Chapter Ten

Stupid vampire.

Willow Rosenberg rotated irritably on her barstool as she vehemently chewed on her straw. Stupid vampire, she thought spitefully, I hope he sits on a stake. Hard, she added as an afterthought as she nibbled on her unoffending straw, shredding it to pieces. She was not an especially malicious person, nor was she particularly violent, but after the conversation she had had with Buffy an hour ago the angry hacker was ready to tear a certain dark vampire apart.

Although the Slayer was obviously on the verge of tears, not the first today Willow suspected, she had firmly denied that anything was wrong and had adamantly refused when the concerned hacker insisted that she come over.

"I'm fine, Will," Buffy had nearly shouted at her worried friend over the phone. "Go to the Bronze. Have fun." It was not so much a request as a command.

Yeah, have fun. Willow snorted, like that was a possibility. Like she wouldn't end up sitting alone, listening to her boyfriend play the guitar on stage and wonder what Angel did now. It had to be Angel, no one else had the capability of tormenting Buffy quite like he did. The straw gave a final satisfying crunch as she bit down hard on it. Pensively, she peered down at the distorted teeth-marked plastic and noticed that she'd managed to finish her drink sometime between straw molesting and mental Angel bashing. The bartender had disappeared somewhere, so with a resigned sigh she went on abusing her straw.

It wasn't that she had something personal against Angel, not when he had his soul firmly anchored to his body, that is. She'd even managed to put the whole grabbing and threatening of life incident back at the school all those months ago behind her. Although she still woke up with a cold sweat frantically checking her neck for bite marks at times. But that was just part of normal life on the hell mouth, it was something she'd learned to live with.

No, it was her friends being hurt that she couldn't tolerate. Pointedly her best friend. She had been forced to watch as Buffy struggled between hope and despair, her pain gleaming from her eyes even when she smiled or laughed. It was unbearable to witness at times. Surrendering to another wave of anger the timid hacker broke her straw in half. She was definitely going to be needing another drink soon, preferably one with a straw. Where was that bartender?

Besides which, she mused, not that she was prejudiced or anything, but humans and vampires simply did not mix. Unless they wanted to make more vampires and less humans, she corrected herself.

Forcing herself to relax to the Dingo's music she looked around. The Bronze was teaming with life, full of rested teens whose biological clocks went awry from too many hours of sleep during the day. Almost like they're already getting ready to become vampires, she thought. Then quickly shook her head. Bad Willow, she chided herself, bad negative, self-destructive thoughts. Forcibly turning her thoughts away from death, she concentrated on the life filled teenagers undulating on the dance floor.

In fact, she noticed with a little frown, there were quite a lot of people on the dance floor. Aside from herself and the band everyone was on the dance floor. Missing were groups of lounging teens talking about nothing in particular, gone were the pool players and non-dancing wallflowers. In fact she even spotted her missing bartender shaking it up with the best of them. Her frown deepened as her mind finally registered what her ears had been listening to.

He'll come to your room at night/ to watch you while you're sleeping/ You'll give it all up without a fight/ and all the while you'll think you are dreaming.

Now that wasn't the Dingo's usual lyrics, Willow thought as she glanced at the stage. They usually went with pseudo deep stuff ranging between an ode to a watermelon at worst and boy meets girl, boy gets heart crushed by girl, boy meets another girl who motorcycles away towards the sunset with first girl, running over boy in the process at best. This was a bit on the creepy side.

Make love to the demon/ claw at the devil/ he'll torment you till you scream out his name.

Willow's jaw dropped, this was hitting way too close to home.

Love him or hate him/ it's all the same. / How can you love an angel that's turned your life to living hell?

"I've often wondered the same thing myself," a silken voice behind her murmured. Willow swallowed hard as the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. "Looks like boyfriend's got himself a different muse."

Oh God, Willow's mind gibbered, he's right behind me, oh God. In a flash of hyperawareness drawn by fear she felt Angel's presence in every cell in her body, they all tingled with their need to bolt. Was this how Buffy felt every time she came across a vampire? Somehow Willow doubted it, this was nauseating and Buffy never looked like she was about to throw up when she was dusting vamps. Pull yourself together, the timid hacker ordered herself as her mind quickly ran over her options. Sadly she concluded that running was not one of them, he was just too close, he'd grab her before she made two steps. "Buffy's not here," she said as coolly as she could, trying to retain the last vestiges of anger, which was quickly falling apart into blind panic.

"I'm not here for Buffy," the dark, smooth voice replied, gliding over her senses, pulling at her will. She wouldn't turn to face him, as long as he was behind her he was still human in her mind. "I'm here for you, Willow."

