Meant To Be

Two: The Queen of Hearts

One

OUR GANG

The Bronze was deserted now. Faith swung her sword in a wide arc, holding sixteen vampires at bay for the moment as they roared and growled and raked the air with their claws and tried to leap past her; tried to reach Willow. Faith shielded Willow’s body with her own, keeping Willow behind her and the vampires in front, and considered her options.

She saw Xander out of the corner of her eye, slowly making his way toward her. The vampires either hadn’t noticed him or weren’t bothering with him. For some reason, they wanted Willow...

Willow tried her best to stay out of Faith’s way. She watched as Faith slashed her wakizashi through the air, not allowing the snarling, snapping creatures to get past her. One dropped into a crouch and tried to leap under Faith’s swing, but she kicked him in the face without missing a beat like she was punting a football and he slammed into two other vampires and took them down with him. But the vampires were steadily moving closer, hemming Faith in, cutting her off, backing her and Willow toward the wall.

Willow was trying to stay close to Faith so Faith could protect her while at the same time trying to stay out of Faith’s way so she had room to fight. Willow did her best at the impossible task as Faith swung her wakizashi around, holding the vampires back and looking for openings to stake them. A vampire sprang straight at Faith’s throat; Faith spun and cut its head off and it turned to dust. But the move put Faith out of position for the split-second another of the vampires needed to get in under her guard and punch her in the face. Faith went flying back into the wall and fell to the floor.

“Faith!” Willow screamed, trying to run to her; but the vampires were too fast and the nearest one was on Willow in a second. But as Willow fell she heard the vampire scream, as Xander stuck a knife through the back of its neck. Xander just had time to toss that vampire away before he was thrown aside by the others as they sprang at Willow again...

Faith got there first. She leaped straight into the vampires, straight into all fifteen of them with a roar like a lion and Willow saw two vampires go flying thirty feet across the room as she got herself up and got out of Faith’s way. She looked around for Xander, as Faith slashed the air with her sword and kicked out with her legs and rolled and punched the air with her stake, not giving the vampires a chance to use their numbers to their advantage. Willow saw Xander getting himself up about ten feet away. She helped him up, and they both ran back to Faith. They saw two vampires turn to dust as Faith beheaded them, but eleven were still trying to hold her down as she covered up and rolled, and the two she had punched away were running back to the fight. Xander desperately pulled vampires off of Faith, trying to give her room to move. He managed to stake one through the back, but another one turned on him and smacked him away again. He went flying through the air and bounced off a table, and hit the floor.

“Xander!” Willow screamed, and ran to him again.

Rolling around beneath the pile of vampires, trying to keep their slashing claws away from her face, Faith had a clear view for a moment. She saw Willow running for Xander, and two vampires heading straight for both of them...

Faith kicked her legs out as hard as she could and four vampires went flying. She stabbed he sword straight through the face of one of the vampires holding her down, managed to roll away from the others and backflip herself up.

“Willow!” Faith screamed, as two vampires grabbed Willow by the arms and tried to hustle her out of the room. The four she had kicked away were running to join them, and the six she had just rolled away from were behind her, as Faith ran for Willow...

Xander was on the floor. Faith couldn’t tell if he was alive.

Seventy-three flashed through Faith’s head, then she put the thought aside. It was a distraction. She was working.

With a roar Faith leaped across the room and tackled the four vampires who were running toward Willow. She jumped back up to her feet, threw her stake straight through the back of one of the vampires trying to hustle Willow away, and ran after the other. They weren’t trying to kill Willow. They were trying to kidnap her...

Willow struggled, dragged her feet, tried to slow the vampire down. He elbowed her in the head, and she fell limp in his hands.

Faith screamed, and ran at the vampire as he turned to face her. She knew the other ten were right behind her now.

She instinctively catalogues her surroundings, noting any terrain or object that can be used for offensive or defensive advantage.

Faith picked up a fork from a table, turned and threw it through the throat of one of the vampires behind her. She anticipated the move of the vampire who was behind her now as he tried to slash through her neck with his claws; she ducked him, spun and cut his head off. Willow fell to the floor, and Faith stood in front of her as the ten remaining vampires surrounded them. The one with Faith’s fork in his throat pulled it out with a snarl. Faith showed him her teeth. She saw Xander a few yards away, getting up. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She noticed Xander picking some things up from some of the tables. A bottle, a lighter, some napkins. Faith held her sword in front of her and watched the ten vampires as they snarled at her, apparently trying to figure their next move. She slowly knelt beside Willow, not taking her eyes off the vampires, and felt her pulse. It was strong and steady.

She knew the longer she could stall the better off they’d all be. Buffy would be showing up soon, and the police would be along too with any luck. So Faith waited, and didn’t do anything reckless. She wondered how long it would be until the vampires moved, and then wondered if they were stalling too...if they were waiting for help. Willow was still unconscious. Faith couldn’t move very far from her and still protect her. The smart play was to wait...

The vampires didn’t seem interested in Xander at all. That was a mistake on their part. Xander ran up to the vampires from behind with a vodka bottle with napkins stuffed in the top. He lit it with the lighter at the last second and threw it at one of the vampires’ backs. The vampire burst into flames, ran around screaming for a few seconds and turned to dust as the other nine suddenly decided Xander was important after all, and sprang at him...

Break’s over, Faith thought, as she sprang right after them. She managed to tackle four of them and cut the head off one as another got a good shot in that sent her flying and made her lose her grip on her sword. But she rolled with the punch, turned it into a backward somersault, came up on her feet and ran back to Xander as he went down, dragged to the floor by the other five vampires. She didn’t have a weapon now but she had no choice but to wade in anyway, and she started peeling vampires off of Xander and flinging them away before they could get their claws into him.

“Get her out of here!” Faith shouted, as she got him up. He nodded and ran for Willow, as three more tried to cut him off, and Faith barreled into them and brought them down. But one of them got a good shot in on her, smashing his fist into her face and cracking her head against the floor, and another one slashed at her stomach with his claws. Faith screamed as his claws slashed deep into her stomach and drew blood; she kicked out with her legs and managed to dislodge them enough to get herself up, and she saw Xander carrying Willow out the fire exit. But then the other five vampires were on her, and they dragged her back down to the floor, slashing and biting and punching her. Her head cracked against the floor again and again, and she saw stars, as she tried to cover up and roll...

“Where...are we..?” Willow said, waking up in Xander’s arms. “Where’s... where’s Faith?”

Xander was running, running with her in his arms as fast as he could. Willow looked around. They were in the alley outside the Bronze, running toward the front entrance. Her head hurt.

She remembered.

“Xander! Put me down!” she said.

Xander ran out of the alley to the front of the Bronze, and put her down, and caught his breath.

“What happened? What are we doing? Where’s Faith?” Willow said.

“She’s still inside,” Xander said. “I’m going back in. I need you to run, right now. A few blocks up there are houses. Bang on some doors and get inside.”

“What? Are you crazy? I’m not gonna just run! Faith needs us!”

“That’s why I’m going back in. I love you, baby. Now go!” he said, and pulled away from her.

“Wait!” Willow shouted, and ran after him. “I’m going in with you!”

“Willow!” Xander shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Those vampires were after you! Not me, not Faith! You!”

“But...” Willow said, holding his arm. “You don’t even have a stake!”

“Get the hell out of here! Bang on some doors, get inside!” Xander shouted, and ran back into the Bronze.

All eight vampires clawed and bit and pummeled Faith as she rolled around, kicking and punching, trying to keep her arms and legs free and trying to protect her face. One of the vampires managed to grab her right arm, and she screamed as he bent it all the way back and broke it with a crack that echoed through the room. She punched out as hard as she could with her left and he went flying, but there were still seven more to contend with, and they pummeled her over her entire body again despite all her attempts to cover up; now that her right arm was broken she couldn’t protect herself anymore. There were starbursts of light behind Faith’s eyes as they cracked her head against the floor again and again...she kicked out with her legs and kept trying to roll but she was slower now, and she couldn’t use her right arm, and their fists kept catching her, pummeling her as she tried to cover up...and then everything went black.

When Faith opened her eyes again Xander was there, frantically trying to pull vampires off of her. He managed to fling one away, but one of the others let go of Faith and backhanded him in the face. Xander went flying across the room, and lay still. Faith chopped at one of the vampire’s necks and poked another one in the eye. She was able to get one of her legs free and she kicked out with it with all her strength and sent another vampire flying. Before the others could grab her again she managed to roll away from them and awkwardly flip herself up to her feet with her left hand. She felt dizzy. Her legs were wobbly. The eight vampires all ran at her again, springing at her like wolves. She didn’t have her sword and she had no idea where it was. She didn’t have a stake. Her right arm was useless. She ducked and dodged as best she could, trying to get to Xander.

