DISCLAIMER: No I don’t own them, but if I did the world would be a better place.
SUMMARY: This is a story of lost identities and the struggle to discover who it is you really are.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: In answer to some reader’s questions, let’s just say I like the idea of Wesley having a dark side. I mean who knew that arrogant prick we first met back at Sunnydale high even HAD layers? And as for Spike? All I can say is to sit tight. All will be revealed.
SPOILERS: Everything up to BTVS S6 and ATS S3 happened the same, but the seasons that follow may have a few changes that you will be able to pinpoint in various stages of this fic.
DISTIBUTION: This story’s for all. Anybody can feel free to put it on their site if they let me know about it first. And please do, because I would love to have some work posted!
FEEDBACK: I can’t believe the amount of encouragement you guys gave me! Any more suggestions would be valued greatly.
RATING: R

~*~*~*~*

Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments.
-‘Becoming’

~*~*~*~*

The whitewashed prison walls were grey and bland, bleak and oppressive –just as he felt.

He stirred in a troubled sleep as the steel black bars beside his head rattled loudly.

“GET UP, YOU TRASH!”

It took Wesley Wyndham-Price a long moment to realise the command was not directed specifically at him, but at everyone cramped in the dank, cramped enclosure. Prisoners slowly stirred, taking their time, and an impatient glower covered the ridged face of the vampire guard as he held forward a long metal pole Wesley recognised as a tazer.

No time-honoured baton for us then, he thought humourlessly.

He rose unsteadily to his feet all the same, recognising the situation as an irregularity in his day-to-day ritual and welcoming the change. Of course there was the off possibility they were all about to be hauled off down towards the torture chamber – a place that held a less than unfamiliar title for Wesley –, but something in the air made him doubt it.

The watcher stumbled on unsteady legs as he was shoved roughly after the others, the prisoners all filling out in an orderly fashion that he thought quite ludicrous, for all his thoughts on prisons. But a standard prison, this was certainly not.

He realised with a start that the other holding cells were being emptied, all along the corridor on this block, and he dimly wondered what was going on.

“Stop here!” the guard barked, slamming his weapon hard against the bars of a nearby cell, so loudly several of the closest prisoners jumped. Wesley didn’t twitch. He refused to show weakness in front of these abhorrent creatures, who were so readily convinced they were master. Just for that, he thought them rather naïve.

They were roughly jostled together into what could be called a line, with the repulsive odours of dirt, urine and sweat mingled together in the air. It was easily apparent most of the inmates were starving, and more than a few were having difficulty just standing up. By the dejection and utter misery on their faces, it was even clearer most of their spirits had been broken a long time ago.

Wesley glanced at the men standing on either side of him. The space around them was so crammed and dark he could barely make them out through the obscurity. The one to his left had his clothing in virtual rags, and from beneath what remained of his ratty shirt Wesley could see clearly protruding ribs, and deep gash marks down his chest. The man was muttering to himself under his breath, and obviously one of the fortunate few that had indeed lost his mind.

The man on his other side stood at a slouch, a deep scowl lining his features, but looking to be in remarkably good health. Wesley recognized him as Holmes, a man of perhaps forty who had been here nearly since the invasion’s beginning. He decided to take a chance.

“Do you know what’s going on?” the Englishman murmured in his rough, grating voice. It had been awhile since he’d had the need to speak to somebody.

Holmes chuckled cynically, shaking his long oily black hair back and forth. “Slave tradin’, is what it is”, he responded flatly.

Wesley frowned, and kept his voice low as a guard drew nearer.

“What?”

Holmes kept his eyes focused forward. “Slave tradin’”, he repeated in what sounded like a Texan drawl.

Don’t even think about that, Wesley snapped to himself quickly.

“They don’t come in ‘ere much any mores, unless its by request of some top-notch vamp or what. They look for a few inmates to take with ‘em to do whatever work they need doin’”.

Wesley rubbed the thick brown beard marring his chin in curiosity. "Do they come back?”

Holmes shrugged. “Mostly not. Most of ‘em don’t make it out there two days. Sometimes they come back. But if you ask me, it’s better for you when you’re Inside. None of them who comes back is ever the same again. They says they treat ‘em real bad out there, use ‘em up until they’re as good as dead.”

Wesley nodded, turning away again now he had his information. Wasn’t this interesting? Certainly a route of escape he hadn’t had before, perhaps the only chance he’d get for a long time. Holmes had said himself these slave traders didn’t come often anymore.