Make love to the devil/ cry out for a saint.

She could feel his hands slowly rotating her barstool so she turned to face him. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck were nearly prickling her with their need to escape. Traitors, she thought resentfully, and lifting her chin she resolved not to cry and whimper like a frightened little girl. No matter what he did to her. Oblivious to her plight Devon went on singing as her boyfriend played the guitar.

Don't try to regret it/ it's far too late.

"M-me? Why m-me?" She stuttered. Her resolve to be brave had somehow skipped her voice.

Angel smiled at her, a streak of light caught on his fang illuminating it in the otherwise dim light. He drew closer, his eyes twin pools of darkness, a glimmering threat to trap those who ventured too near. His fingers lifted to brush her cheek. She flinched as his touch burned her with its coolness. "You gave me my soul back, Willow." Fascinated she watched his tongue roll over her name, shocked at the shivers that ran through her body by his single touch. His fingers traced her jaw down to her chin leaving a trail of electrified cells behind. "There's a special bond between you and me."
 
Nope, no bond, her mind blubbered. I'm completely bond free. No bonds here. He smiled playfully as if he could read her mind, his fingers gently glided from her chin down to her neck, a cool touch that made her want to scream for mercy.

But there was no mercy in the darkness of his eyes or the wicked sensuousness of his lips. There was no hope of denial as his fingers paused at the hollow at the base of her throat.

With a desperate attempt she latched on to the one thing she could think of, the one thing that had been bothering her for a full day, "you're lying!" She choked, her breath catching on her words.

His fingers paused on her throat, but never broke contact as a dark eyebrow arched in amusement, "how so?"

Ignoring the fever/ denying the pain.

"That comment you made," her breath was coming in short gasps now making her dizzy and lightheaded. "That thing you said about the divine prophecy," her thoughts were wild and erratic now as blind panic threatened to overtake her. "Back in the library with Spike. You knew what you were saying, that weak act you pulled, you just wanted to get your own way!"

He smiled, a wicked sort of expression, "ah, sweet, twisted Willow," he breathed, "with a mind like yours, what a vampire you would have made." Her breath came in ragged huffs as cold sweat dripped its way down her spin. "You're mine, Willow," he purred.

You'll worship him blindly/ but never say his name.

No, I'm not! Her mind screamed, but the words refused to escape her lips. Caught, like a deer in headlights, her skin burned with cold fire as his fingers made their way down to her breast. "You know it in your heart," he whispered. Her back arched slightly, instinctively, innocently pushing her breast into his electric touch even as the scream in her mind grew louder. His smile grew wider, the promise of deadly fangs fulfilled. "I know you can feel it, Willow." Her breath was coming in short gasps and a darkness began to swim against the edges of her vision. She was hyperventilating, but she couldn't stop it as the scream in her head grew to a deafening crescendo. A slightly metallic, artificial crescendo that seemed to come from somewhere outside her petrified mind.

In a flash Oz was there, his lips forming an inhuman snarl even as eyes, too animalistic to be human, glinted danger. "She's mine!" He growled, his voice holding an unspoken challenge.

Angel's satisfied smile faded, his eyes glinting golden annoyance at the interruption. "Go away, little boy!" He commanded.

"Mine!" The young wolf snarled savagely, his fangs elongating, demanding blood.

For a moment they stood, vampire facing wolf in the mystical battle that had ever existed between these magical creatures. Golden eyes met dark ones, assessing, evaluating. Suddenly something snapped in the dark vampire's mind, a kind of horror spread across his features as dark human eyes begged denial. "Oh God," he murmured. All around on the dance floor people began dropping like flies, falling in unconscious heaps of young humanity.

"Go. Now," Oz snarled at him, his body trembling with the sheer effort of keeping himself under control.

"I'm sorry," Angel murmured softly, desolately, the expression of pure agony on his beautiful face almost too much for a human heart to bear. For a moment it seemed to Willow as though he would reach out to her, like a drowning man trying to pull the remnants of his soul from hell. But the self-recrimination in his eyes told her different.

Willow watched him leave, her mind still frozen in terror. Then, suddenly Oz was in her face, his concerned features entirely human as he shook her. "Will? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said dazedly, "I think I'll just faint for a bit." Her last thought before she finally succumbed to the darkness that had threatened to engulf her was that someone should really move Oz's electric guitar away from the microphone. That metallic scream was simply unbearable.

Fainting was really not all it was cracked up to be, Willow decided as she slowly came to full consciousness. Especially if you're coming to gasping and coughing over something foul-smelling with all your friends hovering over you.

