Chapter 12

"Giles?" In her struggle to get up, Buffy's struck with a new sense of hope upon hearing her former watcher's voice. From his own spot alongside Fred and Anya, Angel turns towards the front door, his eyes going wide at the sight before him.

"Uh oh..." Smiling lightly as she sits up to face the others, Willow lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Daddy's home. I'm in wicked trouble now."

"You have no idea," the Englishman drawls morosely. He watches for a moment as the wiccan sits up further, backhanding the blood that was trickling from her nose. "You have to stop what you're doing."

"Uhh, sorry. Can't do that," she grins, steadying herself on her knee as she shakily tries standing. "I'm not finished yet."

"Neither am I," Giles responds. "No- stay down," he casually waves a hand at her, forcing her back down to the floor in an instant.

"Heh...that's borrowed power," Willow comments dryly. "No way is it gonna be strong enough-"

"I'm here to help you," Giles urges, earning another bout of laughter from her for his attempts.

"Thanks, but I can kill Xander all by myself. But hey- if you'd like to watch...that's what you watchers are good at, right? Watching? Butting in on things that don't concern you?"

" *You* concern me, Willow," he explains, taking a few cautious steps towards her. "Stay on this path, and you'll wind up dead."

"Willow," Buffy pleads, stepping closer to them, "listen to him. I don't wanna fight you anymore."

"I don't wanna fight you either," she throws a quick glance over to her before returning her focus to Giles. "I wanna fight *him*." Drawing on her consumed energy, she makes another attempt to rise.

"Stay down," Giles commands once more, but his gesture of power comes up short as Willow makes one of her own and blocks him, her confidence quickly returning.

"No..." As she advances towards him, her smile turns even more menacing, the black hue returning to her eyes. "See, I'm not just some rank, dabbling, amateur anymore. So buckle up, Rupert..." suddenly a surging radiance illuminates her body and a chilling hum distorts her voice, "...cause I've turned pro." The store's lights begin flickering and whirring in a mad rush as the wiccan's spell begins. "Asmodea, bring forth-"

"Vincire!" With an exultant glare, Giles fires his own blast of magic, its contained power effectively trapping Willow in a glowing green band of energy. "What? No- get off!!" she begins struggling mindlessly against her restraint, desperate to break free from the spell. "Solvo! Libero..." she falters to a halt in her translating as her head snaps back, her eyes drawing closed. With another gesture from Giles, her limp body begins to hover, the band of magic encircling her beginning to solidify.

"What did you do?" the slayer blindly reaches out to him, her eyes still fixed on her best friend, apparently rendered unconscious by the spell.

"Contained her and her powers within a binding field. It puts her in a kind of...stasis for the time-" As he turns to face her, his eyes take in Buffy's bruised and battered condition for the first time since his return. "My god Buffy...are you alright?"

No more than a second passes before the small blonde turns into his arms, wrapping him up into a tight, teary-eyed hug. Too caught up in her initial moment of relief, she almost doesn't hear the familiar, exhausted voice calling to her from over Giles' shoulder. Drawing her eyes upward, she hurries into Joyce's waiting embrace with a glad cry.

"Oh honey...are you alright?"

"Yeah- yeah, I'm fine, mom," she lets out a slight whimper before her usually playful tone returns. "So- you bring me back any cute souvenirs?" Their group embrace carries over to Angel, the three making a move over to help Fred and Anya as Giles approaches Willow. "I'm very sorry about Tara..." he lets his gaze linger a bit longer than he'd planned before turning to move away, his shoulders bowing under the burden of too much sadness, his hands nervously fisting into his pockets.

"This..."

Willow's struggling voice rises unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention as her eyes wearily open, her neck craning to face them all with her promise. "...won't hold me...forever..."

******

"Whoa, whoa. Okay..."

With one eye on the metal before him, the other focused on the weapon's owner, Doyle makes his plea into the dark night fast approaching. "Let's just put the gun down...okay?" But there was no answer, no sound at all except the desolate, endless drip of rain.

"Oh, no way..." His hand still shaking as his finger settles on the trigger, Xander takes another step forward. "Like hell I'm gonna let Willow skin me like she did Finn."

"God- paranoid much, you skitzo?" Cordy snaps at her ex. "You're not gonna die!"

"Delia..." as much as he appreciated her concern, the half-demon wasn't too thankful of the tactful brunette's chosen method of calming their desperate young friend, "...really not helping matters with the insults here..."

"Xander!" Graham yells, carefully setting Oz down from his shoulder, propping him up against the side of the building. "Drop it man. You know you don't wanna do this."

"The hell with you, Miller!" his voice strains in return. "You think just because you switched colors before all of this happened that makes you somebody to them? You think any of them really care about you?" His eyes quickly dart over his shoulder to his other former associate. "What about you, Linds? How long do you plan on stickin' around? The only reason you're even giving this whole 'model citizen' thing a try is because of your little thing for Buffy."

"People change, Xander," the young lawyer offers his simple response.

"Yeah right..." His nerve beginning to bluster, he returns his focus to Doyle. Thankfully, Xander's slight deviation had left enough time for a quick, silent exchange between Graham and the half-demon. Giving a simple nod of his intentions, Graham slowly reaches a hand behind him to pull out his own handgun...only to find an empty holster where it should've been.

Before he can give thought to where it had disappeared to, a single shot explodes into the silence. Fully expecting to see Doyle laid out in blood along the alley, Graham darts around to watch Xander stagger off to the side, not injured, though jolted by the unexpected blast from the figure who'd stepped complacently out of the shadows. As he spins around to the source of the sound, he feels his temple brush alongside cold metal.

"That the same gun you used to kill Tara?" Oz calmly asks, his hand staying just as sturdy as he presses Graham's gun firmly against Xander's temple. "That the same one you used to shoot Buffy?" The last reference had finally gotten to him. Bowing his head, his eyes tightening closed, Xander falters briefly, just enough for Lindsay to knock the gun from his hand.

Stepping forward, Graham reclaims his own gun from Oz, easily lifting it out of the young man's hand as he addresses his fallen comrade. "You're not leaving Sunnydale, Xander. When this is all over, you're going to jail to do your time. Isn't that right, Doyle? Doyle??"

Peering off to his right, he sees the others gathered around a vision-stricken Doyle, already tumbled down to the ground in pain. A few moments pass before he pulls himself to his feet, a hand still raised to his head as he regains his breath.

"You okay?" Gunn checks, reaching out an arm to help steady him.

"Yeah..." he lets out a heavy sigh, "...but the others...something's goin' down at the shop..."

******

With Angel and Buffy supporting her weak frame, Fred finally settles down next to Joyce in the back room of the Magic Box. Whatever items that had remained in one piece Anya was busy cleaning up and sorting out in front, while Giles stands silent before the others, unsure of how to handle their current situation.

"The council?"

He wasn't surprised by his slayer's curiosity, but more by her unusual regard to one of their collective least favorite subjects. "The council haven't a clue. About much of anything, really."

"Oh- but they did pay for our flight, Rupert," Joyce reminds him, sharing a lighthearted smile with him. "Can't knock 'em there."

"Remind me to send a gift-basket," he muses in turn before explaining further. "No- the, uh...coven in Devon that Joyce and I met with. They sensed the rise of a dangerous magical force here in Sunnydale. A dark force, fueled by grief. A seer in the coven already knew about Tara. That's when they imbued me with their powers."

"And sent you back to bring Willow down," Fred assumes, earning a nod from the Englishman in response.

"Buffy- what's happened here?" Giles' voice turns remorseful, having already seen how far Willow had fallen.

"God..." Cringing closer to Angel for support, Buffy looks over at a loss for words. "I don't even know where to start..."

"Riley's dead..." Angel jumps in for her. "Willow- she...she killed him..." he finds his own voice failing him upon deciding to spare them with the sordid details of poor Finn's demise. "And Anya...she's a vengeance demon again."

"We tried holding off Willow as long as we could," Buffy feels inclined to add. "Anya and Fred tried working some binding spells on her."

"A- and Lindsay brought back a text," Fred adds. "It was supposed to trap an' drain her, but...guess it just didn't work, huh?" The last bit of information striking him, Giles makes a move to sit beside her, anxious to take a look at the books she carried with her.

*****

Inching along cautiously in her work, Anya couldn't help but pass a glance every now and then to where Willow was still hovering. Although she chalked it up to morbid curiosity, she still couldn't help but feel sorry for her in a way. If given the chance, she wasn't sure she'd pass up the opportunity to make quick work of Xander either, all things considered.

< Anya... > she hears the familiar voice call over to her. Looking narrowly at the wiccan as her eyes slowly open, she hesitates before moving any closer, even as Willow continues her telepathic pleading with her. < Anya...I need you. I need you to do something for me. >

"What?" For a split second, the restored demon is tempted to go and get the others. Though feeling uneasy about the direction her thoughts were turning, all the same, she found it difficult to ignore them. < Anya- you need to free me. You need to take away this binding spell. >

"I...I can't..." she whispers, her head darting around to the back room. "I don't know how..." A twinge of guilt strikes her as she still debates whether or not to alert the others, but her flow of rational thought quickly shuts off as Willow's next offer enters her mind. < I know how...do you want me to tell you? > Willow's face contorts into a sly grin as she makes one final bid for Anya's help. < You can help me...you can help me get Xander. That's what you really want, isn't it? >

***** "What's going to happen to Willow?"

Giles slowly looks up from his reading, finding himself unable to fully face her, unsure of how Buffy would be able to deal with the realization he himself was still trying to absorb. "Well...the coven is working on a...way to extract her powers without...killing her. And, uh, should she survive, you ought to know, Buffy, that there's no guarantee she'll...be as she was. Willow has killed another human being of her own will. How will she be able to live with herself?"

"Oh..." a smirking Anya leans against the doorframe, her demonic features contorting her face, "...I wouldn't worry about that, guys..."

With her new accomplice by her side, a freed Willow emerges in the doorway, her eyes pitch black with her new surge of power. Her tone shifting to profound self-satisfaction, she lets out a faint chuckle. "...Willow doesn't live here anymore..."

*****

Chapter 13

Warily, still trying to collect whatever bit of resolve she'd managed to hold onto over the past two days, the slayer presses her attack, making it a good three steps closer to Willow before being launched backwards yet again by the wiccan's restored powers. With a solid thud, she's blasted into Angel, the two toppling over one another. Maneuvering their descent so that he takes the brunt of the impact, Angel covers Buffy's body with his own, his weight resting firmly against her back as he lifts his head at the sound of Giles making his own brisk approach to fend off their friend. "Vincire!"

The Englishman holds out a hand toward Willow, sending another binding spell toward her, but she waves her hand at it, mumbling her own blocking spell. "Solutum." With a proud glare, she watches the binding field easily dissolve at her command. "Fool me once..." she grins, turning her attention to the ancient collection of knives in the back room, "...shame on you."

Scrambling to his feet, Angel throws himself into Giles, the force of his leap just enough to place them out of reach of the spearing blades. In one swift motion, Giles flings out a desperate hand, sending one more blast of energy straight at an unsuspecting Willow. "Excudo!"

The blast and accompanying flying brick-debris that had made up the wall of the storage room sprays outward from Willow's skidding body as she hits the ground of the shop's main showroom, a dismayed Anya preferring to use the doorway to join her out front. "Damn..." she observes in disbelief, throwing a pointed glance at Giles as he hurries after them, "...I don't think my insurance is gonna cover that." Seeing his back turned to her, the demon seizes her chance, slamming him viciously into a already-toppled bookcase with her own powerful shot of magic.

Shaking her head, Buffy pulls herself to her feet, hurrying to a still-struggling Angel's side. A split-second later, Joyce and Fred race over to them from their cover, quickly checking their bodies for any serious damage.

“Angel- your head! Are you alright?” Fred asks, helping the others to get him up.

“Fine...I’m f- fine,” he huffs, a bit of his strength coming to the surface.

“You’re not fine-“ Buffy scolds him. Diverting her focus for a moment, she turns to her mother and Fred. “You two need to get out of here- we can take care of things.”

"No-" Joyce's hand shoots out, taking a tight grip of her daughter's.

"We're not leaving you here-" Fred insists, though she knew she was having trouble keeping her voice from shaking.

"Mom- please!" begs Buffy, giving her a look that immediately told her not to argue the matter any further. "Get back to the house and stay there until you hear from us!"

"Go out through the back," Angel cranes his head toward the side door, giving his future mother-in-law his own pleading look, thankful when he sees her wrap an arm around a reluctant Fred, ushering her towards safety.

"Ooooo..." With quiet menace, Anya strolls almost casually back through the havoc her store had been reduced to, coming to a halt in the storage room, just in time to see Joyce and Fred make their departure. With a contemptuous glare, she takes a few steps towards Buffy and Angel. "Now, you two don't think you're gonna get outta here that easily too, do ya?"

"Why are you doing this, Anya?" the slayer demands. "Just who's side are you on?"

"Easy..." A sick smile plastered across her face, she makes an outstretch of both arms, sending a cascade of fire to blaze along the floor towards them. "...the one that survives..."

******

"Where are we going now?" Xander murmurs. "Shouldn't we keep going in the *other* direction instead of heading back onto the battlefield? Ya know- *away* from all the potential fatality...mainly the killing me part?"

"I don't know, alright?" Doyle snaps back. "All I know is what I saw, and what I saw was trouble."

Slowing in her pace alongside him down the sidewalk, Cordelia sighs in defeat. They'd been running in circles all night, and although Doyle was trying his best to keep charge of things, they were still at a loss. Cold and wet, her mind glazed with horror at the thought of what the half-demon's latest vision had shown, she, along with the others, was still nowhere closer to making a choice of where to possibly go, or what any of them could possibly do.

Suddenly, the choice is made for the friends when everything along the deserted neighborhood jumps in place and bounces with a clatter as they're shaken by the sound of an explosion no more than a block away.

"Dammit," grits Doyle, trying to sort out the source of the explosion from the sound of its echoes.

"What was that?" Wide-eyed and terrified, Cordy turns to him, but he was already heading towards the ominous glow down the street. "You wait right here," he cautions worriedly. "Get someplace safe. Take-"

"No..." comes Lindsay's adamant voice, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to a halt. "You stay with the others. I'll go."

"But-"

"They're gonna need you," he pleads his case, unyielding in his decision.

"Then me, Oz, and Graham are comin' with you," Gunn insists.

"We can't have all of us going in different directions! Just stay together and take cover! Do it!" he shouts, running down the street towards the flames that he could see ahead of him, whatever fear within knocked out of him by what he saw- the roaring surge of flames swelling from the rear of the Magic Box.

******

Anya was so bemused by what she'd just done, she barely even noticed that Giles and Willow had returned to their feet, prepared to exchange blows again. She wasn't sure whether it was the sight of the fire she'd inflicted upon her own storage room that brought such a smile to her face, or the sight of those two pitiable humans, the lovers pathetically crawling past her in their desperate attempts to escape the unrelenting flames.

"That all you got, Jeeves?" Willow laughs, shaking her head as she observes the former watcher staggering towards her on shaky feet. Sparing a moment, she throws a glance over his shoulder to take in Anya's work. Subtlety clearly wasn't the vengeance demon's strong point, but she'd take what help she could get. "Ya know," she returns her dark gaze to Giles, "I could go another ten rounds. Whereas you...can barely stand."

"Your powers," he wearily begins, "may be undeniably greater. But I can still hurt you if I have to."

"Boy, you just don't get it, do you? Nothing can hurt me now." She raises a steady hand to her face, indicating the jagged cut that rests across her cheek. "This..." with a grin, she waves her hand in front of her face, the cut shrinking and healing itself in an instant, "...is nothing. It's all...nothing."

"I see..." Giles muses impassively, hoping his new approach would have more success in reaching her. "If you lose someone you love...the other people in your life who care about you...become meaningless. I wonder what Tara would say about that?"

His words did more to entice her than wound her as the scorned young woman yells out to him grimly, "You can ask her yourself!" With one careless gesture, she sends a bolt of radiance straight at him, only mildly surprised to see the slayer make a sudden leap for him, effectively pushing him out of the line of fire. Watching the stairway leading up to the loft crumble to the ground under the blast does little to console her as she turns to regard her advancing best friend with sheer contempt. "You're always saving someone. It's kinda pesky."

A quick glance to the flaming wreckage at her side gives the wiccan a sudden idea. Leaning down, she easily lifts a ball of fire into her hand. "You probably even think you're buying escape time for Xander. Well, I got a little secret for ya- I can kill him from anywhere I want," she promises, looking down at her hand. "With this..." Her will instantly being done, the flaming orb grows with her touch, drawing the attention of both Giles and Angel as they look on in dread. "It'll find him. It'll bury him. Along with anyone helping that dead man walking."

"Don't..." Buffy sighs hoarsely, knowing that her request would no doubt be denied.

"Unless...somebody, somehow...can get there in time to save them," she taunts, curling her lips at the small blonde standing nervously before her. "Huh...oh, well," she smiles eagerly, tossing the sphere of fire into the air where it makes its fast escape straight through the ceiling in search of its target. "Fly my pretty...fly." Casting her eyes on Anya, Willow shares a wicked smile with her. "See what I did there?"