As if on cue, the electronic door bleeped, and slid jerkily open. Striding in with all the confidence swagger of his kind was the slave trader Holmes had spoken of, flanked on either side by lackeys clad in dark leather and baring the vampire countenance. Only this man sported his human features.

The vampire stopped shortly in front of the afflicted prisoners, wrinkling his nose in unhidden disgust. Wesley disliked him immediately. It wasn’t his disgust that annoyed him – he could even understand it. He didn’t need a mirror to see how ghastly the group of them must look. No, there was something else. Something that set him apart from the typical vampire leader.

The guard in charge of this block stepped over to quickly converge with him, and as they spoke the vampire’s steely gaze travelled over the group callously.

His eyes settled on Wesley for a time, and instead of averting his gaze, Wesley met his eyes staunchly.

The vampire interrupted the guard mid-speech. “I’ve seen all I need to”, he said briskly.

The burly guard tried to hide his annoyance. “But really, sir –“

“ – I SAID we’re done here”, he cut in snappishly, eyes flashing superciliously.

The guard nodded hastily. “Yes sir”.

The vampire held up a hand before his fellows could retreat the dimly lit corridor. “Wait”, he yelled domineeringly.

They hesitated. “Sir?” one inquired humbly. The vampire’s cool gaze fell once more onto Wesley.

“That one”.

Wesley felt his body stir. Holmes nudged him painfully in the side.

“I’d move forward, boy”, he hissed. “He asked for you, and you’d better do as he says”.

When Wesley hesitated despite himself, two vampires moved abruptly forward, grasping him by the upper arms and sandwiching him between them. Their fingers dug into his bony shoulders, and they shoved him roughly along the corridor. “MOVE!”

Wesley staggered at the jolt to his empty stomach, and his long unused legs buckled beneath him. His body slammed stiffly against the hard concrete floor, and something snapped in his nose as his face caught the brunt.

Arms tugged jerkily at his armpits. “Get up!” one of the vampires snapped pitilessly, driving the toe of his boot forcefully into Wesley’s stomach.

Wesley collapsed against the ground, grunting at the pain. The man moved to do so again, when another presence came between them.

The leader held up a warning hand.

“That’ll do”, he ordered rigidly. “We want him out alive.”

The vampire bowed his head. “Sir”, he muttered.

The leader narrowed his eyes down at Wesley kneeling unsteadily by his feet. Wesley glared back, spitting out a dribble of blood from between his lips as he did.

The leader sneered, but there was something behind his gaze Wesley didn’t understand. Almost… hatred.

“Take him with the others”.

~*~*~*~*

They look like sheep.

The thought abruptly entered Buffy’s mind, as she stood back, bathed in the building shadows, watching the sweep take place. Her heart thundered so rapidly she was sure they would be able to hear it, but the screams of the vampire’s captives blocked out all other sound, even to her own ears.

This was wrong. Her entire being screamed it, the slayer was involuntarily caged within as she watched with wide frightened eyes, unable to tear her gaze away. There was nothing she could do to prevent it – the sinister long black guns the vampires seized were more than enough evidence of that.

Nothing but watch.

Buffy shook her head, turning away, blocking her ears to the sound. There was no way she could even do that. She could feel her self-control slipping slowly away minute by minute, and willed herself to walk on before the vampires were finished. Not all of the people out there would be imprisoned. She had intimate knowledge that for some, far more terrible fates awaited them.

She breathed in deeply, sliding with soundless efficiency down the narrow alley, struggling to follow the map imprinted permanently in her mind’s eye.

Angel.

That one small word was the very testament to her existence. A connection to her past, to her life, her fleeting times of innocence. The knowledge that he still lived was more than enough to urge her onward.

It hadn’t been easy. Ryan had born very little information regarding his whereabouts as it was, and was even less than thrilled to reveal them to her. Apparently Ryan had a brother who had met with some of Angel’s contacts once or twice. It was a long shot, but a connection, and Buffy clung to it like a lifeline.

She had cajoled this brother’s address out of Ryan, and it turned out Mike, as his name was, had an idea about where Angel might be holed up.

So here she was.

She paused in front of an apartment building shrouded in night; mentally going over the list of instructions Mike had given her. This had to be it.

What if he doesn’t want to see me? she thought worriedly. What if he… blames me?

Like I already blame myself.

Drawing in another soothing breath, Buffy slowly stepped up to the front doorstep, shaking away her doubts. There would be time enough for that.