"It's working!" Cordelia's shrill voice cut through Willow's foggy reverie eliciting a dull ache in the young hacker's skull. Beautiful, a headache, she thought miserably, chalk another one up for staying conscious. "She's coming around."

"Of course she is," Giles' voice sounded slightly smug.

"Well excuse me Mister smelling salts. What, you're waiting around for a lady in distress with that stuff?"

Willow groaned and rose weakly. Then again, she thought as Oz rushed to her side, there were the idiotic conversations that would fly right over an unconscious person's head. Maybe there was something to be said for passing out after all.

Or maybe not. "Will, are you okay?" Oz asked softly. The love and concern in his eyes said it all.

"Ah-hum," she groaned back. She was fine, it was the room that kept spinning around. Someone should really look into that.

"I'll take that as a 'yeah, but would someone please stop the banging in my skull' kind of ah-hum." Xander's voice was as upbeat as always, but Willow sensed the uncharacteristic note of concern running through it.

"That will pass in a few moments," Giles promised. Yeah, Willow agreed sullenly, easy for you to say. You don't have a mister Woody Woodpecker setting up camp in your brain. "In the meantime why don't you tell us what happened?"

Let's see, the young redhead thought; people danced, Angel came on to me, Oz went wolf and Angel ran away. Yep, that's about it. Oh God, she groaned, how was she going to explain that? This night was going to leave them with some serious repercussions.

"It was all a blur," Oz was saying, "I could see and hear everything that was going on, but I didn't care. I was playing a song I'd never heard before, watching everyone dance to it and I didn't want to do anything else." He shook his head, "disturbing."

"Did it feel like some sort of artificial substance?" Giles asked delicately.

Oz shook his head, "if it was, I don't know how it could have hit all of us like it did. Besides, it's like nothing I've ever known before."

Willow's ears perked up. Drugs? Were they talking about drugs? Did her sweet musician of a boyfriend just admit to experiencing drugs? She tried glaring at Oz, but gave up due to the fact that she was seeing two of him at the moment. There were definitely going to be repercussions.

"I saw Angel talking to Willow," Oz went on, his voice slightly hollow. "And I just didn't care enough to do anything about it." Willow's eyes widened in panic, don't tell them, she tried to signal her usually attentive boyfriend, they can't know about this before I've figured it out. I've got to make a diversion, she thought irrationally. Unable to think of anything she squeaked. No one noticed.

"But when Angel touched her," no, no, no, no! "Everything snapped. I lost it." Why couldn't her sweet, bright and extremly laconic boyfriend have kept his mouth shut just this once? Willow tried delivering a deadly look his way, then thought better of it. Something was wrong. His features were as calm as ever, but there was definitely something wrong. Then it hit her so hard she nearly lost consciousness again. He had almost changed into a wolf and the full moon was over two weeks away. For the second time tonight she felt like driving a stake into Angel herself. Just the thought of the dark vampire sent dangerous tingles down the trail he had created on her body. She felt as though she was going to throw up.

Outside Willow's complex mind the room exploded into sound. "Angel touched... He, Willow? Touched? He did what?" Xander spluttered, his pallid face contorted with shock. Great verbal skills, Willow thought spitefully, why don't you try simpler sentences next time. She immediately felt the guilt run through her, she shouldn't be thinking of her friends that way.

"It wasn't like that," she tried to explain, defend herself. Oh yes it was, the tiny voice of honesty in her mind murmured insistently, it was exactly like that. Her skin tingled where Angel had touched her just in case she'd forgotten.

"Why don't we all settle down and think this through," Giles suggested. His features seemed calm, but Willow couldn't help noticing the way he steadfastly refused to meet her eyes.

Cordelia had watched this entire exchange in uncharacteristic silence as her mind mulled over the facts. "Angel touched Willow?" She finally murmured to herself, "welcome to La La land people, where things have finally gone insane."

Willow couldn't help but glare at her. Was it so inconceivable that Angel could find her attractive? Wait, what was she thinking? She didn't even want Angel to find her attractive. "It wasn't like that," she said weakly.

"He's dead!" Xander raved, "he's really dead! And I'm not just talking about going halfway with him, I mean really dead, all the way dead. Dust up the vacuum cleaner dead..."

"Yeah, dead. We get it Xander," Willow said irritably, why would he never shut up? She felt another pang of guilt. He was worried about her, really worried and here she was badmouthing him, well bad thinking him anyway. She didn't doubt that he loved her, even if it was in his own special 'never notice you till someone else did' kind of way. It was just the way he expressed that love that drove her crazy.