"Very nice," the demon purrs in response, her own eyes darting over to search the slayer's face for her reaction. Clearly at a loss for what to do, Buffy throws a look to first Angel, then Giles, receiving the same answer from both men, Giles finally verbalizing it. "Go!" Catching a quick glimpse of the determined fighter as she races out the front door, Willow's sure to mutter the familiar words she'd grown so used to saying to her friend over the years. "Good luck."

She glances around to where Angel and Giles still stood and smiles triumphantly. "So much for your girl, huh Angel? But ya know...why should we let Buffy have all the fun? Whaddya say, Anya?" she calls over to her. "Why don't you go on ahead and keep an eye on the situation until I get there to finish things, hmm?"

"I get to start the party..." she jeers, tossing Angel an ominous glance before dissolving in a cloud of swirling energy with an inhumanly speed, "...what fun."

Half-expecting Willow's intent to divide and conquer, Angel wastes no energy in seeking approval from Giles before speeding out of the store, praying against all hope that he would be able to reach Buffy and the others before Anya could inflict any more damage.

"Thought they'd never leave..." Willow grumbles in disgust, turning her focus back to Giles. "Now I finally have you all to myself."

In a blurring instant, Giles makes hard contact with the ceiling, Willow hastily sending his exhausted frame soaring overhead with a quick wave of her hand. Helplessly pinned to the unyielding surface, he struggles to keep his eyes open, watching in dismay as she paces below him. "You're such a hypocrite. Waltzing in here with your borrowed magics. So you can tell me what?" She raises her head slightly to glower up at him. "Magic's bad? Behave? Be a good girl? Well...I don't think you're in any position to be telling me what to do," she mocks his current state, a playful grin breaking out across her face. "Do you?"

A solitary point of her finger brings Giles crashing to the floor, blood streaking his face as Willow looks on, noting with satisfaction the tiny flinches of pain he makes with each small movement. "I used to think you had all the answers. That I had so much to learn from you."

"Willow-"

With another scornful gesture, she forces him back against the ceiling, his groan of agony bringing a luscious glare to her features. "You were jealous. Still are. Just can't bear that *I'm* the one with power now."

"Incurso!" His desperate attempt leaves much to be desired, the green blast of magic doing little more than throwing her off balance momentarily. The wiccan's brief distraction is just enough to break her concentration though, relinquishing her hold on him, sending a bruised and battered Giles spiraling back down with a heavy crash.

"That...was rude!" she angrily pouts, taking a moment to recollect her thoughts. "Now I forgot what I was saying."

"Perhaps," a struggling Giles begins, painfully trying to bring himself to his feet, "you're not as strong...as you think you are. You're expending way too much of your mystical energy to maintain your powers. At this rate you're going to...burn out. And up."

Restless and discontented, Willow regards him disdainfully, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she paces over to him. "Blah, blah, blah..."

"Willow, you...you need to stop."

"What I need..." rushing forward with inhuman speed, she suddenly makes a grab for him, "...is a little pick-me-up." With her hands splayed across his chest, the wiccan wastes no time in draining his borrowed powers. Her hands flail out as she flinches back from Giles', still writhing on the floor in pain, and her eyes go wide at the intense energy now surging through her. "Whoa...head rush."

She recoils violently, blindly crashing against the furniture all the way across the room, until collapsing on the floor in front of the counter, sliding down against the shards of glass. Huddled there, her whole body racked with heavy gasps, she looks to a barely conscious Giles in wonder. "Wow...whoa. Who's your supplier? This is...wow."

All her reason, what little remained in her, was seduced by the poisonous surge of the magics flooding her veins. She's barely able to slew her head around to look at her subdued supplier gravely watching her. "It's incredible. I mean...I am so juiced...Giles, it's like...no...mortal person has...ever had...this much power. Ever. It's like I- I'm connected to everything...I can feel...it feels like...I...I can feel..."

Her serene smile goes slack as a new force overwhelms her, the mixtures of sorrow and madness, the pain and suffering of humanity, pouring across her mind like acid, searing her every thought. "...everyone. Oh- oh my God. All the emotion. All the pain. No, it- it's too much," her wavering voice lets out a whimper. "It's just too much."

"Willow..." Giles calls over to her, his own voice turning sullen as he rolls to his side on the floor to take in her condition. The burden too great for any one person to carry, she was clutching her head against the unendurable pain, trying to flee what could not be fled. "It doesn't have to be...like that. You...you can stop it."

Then, when it seemed that she would be crushed under the intolerable pressure, a cold purpose flows over her, sealing her even further off from the pain- both her own and that which had just been inflicted upon her. She reaches outward with her rage, turning it away from her own vulnerable guilt. Turning her fathomless gaze upon the shuddering man who lay among the spilled debris of her carnage, she finally regains her composure. "Yeah...I- I can. I have to stop this," she resolves, slowly rising to her feet. "I'll make it go away."

"Willow-"

"Oh, you poor bastards," she mutters pityingly, feeling her purpose gather itself around her. With ease, she lifts into the air, her rejuvenated magics already beginning to encircle her. "Your suffering has to end."

"No..." Giles' voice is barely a whisper as he helplessly watches Willow make her departure, literally disappearing into a fierce whirl of lightning right before his eyes.

******

The dark city flashes by Buffy in a mad blur, lights reflecting from a kaleidoscope of rain-slick surfaces, while a few blocks behind her, Angel makes his own dash into the rain-swept night. Far overhead, the blazing orb of fire whirrs ahead, only seconds away from reaching its destination.

"Ow!" For the most part, Graham's approach was having little to no impact on attaining a suitable place of shelter for the friends. "Oww!" With each kick to the nearest crypt's door he was hoping to make at least some progress in pounding it open, but the stone would neither crack nor tilt under the bludgeoning of his foot. "Man, they've really tightened security up here lately," he grumbles, giving another hearty kick. "One too many squatters from the Hellmouth."

"Hide out in the cemetery," Xander scoffs, his insolent tone not going unnoticed by the others. "What a fantastic idea."

Keeping his focus on the task at hand, Graham throws an aggravated shout back over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm working on a whole 'shut the hell up' pitch you might like too."

"Umm...guys?"

"Ya know what," Gunn's quick to come to Graham's defense, "I've had just about as much as I can stand baby-sitting a rag-tag *murderer* who doesn't appreciate-"

"Guys?!"

This time Oz's panic-stricken voice catches their attention, drawing their collective sight to where he'd been staring in wonder at the steadily descending streak of radiance up above. "What's that?"

"Get out of there!"

Diverting his gaze at the sound of the familiar voice, Xander is the first to spot the slayer racing towards them. "Move!" So caught up in watching her swift, tireless leaps over the succession of headstones, he finds himself being shoved unceremoniously to the ground, rolling with Buffy mere inches from where the fireball strikes, effectively bringing the others toppling down as well.

Tumbling none too lightly to a jarring stop, Xander's head bounces off of a nearby headstone, the impact so sudden he doesn't have a chance to get out a whimper of pain as he falls out of consciousness.

"Xander, Xander, Xander..." Materializing complacently out from the shadows, Anya smiles cruelly down at her ex. "Gotta tell ya..." she snickers, leaning over to grab his shoulders, preparing to make her departure with him, "...this is a helluva time to be sleeping."

"Anya- don't!!" With a desperate cry, Angel sprints along his trailing path, making his full presence known with a diving lunge for her. But to his surprise, he winds up spearing an unsteadily rising Buffy back to the ground instead as the restored demon, her acquired prey in hand, easily disappears in a cloud of swirling energy.

Scanning his surroundings, checking to see if the others had endured any serious damage, Angel is thrown slightly off balance as the ground beneath lifts and splits apart, slowly crumbling under the raging blow of the fireball's impact. His eyes quickly pick up on the unusual sight of Buffy still trying to get up from her fall, slipping more than once along the shaking earth as she instinctively crawls towards him. "Buffy! Buffy, hold on!"

His frantic reach for her comes up short as a portion of the ground falls away from underneath her, swallowing her up into its gaping depth. "Buffy!" Angel's scream matches her own as he loses his footing, dropping down to land heavily but unharmed into the sodden ground of the hole, the crumbling dirt and rubble raining down on the lovers from above.

******

Chapter 14

"Oh my god..."

For a split-second, he'd suspected the worst. Seeing the store in virtual ruins, the front door easily falling off of its hinges into his loose grasp, didn't give him much hope for what to expect inside. But as soon as he spotted Giles, gasping with a hand to his chest, Lindsay felt a sudden wave of hope wash over him. "Giles!" maneuvering through the debris, he makes his way over to kneel beside him, shaking him slightly. "Giles? Giles?!" he quavers, quickly becoming desperate without getting much of a response. "Giles!"

With his eyes fixed to the ceiling, the Englishman finally wakes, his own relieved gaze matching the young lawyer's. "Lindsay?"

"Are you okay?"

"I can see..."

"Oh...that's, uh..." he falters slightly, unsure of just how to respond to the seemingly casual remark, "...it's...a miracle."

"...I can see *her*," comes Giles' further explanation, his voice choking a bit as he continues. "She took the magic I had and...now...I know where she is. I can feel what...oh, god..."

"Giles, you have to rest."

"I'm dying, you hick!" Giles snaps irritably, angry at his own helplessness in their situation.

"No you're not-"

"It was...it was the only way. I thought we...there'd be a chance...now...I know where Willow is. She's going to finish it."

"Finish what?"

"The world..."

With Giles' two quiet, ominous words, the two men are stunned into silence, until Lindsay takes a moment to fully survey their surroundings. It had been a nice place once...just a little while ago. And even now, shattered and trashed, it was still an appealing room, with its heavy cast iron support frame angling sharply towards the high ceiling, subdividing the space into airy pyramids topped with Victorian fretwork. Now it was reduced to shambles, a charnel house, a place of death and suffering, and all at the hands of a scorned young woman, still on the hunt for more. "But how? I mean...didn't you guys get her to use that book I brought? She should be draining by now."

A bitter determination transfigures Giles as he forces his dying body to struggle closer to the young man. "That book!" he gasps, with breath he couldn't spare, stretching out his bloodied hand to Lindsay's collar, pulling him down closer. "Where...where did you get that book?"

"A- a friend of mine," he stammers, a bit taken by the incensed glare he was now being given. "One of my clients- from LA. It was supposed to bind her, then drain her powers."

"No...no, it couldn't have...I looked it over..." he relaxes back to the floor, his eyes tightening closed with a wince of pain. "It wasn't a binding spell...it was...a summoning spell."

"But...Sorel told me-"

"Whatever you and your friends in LA...were trying to accomplish..." fixing him with an accusing glare, he challenges him angrily, "...it wasn't supposed to help us..."

"Now wait a minute, Giles...I only know what I was told," he says, defensive and guilty at the same time. "I was only trying to help- be part of the team. I guess I...I never really was good at that, huh?" he finally admits with a weary bitterness. With an almost apologetic look, he reaches into his jacket, fumbling for his cell. "A summoning spell, huh? To summon what?" he nervously asks, fearing the answer he'd receive.

Only he didn't receive much of one. "It's already coming...from beneath..." With a final gasp of pain when he tries to shift his position, all the breath and sense knocked out of him, Giles' eyes drape shut, dragging him back into a lapse of unconsciousness. "Great..." Lindsay sighs, depressed by the odds facing them. "Well, I guess you really will need my help after all, won't you?"

******

The thin veil of sunlight breaking out across the city sky did little to dissipate the chill that Angel felt as he reached a hand over to Buffy, brushing the dirt from her petite frame as he helps pull her to her feet. His fabled equanimity was shaken when he saw what awaited them overhead- a towering thirty feet of crumbling earth. With an impassive face that hid a troubled mind, he lifts a hand along the dirt encompassing the gaping hole, staring up at the protruding coffins jutting out at them from all sides. It looked unapproachable at best, and he was about to say as much until a blonde whirl rushes past him, making a running leap up onto the closest coffin.

Clawing at the crumbling debris, Buffy steadies herself on the makeshift platform using the tree roots lining the dirt tunnel. But the night's steady downpour had reduced everything to a slush of mud, and the slayer stumbles in its wake, quickly falling when the roots give way, landing her straight into Angel's waiting arms below.

"You okay?"

"Yeah..." she sighs, sliding out of his embrace to gain her bearings once more. "We have to get out of here. Doyle!" her yell echoes back at them, struggling to reach over the hole's edge. "Doyle! Oz! Guys- anyone up there?!"

Her pleas going unanswered, she makes a move towards another coffin, giving the solid wooden frame a fierce tug as Angel crosses over to her side, picking up on her plan. "If we can pull these out, we can use the coffins for height- maybe get out of here."

"Hello?" The exhausted voice calling from overhead draws their eyes upward in disbelief. "Oz?"

"Angel?" he calls in response, showing his face over the pit's ledge. "You okay? Where's Buffy?" Stepping into the stream of light, the slayer makes her presence known. "Where's everyone else? Is Xander up there with you?"

"Anya got Xander...but everyone else is fine." He throws a glance over his shoulder to where the others were just getting to their feet, Doyle being the first to hurry over to him.

"You two alri- whoa!" With barely enough time to let out his panicked gasp, the edge of the pit gives way, even more earth and grass spilling down into the hole as Oz just barely manages to yank Doyle back, keeping the two of them from joining their friends below.

"You've gotta find some kind of rope or something and get us out of here," Buffy urges.

"Right..." Oz throws her a determined nod, followed by Doyle's own resounding stare.

"Okay, we'll, uh...we'll take a look around."

"And hurry up before-" The sudden ringing from Angel's pocket takes him by surprise. Pulling out his cell, thankful for once at Buffy's insistence that he carry one, he flips it open. "Yeah?"

"Angel."

"Lindsay? Is that you? I can barely hear you. Where are you?"

"Back at the shop."

"Did Giles stop Willow?"

"No...Will messed him up pretty bad. He's a little out of it, but so far what I've been able to get out of him is that things just got a whole lot worse."

"How worse?"

"End of the world worse," he sighs bleakly, throwing a quick glance to where Giles was beginning to show signs of waking once more. "Willow's gonna destroy it."

"She can do that?"

"She can and she will when she gets to where she's goin'."

"Where's she going?"

"Big old Satanic temple. Kingman's Bluff?"

"But there's no temple on Kingman's Bluff."

******

Struggling to open his eyes, Xander can barely make out the two figures pacing in front of him, let alone the massive stone steeple rising to the surface. Through the blurriness, he finally recognizes the first of the two to approach him, a feral grin already plastered across her face. "Anya?" His eyes fully open and adjusted, he looks up at her, trying to pick himself up from where he'd been dragged across the grassy hill.

Feeling any better, Xander? the restored demon asks him, laughing at his attempts to get up. Mustering up some remnants of strength, he reaches out to grab her but fails in his attempt. What do you think? he groans.

"I think you oughta just sit back, and enjoy the show..." she sneers, sending him sprawling back to the ground with her own jolt of energy, "...at least for now."

With her focus entirely on the task at hand, Willow's blackened eyes gleam with pride as she lets her gaze travel across the outline of the carved stone, already spanning over twenty feet and still not completely above ground. Straightening up, letting her arms fall back to her sides, she looks pensively at the structure when it rises fully, protruding from the earth at a crooked angle, its magnificent proportions and soaring shape ominous in its presentation. "Much better..."

"So this is it, huh?" giving a wounded Xander a quick glance, Anya turns toward her counterpart for a closer look. "Proserpexa..."

******

"Proserpexa? Who's she?"

"No clue," Angel cranes his head slightly in answer to Buffy's uncertainty before probing Lindsay for more details. "Linds, what do you know about this Proserpexa?"

"Lucky for us Lilah's one of her biggest fans," the young lawyer lets his thoughts drift for a brief moment to his former associate for the first time in weeks. "Proserpexa was way up there in the hierarchy of she-demons. Her followers intended to use her effigy to destroy the world. They all died when the temple got swallowed up in the big earthquake of '32. So now seventy years later, Willow's going to make their dreams come true."

"She's going to drain the planet's life force, and funnel its energy through Proserpexa's effigy and..." Angel's gaze drifts over to Buffy, his voice laced with anguish at the thought, "...burn the Earth to a cinder."

"Not if I can help it," comes the slayer's determined promise as she turns once again in search of a way up and out of their confinement.

"You can't-" Angel hears Lindsay shout in response over the line, a deep sigh accompanying his words of doubt before continuing. "That's something else Giles said- no magic or supernatural force can stop her."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't know. He- he said, 'the Slayer can't stop her,' and then he said a bunch of other stuff." He passes a concerned glance over Giles' motionless form, his breathing still uneven and harsh. "He really hasn't been too clear. Just keeps slippin' in and out on me. I don't think he has a lot of time left. I've gotta get him to a hospital or something-"

"Lindsay, wait! You have to...Linds? Lindsay?! Dammit!" Angel yells, tossing his cell aside at his friend's hasty goodbye. Almost growling in his growing frustrations, he steps over to where Buffy was still yelling up to the others. "Buffy-"

"Oz! Where's that rope?!"

