"What makes you think it will work?" Head on one side and frowning down at Angel, the ghost was getting irritable. Between them they’d managed to manhandle the vampire downstairs, relying primarily on Buffy’s strength when persuasion had failed to work and he was now slumped, totally unresponsive, on the couch.
"Nothing specific but slapping him round the face hasn’t, so unless you’ve got any better ideas…?"
Cordelia sighed petulantly, wandered off towards the front doors and stood with her arms folded staring out of them into the night. She wasn’t happy with what Willow was proposing but in the absence of anything else they didn’t have much choice. It was ten days since Giles’ first call and Angel hadn’t shown any signs of coming round from his guilt-induced catatonia. A week on Friday the others were due to leave for England and face whatever cataclysmic event Spike had foreseen, leaving her behind because despite their best efforts they hadn’t managed to find any way of allowing her travel outside the hotel. In the past it had never really been an issue, she’d been happy to stay within its walls, it felt like safety. Except when Angel wasn’t there, then it felt echo-ey and empty and not like home at all. And that was what she had to look forward to when they left. Despite her best intentions the prospect was making her snappy and waspish.
Taking note of her mood, Willow explained yet again.
"We need to know what’s going on in his head, why he’s doing this and the only time I’ve ever seen anything like it was you, Buffy, after Glory snatched Dawn. You got all trapped in your head and couldn’t find the way out. And I’m guessing that’s exactly what’s going on now."
"But you’ve no idea if it will work. I mean, vampire? For all we know Angel’s mind might be some sort of, I dunno, trap or something."
Willow smiled tolerantly at the ghost who had returned to the couch, her arms wrapped round herself in her habitual posture of worry, before turning to look slowly at the others. Stood as far away from each other as they could get were Xander and Buffy, both boasting expressions as uneasy as Cordelia’s.
"That’s why I need you guys. I’m gonna need all of you to bring me back if I get lost too."
***
Things didn’t actually look any different and for a moment that completely threw her. It was only when she turned round to speak to Buffy and Xander, that Willow realised everyone had vanished and that the hotel lobby was completely empty. Which meant either the others had been sucked into some sort of portal - which was possible - or this was what the inside of Angel’s head looked like.
Really either option was bizarre and would probably lead to doctors and white coats. I mean what sort of person had a psyche that looked like where they lived. Maybe it was a vampire thing, in which case did that mean that when they moved their heads changed? Now she was having brain blips of vampires taking their heads off and swapping them around, like those things out of Labyrinth, which was not only disturbing but also impossible. Vampires with no heads equalled dust.
Okay. Enough with the babble fest. If this was Angel’s mind - and she wasn’t about to get side-tracked again - then, in theory, Angel should be here somewhere.
The most logical place to look was his suite, which was where he spent the majority of his time so maybe that was where he lived in his head. With a brief look around to check that she was indeed alone, Willow set off up the stairs and soon found herself outside his room. The door was ajar so she pushed it open and tentatively peered inside. It was dark, not night time LA style dark with that ubiquitous orangey glow that bled over all attempts at real night, but really dark. Hell pit, spawn of darkness, dark. She groped along the wall and flicked the light switch - nothing, not that she’d really expected it to work. Anyone as depressed as Angel was hardly likely to furnish his mind with bulbs, even muted ones, but the faint light from the corridor fell on the bed and, as her eyes adjusted, she could just make out the shape of a large figure lying supine upon it.
Angel. Her guess was right - yey for feminine intuition.
Five steps took her to the bed and she reached out and shook Angel’s shoulder, convinced that as with Buffy if she could just break through his catatonic state here, he would return to them in the real world. For a few seconds there was no reaction, then Angel’s eyes flew open and he smirked.
Angelus.
Her scream of terror was still ricocheting from her mouth when Willow found herself suddenly back in the silent empty lobby. The couch hit her ass as she collapsed onto to it, her legs not strong enough to hold her upright, her pulse pounding in her ears. Had that just happened or did she imagine it? Whatever. She was not going to look for Angel in his suite again, that much was certain. Where else might he be? The office? That was easy and as soon as her limbs were back under her control, Willow took a quick look. He wasn’t there but on the desk was a cross, bottle of holy water and a stake, which she quickly stuck into the deep pockets of her jacket on the off chance she hadn’t been imagining Angelus. Now where? She glanced at the stairs and decided to try the basement, the kitchens, anywhere but upstairs.
The darkness wrapped around her as she descended and she stumbled twice, her foot slipping on surfaces that seemed unfeasibly slick. Reaching the kitchens, she peered through the glass before entering, only to be confronted by a scene too reminiscent of Jurassic Park for comfort. All that stainless steel and a monster somewhere in the building. Not stopping to look around, Willow ran quickly and quietly through the room ignoring the urge to go and lock herself in the meat locker.
She heard it as she neared the door to the basement steps. It was faint, unmistakable and coming from the lobby. The quiet sound of quick footfalls such as those a vampire might make. Again the scream was trying to claw its way out but she bit it back firmly. If that was Angelus then screaming would only bring him to her more quickly. Her best hope lay in finding Angel, now.
She ran down the steps and into the corridor, along the corridor, and past several doors. All the rooms, every room lay in darkness. No light anywhere, the corridor stretching out before her was never ending, room upon room upon room. Her breath was now coming in uneven gasps, her mind a blur of terror. The pulse in her ears the tympanic accompaniment to the swish swish of the skirt against her legs and since when was she wearing a skirt?
