Thaw by Dazzle
Summary: Losing everything you loved was terrible, but it was so much worse to know that it had never been at all. So much worse.
Spoilers: Birthday, Season Three.
Notes: Warnings for language and sexual content.
Part
I
Angel sat at his
window and watched the snow fall.
He thought idly that
at least tonight the snow was beautiful -- thick and soft and deep, coming down in round, fat
flakes that seemed to shine in the night sky. Too often, in the previous two
years, he had watched from this same window as hailstones pounded
down, rattling against windowpanes and pavement. Or as sleet turned
the streets and sidewalks to so much gray mush, almost impassable to
humans, and ever more inviting to things that were not human.
But this night's snow
was gentle, even peaceful. The sounds on the street were muffled, and the ground sparkled in
an almost unbroken field of white. Angel wasn't sure -- his memory might
have failed him, he thought, because he'd been in southern
California for so long -- but he thought that this was what a real winter
would look like.
No, he corrected
himself. A natural winter. Because he remembered well that, however unnatural this might be, it
was all too real.
From the small bed
beside him came a soft rustling of blankets; Angel half turned as the woman there pushed herself up
on her elbows. "Did you rest well?" he asked.
Buffy shrugged.
"As well as I ever do." Her voice was flat and businesslike. Angel had a momentary recollection
-- piercing, fleeting -- of the way her voice used to sound, musical
with humor and spirit.
Then again, he also
used to hear doubt there, and fear. He used to wonder if Buffy was at the breaking point, to be
afraid that she had reached it. Now she'd found her strength, and there was
no point in wondering if the change was for the better. It had to
be.
"Snow
tonight," he said as he went to the weapons cabinet, selecting the arms for their nightly patrol.
Buffy swung her legs
off the edge of his bed. She took the few steps required to cross his cramped little apartment
and went straight to her clothes, still hanging on the spindly rack near the
heater, where Angel had placed them to dry hours before.
"Good," she said. "They won't hear us coming."
Always thinking about
the fight, Angel thought, with something that was both wistfulness and pride. These days, he
knew, there was little enough else in their world to think about. But he still
admired her focus, wished for it himself.
Because, despite his
place at her side, Angel knew his own weakness. He still longed sometimes for things to be the
way they had been in the beginning. When they fell in love, when she laughed
and played and teased, and he had been so caught up in her joy.
When he had thought he might find his own place in the world,
really stand at her side, instead of just watching her back.
But that was before
the Winter, and therefore belonged to another world altogether.
*****
"Boo."
Wesley jumped -- then
felt the familiar wave of embarrassment. Buffy had, somehow, managed to startle him again, with
that, no less, by saying Boo, of all things --
He turned from his
shelving to see her smirking slightly at him, as usual. "Feeling kinda tense there,
Wes?"
"More than usual?
No," Wesley said, setting his books down on a shelf. He'd finish later; keeping the Sunnydale
High library in order was a largely a matter of make-work now. The few
students who still bothered to attend classes did so mostly out of the
need to be with others their own age. If possible, what few academic
leanings they'd ever possessed had diminished still further. But order
had to be maintained, after all. "Which is to say, yes,
still rather tense indeed."
Buffy's smile became a
little more genuine, and Wesley felt heartened. In the past few months -- as the
crisis had grown more dire -- Buffy had finally begun to show some signs of
warming to him. Well, perhaps 'warming' was too strong a word. But the
bitter rejection she'd met
him with, the strong resistance to his very presence -- that at last was fading.
Perhaps she'd finally
forgiven herself for Rupert Giles' death. Or perhaps she'd just begun to accept the fact that,
after the Winter, she needed another Watcher.
But Wesley couldn't
fool himself into thinking that he would ever have been her first choice.
Buffy pulled her navy
woolen cap down a little more firmly about her ears. "Angel and I are gonna head out on
patrol," she said. "Standard operating procedure, unless the demons are up to
something in particular tonight."
