December
1997
Angel finished the poem he was reading and Buffy stirred slightly in his arms.
She didn’t want to go home just yet, didn’t want to leave the warm circle of Angel’s
embrace and step out into the cold, wet night. A comfortable silence stretched
between the couple, broken only by the soft yet insistent pitter-patter of rain
on the windowpanes. She leant back against his chest, sighing deeply and
contentedly. These quiet times were all too few. It was always demons and
vampires and darkness and death. Sometimes she just wanted a break from it all,
a peaceful evening spent in the company of the man she loved, a time to think,
to talk, to enjoy one another’s closeness, to just be together. That’s what
tonight had been and it was perfect.
“Angel,” she began, entwining her fingers with his.
“Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
She felt his smile against her hair as he kissed the top of her head softly.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now, Buffy?”
She smiled back, an automatic response. Sometimes she thought her face would
crack from all the smiling she did when he was near. “I mean, can we really
talk? Like, have a deep and meaningful. I wanted to ask you something.”
“As long as I can reserve the right not to answer,” he replied, shifting his
body in order to tighten his grip around her waist.
She took a deep breath before speaking, her expression becoming serious and
thoughtful. “What’s it like to die?”
“Buffy,” he tensed underneath her. “Why would you want to know a thing like
that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently, death
I mean, and I was just wondering what it was like. When I died that time it was
only for a couple of minutes and it was just like being unconscious. There was
no light or anything, no life flashing before my eyes, just nothing, and I was
worried that might be all there is.”
He thought for a minute, before answering. “I don’t know what to tell you. I
didn’t really die, I was just Turned. There was pain and there was blood then
everything went dark. And during the darkness there were dreams, my family,
people walking on the earth above me, their heartbeats, their screams. And when
I woke up I was a vampire.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed by his answer, though not sure what she wanted to
hear in the first place. “So, it hurt then?”
“Some,” he admitted, resting his chin on the top of her head. “But I can assure
you, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not going to die anytime soon.”
“But I’m the Slayer,” she protested. “Slayers don’t exactly have the longest
life expectancy in the world – I think that prize goes to the Japanese.” She
frowned. “I have to be realistic, anything could happen to me, any day.”
“It won’t,” he insisted.
“How do you know?”
“Because I won’t let it. You’re not going to die, because I won’t allow it to
happen. I’m always going to be here to protect you.”
She smiled softly, twisting her body to face his and gazing deep into his eyes.
“Promise?”
He leaned in to kiss her. “Promise.”
~~~~~
Chapter One
May 2001
The sun is hot in the desert.
My face is tingling with the special kind of ache you know means you're getting
sunburned and it's just a matter of moments before the red flush starts to
show. Sweat runs down my face in rivulets, and I wish I'd thought to pull my
hair back, bring a bottle of water, or something. My throat is dry with dust,
my eyes feel blurry, and my muscles ache. I feel as though I just came from the
fight of my life. A fight for my life, specifically.
“Pain isn't permanent,” Buffy tells me, sitting next to me
on the ground. She looks as though the heat isn't affecting her the way it is
me, like I could burst into flames any minute. She's fresh and cool, awake and
unworried. Or maybe she's just internalising.
“How would you know?” I shoot back, lifting a hand to wipe
my dripping brow.
“I did the college thing for awhile, so I know stuff.” She
tilts her head up to the sun, letting it tan her cheeks. “Kinda bright.”
“It's like that.” My skin feels too tight. I'm going to
burst from this pressure. And suddenly I understand that we're both going to
die here. Probably me before her. “B...” There's so many things I want to tell
her, I need to tell her before it's over.
“I don't want to think about it. Its safer here.”
Safe? How does she feel safe? The sun is crawling inside my
body, it's eating away at me like a cancer. “I'm thinking we should go. We're
supposed to be – ”
“Miles to go. Miles, and miles, and miles to go. And that
path doesn't stop, does it? We just keep walking down it until...until what?
When is it enough? Does it always have to end in DEATH?" She screams the
last word, so loud I want to cover my ears, but I can't. I can't even move.
“And Death is my gift, right? So I have to love it. I have to welcome it with
open arms, I live with Death, I die with Death, and in between it's a shiny,
gift wrapped package?”
