Yet another thing he got down on his knees and thanked Anya for. Her presence in his life had taught him so much about tolerance. He was sure that, had he never loved an ex-vengeance demon, he never would have been able to forge an almost-friendship with Angel, let alone come to terms with one of his bestest buds being a newly souled vampire.

A smile tugged at Xander's mouth as his thoughts drifted to the little rosebush he'd planted earlier. Wesley assured him it would flourish in the relatively secure environment of the garden. There were dozens of different species of rose -- and other flowers -- already thriving, and Xander liked it. He could also appreciate the irony of a dead guy keeping such beautiful, living things all around him.

Wesley had surprised Xander. His best memories of the Watcher had centered around the Englishman falling down, because it had made Xander laugh. He'd still been hopelessly in love with Cordelia, and since Cordy seemed so hung up on Wesley . . . well, Xander would have hated him if he'd been The World's Coolest Guy. His predisposition to hate any guy Cordy was interested in at the time would have made even an Oz Level Cool guy loser material in Xander's book.

The fact that Wesley turned out to be a bumbling, pompous blowhard who tried to tell Buffy what to do was a bonus.

However, the man who'd so kindly helped him mourn Anya in Angel's garden last night . . .that man was someone Xander was proud to consider one of the team. It galled him to no end to grudgingly admit that it was Wesley's association with Angel that had no doubt influenced the Watcher's growth as a human being.

"Better living through demon loving," Xander muttered to himself.

None of the above helped him get through the damn door.

"Suck it up, Harris," he ordered quietly. "What's the worse that can happen?"

Visions of Angel on top of Buffy . . .Buffy on top of Angel . . .naked flesh . . .all ran through Xander's brain. Oh, dear God, why did he have to draw the short straw? He just =knew= Willow used some kind of hocus pocus to make her straw longer . . .

Before he could stop it, Xander raised his fist to the door and knocked, once, firmly. He repeated the action three times before he started to get seriously worried.

"Buff? Angel? Look, I don't want to interrupt naked time, but--"

"Xander?" he heard Buffy's voice call from inside. Had she been crying?

Putting aside his own delicate sensibilities, Xander flung open the door and barged inside. As he took a long, hard look at Buffy on the bed, he wasn't sure if he was disappointed or thankful there was a sheet covering most of her. The parts of her that weren't bound to the headboard, that is . . .

"I never thought I'd say this, but -- Buff, please, PLEASE tell me that you and Angel are playing some kind of kinky non-sexual sex game."

Buffy's eyes were puffy, and she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. Xander watched as she took a deep breath -- which he found odd, considering she didn't need to breathe anymore -- and regarded him gravely.

"Get Willow," was all she said.

Everybody's got a reason
to abandon their plan

"The King of Swords is coming to lead his lost lambs home."

"That's nice," Lindsey muttered absently.

Drusilla sat in the corner of his office. He hadn't bothered to be either fearful or surprised when she'd walked in, still licking her lips. Absently, Lindsey hoped Strickland hadn't suffered more than the poor bastard already had. Part of Lindsey hoped Drusilla had come to finish him off, but much to his consternation, she'd sat down on the darkest patch of floor in his office and had been mumbling about the King of Swords ever since.

Lilah's files had been destroyed before her body had grown cold. All the files the firm had known about, at least. The former co-head of Special Projects had been determined to live long enough to make partner at Wolfram and Hart. Short of that, Lilah had planned to take the whole place crashing down with her if she fell.

People talked around this place, even though office gossip around here was likely to get you killed. They couldn't resist. The allure of the dangerous, the forbidden . . . it spoke to everyone. Hell, wasn't that why half the staff had chosen this particular law firm in the first place? It was also the reason the more enlightened employees had a few insurance policies that weren't company endorsed.

It was Lilah's foresight Lindsey was in part counting on to save his own hide.