One of the vampires picked up a long, heavy table and threw it at her. She should have been able to dodge it, but she was a step slow now and it crashed on top of her, bringing her down. She felt a sharp pain in her left ankle as she fell. The vampires leaped at her, but she was able to tear a leg from the table and hold it above her, impaling one of the vampires as he jumped on top of her. He turned to dust in front of her eyes, but the other seven were right behind him. She just managed to roll herself out of their way and get back up; her left ankle hurt as she did and she started to fall. But she used it to her advantage and caught the vampires off-guard by dropping to her knees in front of them; their claws slashed through the air above her head, and Faith managed to stake another one with the table leg. She immediately dropped to the floor and rolled again, and as the vampires sprang at her she stabbed upward with the table leg, managing to stake a third. But one of them picked her up by the throat before she could dodge again, and smashed her face into the floor, and everything started spinning. She tried to get up, but she wasn’t sure which way up was, and one of them kicked her, sending her flying across the room. She slammed into a wall and fell to the floor.

“Faith!” she heard. It was Willow.

“Will!” Faith shouted, as she tried to get up. Everything was spinning and she felt shaky. When she tried to stand she fell; she couldn’t put any weight on her left ankle.

She looked up. She was seeing double now and there was gray at the edges of her vision, seeping in...

She saw Willow with her sword in her hand; she had been trying to bring it to her. But the five remaining vampires were all running toward Willow now, slavering and snarling...

“NO!” Faith screamed, and managed to get herself up, and ran after the vampires as best she could, limping. She grabbed a knife from a table she passed and threw it through the ankle of one of the vampires; he fell to the floor, howling. Willow was running, but the other four had nearly reached her...

“Willow!” Faith heard Xander scream. She knew he was too far away. Willow was running, but the vampires would be on her in seconds...

Screaming, Faith grabbed a table and managed a fairly good off-balance throw with her left arm; the table hit the vampires in the back. All it did was annoy them, but it got them after her again instead of Willow, and she braced herself as they sprang at her...

Redirect his energy. Make it work for you.

Faith managed to grab one of the vampires with her left hand as he sprang at her, and flip him over her shoulder, just barely keeping her balance, putting all her weight on her right leg. She let herself fall backwards with his motion, and the other three vampires overshot her as they sprang at her; they leapt right over her and hit the floor, snarling.

Everything was becoming gray, and slowing down even as the room started spinning faster, and all the sounds in the room were muted...like she was underwater. She felt nauseous. Her mouth suddenly filled with vomit. She forced it back down again.

And then she suddenly saw Willow standing above her, holding out her sword...Faith grabbed it, struggled to her feet again, spun around and beheaded the vampire with the knife through his ankle as he tried an awkward leap at her. But she was shaky and slow, and she couldn’t keep her balance with the room spinning; she was already falling again as the other four tackled her from behind and, too late, she heard Willow scream, “Look out!”

The scream sounded like it had come from far away, from the other end of a tunnel.

Faith was on the floor again. She thought she heard Willow screaming...

One of the vampires grabbed Faith’s left arm and chopped the sword out of her hand. She threw a punch, but there wasn’t any strength behind it and it wasn’t enough to dislodge the vampires. One of them started punching her in the face, smashing her skull against the floor, as the others held her arms and legs down. The one punching her in the face was snarling and foaming at the mouth; she felt his saliva dripping on her face. It was warm. It smelled like dung. Faith thought she saw Willow and Xander trying to pull the vampires off of her, but everything was gray now, and doubled, and still spinning, so she couldn’t be sure. The ones holding her legs turned and lashed out at something, and Faith thought she saw something fly through the air. The vampire who had been pummeling her stopped for a moment, and smiled. Faith felt something else on her face...it was warm too, but it smelled different. It was sticky. She realized it was her blood. She realized her face was covered with it.

Faith tried to move, but it felt like there was no strength left in her arms or her legs. A languid, dizzy haze enveloped her now. She felt like she was underwater, sinking...the room was fading away, and the gray was getting darker...the room was fading to black.

“So you killed a few of us, Slayer?” the vampire hissed. “We are hundreds. And you are mine.” And Faith felt his fangs against her neck...

Faith’s whole body felt warm now, and numb. She felt like she was weightless, and sinking...

For a moment, she was suddenly back in her motel room with Buffy. She wondered how she had gotten there.

I’m gonna keep you warm, baby, she heard Buffy saying...

“My girl,” Faith whispered.

The vampire sneered at her.

Faith couldn’t see Buffy anymore...she didn’t think she was in the motel room anymore. She didn’t know where she was...she thought she smelled vampires. She couldn’t see anything. Everything was getting dark...

A tear ran down Faith’s cheek.

“Love...you...” Faith whispered...

The vampire punched her in the face again.

And the last thing Faith felt as everything went black was the sharp sting, like a needle, as fangs tore into her throat...

Willow and Xander dragged themselves up from the floor and were about to run back to Faith, when a blur suddenly ran right past them. It moved so fast they didn’t know what it was at first...

And then they saw a lion.

The lion ran straight at the wolves, roaring.

The wolves leaped up, when they heard that roar: they sprang at the lion, thought to pit their strength against hers...

Before they even reached her there was a flash of metal and two of the wolves turned to dust in mid-air, as Buffy beheaded them with her wakizashi, her hands moving faster than Willow and Xander’s eyes could follow.

The other wolves barreled into Buffy and slashed the sword out of her hand. They had seen the damage Faith was able to inflict on their brothers with a sword just like that one and they weren’t taking chances. Buffy spun and kicked one of them in the chest, sending him flying the length of the room, but the other one knocked her to the ground and leaped on top of her and tried to slash at her with his claws.

Buffy got her hands around his neck and squeezed.

Their eyes locked on each other. The vampire snarled at Buffy, his eyes two yellow slits.

He heard a growl well up from Buffy’s throat, and saw something in her green eyes...something he had never seen in a human being before. Human beings were supposed to be prey animals. But this...

Buffy roared, showing the vampire her teeth, and squeezed with all her strength. The vampire felt the bones in his neck crunching and popping. He tried to pull Buffy’s hands away, but he couldn’t, they were like steel...

Her eyes were still on him.

The wolf saw a terrible light in those eyes, now...he saw his death there.

The last thing he felt, before Buffy wrenched his head from his body like a cork from a champagne bottle, was an icy cold, spreading through him...a cold that had started in those green eyes, and stabbed into him, and filled him up...

His body turned to dust. Buffy stood up, still holding his head in her hands, blood still dripping from the neck.

She faced the last vampire. The head she held in her hands turned to dust.

Buffy smiled, and growled.

The wolf leapt at her, and the lion leapt at him. Their bodies collided in the air, and fell to the floor.

Buffy landed on top.

She grabbed the wolf by the hair, leaped back up to her feet, swung him around like a baseball bat and smashed him head-first into a wall, putting a hole through it. The wolf fell to the floor.

Buffy stood above him.

“Die,” Buffy snarled.

The wolf tried to stand, but Buffy smashed it in the face, sending it sprawling back to the floor. She placed her knee on its chest and held it to the floor. She grabbed it by the throat, and looked it in the eyes.

“Just--” Buffy snarled.

She punched it in the face. Its nose broke beneath her fist, its blood spurted onto her hand.

“Fucking--”

She punched it in the face again, collapsing its skull. The wolf’s body shook all over, and then became still.

“DIE!” Buffy screamed, and punched it in the face again. Her fist went straight through the wolf’s face, out the back of its head and through the floor beneath it, and it turned to dust.

Buffy realized she was crying.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Buffy,” Willow said.

Buffy turned, and saw Xander kneeling beside Faith. Buffy felt a surge of panic when she saw Faith...when she saw her lying there, unmoving, her face covered with blood. She felt her heart stop.

“Faith!” Buffy screamed, and ran to her, and slid down beside her. “Baby...? Baby...?!”

Faith lay perfectly still. She was deathly pale. Her neck was bleeding.

“Wake up, wake up...Faith...baby baby baby...wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP!” Buffy screamed in Faith’s face, and shook her by the shoulders...and felt herself starting to tremble. She saw her tears, falling on Faith’s cheeks.

Faith didn’t move.

Buffy felt Xander’s arm around her.

Buffy felt disconnected from herself, now...like she wasn’t there anymore. Like she had gone away...she didn’t know where she had gone.

