"Jaded - On Whom the Pale Moon Gleams"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
The Usual Suspects: Esmerelda, Serena, Kaz, and Dru -- you know how you rock my world so good. My undying thanks and devotion to you.
Dedication: to Starla, who helped without knowing it. And to Esmerelda, whose exalted return is celebrated by all who know and love her. We missed you!

"Unconditional" (without conditions", just as i am (without provisions), till death do us part (murder not acceptable), for better or for worse (and it always gets worse), now say you love me!!
- Katherine Wolf

"This is fascinating," Wesley said for the hundredth time in so many minutes.

"Mm," Giles agreed. "What part have you got?"

"The origin of the Soul Blessing," Wesley said excitedly. "It's extraordinary, a tribe of Chinese Magicians, peacemakers, attacked by vampires, losing most of their numbers to them, then rebuilding, vowing to find a way to wipe the demon pestilence off the earth for good."

"Yes, fascinating," Giles said, "and also old news. Come on, old man, keep up. The Blessing is secondary to the greatest piece of a puzzle we were never bloody told existed -- they =did= it."

"Did what?" Cordelia asked, trying to make sense of a book that was covered in mostly Chinese symbols. She thought that Angel probably could have read it, and that made her heart hurt so she decided to be bored, because bored didn't hurt.

"Hundreds of years ago, they Blessed 'the very old' vampires with their human souls," Giles said, awe evident in his voice. "They fought side by side with Slayers for nearly a century."

"How is it possible this was kept secret?" Wesley asked, still poring over the same text. The evidence was spread out over the surface of his office, yet his brain couldn't quite process the idea that somehow, somewhere, some time, this had all occurred. It wasn't prophecy, it wasn't hypothesis -- it was history.

History that the Watcher's Council had never bothered to teach their =Watchers=.

"That Council you guys mentioned didn't want it made known," Lindsey said from the corner. He'd been relatively quiet after handing over his research, and the occupants of the room had almost forgotten he was there.

"The Council of Watchers?" Willow asked. She didn't know why it surprised her, but somehow, it did.

"Think about it," Lindsey said quietly.

Giles, who did not need to think about it, who had spent the past few hours memorizing the text laid out before him, leaned back in his seat, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Control," he said at last. "Isn't that right, Mr. McDonald?"

"I don't understand," Willow said.

"I do," Wesley whispered, having made the same connection Giles had. "Slayers and Vampires, fighting side by side... understanding the pain each felt. How many?"

"More than a dozen," Lindsey said. "The last lived until her twenty-eighth birthday."

"Still missing big huge pieces of this puzzle," Cordelia said.

"They fell in love," Giles explained gently. "And because the Slayer was not alone, she held onto life longer."

"Killer of the Dead," Willow read aloud.

"What?" Giles asked.

"That book from the Watcher's Council was a lie," Willow said shakily. "When Angel was sick, and we found that book... it said that a crazed vampire attacked the Slayer while she was leaving her Watcher's home, that he drained her and killed her... he didn't. He didn't attack her. They were lovers, they'd run away together... it's not clear here why... but they'd been lovers for... years. Nearly a decade, if I'm reading this right, and... he was sick, he got sick, and she... she gave herself to him. Fed herself to him."

"Just like Buffy," Cordelia said aloud.

"Your Council saw that their little weapon was becoming a stronger weapon than they'd originally thought, and her loyalty no longer rested with them first," Lindsey said. "They'd formed an alliance with the Chinese Magicians, thinking they would gain aid for their Slayers, and instead they'd created what was, in their eyes, an abomination. Someone they considered to be the holiest of girls was consorting with the vilest of creatures, possessed of a human soul or not. At first, they thought it was an anomaly -- just one girl. Then two. Then three. Then all of them. These vampires were by their sides every night in battle, gave them a sense of peace they'd thought they would only know in death... if those Watchers thought anything else would happen, they were fools."

"Indeed," Giles agreed. "And it would appear things have not changed terribly much in five hundred years."

"The Watchers chased the Chinese Magicians out of England," Willow said as she scanned the text before her faster and faster. "Oh, God . . ."

"What?" Wesley asked, unconsciously moving closer to her on the couch, an instinctive need to offer comfort overcoming him.

"They exterminated them," Willow said, tears coming to her eyes. "There were dozens of souled vampires walking the earth, and the Watchers just killed them. It was a mandate from the head of the Council. No demon was worthy of the human soul God had seen fit to take away... they thought they were doing God's will," Willow whispered. "They wiped out an entire race, they committed =genocide= and they thought..."