His own files were extensive, but coupled with Lilah's, they were deadly. He'd made a quick detour on the way to the office. There hadn't been a safe deposit box, or a bank vault, or anything so boring for Lilah. No, she'd kept her evidence someplace a supposedly soulless lawyer would never think to look.

Inside the carousel at Griffith Park, tucked inside a lion's head, were several small disks bursting full of incriminating data about Wolfram and Hart's criminal dealings. Everything they'd done to take advantage of that Anne woman, the conspiracy surrounding Bethany Chalk, Russell Winter's many varied depravities, the plot to murder three, innocent children because they were cursed with the gift of sight -- it was all contained in Lilah's backup files.

To say nothing of everything Lindsey possessed in his own files . . .

Lindsey didn't fool himself into believing he'd be able to take Wolfram and Hart down. No, that fantasy was reserved for Angel's naïve hero's heart. But it might just be enough to buy his life back. And not just from Wolfram and Hart.

"He's coming," Drusilla declared, then laughed softly. "Oh, he's coming for me at last."

Asking 'who?' never even crossed Lindsey's mind. Instead, he focused on the beep coming from his desk. Intercom. Lydia.

"What?" he asked, roughly punching the speaker button.

"Mr. McDonald . . . there's a vampire on the premises."

No? Really? Ya think? Mr. King Of Swords himself . . . "And?"

"He's killed four security guards. He walked right in the front door. They never even touched him. He asked where your new office was. Then he . . ."

"What?"

"He disemboweled the man who told him where to find you."

Drusilla got a silly little grin on her face at the word 'disemboweled.'

Lindsey fought back a wave of nausea. "Is that all?"

"Mr. McDonald, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough--"

"I get it, Lydia," he assured her. "Thanks for the warning. Let me offer you one in return -- get the hell out of here before the elevator doors open. Take the back stairwell. There's some money hidden behind the emergency glass just beyond the exit door. Take it, and run the hell away from this house of horrors." He cut the extension and began rifling through his hard copies.

"He's going to gut you, too. Like a fish out of water."

Lindsey almost smiled. "Might actually be a relief to be all the way dead at last, Darlin'."

How can I think of tomorrow
With my sorrow in hand

The lobby was once again filled with frightened, sorrow-filled people.

Buffy sat to the side, apart from the rest of them. Spike had approached her, but the venomous glare she'd sent his way had obviously penetrated his normally thick skull. He'd taken a seat near Willow.

Willow seemed scared, and she didn't even seem aware that she was digging her fingers into Wesley's hand.

Xander looked like he was about to regress to sophomore year of high school.

Cordelia looked like Buffy felt.

Buffy . . . felt nothing. She was numb, from head to foot. The single refrain that managed to drown out everyone else's voices rang through her mind on an endless loop: This is not happening. This is not happening. This is NOT happening.

Giles was acting as the levelheaded member of the group:

"This is possibly the worst news we could have imagined."

"Not =the= worst," Wesley insisted.

"About as close as you can get without touching," Xander counted.

"I don't know what everybody's freaking out for," Faith interrupted.

Xander stared at her like she'd sprouted an arm out of her neck. "You've read up on Angelus, Scourge of Europe, I assume. Well, the last time Angel went all Repressed Hostility Boy, he seemed a little crankier than your average homicidal maniac."

"Yes, it's a pet theory of mine that the years of being forced to live with a soul, of being denied very basic instincts and desires, has actually driven the demon quite . . . mad," Wesley mused.

"Great," Gunn muttered, "so we've not only got an incredibly powerful evil vamp out there, but he's an incredibly powerful, evil, =crazy= vamp?"

"I don't believe he's completely mad," Giles mentioned. "I think he's more . . . unbalanced."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "He does retain a certain level of coherency, but I'd hesitate to call him sane."

"Angel's soul balances him," Buffy said quietly.

No one in the room seemed to hear her.

"Look, I still don't see the problem," Faith insisted. "Wicca Girl over here works up her mojo, says the magic words, and poof, Angel's back to his usual, brooding self."