She chewed her lower lip uncertainty, and then she raised her curled fist to the wood-panelled door before her, and knocked. After a long tense moment, the hatch above the door slid open. Two suspicious almond shaped eyes glared back out at her.

“What do you want?” a gruff male voice demanded impatiently.

Buffy’s resolve wavered. “I’m looking for… for an old friend of mine”, she started cautiously. “Angel?”

Reservation sparked in the man’s dark eyes, and then it was gone just as quickly. “No one here by that name”, he declared, in a monotone dull voice.

Buffy sighed with a hint of desperation. “I’m not one of them, if that’s what you’re thinking”.

If he needed any assurance, she lifted her leather jacket away from her shirt, and withdrew a small silver cross that was hidden beneath. His purpose didn’t falter, and she didn’t blame him. There were many humans that actually subjected themselves under the vampire’s law, for what little security and temporary survival it would provide. For all he knew, she was one of them.

From what she had heard, Angel was still very much a wanted man in the vampire world. He had caused enough damage to be a notorious threat to them, even with the extent his offensive had been forced to back down.

Her eyes were pleading as they bore into the man’s. “Please”, she appealed softly. “You can ask him. My name is Buffy Summers. He’ll know me”.

The guy actually sighed then, a sound world-weary and tired. “Look, he’s not here right now”, he admitted unenthusiastically. “He’s down at Sector 7H Penitentiary.”

Buffy frowned. “He’s not a –“

She could see the movement as he hastily shook his head. “Not a prisoner. He’s… doing a job down there. If you are who you say you are… well, I’m sure he’ll want to see you”.

Buffy looked at him. “You’ve heard of me?”

He chuckled. “Who hasn’t heard of you, sweetheart”, he noted wryly. “You’re infamous in these parts.”

Buffy’s eyebrows knotted together in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand”.

She could see actual sympathy etched behind the mysterious man’s stare. “You seem like a nice girl, you really do”, he told her gently. “I’ve heard him defend you to them… and well, Angel knows people, so I’d trust his word. But others… they don’t understand that easily. I wouldn’t go saying that name of yours around here, sweetie.”

Buffy frowned at him. She didn’t like where this was going. Not at all.

“Why not?”

He closed his eyes a moment. “The city thinks you’re dead”, he acknowledged. “And… and well…” he trailed off. A sinking feeling dragged at Buffy’s stomach.

“Well what?” she prodded frantically.

He met her eyes honestly. “Its better for you if you stay that way.”

~*~*~*~*

Rain drizzled down idly as she fell down to a crouch beside Angel in the thick shrubbery, and Faith tugged the black hat concealing most of her brunette locks further down her forehead. The high grey stonewalls of the Sector 7H Penitentiary loomed not a hundred yards from where they waited, at the back entrance to the outer fence, and she was confronted with an eerie sense of déjà vu that was making her snappy.

“Aren’t we glad it’s wet season”, she muttered grouchily to herself.

Angel’s attention was riveted entirely on the activity going on at the high walled prison in front of them, and he barely acknowledged she had spoken.

“Mmm”, he murmured distractedly.

Faith scowled, and snatched at the binoculars fastened in his grasp. “Where the hell did you manage to scrounge up these things, anyway?” she asked as she adjusted her eyesight and swept them slowly out over the prison gates.

She heard Angel chuckle lightly beside her. Her mood wasn’t lost on him. “We all have our ways”, he responded cryptically.

She spared him a wry look. “So you stole them, huh?”

“Pretty much”.

The small team he had assembled together shifted impatiently behind the conversing pair. “Man, when we gonna see some action?” an African American called Mark virtually whined.

Faith snickered. “Speaking of scrounging up…” she jibed in a low derisive voice.

She narrowed her eyes, focusing her attention more closely on the scene playing out before her. She clenched the binoculars more tightly, and adjusted the dial on the side. An unmarked white mover’s van had pulled up to the front gates, and already she could see the stirrings of movement behind the sturdy metal bars.

Faith squinted closer, curiosity burning overtime. A pair of strong, burly guards emerged, guns joggling in front of them at something she couldn’t see. A moment later a grungy group of prisoners came into her line of sight, and they were hustled toward the twin doors of the motionless van with aggressive haste.

She frowned. “What the…?”

Her gaze fell upon one of the prisoners in particular; features grim and loathing as he was shoved violently inside the van. His face was heavily lined with sweat and grime, and concealed by a thick black beard that gave him a roughness that was so unlike him, but Faith recognised him instantly.