"I don't believe
so," Wesley said. "They're still quiet -- fourth day in a row. Which of course means they're planning
something again. But you should take advantage of the break. Gather your
strength. You push yourself too hard."
Buffy sighed. "If
demons were any better at organizing, they'd have figured out by now not to give me and Angel any
days off." She did not acknowledge Wesley's last remark.
He decided not to
press the issue. The burgeoning truce between him and Buffy was too fragile to upset on this slight
point; also, the mention of Angel always left him feeling slightly
disquieted. Wesley had never come around to his predecessor's acceptance
of his Slayer's love affair with a vampire. "However, I did
receive a report of Initiative patrols in the northern part of town. Near
the warehouse district. So you'll want to steer clear."
Buffy said a word that
made Wesley blush slightly. "Wes, you keep saying that the demons are gonna off those
Initiative guys sooner or later. And you know, it makes sense, because since when
do demons need human henchmen anyway? They're lamer than the
lamest demon I ever ran across, which is pretty lame, if you count the
slug demon from last December. But sooner has definitely turned
into later." Her mouth twisted in a sneer that told Wesley the truce was
just about over. "Another Wesley Wyndham-Pryce plan flakes
out. Boy, who woulda thunk it?"
Wesley tried to think
of something sarcastic to say in reply, failed as usual, and settled for, "Just stay out of
their sight."
They stepped out of
the stacks into the main area of the library. Angel was standing against the counter, as ever
dressed in black, somber. "Hello, Wesley," he said. Angel never
failed to be polite, which unsettled Wesley all the more. He just nodded in
reply.
Buffy smiled a little
upon seeing her lover; Wesley told himself, as he often did, that perhaps enduring Angel's
presence was worth it, if it provided Buffy with the little pleasure she still
had in her life. "Southern part of town for us tonight. Feel
like checking out Hillcrest Cemetary?"
"Thought you'd
never ask." Angel almost smiled. As the two turned to go, the library doors swung open again.
"Hey, Miss
Calendar," Buffy said amiably, waving as she went out the door. Angel nodded quickly as he followed.
"Hey, guys."
Jenny Calendar waved back with one hand; in the other, she held a cup of coffee.
"Bit late for
caffeine, isn't it?" Wesley said. "You'll be up all night."
"It's not for
me," Jenny said, holding the mug out to him. She was wearing the green sweater Wesley liked so much, a
leaf-patterned skirt he didn't remember seeing before. "You were
looking a little worn-out earlier. Thought I'd provide a
pick-me-up."
Wesley could feel the
smile spreading across his face, as well as the embarrassed urge to check it. However, it didn't
matter; he could smile or beam or out-and-out glow at Jenny Calendar if
he wanted to. And, generally, he did want to. But it didn't matter,
because she didn't notice.
Apparently Jenny
stopped noticing a lot of things around the time Rupert Giles had died. Wesley had, of course,
realized how devoted the two were to one another during his first, brief
stay in Sunnydale. Neither Mr.
Giles nor his fiancee had had much use for Wesley in those days, but the attraction and
trust between the two was evident, as was Giles' joy in the woman he had
intended to marry.
When Wesley had
returned to Sunnydale, he had done so for Giles' funeral -- a ceremony held on a cool, bright day.
He remembered seeing her standing by the grave, in a black dress and
veil, and his own shock at the blankness of her stare.
Whatever light within
Jenny had dimmed when her lover died, her inner strength and kindness still survived. Wesley felt
grateful to have her friendship, at least; without hers, he would have
had no one's. But the care and attention she gave him reflected
nothing deeper. It was the same sort of impersonal nurturing one might
give a fern. Wesley didn't even expect anything more.
After all, Rupert
Giles was the true Watcher, the true love. He was just the replacement.
*****
Buffy trudged through
the snow, listening to its cornstarch crunch against her feet.
She knew, rather than
heard, that Angel was behind her. His stealth was more than a match for the snow. She
half-smiled, thinking, Neither rain nor sleet nor dark of night shall keep
ensouled vampires from their rounds.