Almost stumbling, Willow glanced down seeing the wine-red calf length skirt she’d been wearing the day - oh my god, the day Angelus had grabbed her. The one she’d burned in the garden when she’d got home, along with the blouse - cream with tiny green embroidered roses - that now snuggled across her breasts and teased silkily at her nipples as she ran. The pants she’d been wearing were gone, so had the deep pocketed jacket and along with it the weapons she’d picked up from the office. She was completely and totally helpless.
Finally, inevitably, she fell. The skirt tangling and tripping her, hands thrusting out to catch her fall, to stop her head hitting the floor because the only thing worse than falling was being unconscious. And when it came - the weight landing on her back - she still screamed even though she’d been expecting it. Next was the breath cool over her sweat running skin and the scream went on and on, her lungs producing a sound any diva would have been proud to claim.
"Witch. Why do you come here?"
Oh god he recognised her - of course he recognises you, silly girl - and now he was going to kill her. But the bite never came; neither did the twist/pull that would break her neck. Instead there was only the rapid beat of her heart and that too chill breath on her skin.
Again he asked. "Why?"
"T-to help Angel."
She could almost sense the frown crossing the demon’s face and surprisingly wasn’t surprised when he said yet again, "Why?"
"B-because he’s my friend?"
Again a hesitation. "You do not fear him?"
And now it was Willow’s turn to frown because somehow that didn’t sound like Angelus. The words were formal, archaic, and lacked the witty cynicism that had the power to deflate the most powerful fighter. With sudden and profound insight, Willow realised that the creature crouched over her was Angelus. Not Liam/Angelus or Angel/Angelus but pure Angelus, pure demon. That didn’t make him any less dangerous but it may buy her time. She gritted her teeth and answered him equally formally, thanking her magical training with the coven for insight into how to properly address such creatures.
"No, I do not fear him. He is a champion and as such deserves respect but not fear."
"He has tortured you, killed your friends, yet still you do not fear him?"
It wasn’t him, it was you, was the obvious reply but she didn’t say it. "No, I do not fear him."
"And you wish to aid him?"
"Yes." Feeling a little braver, Willow ventured an expansion to her answer. "He is lost and I come to be his guide."
There was silence. Even the breathing had stopped. With no speech there was no need for the demon to breathe.
Eventually Angelus spoke again. "You wish him no harm?"
So that was what was going on. "I wish him no harm only to help him find his way." She paused and then went out on a limb, her language slipping from the formal to something more familiar. "Do you know where he is?"
There was a hiss of in drawn breath, silence, and then another question. "If you find him, what will you do then?"
"Help him." Fingers crossed, here went nothing. "Help him speak again."
"To me?"
"If that is what you wish."
The weight moved and Willow let out a sigh of relief. She had very nearly misjudged the whole thing badly. Angelus was not trying to hurt her; he was merely protecting Angel. He was a guard dog watching the perimeter while its master slept, and that was a strange thought, but Willow knew she was right. And Angelus wanted - no, needed - her help if he wanted Angel back.
**
Willow never claimed to know the Hyperion well, but she willing to bet that this didn’t exist anywhere in the real hotel. The corridor was endless, stretching to infinity before and behind her and this time it was well lit, aggressively well lit, primarily by the shimmering light being projected from each and every doorway. About seventy yards away, Angel was standing watching something in one of the rooms and Willow walked quickly towards him. As she passed other open doorways she realised that they each contained tableaux of people, some dead, others dying but some simply sitting or standing in unfamiliar surroundings. There seemed to be no common theme or thread, except that most of them were wearing old fashioned clothes so she assumed they were scenes from Angel’s past.
None of them had any significance to her personally until she spotted Miss Calendar, silhouetted against the arched window that had lit the main staircase at the old high school, her face frozen in a terrified stifled scream as Angelus snapped her neck. That pinned her to the spot momentarily, completely caught up in the realisation that the vampire must have moved the teacher’s body right across town to lay her in Giles’ bed. And when she moved on, it was backwards and with slow shuffling steps until she was brought up short by something solid behind her.
"Witch." The growl felt like a serrated knife against her nerves.
She spun, her heart racing again despite herself, and stared up into that unfamiliar familiar face.
"Angelus. I…um…" Backing up a little she shot a quick glance down the corridor towards Angel. He had moved and was now stood in front of another doorway. She composed herself. "I don’t get it. What is he staring at? Do these rooms hold his memories?"
The demon glanced around and shrugged. "They contain the memories of things he - we - have done. Beyond that, I do not know for he will not speak with me."
She needed to get through to Angel somehow. Willow pulled back her shoulders and strode off in pursuit, by the time she reached him her resolve face was firmly in place.
"Angel?" She questioned and gave a quick tug on his shirt to try and gain his attention.
He could hear and see her at least because although he didn’t look her way when she spoke, he flinched at the sound of her voice, or maybe it was at the sound of his name.
"Angel?" A little louder and her hand returned to his sleeve.
"Don’t call me that." His voice was dull and cracked with tears and Willow felt her heart pinch at the tone. This was not going to be easy.
"What should I call you then? Liam?"
That got her a frown and he glanced down at her. "How did you know?"
Because powerful magics, such as those that allow you to control another being, require knowledge of a true name and so she’d searched for it, exhaustively, after Angelus’ appearance in Sunnydale, determined than none of them would fall to him again. Of course, it hadn’t stopped him but it had given her the ability to hold him while Cordelia returned his soul.
"I’m a witch."