“B
– ”
“Death
is a gift for someone like you,” she spits. “Ram a stake through an innocent
person's heart, bathe in their blood, and then let it take you down into a
place where it's dark and cold and where you still dream of bones snapping and
people begging you to stop in terror?”
“No,”
I protest weakly. “I don't – ”
“So why does the light hurt you?” She spins around and gets
in my face. “I don't want death! It's a fitting gift for you, NOT ME! I'M NOT
YOU!” She glares at me, the fire in her eyes hurting more than the sun in the
sky. “Maybe I could be you...” She reaches out and wraps her hands around my
neck. “Does taking a human life make you powerful, Faith? Will it make me
powerful? Will it make me a GOD? Do I have to be a god to beat a god?”
“B-Buffy,” I rasp.
“I can't...I'm s-sorry...” My oxygen is slowly cut off, and I can feel a brief
glimmer of gratitude that I'm going this way instead of Human Torch. But I
don't want to die! I'm not ready...I reach out and push her away from me, not
meaning to hurt her. But I do. She lands in a huge, crackling, electric blue
vortex. The sky is ripping open and she's falling backwards though it.
“Faith!” she pleads. “Help
me!”
I lunge at her, trying to pull her out, but I can't stop it.
She's sucked though. Because the world needs Death. But it took her...instead
of me.
I fall to the ground, the breach in the air slowly closing,
and I wait for the light to destroy me.
~~~~~
Faith:
I sit up in bed, screaming.
“Buffy, NO!”
“God, Faith, shut UP,” my cellmate
growls, throwing a pillow at my head. I absentmindedly bat it away, then put a
hand over my racing heart. God...Buffy said something about fighting a god. Was
this one of those crazy Slayer prophetic dream things B used to talk about
getting? Wouldn't
know, I never got one before. But it felt real...so goddamn real.
That circle of blue energy was wide open. I could smell the faint scent of
ozone, blood, and copper tingeing the air, hear the sparking, crackling sound
it made. If B's in trouble...if there's some god on the loose in
Sunnydale...then I've got to be there. Or at least get someone there to help
her out.
Welcome to Slayersville.
I
swing out of bed, making my way towards the guards’ table at the end of the
hall. “Excuse me,” I ask Tina, the only decent one in the whole place. “It's my
brother's birthday, and I was maybe wondering if I could give him a call...”
“That hunk of a dark haired guy in the billowy coat who comes to visit you?”
she asks.
“That's the one,” I say brightly. “He's the only family I have, and I know how
much it would mean to him...please?”
“Oh, sugar, of course. You're not supposed to unless you sign up, but we can
make an exception just this once.” She takes out her passkey and walks me to
the hallway with the payphones. Quickly, I dial Angel's number, my heart
hammering at warp speed. He usually comes to visit me at least once a week, on
Thursdays, and for the past two, he hasn't shown up. Either wicked bad
juju is going down in Sunnydale and he's already there helping, or
something happened to him here in LA.
The phone rings twelve times, and nobody answers. My stomach clenches with a nervous
fear, tightly knotting itself. I've got to get out of here. They need me. I
don't know how I know, I can just tell. I'll swing by Angel's place, and if no
one's there, I'm heading straight to Sunnydale. I'm not sure how happy B's
going to be to see me...but some things you just have to leave to chance.
My Slayer reflexes have slowed down considerably, but they haven't slowed
enough that I can't make it out of here. I sway a little bit in front of the
phone. “Faith?” Tina asks. “You feeling okay?” She comes up beside me.
I spin suddenly, facing her. “I'm sorry, T,” I tell her.
Then I clock her with all my might. She goes down considerably quick, before
she even knows what hit her. I strip off her guard’s uniform and shimmy
into it. It's a couple sizes too big, but it'll have to
do.
I make my way to the exit of the
prison as fast as I can, and no one gives me a second look. Once I reach the
doors, I fairly fly out of them.
Free...God, I'm back. The sirens warning of ‘prisoner escape’ go off behind me,
and I feel my blood start pumping fast through my body in gleeful anticipation
as I break out in a run. The smoggy LA air never smelled so sweet as I sprint
down the streets.