Once she would have
said it out loud, to see if Angel would get the joke. By this time, she was pretty sure he
wouldn't. Besides, if she were joking out loud, someone or something might hear.
She'd learned the hard way that it paid to be careful.
"Buffy,"
Angel said, his voice low. In warning. She stopped moving, listened. More cornstarch crunching, farther away
-- a group, maybe three or four. Human, maybe. Or maybe just human-sized.
She pulled out her
stake, began moving toward the sound as lightly as she could. Once again, she knew Angel would be
behind her; in some ways, predictability could be a good thing.
They moved toward a
hedge -- no point in not using cover if you had it, particularly on a night when your dark
patrolling clothes stood out against the snow. She bent low, felt Angel crouch
down next to her. Buffy tried to peer through the hedge, but could
see nothing but shining green leaves tipped in white.
But she could hear.
"I bet it's
another freakin' coffin," someone laughed. A man, or -- Buffy glanced over at Angel at last, saw him
shake his head slightly. Not vamps, then. But they weren't ordinary people,
either; it had been more than two years since ordinary people had been
outside in Sunnydale after dark.
"They wouldn't go
to all this trouble for a vampire coffin," another man's voice said. "It's probably some
magical artifact."
"I hope it's not
another trans-dimensional liquifier," a third man sighed. "I do not want to spend another two
months pouring concrete for new floors."
"Doesn't matter
what it is," said a fourth voice. Buffy tensed in recognition. The tone was commanding, dry,
familiar.
She looked back at
Angel and mouthed the name of the Initiative's strike-team leader -- Finn? Angel nodded in
agreement. So, she thought with a flash of excitement, the famous Finn is
screwing up, and lucky little me is here to hear it.
"Doesn't
matter?" the first voice said. "Come on, Riley, how can you say that?"
"Walsh says we
guard it, we guard it," Finn said. "Doesn't matter if it's a vampire coffin, trans-dimensional
liquifier or a tub of Parkay. And we sure the hell don't blab about it on
patrol, Graham. Come on."
As their footsteps
moved further away in the snow, Buffy grinned. Too late, sucker, she thought.
"They've found
something," Angel whispered.
"Wow, way to
state the obvious," Buffy said. Angel looked a little hurt; once, he would have known that her
put-downs didn't mean anything. But back then, her put-downs really didn't
mean anything. But as she looked into his dark eyes, she regretted
snapping at him. Sure, he was predictable, and he was obvious, but he
was -- Angel. Her backup. Her boyfriend.
All she had left.
Buffy put her hand on
his shoulder; as ever, her touch seemed to smooth over his hurt feelings. "Sorry. Just
dreading telling Wesley about this. Because you know what he's gonna say."
Angel sighed with her
as they both said, "Research."
*****
The elevator dived
down into the depths of the Initiative; Riley imagined that he could feel the
stone closing in around them. He'd been imagining that more and more, lately -- not exactly a
healthy
impulse, he figured.
Ought to stop that.
But he still felt
the weight of it as he stepped out into the Initiative
labs. And his claustrophobia intensified as he saw who was awaiting
him -- not just Walsh, but --
"Brother,"
Adam said, reaching out with his human hand. "It is --
good to see
you."
As ever, Riley
resisted the urge to attack -- that thing -- to yell
that he wasn't its
brother, its lackey, or its friend. However, he suspected that only the last was true. Adam was looking at
him
somewhat strangely,
even by Adam standards. "You have come from
above. From the
Winter."
"Of
course," Riley thought. Silently he added, Like every other night
for the past two
years. Then again, Adam did have something of a tendency to stress the same points over and over again.
Adam bowed his head,
as though considering something. Riley had
learned that this
was, by far, the most dangerous time to confront Adam. He remained silent, at attention, as though the
creature really were
his commanding officer. Walsh, his real commanding officer, was
half-smiling at him.
Approving of his obedience. Riley felt his back teeth clenching together, hard.
"You have come
to report to me." Adam looked as though he would say
more, but he asked
only, "What word?"
"Quiet.
Unusually so. Not even a nest of vampires to be found."