"Buffy, Giles said there's no force that can stop Willow...not even the slayer."

"Oz?! Doyle?! Where the hell did they go?" Buffy ignores him, giving a few more shouts.

"Buffy, would you listen for a minute?!" Angel cries urgently. "You heard what Giles said-"

"I heard," she snaps, confused and desperate. "I don't care- I have to try!"

"Hey guys?" Gunn's shout draws their attention back top. "We've got a little problem up here."

"No rope?" Buffy lets out a dejected sigh.

"No rope," Doyle confirms.

"And no Oz," Cordy finishes for him. "He just took off for Kingman's Bluff to try and stop Will."

"He's gonna get himself killed if we don't get out of here," says Angel, adding his strength alongside Buffy's as they begin trying to move one of the coffins into a more useful position.

*****

"How pathetic," Anya smirks, grabbing the back of Xander's head and slamming it against the concrete of the steeple for a second time. "You spend all those months training with those other freaks in the Initiative, and how do you go down?" she accents her question with another quick shove to his head. "At the hands of two women."

“Anya...wh-“ At first he wasn't sure what had happened- one minute he had been face to face with whatever the hell that thing was he saw rise above the hill, the next, the wind was knocked out of him and he was lying on the ground, dazed and with a throbbing headache. As he wages a brief but futile struggle against the glowing band of energy that now encased his limbs, through a haze of pain, Xander can see Willow step in front of him, a hand already raised towards him. "Will...please..."

"Funny...that's just what Riley said..." she recalls, a simple flex of her hand producing the bullet she'd taken out of Buffy earlier. Grinning lasciviously at him, she lets the tiny piece of metal hover before her for a moment, noting with satisfaction the tiny flinches Xander makes in his efforts to slither back from her. With an exultant snarl, she lets the bullet fly, hitting him in the shoulder. The sheer force behind her strike rips him back, half spinning him around in his restraint, and he writhes helplessly in pure agony.

"Well...now that we have a minute..." the wiccan turns to her counterpart, her lips already curling into a wicked smile, "...we should really get started."

"What about him?"

Passing a sidelong glance to where the patch of grass was already stained with Xander's steady flow of blood, Willow lets out a soft chuckle. "He isn't going anywhere."

******

"I'm not just gonna sit here while Willow incinerates what I'm chosen to protect, Angel." Their attempt to budge any of the coffins was proving as fruitless as she'd feared it would be, but Buffy wasn't skimping on effort, even when the fatigue of the past few days began creeping up on her.

< From the pit of forgotten shadows... >

Suddenly, she comes to a halt in her struggle, her eyes narrowing as she senses an isolated presence darting across her mind, blurring with her own thoughts. Chalking it up to lack of sleep, she puts all of her weight back down onto the coffin, trying to jerk it from its position. "We have to stop her-"

< Awaken, sister of the dark, awaken... >

The voice came again, taking on a familiarity as it echos through the slayer's own silent thoughts. Awkwardly, comprehension slowly growing in her mind, Buffy takes a step back, earning a confused and concerned stare from Angel she was sure matched her own.

< Always the slayer... > the heavy sigh comes across more than annoyed at Buffy's relentless determination.

"Buffy?" Angel places a hand to her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

< ...right to the last... >

"Willow?" Buffy finally whispers tentatively.

< And it is the last, you know? > the wiccan's voice sharpens, scornful in its tone. < For all your fighting...thinking you're saving the world... >

"Buffy?" Angel finds himself quickly being hushed, wordlessly obeying as he watches Buffy, seemingly able to maintain some sort of telepathic link with Willow.

< In the end...I'm the only one that can save it. >

"By killing us?" Buffy mutters, disillusioned and resentful at her best friend's new intention.

< It's the only way to stop the pain. I can't take it anymore. But I know you, Buffy. You're a warrior. You won't go out without a fight. I don't really have time for one. I've got my hands full with killing Xander and my big welcoming party for Proserpexa. But you should go out fighting. And hey, look at it this way...at least you and Angel will go down fighting together. >

"Willow, what are you-" The thunderous rumble that explodes across the ground gives the slayer enough of an answer.

"What the hell's that?!" Graham shouts over the roar, warily stepping his way over the trembling ground to the ledge. "You two alright down there? What's going on?"

"Uh, guys...?" Cordelia's voice holds an uncertainty to it, as if she'd just taken notice of something. The friends' eyes collectively shift to where the brunette was fearfully staring a few feet past them at the creatures beginning to materialize up from the ground itself. "I think we've got our own problems up here."

Below them, the trapped lovers stiffen when they hear the steady crumbling echoing eerily across the dirt walls, their tension rising even more when they see their own set of demons completely detach from the tunnels. His eyes darting through the massive clawed-horde, trying to pick a good place to start their defense, Angel can't help but let out a grim laugh, to both his and Buffy's surprise, a wave of playfulness sweeping over the two in the midst of their distress. "Guess Willow decided to send us an early morning wake-up call, huh?"

"Already I'm loving our odds of making it home for breakfast."

******

Chapter 15

At present moment, Xander wasn't sure what was worse- the pain tearing through the fibers of his muscles or the searing flashes of radiance rippling across his skin. All he knew for sure was the pain was everything, obliterating whatever thoughts that were left to run through his mind, to the point of where it felt as if the sheer pain itself would obliterate him as well.

"Proserpexa...let the cleansing fires from the depths burn away the suffering souls and bring sweet death..."

At the sound of Willow's intent chanting, he lifts his head, another bolt of pain surging through him at the simple movement. Every fibre in his being screams in protest as he makes an attempt to crawl over to his two captors, causing him to fall still, his head slamming into the soft earth beneath him. From overhead he can hear the crackle of lightning echoing the wiccan's words, spearing down from the skies to make a steady flow through her arms, green bolts of magic transferring between her and the statue.

Unmoving and patient, he waits, trying to gather as much strength as he has left in him before trying to move once again. "Wi..." he tries to speak, but finds his vocal cords barely responding. "Wi..." once again, he tries whispering, and finds more success. "Willow...you don't...wanna do this." A pant of relief escapes Xander's gaping mouth as he sees her step back from her work, turning ever so slowly on her heel to approach him. With a look of smug self-satisfaction stretched across her cruel face, she begins to talk in a slow, appallingly calm voice.

"You know, you're right, Xander. I wanna do *this* first-" Wasting no time, she makes a swift gesture of her hand, instantly drawing the bullet out of his shoulder, only to send it back, ripping into his chest with an agonizingly slow force.

"Oh god!" Xander's voice strains as he doubles over onto his back, his heart hammering in his chest, knowing it was just inches away from the fatal pierce of the bullet. "Please- Will! Don't! I- I...I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry..." he stammers to a halt, realizing his pleas would have little effect on what he was sure would be his own fate.

"Now then," Willow turns, nodding gently to Anya as she walks past her, "shall we continue?"

Whether it was the warm, familiar feeling of the sun's first few streaks playing across his bloodied face, the innocent rustling of the wind surrounding him, almost invading him, bringing a reformed sense of awareness to the surface- he couldn't tell; but somewhere beneath the mind-numbing pain overtaking him, Xander's own guilty self-knowledge wars with his fear and concern for Willow's second objective, the appalling thought of any more shattered lives having to pay for his recklessness driving him forward in his efforts to somehow put an end to it all.

"Willow!!"

His sudden strength of voice takes them all by surprise, tearing his two captors away from their chanting to regard him stiffly. "Don't do this!" he commands harshly, his voice deep and resonant against the thunder of the lashing magics swirling up and around Proserpexa. But the two women make no response. "You have me," he offers, for the first time since he could remember, meaning every bravado word of his promise. "Kill me, alright...just take me. I...I'm the one who should be suffering. Not you...and not anyone else." With a heavy sigh, he staggers up to his feet, lifting a trembling hand to his bleeding shoulder. "So whatever it takes...whatever you need to do to me to help you with this pain- just take it out on me. Can't think of a better way to go, to tell ya the truth," he adds with a slight chuckle. "You've been my best friend my whole life...no matter what, you're still Willow-"

"Don't call me that!" the wiccan's nerve breaks, her voice starting to waiver slightly.

"First day of kindergarten- you cried because you broke the yellow crayon, and you were too afraid to tell anyone. You've come pretty far. Ending the world, not your most terrific notion, but it still ranks higher than some of the decisions I've made. The thing is...yeah- I love you." Feeling the sting of more flesh being torn through with another twist of Willow's hand at his words, he stumbles back a few feet, struggling to maintain his balance. "I loved crayon-breaky Willow and I love...scary veiny Willow. So if I have to go out, it's here. If you wanna kill the world, well then start with me. I've earned it."

"Is this your great plan for saving your ass?" she retorts scornfully. "You're going to stop me by telling me you love me? Try and make yourself the big hero of the year by sacrificing yourself?"

"Well, I would walk you off a cliff and hand you an anvil, but...it seems kinda cartoony. Plus..." he lowers his eyes to his steadily flowing wounds, still wincing from the twist of the bullet as it continues seeping into his chest, "...I'm kinda lacking on strength over here-"

"Still making jokes," Willow snaps back in disgust.

"I'm not joking. I know you're in pain. I can't imagine the pain you're in."

"Well then here," comes Anya's voice from the side, "let me give you a little taste." With a blazing scorch of magic from the demon, Xander is launched backwards, tumbling over the patches of grass that were already stained in his blood.

Looking to Willow for a quick follow-up, Anya's more than shocked to see the wiccan's eyes flickering from hollow black circles to her usual green orbs as she stands in silence, watching Xander trying to rise on one knee. For a second, Willow stands silent, unmoving and passive before them, until Anya is unnerved into prompting a favored response. "Willow- now! Finish it!"

Hearing his ex's harsh command, her words cold and devoid of any emotion, Xander gasps in disbelief, finally straightening up, his hand reaching out as if somehow he hoped to stop whatever blow was to come from either of the two women. But he never had a chance to complete the movement- a sharp crack shatters the restless silence as the bullet finally strikes him completely through his chest with the force of Willow's sudden blast of magic.

"Will... " he whispers in helpless agony, his legs crumpling under him as he stumbles backwards and falls helplessly to the ground.

"Well, well, well..." Anya grins, an arrogant gloat lacing her words. "The look on your face alone makes up for all the damage done to my store."

"Why, Anya?" he asks, bringing his damaged arm up to slow the flow of blood from his chest as the restored demon walks over and crouches next to him, casting a quick glance back to where Willow was mindlessly turning her attentions back to her new objective. "Why would you do this?"

"Oh come on, Xander..." she scoffs, anxiously beginning to roll his limp frame towards the edge of the hill. "One of us had to have the guts to actually go through with something *and* do it right for a change. And besides..." as they reach the uneven incline, she pauses briefly, giving him a final once over, "...it's just too much fun-"

Her satisfaction is short-lived as her eyes peer down a second too late at the sharp blow coming at her. Having secluded himself along the bank of the hill, Oz launches his fist, smashing it into the demon's face with bone-shattering force. Not giving her any time to recover, he jolts up, making a quick grab for her from behind. One hand reaches up to muffle whatever yell she could've managed, the other twists her arm back behind her unresisting body. In one graceful motion, Oz blindly hurls her over the edge, sending her rolling down to land helpless and groaning along the field below.

"Oz," Xander manages to breathe out, struggling for both words and air in his weakened state. "What...how..."

"Later would be a good time for a heart to heart," Oz mutters as he drops down beside him, his hand instantly searching for the extent of his clearly visible wounds. "Can you get out of here on your own?"

"Not leaving..." he makes a jerking shake of his head. "Not until we help her."

"Don't you think you've done enough?" he regards him solemnly, his words coming off more critical than intended. "Look...just stay here. You'll be alright- try not to move."

Lightning forks across the sunlit sky, illuminating the vast steeple and its summoner as Oz makes his way over, his footsteps pounding heavily against the ground, still slick with the night's rain. For a moment he stands watching her, having to narrow his eyes slightly at the dawn's ever rising beams. Adjusting his sight to the leveling brightness, he steps alongside the distracted wiccan, Willow's eyes tightly closed in concentration of her ongoing chant. "Hey, black-eyed girl." He allows himself a faint smile as he watches her eyes flutter open, the flow of magic pouring from her hands dwindling to a halt as she sees him step out in front of her, placing himself directly in front of the statue. "Whatcha doin'?"

******

"What're we doing?!"

Graham's doubtful outburst pretty much summed up the others' collective astonishment at just how poorly they were fairing against Willow's demon dispatches. "I'd say we're getting our asses kicked, that's what we're doin'!" Gunn's quick to remind them all, trying to maintain the hold he'd finally managed to get on one of his attackers.

Quickly recovering from being kicked to the side, Graham reaches down to his pant leg, extracting one of the gleaming blades he was thankful he still carried from his days in the Initiative. Plunging it into the demon's neck from behind, he grins as he watches it drop to the ground before turning to see how the other's were holding up. "Need a hand?" he calls to Doyle.

"The thought crossed my mind!"

Extracting his other blade, Graham smirks slightly as he races over to the half-demon's aid. From above, the four friends continue trying to fight them all off, but soon find that they're pretty well outnumbered.

Down below, the slayer and former vampire weren't fairing much better. "They just keep coming!" Buffy calls over to Angel after successfully slicing off another's head with one of the sharpened ends of slate they'd managed to extract from all the crumbling debris. "We can't take them all!"

"Maybe we don't have to," Angel yells back, slicing through another with his own jagged slate. Buffy knocks down the creature she was currently fighting, finally turning around at his shout. "What do you mean?"

Leading her back towards the clearing directly below the cave's opening, he gestures towards the maze of descending tunnels stretching along the rock-lined wall across from them. "If we can just send them back along those tunnels...they look like they lead pretty far down...probably reach the reservoirs below the city."

"If you can't beat 'em, cave 'em in," the slayer's playfulness resurfaces as the lovers set out to dispose of their onslaught of guests.

Back up top, in the midst of helping, or at least trying to help Gunn fend off a few of their own set of demons, Cordy spots Doyle being choked against the nearby pillar of a mausoleum. Without so much as a second thought, she makes a plunge for his attacker, jumping on the creature's back, pulling him backwards off of Doyle. As she tries to choke him down, a second one catches her by surprise, breaking her hold and flinging her back to the ground with ease.

"Ugghh..." she makes a grab of her aching head, regarding her disheveled and muddied frame with disgust. "And I just bought this shirt..."

"Cordelia!!" Buffy's fierce shout draws her line of sight over to the nearby ledge of the hole. Crawling her way over, she cranes her head to see the small blonde wrapped around Angel's back, the latter trying to maintain his and Buffy's weight ontop of the makeshift platform they'd arranged out of the few coffins they'd finally managed to loosen, stacked atop a few of the beheaded stone-creatures that were now serving a practical purpose. "Little help here!"

"Oh...oh- right! Right!" Clamoring to get as close as possible without more of the sodden ground collapsing beneath her, the brunette stretches down an arm, making a desperate reach for Buffy's own. After two failed grasps, the friends' hands finally connect and with a sharp yank, Cordy makes a heavy pull to bring Buffy's head to surface level. "Thank god you two are alri- hey, wait a minute..." Forgetting the chaos surrounding them for a moment, Queen C's eyes are drawn to the gleaming sparkle shining through the dirt and debris that s caked across Buffy's left hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Cordelia!"

"Oh my god- you two are engaged aren't you?"

"Cordelia!"

"Damn- that's a really nice ring..."

"Cordelia!!!" Feeling Angel staggering a bit beneath her from her frustrated yell, Buffy sternly looks up to her well-intentioned, though oblivious as always friend. "Would you just pull us up and we can discuss your issues of envy later?!"

"Oh! Yeah- getting to it." A few tugs later and the slayer has enough leeway to pull herself completely over the ledge, Angel soon following after with a quick leap. "Doyle!!" Angel calls for him, anxious to head after Oz and Willow. Tearing one eye away from the creature he and Gunn were battling, the half-demon lets out his own dismissive shout in response. "Go! Take Cordy with you- we've got things here! Go!!"

******

Chapter 16

Beads of perspiration were already beginning to run down the side of Lindsay's head as he stares fearfully at the widening pool of blood, trying to convince himself that it wasn't real. But like his thoughts, his verbal response was carrying little conviction. "You're not dyin'," he whimpers, barely able to force the words from his throat. Another tremor from below sends a ripple across the ground, splitting some of the tiles along the floor.

"Giles? Giles?!" he frantically shakes the englishman, panicked by the lack of response he'd been able to draw from him. "You can't die- not after everything you've done. Though in retrospect, it probably would have been better if you hadn't come and given Willow all that magic that made her like ten times more powerful. That would have been a major plus."

His eyes darting around the store in confusion, brushing himself off after another rumble subsides, he finally garners a moment of faith at seeing Giles' eyes bolt open, staring upward with a fixed, almost anticipating expression. "There..."

"Huh?" the young lawyer gently slides a hand under Giles' head, trying to keep him awake. "What do you mean?"

"It's not over..."