Suddenly, she felt warm. She was in Faith’s motel room, under the covers...Faith’s arms were around her. They were strong...Buffy wanted those strong arms around her forever.

You’re my girl, she heard Faith saying...

Willow leaned her head against Faith’s chest.

She couldn’t hear Faith’s heart beating.

And then, something happened...

Willow did something, and didn’t know why.

Willow whispered something in Faith’s ear. It was a word Willow had never heard before...she didn’t even recognize the language. Willow didn’t know why she whispered it in Faith’s ear just then. She didn’t know what it meant. After she whispered it, she realized she didn’t even remember the word...she had no idea anymore what she had whispered.

Willow leaned her head against Faith’s chest.

She heard Faith’s heart beating.

“Her heart’s beating, Buffy,” Willow said. She leaned down close to Faith’s mouth, and listened. Faith was breathing; her breath was faint but it was there. “She’s breathing. She’s alive.”

Willow looked up at Buffy. Buffy rocked herself back and forth, her hands clasped to her mouth, as Xander held her.

“Buffy,” Willow said, and put her hand on Buffy’s shoulder. But Buffy wasn’t there; Willow didn’t know where she had gone but when she looked in her eyes Willow could tell Buffy was far away now.

“Buffy!” Willow said. “Buffy!”

“BUFFY!” Willow shouted, shaking her. Buffy suddenly snapped her head up, as if she had just been awakened from a dream.

“She’s alive,” Willow said, and put her arms around Buffy, and hugged her. “She’s alive, sweetie. Okay? She’s alive.”

Xander hugged her too.

And the three of them knelt on the floor together, holding each other.

“She’s alive?” Buffy whispered, as she cried. “My baby’s alive?”

“She’s alive,” Xander said.

Buffy nodded, and finally looked at them.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “You’re both hurt.”

“There were twenty of them, Buffy,” Xander said.

“Twenty?” Buffy said, looking down at Faith incredulously.

“They were after Willow,” Xander said. “If Faith wasn’t here that’s the ballgame.”

Willow looked down at Faith, with a tear in her eye. “Twice,” Willow said. “That’s twice now.”

Willow caressed her cheek.

Faith coughed, and opened her eyes.

“Faith!” Buffy shouted, and practically lunged at her. She gently brushed the hair out of Faith’s eyes.

“Guys,” Buffy said. Her hands were shaking. “I need...I need towels, water.”

“Got it,” Xander said, and got up and sprinted to the bar.

“Where...” Faith whispered. “Where’s...”

“Hi, baby,” Buffy whispered, and smiled, and kissed her cheek. “It’s me.”

Faith looked up at her, her eyes unfocused.

“B...?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “I’m right here, baby.”

“Will...Xander,” Faith said, her voice getting stronger. She looked around. The room wasn’t spinning as much now.

There had been a word...a word Faith had never heard before. She couldn’t remember it now. The word was a physical thing...Faith had been adrift, floating away, and she had seen the word, and grabbed onto it like a lifeline...she’d felt new strength in her arms, as she held onto the word...she’d felt warm. The word had pulled her back to the shore.

“We’re okay,” Willow said, and took Faith’s hand. “You saved us. Saved me. Again,” she said, and smiled.

“Trouble does...follow you around...girl...” Faith said, and managed a small smile.

“Went blonde again,” Willow said, and they all laughed.

“Everyone’s...okay...?” Faith said.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “We’re all okay.”

Xander raced back with a couple of bar rags and two big mugs of water.

“Thank you,” Buffy said, and wet one of the bar rags, and began cleaning the blood from Faith’s face.

“Xan Man,” Faith said.

“Private Xan Man, reporting for duty Sarge,” Xander said, and smiled.

“Get your...D.O.R.,” Faith said.

“Hell no Sarge,” Xander said, and kissed her cheek.

“Faith, how bad are you hurt?” Buffy said.

“Don’t know,” Faith said. “Kinda...hurts a lot, all over. Feel...woozy.”

“Okay, I’m gonna take you to the hospital,” Buffy said, and grabbed Faith around the waist. “Okay, here we go--”

“No,” Faith said, and pushed Buffy’s arms away.

“You gotta go Faith, you’re hurt,” Buffy said, and started to lift her up. “Come on, we’ll just--”

“No, I don’t wanna!” Faith screamed, and pulled away from Buffy, kicking at her and trying to bat her away with her left arm as Buffy tried to lift her up. “No! No no NO!”

Faith was shaking. She folded her one good arm across her chest, as if to hide herself. She turned over on her side on the floor, away from them all.

Buffy and Willow and Xander looked at each other. Faith looked away from them...she wouldn’t meet their eyes.

“Guys,” Buffy said. “Give us a minute?”

“Yeah, um, okay,” Willow said, and stood up. She took Xander’s arm, and walked over to the bar with him.

Buffy watched Faith, watched her shaking, and covering up with her one good arm, trying to hide from her. Faith still wouldn’t look at her. She was still covered with blood. Her right arm looked broken.

A tear rolled down Faith’s cheek. Buffy wiped it away.

“We won’t go to the hospital. Okay?” Buffy said. “We’ll just go back home, and I’ll take care of you. Okay, baby?”

Faith nodded, but she still wouldn’t look at her.

Buffy stroked her hair, and watched her, and waited. She rested her hand on top of Faith’s, and waited.

Eventually, Faith looked up at her.

“Feel like telling me why you don’t wanna go to the hospital?” Buffy said.

“Just...don’t like hospitals,” Faith said.

“Okay,” Buffy said. “Then you’ll have to deal with Doctor Buffy instead. Can you follow Doctor Buffy’s orders?”

“No hospital?” Faith said.

“No hospital.”

“Okay.”

“First order,” Buffy said, and rested her hand on Faith’s stomach. There was a bloody wound there. “You’re hurt and I need to know how bad. But we gotta get outta here too in case more vamps show up. So real quick, I’m gonna look at you all over and you’re gonna tell me everywhere it hurts, okay?”

“But...Will and Xander,” Faith said.

“They’re way over by the bar, they can’t see, okay, baby?”

Faith nodded. Buffy unbuttoned Faith’s blouse, and touched her stomach. Faith winced in pain. Buffy cleaned the wound with the damp rag.

“This is pretty deep,” Buffy said. When the wound was clean Buffy tore a long strip from the bottom of her skirt. She pressed the dry bar rag against the wound and tied it in place with the strip.

“This is a crap job but it’ll hold until I get you some real bandages,” Buffy said. “Okay, now tell me wherever it hurts...”

“Are they...a couple?” Xander said, sitting next to Willow at the bar and drinking a Coke. He wanted a beer and he wanted one pretty badly, but he knew Buffy would want him to drive.

“Yeah,” Willow said. “And you can’t make any jokes about it, Xander. I mean it. No dumb jokes. Buffy really cares about her.”

“Got it,” he said, and drank his Coke, and put his arm around her.

“I like her better with Faith than with Angel,” Xander said. “Never thought she liked girls, but...”

“Are you gonna make that lame joke you always make about us inviting Katie Holmes over for a threesome now?” Willow said.

“I was considering it.”

Willow smiled. “What am I gonna do with you?” she said. “You’re such a bad boy. You need a time-out. Maybe we should increase your exercise regimen.”

“But you and Katie would look just so cute having a pillow fight in your underwear. In slow motion.”

“We’ve gotta get this threesome fantasy out of your head. It’s gross. I mean, what would you say if I was all, I wanna boink you and James Van Der Beek? If I was like, hey, let’s see you and James, y’know, gettin’ busy together?”

“Why, why did you put that image in my head? Yuck. Now I got naked James Van Der Beek in my head.”

“Welcome to my world. And hey, you’re always putting yucky Katie Holmes naked images in my head. And I mean, sure, I’m real super happy for Buffy and Faith and everything and y’know, gayness, girl power, hey, cool, whatever, great for them but...let’s just say your threesome fantasy? Never gonna happen while I’m one of the threesome, sweetie. It’s just gross. Well...” She gave him a devilish grin. “Unless you invite James over. Or maybe Thor.”

“And now I have naked Thor in my head. Thanks, hon.”

“That’s what you get for being naughty.”

“No hot Willow and Katie lovin’ for me.”