This seemed to be the only clarification he required. He nodded and said regretfully, "I gave up the right to that name two and half centuries ago."
"Fine. Angel it is then."
But his eyes had returned to studying the image in the room in front of him. Unlike the others she had passed it changed constantly but the common theme was unmistakable.
"That’s Cordelia." Maybe if she could get Angel to talk about this, that would help.
"My Cordelia and I killed her." There was gut wrenching sorrow in his voice.
"No. It was an accident." That was something Willow ‘knew’ because Cordelia had told her, shown her.
"I tortured her until she didn’t have the strength and then she fell. I killed her."
As he spoke the words the scene in front of them steadied and coalesced into a movie show of Cordelia seen from Angel’s perspective. Her pale, drawn face was stricken with fear and her hand was across her mouth covering a scream. As they watched she backed away from them, feeling behind her for the rail that wasn’t there, until her foot caught on the carpet and she plummeted backwards out of sight.
Further down the corridor Angelus was standing stock still, his head cocked to one side and he could obviously hear what was being said, even if Angel wouldn’t hear or acknowledge him.
"Don’t be such a doof!" Cordelia’s voice came from behind her and Willow jumped round with a gasp.
"You’d been gone for ages so we thought we’d better come find you. You know, all that, ‘I might get lost’ and stuff."
Behind the ghost, Buffy and Xander waited, looking uncomfortable and trying not to let their eyes settle on the images.
Willow dropped her voice to an almost whisper. "Guys, now is not a good time. I think he needs…"
"What he needs is to get over it, already." Cordelia at her bossy best was not going to be pushed away again. "Come on, mister. Buck up. We need you and this is getting old, fast."
"Cordelia!" Willow in her best disapproving teacher voice.
"She’s right." Okay, Buffy was not the one to be throwing stones but hey, guess she’d been here too. "He needs to sort this out and move on. Come on, Wills, there must be something we can do."
The witch glanced back at Angel who had returned to the doorway and was ignoring the conversation going on behind him.
"He needs to speak to Angelus. I think he got broken apart, like fractured or something and until they start talking…"
"Fine, so let’s get with the chatty. Buffy, you want to do the honours?"
At the ghost’s question, the Slayer nodded, shot off and yanked the lurking demon back towards them.
"Okay. Angel, you’d better start talking to him or I swear to god…"
"I won’t."
"Argh!" Cordelia all but stamped her foot in frustration at Angel’s petulant refusal to co-operate.
"He hurt you and I won’t speak to him."
"There was never any intent to hurt. You asked me to look after her so I did."
The demon shrunk a little when Cordy fixed him with a baleful look, but he managed to force out a few more words of explanation. "He loved you and though you weren’t my first choice I tried to love you too."
"That I don’t believe. Since when does loving someone mean biting them and then beating on them."
"Oh, oh, I know this. Since the creature doing the loving is a demon. Right?" Again it was Willow who had the insight and she wasn’t sure where it came from, just knew it fitted the facts.
Angelus looked confused. "What other way is there to love? To love is to possess, and if you possess something you mark it, make it your own." He addressed his next comment to Angel, who actually seemed to hear him. "Bringing her over would have been better but you seemed to prefer her human."
"O-kay." Cordelia sounded extremely doubtful but Willow was more interested in Angel. He was frowning and also looking confused.
"So Buffy? Everything that happened afterwards?"
"After you lost your soul… Yes, of course." Willow was practically bouncing on the spot. "After you lost your soul Angelus was trying to love her, demon love ergo he tried to kill her. I bet he wanted to turn her."
Angelus shrugged. "Of course. A Slayer turned would have made a valuable Childe."
"You’re lying." They all swung to stare at Buffy, who was standing hands on her hips a determined expression on her face. "Angel loved me. What you are talking about isn’t love, it’s… it’s horrible."
"But he’s right. And I knew and still left Cordy with him. That makes me doubly guilty." The miserable look was back on Angel’s face.
"This is so not helping. We don’t have time for a major brood fest, Angel. Things to do, Watcher ass to kick."
"Oo… Not a good subject." When Cordelia frowned at her questioningly, Willow pointed to the door across the way where they could just see an image of Wesley and the ghost’s eyes widened in understanding, her gaze drifting up and down the never ending corridor.
"All these doors?"
"Uhuh."
"My god. There isn’t that much time in the world." She paused and then folded her arms glaring at Willow. "We’ve got to do something."
"Right now I suggest we follow him."
Angel had slipped past them and was heading for the ‘Wesley’ door, the others now in hot pursuit.
As soon as they arrived Cordelia pitched right in. "Wesley? But he’s not dead."
Angel didn’t get a chance to answer because Angelus got his excuse in first, his voice touched with the slightest chagrin. "He was very fragile and almost broke. Humans break very easily. I had forgotten."
"So why touch him at all, buster. It’s not like you didn’t have anywhere to stick it."
Willow flinched at the ghost’s attitude, really she had no idea how to address this demon and if she wasn’t careful… there. She felt more than justified in her concern when a deep threatening growl rumbled from the demon until she cast a glance at him and realised it wasn’t aimed at Cordelia at all. Instead Angelus’ dark eyes were fixed firmly on the scene in the room, which frankly she didn’t want to watch to closely. But why was Angelus so angry? Angel intervened at this point, actually acknowledging Angelus’ presence and trying to reassure his friends.
"Ignore him, he’s just trying to impress everybody and Wes may not be dead but he’s as good as. When a human’s been drunk from and… and stuff, like he has, they end up will-less, in thrall. He won’t ever get over it."