"We'll curse him," Buffy said, as though the thought had just occurred to her. Truthfully, it had. The numbness began to wear off, and she felt her soul get imperceptibly lighter. Of course they could just curse him again. Why hadn't she known that?

"I don't want to rain on anyone's parade, and God knows it kills me to say this, but . . ." Cordelia sighed. "Angel specifically requested to be staked if this ever happened again. I promised him I'd do it."

"Cor, I swear, I'll take full responsibility," Buffy said dryly.

"That's not the point," Cordelia insisted.

Willow stood up and slowly, warily approached Buffy. The redhead took her best friend's hand, and Buffy tried not to flinch at how warm Willow was.

"Buffy . . . Angel . . . he told us some stuff when you . . . before you . . .you know."

"Willow, please, just . . . whatever it is, just . . ." Buffy really thought she was about to start sobbing. There was no cause for sobbing.

"He's almost free right now," Willow said gently. "The reason he didn't want to curse you . . . is because he never wanted you to have to bear the burden of your demon's sins. And . . . I know he sort of wishes I'd never re-cursed him. He said he didn't blame me, but I mean, how could he not? I just . . .I don't think it would be right. Cursing him again. I think that . . . I think that maybe we should let him go. I think that =you= should let him go."

"Willow," Buffy began, but the redhead held up a hand.

"No, Buffy . . . don't just be all dismissing me out of hand. We have to be in hand here. I've learned a thing or two about death and souls and moving on . . . Buffy, he's been dead for over two hundred years. Don't you think it's time he had a little peace? Don't you think he deserves it? He tried so hard to give you that . . . doesn't he deserve the same in return?"

Buffy stared up at Willow, giving her best friend's words careful thought. Each person in the room seemed focused on Buffy, and for once, she was glad of their scrutiny. It was important that every single one of them heard and understood exactly what she was about to say.

Buffy smiled softly. "Angel is the most heroic man to ever walk this earth, and the person who sells him the shortest, is him. Angel's also the most selfless person I've ever known. I don't want to see him live with more guilt, with more memories of death than he already has. I would give almost anything to spare him a moment's pain. Once again, he was willing to let me go, because it was best for me, and I can't imagine a more pure declaration of love than that.

"But I'm not as good as he is, Will. I'm selfish. I've never been anything but when it comes to him. Maybe he'll hate me for the rest of eternity, but at least he'll be here to do it and I refuse to apologize for wanting that." She glanced around the room; made sure each person present read the iron determination in her eyes. Her attention refocused itself on her best friend.

"Willow, curse him."

Each road that I walk down
Reminds me of you

The Scourge of Europe struck a damn impressive pose casually leaning against the doorjamb, the only accent on his form the dim lights that echoed through the deserted hall outside Lindsey's office.

A predatory gleam lit his eyes, and Lindsey felt genuine fear mix with an abundant amount of relief. This, then, would be the end of it. All his struggling, all his desire to succeed, to prove he wasn't a fool like his father, all the despicable things he'd done in the name of power, all washed away by what would no doubt be a killing blow from someone he'd foolishly (as foolishly as his own father) thought of as an arch enemy.

Superman to his Lex Luther; Batman to his Joker. Had he truly boiled the whole thing down to such ridiculous stereotypes in his own mind? Lindsey was willing to concede in this, his final moments, that he had. He'd spent his entire life trying to prove he wasn't an idiot the way his father had been, and in the end, he only proved to surpass the old man in every way.

Of course, the evil thing in his doorway wasn't a hero anymore. The archetypes had become more muddled with Strickland and Drusilla's interference. Perhaps they were now playing at two nefarious gentlemen, each getting the comeuppance they deserved at each other's hands. Would there be suffering for Angelus, though, in this scenario? Lindsey doubted it. Angelus' justice would come at the hands of a tiny blonde girl who loved him.

Darla would be laughing at them both if she were still here. Lindsey almost thought he heard her anyway. He saw her sometimes, when Drusilla grinned a certain way. He saw her how she'd been human, when Angel did something decidedly heroic. How he hated to realize how wrong he'd been all this time about a man who could have been a friend.