“Sorry, sweetie. I like a big hammer. But, Buffy being gay...y’know, it’s funny...don’t tell her this? But...I kinda sorta saw this coming.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Her Dad, the guys she’s dated...Angel...she’s just never had any luck with guys...never found one she could last with. All the guys in her life, I mean every single guy in her life, with the sole exceptions of you and Giles? They all let her down. And I’ve noticed her, y’know, in gym? And I’m not saying she was like a definite lesbian then, but...she’d look at some of the girls, and there was always just a vibe there. Like...it always seemed to me like she could maybe go that way. And I mean, yeah, okay, Angel, big epic romance but...really, what kind of life could they have ever had together, even if he didn’t go evil?”

“It’s funny,” Xander said. “If you programmed a computer to find someone for Buffy who’s like the exact opposite of Angel in every single way, I think it would spit Faith’s name out. I mean, male, female. Vampire, Slayer. He was all broody, she’s feisty. He used to read weird old French poetry, she talks about the Celtics. I couldn’t stand him, I think she’s frigging awesome.”

“I think he just tried to read French poetry,” Willow said. “I mean, yeah, he likes to read but I think with the French poetry he was sorta just posing. Buffy said he started getting into the poetry after they watched that Anne Rice movie.”

Xander giggled. “Figures,” he said.

“Plus, y’know, another way he and Faith are different? He always made Buffy cry,” Willow said. “Faith makes her laugh.”

“Yeah. At Giles’ house today? That’s the first time I’ve seen the Buffster really happy in a long time. It looks good on her. I want her to keep that look.”

“Angel and Faith do both have fabulous hair though. That’s one thing they both have in common.”

“Had. Angel had fabulous hair. Now it’s very un-fabulous dust.”

“Um...yeah, right,” Willow said.

“Angel really did have fabulous hair though,” Xander said. “I always wondered how he got it to do that.”

“He used product,” Willow said.

Buffy had finished cleaning Faith’s face, and now she was caressing the back of her head, probing for wounds. “How does your head feel?” Buffy said.

“Bad headache,” Faith said. “A little dizzy but...it’s getting better. Vamps...cracked my skull pretty good on the floor. Am I bleeding?”

“No. You have a thick head.”

Buffy ran her hands down Faith’s cheeks, and around her neck. There were big, red bruises on Faith’s neck. There were bite marks there, but the wound had closed. Buffy could have sworn the wound had been open and bleeding just a moment ago...just before Willow had examined her.

“Ow,” Faith said, as Buffy gently ran her hands down her right arm.

“Yup, broken,” Buffy said, stopping at Faith’s right elbow. Buffy moved her hands down Faith’s wrists, out to her fingers, and caressed each one.

“Ow,” Faith said.

“Where?” Buffy said. “Here?” She touched Faith’s right index finger.

“Yeah, can’t...move it. Thumb too.”

“Maybe broken or sprained. Okay.” She moved her hands down Faith’s sides. “How’s your back feel?”

“Okay, I think,” Faith said. “Woozy. Might...fall asleep.”

“Just another minute, baby. Let’s turn you over a little,” Buffy said, and turned her over onto her left side. When she lifted Faith’s blouse Buffy could see a line of red bruises running down Faith’s side. Buffy probed along her back.

“How’s this feel? Any pain?” Buffy said.

“A little...lower back, but...think it’s okay,” Faith said.

She rolled Faith back over again, and unbuttoned her blouse the rest of the way. She ran her hands over her stomach and her breasts and her collarbone. Faith’s left collarbone had a livid red bruise covering it.

“Any pain? Any pain up here?” Buffy said.

“Just...tryin’ to cop a feel, huh?” Faith said. “Can’t...fool me, B.”

“Sshhh. Any pain?”

“Bone up top...what’s it called?”

“Here?” Buffy said, and touched Faith’s left collarbone again. Faith nodded. “Your collarbone. How bad?”

“Hurts, but not that bad.”

“Got a big bruise there. With some luck it’s not broken.”

Buffy ran her hands along Faith’s abdomen, over her ribs.

“Any pain here?” Buffy said. “Ribs okay?”

“Yeah,” Faith said. “Hand...feels nice. Warm.”

“That’s Doctor Buffy. Warm hands.”

Buffy lifted Faith’s skirt. She ran her hands along Faith’s thighs, and up over her butt.

“Ow,” Faith said.

“Where?” Buffy said. “Your butt?”

“Yeah. Up high on it like...my tail bone maybe?”

She turned Faith on her side, gently moved her underwear out of the way and looked at her butt. “You’ve got another big bruise here,” Buffy said. “You probably just landed hard on it.” She turned her back over, and ran her hands down Faith’s thighs, to her knees.

“Ow,” Faith said.

“Right knee?” Buffy said, her hand resting on top of it.

“Yeah.”

“Think you can move it?”

“Maybe...yeah...little,” Faith said, and bent her knee very slightly.

“How bad’s the pain?” Buffy said.

“Not too bad.”

“You can move it, so it’s not broken. Maybe just banged up pretty good.”

Buffy took Faith’s boots off, and ran her hands down Faith’s ankles.

“Ow,” Faith said, with a sharp intake of breath.

“Bad right here?” Buffy said.

“Yeah,” Faith said. “Hurts bad.”

“Okay, your left ankle’s definitely broken.” Buffy took Faith’s socks off, and ran her hands down to Faith’s feet.

“Feet probably...all smelly from stompin’ all those vamps,” Faith said.
“They’re not smelly,” Buffy said, and ran her fingers across Faith’s feet, down to her toes, feeling each one of them. “Stop saying goofy things.”

“Ow,” Faith said.

“Here?” Buffy said, touching the big toe on Faith’s right foot. The toes on Faith’s right foot were caked with dried-up blood.

“Yeah.”

“You lost a couple of toenails on your right foot. I think the big toe’s broken, plus the one next to it. Okay, you’re pretty well banged up but I think you’ll be all right,” she said, and fixed Faith’s skirt and buttoned up her blouse. “Time to go. You definitely can’t walk so I’ll carry you.”

“Kinda...lame bein’...carried out,” Faith said.

“Sure because, taking on twenty of those super wolf vamps yourself? Will and Xander probably think you’re all weak and girly,” Buffy said, and lifted Faith in her arms with no effort at all and stood up. “Guys,” Buffy said. Willow and Xander turned and looked back at her. “We’re going.”

“Tired,” Faith said, and decided to close her eyes for just a second. “Just... wanna sleep.” When she opened them again she was lying in the backseat of the car, with her head on Buffy’s lap. Willow and Xander were getting in front, and Willow was carrying her boots and her sword. A breeze came in through the broken window in back, but Faith didn’t feel cold; she noticed Buffy’s coat draped over her like a blanket. Buffy’s fingers were stroking her cheek.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Buffy said. “We’re gonna get some stuff for your pain in a minute, okay?”

“I’m...in your gang?” Faith said, as Xander started up the car and they drove away. “Part of the gang?”

“Of course you’re in my gang,” Buffy said. “What kind of question is that? You’ve always been part of the gang.”

“You guys are...all in my gang,” Faith muttered, and went to sleep in Buffy’s lap.

“Okay, baby,” Buffy said, and smiled. “We’re all in your gang.”

Two

VILLAINOUS

In 1860, London smelled like horseshit.

The smell wafted through the dirty, crowded, clamorous streets of London’s West End, carried on the breeze like some air-borne contagion one warm summer night, as the inhabitants of the greatest, most populous city on Earth--the lords and the aristocrats, the bankers and the tradesmen, the beggars and the whores--went about their business, scurrying under the city’s gray, starless, smoke-reek sky like animals in a pen; not even animals, Angelus thought, as he stalked among them like a wolf, looking for his next kill. Animals at least had noses. Londoners didn’t realize their city smelled like shit. They didn’t realize just how deaf, dumb and blind they were...and how vulnerable.

There had been a series of grisly murders; it was the talk of the town. People killed and left with their throats torn out. The authorities were on the lookout for suspicious foreigners. Portuguese, maybe, or Spanish; someone had said they’d noticed a swarthy fellow, dressed shabbily, lurking about in the area of one of the killings with a pocket knife.

Angelus was impeccably dressed. He was even wearing a top hat. And he knew the authorities should have been on the lookout for an Irishman.

He wrinkled his nose as the smell of shit regrouped and came at him again. He hated London. That’s why he was there.

He had been a vampire for more than a century now, and he had seen the world: the beautiful woman on his arm had promised him she’d show him the world, and she had kept her word. But he always came back to England, eventually. He liked killing English people. They lived on an island choked with filth vomited into the sky from the factories that had spread like a cancer over the past half century, and they walked in shit, and most of them hardly ever bathed, and all of them thought they owned everything.

Angelus smiled. He may have been a vampire, but he was still Irish.