That brought a smile to Willow’s lips when she remembered how Wesley had cursed the vampire when he was in the hospital. "I think you’re seriously underestimating him. And the next time you meet, you might want to check him for stakes and stuff."
"See. You’re just being a big cry-baby. Wes is fine and I’m… okay dead, but really this ghost thing is so doing it for me, so let’s move it along and go rescue Spike."
Willow’s hand was too slow and even if she could have reached Cordelia in time it still wouldn’t have stopped the insubstantial entity from speaking, but she threw a severe frown at her in the hope that she wouldn’t let her mouth run on any more. Angel was on the move again, this time several doors down to a scene Cordelia recognised as the Hyperion’s kitchens.
"William." He breathed it out so it was half sigh and half word. "He told me he loved me and I rejected him. He said he would wait and I cast him out. He brought me back and then asked for help in return, and I denied him." Pause and a sigh. "Then he left and I didn’t try to find him."
"He still loves you." Okay she’d been told to shut up but there was no way Cordy was going to let this opportunity slip past. "Yeah, he tries to hate you but it’s never going to happen and you know it."
For the first time, Angel looked at her and seemed to see her and though his eyes reflected the love he still felt for her and his overwhelming guilt, there was something else nestling there - hope.
"Why did you lie to him?"
Now there was shifty embarrassment. "Because he deserves better than this." Angel waved his hand at his memories. "All I ever do is hurt him."
"Will you stop with the martyr complex?" Time enough for recriminations later. Now was the time for a few home truths. "Yes, you hurt him and then walk away, habitually. I was the one who got to pick up the pieces last time. I listened to him curse you while he tried to deny what he feels for you.
"Jeez, Angel, you told him that everything he’s felt for over a century was a lie. Worse, you made him think it was no different to what he feels for Dru and Buffy…" Cordelia paused as the implications of what she was saying sank in. "Or what you feel for me."
There was a level of wonder in her voice as she finished. If Spike’s ties to Angel were so strong, it was only logical that they would be returned equally intensely and she had tried to get between them. She had thrown herself wilfully against a bond that she didn’t understand, and as they’d seen when Darla and Dru were in town, was probably outside the bounds of human understanding. No wonder she had died.
Plaintively Angel held out his hands towards her, feeling a terrible deep frustration at finally being able to see her but not being able to touch. "But I do love you."
She simply shook her head at him and looked him in the eye. "God, how could I have been so blind?"
"What?" Okay, he couldn’t suffocate. For one thing this was his mind and for another he didn’t need to breathe, but right now that was how Angel felt. His throat was tightening, his chest was constricting and his head felt like it was going to explode. There was something going on that he didn’t want to understand but desperately needed to.
"You do love him. I should have realised. All those nights you two spent together, it wasn’t just him and it wasn’t just Angelus, it was you. And…and all this business about you loving Buffy and me… that was… well, more than obligation but…"
"Obligation?!"
"Angel, when you first saw Buffy, what did you think?"
That was confusing. He’d hardly been mobile at that point let alone thinking straight but Angel did his best to answer her. "That she was beautiful and sweet and that she was probably going to die without someone to help her out."
"Okay." Cordy’s voice was sort of breathless. "And me? When you offered me a job?"
"I didn’t…" He stopped when she frowned. "Um… that you needed help and would probably end up dead on the streets if you didn’t get it?"
"Are we starting to see a common theme here people?" Cordy looked around her and all the human’s were nodding, even Buffy, and there was a sort of sick look on the Slayer’s face.
"You, mister, have spent the last however long in denial." Angel started to open his mouth and she stopped him with a wave of her hand. "For a damn good reason. Spike didn’t have a soul and the last time you two got together he did the whole chain you to the ceiling, hot poker thing, yes?" He nodded and she continued.
"So for over a hundred years either one or both of you has been soul-less and trying to kill or torture the other. Finally you both have souls, you’re not trying to kill each other and still you don’t get together?"
"I loved you." There was a distinct whine in Angel’s voice now.
"No, you loved the idea of me. Just like you loved the idea of Buffy. Innocent girls you needed to protect. It wasn’t love. Not real love…"
"Oh, my god… ‘Love isn’t brains, it’s blood’. He wasn’t talking to me; he was talking to you. And again in the bathroom before…before…" Buffy’s hands went towards her mouth, "wild, dangerous, passionate, he said. It was never real. Neither of you loved me… and I… and he…" A choked cry tore from her throat and she took off down the corridor quickly fading from sight.
"Buffy!! It’s not true, I do…did love you." Angel’s voice followed her, trailing off as he saw how pointless his words were.
"She’s gone. Go after her, Xander, she’s gonna need someone."
Angel was furious when he turned on Cordelia. "Why did you say that? I did love her, she’s beautiful and good and strong and the most wonderful thing that happened to me before you."
"No. Liam loved her. Just like Liam loved me and William loved Buffy. Don’t you get it, Angel, even now? You are not Liam, no more than you are Angelus. You are Angel, remember? Vampire with a soul. Vampire, not a human. Vampires don’t love humans; they don’t tend to survive it, even Slayers. Before Spike came back there was an excuse, there was no one else and Angelus was willing to let Liam take the lead but now… now you have family. Better yet, you have family that is like you and that loves you."
There was a huge grin on Angelus’ face, but Angel was shaking his head still denying everything vehemently.