Bizarrely, Lindsey's indifference to death had been waging war with his newly emerging desire to live. He had first felt that intense urge to live the moment he'd realized what Strickland was planning. His knowledge of the Soul Blessing, coupled with the diaries of that Slayer who'd lived so very long ago . . . as he'd been madly copying all the research and blackmail, he'd rediscovered something he'd lost a long time ago:

Hope.

His earlier relief at being allowed death began to wane. This wasn't like being trapped in the wine cellar with all those doomed people. Then, he hadn't had anything but more evil, more misery ahead of him. The only thing he had to live for was another day at the office, another hour long scalding shower in the evening in the fruitless effort to cleanse his soul of his many sins.

Funny, how when there was hope, one couldn't keep on feeling ambivalent about one's impending death.

"I really should thank you," Angelus said to him from the door.

Then, he did the last thing Lindsey expected of him. He smiled at Drusilla, the expression almost paternal in its affection. Assuming one's father was a deranged sociopath who could snap your spine like a twig.

"Come on, Precious. Time to go."

The slight brogue was back, Lindsey noted, as Drusilla rose, a delighted grin on her face. She all but floated to Angelus' side, and the two turned to leave the office.

In the hall, a doomed security guard told them to freeze. Angelus' back was to him, but Lindsey could see the amused smile spread across the vampire's face. Had the demon had this much fun in years? Lindsey wondered idly.

Angelus began to walk, and the guard charged him. At the last second, the vampire spun around, extending an arm out. The crook of his elbow caught the guard's throat sharply, and Lindsey winced at the sickening sound of bone breaking; larynx collapsing.

Once again, Angelus extended his arm, and Drusilla tucked hers into the crook of his elbow. Calm as can be, the two vampires strode down the hall toward the bank of elevators Angelus had originally emerged from.

"Shit," Lindsey swore quietly.

Then, he turned back to his work and quickly finished copying files.

Precious pain
Empty and cold but it keeps me alive
I gave it my soul so that I could survive

"Just say it, Giles. I'm about to jump out of my skin waiting for the lecture."

Giles sighed, regarding his Slayer warily. They stood to the side of the lobby, away from the rest of the group. Cordelia and Wesley were assisting Willow as she set up for the curse. Gunn had returned with an orb of Thesula a few minutes ago. Xander had gone into the back room and returned with the other ingredients for the spell. Giles was absently impressed with how well stocked Angel Investigations was in matters of the paranormal.

"I don't mean this cruelly, and I hope you don't take it as such," he said finally, looking closely at Buffy's profile for a reaction. She refused to look at him, and he sighed again. "I just want to remind you what happened the last time you refused to stake Angel. For that matter, what happened the last time Angel failed to stake you."

"I get it, okay?" she snapped, turning her head sharply to look at him. Her eyes shut tightly, and he watched her force deep breaths through her dead lungs. He was perversely fascinated that she still used that particularly method to calm herself, and made mental note to quiz her (and possibly Angel, he hoped with guarded optimism) on how it felt to breathe when one didn't need to.

"I know how much you love him," Giles began hesitantly.

"I kinda doubt that," Buffy muttered.

Giles took offense at that. "Buffy, you can't believe that you hold the patent on true love."

"Of course not," she agreed. "But . . . Giles, it's different with us. I'm not . . . he isn't . . .we don't just..." A few tears began to leak down her cheeks. "I made him lose his soul," she whispered harshly. "Twice." Something that was supposed to be a laugh, he was sure, escaped from her throat. "That's gotta say something, right?"

The little spark of righteous anger in him burned out easily. The simple truth was, Buffy and Angel =did= have something the rest of the world didn't possess. Doomed, fairy tale love that so very rarely ended with an 'and they lived happily ever after' in real life. They lived extraordinary lives without the specter of their forbidden love to cast a shadow; Giles was willing to concede that the loves they each held close in those lives should be nothing less than something from a child's story-book.