"That's what they've always thought," Giles said quietly. "All of the human monsters, throughout history. God's will," he repeated, his voice almost calm, were it not for the underlying pain that lingered.

"Look here," Wesley said, pulling a file into his lap. "When the Chinese Magicians were run out of England, they went to Tibet. They studied the culture, worked to 'rebuild all that the English had destroyed.'" He glanced up at Lindsey. "This appears to be an exact translation."

"Those Magicians... they kept pretty extensive records," Lindsey answered. "Only one of 'em kept a diary. He sort of spoke for the whole wagon train."

"The Council kept a copy of the Blessing," Giles said, rereading to make sure he had seen it correctly. "It was ordered that no one was to know of its existence -- in fact, I doubt anyone below Blevins would know -- but they kept it. Locked away in the tightest of vaults, but..."

"They could have saved Angel," Cordelia said, standing, enraged. "Do you know how much guilt he carries around because of his stint as Angelus? Do you know how much that hurt..." She trailed off as she saw the pained look that crossed Giles' face. "Oh," she said quietly, "yeah, I guess you do."

Everyone in the room was thinking of all that pain that might have been spared, had only they known of the existence of this Blessing after the fateful night of Buffy's seventeenth birthday. All the lives that could have been saved, all the tragedy averted. Then, later, when Buffy had been turned, they could have perhaps cursed her, knowing they would not be sentencing her to exactly the same sort of existence they'd assumed at the time. Willow, in particular, had trouble not wondering if they might have been able to save Tara, had they possessed this knowledge.

It was an unproductive manner of thought, however, and they quickly refocused their efforts on the research material before them.

"As I suspected," Giles said a moment later. "Very few Watchers were ever allowed knowledge of the Blessing, and never those currently assigned to a Slayer."

"Why is that?" Lindsey asked. "I've been curious, ever since a friend of mine in the Council told me the Blessing existed. I can't figure out why they'd want to keep this from a Watcher just because they happened to have a Slayer."

"Because after barely a year with your charge, you become willing to do anything -- and I do mean =anything=, Mr. McDonald -- to keep her safe." Giles glanced down at his hands. "I would sell my own soul to keep Buffy alive. Blessing a vampire with his would be nothing in comparison, even if it were completely against the Council's orders."

"Then again, neither of us are exactly keeping to the Council's discretion, are we?" Wesley said, not without humor.

"Look at this," Willow said softly. "From the Diary of Tiu Ying -- 'The price that we pay for these noble warriors is too high. We have no way to ease the pain in their souls, and they are only brought back to their humanity in time for the English to slaughter them. We wish the chosen girls good fortune without the shadows to watch their backs. We pray for the world.'" She sniffed tears back. "They wouldn't fight back. Their souls wouldn't let them fight back while the Watchers murdered them."

"Hold the phone," Cordelia said, looking closer at the piece of paper in her hands. "That Slayer chick who let her honey feed on her a few centuries back? The Council poisoned him. This guy, Cornswad, wrote all about it. They wanted to test the Slayer's loyalty -- was it to her calling, or to her lust?" Cordelia wrinkled her nose in distaste. "They make it sound so tawdry. But, I mean, she must have loved him a lot, to go against instinct and let him drink from her, right?"

"Yeah," Willow said faintly. "A lot."

"My head hurts," Cordelia muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"You haven't slept since..." Wesley let his sentence trail off. Both he and Cordelia knew when she hadn't slept since -- the night Angel turned. "And you're still recuperating from your vision. Your vision two days ago," he intoned meaningfully. "You said they've been getting worse."

"Yeah," Cordelia whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

"You need to sleep, Cordelia," Giles instructed gently.

"I can't," Cordelia snapped.

"All right," Wesley soothed. "Then at least get out of here."

"Excellent idea," Giles agreed.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Cordelia cried.

"Gunn!" Wesley called loudly.

"No need to yell, English, I ain't deaf," Gunn said, walking through the door.

"Kindly take Cordelia out of this room," Wesley said with a smile.

Cordelia glared at him, but didn't protest when Gunn took her hand and led her from the room.

"So what you wanna do?" Gunn asked, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

Leaning against him gratefully, Cordelia sighed. "I think I'd really like to go see a movie. You know. Work on my craft." She said it with a self-mocking tone to her voice, and Gunn dropped a kiss over her temple.