It must be incredibly difficult to accept, Cordelia thought with a pang of sympathy. He fought so hard for so long to forget his family after his ill-fated attempt to return to them in China, and to turn that all suddenly on it’s head after the turmoil of the last couple of years. Not really surprising he was freaked out.
"Angel?" She came as close as she could and gripped her hands together tightly, desperately wanting to hold him. Her voice, when she spoke was pitched low and gently but underlain with steel. "He’s your family and he needs your help. As much as Darla did and you didn’t exactly hold back then. You’ve heard what Angelus said, everything that happened was an accident…ish and I sort of believe him. But…" She took a deep breath hoping that this would bring Angel back. "If you don’t do something now, then it really will be your fault. Spike’s blood, and anyone else who dies, they will be on your soul."
As her words faded, so did the scene around her. The real and illusory hotels superimposing on each other and while part of her was aware of Buffy crying in Xander’s arms, she could still see as Angel and Angelus embraced each other and became one in a flash of light.
***
Wesley glanced up from the pile of papers on the table when Giles re-entered the dining room, then put his pen carefully to one side, turning his entire attention to his companion. "So, what did you tell him?" An answer wasn’t entirely necessary; the slump of the older man’s shoulders spoke more eloquently than any words he could have uttered.
"That they had twenty-four hours to release him or we would both hand in our resignations, oath or no-oath." The grey in Giles’ normally green eyes was matched to that of his hair and he seemed tired beyond his years. Rebelling against the Council was never an easy or comfortable decision however many times you did it and, Wesley decided, taking this course of action for a creature you didn’t particularly like must be galling in the extreme, even when you knew it was the right thing to do. They’d tried every other avenue in the last three weeks with no success; not surprisingly none of their colleagues were willing to throw their lot in with two cranks and a vampire.
Dragging his eyes away from his intense scrutiny of the other man’s face, Wesley covered his insight into Giles’ discomfort by shuffling the papers together. After a moment he paused, looked back up and said decisively, "I’ll start packing. You book the hotel rooms." He slid the sheaf into his briefcase, then stood and strode wordlessly from the room leaving Giles alone amongst the linen and silverware.
The moment Wesley was out of sight, Giles dropped into a chair, sank his head into his hands and released a huge sigh. He hadn’t expected Travers to listen, after all the threat to resign was hardly new or remarkable, but neither had he expected such blasé acceptance. It did not bode well for their future; the Council had more than one way of removing inconvenient elements.
***
The water washed spring sky visible through his office window reflected little of Quentin Travers’ optimistic mood. Indeed rather than the omnipresent overcast greyness, he felt blue skies and happy white fluffy clouds were in order. Markham had been entirely correct in his assessment that replacing the customary human Watcher with a vampiric one was impractical, however the new plan, sounder and infinitely more well rounded than his first, had developed from it, so Travers had no regrets about forging ahead.
Francis Marlowe’s soul had been returned the moment he had risen, and now he was the first of what Travers hoped would soon be an army of trained souled vampires ready to defend the next Slayer to the death.
So far the fledgling was adjusting well and frankly unless specifically informed everyone assumed he was still human, the board included. It was a gratifyingly positive outcome to the experiment and, having met the newly turned vampire, the board was quite happy for other candidates to be presented. All things being equal, by the end of the week they should be the proud possessors of a baker’s dozen.
The only difficulty remaining was what to do about the sire. There had been another vision in the last few days, which, once they had managed to get the information from the reluctant seer, had allowed them to save countless human lives, illustrating how useful the gift could be.
Unfortunately, it had also demonstrated that the visions and the behaviour modification chip were basically incompatible. According to Ramirez it was only a matter of time before the vampire’s brain was severely damaged rendering him incapable of siring any more childer, a totally unacceptable situation. The doctor wanted to extract the chip leaving them with an unsouled, uncontrollable Master vampire in the pens - a risky proposition. There was always the possibility of resouling him of course, but if previous evidence was anything to go by that option would also leave them sireless.
Whatever the decision turned out to be, it was his to make no longer. There was a full board meeting scheduled for tomorrow at the Watcher’s headquarters in London where all matters pertaining to the project needed to be exhaustively discussed. After several months in charge, Quentin Travers was finally ready to hand the day to day running of the Uriel Project over to a new manager. He wanted his hands free to deal with a new problem - clearing the way for the new slayers - and Faith was turning out to be an elusive young lady.
***
The tips of the bone were still grinding together despite how tightly she had strapped her leg, and every movement was making the bile rise in the back of her throat. Faith propped herself against the alley wall and wiped a hand across her forehead, clearing the cold sweat that threatened to blind her and leave her more helpless than she already was. It had been foolish to drop her guard for even a moment but, after she had got in and out of Sunnydale with no attacks, she’d thought she was safe enough to grab a few hours sleep.
Unfortunately, the demon that had stumbled across her in the maintenance tunnel hadn’t been concerned with her need to rest. It was much more interested in dinner and the fact that a slayer would make a more than decent one. It hadn’t even been the damn demon that had broken her leg but the fight, on top of weeks being hunted, had left her exhausted, run down and careless and she’d missed the broken drain while she was chasing it. Her leg slipping down the narrow opening combined with her fleet forward momentum had been enough to cleanly fracture her femur. That, at least, was one blessing. There was no sign of infection and a clean break should heal very fast if she could just get to the hotel and lay up for a few days.