Xander shook his head stubbornly, "he's going to die, Will. If Buffy doesn't stake him I will."

Buffy! All this and she hadn't even thought of her best friend. Willow groaned with self-disgust.

"Angel had no right to do that, to touch you, " Xander went on, oblivious as always.

"Did he hurt you?" A cool voice from behind demanded. Willow swallowed hard as panic began to flutter through her body. Buffy moved to face her in the suddenly hushed room, her red rimmed eyes flashing and her oversized flannel shirt flowing behind her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" Willow nearly shouted, "it wasn't like that!" She immediately regretted her tone, Buffy seemed taken aback, hurt almost. She thinks I'm blaming her, Willow thought suddenly. She opened her mouth, tried to obliterate the harshness of her tone but someone beat her to it.

"This is your fault. If you'd have dusted him when you were supposed to none of this would have happened," Xander hissed coldly. They all stared at him in open-mouthed shock, Xander's cruelty robbing them of any possible reaction.

"I... No!" Buffy shook her head warding off the horrible accusations, but her expression revealed her agreement.

"That's enough!" Giles thundered and Willow breathed relief. "What Angel does is not your fault, Buffy."

"Well isn't this a dreary sort of party," Spike said from the doorway, commanding everyone's attention. "What's daddy gone and done now?"

"None of your business, Spike," Buffy replied almost without thought, her attention seemed to be directed inward.

He laughed wickedly, "I do have my sources, you know. Funny, I always thought that if Angel ever got sick of you he'd go after the big brunette over there. Looks like he managed to develop himself some taste after all."

Willow felt the flush travel down her body even as she watched Cordelia pale with the insult. The angry brunette's mouth opened to deliver a blistering retort, which she never got the opportunity to deliver. A hard fist sent the pale vampire flying out the library doors. An angry Slayer hurried to follow.

"Well?" Buffy asked as she peered down at the dazed vampire leaning against the locker he had landed on.

"One of them is going to meet you at the old Sunnydale church." Spike said irritably. "Did you really have to throw me this hard?"

"Yes, I did," she replied blithely. "When?"

"Now." Spike answered as he picked himself off the floor, "I wouldn't keep them waiting," he advised as he turned to leave. With slightly childish satisfaction she noted he had developed himself a slight limp.

The old Sunnydale church stood neglected at the edge of town. The few weddings and many funerals having found themselves alternatives to the aging building that seemed to stand outside of time somehow. It still retained its commanding sense of presence, however. The high ceilings and cold marble floor proudly stated that this indeed was the house of God.

Buffy's heels clicked loudly as she slowly walked up the rows of empty benches. She had never liked churches, had never been drawn to the promise of God's favor when she was younger, and didn't believe in it now when she grew older. When she was a child her mother had insisted on taking her to church every Sunday, later on, after a good deal of whimpering and wheedling on Buffy's part, that habit had been broken. The painted glass windows, filled with religious scenes she could barely recall, were dark, unimpressive, illuminated only by stars and a juvenile moon.

She passed by the confessionals and stopped. Had she ever confessed as a child? She couldn't remember. Memory and imagination merged to distort reality. If she did, what sins could she have possibly confessed to? Her childhood innocence seemed even more emphasized by her present day sins. She had betrayed, destroyed, and lied and her arrogance had allowed others to be hurt and killed. In a flash of misery she recalled the faces of her friends, of those who had died and those that lived and suffered. "Bless me father, for I have sinned," she murmured to the empty church, at the wooden confessionals.

"What sins could you have possibly made, child?" A sympathetic voice behind her asked softly.

Buffy froze and slowly turned.

* * *
Chapter Eleven
"What would you possibly need to atone for?" Gerrico asked.

Buffy shook her head to dispel her astonishment, somehow he had snuk up on her. The naked power rolling off him in waves was enough to bring her to her knees, yet somehow he had managed to sneak up on her. "Not a thing," she replied hastily, her confidence was shaken. She didn't need to be baring her soul as well. "Ironic much?" she asked, motioning at her surroundings.

"I like churches," Gerrico admitted with a startlingly sheepish smile. He started walking slowly towards the altar, obviously expecting Buffy to follow. "They calm me, give me a sense of comfort, give me something to believe in."

She couldn't stop the bout of half-hysterical laughter that flew from her lips, "a religious demon?" She asked incredulously.

"Creatures such as myself cannot afford to live a secular life. We are believers by the very essence of what we are, religion fills a cardinal role in that. Anyone of us who says different is either dim-witted or dishonest. After all how can one believe he is the Devil's spawn without acknowledging the existence of a God?" He looked at her then, with compassion that touched her heart and soul, "don't you believe in anything?" He asked.