"I don't like
it," Maggie Walsh said, folding her arms in front. "The
word must be out.
They have to be planning."
"They cannot
plan," Adam said. "They can only execute the plans of
others. Our own
demons are silent, because we wish it. The others -- if they knew, they would attack."
Knew what? Riley
wondered. But he had long since realized that the best
means of gathering information within the Initiative was not to ask questions. Better by far to be quiet and wait.
Walsh gave Riley a
perfunctory nod. "That will be all, Finn." He
walked away slowly,
moving quietly up the metal steps of the catwalk as he listened to her saying, "If anything else were
able to harness this
power --"
"Do not fear,
Mother," Adam said.
The
"Mother," as usual, freaked Riley out enough to get him to stop
listening and walk
away faster. He cast one glance down into the research well, hoping that what he saw would shed some more
light
than it had before.
But, no, all he saw were a couple of white-coated
researchers huddled
around -- something.
Well, he'd find out.
In the meantime, there were a few jobs left in
the Initiative that
he didn't mind much at all. With a slight smile, Riley half-jogged to the mess hall, grabbed a couple of
apples, and headed
to unit 941.
He punched in the
security code and stepped through without fear. It
had taken him a
couple years to get to this point; he was the only member of the Initiative who'd reached it, probably the only
one who
ever would, and with
good reason. "Brought you something," Riley said
easily.
"Big fuckin'
deal," Faith said. "The zookeeper brought the monkey
some fruit. Gee, ya
think maybe you could get me an inner tube to swing from?"
Riley sighed. Not
one of her good days, then. "The inner tube
wouldn't be much
good without rope," he said.
Faith ran one hand
through her long hair -- almost to her waist, now -
- and glanced
sideways at him. "If you were really my friend, you'd get
me some rope."
He caught himself
looking up at the steel rafters of her cell.
"Faith," he said quietly. "You promised you weren't going to
think like
that."
"No, I promised
I wasn't gonna talk like that," Faith said. "You can
control every other
damn thing about my life, Lee, but you can't control how I think."
Riley didn't let the
anger get to him anymore; he knew that her rage
was directed at
Walsh, Adam and the Initiative. In the past few months, she'd grown to know it too. But he was still the only
outlet she
had, and Riley was willing to bear the weight.
She flopped down on
her little bunk in her stark room -- stark even
by the standards of
someone who'd spent half his life in army barracks. He had considered asking if he could bring Faith a
few
things -- nothing
that could be a weapon, just a couple of posters
and some tape, or a
blanket that would give the room a little color. Or maybe some clothing besides the shapeless blue scrubs they
saw fit to
give her. But Walsh would just have given him that look, the one
that saw right
through him, and assigned someone else to Faith duty. Which wouldn't do either of them any good.
"I'm
sorry," he said. "I know how you feel."
"You know how I
feel?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty rich,
Lee. You haven't
been a prisoner for two and a half years."
"They keep you
in a cage," Riley said. "They keep me on a leash. Not
that much of a
difference."
"Bullshit. You
get to walk around. You get to go outside --"
"Outside's not
what it used to be," Riley said. "Not in Sunnydale,
anyway."
Faith was quiet for
a while. Then she said, "What was it tonight?"
"Snow,"
Riley said. "If you didn't know why -- I mean, if you just
saw it -- you'd say
it was pretty."
"Bet I
wouldn't," Faith said, snatching the apple from his hand.
"You?"
Riley smiled then, was relieved to see her smile in
return. "No,
you probably wouldn't."
*****
Angel brushed snow
from his hair again, saw that Buffy was beginning
to struggle as she
made her way through the drifts. Perhaps six or eight inches had fallen already, and the sky was still thick
with
flakes. Buffy was
only a few feet ahead of him, and her form was
already indistinct,
clouded by the falling snow.
He wanted to catch
up with her, and he didn't. If she wanted to talk
to him, she'd be
talking. And when she wasn't in the mood to talk, he had long since despaired of finding the right things to say.