Of course the irony of the whole situation was that if she’d had the courage of her convictions and gone the extra couple of blocks to the hotel last night then the demon would never have found her. But it still wasn’t that easy. Faith was certain that Angel and his friends would welcome her, however Buffy was still an unknown quantity and in her heart the rogue slayer was desperately scared that her ‘sister’ would not be able to forgive her many transgressions.
***
There were upwards of thirty humans circulating around the small dining room, the sounds of their voices abnormally loud to his sensitive ears and after several hours they had generated enough heat that their scents were starting to overpower his self-control. Honestly, only the Watcher’s Council would see a cheese and wine party as an integral part of a vampire’s coming out process. Although, of course, that was really the whole point of this social event, to see if he could pass as unchanged in front of his old friends and colleagues. His new status would only be revealed at the end of the evening and then only to this select group.
Marlowe slipped out onto the balcony and drew in lungs full of sweet cool air. He may no longer need it for survival but it helped to clear his senses of still unfamiliar but enticing tastes and enabled him to focus on not losing control. Alongside that, Mr. Markham had pointed out that, as a Watcher, Marlowe would need to pass as human and should endeavour to retain as many human attributes as possible.
The blood lust was surprisingly easy to overcome and the desire to rip out the nearest human’s neck subsided rapidly when he fed on copious quantities of pig’s blood. On the other hand, the rage was more difficult to deal with and Marlowe found himself quicker to anger and vastly less tolerant of human inadequacies than before. So far he had bitten his tongue, not allowing the cynical cruel comments that hovered in his mind to escape, held back by years of training and that almost inbred sense of politeness that still pervaded certain classes of English society.
"Are you looking for Francis? I think he’s on the balcony."
At the mention of his name, Marlowe stuck his head back through the door to see why his presence was required. Across the room stood two late arrivals, a man and a woman, both older than the rest of the gathering and looking uncomfortable amongst unfamiliar faces. He re-entered the room, set on rescuing them from awkward introductions.
"Mother. Father. So glad you could make it." He dipped automatically into the double air kiss expected by his mother and then shook his father’s hand. There was no hesitation in the grip and Marlowe was reassured that his strategy of feeding just before the party was paying off by keeping his body warmed to almost human temperatures.
Marlowe Senior cleared his throat self importantly before commenting. "Indeed, though why our attendance at this gathering," he looked around disparagingly at the throng of Watchers, "was necessary completely escapes me."
His wife placed a gentling hand on his arm and smiled benignly up at her son. "Alex and Lucy had a dinner party tonight and they wanted your father and I to attend. They’re celebrating his promotion. We’re so proud of him, aren’t we, dear." She turned her smile to her husband as she extolled her eldest son’s achievements. "The youngest deputy head of department in Council history."
The short breath he gasped in dragged with it all the flavours he’d been trying so hard to ignore, re-awakening the rage he’d so recently managed to shed, and Marlowe found his eyes dropping to his mother’s neck. Fixating on the pumping pulse hidden by the material of her high necked dress. It would be so easy, so simple, so - he breathed more deeply and shuddered - satisfying.
Shaking slightly, he cleared his throat. "E-excuse me. Please help yourselves to wine. I just need to…" With a wave of his hand, Marlowe indicated the door and moved toward it, needing to put some distance between himself and his sudden impulse for matricide.
Before he could reach it, a sharp thump on the table silenced the room and drew everyone’s focus.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please." Forster, the head of Research and Development, and Marlowe’s ultimate boss, was standing by the buffet table an expectant look on his face. Once silence ruled the room he spoke again.
"I’m sure you would all like to know why you were invited this evening." A scattering of murmurs and bobbing heads confirmed his words. With a quirky grin he continued, "Despite current rumours, I am not about to announce a pay rise." The murmurs transmuted into groans and he raised his voice and spoke over them. "However, it is something that could be considered equally compelling."
That garnered laughter and Marlowe felt himself fall completely out of the loop of humanity. This time there was no real rage, simply total superiority. His whole being screamed that attending this meaningless ritual surrounded by toadies and lackies was so far beneath him that the humans should be crawling on their knees for forgiveness at asking him to demean himself. So caught up in his fantasy was he that he missed most of the following announcement. It was only when he sensed a sudden current of fear and tension flood the room that he realised it had been made, that he had been outed to his friends for the vampire he now was.
With a disdainful smile he raised his eyes to meet his father’s. Certain that this time, for the first time, he would find pride at his youngest’s achievements. Instead, what he found cut him deeper that any stake. Fear, loathing, horror, all painted as clearly as the sun he would never see again. At her husband’s side, his mother shrank away from him as the truth of what her son had become hit home.
And now the incandescent rage filled him. He had done it for them - damn them. Done it so that they would at last see him for what he was, for what he could be. As successful as his brother, as clever as his brother, as worthy of love and respect as his brother. And all they could do was hate him for it. An aborted roar cut off in his chest and he shouldered past them, finally finding the door and blessed escape.
**
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true. The words ran through her head like watered ink, dark and liquid. He wouldn’t have done this without speaking to her first. Their last conversation, two weeks ago by phone, him at home and her in a luxury hotel in Thailand, had been normal. Or what passed for normal in their strange on-again, off-again, relationship. So why hadn’t he said anything then? Maybe he hadn’t known? But why hadn’t he called? Surely this was something he would have wanted to discuss, even if they were in an off-again slump.
The thunder of blows on a punch bag from the training room lead her to him at last and for a few moments she stood in the doorway and watched. He looked no different to her now informed eyes. His skin still burnished with colour from the sun, his hair bleached to copper highlights. Both souvenirs from their on-again holiday last month in the Bahamas.