She thought about it, God had disappointed her so often she barely took the time to ponder His existence, yet she was undeniably His tool. She wielded holy artefacts, taking their power for granted, destroyed creatures that claimed to have been touched by the Devil. She had been to hell and back and never once considered the possibility of a heaven. Organised religion, she concluded, just wasn't her thing. "I guess you could say I'm a non-practising atheist," she finally said.

He smiled at her warmly, "yes," he said, "I suppose an unorthodox religion would suit you the most." He stopped before a marble statue of a crucified Jesus, alone in his agony, suffering for the sins of the world. "I met him once."

"You met Jesus Christ," she couldn't drown out the note of disbelief in her voice. Just how old was this man?

She was rewarded with a gentle smile for her troubles, "to be honest I sought him out. My demon had recently died and I was," he paused in thought, his eyes clouding at the dusty memories, "troubled. They said he was the child of God and I felt that God owed me some answers at that particular time. When I finally caught up with him he simply looked me over with the kindest eyes I'd ever seen. I forget their color," Gerrico said with a soft smile, his eyes staring unseeing at the cold marble statue. "I only remember the compassion in his eyes. It had been so long since anyone who knew what I was looked at me that way. He told me how lucky I was."

"Lucky?" Buffy murmured in surprise.

Gerrico nodded, "that's what I said. Then he told me how absolutely free I was, no devil to guide me, no soul to hinder me. I believe there was a note of envy in his voice." Maybe he knew his fate even then, Buffy wondered. The expression on Gerrico's face revealed nothing, however. "I was almost anticipating my expected freedom. My future was a bit unclear till then," Gerrico explained delicately at Buffy's questioning expression. "I had nothing to look forward to. A souled being has love, a family, friends. A demon has," he coughed uncomfortably, "other things. A lack of a sense of purpose tends to be very destructive, many of my kind have fallen before this deadly ailment." A dark cloud seemed to pass over him. How many of his friends have died because they had nothing to live for? Buffy could only wonder. "As I was saying, my future seemed a bit brighter, I suddenly found myself with options I hadn't considered. Then he looked at me again, his eyes bore straight into my heart and my mind and he told me to beware my choices, to select wisely for the consequences may follow me throughout life." Gerrico shook his head with awe, "I always wondered if he knew how accurate he was. I asked him then if he was truly the child of God. He laughed as though I had made some clever jest. 'Knowest thou not', he said, 'we are all God's children. No matter the troubles we go to deny it.'" Gerrico fondly patted the marble statue, his hand showing no signs of burning as he touched the marble crucifix, "never could give a straight answer, could you?"

Buffy swallowed hard as he turned his gaze to her face, his expression a patient questioning. He wanted to know why she had sent for him. She thought of Angel, of Willow and the words seemed to stick in her throat. "I, um," she choked, still the words refused to come. She needed time, she needed to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. "Tell me about Anna," she finally blurted.

He gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing as he walked over to an old wooden bench. Panic rose inside her as for a moment she thought he would refuse, but then the wood creaked under his weight and his hand tapped the bench in open invitation. "Anna," he breathed as she sat sown beside him. "My Anna was a waif of a child when I first laid eyes on her. Broken and bleeding she was, victim of a brutal vampire attack, sole survivor of her entire family. To this day I cannot begin to guess how she had escaped," the note of pride that had crept into his voice did not go unnoticed. He loved her, Buffy decided, a soulless former demon loving a Slayer. Weirder things have happened, most of them to her. "She healed and grew and came into her own."

"And you fell in love with her," Buffy blurted then bit her lips, she hadn't meant to say that.

The dark man seemed unfazed however, his blue eyes danced with amusement, "I fell in love with her from the first moment I saw her, a child and all. I merely came to terms with that years later when she made me face the facts." He smiled in memory, "she was beautiful, filled with power that beamed from her soul. She carried her birthright with pride as piece by insignificant piece we discovered her heritage, helped her come to her full strength. She killed hundreds of the creatures she so despised before they learned to beware her, we traveled from village to village ridding them of their tormentors. It was a happy time, she gave us a purpose and we gave her a family." He sighed, "it was around that time that I discovered that love existed not only in the soul and that heartache was every bit as painful."

"She didn't love you back?" Buffy asked, sympathy filling her heart.