"Whatcha wanna see?"

"What don't you wanna see?" she countered.

"I'll take you to anything but that piece a crap movie from that stupid video game," he replied.

"Which one?" she asked cheekily.

Gunn grinned. "If you gotta ask . . ."

The plumber was digging around in the pipes and he saw something shine in the muck and it turned out to be the soul of the last tenant. He gave it to me and I said I wonder how we can return it and he shrugged and said he found stuff like that all the time. You'd be amazed what people lose, he said.
- StoryPeople; "Plumber"

Buffy opened her eyes completely against her will.

Somehow, she knew it was important to keep herself unaware of what went on while she was conscious. It was better here, where she was twilight sleeping, smelling Angel, feeling his arms around her, knowing they were safe in their big bed.

A stronger part of her, the part of her that could survive anything, insisted she wake up, free herself.

< free myself... why would I want to free myself from Angel? >

And with that thought, her denial shattered, and her eyes opened sharply, stung with the salt of tears she couldn't afford the luxury of shedding.

She had woken several times already, and each time, he had been there, taunting, bruising, destroying. He had ripped into her flesh, her mind, and her heart with every weapon he had in his arsenal, and he had been relentless. Yet each time, she had refused to give him what he craved -- she was unable to hide her pain, but she never allowed him to view her destruction.

He had taken nearly everything from her, but it had not broken her. It only set her resolve to regain =her= Angel all the more. There would be scars inside of her for some time to come, and she prayed Angel would be able to see past his own guilt long enough to help her heal them.

He was the only one who could help her heal them . . .

Craning her neck, she saw that her tormenter < lover > slept deeply. Tired from his exertions, no doubt, she thought bitterly. She wanted to beat him to a second death, and at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to draw his dear face to hers and press an absolving kiss to his forehead.

In my next life, Buffy thought, I'm coming back as a chick who knows better than to love a guy with a literal demon inside his skin.

Feeling only moderately hypocritical for that thought, Buffy tested the give of her restraints. Angel had taken blood from her sporadically throughout the night, keeping her weakened, but he had also allowed her to drink from him to keep her conscious. She had no way of knowing how long he had let her rest this time, but she sensed it had been enough time for her to recharge more than she had previously.

Earlier, she would have been able to escape her bonds, had she not been so paralyzed with fear, so determined to spare Angel future pain. Also, she admitted regretfully, escape would have been easier had the demon inside of her not wanted so badly to stay exactly where it was.

Her motivations muddled, Buffy moved carefully, snapping the post her wrists were tied to as quietly as possible in the hopes of leaving Angel undisturbed. She had no wish to fight him, although, she grumbled silently, part of her definitely wanted to beat him to a pulp. Her wounded pride, her tattered dignity, her Slayer savvy, all wanted her to rip him from the embrace of sleep and hit him 'til he bled. Her foolish heart, however, her forgiving soul simply wished to creep from his bed without waking him, so that there might be one less confrontation between them stored forever in his perfect memory.

Those conflicting emotions foremost in her mind, Buffy slipped free of the bed, her hands still bound in front of her. She made it into the warehouse, glad to see that day had passed, and it was night once more. That certainly would have proved problematic, she thought. Escape from his bed, only to be denied escape from this room.

Drusilla was still chained to a pole. She was, however, seemingly recovered from Buffy's blow, only a faint red mark in the center of her forehead reminding Buffy of her deadly aim the night before. It also reminded her to grab her shoe, resting a few feet from the insane vampire.

"He fed me while you slept," Drusilla whispered, closer to her ear than Buffy'd thought the other vampire was.

"That's nice," Buffy muttered, hopping on one foot as she shoved her foot into the shoe.

"Your blood is powerful," Drusilla continued. "It flows through his veins like wine."

Buffy froze, disturbed by the mental picture Drusilla had just drawn for her. Angel fed from Buffy. Angel came to see Drusilla. Angel let Dru feed from him. Which meant...

"It covered me in sensation," Drusilla confided. "My nerves were jumping, bursting, singing."

"Glad you enjoyed," Buffy told her. "Don't get used to it."

"I shan't," Drusilla murmured mournfully. "He wants to hurt you almost as much as he wants to love you."

Closing her eyes tightly for a moment, Buffy tried to stop her idiot heart from leaping at Drusilla's words. What did Whacksilla know?