“Is there anyplace in Europe that doesn’t smell like dung, love?” he said, to the vision of beauty strolling contentedly on his arm; to the one person in the world he cared about. Or at least, he thought he did...he didn’t like being away from her for long. But he did like hurting her. It was confusing...he had tried to remember, sometimes, what it was like to love someone...tried to remember what it had felt like to love, when he had been human. He knew he didn’t want to live without Darla...was that love?

They played their little games, and made each other smile. Was that love?

Angelus had tried to remember, sometimes, what love was. But he never could. Until it finally occurred to him one day that maybe he had never loved anyone; that, even as a human being, he hadn’t loved. Fucked, certainly. He’d wenched his way up and down Galway with a vengeance, laid all the prettiest girls in town from barmaids to merchants’ daughters and left them all wanting more...but had he ever loved any of them?

He put the thought out of his mind. It was boring, and he didn’t care.

He had Darla. She would be enough...she always had been.

And he and Darla had their little games...

“No, dear, I’m afraid not,” Darla murmured beside him, as she cast her eyes up and down the winding street, watching with amusement as these simple prey animals who thought they ruled the world went about their dreary lives, not realizing that they existed at her whim; that they lived only as long as she decided they lived. The street was a noisy hive of activity, with throngs of people bustling about, and carriages clattering along; the well-to-do were heading for the Opera House, or the gentlemen’s clubs, and the less well-to-do were heading for the pubs, or the whores. Darla and Angelus, for their part, were headed nowhere in particular; they were taking in the sights. Darla watched the prettiest girls walk by in their long, slim dresses with the trains that dragged in the dirt, and their half-skirts and bustles that made them look like turkeys, and their corsets that threatened to choke the life out of them, and their vulgar, showy jewels and their gaudy fans and their ridiculous giant hats with flowers and feathers and every other thing sticking out of them, and she laughed at their presumption and their vanity, but most of all at their ignorance; they simply didn’t know how the world actually worked, what the rules really were. They were like coddled schoolgirls, playing at dress-up in mother’s clothes. Darla grinned like a wolf, and tried to predict which one Angelus would settle on, which of these beautiful, vacuous, preening, ridiculous animals he would slaughter that night, while she watched.

She noticed a pretty young whore loitering outside a seedy, ramshackle old pub named The Rose and Crown, and looking out at the street. The whore was a little slip of a girl; Darla thought she looked about fourteen. But the girl had beautiful pale skin, and full, red lips, and long, golden-blonde hair. And she was smiling, but Darla saw right through that smile; she had smiled that very same smile, when she was human...when she was a whore in Virginia colony, more than two centuries before. She remembered how it felt, having to smile all the time, when you didn’t want to...trying to hold onto yourself, when every new job cut a little piece of you away. The whore was soft as silk and pretty as a dove, and she smelled of sweet perfume, and she was very nearly elegant; but it was all a pose. The whore’s eyes revealed her: they were knife-sharp. There was calculation in them; other than the calculation, there was nothing.

The girl was dying, Darla knew; the girl had lost so much of herself already, that she desperately clutched at what was left, protected it with all her strength. That was where the calculation came from. But the next man would carve off a piece of her, no matter how hard she tried to hold on to it...and then the man after that would take another piece, and the man after that would take yet another...the girl would dwindle, in time; eventually the calculation would fail, and there would be nothing left of her.

Darla didn’t care. She merely found it interesting. And the whore was blonde; she knew Angelus liked blondes. Sometimes she flattered herself, and allowed herself to think that Angelus preferred blondes only because she was blonde. Boys were always looking for their mother, after all...and they found her, over and over again, in every girl they loved.

Still, as blonde and pretty as the whore was, Darla didn’t think Angelus would settle on her. Her dear boy, he liked his girls innocent...

Whatever pretty girl he eventually picked, she wouldn’t really matter tonight; she would only be the appetizer. Darla was looking out for a particular carriage that would be arriving soon, because she had already found something far more interesting for the main course.

“Though I will say that London is among the worst for its smell,” Darla continued. “It’s even worse than that little shit-stain of a town I liberated you from, once upon a time. But the girls are pretty, aren’t they?”

Darla ignored her nose, as she didn’t enjoy smelling horseshit, and hunted with her eyes instead. She thought Angelus would pick a blonde. Though he could be a fickle boy, and sometimes he surprised her.

That’s why she loved him so much. He always surprised her.

But tonight, she had a surprise for him. The main course was a beautiful raven-haired girl she’d had her eye on for weeks now...a very innocent, very special girl, who had visions, true visions, of the future. A rare, ripe fruit for her dear boy to pluck.

“Aye, love, that they are,” Angelus said, with a vicious, beautiful smile. Then he stopped and took Darla in his arms, and looked down into her eyes... down into a beautiful blue emptiness.

“But none so exquisite as you,” Angelus said, and kissed her.

Darla heard him snarling, as he kissed her. It made her wet. She felt the beast in him. She wanted him to take her; she wanted to feel his rough hands on her breasts, between her legs...she wanted him to hurt her.

“My angel,” she whispered. “My angel.”

People were watching them, as they kissed. Londoners didn’t kiss in the street. It just wasn’t done. Londoners weren’t romantic. They didn’t love...they were only human, after all. Darla knew human beings were incapable of love.

Human beings couldn’t love like she and Angelus did.

She moved her hand between his legs. She felt him; he was hard. Ready.

“My boy needs a treat,” she said. “Let’s find him something sweet to eat.”

“And fuck,” Angelus said, as they resumed walking. “I’m a damned rooster over here. You’ve got me all hot under the collar, love.”

“Even in this ridiculous outfit I’m wearing? I swear, if I had to breathe, this corset would be intolerable. And this hat makes me feel like a damned peacock.”

“You’re pretty as a picture. I like you in colors. If we don’t find me a girl soon I might take you right here in the street, darlin’.”

“How provocative! These poor, tedious Londoners, they’d be absolutely mortified. But no, I’ll take care of you. We’ll find a nice girl for you, some pretty lass for you to take out all your pent-up frustrations on. But you know the rules, Angelus. I get to watch.”

“And join in?” Angelus said, with a wolfish smile. “You promised me one of these days you’d join in, if I was good. And you know I’ve been good; hell, there’s none better.”

“Yes, you have been a dear,” Darla said. “Well, I don’t care for girls but I suppose since you’ve been such a love, perhaps I’ll put on a little show for you tonight. A ribald comedy. Or a tragedy, I suppose, from the girl’s point of view.”

They turned a corner, onto a shadowy, twisting little side street. Darla noticed Angelus’ eyes perk up as they fell upon a busty girl with long, light brown hair hastening in their direction.

“Not your usual type,” Darla whispered, as the girl came closer. The girl was carrying a basket, and looking down at the ground as she hurried along, her shoes echoing over the uneven cobblestones. She wore a tight red bodice that accentuated her ample breasts, and flowed out from her wide hips into a billowing, bell-shaped skirt. Darla thought her outfit was ridiculous; but then she thought her own outfit was ridiculous as well. She blamed the French. In Venice, they knew how to dress. No following French fashion trends like lemmings heading over a cliff in Venice. Darla missed Venice. With all the canals, it didn’t smell so much like shit there.

Darla thought the girl looked like Little Red Riding Hood. The look was appropriate, she thought.

“I’m in the mood for something a little different tonight,” Angelus said, baring his teeth.

As the girl was about to pass them, they stood in front of her, blocking her path.

“Hello, dear,” Darla said. “And where might such a pretty girl be going in such a hurry tonight?”

The girl looked up like a startled rabbit. “I...excuse me, m’lady, I’m... heading back to my mistress. I’m running late, and...” she stuttered, in a thick Scottish accent. She had a soft, dulcet voice, a little tremulous now, as she found herself squirming beneath Angelus and Darla’s fierce regard. The girl was young; no older than sixteen. Angelus touched her cheek. She blushed.

The girl had freckles. Angelus thought they were cute. He was going to enjoy raping her.

“Well I’m the Lady Sumner and this is Lord Sumner,” Darla said, with a bright, reassuring smile. “And I’m sure your mistress wouldn’t mind if you did us a small service tonight? Who is your mistress, by the way?”

“Miss...Miss Carlisle, ma’am,” the girl muttered, looking down at the cobblestones and continuing to blush, as Angelus stroked her cheek. The girl wanted Angelus; Darla could smell it on her. All the girls wanted her boy. “But... but I don’t know, ma’am, I really should be getting back, mistress is waiting.”

“Jane Carlisle?” Darla said. “Lives just a few streets away?”

The girl nodded.