~~~~~
Angel:
It’s strange, but I am actually quite sad to be leaving Pylea. I know we
haven’t had the most uneventful of stays, due to all the fighting, the
enslavement and the nearly being killed, but I think the escape from LA, the
change from my normal routine has really done me some good. In Los Angeles I
carry the weight of my past around with me, I see my sins and my guilt on every
corner. Over there is a young boy who resembles one I murdered as Angelus, or
across the street is a small, slight woman with long blonde hair, whom I almost
imagine to be Buffy. And Wolfram and Hart’s raising of Darla did nothing to
help either. She dragged me deeper back into my past, until I feared I had lost
myself completely.
Here, though, in Pylea, I am free. The world is such a different place that
shadows and memories of my former self and my long history of darkness and
death do not haunt me here. To have so many ghosts banished from my soul, if
only temporarily, is an incredibly liberating feeling. And furthermore, I have
learnt lessons on this trip, about myself, about the demon within me. I learnt
I could control it when I tried hard enough, that I rule it rather than it
ruling me. I felt the demon growing weaker, the ever-present spectre of Angelus
starting to fade, as for the first time in a long time I finally believe that I
can win the battle against the evil inside me.
Plus, I’ve been enjoying the sunshine here. It’s amazing how incredible it
feels after 250 years of darkness to suddenly step out into the sunlight and
feel its warmth on my skin. There was part of me too that was kind of hoping
I’d manage to get a little tanned during our trip. Mainly for the novelty value
I suppose, I mean, how many vampires do you see walking around with a suntan?
But then vanity always was one of my (and Angelus’) worst vices, so I suppose
it’s a good thing we’re leaving now, before I get too attached to having a
reflection again.
It is a tight fit in the car as we speed through what passes as countryside in
Pylea, heading to where Wesley’s calculations predicted the porthole back to
earth would be located. Lorne sits beside me in the passenger seat, while
squeezed in the back are Wesley, Gunn, Cordelia and Fred (the unexpected
addition to our party). They all seem to be in good spirits, however, and are
busy alternating between chatting loudly and singing along to a cassette Lorne
managed to produce from somewhere and insisted upon playing in the car’s tape
machine.
Caught up in the triumphant mood brought about by our successful mission in the
alternate dimension, I even find myself joining in with Nat King Cole in his
rendition of Let There Be Love – a classic that even I, in my relative
isolation from the world, can’t help but recognise from its original release.
My humming is almost cheerful in nature, something that surprises me more than
anyone else. I know this carefree atmosphere won’t last for very long after we
return home, so I am determined to make the most of it whilst I still can.
“Let there be cuckoos, a lark and a dove…” Cordelia shouts rather than sings,
incredibly managing not to hit a single correct note. Buoyed by her appalling
performance, my confidence increases slightly and I even dare sing along with
the last few lyrics.
“Whoa, kiddo,” Lorne’s voice interrupts my tentative attempts to be musical.
“Sing up a few bars would you – I’m not sure if I heard right.”
My mouth seals shut instantly, and I am mortified that my singing has not only
been noticed but also commented upon by another of our party. The other
occupants of the car are suddenly silent as the track ends with a flourish of
elaborate piano chords.
“Yes, okay,” I bluster in an attempt to cover up
my embarrassment. “Angel was singing, there’s no need for everybody to stare.
Show’s over now.”
“But where’s the impending apocalypse,” Cordelia teases. “The evil demon
holding you a stake-point? Because I’m sure this couldn’t possibly be a voluntary
occurrence.”
“Hey, I always knew he was far more willing to get up on that karaoke stage
than he ever let on,” Gunn adds.
“Are you done humiliating me now?” I ask good naturedly, actually feeling more
grateful to have friends around to gently mock me like this than I am offended
by their words.
“No, I’m not done,” Lorne interrupts. “What I meant to say, sugar, is
I’m not sure if I read you right. I may be good at this gig, but even I
can’t see past two and a half centuries’ worth of accumulated character flaws
in one line of song.”
Lorne’s frequent derogatory remarks stopped offending me long ago, and I am
just about to ask him what he thought he saw in me, when Cordelia interrupts.