A lot. Always had. Just because the messenger was nuts, didn't mean the message was worthless.

"He doesn't love me," Buffy forced herself to say. How could what passed between them in the other room be a product of love? "He isn't capable of love," she said firmly.

Dru made a tsking sound. "My little lamb has changed her tune after a night in daddy's bed. He did hurt you, didn't he? Hurt you so much you've lost your bite."

"Shut up," Buffy growled. What she most definitely did =not= want was to be reminded of her pointless, naïve words the night before. Angel -- =Angelus= she forced her mind to correct -- did not, could not, would not love her, because he did not possess the soul that Angel loved her with so thoroughly. He'd taught her that much with fists and fangs and lust.

Besides, the beliefs she'd held since she regained her own soul were wrong, if Angel and Angelus were two separate beings, that meant that maybe she wasn't responsible for everything she'd done without a soul, after all . . .

"Are you going to be my new mummy now?" Drusilla asked dreamily.

Snapping, Buffy moved to stake the bitch once and for all, when her sensitive ears picked up on a sound. Rustling. Bare skin against silk. Angel < Angelus, idiot, =Angelus= > was awake.

Leaving Dru be, Buffy raced out the door, and into the night, aching and scared.

It was junior year all over again, he'd just broken everything inside of her, jaded her heart toward him, and still, all she wanted was Angel, to run to him, to hide inside his dark shelter and feel safe again. She would get him back. And he would make it better.

He had to.

I stand on the edge of destruction
emotionally ruined
By the warmth I most desire
I will not fall prey to love
of a human kind for love is weakness;
Love is the fall of every man
- Shai Hulud

Angelus woke with a growl, enraged to find his delectable captive no longer in his bed.

He had underestimated her, somehow forgotten how thoroughly she satiated him each and every time he took her delicious body, feasted on her ambrosial blood, and licked up her salty tears. He always slept like -- forgive the pun -- the dead afterward, and today had been no different.

He had sought to punish her -- for what, he still wasn't sure, but unlike when they'd mated before, this time, the soul he so despised in her was present, and the opportunity to hurt the girl who'd made him love her in the first place had been much too great a temptation to resist.

It sickened him that his perspective of her could be summed up so easily, and in such a cliché: he wanted her; he loved her; he hated himself for loving her, but clearly, that love wasn't going anywhere, and since he couldn't live without her, and sucking the world into hell hadn't gone over too well last time, he was left with only one other option.

Buffy's soul simply had to go.

Oh, but she had been irresistible as a soulless, murdering fiend. Her destructive streak nearly eclipsed his own, he remembered, and the idea of falling asleep with her in his arms each morning, only to rise in the night, hunt and feed and kill together... he'd never wanted anything more.

He still recalled his musings the last time he'd been uncaged. The idea that he might have found a mate whom he could not only love, but trust, without fearing her betrayal... yet another irresistible thing about this girl, this goddess of his.

Of course, she would not go willingly. Which was fine. Hurting her the past day, feeling her pain soak into his body through their skin on skin contact had been beyond words. Her soul had wept for him, because of him; though she tried valiantly to hide it from him, he had felt every silent sob, the echo of her anguish sounding inside his empty chest still.

The girl, the silly, noble, naïve girl that still lived inside her he wanted to kill, as much as he always had. That girl, the one who'd made him feel love, who'd stained his immoral purity with her light... that girl he wanted to drain and slash and devour until nothing remained of her but the phoenix that had risen from her ashes. His phoenix, his golden bird come to stand at his side for all eternity...

For as much as he wanted to hurt her, wanted to strip bare the Slayer, the child in her, he also wanted to love, worship, and fuck the demon, the woman, that he'd only been allowed the pleasure of knowing for a short day.

She was his equal in every way, and he would have her, or he would die trying.

They both would.

I was waiting for such a long time, she said. I thought you forgot. It's hard to forget I said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone.
- StoryPeople; "Hard to Forget"

< Him, but not him. Me, but not me. How did it work? How did it fit? >

She wasn't evil. Angel wasn't evil. And yet these things inside of them, that =were= them < not them couldn't be them it can't be me it can't be him >, not only perpetuated evil, but reveled it. There was something inside of her -- a being? A voice? -- that demanded blood and violence and pain. It craved it, made her crave it, until she couldn't tell whether they were her emotions, or its emotions.