But that didn't
stop him from feeling slightly lost as he watched her, half-
hidden from his
sight, making her way uneasily through the snow, uninterested in his help.
And then he heard it
-- not even a scream, just a cry.
Angel froze in
place; Buffy kept trudging on, and he said, as quietly
as he could,
"Stop."
She stopped and
turned her head; even in the heavy snow he could
sense her starting
to listen, call upon her own abilities to sense what he sensed.
Footsteps in snow --
something falling -- and again, the cry --
As one, Angel and
Buffy turned and began running toward the sound. A
nearby alley seemed
to provide the best path; as they ran, Angel realized Buffy was falling behind in the snow. He'd have to
start
alone.
He emerged onto the
street to see two vampires after one girl. Apparently
they'd just seized her; one had grabbed her arms behind her back, and the other was slipping on the icy curb as he
clutched at
her shoulder. The girl still didn't scream for help; instead, she
kicked the vampire
in front of her in the crotch.
It doubled over with
a screech; Angel felt himself smile as he ran
toward them. Amazing
-- you so rarely saw humans fighting worth a damn --
The vampire behind
the girl shoved her roughly to the ground, but
before it could
pounce Angel had skidded up behind it and slammed his stake into its back. Grey dust was soon lost in the swirl of
snow.
Angel jumped over
the girl to do the same for the one on the ground.
Easy kills. They
must have been new.
"Good shootin,
Tex." Buffy's voice came from behind him. As she
stumbled toward him,
she pointed at the girl, who lay still in the snow. "What the hell was she doing outside?"
"Let's find
out," Angel said, kneeling by her side. He noticed, as he
turned her over,
that she wasn't dressed for the weather at all -- a thin sweater and a silk jacket, cloth gloves that were
already soaked through.
And then he saw her
face.
"It's Cordelia
Chase," he said.
"What?"
Buffy peered over his shoulder. "What's she doing in
Sunnydale?"
Angel shrugged. Like
most sensible alumni of Sunnydale High, Cordelia
Chase had moved away
shortly after graduation. Apparently she'd gone to Hollywood and found success -- Angel remembered some group
excitement when
she'd appeared on the cover of a magazine -- but
otherwise he knew
little of her.
Cordelia was staring
up at him, clearly dazed and disoriented. Angel
could smell the
faintest tracings of blood, resisted the urge to touch his fingers to her temple, where he sensed the wound.
"They hit her
head," he said. "We have to get her indoors."
"Angel?"
Cordelia whispered.
"That's right.
It's me," he said. "Don't worry. You're okay."
"Oh, thank
God," she breathed. "Angel, I had the most awful dream --"
"It's
okay," Angel said, picking her up in his arms. Buffy began
heading back toward
the alleyway, and he followed. "You're okay, Cordelia. We're getting you someplace warm."
"I dreamed -- I
dreamed I messed up everything, Angel. I changed
everything, and it
was all so terrible --"
"It's
okay," Angel repeated, paying little attention to her delirious
ramblings.
"Don't worry."
"It was just a
dream --"
"That's
right," Angel said. "Just a dream."
*****
Part II
TWO DAYS AGO, IN
ANOTHER UNIVERSE
"Naiura?" Cordelia said. "Am I pronouncing your name
right?"
"You are as close as you can be," Naiura said, "with a
human voice."
Cordelia had suspected that, even if she did have her memories, she wouldn't remember seeing anything quite as
gloriously unearthly as Naiura. Naiura's skin shimmered right between slate and
silver. Her ice-green eyes were large and thickly lashed. A soft
cap of white feathers covered her head, almost like some stylish
hat. Cordelia had felt slightly awed by her -- surely something so
beautiful had to be good.
"Well, then, hi there, Naiura," Cordelia said nervously.
"Suppose you're wondering why I summoned you. What with
having been summoned and all."
Naiura nodded, perhaps a little tiredly, and sat down on the corner of the bed Cordelia shared with Connor. "The
spell was clumsy," Nairua said. "I do not blame you. You did
your best. But why do you try something so dangerous when you know so little? You
cannot guess at the consequences."