Perhaps, eventually, things might work out for them . . .

"Buffy," he began hesitantly.

"You're right." She held up a hand to forestall him. "I know you're right. It's just . . . I can't do this without him, Giles, and that's beside the point, anyway. Willow's going to try the curse right now, and it just . . . it makes it easier for everyone, Angel included. How many people could he have killed in three hours during the day -- you know what, let's both pretend not to think about the answer to that question."

"Buffy," he tried again, only to be interrupted once more.

"I know, Giles," she whispered, "just please . . . please, let her curse him."

Her tone was pleading, but they both knew there would be nothing he could do to stop Buffy once she was set on a certain course. He did appreciate that she cared enough to pretend his opinion mattered. Perhaps she even believed that it did. Giles nodded, once, giving his consent, and placed a comforting hand on Buffy's back while Willow began to chant.

Two hours, and no 'cool glow thing' later, and Buffy began to worry.

"I'm sorry," the little witch whispered, looking totally drained as she panted with Xander and Wesley sitting at her side. "I just . . . I can't. It won't work."

"Perhaps it wasn't meant to work," Wesley said gently.

Buffy began to feel more ill than she had earlier in the day, awakening to a touch that should have been loving and protective, and had instead been mocking and deadly.

"Buffy, I think you need to face facts," Cordelia said quietly. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but he doesn't . . . he wouldn't =want= to . . ."

"B, if you can't . . . I mean, you don't have to. I'll do it for you. For him."

"He'd snap you in two before you knew what hit you," Buffy hissed, directing her anger at Faith.

"Fine," the other Slayer snapped. "Then you're gonna have to suck it up and take care of your boyfriend yourself."

"I =can't=!" Buffy cried. "Don't you get it?" Her wild gaze tracked each person in the room in turn. "This isn't a matter of should, or want to -- I =can't= kill him again, good or evil."

"Is it Angel, or is it Memorex," Xander muttered quietly. A deadly glare from Buffy shut him up.

"And none of you -- Spike and Faith included -- have the skill," Buffy concluded softly.

"Maybe not in a fair fight," Spike muttered, sounding a bit hurt at Buffy's casual dismissal of his prowess.

"We could gang up," Faith agreed. "Two against one may not be sporting odds, but if the occasion calls..."

"How can you sit there so casually and talk about killing Angel?" Buffy asked, horrified.

"Look, I'm the last one who wants to see him dust," Faith said flatly, "but, B, you've gotta get this -- your boy's gone bad. And there's a whole lotta bad in him."

"I don't know why you're all refusing to accept this very simple principle," Buffy said softly, her tone deadly. "I need him. I sacrificed him for the world once before. You can't . . . you can't ask me to do it again. I won't. Find another way."

"Buffy--"

"Find. Another. Way."

That said, Buffy turned and practically ran up the stairs, hoping to find a moment's solace amongst the things that smelled and felt like Angel.

The room was deathly quietly for a moment. Then, from the corner, Gunn spoke up:

"Hey . . . so this whole soul rubber band thing -- Angel gets happy with Buffy, his soul does a swan song, and we've got the Scourge of the Powdered Wig Days to deal with, right?"

"Essentially," Giles agreed, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So then I s'pose it's safe to say the whole thing works in reverse."

"If you have a point, feel free to come to it," Giles snapped.

"My point," Gunn said, glaring at Giles, "is this: Buffy got down with Angel last night, and only one of them walked outta here with a yen to do some serious damage to the human population of the city. Now, either Buffy didn't get hers last night -- which don't say much for Angel's rep -- or there's something mighty strange goin' on."

Again, the deadly quiet spread through the room. Then, Cordelia hit upon an idea:

"Duh!"

"Oye! " Xander quipped. Faith smacked him.

"What is it, Cordelia?" Wesley asked.

"Someone who'll give us that other way Buffy's got her heart set on."

Keeping me safe in these chains
Precious pain

The End

<< back