It was like she'd always imagined a parasite to be. But it was a parasite more insidious than any other. The demon took on the host's memories, its mannerisms, its loves, its hates, its dreams and its sorrows. Angel told her something a few weeks < God, only a few weeks! > ago that Darla had taunted him with shortly after he was turned.

She remembered easily the moment he had shared with her, his recollection of his first days out of his grave. They had lain naked in their big bed; she had been spread across the length of his body as he gently rubbed her back. They had been telling secrets, things that, before, they might have been ashamed to reveal to one another. She knew that was true in his case. If there was anything to be grateful for in her slide into darkness, it was that Angel felt more comfortable letting her into his own darkness.

And he had told her of Darla's words, moments after he'd murdered his mother, his sister, and his father; he'd said they were like bits of wisdom a mother might impart, in a twisted sort of way:

"Your victory over him took but moments. But his defeat of you will last lifetimes." He'd explained to her his past confusion, then Darla's killing blow: "Nor can he ever approve of you: in this world, or any other -- What we once were informs all that we have become. The same love will infect our hearts, even if they no longer beat. Simple death won't change that."

Love? he'd asked her, rubbing Buffy's back as he became lost in the memories. Is this the work of love?

"Then she smiled at me," he'd said, "and called me darling boy. Told me I was young, still. I didn't understand what she meant then."

Buffy had raised her head to meet his gaze. "And now?" she'd asked.

His eyes were far away from her, and he'd been so sad as she tried to spread comfort to him by caressing his chest with her palms.

"Now I do," was all he'd said, with all that ancient pain and wisdom he carried with him every day.

Now, as Buffy tried to find a balance within herself, a balance between everything Angel was to her, and what had happened between them not an hour ago, she thought that she knew, too. At least a little bit.

The evil she had done upon the world, upon her friends and family, had not been random. It had been calculated, imbued with the petty jealousies and resentments her human heart had felt, and the demon had fed on.

Did that make her a monster? A monster's host? It was all rattling around in her brain, louder and louder until she feared she'd go crazier than Dru from it.

And so, she decided to seek answers from somewhere Angel said he'd always trusted.

"I'd like to speak to the Host," Buffy said quietly, addressing the furry bartender behind the bar.

"Oh, gorgeous, you've got him," a large, green demon said over her shoulder. "And not a second too soon, I'd say."

"I need you to tell me... I don't know," she whimpered, horrified to realize tears were once again running down her cheeks.

"I know you don't," the Host soothed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She flinched away from the touch, and he let his arm drop back to his side, nonplussed. "You will someday, though. Not sure when, they're never real clear on the when."

"Do I need to sing?" she asked.

"No offense, sweets -- and believe me when I say I've been waiting a long time to get you up on stage -- but right now, I'm not the kind of help you need."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" Buffy cried.

"Drink," the Host instructed, handing her a glass of blood from the bar. "Sit. Try to enjoy the entertainment--" a big blue scaly demon was crooning an off-key rendition of 'Imagine' "--while I call someone to bring you home."

"Home," she mumbled, sitting down heavily at the bar. "I don't get to be home. Home is where I just left." She laughed unstably, and she wondered if she really was starting to lose it.

"Wish I could tell you otherwise," the Host said sincerely, "but you'll come to terms with it. And you won't be alone. But really, I've said too much already."

"What do you know?" she asked plaintively.

"Nothing that would help you right now," the Host replied gently. "Drink."

She did, more because she felt the inane desire to please the big green guy than out of any real hunger. Surprisingly, she drained the glass in seconds, and she felt a measure of sanity return.

"Help is on the way," he promised as he grabbed the phone from behind the bar and began dialing.

if two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it
- Ernest Hemingway

"Now =that= was a good movie," Cordelia gushed as she and Gunn left the theater, arm in arm.

"Julia Roberts is a looker," he conceded. "That's all I'm givin' you."

"You enjoyed it," Cordelia insisted. "You were laughing your ass off."

"I was just tryin' to make you happy," he claimed. "Did it work?"

Cordelia paused, ignored the crowd of people around them hurrying home after their movies, and let out a contended sigh.

"Yeah. I think it did. You know, as much as it can, what with Angel going over to the Dark Side big time, and us having no clue how to help him or Buffy."

"We got a clue," Gunn said. "We got the Blessing. Now we just need him, somehow contained, long enough for your witchy friend to work the mojo."

"Contained and Angelus just don't seem to go together," Cordelia sighed.