******

Feel the burn
Feel the demons come to mix
You've filled the street with madness

"Get out of here, Oz." Willow couldn't help the brusque compassion that accompanied her warning as she stretches out her arms once more, surprised when the flow of magic that had been steadily pouring out barely registers as a flicker.

"Ah, no- can't do that, Will. You're not the only one with powers, you know. You may be a hopped-up uber-witch, but...this guitarist can slide-chord you into the next century."

"I'm not joking. Get out of my way, now!" she yells, emphasizing her words with a sudden blast, launching Oz backwards, straight into Proserpexa's altar.

Lay your hands and lesions over me
Fall instead where midnight dies
And morning comes
Feel it here...
The silence

The force of impact lands him slumped against the pillar, a faint cracking coming from both the stone and Oz's side. Lifting his head to face her, he slides his back down the rough stone until he sits braced against it, trying futilely to draw air into what he was sure to be his punctured lungs. With each painful intake of breath, he can hear the flashes of lightning overhead as Willow turns her attentions back to her spell. The green magic begins flowing from her again, toward the statue, dancing along the rumbling ground. But before it can reach its destination, it falls flat at Oz's feet as he again rises to face her, somehow able to block her forces.

"You can't stop this," Willow glares at him, readying herself to deliver another blast.

"Yeah, I get that. It's just...where else am I gonna go? World gonna end...where else would I wanna be except by your side? And I know you're about to do something apocolyptically evil and stupid, and I still wanna be right here with you when it goes down- even if you decide to end it all and kill me."

"You think I won't?" she challenges scornfully.

"Doesn't matter," he offers her a weak smile. "I'll still love you..."

For a brief instant, he was sure he'd seen her eyes flicker back to their green hue, until her arms lift again in a familiar gesture. The green radiance strikes him right in the chest, this time containing him in the air until she finally lets him fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

For a few precious seconds Oz rests, trying to gather strength for his next move. Suddenly, a dismayed shout cuts through the crackling of magic.

"...and so will I!"

Oz can't help but shudder in helpless anger as he sees an even worse for wear Xander staggering his way back atop the hill.

There's so much life here
And so much pain
That we forget
There's so much life
As morning comes
And it's real...
The silence

Seeing his battered form limping over to her, Willow raises one eyebrow quizzically, not expecting his return. She's hesitant for a moment, watching pensively as he helps Oz back to his feet before addressing her again in what he had left of a voice. "I...I love you, Will-"

"Shut up!"

The two barely have time to flinch away as Willow lets loose another pair of jolts, the first sending them tumbling over one another into the statue, the second rattling the stone base, breaking off one of the steeple's points. The jagged piece of stone had been broken into a lethal spade, toppling straight onto Xander and Oz's unresisting bodies as they tumbled back down the hill.

Buffy had heard the shattering rock before she saw it, somehow already aware of a jolt in the earth that came to her through the soles of her feet, and the breaking sound of stones at the top of the hill. With Angel already at her side, Cordelia only a few steps behind them, the friends reach the bluff just in time to see the rock strike Oz and Xander, sending their bodies through the air sideways, turning over as they descend to a crunching halt. "Oh god!"

Angel gets as good a grip as he can on the stone and throws his weight against it. It was too heavy to right, but he manages to lift it up long enough for a visible Oz to move out from under it with some help from Buffy and Cordy. "Where's Willow?

"Still up top," Oz grits out, the pain that had began in his side now running rampant throughout the rest of his body. "C'mon," he mutters wearily, gently hauling himself to his feet, Buffy supporting most of his weight on her shoulder.

"Wait- what about Xander..." A quick scan to the edge of the rock gives the slayer a bit of reassurance as she sees the familiar face take what looked to be a labored intake of breath. As he lifts his free hand to reach for his head, Xander's lips form a word, but no sound comes out before his pinned frame goes limp beneath the stone, seemingly slipping into unconsciousness.

See the sun
Forever falling
Let the setbacks
Fall through the cracks

"Willow!"

The wiccan looks over her shoulder at her best friend's yell, turning to see Buffy leading the others, already halfway to reaching her across the hill. Stepping his way to the front, Angel is the first to approach her. "Willow...if you're gonna do this, you'd better do it now with all of us here, because that's the only way it's gonna happen." The laugh she offers him in response does little to make him falter. Raking a hand through his mussed hair, he gazes at the black orbs before him, trying to remember what their Willow looked like.

"So that's your plan too, huh? Sacrificing yourselves for the world? Trusting me with your lives?" At their collective silence, her temper breaks. "What makes you think you all know me so well, huh?! Why trust me?!"

"Because you were one of the first persons who ever trusted me," Angel shouts in return. "You're still the same Willow who invited me into your bedroom-"

"Shut up!!" the gesture that accompanies her fierce cry jerks Angel's head to the side as if he's been hit, but any magical radiance outpouring from her hand was barely visible. As he turns to face her, three parallel cuts appear on his cheek, blood trickling down to his jaw. "You're still the same Willow who helped me gain back my humanity- helped give me another chance."

"You're the same Willow who was the only one of us with enough guts to tell off that little troll Snyder at graduation," Cordy joins his attempts, inching her way closer to where they stand. With Oz still slumped alongside her, Buffy steps up.

"You're the same Willow who'll always go sneaking through Giles' stuff with me when he's not watching. The same Willow who's my best friend- who I tell everything to. The same Willow we all love." Seeing the desired effect take place, Buffy waits, unmoving and patient, watching as Willow's soft panting becomes more nervous, the thoughts the friends were stirring slowly filtering through her.

"Shut up- all of you!!" With her panicked cry, trying to keep control, Willow makes another slashing gesture towards the four, pain exploding across their already battered frames, doubling them over to the ground in helpless agony. His shirt now slashed end to end, his skin just as scratched below the cotton material, Oz twists his pain-racked body and stands in sheer, hopeless desperation before her, waving the others off as he sees them trying to rush to his side.

Keep us safe
From ever crawling
Let me know
A life so sweet

The young man who for so long had such little use for words now found himself almost at a loss as to how to express so much in such little time. "I know what you're feeling Will, cause right about now, I'm faced with the same thing if you go through with this. One day...you lose everything you have- everything that matters to you. Nothing can ever prepare you for that day. When someone you love dies, you finally know emptiness...you finally know how empty you are without that person. And no matter how hard you try, no matter how long you have to heal, you can never forget and never forgive. The only thing you have left to do...is think. Think about what you've already lost. Think about what you have left to lose...what we all have left to lose. Will- if I lose you, I'd be losing myself."

"No...stop- stop it!"

"Willow...I love you."

The three words arrow into her mind, and at the last instant, her hands shoot up, finally releasing a full blast of her remaining powers, knocking Oz slightly off balance, but still he continues towards her. "I...love you-"

"Shut up!!" Her arms rise again, only producing a faint crackling of energy as her mind continues to flood with all of the sweet, loving memories. There was no respite, no escape from the barrage of emotions tearing away at her resolve.

There's so much life here
And so much pain
That we forget
There's so much life
As morning comes
And its real...
The silence

"I love you, Willow."

"Stop!"

"I love you." Ignoring her frantic attempts to summon what little magics she has left to use, Oz crosses purposefully to her. Managing one final blast, she sees it has little effect on him as he continues walking toward her, offering the same three words in each step he takes. "I love you..."

You say you wanted love
And you want it to feel
So real forever

At last, nearly all the doors of her mind stood open, all the raw gaping wounds lay bare before her thoughts, and they crushed her, filling her with more grief than she could bear, but she no longer had a place of rage to flee from them. As Oz finally reaches her, through teary eyes she lets loose a series of weak punches at him, which he easily takes. Her whole body racked with ugly, choking sobs, Willow drops to the ground with a twist of her body that was as graceful as it was anguished, to land crouching in unanswerable grief in Oz's tight embrace.

"I love you, Willow," he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers as she sobs, "my whole life, I've never loved anything else."

Remember why you have come
And all the pain that's caving in
Is gone forever...

******

There's so much life here
And so much pain
That we forget

"Giles!"

Lifting his head from where he'd buried it in his hands, Lindsay spots Giles slowly trying to push himself up off the floor, groaning in pain with each restless movement. Racing over, he kneels by the Englishman's struggling frame with an expression of weary affection. "You're not dead!"

"No..." The familiar quirk of Lindsay's smile flashes before him as he's suddenly, and painfully, swept up into a tight hug. "However, I am still in some pain."

"Oh..." Releasing his grip at Giles' wince, his relief turns to uncertainty. "Well...why aren't you dead? Why aren't I dead?"

"The threat's gone," he explains, gratefully accepting the hand Lindsay was offering him to help him sit up. "Willow's been stopped."

"You mean...she's-"

"No, she's alive," he's quick to dissuade his initial fear. "The magic she took from me, it did what I hoped it would do."

"Oh..." Lindsay leans back, comprehension slowly growing in his mind. "You dosed her. You knew she was going to take your powers all along."

"The gift I was given by the coven was the true essence of magic. Willow's magic came from a place of rage and power. The magic she took from me tapped into the spark of humanity she had left- helped her to feel again. Thankfully it gave Oz and the others the opportunity to finally reach her."

******

There's so much life
As morning comes...

In the rising glow of the full sunrise, Buffy and Cordelia stand watching as Willow sobs, cradled in Oz's arms. The dark energy had finally been absolved from the wiccan, leaving her red hair to reflect the sun's shimmering radiance. From his own spot along the edge of the hill, Angel casts one final glance at the heartrending scene over his shoulder before wearily making his way down the bluff's incline.

Which is how he came to discover Xander's lifeless body, lying beneath what had once been part of Proserpexa's altar. Bending down to check for the signs of life he knew he would not find, he felt the grief that came with a growing sense of resignation. Xander was pale and clammy- as much of him as was not covered in blood- and was showing all the classic signs of massive blood loss. The causes weren't hard to find- the wicked-looking wounds in his chest, and the huge, steadily flowing gash grazing his temple from the rock's blow. Whether one infliction had been more fatal than the other or whether the injuries had worked together to finally end Xander's suffering, Angel had only one certainty to bring back to the others waiting up top- both had come from Willow's own hand, the full repercussions waiting to unfold.

And its real...
The silence

******

Chapter 17

As promised, Doyle was early arriving at the mansion, Cordelia no more than a step behind him as they stepped inside. Quietly shutting the door behind her, the brunette spots Joyce already sitting in the great hall. "I'm gonna...go and..." she nods to across the room, receiving a weak smile from Doyle in approval. Letting his gaze linger on her for a few precious moments, watching as she smoothes a hand over the folds of her dress in her steps across the floor, the half-demon finally turns, headed towards the dining room. Hovered over a mess of folders and papers, Angel and Oz were already seated, while a clearly frustrated Lindsay was in the midst of his phone call, pacing around them wildly.

Spotting him out of the corner of his eye, Angel motions for him to come over, lifting his head from where he'd been leaning it against the wall to greet him. "How's your arm?"

"Still there," he shrugs, his shoulder stirring slightly beneath the sling. "At least I hope it's still underneath there. Doctor said it's only a small fracture. Should heal in no time." Besides the few bumps and bruises that they'd all sustained at one point or another over the past few days, Doyle had been the only one seriously injured. And in the face of all they'd endured, having a broken arm was hardly serious. "Hurts like hell though."

"...I realize that, but these are special circumstances, detective," they overhear the young lawyer's desperate voice bark out. "I don't think you realize everything that needs to be considered-"

"And I don't think *you* realize that I could care less about your 'special circumstances', McDonald," the detective snaps back, hardly in the mood to deal with the devious lawyer she'd already had too many dealings with in the past. "I have procedures to stick by."

" 'Detective'?" Doyle stares over to him. "You talkin' to Lockley?" At Lindsay's grimace, he stands to his feet, a quick wave of his hand signaling to be handed the cordless. "Kate...are we having a problem settling all of this?"

"The only problem I have is being brought into this case in the first place," her voice begins teetering with irritation. "It's bad enough my men have had to clean up all of your messes here in LA. Why should any of your latest problems in Sunnydale concern me?"

"Good question...but why don't you ask whoever called you in to investigate this in the first place instead of trying to make things harder for everyone on our end?" Though he had a good idea Lilah had probably placed a call to the detective the second she'd heard about the week's tragic events, he decides to probe Kate for some details anyway. "Just who is paying you to look into this case anyway?"

"Wouldn't you like to know..."

Feeling his own features turn grim at the sound of the discouraging conversation, Oz reaches across the table, grabbing one of the folders, and begins looking through its too-familiar contents with a heavy heart. "I, uh...I stopped by Giles' place last night," he begins softly over to Angel, though his eyes barely shifted from the contents of the file's contents.

"Is everything set?"

"Just about. He said they'd be leaving tonight. Right after..." he finds himself trailing off, too overcome to verbalize the two events he'd been dreading all week. He'd already been given the chance to say his private goodbye for the one, the second quickly approaching within the hour.

"...don't give me that crap, Kate!" Doyle's harsh snap breaks Oz from his thoughts. "You weren't here, you don't know how everything went down, so don't start with the accusations, alright?" Sensing another opportunity to jump in, Lindsay brusquely lifts the phone from his friend, trying his second approach at reaching their mutual 'connection' in LA. "Kate, we've already been over everything. How are you going to tell me you can't settle all of this from your end?"

"I never said I *can't*...I just said I *won't*."

Having listened to the back and forth banter between the lawyer and detective mostly all morning, Angel was just about ready to step into the matter himself until hearing the mansion's front doors open once more. Peering across the hall to see Gunn appear in the doorframe, his features lighten, just barely enough to bring him to his feet as he makes his way over to him.

"Hey man," Gunn offers a quick nod in greeting. "The limo just picked us up. You all about ready to head over?"

"Yeah." Taking a step back to let him fully into the mansion, Angel gives his friend a quick once over before turning to let the others know they were getting ready to leave. "Aren't you missing something?"

"Huh?" A quick look down to where the former vampire was pointing reminds Gunn of the small item missing from his otherwise fitting attire. "Oh yeah- couldn't find a tie this morning. Fred said not to worry about it. I guess I shouldn't be worrying about it. I mean, you're not wearing one," he points out, noting the total absence from the unbuttoned, dark blue collar of Angel's silk shirt. "I'm not too big on the whole 'dressy' thing to begin with though, right? But I- I really did want to wear one for today. Graham's wearing one...I- I really should be wearing one too..." the young man's uncharacteristic babbling continues, his distress and grief lurking underneath. "I guess it's not really that important," he shrugs, a brief pause lingering before his next disheartened thought. "Like anyone's gonna really be paying attention to stuff like that when we're out there."

Offering only a soft murmur of agreement in response, Angel slowly makes his way into the great hall. "The limo's here," he calls over to Joyce and Cordy, his eyes darting to the staircase. "Is Buffy still upstairs?"

"She was almost done when I came down," Joyce explains, already making a move to retrieve her daughter. "I'll get her."

"That's alright, Joyce," Angel reaches for her, a warm hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "I'll get her. I was going up to look for a tie for Gunn anyway," he manages a soft chuckle, throwing him a quick glance over his shoulder. "Go on out to the car," he yells down, already halfway up the stairs, "we'll be out in a minute."

For all his hurrying to reach the master bedroom, Angel was somewhat reluctant to step inside. Shedding his momentary hesitation, he swings the door open, giving a soft knock to the doorframe so as not to startle Buffy. "Hey..." His whisper carries across the room, falling upon the slayer's still frame, quietly seated on the edge of their bed. "We're ready to go."

With her hands resting limp in her lap, her shoulders slumped, Buffy remains silent, staring ahead at the full-length mirror from her old bedroom standing just a few feet from the bed. She looked so forlorn and inconsolable, her dark attire an extension of her despondency.

Taking his place beside her, Angel's own eyes remain fixed on their somber reflections as he reaches out tentatively for her hand. In her first bit of movement since finishing getting dressed, Buffy closes her eyes, willing the tension behind them to disappear, but to no avail. Closing her eyes only seemed to make the scenes of the past week all the easier to relive instead of remove. As she tries to suppress the accompanying shudder, Angel glances down at her, sensing her growing anxiety, her unwillingness to have to go through with the finality of the whole ordeal. His lips lower to brush across her cheek, the hand that had been firmly grasping hers coming to rest across her shoulders.

Without a word, her eyes still closed, Buffy crawls up against him searching for familiar comfort. Angel rests his head atop hers, lightly stroking the curve of her spine. "We should go," he feels her mumble against his side, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes for the first time since he'd entered their room. With a gentle nod, he offers her his hand, pulling them both to their feet and towards the closet. With Buffy clinging to his left arm, Angel makes a quick search through its contents with his right, finally producing a simple black tie.

"For Gunn," he answers the slight confusion etched across Buffy's face. He passes her a small grin, relieved to see her return it in part as they begin their walk downstairs.

Still hugging to Angel's side, the slayer's eyes shift upward as she picks up on the all too familiar sound of Lindsay's frantic yelling echoing out from the kitchen. "Don't try and lecture *me* about the law, Kate, cause you're jerkin' around the wrong guy! The only thing I know how to play better than our annoying little legal system is...well..." his smile turns to a smirk, one he was sure she'd pick up on over the line, "...I guess I don't have to tell you, now do I darlin'?" he reminds her with surly amusement.

