See Part One for Disclaimers

Buffy lay next to Angel, watching him in fascination.  They were at the mansion, on the rug in front of the fire.  She smiled and sighed in contentment as he cradled her in his arms, then slowly, lovingly sank his teeth into her neck.

"You played me!" shouted Faith.  She grabbed Buffy's shoulders and kissed her hard on the mouth.  "Judas," Faith hissed as she released Buffy.

Miss Mason wrote the word "Betrayal" on the chalkboard and began lecturing.  "Betrayal is the great human crime."

Willow cradled a sobbing Buffy in her arms and whispered, "The pain won't last forever."

Buffy watched as Willow and Xander danced together at the Bronze.  Oz-as-werewolf howled, and Cordelia's drink fell from her hand, shattering on the floor.

"All people," continued Miss Mason, "all people, no matter how honorable, have the capability to undercut the whole of their beliefs for one small gain."

Angel struck her, then bared his neck.  "Drink from me," he ordered implacably.

"All dressed up in big sister's clothes," Faith taunted.

"You'll be in love 'til it kills you both," said Spike.

Giles stabbed her through the heart as Hank and Joyce Summers looked on with approval.  "The pain won't last forever," Giles said.

" . . . one moment of pleasure," continued Miss Mason.

Buffy and Angel fell to the floor, her teeth buried in his neck.

"You kill me, you become me," said Faith.

"The pain won't last forever," whispered Angel as he and Buffy made love.

"Love isn't brains, children, it's blood--blood screaming inside you to work its will," said Spike.

" . . . one measure of pride," continued Miss Mason.

A funeral service was in session.  Buffy walked up the center aisle toward the altar.  A coffin laid open there.

"Kyrie eleison . . ."

Her family and friends lined the aisle, looking at her.  Jenny Calendar pushed back her veil as she stood beside Giles.

"The pain won't last forever," Jenny told Buffy.

Buffy walked up to the coffin, laying a deep red rose on the breast of the girl inside.  The girl, she noted dispassionately, was herself.

"Kyrie eleison,"  intoned the priest.  It was Angel.  "Christe eleison."

" . . . or one instant of rage," finished Miss Mason.

"They're beautiful, dearie," said Drusilla, inspecting Buffy's fangs.  Buffy, Drusilla, Spike, and Angel sat around a table at the Bronze.

"Now, aren't we all a lot happier this way?" asked Spike.

Buffy couldn't disagree.

Buffy twisted the knife in Faith's stomach.

"The pain won't last forever," Buffy said.

Images whirled, people's faces and voices registered for a moment and then were gone, and finally, Buffy found herself in Faith's loft.  It was daytime and curiously peaceful.  Faith was present somewhere, and a cat was washing itself on the bed.

"Who's going to look after him?" Buffy wondered.

Faith walked into the room.  "It's a she.  And aren't these things supposed to take care of themselves?"  She walked to stand beside Buffy.

"A higher power guiding us?" suggested Buffy.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what I meant."  Faith wandered off to contemplate something else.

There was something niggling at Buffy's consciousness.  "There's something I'm supposed to be doing."

"Oh yeah," said Faith.  "Miles to go.  Little Miss Muffet counting down from 7-3-0."

That made about as much sense as the rest of it.  Buffy grimaced.  "Great.  Riddles."

Faith wandered over to look out the window they'd broken during their fight.  "Sorry," she apologized.  "It's my head.  A lot of new stuff."

Buffy smiled.  The cat on the bed changed to Faith lying supine in a hospital gown then back to a cat in the blink of an eye.  That was something important, wasn't it?

"They are never going to fix this, are they?" Faith said sadly.

Suddenly, Buffy was worried about Faith.  "What about you?"

Faith turned around, smiling reassuringly, and gestured at her head.  "Scar tissue. It fades.  It all fades."

There was something wrong about that, too.  Buffy looked down to find a bloody knife in her hands.  Then it, too, was gone.

"You want to know the deal?" asked Faith.  "Human weakness--never goes away.  Not even his."

"Is this your mind or mine?" asked Buffy.  Not that it really seemed important.

Faith laughed. "Beats me."

Buffy laughed too, suddenly feeling both better and worse.

"Getting towards that time," Faith reminded her.

Buffy looked around at the boxes in the apartment.  "How are you going to fit all this stuff?"

"Not gonna.  It's yours," said Faith.

"I can't use all of this!" protested Buffy.

"Just take what you need," counseled Faith.  She reached out to Buffy.  "You ready?"

And she touched her.

***

Buffy opened her eyes and realized she was in a hospital bed.  Her neck and shoulder screamed with pain, and she had a headache, but she knew she was healing.  Outside, at least.  Inwardly . . .

She slipped from the bed.  A few steps took her beyond a partition and into the room of another wounded young woman.