"Now you're depressed again," Gunn pointed out.

"I'm not," Cordelia said. "Not really. Not more than usual. I'm just so worried about him, Gunn. I don't know what I'd do without--"

He quieted her with a gentle kiss, one she responded to after the initial shock had passed. Her hands fluttered ineffectually against his chest, and he pulled her closer with one hand on her hip, the other gently anchored in her short hair. The kiss went on, but it retained its softness, a level of innocence Cordelia found herself longing for. It had been so long since she'd felt innocent...

They broke away slowly, regretfully, and Gunn smiled at her.

"Happy?"

"Yeah," she breathed.

He draped an arm around her shoulders, while she wrapped hers around his waist, and they walked together beneath the light of an almost full moon.

Whenever someone asks me to define love, I usually think for a minute, then I spin around and pin the guy's arm behind his back. NOW who's asking the questions?
- Jack Handey

"Ooo," Drusilla crooned as Angelus entered the room. He narrowed his eyes at her. She never crooned like that for no reason. Slowly, he made his way toward her, wary. Unless he was playing a game with her, Dru detested being tied up.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked her sternly.

Drusilla grinned at him. "Oh, yes, my Angel. We mustn't do anything to hurt mummy."

Mummy, Angelus internally smirked. Yes, that certainly did bode well for the future.

"I've had a vision," she confided in a whisper when he moved close enough to undo her bonds.

"Tell me, Dru," he whispered eagerly, their faces pressed together, his hands mauling her hips. An entire night with Buffy, and he was still hungry for her, restless with her blood flowing through his veins like heroin, and he an addict, desperate for a fix.

"We must have her back here," Drusilla cautioned.

"We'll kidnap her," Angelus said easily, freeing his most favored childe.

"Will you tie us up together next time?" she asked hopefully.

"Anything my girls want," Angelus promised.

"There's a way," Drusilla teased, "a way to rid mummy of her soul."

"How?"

"Dark, dark, dark magic," Drusilla confided. "He has the books, too."

"Who has them?" Angelus asked. He'd never understood Darla's impatience with Dru's sight. However much she rambled on, there was always truth somewhere in the madness. Truth from madness, he thought, often proved more real than droll facts.

"Her other daddy," Dru said with a frown.

"Giles," Angelus guessed. "He would have found everything on soul restoration he could get his hands on. Makes sense."

"Are you pleased, daddy?" Dru asked, a little girl's affection in her eyes.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Angelus wrapped an arm around her waist and began walking toward the door. "With you? Always, precious," he assured her.

"Buffy, are you okay?" Willow asked as she took a seat beside her best friend.

Buffy turned red-rimmed eyes on her friend, and let out a sob. "No, Will. I've never been less okay in my life." With that, she collapsed into Willow's arms, and the redhead stroked her hair softly, at a loss.

The bar was beginning to empty. It was two hours before sunrise, and even the demons not harmed by the sun's rays preferred to stay out of direct light. Low profile had kept them alive and relatively undetected for centuries, and they aimed to keep it that way.

"Buffy?" Willow asked quietly. "What happened?"

Pulling away from her friend's embrace, Buffy's face closed up. "I don't want to talk about it."

"No offense," Willow said timidly, "but this definitely sounds like a =need= to talk protocol."

"I can't," she whispered.

"Ah, the redhead," the Host said charmingly as he took a seat on the other side of Buffy. "A little witch, aren't you?"

Willow bristled. "Not so little."

"Oh, you have no idea, Narida," he said cryptically.

Her eyes pulled together. "Who's Narida?"

The Host made a sound in the back of his throat. "Sorry. My bad. Wrong life. Willow, is it?"

"Yeah," Willow confirmed warily.

"You just keep getting stronger and stronger," the Host commented. "Like that muscle-y fella on TV, always goes around popping spinach like steroids."

"Popeye," Buffy said, fascinated by the jug of O-Pos the bartender was storing in the fridge until the bar opened again in a few hours.

"Still hungry, munchkin?" the Host asked.

"I'm hungry," Buffy confirmed. "Just not for that."

"Understood," the Host said easily.

"Not by me," Willow muttered.

"You should both get home now," the Host said. "There's a whole world of pain coming your way."

"Coming?" Buffy shrieked. "Don't you mean 'going' in the sense that the pain is about to leave?"

The Host patted the top of Buffy's head, the gesture almost paternal. "Be strong, kid. It'll all work out. Just remember that no matter what, you're doomed to walk through life with each other."