"You're a complete, worthless bastard, you know that, McDonald?" she sneers in disgust, hating the man whom she'd foolishly let 'play' her all too often in the past.

"I pride myself on it," he drawls, quick to repay her taunt with another one of his own, "and as I recall, I had you singing quite a different tune not too long ago. You used to pride me on a helluva lot more than my malevolence...I had you singing my more *endearing* praises sometimes three, four times a week, didn't I, dear?" The angry frustration in the detective's accompanying muttering falls like sweet music on Lindsay's ears as he thumbs through the pages of his file in hand. "Okay- you want something legal...without evidence and without witnesses, none of the rag-tag cops here have even tried to make a case-"

"Out of *MacClay's* death," she points out. "Tara was already reported as a homicide. I'll grant you that- open and shut case right there. What about Harris? And Finn for that matter-"

"As far as anyone's concerned, Riley's taken a leave of absence," Lindsay casually notes. "No body was found, remember?"

"Still...how the hell do you expect me to cover up all of this?"

"Hey, you're the detective. Why don't you tell me?" he asks bitterly.

"It's not that simple, McDonald, and you know it. Look, I've covered your ass as best I could for the last few years- this time your, uh, 'circumstances' are stretching things way too far. My hands are tied."

"Yeah, and I'm willing to bet who's supplying the rope to tie 'em," he spits back indignantly, already anticipating his next encounter with the detective, as well as with his former associate.

"Don't you have a pathetic excuse for a nightclub you should be running instead of pestering me?"

"Yeah- and remind me who to take off the guest list. You'd just better have something for me to work with by tomorrow..." he pauses, noticing Buffy and Angel waiting for him in the hall, "...I'll be at your office first thing in the morning. Oh- and make sure to give Lilah my regards," he snaps triumphantly, dismissing her for the moment as he angrily slams the phone down. His heavy sigh follows the loud sound as he turns to follow the two lovers out of the mansion, an even more unsettling matter awaiting them all at Restfield Cemetery.

******

It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Is just the way that we had tied it
But there's no one home

"We have gathered here today to remember two dear friends, taken away from us at such tragically young ages...Tara Elizabeth Maclay and Alexander LaVelle Harris..."

The sky was an achingly beautiful blue, dotted by clean, white, wispy clouds. Rolling hills of green grass stretched out across the small community, the various scattered images playing out before the parked car's tinted windows. < Too picturesque a scene to be a cemetery... > For a moment, the englishman considers verbalizing his observation to his fellow passenger. But one quick glance to where Willow was idly staring out of her own window at the scene was enough to keep him silent a few moments longer, alone in tortured thought. He'd seen too much in his years; buried too many. He'd never thought he'd come to see this day. To have two young lives he'd come to value as dearly as his own snatched away right before him...it took all of his strength to contain his own emotions.

"You've packed everything you need?" Giles finally speaks up.

"I think so," Willow's eyes flicker to him, holding the elder man's gaze for a second before returning once more to look on to the gathered crowd. She'd expected there to be more people, but honestly wasn't all that surprised to see no more than the few that were present. "Wh- what time is it?"

"Oh...um, a little after three," Giles squirms a bit, shakily glancing down at his watch. "A- almost three-thirty." It was entirely too quiet in the back of the car, the two awkwardly silent for the next few minutes. The former watcher found himself wishing that one of them would say something. Anything. "Would you like to wait? I- I mean...wait until...everyone else has left?" It hit him then, watching the young girl as she absently folds her hands onto her lap, that he hadn't seen her cry at all. Not once. Not when she'd first heard the news, not as she'd packed, not when they'd finally gotten into the car, headed for Restfield. < I suppose that's still to come... >

"No..." her voice whispers over to him. "No. I just wanna...I'll say goodbye from here."

I grieve for you
And you leave me
So hard to move on
Still loving what's gone
Say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on

"We commend to almighty God..."

Buffy stares at the caskets in front of the kindly-faced minister; she wasn't really listening to him. The words came from his mouth, unbidden. Every once in a while, she would realize what he was saying. Just words...meaningless, empty words, holding no promise, and no hope of bringing either soul back. Their caskets were both closed- they'd been closed during the mass too. This was a good thing, she supposed; that she wouldn't have to stare at her friends' closed eyes. So she wouldn't be tempted to open them, to see if any shred of forgiveness lay in them. Forcing back an onslaught of fresh tears, her small frame presses lightly to Angel's side, trembling slightly as she tries to hide the truth from her friends and family, as well as herself. < Oh god...I failed them both. >

The news that truly shocks
Is the empty, empty page
While the final rattle rocks
Its empty, empty cage
And I can't handle this

"...earth to earth...ashes to ashes...and dust to dust..."

Angel, hand in hand with Buffy, had kept his head bowed during the opening prayer, glancing downslope at the gunmetal-gray caskets suspended over the open graves. With his knees threatening to buckle, he winces slightly, as if in sudden pain. His eyes instantly seal shut as the terrible image of Xander flat on his back, the column of stone smashed down across his bloodied frame, plays out before him yet again. All morning, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the nervous tension in anticipation of the funerals, and the finality of seeing the two names on the simple gravestones was jolting. Lifting his head, his eyes are hit with another wave of concern as he watches Buffy, looking as though she would barely be able to stand for another minute. In an instant, she buries her face against his shoulder, thankful to feel him gather her against him as he kisses her softly on the top of her head, murmuring whatever reassurances he could offer.

I grieve for you
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing what's gone
Say life carries on
Say life carries on and on and on

"The Lord bless them and keep them. The Lord makes his face to shine upon them and be gracious to them..."

Cordelia had chosen a spot near the back, a few steps behind all the others. Doyle maintains his warm presence at her shoulder, as she keeps her tear-streaked eyes down for the duration of the service, preferring to look at her clamped hands than at the flowers heaped at the graves before her. The loss of Tara had been bad enough, but to lose Xander...

It was better to try and analyze where all this grief, this pain, was really coming from because, really, Xander hadn't been *that* important a part of her life. At first, she'd thought that it was just misplaced grief from Tara's death. But the tears hurt a little too much to be just that, and she sniffled and teared up a little too much while looking at the flower bedecked ground for her tears to be just misplaced grief. So then where was all this coming from?

The tears were coming a little faster, dripping down her cheeks to splash and splatter, leaving small, round stains on her black dress, and with it, the painful realization of why she was crying. For the people whom she had known and loved and had died. More though, she cried for the funerals that were to come, for the memorial services and all the shiny, hard, wooden pews she would sit in and all the unknown friends who would stand and speak, the prayers and the songs that were yet to be sung. She cried because she knew that this was just the beginning, that this was just the first confrontation with the aftermath of death in a long, as yet to be experienced, line of emptiness and loss. But mostly for the emptiness and loss that had sprung below the painful realization that Xander Harris was an important part of her life, for good and ill, and now...she'd never have the chance to tell him as much.

Life carries on in the people I meet
In everyone that's out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust

For his own part, Oz watches the others in their remorse, unsure if the vaguely empty, hollow feeling overwhelming him was normal in the face of such sorrow. It was just that he was...numb. He didn't feel anything right now. Not love, not hate, not pain or sadness...or even happiness, as appalling as it might've sounded, to see the chief individual responsible for such suffering having finally been "dealt with" in a sense. There was nothing really deep, just flitting, empty images of feeling. The illusion of feeling that emptied him and numbed him all at once, made him depressed but in a cold, distant, indifferent way, like a bystander looking in on someone else's world- a world of sounds and images that signified nothing. He should have been sad, but instead he was empty and he wondered at that- wondered if any of it was real; and with the damage both done to and done by Willow, he wondered if anything could ever be real again.

Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on

"The Lord lift up his countenance upon them..."

In the rosy glow of the approaching sunset, Anya stands unobserved from across the field, hesitant to make a move to get any closer to the sight. With the pain in her own broken arm flaring up, she couldn't help but curse Xander in her mind, for this latest injury, as well as the numerous others. She'd inflicted excesses of pain in her own right- that much she was willing to admit, with even a certain sense of pride. But she'd dealt with her own pains as well, in large part thanks to him. Even now, standing before his final resting place, she attributes the heartache and sorrow quickly consuming her as being all his fault. The fact that he'd somehow managed to touch what few remains of true humanity she'd held onto in her lifespan left the restored demon with a new sensation of emotion. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she finds herself feeling remorse. Not an overwhelming amount, just the slightest twinge, but still...as much as she hated it, deep down she had to admit- she did love him. < Just typical...worthless weasel's finally gone and he didn't even give me the chance to say it to him. Inconsiderate little... > Folding her free arm across her chest, tucking it neatly below the sling suspending her other, she slowly turns away, leaving her final thoughts of Xander, as well as Sunnydale, behind her.

Just the car that we ride in
The home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
As life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on

"...and give them peace."

With a spasm of almost unendurable agony, Willow finally steps out of the black Lincoln towncar, not even bothering to shut the door behind her as she takes a few steps towards the edge of the field. Their two simple graves were being set only a few yards apart in a quiet corner of the graveyard. An old tree stretched its branches protectively over them, and had covered them with a soft shroud of fallen leaves. She'd already watched the funeral proceedings from inside the car, the whole ordeal having lasted only an hour. And now, with everyone being left to say their final goodbyes, the sight of the two coffins being lowered into the ground was quickly tightening the chokehold on her heart.

From her distance afar, she can make out her friends' sleek outlines, slowly departing from the cemetery. Their heads were all hanging low, as if, by now, lacking the strength to hold them up. Echoing their motions, she finds herself feeling suddenly so lost, so sad and desperate. From the anguish that had taken seemingly permanent residence within her comes the only words she can muster. "I'm sorry..." her inaudible whisper comes, her voice raw with suffering, haunted by memories.

She can feel Giles step alongside her, looking over to her with huge, worried eyes, asking "are you all right?" and resting his hand clumsily atop her shoulder in that heavy, awkward, masculine fashion of comfort. And even though she wasn't all right- wasn't anywhere near being 'all right,' would probably never be 'all right' ever again- she manages to smile, stopping the tears that were threatening to finally fall from her weary eyes, and say "yes" before taking her place back beside him in the car, setting off on her new journey- a road to recovery.

Did I dream this belief
Or did I believe this dream
How I will find relief
I grieve

******

Chapter 18

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. But like most ideas that start out that way, the plan was quickly turning into a nightmare. Despite his best efforts, Angel was having little luck in detering the unyielding force that he'd unsuspectingly unleashed on a nonstop rampage through the mansion. Well aware of the danger involved if he tried his own hand at stopping things, Doyle, much to Angel's dismay, remains silent, idly observing the havoc unfolding before him. Being left with only Gunn to turn to, Angel finds the young streetfighter offering little more than a shrug of bewilderment as help in the struggle. His strength completely drained, his will quickly fading, Angel finds himself ready to give up...

"There we go!"

...until Cordelia's latest floral arrangement comes swooping down on his desk, adding to the ever-growing jungle overtaking the mansion.

"You'd think you'd need a permit for all this wildlife," Doyle smiles from his seat, earning an unamused glare from Angel.

"Cordelia..." he sighs, trying to maneuver his way out from behind the massive piles of greenery, "I know I said you could decorate our office, but don't you think this is a little too...too..."

"Green?" Gunn offers, lifting up one of the pots containing one of the brunette's most recently overwatered victims. "Ya know, in two days you've managed to drown $1000 worth of plants."

"Well maybe if I had just a little more positive energy flowing in this place! And besides..." making a move to approach her boyfriend for his usual support, she wraps an arm around his shoulders, "...Doyle likes it, don't you?"

"Sure," he grins as if on cue, before lowering his voice to a whisper, "'course, I don't have to live here."

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, Angel merely shakes his head as he joins the half-demon on the couch, reaching down to put on his boots. The friends were headed over to Joyce's for dinner- their first night out together since the funerals three days ago. Though Lindsay was still in LA tying up "loose ends", the Scoobs seemed headed in the direction of recovery at a steady pace. They'd already started work on their first actual case, and the details of everyday living were slowly falling back into place.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Doyle smiles, giving Angel's shoulder a quick pat.

"Well I appreciate it, but I've known how to tie my shoes for a while now," he lets out a small laugh before looking back up at him.

"Delia told me about you and Buffy bein' engaged," he clarifies. "When do you plan on telling everyone?"

"Don't know." In all honesty, he'd hoped they'd be making the announcement tonight over dinner. But Buffy's reluctance over the past few days had left him wondering. In fact, several aspects in her behavior had left him unnerved, the most severe being her intensified ferver for patrolling. When he'd tried to talk to her about it, she just brushed it off like she didn't know what he was talking about. Even though he knew she was a very strong and capable person, slayer or not, it still worried him to see her completely immersing herself in her slaying while detaching from everything, and everyone, else.

"Buffy!" Cordy's shout to the descending blonde snatches Angel from his thoughts, pulling his eyes toward the stairway. The look he receives from her is as unfamiliar as her behavior- flat, distant, her eyes seemingly devoid of emotion as she clutches her jacket to her chest.

"You look great," Angel smiles at her choice dark attire, slowly making his way over to her.

"Oh no you don't- don't try and get her on your side-" Cordelia interjects, quickly cutting him off in his stride, linking her arm around her friend's as she maneuvers her off to the side. "Buffy, you'll back me up on this...what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"The office," the brunette cheers, making a proud wave of her arms at the progress she'd already made in the outcove that would be serving as the focal point of their establishment. "Isn't it great?"

"Oh...it's, uh...green...it's very...green."

"And..." Cordy tries once more, searching for more of a supportive compliment than just "green."

"It's nice," Buffy sighs sullenly, visibly withdrawing from her friend's anxious efforts. Tentatively accepting the hand Angel was offering her amidst Cordelia's groans of complaint, she casts her eyes to the clock, letting out her own sigh of frustration. "Why did we agree to go over to mom's tonight?"

"It'll be nice," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. "It'll do all of us good to get out for the night."

"Mmm..." comes her weak response as the couple falls in line behind the others, headed out to find some sense of normalcy in what they all hoped to be an enjoyable evening.

******

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

"Hi sweetheart," Joyce cheerfully greets her daughter, stepping back to let her and the others inside.

"Hey mom," Buffy offers in return, allowing herself to be wrapped up in her mother's warm hug. "How've you been?"

"Good," she smiles, happy to see her daughter in a somewhat better mood from the last time they'd talked. "Oh- where are Lindsay and Oz?"

"Still in LA," Angel answers, meeting her halfway in a quick hug. "They should be back by tomorrow night."

"Well then, I guess I'd better clear these away," Joyce says, removing the two place settings where the young lawyer and quiet musician would've been sitting across from her. Upon returning from the kitchen, she lets out a soft sigh, taking notice of the two other plates she'd set out, strictly by habit, for the other two now-absent members of the family. "I don't know where my head is. I guess it's just been too long since you've all been over...I keep thinking Tara and Willow are still...upstairs..."

Awkward silences fill in the gaps here and there as the friends clumsily try to feel their ways back into their usual routine, but by the time they were seated together at the table, they were all becoming more at ease. Some discussion of Cordelia's failed attempts to turn the mansion into her own botanical garden broke up a bit of the group's somberness, even drawing a few laughs from around the table.

However, the friends' conversation begins to drift into silence for Buffy as her eyes trail across the table, focusing on the picture laden wall. Various snapshots taken over the years were hung in a neat pattern, but one in particular was holding her painful interest. Taken only a few months earlier, sometime during the first week of classes, the picture of Willow and Tara, the smiles on their faces matching those of Buffy and Cordelia standing alongside them, seemed to be mocking the slayer, hanging just inches below a picture taken from the Scoobs' highschool graduation. The two photos shared a certain sense of playfulness, almost innocence; Xander in all his clowning glory, the developing affection between Willow and Tara. < God...how could you do that to them? > her tortured mental cry lashes through her mind, along with the suffocating memories. < How could you do that? How could you make them suffer like that? >

Something has been taken
From deep inside of me
A secret I've kept locked away
No one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show
They never go away
Like moving pictures in my head
For years and years they've played

But it wasn't God who was to blame after all; it was herself- she had failed them, failed all of them, left them undefended to suffer...to suffer what she should've stopped, but couldn't. She couldn't even see how far things had unraveled until it was too late. In those few short minutes, alone in her thoughts, she was learning to hate her memories. They didn't come quietly- they leapt at her like ravening beasts, drawing blood with every touch, forcing her to relive every instant with all the intensity of the originals.

If I could change, I would
Take back the pain, I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made, I would
If I could, stand up and take the blame, I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave

Only half caring whether Buffy was aware of his blatant staring from his seat beside her, Angel finds himself engrossed by her stoic expression, as if the simple act of observing her obvious pain and distress was draining all the strength out of him as well. And to see her like that- so alone and unhappy, so defensive...and defenseless. The mute pleading in every line of her body to escape from it all, all the torment, all the grief, was quickly bringing him face to face with his own all too familiar pains of memory from years passed.