“Yes, we’re old acquaintances,” Darla said, and patted the girl’s hand. “Jane won’t mind if you accompany me on a little errand for awhile. And we’ll ride you home afterwards, and make sure she knows what a dear you’ve been. What’s your name?”

“I’m...Leah, ma’am,” the girl said. “Leah Maguire.”

Darla put her arm around her.

“Just come with me now, Leah, all right?” Darla said.

“But...I just...don’t know if...” the girl started to say. Darla sighed and reached out with her senses; there was no one else nearby at the moment. She elbowed the girl in the side of the neck. The girl fell into Darla’s arms, unconscious.

“Usually my Lady Sumner routine works like a charm,” Darla said. “Maybe these London girls are getting smarter.”

“Well, they could hardly get any dumber, now could they?” Angelus said, and laughed, and took Darla’s arm. “Shall we?”

“No, you have to be a good boy and stay here,” Darla said. “There’s a carriage due by, the Morgans are heading to the opera. It’s a closed, four-wheeled carriage, very large and elegant, drawn by four horses and gilded in gold with light blue curtains in the side windows. Pay attention to the raven-haired girl, the prettiest of three fair sisters. Tell me what you think of her, and then come home to me. I’ll have this one ready for you when you arrive.”

“You’re up to something, aren’t you Darla?” Angelus said. “The wheels are turnin’ in that pretty head of yours.”

“The raven-haired girl is special,” Darla said. “Her name is Drusilla, and she’s my present to you. But I leave it to you to figure out why. And no being a naughty boy and opening your present early; just watch her. And then come home to me and tell me what you saw.”

With that, she walked away, propping Leah up as she went.

Angelus stood where Darla left him, in the dark, and waited. He liked Darla’s games. And this one promised to be interesting. Darla had never been so excited about a girl she’d brought him before. He wondered what it was about her that had attracted Darla’s attentions...what there was about this Drusilla that was so special.

The games were important. One of the first things Darla had told him after she’d turned him was that immortality was dangerous: the endless years, they could grind you down, wear you away, if you weren’t careful. Many vampires died, not by the stake, but by their own hand. They’d looked out into an infinite expanse, and, eventually, after decades, or centuries, of exploring it, they’d found that it contained nothing...they had lived so long in the world they couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t connect with anything. They had become ghosts; they had been reduced to mere shadows. And they had despaired, those dead things, that destroyed all that they touched: in the end, they destroyed themselves too.

Boredom was the enemy, Darla had told him. If life was nothing more than surviving, it could kill you...it could wear you away.

But Darla never let him get bored. She took care of him...she always had.

“Drusilla,” Angelus whispered. “Drusilla Morgan.”

He let his senses reach out. The little winding side street was dark; the street lamps had gone out. There were the usual piles of manure everywhere, as well as a butcher shop, a chemist, and a pub called The Salisbury. The pub was loud; everything else was quiet. Angelus could hear the drunken laughter as it barged out of the pub and galloped back to him, and past him, echoing away. He remembered the pubs in Galway, a century before. Lousy food, but good beer. And barmaids. In an alley the next block over, people were fucking; Angelus heard the girl’s quick squeals, the man’s rhythmic grunting. He heard rats scurrying in the sewers down the street. As he walked back toward the intersection leading to the Opera House, two sailors crossed in front of him. They were staggering, and laughing. They smelled bad. Almost everyone in London did. Even the pretty Scottish girl did. It was the factory smoke, it hung over the city like a funeral shroud and insinuated itself into everything. The horseshit didn’t help either. But he knew Darla would bathe the girl, when she got her ready for him. Darla always thought of everything.

Angelus stood on the corner, and looked toward the Opera House, and waited. When he concentrated, he could filter out the smell of horseshit. Unfortunately, that made the lingering smell of sewage seem worse, as well as the factory smoke. A century before, you didn’t see smoke hanging over cities. The world was changing. Everywhere, there were smokestacks. Poor people lived in squalid, cramped little slums that were freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer, and sent their children to work twelve-hour days in the factories. People traveled by locomotive now, though until someone came up with some sort of horseless carriage they would be stuck with horses and horseshit. The factories attracted people from the outlying villages, seduced them away from their farms with the whispered promise of a better life. It was a lie; but the people always realized that too late. The population of London had soared, with the coming of industrialization; the city was swarming with people now. It made the smells worse. Millions of people, all scurrying around like vermin under a vomit-colored sky choked with pollution, oblivious to the smells of garbage and shit all around them. If that was progress, Angelus supposed he was a traditionalist. In Galway a century before, people hadn’t washed much either, but at least there was fresh air and you could actually see the sky. A carriage was heading in his direction; he heard the horses’ hoofbeats. They were still minutes away from him.

He waited. He passed the time considering exactly how he would rape the Scottish girl. A few minutes later, the carriage rattled past him.

The carriage was big and fancy, just as Darla said it would be; it was a four-in-hand hauled by good, strong bay horses. The coachman was a paunchy old man with red cheeks and thick, gray muttonchop whiskers who controlled the horses with a firm, experienced hand. He smelled of bourbon and looked straight ahead into the darkness with a scowl. Through the side window, Angelus saw a middle-aged man and a handsome older woman with long, black hair sitting across from three pretty girls who looked to range in age from teens to early twenties. The oldest and prettiest of the three had long, black hair like her mother, and skin like milk. Her features were sharp, with high, protruding cheekbones, a long but pleasingly contoured nose, bow lips and enormous eyes. She wore a green silk gown. She looked at him, as the carriage passed. Their eyes met.

Her eyes were blue. Angelus saw worlds, in those blue eyes; whole worlds, beckoning to him. He saw fear too.

Somehow, she knew, he realized...somehow, she knew what he was going to do to her.

It was the damnedest thing...

When the carriage arrived at the Opera House, Angelus was buying his ticket.

Angel sat on a cold granite bench in his mansion’s circular stone courtyard, and looked up at the night sky.

There were jasmine flowers all around him; the flowers were white, with five petals each like little stars in the darkness, hanging in pots all over and climbing everywhere along the granite walls. Their smell was strong and sweet. They were Angel’s favorite flower now, and he had been diligent in caring for them; from their small foothold in a few little pots hung here and there on the walls they had spread, outgrowing the pots and trailing all the way down to the ground and then going on to colonize the stone walls themselves. Angel liked the way they made the barren gray courtyard look, so he had added even more pots, and within a year the jasmine had climbed the cold stone in every direction and as far as the eye could see in their heedless, headlong rush to quest out and conquer new territory, creating a lush, vibrant, thriving world there. They were beautiful flowers. They were strong, and just a bit reckless.

Angel looked up at the stars, and thought about all the people he’d murdered. He remembered them all...every single one. The way they looked, the way they smelled...how they screamed, or begged...the look of terror, or resignation, or sometimes merely surprise, when they realized they had finally arrived at their last moment. Angel never avoided the memories, never tried to shut the memories out. He remembered the people he’d murdered, every day. It was all he could give them now.

He thought about Drusilla. She was still out there somewhere. His thoughts often drifted back to her; he worried about her.

He always thought Drusilla was the worst thing he had done. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He had hurt Buffy, when Angelus had gotten loose.

Buffy tried to hide it; tried to hide just how deeply he had hurt her. She was always guarded around him, careful not to let him see. But he had seen...one morning a couple of months before, when she came to his mansion to do tai chi exercises, she had let her guard down for a moment, and he had seen.

They hadn’t talked about it. He wasn’t sure he even had the right to bring it up.

And then there was Willow...

He got up, and picked a jasmine flower, and sat back down, and held it to his nose. Jasmine hadn’t always been his favorite flower. He used to think they were almost too sweet, before he came to Sunnydale.

Smelling the flower, he found himself thinking about Buffy again. He hadn’t really ended it with her, hadn’t said the words...he had meant to, but hadn’t been able to. He had kissed her, the last time they had seen each other, without meaning to. That was almost a month ago now. He hadn’t seen her since then. She didn’t come by anymore. He thought maybe she’d broken up with him...that maybe this was her way of doing it. Saying goodbye without saying goodbye. He knew Buffy was strong; she could survive without him. She had always been stronger than him. She had always been strong, and he had been weak...

Drusilla was still out there somewhere, because he had been weak. Instead of killing her when he had the chance the year before, he had let her go.

He wondered how many people Drusilla had killed since then...how many lives his blackbird had destroyed.

He thought about Darla. Even now that she was dead at his hand, she was never far from his thoughts. He knew she had loved him, as best she could. He wasn’t sure if he had loved her. But he missed her. He thought he always would.