"Because I don't know anything," Cordelia said. She had knelt
near Naiura in subconscious supplication. "My
memory's been taken from me, and I have to get it back. Apparently I'm
half-demon, and I have visions and a mission, and all this other stuff that
sounds kinda important. But I can't remember it, so I can't get it
back, and nobody seems to know how to help me."
"So you have helped yourself," Naiura said, amused.
"I sneaked back into the hotel -- it's a hotel where I used to live, I think -- and I snooped around some. I found
this book that talked all about you, and how you came here from another
dimension long ago, and how you change reality? Well, I thought maybe you
could change this reality so I have my memory back." Cordelia
had smiled. "It said all the stuff I had to get to do the spell, and I
wasn't sure it would work, but it did! And here you are. So -- can
you?"
"Change this reality so that your memory has never been taken?" Naiura had cocked her head to one side.
"Difficult. I sense this already. Many forces, many events, have led to
this."
Cordelia had folded her arms. "You mean, you've seen that I can't
pay you. Listen, I'm pretty sure we can work
something out -- I have to have a Visa card or something --"
Naiura's eyes had gone wide. She put her silver-blue hands on either side of Cordelia's face and laughed -- a
beautiful laugh, like bells pealing. "I see it now! I see a way to
change it now. Yes, yes, I can get your memory back for you. I can arrange it so
that it is never taken at all."
Cordelia had felt tears springing to her eyes. "You can? You will? I'll pay whatever you want, I swear --"
"You do not have to pay me," Naiura said. "This reality is
its own reward."
If Cordelia had had her memory, she would have known to be suspicious. She would have known the kind of
rewards demons prize.
But she didn't have her memory. She had only her fear, and her loneliness, and a warehouse room she shared with
a boy who left her for long hours to fight monsters she didn't understand.
And she had a beautiful, powerful creature who held her face and
smiled and told her it would all be better soon. Cordelia had met only
four demons in the brief few days she remembered -- one of them was
scary, but two others, Angel and Lorne, seemed like they were helpful
and nice. The fourth was, apparently, herself. And so she wasn't as
afraid as she should have been.
"Do it," Cordelia said.
The world had gone silver, then dark, and then light had returned to reveal --
"And your host for the VH1 Fashion Awards -- Cordy Chase!"
She was standing on a stage, surrounded by cheering crowds and TV lights. She was wearing Donatella Versace, which
meant she was showing a hell of a lot of skin. She looked good. The
camera loved her. The microphones were waiting for her next words.
"Dammit!" she yelled. "Not AGAIN?"
***
HERE AND NOW
Angel pulled the blankets up over Cordelia, plumped the pillow beneath her head. She was all but unconscious on
the tiny cot in the library office, mumbling indistinctly. Behind him, he
could hear Buffy and Wesley arguing. As usual.
"Buffy, she was exposed to the cold for God only knows how long. And a blow to the head -- she could be in serious
trouble."
Angel switched on one of Giles' old lamps; the light shone dim and golden through a heavy mica shade. Cordelia
stirred slightly, and he feared the light would disturb her, but then her head
lolled to one side, a lock of dark hair falling across her cheek.
"Wesley, if we try and move her all the way to the hospital tonight, the rest of us are going to join her. We don't
let people travel at night for a reason, remember? It's late, and it's
dangerous, and if vamps attack our car, she's not a whole lot better
off."
"If she has hypothermia --"
"--then the hospital would do exactly what we're doing, which is get her warm and let her rest."
Angel looked down at the girl lying on the cot next to him; he could hear her heartbeat, too-slow but steady. Her
breathing was deep and even. Carefully, Angel lay his palm against her
forehead. He couldn't gauge her body heat well -- after a night outside, his
skin would be colder than any living human's for hours to come -- but
he suspected Cordelia's temperature was not so low as to require
emergency help.
In short, Buffy was right. But Angel found himself wishing that Wesley would argue with Buffy harder -- or that
either of them would ask him about Cordelia's condition, show that they
cared more about her than about their arguments.