“So, you were trying to read Angel just then?”
Lorne shrugs. “Can’t help it if my work spills over into my private life, now
can I?”
“But that means you could have been reading any of us, against our will,” she
accuses, sounding affronted at the possibility Lorne was looking into her head
without her permission.
“I wouldn’t worry, hon,” Lorne reassures her. “The only thing I was getting
from your singing just then was your complete tone-deafness.”
Cordelia makes a sort of high-pitched grunting noise, sounding something like
‘hrumph’ and then refuses to comment further. Glancing briefly over at Lorne, I
press him to reveal whatever it was he may or may not have seen in his reading
of me, but he declines to reveal it, saying he wants to be sure he wasn’t
mistaken before saying anything. And for that I need to sing again – something
that I vehemently insist is not going to happen.
“I really think you should, Angel,” Wesley prompts. “This does seem to be a
matter of some import.”
“Go on, man, you know you want to,” Gunn interjects with a snicker. “I hear you
do a mean Barry Manilow.”
Finally persuaded by their constant nagging, I mumble more than sing a few bars
of music, utterly embarrassed and self-conscious – if vampires could blush,
then I’d be beet red by now.
“You know I actually have to be able to hear you to read you,” Lorne
complains and a splutter of laughter follows from the back of the car.
Desperately wishing the earth would open up and swallow me (even Hell was better
than this), I nevertheless raise my voice slightly. “Why do stars fall down
from the sky, every time you walk by? Just like me they long to be, close to
you…”
“Aha,” Lorne interrupts, putting me out of my misery. “I thought so!”
“What?” I ask wearily, glancing round at our surroundings and registering we
don’t have much further to travel before we reach the porthole. “Don’t tell me,
my future is bleak and filled with insurmountable obstacles.”
“Step out from under that cloud, honey! I know that dark and brooding attitude
is a hit with the ladies, but it’s doing nothing for me,” Lorne says with a
wink. “Besides – and try not to faint in surprise – this is good news, for
once.”
“Well are you actually going to tell me, or is this just ‘persecute Angel in
every way possible’ day?” I reply irritably.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I was just getting to it. It’s about your
soul – it’s finally been returned to you.”
“Uh, newsflash,” Cordelia butts in from the backseat. “You’re a little behind
on your information. Angel’s had his soul back for one hundred years.”
“Sure he’s had his soul,” Lorne elaborates. “But that wasn’t his choice, it was
just your nice, friendly gypsy curse that forced a soul upon him. Now Angel has
a soul because he wants to have one – it’s his choice. So, if he wants
to hang on to it forever then he can – and without any of those nasty loopholes
either. But if he wants to lose it and return to his former evil, murderous
ways then he can do that as well – though I wouldn’t recommend the last one.”
“But-but how has this happened?” Wesley asks incredulously, his surprise
managing to eclipse even my own. I can’t really explain it myself and I
certainly don’t understand, but the news doesn’t seem to be coming totally out
of the blue. I hadn’t known it before, or even suspected anything, but once
Lorne has said the words I feel the truth of them. I feel more secure in
myself, like the demon is quieter and the soul stronger. I am no longer
conscious of standing on a precipice between good and evil, afraid that I will
fall over at any minute.
Lorne shrugs. “Even vampires go through interpersonal development you know. It
could just be that all the events he’s gone through lately have been enough to
strengthen his soul to the point where it’s anchored itself to his body without
any need for gypsy magic.”
“So, he ain’t never gonna go all psycho on us again?” Gunn asks, distilling the
issue down its most basic level.
“As long as Angel stays on the right path, on his way to redemption, then
you’ll be stuck with his miserable, brooding self for the rest of eternity.”
Lorne confirms.
The occupants of the car break out into happy chatter once more, questions and
suppositions being fielded at a faster rate than Lorne can respond to them all.
But I am silent throughout it all, as I have been ever since Lorne dropped his
bombshell. There is nothing I can say really. I am busy thinking back over the
past few months looking for indications as to when my soul first became
anchored in this way. I remember back to sleeping with Darla and the sharp, physical
pain that accosted me afterwards. At the time it was like after Buffy and the
agony of having my soul torn away from me that I felt then. But this second
time I fought it, I didn’t want to happen so I didn’t let it. I just waited
until the pain passed then rose with a new determination and outlook on life.