The night he first laid eyes on Drusilla, he had raped and murdered a Scottish girl named Leah Maguire. It had been a hundred and thirty-eight years, since that night. But he remembered the night, and the girl, with perfect clarity. The way she smelled, the way she screamed...she had freckles.

“Excuse me, Lord,” a voice said from behind him, in a thick Scottish accent.

Angel turned and stood up, startled. It was impossible, that someone could be here now; he would have sensed them. He would have heard them coming, caught their scent...

Leah Maguire stood in front of him.

She was naked, and bleeding...

Leah Maguire lay on her belly on the rug beneath Angelus, naked and bleeding and flopping around like a fish on a hook, her fingernails clawing at the rug, her eyes shut tight, her mouth open wide and screaming as he thrust into her from behind, snarling into her ear. Her screams had started out constant but had eventually settled down into a rhythm as her voice had grown hoarse and breathless and weak; she screamed in time with his thrusts now. She smelled good; her natural scent had reasserted itself now that Darla had bathed her. She was a pretty lass...

But Angelus couldn’t stop thinking about Drusilla.

“So what did you think about our raven-haired girl?” Darla said, sitting naked on the bed and watching with a smile as Angelus raped Leah. The bed had silk sheets; the bedroom had an oriental rug and heavy velvet curtains and Chinese vases on the two little end tables. They’d taken the house a few weeks before after killing the original occupants, who were rich but not too bright and had made the mistake of inviting Darla in when she had done her Lady Sumner routine.

Darla bent down and ran her fingers through Leah’s long brown hair. It was matted down with sweat now; Angelus was being hard on her. Darla had given Angelus a show before, as promised; Darla didn’t like being with women but Leah’s fear had spiced things up and she’d found herself enjoying it, by the end. The girl looked good on her knees, and her tongue was strong and soft, and she had proven quite compliant, once Darla had made her understand her situation; a short thrashing was all it required. The girl took direction well, as Darla told her how she liked to be licked. Mostly, Darla had enjoyed the look in Leah’s eyes as Angelus stood watching a few feet away and Leah wondered when he would join in, and what exactly he would do to her when he did.

Now she knew. Angelus had been rough with her, taking her from behind and forcing himself into her. “I hear Scottish girls like it up the arse,” he had said, laughing as Leah screamed. Leah was bleeding there; the blood was dripping down between her legs, and staining the rug. Darla frowned. She liked that rug.

“Drusilla,” Angelus grunted, as he rammed into Leah, forcing every inch of himself into her, and she screamed on cue. “She knows, Darla. She knows what I intend to do to her. It was like she knew it, somehow, the moment I decided it. When our eyes first met she looked at me with a kind of recognition, and fear.”

“She feels terribly guilty about it, you know,” Darla said, as she wiped a fleck of drool from Leah’s lips. “I’ve made some inquiries. She’s a good Catholic girl and she thinks her visions of the future are evil. Her parents are at their wits end about the whole business. The father brought in a priest to see her, and he’s advised them that Drusilla’s been touched by the Devil somehow, and that of course her visions are blasphemous auguries sent by the Devil to lead her into sin. Her father wants to bundle her off to a convent and wash his hands of her once and for all. I do love Catholics. They so enjoy martyring themselves.”

“Devil, eh?” Angelus said, chuckling. “Aye, she’ll be meetin’ him soon enough, and I do believe she’ll find he’s an Irishman. That fear of hers...I wanted more of it; it was downright intoxicatin’. So I followed her to the opera for a closer look.”

“A night at the opera,” Darla said, and stroked Leah’s hair, and wiped her tears away, and kissed her cheek. But wiping her tears away was futile; they were coming too fast. “How romantic! What opera did you see?”

“The Bohemian Girl,” Angelus said. “Something abut a gypsy girl and a deer. Didn’t pay much attention; I was focused on my Dru. I found a seat where I could get a good look at her. She felt me looking, too. She kept staring back at me like a scared little bird. And she has lovely blue eyes by the way.”

“Lovelier than mine?” Darla said.

“’Course not. And every time my Dru looked at me, my plans for her became a little clearer in my head, and she became a little more afraid. I’ll tell ya darlin’, it was like being drunk. Drinking Dru’s fear in, it tasted like wine.”

“Your Dru, hmm?” Darla said, chuckling. She bent over and grabbed Leah by the hair, and greedily licked the tears from her face; they tasted good. “Will you feel sad when you drink her, and she dies? Will I have to stroke your hair, Angelus, and wipe your tears away?”

“You...can’t be here,” Angel said, to the apparition, or the dream, or the illusion of Leah Maguire that stood naked and deathly pale in front of him in the courtyard, her brown hair matted down with sweat, tears falling down her cheeks, and blood dripping from her neck, and down between her legs. “You’re...dead.”

“You killed me, Lord,” Leah said, in her thick Scottish accent.

Angel let his senses reach out. He remembered Leah’s scent, and it was here now...it hadn’t been before. How had she snuck up on him? What was she? How was she here now?

“What...are you?” Angel said.

“I was sixteen,” Leah said, her soft voice echoing cold and mournful now through the courtyard, and seeming jarringly loud to Angel’s ears, somehow, in the silence and stillness. “I was in love with a boy named Ian. We were going to be married. After you killed me, he spent the rest of his days missing me; he never fell in love again. He died before his time, a broken man, hating life and cursing the world and welcoming death when it came, too quickly.”

“I...didn’t have a soul then. I have my soul now,” Angel said.

“You didn’t just kill me,” Leah said. “You killed him too.”

“I’m...am I dreaming this? Am I asleep?”

“I’m no dream, vampire, nor am I a ghost,” Leah murmured. She moved close to him. He could feel her breath, warm on his skin. He could hear her heart beating. He wanted to back away. He made himself stand there. He smelled her blood.

“Then...what?” Angel said.

“I’m me,” Leah said. “I’m the girl you defiled and murdered, Angelus. Just one of thousands. I thought I’d come to visit...and bring some friends.”

“I’m imagining this,” Angel said. “Somehow...I’m imagining this.”

“Look at me,” Leah said. “Take in my scent, vampire. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel said. “I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Leah said.

Angel watched her, silently, as she stood naked in front of him. There was nothing to say. There was no apologizing for what he did to her, no way to make up for it. For every life he took, he owed his own life in repayment. But he had killed thousands, and he only had one life to give...

He wondered if he was losing his mind. He always thought he might, someday...holding all those lives inside him, it was like walking with a glass of water, filled to the brim, and trying not to spill even a drop; it took balance, discipline. Every moment.

He wondered if some had spilled...if some of those destroyed lives had spilled out from his memory, and were loose, and trying to destroy him now...

“Do you feel sad?” Leah said, and laughed: a harsh laugh that raked through the courtyard and mocked the silence. “Will you stroke my hair, and wipe my tears away?”

“Well that was tasty,” Darla said, as she finished gorging herself on Leah’s neck. Leah was pale and still and silent on the floor beneath her, and she and Angelus were naked together, lying on top of Leah, their mouths caked with her blood. Leah’s bright green eyes stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing left in them now. Darla closed them, and gave Leah’s dead body a kiss on the cheek, and sat back on the bed, licking her lips.

“Aye love, that it was,” Angelus said, and sat beside her, and kissed her. They licked Leah’s blood from each other’s lips. “I know how to pick ’em.”

“So do I, darling,” Darla whispered, and moved her hands between his legs, and cupped his balls. They were big. So was his dick. He was getting hard again; he was almost always hard. She could hardly keep up with him sometimes. “I picked you.”

She kissed his neck, and gently stroked his dick, and smiled as he swelled to her touch.

“So why don’t you tell me all about your grand plans for Drusilla while I suck your cock?” Darla said, and curled up in his lap.

“I take it this is why you asked me to wash it,” Angelus said.

She looked up at him and grinned. “Leah was a lovely girl but I have no desire to taste her arsehole on your cock, dear,” she said, and took his long, thick shaft into her mouth and started sucking him. She started by taking as much of him as she could into her mouth, and down her throat; she knew he liked when she sucked him that way. Most men did, she’d found; they liked hearing her gag.

She was gentle and slow, as she sucked him off. She went as deep as she could, taking as much of his shaft down her throat as would fit, and she alternated that with licking the sides and kissing the head. Darla knew she gave an expert blowjob; twenty years whoring around Virginia taught a girl some things.

Angelus grabbed her by her long blonde hair, and controlled her head with his hand, pushing and pulling her up and down along his shaft.

“I’m going to make her one of us,” Angelus said.