"Oh no," Gerrico laughed, there was no trace of bitterness in his voice, "I never intended to give her a chance to find out. A woman-child loving a creature who should be dust along with her buried ancestors? The thought was nauseating. I began to avoid her, taking steps never to be alone with her. It actually worked rather well for a couple of days," Gerrico shook his head ruefully. "She confronted me rather forcefully, I remember. She demanded to know what was wrong and why I was treating her this way, she had tears in her eyes and all the while she had me pinned up against a wall with her knee. I told her how I felt and said that I would understand if she never wanted to see me again. That's when she started to laugh. She called me an idiot, I recall, or something in that nature, said she knew for the longest time and was waiting for me to figure it out. That's when she threw her arms around me and kissed me, being pinned to the wall my options were rather limited, but I probably would have cooperated anyway."

"So you were together?" Buffy asked, her mind couldn't help compare her situation to that of the ancient man beside her, a man who looked no older than Angel. Had none of this have happened would Angel have sat down many years into the future reminiscing about a dead Slayer he once loved? Somehow she doubted it, sharing feelings and memories had never been one of Angel's stronger points, at least the Angel she knew and loved.

Gerrico nodded, "but it wasn't right. I knew it even if she didn't. She was young, vibrant, she deserved to walk in the sun with her consort, to marry before her God, to bear her husband's children. I could offer her none of that and as happy as we were together that thought was eating away at my being and at our love. In the end, after a particularly vicious argument she got up and left." He ran a trembling hand through his dark hair, the memory still paining him. "She sent us word every now and again that she was all right, but she actually came back nearly a year later big with child. She had obviously done my bidding and found someone else, but I was crushed. Then she put my hand on her distended belly and I felt her unborn child kick and saw the love in her eyes as she begged me to love our child."

"Your child?" Buffy started, "she found some sort of magic?" A wild, unreasonable hope began to worm its way inside her soul. Were such things possible?

Gerrico shook his head, "no magic. The very earthly way, in fact. She didn't care about walking in the sun or marrying in a church, her life was too uncommon for that. I should have realized that from the start."

"She wanted a child," Buffy murmured with understanding.

"Our child. It didn't matter who the biological father was, it was going to be our child. She gifted me with a family." Gerrico shook his head with amazement, "four daughters she bore me, all of different fathers. All as stubborn and willful as their mother, all became Watchers despite her wishes. Their families were the true founders of the Watcher's Council, the knowledge they collected invaluable. In the end it was they who kept me sane during the long days after her death, them and the knowledge that she lived and died surrounded by love."

"So that's how you stayed in contact with the Council?" Buffy asked, unwilling to let go of the last strands of Gerrico's story.

Gerrico nodded, "After a time the tolerance we grew to expect was worn thin, we couldn't escape the hard truth of what we were. It was deemed wisest to remain in contact with merely key members of the Council and steer clear of the awareness of the others. Any other solution would have deemed implications too complex, consequences too disturbing to confront. It proved to be a satisfactory solution for all sides and was kept till the early days of the nineteenth century."

"What happened?"

"A plague," Gerrico replied shortly, "the Council lost over three quarters of its members. We've had no contact within the organization since."

Buffy nodded with sympathy, this happened over a century ago and he was still mourning. With a sigh she realized it was her turn to share, but somehow the hovering spirit of an ancient Slayer seemed to make things easier. "I saw Angel," she said slowly, her words flowing carefully from her lips. "I understand what's happened to him. His soul and his demon have been merged together somehow, he can't find his balance between them."

"And the Evil One is distorting the balance even further," Gerrico muttered with understanding.

"It's destroying him," the words came faster now, rushing as her heart begged for help, "driving him insane. Making him do things he would never do." He killed a man, he hurt Willow, he hates me.

"Then the fate of the world hangs with a madman." The elder peered into the young Slayer's face, his blue eyes serious and certain, "there is no alternative," he said softly. "You know what you must do?"

Soberly, although her heart was shattering, Buffy nodded, "I'm going to lie to him."

She had it all worked out in her head by the time she had reached home. She'd keep it brief and to the point; a simple 'I don't love you anymore' compounded with a slightly more difficult 'I don't think we should see each other again' and that would be it. No muss, no fuss. Her emotions gave a slightly distressed whimper, but she simply squashed them, buried them, concentrating instead on the task at hand. She wouldn't go into the long, involved 'why', she'd deftly skip the 'can we try again', she'd keep it short and sweet and most importantly bearable.

Yep, the more she thought about it, the surer she became it could be done. Her heart gave a little flutter and was once again squished under the weight of responsibility.

Then she saw him, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped under the sheer weight of his sins, both real and imagined. He was waiting for her like he used to, pacing soundlessly from her window to the front door, anxiously awaiting her.