Then there were these past few weeks in Pylea, where I feared that the demon
would overtake me, but again I battled it and again I won. It is these triumphs
I’m sure that have proved my soul to be my own, finally.
I suppose I am happy with this new development, but I still
realise that it doesn’t mean my quest or my fight is over. It is just the first
step on a very long journey to right all the wrongs I have committed in the
past. I have to admit that my thoughts soon turn to Buffy and the possibility
that we could be together now that there is no longer any risk of me losing my
soul. I remember sitting with her by her mother’s grave and her small plaintive
voice as she asked me to stay with her forever. Then her soft lips touched mine
in the lightest and sweetest of kisses and it was all I could do not to break
down right there and then and accede to her request. I would have gladly
pledged to stay with her for all eternity of only she would have me. But then
all the pain and hurt I have caused her over the years came rushing back, and I
realised how much better off she is without me and how I could only ruin her
life in the long run by being with her.
Ahead of us I spy the wide open porthole, just where Wesley
said it would be – a mystical shimmer in the otherwise clear air – and steer
the car towards it. Enjoying the last warm rays of sunshine on my skin, I say
my private goodbyes to Pylea and mentally prepare myself for the journey home.
A loud and piercing scream sounds
from the back of the car, suddenly startling me out of my reverie. Shocked and
concerned I twist around in my seat, looking back at where the agonised shrieks
are coming from. Cordelia holds her hands to her head, in obvious pain, her
eyes scrunched shut. A vision. But this vision is going on much longer
than normal and Cordelia is still writhing from the pain of it, Wesley holding
her firmly in his lap and getting repeatedly elbowed in the face for all his
trouble.
In my concern for Cordelia’s welfare I forget to steer the
car and am suddenly aware of it swerving out of control at a speed approaching
sixty miles per hour. Desperately grabbing the steering wheel, I wrench it
around, just making it through the porthole. There is a blinding flash of
light, as we pass between dimensions, then a loud crash of breaking wood and
smashing glass as the car comes to a halt – right in the middle of the Caritas
nightclub.
Relieved to have made it
relatively safely home to the correct dimension, I sink back against the car
seat, Cordelia’s screams still echoing in my ears.
~~~~~
Cordelia:
The first thing I am aware of is the Pain. It slices through my skull like a
butcher’s knife, like hot needles inserted into my eyeballs. It is the kind of
pain that consumes your whole being so that you can neither remember anything
before the Pain nor imagine it ever ending. And just when I think I will no
longer be able to bear the sheer agony of it, that the only respite can be
Death, it ceases and the images come.
//A split in the sky – the perfect blue azure roughly torn open to reveal a
crackling, spitting vortex of energy.//
//Dawn, stood, an expression of fear and horror and innocence lost on her face,
blood dripping in thick red rivulets down her face and arms and off the tips of
her fingers.//
//Buffy leaping, tumbling into the vortex…//
//Faith’s face set in a snarl, small, tight hands around her neck in an iron
grip, choking her.//
//Buffy’s body fallen to the ground, blonde hair splayed out behind her head,
neck twisted at an impossible angle, eyes open and staring, a single dark
bruise the only mark of injury on her otherwise flawless skin.//
//Angel leaning over the crumpled and broken corpse of another young man, his
once sandy blonde hair streaked with red.//
//Spike falling to his knees, tears
streaming down his face, his agonised howl…//
…melding
with my own screams, now of horror rather than pain. With the images comes
feelings too – fear, anger, danger, grief, crushing sadness like the world has
ended but worse, because you still have to go on with your life, still have to
get up everyday and pretend that things are okay when they will never be so
again.
Just as quickly as the vision began it ends and I am snapped back into
consciousness, both the feeling of terror and the fuzzy last vestiges of pain
remaining. I force open my eyes to see five anxious faces staring down at me.
“I-is she okay?” Fred is the first to speak.
“She’ll be fine,” Angel reassures her impatiently. “What did you see Cordelia?”