Sometimes I remember
The darkness of my past
Bringing back these memories
I wish I didn't have
Sometimes I think of letting go
And never looking back
And never moving forward
So there'd never be a past

It was amid the slayer's heavy contemplations that Joyce's eyes finally pick up on the latest accessory to grace her daughter's left hand. "Buffy- is that..." An excited smile stretches out across her features as she lightly grabs hold of her hand, taking a closer inspection of the gleaming ring. "You two are engaged?" her hopeful gaze shifts over to Angel who, after somehow managing to tear his eyes away from Buffy, offers Joyce a small smile. "Honey, why didn't you say anything?"

"Huh?" Broken momentarily from her thoughts, she passes her mother an apologetic glance. "Oh...yeah. I guess...I guess it just slipped my mind," she mutters defensively, letting her eyes slide away from Joyce, as if she couldn't bear to look at her...or be looked at. "With everything this week..."

"Well this is wonderful," the proud mother persists brightly. "Just wonderful. Congratulations!" Pulling Buffy into a tight hug, she's somewhat surprised to feel her eager to pull away. "Shouldn't dinner be ready by now?" she asks quietly, rising to her feet, headed towards the kitchen.

"And here I thought we'd be breakin' out the champagne," Gunn muses, trying to relieve some of the tension that had mounted. Seeing that his efforts, though well-intended, weren't helping matters much, he fidgets uncomfortably in his seat between Fred and Graham, watching intently as Joyce stands to follow Buffy.

"Honey?" Taking a tentative step to approach her, Joyce places a warm hand across her daughter's shoulder. "Are you okay?" she finally asks helplessly, even though it was obvious that she was anything but okay.

"I'm fine, mom," the tired blonde answers. "Really-"

"No you're not. You've barely said two words all night, let alone the past few days." Joyce was well aware as to how upset Buffy had been by everything that had happened- they all were. But the severity of her daughter's reaction was just now dawning on her. "Sweetheart, you can't do this to yourself. None of this was your fault-"

"Mom, I'm fine," she cuts her off before her pent up emotions can sneak to the surface. "I'm just tired, that's all. You don't have to start getting all postal about anything, okay?" Quickly spinning on her heel, she turns to head back out into the dining room, stopping in the kitchen doorframe as she sees Angel's new position next to Fred, the two fussing over a few sheets of paper.

"I know this isn't really the best time and all," the young girl falters a bit, feeling slightly guilty at having brought up the matter, "but I just thought you'd want to know what I'd found so far."

"No," Angel's quick to wave off her apologies, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder as he leans in to look over her work, "this is great, Fred. I'm surprised you've managed to get this much done."

"Well the text is so old, and since we're not really sure where exactly Lindsay got it, I'm not even sure whether what I've translated is even accurate." As she adjusts her glasses, intently reading through the papers, she casts a quick glance up to see Buffy's solemn frame standing off to the side.

"Hey," Angel's eyes follow Fred's, and he pulls himself out of his seat, making a swift move towards her. "Everything alright?" he asks, but reads his answer in the look of anguish that flashes across the slayer's face.

"I think I'm gonna head home," she explains, already making a move to grab her jacket.

"But we haven't even eaten yet," Cordy offers her form of reasoning, now growing concerned herself at her friend's behavior.

"I'm not really hungry. But you guys stay," she tries making her voice sound as pleasantly convincing as possible, hoping they would drop the matter before pressing her any further.

"Yeah," Angel jumps in, quick to back her up and hoping maybe once they'd gotten home they'd have a chance to talk, "we'll just meet up tomorrow morning to-"

"You should stay too," her suggestion takes him by surprise as she meanders out of his embrace, already halfway into the living room before giving him chance to recover. "You and Fred can finish up...whatever you were doing-"

"Buffy-"

"I'll see you back home." With those five words, she makes her departure, a certain resolution in her steps as she heads out into the darkened city.

"What was that all about?" Graham raises the question on everyone's mind, clearly stunned by Buffy's sudden coldness.

"Don't know," Angel sighs before slipping into his own jacket, his hand already pulling back the door to follow after her, "but I'm gonna find out."

"I hope Angel manages to calm her down tonight," Graham's voice breaks the heavy silence that had accompanied the lovers' departures.

"Yeah..." Gunn turns to face him, "...before she gets any worse."

"Well not only that, but I'm supposed to be training with her tomorrow morning." Seeing their quizzical stares, the young fighter offers his defense. "Well forgive me if I don't feel like getting an early morning beating as a wake-up call. How'd you like sparring with a pissed off slayer?"

******

Just washing it aside All of the helplessness inside

Three hours worth of detective Lockley's paperwork and questioning had left Oz with an even heavier heart than before first arriving in LA. He thought he'd already endured all the pain that could be endured when he'd had to watch Willow's departure three days earlier. But the memories that accompanied all of Kate's investigative procedures sent him past every conceivable limit, and when Lindsay finally emerged from the detective's office, the young man had a new agenda set out before him.

"I'm almost done in here," Linds nods softly, tucking away his cell inside his jacket. "We should be ready to leave in-"

"I'm not going back."

"What? Wait, wait...what do you mean?"

"I'm not going back to Sunnydale yet," Oz clarifies. "I just...need a little time to get away from everything. Clear my head, ya know? Devon and the rest of the guys will be up here in a few days for a gig. I'll stick around here until then. Maybe head up along the coast for awhile after that."

"What about the others? I mean, they'll be expecting you back. Willow..." he falters to a halt, his face crumpling with compassion when his friend freezes, his eyes going wide as the mention of her name hits him like a sharp blow. "Willow *is* coming home, Oz."

"I know. Giles said by the end of the summer. And I'm gonna be the first one she sees the minute she gets back," his face lightens a bit, a profound determination evident in his features. "But right now...I just..."

"I understand," he smiles weakly, not wanting him to leave, but not knowing how to make him stay. "What do you want me to tell everyone?"

"Just tell Angel I'll call him in a few days," Oz manages a grin, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder as he turns to leave the police station. "He'll know why."

******

Pretending I don't feel misplaced
Is so much simpler than change

The clock on the office wall was peering at her with an accusatory glare, and from behind her massive desk, Lilah was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the paperwork strewn across the wooden surface. She'd had her head buried in the latest report of one of her clients handiwork: one slaughtered young girl, two victims with half of their heads snapped off, and one man who had suffered a shattered skull. "Nasty way to go..." she mutters aloud, though admittedly pleased with all of the damage her client had inflicted. A knock at the door makes her jump, spilling pages and photographs from the folder. Looking up towards the door, already pretty sure she knew who her late night visitor was, she offers Lindsay a pleasant invite. "Isn't it past your bedtime, McDonald?" she eyes him callously, smiling to herself as she watches him cross the room to her desk. "I would've thought you'd be back home with your new family by now. Oh- but that's right," she leans forward on one hand, inching her face closer to where he had taken a seat, "you've never really been big on having a *real* family, have you?" Her smile widens even more as she sees the impact her words were having. "No...I didn't think so."

"Harris is being written up as a botched suicide," he maintains his composure, trying to cut his way past her insight. "No one's gonna be charged with anything."

"Oooo...and just how much did that one cost you with Lockley?"

"No thanks to you."

"Doesn't matter, Linds. None of this matters. Do you actually think that your recent streak of heroics is going to get you anywhere with them? You think by clearing up the mess that the slayer's witchy friend left behind is gonna redeem you in her eyes? Face facts- you and I are one in the same...people don't change, Lindsay. How do you think they're gonna react when they find out just what was in that book you brought them?" By now at the end of his patience, the frustrated lawyer leaps from his chair, slamming a fist down on the desk.

"What the hell have you done, Lilah?"

"Nothing...I haven't done a thing," she leans back confidently, a bemused grin stretching out across her face at her former associate's weakness. "You on the other hand...are gonna have a lot to answer for."

******

Chapter 19

Wincing from the impact of being launched a good ten feet across the cemetery, Buffy somehow manages to keep a grip on her stake, clutching it firmly to her side as she flips herself to her feet, looking frantically around for where her fanged counterpart had scattered. "Come on, buddy. Ya know, this is gonna get old really fast- I chase you, you chase me..." Her eyes quickly dart from side to side, still trying to spot the remaining vamp she'd been pursuing. "Why not just come out and get it over with, huh?"

"If you insist," her prey catches her from behind, tackling her to the grass. As he reaches an arm back, his other firmly holding the slayer down, choking her into the ground, his ears pick up on something cutting through the air; a whirring sound that ends with something slamming straight into him. A quick glance down gives him just enough time to see the stake protruding from his chest, his ashes quickly speckling Buffy's jacket.

Sensing a new presence behind her, the slayer tenses for another attack. In a swift motion, she springs up, whirling around to face the approaching threat. As she does, she catches a glimpse of Angel's dark, unmistakably spiked hair. "Nice aim."

"Thought you were headed home," he brushes off her casual remark, trying to convey the seriousness of his approach. "What are you doing?"

"My job," the slayer replies, a little too earnestly, as she shoots him a tight glare.

"We already did our sweeps earlier tonight."

"So? Since when is there a limit on slaying?" Turning her back to him, anxious to place some distance between them, she meanders her way through the rows of headstones, vaguely aware that he was only a step or two behind her.

"You do realize you've probably dusted every vampire within city limits, right?"

"Your point being...?"

"Why the sudden patrol craze?"

Coming to an angry halt, Buffy nearly collides with his shoulder as she spins around. Bracing her feet, her arms crossed, she fixes him with an accusing stare. "Slaying isn't just some urge, Angel- it's a duty. A job. *My* job, in case you haven't noticed over the past few years. So why don't you just go home and let me do *my* job without having to worry about you-"

"I can take care of myself," he makes a sudden grab of her arm, keeping her from fully turning away from him again, "it's you I'm worried about."

"You don't have to. I'm fine-"

"No you're not!" The brief wave of anger that had been building in response to her less than encouraging attitude begins to melt, puddling back into compassion. "Talk to me, Buffy. What's wrong?"

"Why does everyone think something's wrong?"

"Because you've been pushing us all away, and-"

"And I'm fine," she curtly finishes for him, finally succeeding in freeing herself from his grip. "Look...I'm tired, and it's been a long day, so let's just go home, alright?"

Not being given much of a choice, Angel's left to watch Buffy hurriedly storming off towards the mansion. The only consolation he could muster was that, with the sole exception of Joyce, whom Buffy chose to simply ignore, every other one of the Scoobs was being treated with the same disdain and at times anger that he'd just been shot down by. With his shoulders slumped, arms tucked under his duster, he follows after her into the refuge of the night, his face washed over in anguish- his mind already sensing the damage that had been done.

******

Between Buffy's tossing and turning, her restless movements mirroring his just as agitated thoughts over her emotional condition, Angel was hardly surprised to find that sleep had eluded him yet again. Stretched out on his stomach, he cranes his neck just enough for one eye to sneak a quick glance at the clock resting on the nightstand to his left. A faint chorus of laughter slowly builds up along the hallway, briefly diverting his attention. Apparently the others had accepted his offer of breakfast before getting started on their current case.

Trying to hold onto the small piece of contentment he'd been granted, he remains still, a single unblinking eye fixed on the taunting red gleam of the digital numbers. 8:53...9:02...9:17...

The sun had risen hours ago, casting its lively rays over his less than reciprocating frame. Knowing that if he didn't make a move to do so now, he never would, he makes a weary attempt to fully awake, his eyes still somewhat adjusting to a brightness they hadn't experienced in ages. Rubbing his face with his bare arm, he finally succeeds in rolling over, staring with surprising slowness at the complete absence of Buffy's warm body clinging to his own.

******

"You know that point just after you wake up when you're not really sure if you're awake or asleep?"

"Okay..."

"I go through that almost every day until I get my first cup of coffee."

Eyeing Gunn with an affectionate smile, Fred lets out a small laugh as she watches him cross the mansion's kitchen, eagerly pouring out the blue mug he'd been sipping from. "So why are you pourin' it out?"

"Because this stuff barely passes as colored water!" he snaps, his outburst clearly directed to the tall brunette who'd made the awful brew. "Since it is part of your job description Cordy, you'd think you'd learn how to make a decent cup of coffee!"

The ensuing argument that had become routine for the two friends does little to put a damper on the brunette's happy mood. She quickly dismisses Gunn's complaints, preferring to lean back on her own chair, her legs stretched out across Doyle's lap. She was excited, in her usual animated way, about this morning's breakfast since beginning a case meant the beginning of her salary.

"Funny..." Angel's voice takes them by surprise as he slowly makes his descent along the massive stairway, "if I didn't know better I'd think you all come here for the free food."

"Well, that and the free entertainment," Doyle gives him a quick grin.

"And since when are Cordy's attempts at cooking considered entertaining rather than painful to watch?"

"He's talking about the massacre going on down the hall," the brunette returns with a smirk. "Sounds like Graham's really taking a beating."

Angel walks over to the kitchen counter, snatching an orange from the bowl of fruit. He pauses over the stack of mail lying beside the porcelain bowl, idly sorting through the stack until reaching the bottom of the pile. "How long have they been training?" he frowns in concern.

"Since we got here-"

"Almost two hours ago," Gunn finishes for his girlfriend. Passing Angel a sidelong glance, he notices his boss engrossed in his letter, a look of relief slowly etching over his face. "What's that?"

"Letter from LA...from Lockley's office." Refolding the paper, he hands it off to the table as he passes by. "Investigation's been called off."

"I guess McDonald actually came through for us," Doyle muses.

"That's gotta be a first," Gunn adds, giving the letter a quick once over. The sudden blur that comes flying out of the spacious gym room, bearing a close resemblance to Graham, draws the friends' eyes, Angel and Gunn being the first to rush over to his aid.

"You okay?"

"Uh huh..." Graham moans, one hand clutching his stomach, the other pressed against his throbbing head.

"Can you get up?"

"Can I just lie here?" he lifts a weary stare to Gunn's offer to help him to his feet, opting for a more prone approach to alleviate some of his pain. With a painful intake of air, he tries sitting up, watching Angel take a step around him, anxiously headed towards the gym. "Angel...you'd better do something, and fast, before she totally loses it and kills one of us in the process...namely me."

******

Muscles quivering sporadically, the troubled slayer glides through her rountine in a semi-trancelike state, a personification of rage. Wisps of golden hair tangled about her face, her hands clenching intermediately, short and shaky breaths follow each punch to heavy weight bag that had taken Graham's place. The anger pulses through her, throbbing with her heartbeat before she forces it down, her eyes finally picking up on her new visitor.

"Thought I'd fill in for Graham," Angel fully steps into the room, a careful slowness in his step. Buffy watches him silently, a guarded expression on her face and when she finally speaks her voice is flat.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright. He's just got a slight case of internal bleeding."

A feral expression of hatred etched in her features, nostrils flaring tightly, eyes slitted like a cat, the slayer returns to her focus, her new training partner finding it very hard to maintain his balance behind the punching bag she was pummeling. "So...how did you sleep?"

"Fine," her response comes, followed by a sharp kick to the bag's center, and, in effect, right into Angel's stomach on the other side.

"You feeling okay?"

"We gonna talk or train?"

"You tell me." Releasing the bag, he steps away to fully face her, an annoyed stare marring his features. "You ready to talk yet?"

"About what?"

******

Having overheard what he was sure to be only the beginning of an argument between the two, Doyle takes it upon himself to set the team's initiative for getting started on their case.

"We're just gonna leave them here?" Cordy looks to the half-demon in concern. Sharing her friend's apprehension, Fred chimes in.

"Shouldn't we stick around?"

"Please...with all the weapons they've got lyin' around here?" Doyle raises his brow in fear. "You really wanna risk being caught in the middle?" Suddenly struck with the incentive, Cordy rises to her feet, already retrieving her car keys from her purse.

"Good point. I'll drive."

******

"You're not okay, and if you think you are, then you're just kidding yourself!" Angel finally snaps, his voice echoing off the walls as he storms after Buffy down the hall. Taking him by surprise, the slayer spins around to face him, looking him dead in the eye.

"Who are you to decide whether or not I'm okay?"

"Buffy...I know something's wrong," he pleads, sending her a sad quizzical look in the process, a look she chooses to ignore, which only makes her feel guilty on top of all her other negative feelings. "Just tell me and we'll work it out together."

"I don't need your help, because there's nothing to help me with," she brushes his efforts off yet again, practically shouting this time. Turning her back to him, she makes her way over to the stairs, barely reaching the first landing before Angel's voice calls out to her once more.

"It wasn't your fault."

She hesitates briefly, not willing to let herself off that easy. "I..." As much as she wanted to, as desperately as she knew she needed to, she wouldn't allow herself any form of reprieve, any alleviation of the blame she knew lay soley with her.

"Nothing that happened was your fault." He crosses over to the stairway, reaching a tentative hand up to her shoulder. She stiffens, which Angel knew from long experience meant he should just drop the subject *now*. But he couldn't stand to see her upset like this. He knew he was treading on very dangerous ground. "If Xander hadn't...done everything that he'd done...Buffy, *his* actions started this whole chain of events, not yours."