Darla looked up at him. She would’ve stopped sucking him, and asked him what he was thinking, but she couldn’t move her head; he had her by the hair and he was controlling her. So she asked him the question with her eyes, as he fucked her throat, and made her gag.

“I’m gonna break her down, Darla,” Angelus said. “I’m gonna take everything away from that girl, break her will and drive her insane. Only then will I turn her, so she can experience that perfect pain forever. That girl, she’s going to be my masterpiece.”

His cock started to shudder; Darla felt it, in her mouth. He was about to come. She realized it wasn’t just her expert ministrations that had brought him off so quickly. Thinking of what he was going to do to Drusilla was exciting him. She’d never seen him quite this excited before. It excited her, too.

He yanked her hair so hard she screamed, as he came in her mouth, shooting thick jets of hot, salty fluid straight down her throat. He held her head in place, until every last drop was in her belly.

When she’d swallowed it all he let her up. She got up coughing, and smiled, and kissed him.

“That does sound entertaining,” Darla said. “But do we really want to be saddled with a lunatic forever?”

“It’ll liven things up,” Angelus said. “When we’re bored, she’ll amuse us. Besides, having a family...isn’t that what people do? It’s been more than a century, Darla. Isn’t it time to start a family now?”

“You’re going to fuck her, aren’t you?” Darla said, and bent down again, and gave the head of his cock a playful little bite. “I just know you are.”

“All part of breaking her,” Angelus said, and caressed her cheek.

“I mean after,” Darla said, and laid back on the bed. “I can tell you want her. After you turn her, will I have to share you with her?”

Angelus laid himself on top of her, and kissed her.

“No, love,” he whispered. “I’m yours always.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not going to fuck her?” Darla said, and moved her hand down between his legs, and gently stroked his cock. It began to grow, in her hand. He was excited about Drusilla, about what he was going to do to her; more excited than she had ever seen him. And his passion inflamed Darla’s passion, too. She needed him. She needed him to hurt her...to show her that he loved her. She wondered if this was jealousy. She hoped not. Jealousy was so...common. It was something humans felt...something she refused to acknowledge she could ever feel. “Come now, Angelus. I made you, you’re mine, and I know you. You’ll fuck her. I’d be almost disappointed if you didn’t.”

“Never said I wouldn’t fuck her Darla,” Angelus said, snarling as he smiled. He positioned himself against her, and held her arms down with one hand as she spread her legs for him. Darla felt his cock against her; parting her wet pussy lips. He was going slow...being gentle. She had no idea why but she hoped it wouldn’t last. “What I said was, I’m yours,” Angelus murmured. “Dru will be part of the family. But you’ll always be my lady.”

He was taking too long; she thrust her hips out and took him the rest of the way inside her. She was soaking wet; watching him rape Leah had nearly made her come. He slid right into her like a hot knife through butter.

He began thrusting into her, but slowly, tenderly. She tried to grab his shoulders and pull him into her harder, but he held her arms still with one hand.

“Why, you’re a perfect gentleman, Angelus,” Darla said. “You’re the very epitome of gallantry. I hate it. Take me like you mean it or get the hell off me.”

He looked down at her and smiled his wolfish smile.

“You don’t like it like this,” he whispered.

“I want to be properly fucked,” she hissed. “You’re not even hurting me.”

Angelus smiled again, and caressed her cheek with his free hand.

They looked into each other’s eyes, as he slowly thrust in and out of her, and forced Darla to match his slow, gentle rhythm. She tried to look away, but he grabbed her by the hair--gently--and made her look at him again.

“What is this, Angelus?” Darla growled. “A new game? I don’t like it.”

Angelus went on tenderly fucking her, and caressing her cheek, and he planted gentle, chaste kisses on her lips. Darla grit her teeth through it, and hurled curses at him. He laughed, and nodded in agreement at everything she said.

Whenever she tried to look away, he held her head in place, and made her look him in the eyes. Whenever she tried to speed things up, he forced her back into his slow rhythm.

“Why won’t you hurt me, angel?” Darla finally pleaded after a few minutes of this treatment, with tears in her eyes now. “I need it. You know I need it. I can’t come this way. Did I do something wrong? Why won’t you hurt me?”

He didn’t answer her. He caressed her cheek, and looked her in the eyes, and forced her to look back at him, and tenderly, slowly, fucked her, as she cried.

After a few more minutes, he finally smiled down at her again, that wolf’s smile he had, and showed her his teeth.

“Who says I’m not hurting you?” he whispered.

And then Darla understood. And she smiled too.

“Ohhhhh...oh, you are villainous,” she whispered. “An absolute rogue.”

“The very worst, love,” he whispered back, as he held her down, and gently made love to her.

A moment later, she came for him.

Three

THE KING WAS IN THE COUNTING HOUSE...

“You keep count, don’t you, Lord?” Leah said, and smiled, and paced naked around the courtyard. “You keep count of all the lives you’ve destroyed. Thirteen-thousand, two-hundred six is the tally now, is it not? I’m afraid your count is off. What about my Ian? You murdered him too.”

Angel watched her. He knew he wasn’t dreaming this. She said she wasn’t a ghost. But she had died more than a century before. So what was she?

“What if I were to tell you there is nothing after this?” Leah said, as she sniffed at the jasmine flowers. “That there is no God, no Devil, no afterlife? No reward, or damnation? No Heaven or Hell? Just this one life we’re given? This one life, that you took away from me?”

She came back to him, trailing blood on the cold stone beneath her feet.

“You comfort yourself with that; the thought that there is an afterlife, a Heaven where all the people you murdered can rest, and find peace,” Leah said, as she watched the stars and the moon. The stars were brilliant in the clear sky; the crescent sliver of waning moon wasn’t bright enough to put them to flight. “But you have no proof of it. It’s a fantasy you cling to. What if it’s false?”

“I’ve...I’ve seen a hell dimension,” Angel said. “I know they--”

“A hell dimension? Those places aren’t Hell. They’re just different. To the beings living there, those places are home. This world of yours is a hell dimension, depending on one’s perspective. It’s a hell dimension for me. It reminds me of the life I was promised, the life that was my birthright, which you stole from me. Thirteen-thousand, two-hundred six, you say? No, Angelus, the tally is much, much higher than that. When I died, my Mum died soon after. She succumbed to a sickness she should have been able to fight off. But without me, she didn’t see any reason to fight anymore. I was loved, vampire. My destruction by your hand destroyed others too. Were you ever loved?”

Angel thought about Buffy. He thought she still loved him. Part of him wished she didn’t. The rest of him clung to her love, like a piece of driftwood floating in the middle of a cold, endless ocean. Her love was all he really had...all that kept his head above water. He didn’t have Darla anymore.

He didn’t know where Drusilla was...but he knew she was with Spike.

He thought about how he’d hurt Drusilla; the things he had done, to make her what she was. He thought about how he’d hurt Buffy, and how she had never told him how much...how he’d found out himself, one day, when she was careless, and he saw...

He remembered the way Drusilla had looked at him, the first time he had locked her in the closet.

A tear fell down his cheek.

“Such a display,” Leah said, and cocked her head on one side, and looked at him curiously. Her eyes, a very bright green, were dark now in the courtyard. But Angel thought those eyes might blaze like emeralds, if they caught the sun. He hadn’t noticed how beautiful Leah’s eyes were, the night he killed her.

“Can a thing like you cry?” Leah said. “Can such a thing feel remorse?”

Angel sat down on the bench, and looked at the ground.

“Every life you touched intersected with others, and those with yet more,” Leah said. “You ripped through us all like a pestilence. You swept over us, and when you were gone, there was nothing left.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel said, to the ground. His voice sounded small and weak in his ears; the darkness swallowed it up.

“It doesn’t help,” Leah said. “It doesn’t help any of us. Or you.”

Angel remembered the look on Buffy’s face, when she cried in his mansion after the tai chi exercises; when her guard slipped, and she accidentally let him see what he had done to her...

She’d tried to pretend she was crying because she was happy; it was the first time they had kissed since he came back. She didn’t realize that he had seen what she was hiding.

She had never told him. And he knew he could never ask her. He didn’t have the right; not anymore.

He remembered Drusilla’s eyes, just before he shut the closet door...he remembered the tears in her eyes, and the light...the light he had extinguished.

“What...what would help?” Angel whispered, to the apparition, or the dream, or the illusion of Leah Maguire.

Leah sat beside him on the bench.

“You died more than two centuries ago,” Leah said. “This life you have now? It isn’t yours. You stole it from all the people you’ve murdered.”