“You’d think the damn Powers coulda given us a little bit of time off to
readjust to our surroundings before, coming up with another mission,” Gunn
complains.
I think Wesley answers him, sparking some debate about how other people always
need rescuing at the most inconvenient of times, but I am too distracted to
follow it. My gaze is still locked with Angel’s, unable to look away because of
what I saw, because of what the vision can only mean.
I saw Buffy’s body.
Angel quickly catches the horror in my expression and his face passes through a
number of casts: simple concern for my welfare, deeper anxiety changing to
almost mortal fear, then finally to utter despair as the realisation hits him.
He can see it in my eyes.
“What did you see Cordelia?” He asks again in so soft a tone of voice as to
silence the others.
“I-I…I’m so sorry,” I choke out, totally unable to know what else to say. I
suppose the old Cordelia would have made just blurted out the news tactlessly,
but I’m not her anymore. I know what love and grief are now and I wouldn’t dare
to intrude upon either one. Besides in situations like this words aren’t always
necessary.
He shakes his head. “No, I would have known.” He backs away from me to lean
against one piece of wall that is still standing and suddenly I notice where we
are. The middle of a karaoke bar. Possibly the not the most skilled piece of
parking I’ve ever seen, but definitely the most original.
“What?” Gunn interrupts. “What’s going on?”
“Buffy,” I reply in a whisper. “I saw Buffy.”
A small moan of pain comes from the direction of Angel, who I notice has his
eyes tightly closed against the world, almost as if refusing to acknowledge it
would make everything go away.
“Are you sure?” Wesley asks worriedly.
I start to say yes then I change my mind. Am I sure? I saw Buffy yes, and she
was definitely dead, but I also saw other things. Like Faith, who is supposed
to be safely tucked away in prison, and Angel. So, basically I know what I saw
but I don’t know what it all means.
“I don’t know,” I eventually reply.
“What do you mean?” Angel interjects, his face lighting up with hope that I was
mistaken, that his worst nightmare hasn’t actually come true.
“Well, it was all a bit confusing. I mean, it seemed to be this big fight –
like an End of Days sort of thing, only Angel was there too. And Faith. And
Spike was crying and there was Dawn’s blood everywhere.” I look around
helplessly to see the reaction of the others.
“Glory,” Angel finally says.
“Huh?” Gunn echoes the sentiment felt by us all.
“When I went to see Buffy, after…well, we talked for a long time and she told
me about some of the stuff that has been going on it Sunnydale. There’s this
goddess there, called Glory, who’s after Dawn because she’s the Key Glory needs
to get back to her own dimension. Only if the Key is used then the whole of the
world will be destroyed in the process.”
“Is anyone else not following this?” Gunn asks and I am just about to agree
loudly when I see understanding dawn on Wesley’s face and try to keep quiet,
remembering some quote or other that Wes keeps repeating to me about how much
better it is to remain silent and be thought an idiot than to speak and remove
all doubt. Instead I try to look intelligent and aim a smirk in Gunn’s
direction, before remembering our present situation and becoming serious once
more.
“So, you think that Cordelia’s vision could possibly be depicting the final
battle with this Glory creature?” Wesley asks Angel, who nods in response.
“Yes, and if I’m there, then it means none of this can have happened yet, so
there’s still a chance of preventing it,” Angel says hopefully.
“Then we must get to Sunnydale as soon as possible,” Wes chimes in. “After all
we have already been away a long time, events could have progressed a great
deal since you last spoke to Buffy.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Lorne adds his voice to the discussion.
“You’ve hardly been gone any time at all.”
“Nonsense,” Wesley argues. “We have been gone for several days.”
“On Pylea time, sure,” Lorne agrees. “But that passes at a different rate to
the time here in this dimension. I would say you’ve been gone only a couple of
hours.”
“Really?” Wesley asks, sounding fascinated by the prospect, whilst Gunn and I
roll our eyes at one another. Boring.
“Can you debate the details of this particular phenomenon at another time,
please,” Angel demands edgily. “For now I’d really just like to get to
Sunnydale and see if everything’s all right.” He automatically reaches inside
his pocket for his keys then pauses abruptly, glancing round at his
surroundings.
“Uh, Wes, can I borrow your car?”