In an instant, the small blonde pulls away, stepping past him into the great hall. Before he heard the words, Angel could see something inside the slayer snap; the sudden flash in her eyes, the burning rage in her face startled him, even before she let out a sound that he translated as scornful amusement directed at him. "Of course you'd say that- what else would I expect considering how *great* the two of you got along."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He didn't deserve to die-"

"I never said that!"

"Oh yeah...? Well maybe you never said it, but that doesn't mean you didn't want it!"

"What are you saying?" he frowns, still not seeing where she was going with this.

"You were the one who found him...at the bottom of the hill. You were the only one there to see- to help him. But did you?" she demands, narrowing her eyes and watching him closely.

"No, I didn't," Angel replies, somewhat defensively. "I *couldn't*- he was already...he'd already died...by the time I'd reached the bottom, he was already...there was nothing I could do- nothing *any* of us could do for him, Buffy," he stresses. "He was already dead."

"And just how do the rest of us know that for sure, huh?" she snaps back viciously. "It's no secret you hated him, Angel! Did you even try? Did you even check to see if he was still breathing? For all we know you could've just stood there and let him suffer! Or maybe you just took it upon yourself to end his suffering for him!"

This last statement was vastly unfair, and in a remote corner of her brain, she knew that she was being neither rational nor fair. But at this point, forcing herself not to wallow in self-pity any more, she would take any outlet she could find for her own anger and frustration.

"Okay..." Angel finally says softly after a few silent moments have passed. It took quite a bit to get him this worked up; in fact he couldn't remember being this upset for some time. Buffy's cutting words were enough to push him to his own tears, but he maintains his composure. He looks at her for a long moment before pacing over to the couch, slumping down as he runs a hand through his hair. "Blame me, okay? Be mad- be mad at me, take it out on me. If that's what it takes for you to deal with this-"

"No- you know what it'll take for me to deal with this..." with an angry glare, inwardly directed at her own behavior, she storms past him. Shaking with anger, near tears from frustration, she heads out the front door. "...a change in scenery."

******

Chapter 20

The drive back to Sunnydale was unusually long for the young lawyer. He'd had his work cut out for him over the past few days, and above all else, the whole ordeal had just left him so tired. After locking the door behind him, he slowly drags himself through his loft, stealing a sidelong glance at the clock before tossing his bag and keys aside. "Not even noon..." he grumbles, making a quick stop in the kitchen for the familiar scotch bottle and glass. Having already kicked his boots off in the hallway, he slumps down into a chair, his legs stretched out before him on the small table. If he could just manage to sleep until five; maybe stretch it to six. Seven would be pushing it, since he wanted to get to the Bronze early for the routine inventory checks, but if he could just get a good few hours rest. "And I still need to book another band for this week..."

Filling his glass a third time, he pulls himself back to his feet, shuffling down the hall to his bedroom. Finally reaching the all-too inviting mattress, he flops onto his back, settling the quickly-emptying bottle between his legs. He was getting sick of this place, sick of this whole city, and sick of trying to keep a low profile. "Low profile...now that's a laugh," he snorts inaudibly. He lets his head sink into the heap of pillows, his sleep-deprived mind too clouded for him to do much else but lay, alone in his exhaustion, alone in his thoughts. And yet...there was a presence in the room that set the hairs prickling along the back of his neck. All of his instincts told him he was no longer alone, that there was someone or something in here with him, something...tortured and desperate.

But as quickly as the uneasy feeling began to creep through his system, he abandons it, along with the glass resting in his hand, in favor of drinking straight from the bottle, giving little thought as to whether it's the last in the cabinet, or at least enough to last him for the rest of the week. With the hope of chasing away his sudden worry and discomfort with the warm liquor pouring down his throat, he drinks deep, nearly choking when he hears the sound of soft footsteps. At first, he suspects only one intruder, but his ears pick up on a series of soft voices. Each of the six is clearly distinct from the one before it, each one familiar to him, yet each only a faint fragment of a whisper accompanying the return of the presence.

/You know they won't understand. They won't want to understand-/

/Not that anyone ever could./

/This is beyond their understanding-/

/Beyond their control./

/It's one thing to be aware of the possible consequences-/

/Another to actually suffer them.../

"Oh yeah...?" he slurs out, yelling in a vain attempt to scare off his onslaught of intruders, "well whoever the hell is out there is gonna be sufferin' a whole mess of consequences, cause trust me, you don't wanna mess around with this guy! You hear me?!" he trails off as he catches a movement coming towards his bedroom, the final voice's owner appearing in the doorframe.

"How can you fit that much ego into such a thin body?"

"Buffy??" Lindsay's head jerks up, startled out of his reverie. Propping himself up slightly, his surprised expression softens when recognition fully dawns on him. "Wh- what're you doin' here?"

"Thought I'd welcome you home," she offers him a warm smile, her eyes slowly trailing to the almost emptied bottle. "Looks like you're already getting settled."

"Oh...yeah- I just got back. How'd you get in here anyways? I- I didn't hear you knock."

"Secrets of the slayer." She takes her time in crossing the room, her boots clicking on the hardwood floor. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she folds her arms across her chest, looking him over critically. "Do you really think you belong here?" Buffy's face turns serene as she waits for his response, a hint of a smile on her lips. Her normally bright eyes seemed dark and cold, almost scornful.

"Well, considering this is my place, I'd have to say yeah," he laughs. Mixed with all the scotch, her sudden change in attitude was leaving him more than a little confused. "I, uh...I straightened things out with Lockley in LA. Everything's been taken care of..." he trails off, shaking his head in disbelief at the sight of the small blonde slowly inching towards him on the bed. He makes a move back from her, sitting upright against the mound of pillows, but he falters for a moment. Her eyes had a strange hungry gleam, and he could feel her gaze raking over him like a physical force. "Buffy? What're you doing?" "Doing what I do best," she grins, her lips sliding into a thin smile. "And I'm the best at what I can do. You know, I honestly don't think there's a human word fabulous enough for me."

Lindsay can only stare back at her for several moments. Alcohol blurring his senses or not, Buffy had certainly developed a strange sense of humor in the few days he'd been away; a weird blend of iniquity and flirtatiousness. But he'd spent so many nights wishing for this, and whatever the cause of it, he wasn't ungrateful for her sudden fervor in directing it towards him. He rubs his neck nervously, drawing another smile from her in response. As he shifts once more against the pillows, he finds her now completely kneeled overtop of him, leaned forward, though still not touching him. All unknowing, he reaches out for her. "Buffy, I-"

"But not just yet." With her face coming just within inches of his, she slowly pulls away, gracefully standing back to her feet. "That's all right though. I can be patient. You know, the next few months are going to be quite a ride. And I think we're all going to learn something about ourselves in the process. You'll learn you're a pathetic schmuck...if it hasn't sunk in already."

"What?" he scoffs weakly. Lifting a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress his oncoming headache, he manages to sit up in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?" "Look at you...tried to do what's right. Just like the rest of them. You still don't get it. It's not about right. Not about wrong. It's about power..."

Then there was nothing, Buffy's presence completely disappearing before his eyes, and he was alone once again. "God, I have to get some sleep...I'm startin' to hallucinate!" Only...somehow he had the eerie feeling that what he'd seen was no hallucination.

******

Chapter 21

The red Saturn races towards Revello Drive, its engine roaring across the otherwise quiet afternoon sky as it speeds down the road. From his seat beside his less-than cautious girlfriend, Doyle manages to catch a quick glimpse of the row of streetlights, Cordelia driving past them so quickly they were reduced to only blurs. "I don't suppose you'd like me to drive?"

"Why?" the brunette flashes him a quick grin. "We're almost there."

"Okay then. At least lemme offer ya two words- speed limit," he shakily advises her.

"God- you're starting to sound like Angel." Reluctantly shifting to a lower gear after making the final turn, Cordy regards him stoically for a moment before finally raising the question she knew to be on both their minds. "How do you think things went with Buffy and Angel?"

"Well...haven't gotten any calls from the hospital. That's always a good sign." His light response is rewarded with a sound jab to his slinged arm.

"Doyle, I'm serious. I mean, what if Angel couldn't talk some sense into her? What are we supposed to do?" Finally reaching the house, she brings the car to a stop, narrowly missing Joyce's mailbox, and turns to him, still waiting for an answer. "Well?"

"All I know is I'm not takin' a number to be her next sparrin' partner."

"Big help. You sure you didn't break your arm *and* your head?" With an exhausted roll of her eyes, she goes to hop out of her seat, surprised to feel the half-demon's hand wrap around her arm, holding her back.

" 'Delia wait." Lacing their fingers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand gently, he's thankful to see her slowly turn back around to face him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset ya. I'm worried about things too...just got a strange way of dealing with it."

Her annoyance evaporates at the sight of his small grin, prompting her to offer her own apology. "I'm sorry too. You know how I get all worked up over things." Another smile flickers to Doyle's lips. "S'all right," he half-shrugs before pulling her down for a quick kiss. "We'll deal with all of this."

"Along with our case," she reminds the both of them, turning to head into the house. "You can wait out here. I shouldn't be long with Joyce."

With the gentle hum of the air conditioning covering the few sounds her heels make, Cordy glides down the hallway of the Summers' house. "Joyce? You home?" Her wandering gaze scans all of downstairs before turning towards the stairway. "Helllooo? Joyce?"

She reaches the top of the stairs, heading in the direction of Joyce's room, but stops just short as she catches a glimpse of a familiar face through the slightly ajar door of Buffy's old room. "Buffy?" Startled at seeing her here, she breezes through the doorway in concern, quickly taking in the room; the slayer was sitting on the floor, just beneath the opened window, her face angry and tear-stained.

"Buffy, what happened?"

"Ever heard of knocking?" she snaps angrily, choosing not to answer her friend's question.

"You've been crying," the brunette persists, ignoring Buffy's anger for the moment. "Did you and Angel talk?" she asks, slowly crossing the room, reaching out a hand to her.

"Don't touch me." Shrinking back from her touch, Buffy turns to her side, preferring to face the wall instead of her friend's sympathetic eyes. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Looking for Joyce. One of the files we need to translate that text of Lindsay's is from her museum. Weird huh? This kinda stuff is usually Giles' department."

"She just left for the museum," she offers glumly, hoping it would give her the incentive to leave. "Something about a robbery last night."

"Really?" Things just didn't seem to be working in their favor lately; not like they ever really did. "Have you...told Angel? Is- is he here with you?"

"Back at the mansion," she chokes out from under a muffled sob.

"Well, is he...okay?" her eyes meet hers in a quizzical stare. "Please don't tell me you killed him. I haven't even gotten paid yet."

"Paid?"

"You know- first paycheck?"

"For what?!" Buffy yells in response to her typical sense of priorities, even less appreciated now than usual. "You make god-awful coffee and annoy the hell out of everyone! That's hardly what I'd call meaningful and endearing work."

"Hey, I file! What do you call this?" she gestures to the few folders she'd been carrying with her. Before turning sharply on her heel, she throws Buffy a hard, pointed stare over her shoulder. "Besides, it's more work than *some* people have been doing lately."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, you ditz?!" she screams, her voice cracking as she jerks herself to her feet, following after her. "You think all of what I have to do is so easy? Being the slayer, having all of these responsibilities and powers...and still failing everyone!" she finally cries out in frustration.

"I never said that! I don't know how you can even think that! Nobody blames you for what happened because none of what happened was your fault! Everyone else knows that but you. And just because Angel, the devoted, lovesick fool that he is to you, is willing to put up with this attitude of yours and how you're dealing with things, that doesn't mean I'm not gonna tell you you're an idiot for not letting any of us help you with what you're going through!"

Surprising herself at her outburst, Cordy slowly shifts from her rigid stance to a slightly more relaxed position, running a hand through her hair, hoping her expression would soften in the process, while Buffy can only respond with a scoff of contempt. "Coming from Queen C herself, that means a whole lot to me."

"Ohhh no. No, no, no, no- see, we can't have this. With all we have to deal with, having one bitch in the gang is just about all the others can take, and I lay claim to that title."

"You're tellin' me," she mumbles, letting out a deep sigh, trying to regain her own composure. "Look Cordelia, I really don't feel like talking about this, okay?"

"Well if you do, I'm here. But Buffy..." she gives her a wary look before nodding curtly, "consider this my free advice of the day- if you don't deal with this, you're gonna lose everyone else you have left in your life...including Angel."

******

"There!"

Joyce's finger stabs viciously at the monitor screen as Doyle quickly freezes the screen on a blurred image of a figure leaping through the window, clutching a bag to him. There wasn't much to see- a lean figure dressed all in black, face mostly concealed by the darkness of the museum's corridors at night. "Sooo...what'd he take?" Cordy looks over to a still-fuming Joyce. She still couldn't believe it; in her years at the museum, there'd rarely been any mishaps, let alone a full-fledged robbery.

"Aside from the file you came looking for..." she reaches behind her desk, presenting the two with a picture of the stolen artifact, "...they took this sword as well. It's an ancient scythe. Rare...centuries old," she explains with a frown, turning to stare at the figure on the screen with every ounce of venom she could muster from within. "It just arrived the other day. Doyle- any idea who could've done this?"

"Looks like our thief knew what he was doing. And what he was after."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that whoever broke in here took the sword *and* the exact file we were looking for?"

"You think somebody else is looking to find out what's in that book?" Cordy asks, a new wave of concern hitting the three of them.

******

The free period on campus was always the most hectic. The students with their seemingly endless energy gathering in hordes in the lounge, cafeteria, and anywhere else they could take refuge from classes. Even though technically a member of the faculty, it wasn't unusual for Fred to find herself amongst them, more often than not catching up with Buffy, Cordelia, and Willow for lunch.

However, this afternoon was shaping up quite differently. She'd cancelled Psych class for the week, partly because of their loss of Tara, but more so because of the time she wanted to get in for more research on that text. Sitting behind at her desk, one of several in the Psych department's openspaced office, Fred takes a hasty bite from her sandwich. She eats mechanically, her eyes fixed on the laptop before her, its soft but rapid humming drawing a pleased smile from the young girl at its progress in translating the first few pages of the book.

Toying with the mouse, she highlights another column of the ancient text, her eyes barely darting away as she reaches for her water bottle. But when the screen comes into focus, a few parts of the section beginning to translate, she freezes, contemplating the name appearing before her on the screen. "Angelus? Why in the world would Lindsay give us somethin' on Angelus?"

"Miss Burkle?" the young secretary approaches the desk, hesitant to interrupt her colleague's work. "There's a young man here looking to enroll in your Experimental Psych class over the summer. Jason Leviathan?"

Fred briefly glances up at her with a half-attention, her eyes forward but not yet engaged. "Sure, sure...send him over Steph." Putting aside her work for the moment, trying to shake the uneasy feeling slowly building in her, she reaches for the young man's record from her pile. She'd read over it a few times, with mixed appreciation- juvenile delinquency was a gross understatement of what was within its pages. Senseless destruction, windows smashed, city trash boxes set afire, tires slashed, and a long line of robbery. But she'd raised her eyes eagerly when she'd come upon his previous college's transcript- stellar grades with a real capacity for the sciences. A new transfer student, with seemingly uncharted potential.

The young man makes his way around the counter separating the front desk from the side cubicles, finally sitting when she welcomes him with her typically bright smile. Slumping on the edge of his chair, his arms hanging on either side, his face is struck just barely by the light streaming through the windows. His eyes, steel-colored and very still, are trained narrowly forward and his lanky, thin black hair hangs carelessly over his ears. A kind of fanatic intelligence was clearly palpable in his features.

"It's nice to meet you, Jason," Fred smiles to diminish the distance between them. But the young man's expression does not soften. He leans back in his chair, lifting a boot-covered foot to his knee. "Well...Stephanie tells me you'd like to enroll in one of my summer courses?"

"Yeah. If it's not already filled."

"They usually never are," she chuckles. "And from what I can see," she looks down to her folder, "you'd be a great addition to the class." Offering her his first smile upon arriving, his beam only widens as he watches her eyes shift over his shoulder to Stephanie's returning face.

"Sorry to interrupt again Miss Burkle, but you have a phone call at the front desk."

Excusing herself, Fred leaves the young man at her desk. With little regard as to who would spot him, Jason spins the closed laptop around on the desk, flipping it back open. Bluish light washes over him as the monitor reactivates, its current contents reappearing on the screen. Scanning the file, he quickly realizes he's found the third piece of what he'd been sent after. He quickly presses the button to open the side CD-drive, the tray whirring out, producing the disc Fred had been using from the tray. With a quick grab, he slides it into his bag, smiling to himself as he spins the laptop back across the wooden surface, seemingly untouched.

"Sorry about that, Jason," Fred apologizes, returning to her seat. She couldn't help but ponder the new stare she was being given from the previously impassive young man. His new look seemed contemptuous, but somewhat amused.

"No problem."