"Caroline?"
Wide green eyes turned to find hers and she felt something shatter inside her. It was still Francis. No matter what he’d become, that was still her lover. And yet, when he reached her, she could see how death had changed him. Skin that should be damp and flushed from exertion held no hint of either and when he gripped her arm she flinched at the hardness of his hands.
"Oh god, Caroline. I had no idea you were going to be here. I thought you were still away." Regret stained his voice and she could tell that he was ashamed that the news had fallen this way.
She couldn’t meet his eyes and instead focused on his hands and where they now enclosed hers. "When were you going to tell me?" Her voice sounded petty and small even to her own ears and that wasn’t fair damn it. She’d deserved to be told privately, not in front of their friends where it could be held up as some kind of smutty joke - hey, you won’t have worry about safe sex now, will you, Carol.
She added, louder this time. "Were you going to tell me?"
"God, of course I was. But not like that. Not around them." His arms were around her now and he felt cool. Not cold, but cool as if he’d been outdoors on a summer night. Heart aflutter, Caroline raised her head and again got lost in his eyes and the genuine regret and sorrow they contained.
"Francis?"
His lips came down to hover over hers, then touched down butterfly gently. "I missed you." He muttered against her mouth.
***
All eyes in the room swivelled to meet Xander when he entered the lobby, and he shrugged noncommittally before perching on the arm of the couch.
"She still won’t talk to me. Did you have any luck last night, Wills?"
The Witch shook her head and dropped her eyes down concentrating on the fingers twining in her lap before answering. "No. She’s doing the Buffy denial thing again. If I don’t talk about it, it can’t hurt me." She flicked her gaze up, briefly meeting Angel’s, before returning to the dark haired man beside her. "I thought we’d got passed all this after last year. You know - no good comes from keeping secrets. That way lies death and destruction. I mean, this is like Buffy back from the dead. The way she’s gone all closed off and not-communicaty. What are we supposed to do?"
"Maybe I should…?" The vampire waved his hand in the general direction of the garden door where the object of their discussion had sequestered herself since leaving her room early that afternoon. When no one objected, he hauled himself reluctantly to his feet and stared around at the assembled humans feeling that some level of justification for his actions was in order before he left.
"After all I was the one who upset her, so it’s only right that I try to explain. I did… do… did love her, it’s just that…" He looked around again, hoping for rescue, and expecting and receiving none. "She needs to understand that it’s not her. I could never love her completely. Not without denying half of who I am." He finished decisively.
"Tell Buffy not us, Deadboy." Xander growled out, shifting sideways to allow the vampire a clear run at the door. "She’s the one who needs to hear it."
Pulling himself up to his full height, Angel moved across the lobby to beard the Slayer in her den, trying to control the nerves in his stomach and telling himself that for once he needed to not be an uncommunicative doofus and just bite the bullet.
Unfortunately, Buffy seemed to have sensed his impending arrival and had moved from the seat near the door which was conveniently located in the early evening shadows to the one still bathed in sunlight on the far side of the yard. The closest Angel could get was about ten feet so he settled at the edge of the shade, ignoring the gravel’s potential for permanent clothing damage and started to speak.
"Buffy, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never lied to you. I never wanted to hurt…"
"I understand. I finally understand." Obviously she wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, so Angel closed his mouth and allowed the Slayer the floor.
"I should have seen it, all those years ago. I would have too, if I’d been older and wiser. It was like looking in a mirror… and then when I heard that she’d come back and that you’d been so desperate to help her. Why didn’t I see? Why couldn’t I see? I was so stupid, so naïve."
Officially confused, Angel peered up at her, his brow lowering in his ‘huh’ expression. Thankfully, Buffy noticed and for a moment the far away look in her eyes disappeared and was replaced by genuine humour. Then the hazel darkened with sadness and she explained.
"Darla. The little blond that is the total centre of your obsession. The one who rescued you from your useless drunken life? Have you never noticed, Angel, how similar we are? Apart from the whole, she’s a four hundred-year-old murdering ho, thing. You said, yesterday, in your memories, that when you first saw me you saw an innocent girl that you wanted to help. That might be true. It would be great if it was. But you also saw Darla the sequel. This time in the body of a sort-of human that Liam could love without having to give up his soul."
Pushing her hair back from her face with slightly shaking hands, Buffy raised her eyes to the sunset and laughed dryly. "Ironic, huh. Guess loving little blondes is bad for your karma or something."
Angel watched her silently, considering what she’d said and trying to deny the truth of it. Honestly, it had never occurred to him. Not even when the two were in the same room and he’d chosen Buffy over the vampire that had sired him. And yet, having met the human Darla, Angel knew that Buffy was right. What Liam had seen was another chance, this time with a woman who wouldn’t kill him if he loved her. The irony was so infinitely twisted that it reflected in the curl of his lips.
"What about Cordelia? Was she your substitute Drusilla? Not mad maybe, but another seer." There was a deeply cutting timbre in Buffy’s voice now and Angel flinched back from it. "My god, Angel, you’ve been trying to rebuild your family around you. Me, Cordy… who was Spike? Wes? No. English, but wrong. Gunn? He’s certainly your second in command."
"Connor." Angel interrupted. "Without the sex, obviously." He qualified quickly when disgust sprang to Buffy’s face. "I wanted to teach him, show him how good he could be. Show him this strange world he’d suddenly found himself in." A grin chased across his face. "And he was just like William. Difficult, headstrong, angry. A challenge. I always enjoyed a challenge."