“Shit”.

Angel twisted around as she slapped him hard on the chest, and paused in mid-speech to look at her in concern. “Faith? What? What’s wrong?”

She gritted her jaw, shaking her head roughly for emphasis. “Man, I don’t believe this.” She met his gaze, pursing her lips in a thin straight line. “I think we might have a little problem”.

Wordlessly, she forfeited the binoculars, and Angel accepted the offer quickly when he noticed her expression. His mouth opened and closed in disbelief when he caught sight of their ‘little problem’. “What… What are they doing?”

Faith puffed warm air into her cupped palms, and chafed them together thoughtfully. “Take a guess?” she deduced austerely. “I’d say they’re transferring him somewhere”.

Angel’s brow creased on his handsome chiselled profile. “That doesn’t explain why there’s so many of them”.

She moved her shoulders offhandedly. “I don’t know then, maybe they’re a new workgroup or something”.

Angel’s gaze momentarily flickered to her. “Workgroup?”

“Sure. They ain’t as old fashioned as you’d like to believe, Angel cakes”, she told him somewhat wisely. “They aren’t as common as they used to be mind you, but some of the vamps get away with using the humans as practically slaves. Provided they got enough influence, friends in high places an’ all that.”

Angel’s features hardened noticeably as he trained on something else through the binoculars, and a muscle in his neck twitched. “I think we just found our culprit”, he bit off hatefully.

“What?”

Without asking, she grabbed the binoculars back, and raised them to her dark eyes to scan the horizon. They hovered uncertainly over the prisoners, until she caught sight of a long leather duster and stopped.

Not the latest in trendy prison wear… she mused.

Then her view slid up slowly to meet the wearer’s face and Faith gasped.

“That’s… that’s the dude from back at the bar”, she hissed incredulously.

Confusion took in Angel’s expression. “Faith… That’s Spike”.

“WHAT?!”

She stared back at the vampire, yet even as she did her mind flashed back to that night at the Bronze all those years ago, their one and only meeting – and even then she hadn’t exactly been… herself. An overpowering sense of realisation brought her up short, and her fists clenched and unclenched by her sides.

“Oh my God.”

That odd sensation she’d felt at Prophecy now made perfect sense. As a slayer, she’d never exactly been proficient at the whole sensing gig, but there was some innate wisdom inside her that recognized it’s natural enemy, and there had definitely been some warning bells going off then. But something about Spike had felt… off. Different from usual.

In her typical form, Faith shrugged it off.

“Am I the only one that feels like punching somebody?” she grunted through a tightened jaw.

“Doesn’t it seem a little off to you that this is happening right now, just when we’re about to break this friend of yours out?” Mark piped up perceptively.

Faith’s glance ticked over to him in surprise. “How do you mean?”

“Well, think about it”, he insisted. “I may not know any better, but this doesn’t feel like a coincidence”.

“He’s right”, Angel realised quietly.

Faith clamped her fist none to softly against her palm. “And here you had me thinkin’ tonight was gonna be touch and go on the violence.”

Angel nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s do this”. He spared her an uncertain glance. “You ready?”

Faith tensed. She hadn’t been willing to admit it to herself before, but she was jonesing for some serious action. Despite the fact that she was relieved the vampires hadn’t been much of a problem to humanity in general for the past few weeks, she had been getting restless for a good long time now.

The dark haired slayer gave a short nod, and grinned; flashing him her gleaming white teeth in response as a powerful thrill shot up her spine.

“Like hell I am”.

They charged.

~*~*~*~*

Wesley caught a harsh jab in his back as he was elbowed impatiently into the van, and he stifled a sneer of revulsion at the bodies being quickly crammed in behind him. He never thought he would see the day where he would miss what small solitariness there was in his congested confining cell. The rain was dripping off him now, and washing through the smells of the prisoners, which made for a very unpleasant stench.

That was when chaos erupted. Literally.

One of the vampires supervising their boarding progress gave a startled howl as he reared forward from some invisible attacker, and his mouth fell open in surprise as his eyes travelled disbelievingly downward. Wesley followed his gaze to see a sharp jagged arrow jutting from his chest. He doubled over, but he was dust before he hit the ground.

“Stand on your guard!” one of the guards screamed, unholstering his weapon and swivelling frantically to discover the source of attack. Something whizzed past, striking him in the shoulder, and the gun flew from his grasp at the impact.