"Destined," Buffy corrected automatically.

"Doomed, destined, potato, pot-ah-to. Whatever whacks your ball outta the park. I bid you good night, my doves."

"Strange guy," Willow commented as the Host went into the back room.

"I feel like I'm dying, Will," Buffy whimpered. "How is it possible to be dying without him already? Or am I dying because of him? Just tell me, please."

Willow didn't answer. She just wrapped an arm around Buffy's shoulders, and led the vampire out to Angel's car, which Wesley had insisted she take.

"It'll be okay," were the only words of wisdom she could think to impart.

"There's a barrier. It shields them from us," Drusilla declared.

Angelus growled beside her. "Looks like sweet little Willow finally got off her ass and did that evil revocation spell."

"We are very evil," Drusilla said gravely.

"Come on," Angelus snarled, "I need to kill something."

"You're going the wrong way for that then, love," Drusilla said, her head tilted in the air as though she were listening to voices. Which, Angelus was sure, she was.

"What do you hear, Dru?" he asked, stalking toward her.

"Oh, so much pain," she murmured. "So much agony, so much more satisfying than a nameless, faceless kill."

She began to wander off, and with barely a moment's indecision, Angelus followed her.

Within a few minutes, he was very glad that he had.

"I had a really great time," Cordelia confessed quietly, pressed up against Gunn's chest as they walked.

"Me too, 'Delia," Gunn said.

Cordelia stiffened slightly in his loose embrace.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"Doyle... he called me that sometimes."

"Doyle. Irish dude. Worked for Angel..."

"Had a huge crush on me, died moments after he kissed me, left me these skull crushing visions," Cordelia agreed.

"If you want, I can not... you know."

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. It was just sudden. But sometimes sudden is good."

"And sometimes," a dark voice said from the shadows, "not."

Angelus strode into view, and Cordelia took an unconscious step backward.

"You got a lot a nerve comin' here," Gunn said bravely. "Lookin' to get your ass staked?"

Shaking his head, Angelus moved a little closer, smirking when they both backed up. "Actually, I was just out enjoying the night air. Lovely, isn't it?" He took an unneeded breath. "Nothing like pure, unfiltered Los Angeles smog."

"Glad you're enjoying the atmosphere," Cordelia snapped. "Why don't you let us take you back to the hotel and tie you down? You'd enjoy the ambiance there a lot more."

"Cordelia," Gunn cautioned.

"I was thinking," Angelus continued as though she'd never spoken, "that it really doesn't seem fair that poor little Buff is the only one killing off dead weight this time around."

"You're the only dead weight around here," Cordelia declared.

"Cute," Angelus complimented. "You've always been cute, though, haven't you, 'Delia?" he mocked, letting his voice lilt on her name. "I seem to recall a conversation we had once, too. I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but I'm not gonna get more evil than this. You can feel free to 'stake me dead' any time you want."

Cordelia was horrified to realize she couldn't move a muscle. It was so much harder, confronted with Angel's face, and Angel's voice, and Angel's eyes than she'd thought it would be. Even before, when he'd turned for a night after that stupid actress drugged him... it hadn't seemed real. And then he woke up, and he was Angel again, and...

"No staking my daddy," a voice chastised from behind, and when Cordelia spun around to look, she found herself grabbed in a chokehold by Drusilla. "Naughty, naughty," she murmured. "We mustn't hurt daddy." She grinned salaciously. "Unless he wants us to."

While Gunn was distracted by Cordelia's captivity, Angelus moved with the grace and skill of a predator, grabbing the boy by the throat, tightening his hand until the tiny bursts of oxygen did little more for Gunn than keep him alive.

"Gunn!" Cordelia screamed, held firm by Drusilla's arms, which pinned Cordelia's hands to her sides.

"Cordelia, you have an enchanting scream," Angelus complimented, "have you considered horror movies? Of course, you're such a truly hideous actress that you'd have to settle for one of those B movies they show at that seedy theater on Wilshire, but still, acting's acting, isn't it?"

"Let him go," Cordelia whispered. She tried to make her voice be strong, but she was so very, very scared in a way she couldn't fully identify.

Angelus didn't seem to hear her. He cocked his head to the side, as though he were trying to remember something. Then, he began to speak, so softly, so powerfully, that Cordelia was captivated, despite herself.

"World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems."