"I." Buffy echoed. "And that’s where we end up. All this time I’ve tried to separate you. Angelus from Angel. Told myself, and anyone else who’d listen, that you weren’t the same person. And I was wrong, way past wrong." Again she laughed, dipping her head as she did so. "I should have realised. When I saw how Spike had changed after the chip. After I met up with him again when he had his soul he’d hardly changed at all, really. Maybe more in control, less likely to break a neck for the fun of it, but still the same Spike." Now her voice dropped lower. "Just like you’re really Angelus with the ability to know right from wrong. You can change what you do but never what you are."
The thousand-yard stare reinstated itself, and when Buffy continued there was a frown on her face and a question in her voice. "What about Spike? He said he loved me but… Cordelia says it was William, not Spike. I don’t understand."
Angel hesitated before answering. "I think that maybe I do. And Cordy is wrong there, in a way. It was Spike that loved but it wasn’t you he was loving."
Buffy directed her frown towards him now and cocked her head to encourage him to continue.
"I don’t know much about your relationship but I do know that he has always had a weakness for women who would take control of him. Darla did it. So did Drusilla -she wasn’t always the way you saw her, she could be very strong. And I think even his mother was when he was alive. She was someone very important to him, important enough that it caused problems between him and Dru after he was turned." That gave Angel pause for thought and he shrugged. "So maybe it was William. But I think, maybe, he thought he’d found that with you."
**
While to two ex-lovers conversed in the garden the humans chatted quietly amongst themselves, revisiting their plans for their imminent trip to England. Xander had just raided the fridge for a soda when the front doors slammed open and a small brunette figure lurched through them, collapsing onto the top step with a groan.
"Faith?"
Willow was the first to the injured slayer’s side, her fingers ghosting over the roughly tied strapping that enclosed the woman’s left thigh and adding an extra boost to already accelerated healing powers.
"It’s fractured. Xander, help me. We need to get her upstairs."
"I’ll do it." The voice came from the garden entrance and Angel entered, quickly gathering Faith’s unconscious form in his arms and starting up the stairs. "I’ll put her in your room, Buffy."
"M-my room?" She had followed Angel indoors, as surprised as him by the sudden commotion and as several pairs of eyes turned towards her, Buffy realised that squeaking probably wasn’t the most mature reaction to the suggestion. A wave of embarrassment swept through her, wiping out the last traces of resentment she’d been harbouring toward her ‘sister’. "Yeah, sure." She cleared her throat and spun round to face Xander. "Help me find her some clothes? She looked pretty nasty."
***
"… And the final pair have risen tonight. That brings the force up to twelve with only the single failure, an excellent percentage, if I may say…
"Yes, absolutely. Ramirez in going ahead tomorrow. He suggested that eventually there may be a way of insulating the chip from electrical feedback and was going to talk to you about it…
"He did? Good…"
"And the little problem with Rupert and Wyndham-Pryce? Ah. Excellent idea. Well, I’ll speak to you again tomorrow."
Markham rubbed his hands tiredly across his face as he switched the telephone speaker off. Although he hadn’t objected to being put in charge of the project, he was less happy with Ramirez and Preece still liasing directly with Travers about the vampire.
The board’s decision to go ahead with having the chip removed seemed foolhardy in the extreme to the new project manager and he’d argued vehemently for either termination or allowing nature to take its course, but he’d been out voted. As a result of his reservations the board had decided to restrict his authority exclusively to the new vampiric Watchers and their interactions with the slayers in training, and after the operation tomorrow the pens would hold one of the most dangerous creatures the Council ever tried to contain. They had no way to control it and Preece was in sole charge of the security measures. The whole thing reeked of a disaster waiting to happen.
Still at least the fledglings were doing well. Their souls were firmly in place, their memories and personalities were unchanged, and as soon as the latest ones were ready the training schedule could be started in earnest.
Of course it would be a long time until they were ready to join the new slayers in London but all they had now was time.
After a swig of coffee, Markham picked up the phone once again. He wanted to check in with Forster and see how Marlowe’s reunion with his co-workers had gone.
**
All she’d wanted was one night, she’d said, just one more night. And now, in this pathetic little room with its single bed and austere furnishings, after their ‘one more night’ she had so desired, he was lying on her bed, her still form in his arms and her blood suffusing his system. The demon within him, revelling in the power of the first decent meal it had had since being born spoke in its voice of ages for the first time.
‘Turn her.’
‘She’s dead.’
‘No. Listen. Her heart still beats. Turn her and she will be yours, forever. A companion fit for eternity, Francis. A consort fit for the god you’ve become. Do it and take your rightful place.’
‘Her soul…?’
‘We will control her. Only let her kill those we wish. Like your brother. Consider that, Francis. No more playing second fiddle to Alex. No longer the useless youngest son, rather the eldest, best, and only child. Do this and you will be the apple of your parent’s eye.’
Rolling Caroline away from him slightly, Marlowe cut into his neck, fed the dying woman his blood, and stashed her body in the back of the wardrobe before leaving. It was unlikely she would be missed before she rose and when she did, Caroline would be his.
As he locked the door firmly behind him the vampire cast his thoughts to his next move. His brother? Absolutely, but that wouldn’t be easy alone so first he would release his new siblings from this obscenity the Council had tried to perpetrate, this human bondage they’d been forced into. The guard fell unconscious to his first punch and provided enough blood to fully waken the other ten demons.