They weren’t trained for this kind of assault, Wesley could see that. It certainly gave whomever these attackers were the one up on the situation. The prisoners stood while this was going on in dumbstruck wonder, but Wesley acted immediately. He dove through a gap in the crowd, slamming onto his knees on the road surface at the foot of the van.

Guns were going off in all directions, and none of the vampires noticed him as he crawled along the ground on his hands and knees. He grinned in success when his fingers closed around the wounded vampire’s long forgotten weapon. Fumbling clumsily, he raised the gun, pointing it at the closest vampire, and fired.

The attackers emerged from their hiding.

Gun smoke burnt in his eyes and Wesley ducked behind the van, blinking furiously to clear them. A wild banshee shriek pierced into the still night, and then a figure was lunging through the air, feet flying, spinning into a flawlessly executed roundhouse kick that downed two of the closest vampires.

It could only be one person.

Faith saw him watching, and paused to give him a sarcastic little wave. “Hey baby”, she cooed abrasively. “How you been?”

She twisted around as another guard clasped her roughly by the forearm, and shot out with an irritated expression, the crossbow still rested firmly between her hands. She didn’t even have to remove the bolt.

She approached Wesley at a run, clutching him quickly by the elbow and tugging him to his feet, covering herself by sweeping her weapon around warily the entire time. “I’ll save you the time and say you’re welcome”, she snapped brusquely.

“Faith!” another, much more familiar voice shouted hoarsely.

Wesley gritted his teeth and a wave of animosity claimed him before he could stop it.

But of course…

Angel neared through the furious battle, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction. “We have to get out of here. Now!”

“Not gonna argue”, Faith gasped, skilfully reloading the crossbow while keeping her gaze planted firmly on the vampires. They were occupied by the fight, but it wouldn’t be long now. “Vamps are rolling in here like freakin oranges”.

She sidled over to the still stationary white van, and slammed her flat palm rigidly against the metal door with a short grin of amusement.

She’s really enjoying this, Wesley noted imperturbably, unusually detached from the scene. In his mind, there was no way this could really be happening.

It had been five years. Five long years he had been trapped there now. Transferred from other prisons, of course, but they were all the same. With their high grey stonewalls and infinitesimal drab wards, closing in like the dungeon rooms in ancient castles, or as he had imagined them. He thought it was more poetic to think of them that way. A poetic end for a traitor.

What a load of rubbish that was.

They weren’t coming, they never were, he knew it. Wesley hadn’t ever expected them to. He was a deserter, the lowest of low, the most deplorable of sinners. He was Judas, as Liliah had once told him in her most satirical way of humour.

He stifled the urge to laugh now as a deep, overwhelming bitterness filled him.

Yet here they are.

“Come on, kids”, Faith bellowed throatily to the occupants of the vehicle. “Time to get the hell out of dodge!”

The prisoners needed no further encouragement as they raced from the van and haphazardly down the street, as if in some sort of daze and clearly not a bit mindful of the flying bullets piercing the air all around them.

“Hey!” one of the guards yelled loudly in protest.

“Oh, shut up”, Faith said tiredly, pointing the crossbow on him, knowing that most of the prisoners would be lucky to survive. It was an aloofness they had all learned to live with, unfortunately.

Apprehension tickled at Wesley’s neck as he stood on unsteady feet, Faith’s fingers still pinching tightly into his flesh, and as he turned around, he knew it was too late.

Faith doubled up in astonishment, and the crossbow cluttered harmlessly to the concrete at her feet as she released her grip on his arm. Her hands encircled the wound on her hip, and her mouth opened and closed in mute shock as blood began to seep across her dark shirt.

“Faith!” Angel cried distressfully.

Both men turned to see the cause.

Spike grinned coldly, but his eyes held a deep hatred ridged with something else, something unreadable, as he met his Sire’s glare unflinching. His black duster fluttered out behind him as he strode purposefully towards them, gun falling innocuously against his side and still smoking from the shot.

“Well well”, the blonde vampire spoke up calmly, stuffing his free palm into his pocket. “Isn’t this a surprise? It’s the old Sire and all his merry mates.”

Wesley was struck by a startling sense of realisation. This was the lead vampire that had chosen him.

And now he knew why.

“You bastard”, Faith spat, nursing her wound painfully as she slammed her back against the white van’s side for support.

Spike shrugged at her unsympathetically. “All’s far in war and… well war, luv. Nothing personal or anything”.