But Wesley just sighed, and Angel knew the question was settled. They would be doing things Buffy's way, right or
wrong. As usual.
Angel curbed his impulse to bitterness -- Buffy had good instincts, and Wesley didn't seem to have many leadership
instincts at all, and they all listened to her for a reason, and she really
was right about Cordelia's condition --
But he felt suddenly, irrationally protective of the dazed girl on the cot.
Buffy stuck her head in the door. "We're headed out. Come on."
"No," he said. "Someone should stay to watch Cordelia."
"That's what Wesley's for," Buffy shrugged.
"Wesley's for research," Angel said. "And you guys do have
something to research, remember?"
"What's that?" Wesley said from the other room.
"D'oh!" Buffy said, smacking her forehead. "Way to forget
the big honkin' Initiative clue."
"Clue?" Wesley sounded more eager than ever, and Angel had to suppress a smile.
Buffy was smiling too. "Oh, I get it now. You're doing the Florence Creature-of-the-Nightingale act to get out of the
latest research party."
Angel laughed softly. "Wesley told you I was evil."
She giggled at that, then came forward and kissed him gently on the mouth; Angel tilted his head up to meet her lips,
felt himself relaxing more than he had in days. Every once in a
great while, they still had these moments -- and just these few moments
were so much more than he'd ever thought to have in his lonely life.
No point in even wondering if it were enough.
Buffy went back to the doorway. "Let me go give Wesley the thrill of his life. Have fun playing doctor." She
waggled her eyebrows as though they were both going to be up to something far
dirtier and more fun.
Angel settled back in the chair and took up a book -- though he'd never imagined telling Wesley so, the man did
have good taste in books -- to wait out the night until Cordelia awoke.
*****
"They've found something?" Wesley said. "What
exactly?"
Buffy
shrugged, and Wesley felt his hopes and good spirits begin to
fade, as quickly as
usual. "I dunno. That guy Finn said something about a vampire coffin, a trans-dimensional liquifier or a
tub of
Parkay. I think the
Parkay was a joke. I hope so, anyway. All we need
is demonic
margarine."
"Hard to
imagine the Initiative taking on so about a vampire coffin,"
Wesley said.
"Not in this
town," Buffy agreed. "The trans-dimensional whatsit --
maybe. But I'm not
sure they were serious about that, either."
Wesley folded his
arms, considering. "They found something. Meaning
that they didn't go
and get it, or receive it from the government -- it didn't come to them --"
"You know, with
all the books in here, I bet we could find a
dictionary. Probably
got the definition of 'found' right in there."
"I -- of course
-- I meant only that whatever they found, it, it was
something that was
already here."
"Oh." To
Wesley's surprise, he saw Buffy nodding. "Right. So we start
looking for stuff
that would already have been here. More people come here to bury their weirdo artifacts, you know?"
"Exactly,"
he said, relieved that she understood him and, for once,
would cooperate.
"So, we have a place to begin."
*****
" -- Naiura --
"
Angel glanced down
at Cordelia, who was stirring on the cot, awakening.
He set aside his book and leaned forward, arms on his knees. "Cordelia? Are you all right?"
She opened her eyes
slowly, blinked, then smiled an uneven, groggy
smile. "Felt --
better --"
"I'm sure you
have. Do you want some water? Aspirin?"
"No -- just
need to -- rest a little," she breathed. "I'm so glad
you're here -- I was
scared -- wouldn't ever see you again --"
Angel frowned. Given
that he'd only barely known Cordelia when she
was in high school,
it wasn't possible that she could have been scared of not seeing him again. Therefore, Cordelia was
slightly delusional,
thinking him someone else -- and still in poorer shape
than he'd hoped.
If she's not
coherent by morning, he thought, I'll get Buffy to take
her to the hospital
after all. In the meantime, there was little point in arguing with either of them. "You're safe,
Cordelia. Don't worry
about anything. Just go back to sleep."