He looked up at her and his eyes were much the same as she remembered, dark, miserable and filled with love for her. "Buffy," he murmured, seemingly at a loss for words.

Yeah, I know the feeling, she thought wryly. All the things she wanted to say to him, all the thought out formulas had popped from her head as though they had never existed. "What are you doing here?" She asked gruffly, wincing slightly at the harsh sound of her voice.

He mistook her harshness, "I-I can't go in," he assured her, "that un-invite spell is still binding. I came because I needed to talk to you, needed to explain."

Her heart went out to him, the loneliness of his stance, the beauty of his face, it all called out to her. Then she remembered the way he had treated her just this morning, what he had done to Willow, her own responsibilities and her heart hardened. "I don't think there's anything left for us to talk about."

He seemed taken aback, humbled somehow as if he had not expected this, "please, Buffy," he begged, "things are happening to me that I can't control." He ran a trembling hand through his soft, dark hair, his eyes pleading understanding, "all this power. I can feel it running through me, burning." His eyes locked unto hers, "I've done things to you, to Willow because I could and she wanted me to. She's trying to control me, Buffy!" His voice rose passionately and suddenly Buffy feared what would happen if her mother chose to look out the window to see what all the noise was about.

"Let's go somewhere and talk," she said, her voice placating, but he was too far-gone in his own inner turmoil.

"And I can't stop her," he said, his eyes darting nervously as if afraid his tormentor would appear from behind a neighbor's bush to smite him down. "You've got to help me stop her."

It was no use, Buffy realized, she'd have to face him here and now, ready or not. "I can't help you," she said coldly, her eyes refusing to meet his. "There's nothing I can do for you anymore."

His eyes widened with shocked disappointment, a horrible look of betrayal spread across his features, "Buffy please!" He whispered intently, "I love you!'

This was it, this was her chance. Her eyes lifted to meet his and held, "I don't love you," she said although her heart was crumbling to dust within her body. "Not anymore." He stared at her blankly, standing like a figure of despair, "goodbye Angel," she said and turned as quickly as she could so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

When she turned back a moment later there was nothing but emptiness where her lover had been.

She walked heavily up the stairs to her room, her body feeling leaden, her heart a hollow emptiness. There were still several more hours of night left and she fully intended to make good use of them, to succumb to a blissful and hopefully dreamless sleep. The note from Willow on her bed had meant postponing even that small comfort. With a sigh she sprawled on the bed and picked up her phone.

"I'm sorry!" She spluttered as soon as her redheaded friend had picked up the phone.

"I don't blame you!" Willow replied almost as quickly, "what Xander said, it wasn't true. I don't even think he meant it, he was just being Xander. Not the best Xander he can be, but still Xander."

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head instinctively, "he was right, it was my fault. I should have protected you, all of you. It's what I do."

"You can't save everybody," Willow said gently, "what happened to Miss Calendar wasn't your fault."

Buffy sighed ruefully, as usual Willow had cut to the heart of the matter. Someone had died because she didn't live up to her responsibilities and her greatest fear was that it would happen again. "He hurt you, Will," her voice was small, pitifully childlike.

"He didn't hurt me," the timid hacker objected. "Everyone blew the whole thing out of proportion. Nothing really happened," that was a lie they were both comfortable to accept. "Besides," she went on quickly, "as soon as Angel realized what was happening he just freaked out and left. He even apologized. Maybe he's going to be all right after all."

Buffy's shattered heart gave an extra little snap, "I don't know, Will," she replied shortly.

"Everything will be alright," Willow assured her. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No, Will, I'll be fine." Something suddenly occurred to her, "could you do me a favor, though?"

"Sure."

"Check out a plague for me. Early in the nineteenth century. Wiped out most of the Watcher's Council. Find out what you can about it."

"Just call me plague girl. No, wait, on second thought don't. Expecting to find anything?"

"No, not really, just curious." Buffy replied, relieved that she heard no trace of suspicion in her friend's voice. "Goodnight, Will."

Putting the phone down Buffy sank deeper into her soft bed, forcibly pushing all thoughts out of her head, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep.

*************

She lightly swayed to the soft music as it played in her ears. His arms, strong and cool, were wrapped around her slender waist with the gentle touch of a man who knew his own strength. Her cheek pressed against his chest listening to the eerie stillness of his heart. She looked up into his eyes with adoration and her heart filled with warmth at the loving glow she saw within them.

"I love you," he whispered.

Her eyes brimmed with tears at his words, blurring her vision. "I love you too," she choked. He seemed to glow in her tear filled vision.