She struck up her middle finger, but her ashen face belayed her attitude. “Bite me”.

“Spike”, Angel spat frostily, as the creature he had created came to a stop not three metres from where he stood.

Spike’s pale features slipped into a sly grin of triumph. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Peaches. And please tell me we’re about to skip the whole cliché I-Nancy-boy-hair-gel-deprived-good-guy, You-bad-guy pitch?”

Angel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I’m amazed you’re still alive at all.”

Spike shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t about to hit the high-road just because the good ol’ Buffs had kicked it and SunnyD became official vampire territory”, he retorted edgily. “I got an unlife to go on with. Just needed a proper excuse to stretch my legs and leave home for good, that’s all.”

Faith’s eyes had glazed over and she clutched at her stomach with a low groan, but her eyes drifted up to look at him unsteadily. “You’re not a regular vampire”, she declared hoarsely, familiar feeling fluttering up in her stomach. She was so sore she could barely identify it.

Spike gave a grin, but there was a new uneasiness behind the expression. “That should make a bloke right flattered.

“Must say, I’m sure you would have made a nummy treat back at that bar, too”, he added impishly. “Would have tested it out, if I didn’t have the little issue of you being a slayer to contend with, unfortunately.”

“He has a chip in his head”, Angel explained to her, fingers closing around the battle-axe hanging by his side as he ignored the arrogant vampire’s last statement. “What, did it malfunction or something?”

Spike’s upper brow lowered threateningly. “Something like that”.

He whistled through his teeth as he morphed into game face and the other vampires instantly fanned out, circling the three of them mercilessly. Faith let out a sound like a moan and Wesley glanced behind the approaching threat of the vampires to see the broken bodies of their team, all spread arbitrarily along the gravel road.

All dead.

Water droplets glistened over the ridge of Spike’s brow, but he didn’t seem to notice as he observed them all with a vague lack of concern. He ran his black fingernailed hands lovingly over the lethal-looking long black gun that he had just used on Faith. “You know, I wish it didn’t have to end this way, I really do”, he commented casually.

Faith coughed, eyes scrunched firmly closed in her pain. “You set this up, didn’t you, you prick?”

Spike shrugged. “What would make you say that?”

Angel shook his head, but there was helplessness in his eyes and, Wesley thought, fear. His anger easily conquered it, and he quivered from head to foot as he stifled the urge to raise his weapon.

“What is this, Spike?” he asked, waving his arms around for emphasis. “You knew we were coming. So you set up an ambush? I thought you’d given up trying to get to the slayer and all of her friends?”

Spike glared at him hatefully. “I have my reasons”.

“Wouldn’t have something to do with Buffy, would it?” Wesley guessed quietly.

Spike turned on him, and his expression was truly dangerous. “What would you know of it?” He paused, considering, and then pointed the gun on him. “I think I’ll kill you first”, he snapped. “After all, there’s irony to be had in that, considering you’re the reason we’re all here in the first place”.

Wesley met his gaze unflinchingly, straightening to his full height. He spread his arms wide. “Go ahead”.

Faith snorted in disbelief. “Oh, that’s real terrific, Wes. Loving the suicide trip you got goin on”.

Spike made to check his watch. “Um, yeah. Tick tock, people. Are you quite done? It’s a little past dinnertime, and I would usually love to go in for a slayer, cept I don’t fancy having you as the main course now you’re all… pasty”.

Faith spat at him. “Fuck you”.

Spike raised the barrel. “Yeah, well, bad luck. Its time to say goodnight. Any last words, regrets?” He sneered at Angel. “I’m sure you’ll have more than a few, but it’s only fair to wait your turn.”

“I have one”.

Everyone stopped short at the sound of the voice.

A strange tingling sensation started at Wesley’s neck, and Angel’s back grew ramrod straight as his former employer tensed visibly.

Was that…? It couldn’t be…

Her.

She slowly detached herself from the shadows of the road ahead, long blonde hair fluttering behind her and glimmering in the faint iridescence of the prison lights that shined over the high walls, like golden silk. Her features were just visible in the silver moonlight as she turned to face them, fingering a stake lightly in her grasp, which was hidden from view as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

Well now, isn’t this interesting… Welsey mused.

“But of course, I get the feeling me being here already has enough dramatic irony in itself’, she went on quietly. “And I wouldn’t want to upstage you or anything”.

“Oh God”, Angel whispered disbelievingly.

Spike swallowed, and his grip on the weapon actually faltered.

“B-Buffy?”

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