"Pretty," Drusilla hummed appreciatively.

"I've always thought O'Shaugnessy was kinda wordy, myself," Angelus said flippantly. "A little trite, even." He sighed. "Ah well, it'll do in a pinch. I must apologize to you, though," he said to Gunn, who was unable to break his grip, "because I'm a little distracted by this idiot heart of mine that insists on dwelling upon sonnets about love which just wouldn't be appropriate, thus this is not my best work." Then, he snapped Gunn's neck like a piece of straw, and the young black man's lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud that would echo in Cordelia's dreams until the day she died.

The vampire hauled Gunn's corpse to his feet, jerked his neck back in the other direction, a sickening cracking sound filling the air, and sunk his fangs into the still vein over his jugular. Angelus drank deeply for a moment, then licked his lips and dragged Gunn's body to Drusilla, and offered her Gunn's wrist over Cordelia's shoulder.

Cordelia gagged, dry heaving as Drusilla fed in front of her. Tears ran down her cheeks, and the next thing she felt was Angelus' hands < Angel's hands > on her cheeks, making her look at him, making her recognize his face < back to looking human again, ha! human this thing isn't human it isn't Angel it isn't it isn't it isn't >. His thumbs brushed at her tears, and he tilted her head up.

"I need you to give Buffy a message for me," he said calmly.

Buffy let out a sigh as she and Willow stepped foot back inside the hotel. Everyone was spread out in the lobby, and Buffy thought that she saw more paperwork than she'd done in four years of high school, and one and a half of college.

"Buffy," Giles said, rushing to her side. He placed an arm around her shoulders, and Buffy didn't flinch, for which she was glad. She let herself lean into him, inhale his scent < daddy > and be comforted by the fact that he was here, and that he managed to love her, still, in spite of it all.

"It's good to have you back safely," Wesley said from the couch.

"Yeah, too bad nobody knew you were gone," Faith called from the other side of the room. "Y'know, B, in a crisis situation, it's nice to let people know when you go out for a walk."

"Some of us were worried," Spike said quietly from the couch.

"Sorry," Buffy mumbled. "I didn't mean..." Oh, great, tears again. What a fun =new= experience, she thought sarcastically.

"Everybody lay off Buffy," Willow ordered. The little witch still didn't know what had happened to Buffy, but she knew it was bad.

"Yes, well, I do believe we have some good news for you," Giles said, leading her further into the lobby, helping her as she took each step.

"Whatcha got?" she asked, trying to school her features.

"A cure for Angel," Xander said, giving her his 'Xander' smile that had always managed to comfort her in the past. "Same medicine you got, young lady."

"All courtesy the long lost Duke of Hazard over here," Faith added, tilting her head in Lindsey's direction. The lawyer sat on the stairs, staring off into space.

"Stealing my quips now, pet," Spike mocked from the sofa.

"I came up with that," Faith sniped, "I said it on the way here, and you stole it."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Oh, good one. Tell me another, ya lunatic bitch."

"Guys," Buffy said, feeling a headache creep up on her, "could you please just..." She trailed off as the lobby doors banged open. A chill went up her spine, and she turned, trying to prepare for what she would see, no matter what it was.

Cordelia stood in the doorway, shaking, splattered with blood, tears coursing down her cheeks. Everyone was too stunned to move toward her. She took the steps at a shakier pace than Buffy had, making her way to the blonde Slayer slowly. Wesley finally snapped out of his paralysis, went to Cordelia's side and put an arm around her for support. She shook him off, continued her path to Buffy.

When she reached her side, she stretched out her arms and gripped Buffy's hard. Buffy barely felt it. Numbness was creeping into her bones, the same numbness she saw reflected in Cordelia's eyes.

"What happened?" Wesley whispered, some part of him already knowing. Gunn's conspicuous absence, Cordelia's appearance...

"He told me to give you a message," Cordelia dully.

"What?" Buffy asked, seventeen again, shaken to the marrow after her boyfriend went evil because she'd forced him to make love to her.

"Soon," Cordelia said. Her grip on Buffy abruptly fell away, and Xander and Wesley flanked her, kept her standing while they sprinted her to the couch.

Buffy stood in shock for a moment, before a sob escaped her throat. Covering her mouth with her hands, she turned and fled up the stairs.

Giles and Willow exchanged glances, before Willow nodded and followed her friend.

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wondering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
- Arthur O'Shaughnessy

The End

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