He broke away from her with a soft, tender smile, "take my hand," he said, reaching out for her.

The glow around him seemed to grow brighter, stronger. Confused, she blinked away the tears, but it refused to go away.

"Take my hand," he said, his voice growing stronger, commanding.

But the light disturbed her, growing like a cancerous disease behind him, swirling, undulating foully. His chest was bleeding, she suddenly noticed, the cold, steely sword lay embedded in his body. "Angel?" She whispered, her confused distress in her voice.

His eyes widened with righteous indignation and still the light behind him grew, swelling into an angry vortex. "I loved you through hellfire and brimstone and all you had to do was take my hand. Take it!" He reached out for her and this time he could not be refused.

He pulled her close, ignoring the sword still embedded in his body. She shuddered as she felt the hilt press against her, the cold dampness seeping through her blouse.

"Promise to never sacrifice me again," he moaned as the sword dug deeper into him, "promise me!"

She shook her head, tears suffocating her, "I already have."

She had a clear view of the betrayal in his eyes as he twisted, pushing her with unbreakable force into the hungering vortex that should have taken him. She screamed as hellfire engulfed her with its desecrating flames and the souls of the damned laughed, pulling her even deeper.

*************

She went on screaming as soft arms engulfed her, rocking her gently. Gradually her screaming subsided into tears as she finally released her anguish in her mother's tender embrace.

"All right," Joyce said gently once the worst of it was over. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Buffy sniffed loudly, her mind a jumbled kaleidoscope of swirling thoughts and emotions. What's going on? Where should she start? In a moment of clarity within the confusion she decided not to start at all. "Nothing," she lied, giving her mother a reassuring half smile, "I just had the weirdest nightmare. Sears was having this huge halter-top sale and none of the ATM's would work, so..."

 "I don't accept that, Buffy." Joyce said coolly, her eyes peering into her daughter's face.

"W-what?'

"I've seen you this past week. I've seen the dark circles under your eyes, and I've heard you crying in your room when you thought I wasn't around. Buffy. tell me what's going on."

"I can't," the facade broke. Distressed, Buffy tossed off her covers and climbed out of bed to stare out the dark window at the uninviting night beyond. "Please mom, it's just too much."

"That's exactly why you need to tell me. I can't," shaken by the fear in her voice Buffy turned to look at her mother, "it can't be like last year. I can't not know what's going on with you and then have you disappear." Her voice rose, her emotions taking over. "If it's the end of the world I'd rather you told me then not know what's going on with you again!"

"Mom," Buffy said soberly, taking her mother's hands in hers, "it's the end of the world. Again." Joyce stared at her with numb shock then slowly began to laugh, after a stunned moment Buffy joined her. "It does take the edge off when I say it like that," she admitted once they've calmed down, "sort of like the Rolling Stone's last performance, again."

"All right," Joyce said, surprisingly calm, "how is it the end of the world?"

"Well," Buffy replied blithely, if her mother was going to be so infuriatingly composed she figured she might as well take her chances. "I wouldn't exactly put it in the end of the world category, it's more of a hell on earth situation with an added bonus of death and destruction to go around. Remember Angel?" She added quickly as her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"He's the one you had..."

"That's right!" Buffy cut her off quickly, a dark flush rising in her face. Hearing her mother say the 's' word in relation to her was more than she could handle at the moment. "He's back," she said simply.

"Did he hurt you?"

The question was so innocently direct it nearly brought tears to Buffy's eyes. Anyone else would have asked how he came back or even why, but her mother's first concern was for her child. In an irrational moment all she wanted to do was fling her arms around her mother's neck and cry out 'yes! He hurt me mommy!' and have mommy fix everything. But things didn't work that way anymore, and they hadn't for the longest time. "No, he didn't," she lied sadly. "He's not like he was before, he's changed," boy, was that an understatement. "He didn't come back on his own. We brought him back, Giles and me." And her kindergarten teacher always said she wouldn't share, here she was sharing blame like a good girl. "We had to," she went on quickly as twin eyebrows rose furiously. "There's this threat only he can answer to, it'll destroy the world if we let it."

"And that, I suppose, is the hell on earth you were talking about?" Buffy held her breath as she nodded. She searched her mother's eyes and found what she was looking for. There was the love and compassion she had grown to expect and finally, for the first time since Joyce had found out about her daughter's calling, acceptance. "How can I help?"

Relieved, Buffy let out her breath explosively, "just be with me tonight?" She asked in a small, fragile voice. Joyce nodded and with a contented sigh Buffy settled for sleep in her mother's arms.

Go to Part 12