Faith looked even worse than Buffy had imagined.  Her skin was pasty where it wasn't covered in bruises and contusions.  Even her hair, her thick, glossy, almost living hair, laid limp about her shoulders.  And her face, always so alive with emotion and passion, now seemed childlike and hurt.

Buffy realized she wasn't nearly up to full strength.  Even that short walk had left her feeling woozy.  But Faith's clue was not to be ignored, and there was too much to do.  Quietly, Buffy padded up to the other Slayer's bed.

I'm so sorry, she thought.  So sorry we couldn't reach you, sorry we didn't try harder.  Sorry I was willing to sacrifice you.  Sorry for what you must have gone through to make you turn out like this.

Forgive me, my sister.  I betrayed you.

Buffy leaned down and kissed Faith's forehead, forcing back her emotions.  There would be time for grieving later.

Right now, there was work to do.

Buffy headed back to her own room and found where her clothes were stashed.  She was halfway dressed when the doctor came back into the room.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked bluntly.

"Leaving," Buffy answered, equally blunt.  "I'm eighteen; I can check myself out of the hospital, and that's what I'm doing."

"You're not well enough to go," the doctor insisted.

Buffy thrust out an arm.  "Check the blood pressure.  I'm fine."

The doctor complied, clearly certain he'd be proven correct.  That particular look faded into incredulity.

"It's . . . it's a bit low," he hedged.

"But I'm basically okay.  Yeah, I know.  Now: get me the papers so I can satisfy the bureaucrats and get out of here.  I've got miles to go."

***

The Mayor sat in his office, thinking.  About the Ascension, about his plans for the world, but mostly about his Faith.  Rage and hatred burned like lava beneath his calm exterior as he thought about what Buffy and Angel and their friends had done to Faith.  It just wasn't right.

Well, the Ascension should take care of them.  As for Faith -- she would be all right.  It might take her some time, but she'd be okay.  She was stronger than them.  Stronger than even she knew.  There would come a day when his Faith would rise from that bed.  He would be waiting for his sweet girl then.

But what if he wasn't?  The thought dogged him.  There was that possibility, remote as it might be.  Faith would be lost without him.  No one understood her like he did.  She would be alone in an uncaring world, poor thing.

No, that couldn't happen.  She couldn't be left alone.  There would be no place for her without him.

But . . . there was a way for her to take her place in the world, even without him.  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.  He had to provide for his little girl if he couldn't be there for her, and he knew just how.

He opened his cabinet and rooted through the varied talismans and occult items inside.  Most of them were tacky things with ostentatious powers, but he kept them around in spite of their poor taste.  After all, one never knew when one of these things would come in handy for appeasing a demon or so.  There was one such object, though, that would make the perfect gift for his Faith.

Finally, he found it.  Curious little thing it was -- more like a parlor trick than the dark magicks he'd practiced for one hundred years (give or take).  But it was exactly what Faith would need if she found herself alone in the world.

Although he really wished he could give her something new.  It seemed so boorish, somehow, gifting her with this old, used thing.  She'd been so pleased with that beautiful knife he'd given her.  The memory of the smile on her face when she'd seen it brought a tear to his eye.  Now the knife, too, was lost.  All he had left to give her was this paltry little object.

Ah, well.  No gift was perfect.

He put it in a nice jewelry box.  Then he set up his video equipment (no easy task -- with these machines nowadays, you needed an entire software engineering team to make sure you got things right) and recorded a little greeting for Faith.  He purposely kept it upbeat, feeling that she'd probably be in need of some cheering up whenever she saw it.

Then he put both the videotape and the jewelry box in a package and sent it off with a demon with instructions that it was to be delivered to Faith upon her recovery.  Fortunately, the demon was a reliable fellow.  The Mayor had been using him as a courier for over fifty years, and come rain or shine, the mail always made its way through.

Feeling much better now that Faith was taken care of, the Mayor sat down to practice his speech.

***

In the hospital hallway, Willow was blaming herself.

"I should've seen it coming," she fretted.  "When she asked Oz and me to leave, I should have guessed what she had in mind."

Xander, meanwhile, wasn't happy.  "Yeah.  Who cares that the world is ending tomorrow?  Give her boyfriend a snack, nearly get killed . . ."

"I knew."  The soft words came from Giles.  The other three students turned to look at him, Willow surprised, Oz accepting, Xander flattened.

"I think I must have had something in my ear.  You what?" demanded Xander.

"I knew," repeated Giles, and he sighed.  "When I heard what the cure was, I knew Buffy would offer herself if she couldn't get Faith.  Moreover, I knew I would never be able to stop her."  He took off his glasses and polished them quietly.

"What I don't get is, he took her up on the offer," Xander pointed out angrily.  "That's love?"

"I doubt she made it easy for him to refuse," said Giles.