******

Shuffling his feet in impatience, Jason lets out a deep sigh. His surroundings were dismal; an old vineyard just on the outskirts of city limits, its floors covered in dust and old oil stains, the windows broken out and boarded up. Water drips onto the already damp ground. Somewhere in the distance, a cat yowls and a barrel falls over. When the echoes die away, his enhanced senses pick up on a movement behind him. As he spins around, the nearby barrel whips into the air, flying end over end towards the source of movement. The figure standing behind him swats the barrel from the air as if it were a fly, sending it clattering across the floor. "Haven't I told you not to sneak up on me," he chastises the man approaching him.

In keeping with his young counterpart's dark outfit, Father Caleb crosses the room in his Sunday best, yet any virtue or honor associated with the priest's typical attire was long lost on him. A few broad strides bring the men face to face, Jason easily tossing over the bag he'd been carrying.

"Where's the sycthe?"

With lightning fast speed, the dark figure pulls the sword out from behind, swiftly cutting into the air between them. Leaving Leviathan to his fun, Caleb returns his attention to the bag, lifting the disk and folder from within. With a wickedly pleased smile, the man's gaze meets that of his younger counterpart. "Shouldn't be long before our old friend finally, uh...awakens, so to speak. We'll finally be graced with his presence."

"Just think..." Leviathan grins in restless anticipation, "the Chosen Three...finally summoned together...to bring it all tumbling down..."

******

Chapter 22

Aside from his usual means of training as a way to relax, < thanks to Buffy, I think I've had my fill for the decade > taking out his prized sportbike was always time pleasantly spent for Graham. All afternoon he'd been riding his cycle through the massive sea of cars, gliding smoothly over the pavement, effortlessly fluid in his motions. Now on his way back home, he'd decided to leave the main roads, traveling down streets that had less traffic, within minutes finding himself free and alone. He'd always found that the loud rumbling of his motorcycle's engine worked fast to empty his mind of thought and worry. The recent tragic events, as well as final exams, were suddenly, and welcomingly, becoming very distant.

With a sudden impulse, Graham glances in the handle's rearview mirror. "Something's comin' up- fast," he worries aloud. Turning his head slightly to look back over his shoulder, he spots a set of headlights speedily gaining on him. Guiding his bike into the right-most lane to get out of the way, he has just enough time to see a darkly painted motorcycle whine past him, moving so fast it seemed as if his own bike was at a standstill. < What's this all about? >

A second later, the bike slows, pulling back even with Graham's own before swerving suddenly in front of him. Graham brakes, and just barely manages to dodge out of the way. "What's your deal pal?!" he yells, his voice all but swallowed up by the sound of the bikes' engines.

Beneath his helmet, his eyes widen as he sees his pursuer speed up even further, seemingly undeterred at closing the distance between them. The cyclist lifts the tinted visor of his helmet, revealing a set of menacing pitch black orbs. < Demon on wheels? > Graham laughs to himself. < What happened to the good old-fashioned chasedown on foot, huh? >

Raising his arm, the creature offers Graham a brief wave before, in one swift motion, his arm sweeps toward him, tossing him a blazing sphere of fire. In his attempt to dodge the blast, Graham momentarily loses control of his bike, weaving dangerously from side to side. The bike finally spins completely out of control, sending Graham skidding across the asphault, landing on the roadbank a few feet from where his cycle had crashed to a stop against the guardrail.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he limps back onto the road, inwardly groaning as he hears the high pitched whine of the demon's own motorcycle still approaching, growing closer until it becomes a loud buzz in his ears. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. "Great. Just great! The fun never ends around here."

******

I stand with a blank expression now
And I can't believe myself
Would someone tell me how
Did I get here

Buffy lay in bed, surrounded by the familiar sheets and mass of pillows. Though the room was stuffy and warm, she was finding it hard not to sleep uncovered. The enveloping blankets offered her more comfort in spite of the heat, especially with the lack of comfort that came with Angel's absence. After Cordelia's little pep talk, the slayer had returned to the mansion, only to find Angel missing.

With the soft sheets tucked under her chin, she waits for the sleep she knows will continue to elude her. < It's just too damn hot > she thinks angrily. With a sigh, she throws off the sheets and walks over to lean against the window, welcoming the night breeze. However, within minutes she becomes restless and frustrated, pushing away from the glass, starting to pace back and forth.

She hated being afraid. She hated admitting it to herself, and she dreaded admitting it to Angel. What was she going to say? How could he possibly understand that she, Buffy Summers, who'd been leaping into danger routinely since she was 16, who didn't think twice about going up against a cadre of vampires, demons, and other things that go bump in the night, was afraid of letting down any of the other important people in her life?

Dressed in shorts and her gray tank, the cooling gust whispers against her bare arms and legs. The breeze brings with it the scent of wet earth and damp pavement from the manson's grounds. Moonlight creates white ghosts out of the cloying mist that swirls across the lawn, with fireflies dancing here and there, glowing greenish-yellow in the dark. Within the all encompassing darkness of the night, the faint sound of typing from downstairs breaks Buffy from her quiet solitude, giving her a new interest. Typing meant working, and at this hour she knew the only person with enough focus to be getting any work done was Angel.

I am walking
Changing slowly
I am chasing
Climbing closer

"So what you're saying is we're back to square one? We're left with a big pile of nothing?" Clearly disappointed, Angel stops typing long enough to rest his chin on one hand, his other frustratingly pressing the cordless to his ear.

"Well I wouldn't say 'nothing'," Doyle offers him a sliver of hope. "Fred did manage to translate enough of the text for a starting point before her disc was stolen."

"Two robberies in a day..."

"Think it was the same guy who hit the museum?"

"Considering whoever it was took two files dealing with that book," Angel sighs, his voice quickly giving way to his building sense of distrust in the Bronze's new owner. "Have you gotten a hold of Lindsay yet?"

"Still not answerin' his cell, or at home. Maybe I'll swing by his place tomorrow morning before I pick up 'Delia."

"Do it- tonight," he orders, a tone Doyle recognizes as one not to argue with. "He knows more than he's letting on about what's in that book. Now what about Graham? Has he come up with anything?"

"Not yet, but I'm thinkin' you might wanna give him an advance on his paycheck this week, or else Angel Investigations is gonna be short one Scoob."

"What do you mean?"

"I just got off the phone with him. Something about being chased down by some demon. Actually, I think he was more upset over that bike of his getting wrecked than almost being squashed like roadkill. I think I calmed him down, but he kept mumblin' about retiring early since he's, and I quote, 'sick of people trying to shoot me, run me over, or blow me up!' "

"Sounds like Graham," Angel smiles, getting his first good laugh all day. "He'll cool down."

"Which is exactly what you need to do, man," the half-demon urges. "Look- Fred's got Gunn helping her figure out what she's already translated. Giles made his own copy of the text, so what we can't decipher, he'll have done when he gets back."

"Have you talked to him?" Angel asks, a heavy sadness lingering over the line before his next question. "H- how's Willow doing?"

"He thinks everything's finally startin' to set in, ya know? But she's...dealing...as well as can be expected." Taking a moment to regather his thoughts, Doyle clears his throat, choking down the small lump that was starting to form. "Well...I, uh...I sent you that surveillance tape from the museum, so take a look- lemme know if you come up with an id for our thief. I'm headed over to Linds' place."

"Be careful. Call if anything comes up."

His steaming mug of tea soon grows cold while Angel punches repeatedly at the laptop's keyboard, cursing under his breath. "Who the hell are you, kid?" He was making every effort to concentrate on the museum's digital recording of the robbery, but his mind just keeps drifting. In his vain efforts to fully focus on the monitor, he can only see Buffy's haunting glare staring back at him, her face just as vivid as if she was still standing in front of him. She had rebuffed him completely in his efforts to reach her, and her lashing out at him gave little encouragement to make a second attempt.

I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand
While I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor

He could hear her coming down the steps; could hear her soft, unsure footsteps. He could already smell her, or at least he liked to think he still could, even with his enhanced senses now just a painful memory of the past.

Buffy walks downstairs slowly, letting her gaze travel searchingly around the large room. The exquisitely carved wooden desk in the corner was almost over-shadowed by the sheer amount of work. Overflowing bookcases were against every wall, a table in the centre piled with paperwork and a half-hidden chess set. It wasn't so much untidy as struggling to hold the amount that was within it. And behind all the chaos, she finally spots Angel, staring into oblivion as he runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than normal. The light from the laptop's screen does little to illuminate the room, leaving him sitting in the small pool of light, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only his usual choice of black shorts.

When the hesitatingly approaching figure of the small blonde is caught out of the corner of his eye, he speaks in a level tone without turning. "Hey." Buffy hesitates, chewing her lip nervously, momentarily flooded with paralyzing nervousness. A heavy silence, laden with expectation, permeates the room before, shyly, the slayer walks over to stand behind him. H- hi, she stammers, her eyes quickly darting from him to the floor.

Silence descends heavily for a moment, with the exception of the computer's soft hum as Angel scrolls down the screen, trying to zoom in on a particular frame. Marshalling his emotions under a control more tenuous than he'd expected, he pauses briefly, and whispers without turning to face her. "Sorry if I woke you up. I just wanted to look over this."

"You didn't wake me," she manages a weak smile, though her voice comes across hoarse and weary. She seemed tired, worn down in the way she spoke. "Do we...do we know anything yet?"

"Not a thing."

The silence that follows becomes more pointed, almost tangible, maintaining a presence of it's own. Uncertain at first, trying to brush off the uncomfortable feeling of being unwelcome, she desparately tries to think of something to say that would melt the hostility she was feeling directed at her. She had known Angel would feel hurt by what had happened earlier, but she hadn't been prepared for how strongly the animosity would be directed at her.

Finally deciding on her approach, she walks around to face him, a resounding plea in her eyes as she silently pulls herself into his lap, curling up against his chest, hugging her knees tight. With those few simple movements, she seemed to run out of steam, her shoulders slumping as the tears begin to fill her eyes.

It seems that I lost track of time
And I can't believe my mind
Would you save me
If I reached out to you

"Buffy-"

"I'm sorry, Angel," she wimpers, her face still buried in his chest. "What I said...I- I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," he whispers lovingly, a hand reaching down to cup her head, his thumb stroking her hair.

"It's not alright," she insists, a tear finally spilling over, trailing down her cheek onto his own skin. "I'm the one who let everything fall apart, and I tried turning it all around on you. I keep letting everybody down."

Angel gently tilts her head up, softly tracing a finger alongside her jawline. "Buffy, listen to me. You haven't let anybody down. None of what's happened is your fault. If it wasn't for you, things could've been a lot worse-"

"I should've been able to do something."

"You do more than any one person can do- more than any one person is expected to do."

"But I'm the slayer," she whispers back, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"You're also a twenty-one year-old young woman who can't be held responsible for anyone else's actions," he pleads, squeezing her hand and willing her to listen. His voice was soft as ever and she chastises herself for not being able to take much of its offered comfort. "Buffy, you're kind, and generous, and incredibly loyal. You do everything you can for the people you love, not to mention put yourself at risk to keep them all safe. No matter what else you could've possibly done, Xander still would've wound up doing what *he* did. You're not responsible for that- no one is except him."

"Everyone counts on me to be so strong. But I wasn't strong enough for them. Tara...and Xander."

"You are strong, Buffy. And not just when it comes to slaying. Just you being you, the compassionate, caring, and loving person you are, gives so much strength to everyone else. What you do, being the slayer...it's not all about fighting. It's about reaching out to people. Showing them that there's love and hope still left in this world." Shifting slightly, he tightens his hold around her, reaching up a tender hand to tuck back her hair. "You give everyone that hope, Buffy. Hope that keeps everyone fighting for a better world. The responsibility of living is that we try to make the world a little better. You've more than done that over the years."

Angel was feeling close to tears himself by this point. "You've done so much for me alone-" his voice chokes off, overcome with emotion. "Risked your life I don't know how many times. You..." Buffy, turning to face him, gently silences him with a hand over his mouth.

I am waiting
Watching, standing
I am reaching
Climbing closer

Buffy relaxes against him, sobbing, as he runs a hand through her hair, murmuring reassurances. Finally she draws her head back to look up at him as he continues to hold her, running one finger down her cheek to wipe away the tears. Her fingers reach up, lightly brushing across the side of his face. "I love you..." she whispers, those three little words somehow unable to hold everything she wanted to put into them. Angel leans down and kisses her softly on the temple with an expression of weary affection, the fond quirking of his lips warmly welcomed against her skin. He rests his chin on her hair, pulling her forward into a hug, trying to transmit all his feelings of love and reassurance. "I love you...never forget that."

He stops rubbing her back but keeps his hand there, resting between her shoulder blades in silent support. There wasn't much more he could say. It was best to just be here for her, hold her, let her know she wasn't alone in dealing with this; that she'd never be alone in dealing with anything.

I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand
While I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor

The talking would come, the pain would be released, and he would listen, comforting her. Helping her to build herself back up to be the slayer everyone else saw and depended on. The strong, never-bending figure of strength. The one person who never buckled, no matter what the strain, no matter what the pressure.

******

Graham was grumbling to himself as he worked in his driveway. With his sportbike having successfully been smashed apart, he would settle for no less than perfection in putting it back together. The deep night sky stretches shadows across the drive, a cool breeze tickling at his arms, exposed by the rolled up sleeves of his grease-stained t-shirt.

Already slightly on edge from the day's events, a faint scuffling sound of feet on the cement makes him look up and turn around. A long shadow falls just short of him, its owner standing a few feet away at the edge of the driveway. "That's a nice bike," the onlooker grins, his manner of speaking alarmingly quick and clipped.

"Yeah..." Graham throws him a questioning glare, taking in the young man's appearance. He couldn't have been any older than himself, if he was even that, with the look of your everyday college student; though Graham couldn't remember ever seeing him around town before, let alone in his own neighborhood. At first glance, Graham was less than impressed- the way he moved was so jagged and erratic. Close-fitting clothes covered his tall, lanky frame entirely in black, aside from the deep red emblems running in waves along his sleeves. His accent, flowing smoothly, though Graham couldn't pinpoint its specific origins, sent an edge running under his voice. His overall presentation indicated an eccentric, almost maniacal, intellectual.

"Thanks," Graham finally mumbles, turning back to focus on his work.

"Ya know..." lifting a hand to remove his glaring red sunglasses, messy black bangs falling in his face, Leviathan continues with a smirk, "I've got one just like it."

"Really now?" Graham replies, throwing him a quick sidelong glance. Recognition finally dawns on him as the young boy's eyes slowly dissolve into the same black orbs that had taunted him earlier during their less than friendly encounter on the road. "You!" He takes a few steps back, a guarded look on his face. "What the hell were you trying to do out there, huh?!"

Completely oblivious to Graham's rush of panic and anger, Jason gives him an arrogant snort and a wry smile. He saunters over, crouching beside the bike and Graham. As his eyes slowly rake over its beautiful structure, he stretches out both arms, placing a hand on either side of its silver and blue frame. "Wanna see what else I can do?"

Graham's expression remains neutral, but a wave of dread flickers in his eyes as he watches the wave of fire surge from the kid's hands, pulsating through the metal. Within seconds, the already dishevelved sportbike explodes in a spiral of flames.

While a shocked Graham is launched aside by the explosion, Leviathan stands in sheer euphoria, basking in the glow of rising fire, seemingly impervious to its effects. "Are you insane?!"

"Well I would hope it's obvious!" he proclaims and instantly a small cyclone of fire swirls at his feet before spinning a path towards Graham. With little other options, Graham hobbles desperately back on unsteady feet, finally falling against a stack of boxes and crates, his breathes coming in painful rasps from the vicious sting of the flames. He was taking the measure of the creature before him. His days in the Initiative had instilled the use of extra caution when dealing with unknowns, in particular demons- even if the demon happened to be just a kid.

Stepping through the flames with ease, Leviathan makes his way over to a terrified Graham. Standing askance, one hand on his hip and his head tilted to the side, he reaches for his sunglasses again, pulling them from his back pocket, sliding them back on with careful precision. The red lenses make him appear even more menacing, the sadistic smile blazing across his lips topping it all off. "Taa-daa!" he boasts proudly, admiring his work with an exuberant outstretch of his arms. "Oh come on," he scoffs, fully disappointed at Graham's lack of appreciation. "Just havin' some fun here."

"What do you want?" Graham manages to choke out before feeling the seering grip of the creature's hand around his throat, lifting him off the ground.

"I have a message...for Angelus."

"An- Angelus? You mean Angel?"

Leviathan's eyes, their complete blackness pulsing with energy, linger on Graham, whose face had gone cold, nervous panic flooding him as he beholds the demon. The upper half of his face was unreadable due to the bangs- long and obscuring the majority of his face, lightly tracing a sculpted chin, only part of his elegant nose visible.

With a contemptuous gesture, Leviathan tosses him aside, another wicked smile stretching across his face with the sound of at least two bones breaking from the brutal impact against the cement. "Tell Angelus...he's got a job to do."

"What do you mean?" Propping himself up against the opposite wall, Graham watches him for a moment before the demon turns, a feral expression of hatred etched in his features, nostrils flaring tightly, eyes slitted like a cat as he makes his departure. "Who are you?"

"You'll find out. You'll all find out...soon enough."

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