That made Xander take notice.  "You're defending him?"

Giles gave Xander a look.  "Xander, I've got far more to hold against Angel than you do," he said crisply, "but I also have to admit that he does love Buffy.  His leaving proves that.  No matter how I feel about him, I can respect that."

"Buffy!" Willow suddenly cried.  All four turned to behold Buffy, pale and drawn, but on her feet and dressed and looking rock-solid.

"Are you okay?" "How do you feel?" Xander and Giles asked almost simultaneously.

Buffy looked around.  "Is Angel here?"

"He had to go," said Oz. "It got kinda sunny."

"Get him," said Buffy.  "Get everyone."

The Slayerettes exchanged worried glances.

"What exactly is up?" asked Xander.

"Buffy, are you sure you're all right?" inquired Giles gently but worriedly.

Buffy looked at him, eyes focused and determined.  "I'm ready."

Willow looked as perplexed as the rest of them felt.  "Ready for what?"

"War."

***

Angel walked into the mansion just as the sun broke over the horizon.  A mixture of emotions so complex he couldn't sort one from the other nearly strangled him.  Frustration, guilt, anger, pain, passion, love, need . . .

As he entered the sitting room where he'd taken Buffy, the last nearly overwhelmed him.  The memory of feeding on her was so vivid, so real, he could close his eyes and feel everything again.  He saw the crushed vase, the overturned table, and knew as if he'd been inside her body that the damage had been done in something like ecstasy.

With that knowledge came hunger.  Not just for blood, though.  Cold cow's blood would never satisfy this craving.  The sensation of warm blood flowing into him tasting of human passion and emotion had awakened something within him he'd hoped had been buried with Angelus.  Something that frightened him more than any monster from without.

This was the vampire's hunger.  A vampire wanted not just the blood of his victim, but their human passions.  Angelus had thrived on fear, hatred, and anger.  Angel was now tormented by love, strength, and desire.  The Slayer's blood had been rich like strong wine, and he desperately wanted its flavor again.

"You will drink from her," the First Evil had taunted him.

"I did," he moaned, despairing.

He was hearing it again, like he had before: the voice of his inner demon.

It was all you were good at, being a demon.  You haven't found happiness with your soul, have you?  Oh, wait -- you did.  And lost it.  That's your curse.  You'll never be happy.  You can never have her again.  Make love to her, and you'll destroy her.  Feed on her, and you'll kill her.

He tried to push the thoughts back.  "No," he said aloud.  "I won't hurt her.  Not ever again.  I'll leave."

Sure you will.  You'll go, then be drawn back to her.  You can't ever truly leave her.  Her blood is within you now.  What was it that boy said?  Oh, yes -- that you'll feed from her to save yourself.

"Infant!" Angel roared, fury overwhelming him.  The low table went flying across the room, splintering as it hit the corner.

How dare he say that?  Ignorant boy, stupid child.  He has no idea.  He walks in the sun, sees her in the sun, is able to love and have happiness without hurting those he loves, and he dares to judge me?  He won't sneer anymore when I drain the life out of him --

Angel's hands came up to his face to discover his vampire mask in place, fangs fully distended.  With effort, he pushed the demon down.

What's the point?  You know there's no happiness for you here.  Why fight it?  Are you really having so much fun now?  'Cause I can tell you -- it doesn't look much fun from here.

"That's not the point," Angel told the voice within.  "I'm not doing this for fun.  I'm doing this to redeem myself."

Redemption is a fool's game.  You know the curse; you can't ever be happy without losing your soul.  What's redemption to that?

You know the cure.  You can even have her with you, if she's so important.  In fact, it's the only way you two can ever be together.

Take her; embrace her; bring her across.

Angel realized he was kneeling in the place where he'd fed on Buffy.  A few drops of her blood, dry already, still stained the floor.

I won't, he suddenly thought, quite calm. I won't destroy her.  I love her the way she is now; to pervert that would be pointless.  If I have to be miserable forever, so be it, but I won't ever hurt her again.

He could practically hear the frustrated growl from within, but the demon subsided.  Suddenly exhausted, Angel laid down on the floor and slept.

Some hours later, the phone woke him.  It was a cell phone he'd purchased in order to be accessible to the Slayerettes.  He picked it up, thumbing it on.

"Hello?"

"Angel, it's Buffy."  Her voice was so strong, so solid, that Angel's forever-stilled heart gave a leap.

"Buffy," he breathed.  "Are you . . ?"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off.  "We need you.  Come to the library as soon as the sun's down."

"I'll be there."  He paused.  "Buffy, I'm . . ."

"Don't start," she ordered, cutting him off.  "If you start apologizing, so will I, and I really don't have the energy for that right now.  Just be at the library after sundown."

"I will," he promised.  He hung up and looked outside.  Dusk.  He grabbed his coat and headed out.

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