"But this thing
-- Naiura -- I think she was real --"
Naiura? The name was
unfamiliar to Angel, but he filed it away to
tell Buffy and
Wesley later. Cordelia had traveled to Sunnydale for some
reason, and these days it was unlikely anyone would come for a purely social visit. "We'll work that out later, when
you feel better."
Cordelia reached
out; her trembling hand wrapped around his, kitten-
weak. "She made
me dream things -- I wasn't where I was supposed to be. I was on TV -- and when I went back to the hotel, you
weren't
there --"
So, whoever Cordelia
thought Angel was, it was somebody she'd visited
a hotel with.
Faintly amused, he tried to gently disengage his hand from hers. "Shhhhh. Don't worry about it now. It's all
over."
"I thought I'd
messed everything up -- I thought I'd lost you,"
Cordelia murmured as
he nestled her hand back in her blankets.
Angel wanted to
reassure her, but checked himself. He couldn't
promise that she
hadn't lost whoever it was forever -- if he'd come to Sunnydale with her, there was a chance he was indeed lost.
Silently, he cursed
himself for not making a more thorough recon of
the area where he
and Buffy had found Cordelia. Was there time to go now? He checked the impulse. No need. Anyone who'd been
unprotected on
the streets of Sunnydale at nighttime for several hours was by now
beyond any help.
And then Cordelia
gazed up at him -- her eyes almost clear, her voice
a little stronger,
as if she really did know who he was -- and said, "I love you so much." She smiled tenderly.
"I never thought I'd get
to tell you. It's worth -- all of it -- to tell you."
He shook his head
slightly. "Rest," Angel said. "You'll do us both
some good if you
rest."
Cordelia closed her
eyes, apparently having said all she had to say.
As she fell back
into a deeper, easier sleep, Angel hoped for her sake that she would find the man she sought.
*****
The
first thing she felt was pain.
Her whole body
ached, and in a few places -- her left knee, her right
temple -- Cordelia
felt the sharp stabbing pain of injury. She grimaced as she struggled toward consciousness.
Must've been a
fight, she thought. She'd woken up feeling like this
often enough, the
past few years --
-- fighting
alongside Angel (working out with the studio-supplied
personal trainer),
battling vamps and slime demons and Haxol beasts (waving to the studio audience at the end of a taping),
getting
banged up by visions
before her demon-izing (posing for the cover of
In Style) --
She'd gone to Nairua
to get back her memories of her life. Now she
remembered two
lives. Both her own.
Cordelia's eyes flew
open. Immediately, she saw Angel sleeping in a
chair next to her,
and she smiled. Angel. He was here. She could tell him she remembered him, that she loved him, and that it was
all going to
be okay --
But then she
realized that she and Angel weren't at the Hyperion.
They were in Giles'
old library office, which was looking remarkably not-blown-up. They were in Sunnydale -- in Sunnydale --
It couldn't be true.
It couldn't be. She'd asked for her memory back,
not for the whole
world to be changed. This was a dream, just a bad dream, or a warning from the Powers -- a vision! That was it,
a
vision. Now that she
was part demon, the visions sometimes just
appeared around her
like part of the scenery, and there was no reason in the world for her to have a vision about Giles' library,
and these weird
memories in her mind didn't seem like part of a vision, but
they had to be --
She felt her body
shaking in terror, forced herself to focus on
Angel. On the one
thing in the world she knew was real.
As if in response,
Angel stirred slightly, then slowly opened his
eyes. She smiled
weakly at him, grateful that he was awake, frightened of whatever was happening to her bewildered mind
--
"Cordelia?"
Angel said. He looked worried, the way he did after
they'd been in a
battle or she'd had a strange vision. No doubt he knew what was going on, and he would explain it all, and then
this would
finally make sense.
She saw him register
her confusion, then he leaned forward to come
closer to her.
"Cordelia?" he asked gently. "Do you remember me?"
And as she stared up
at him, she realized that the gentleness and
concern in his eyes
-- were all. There was no recognition. No understanding. No love.
Cordelia clasped her
hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her scream.
For a long, long
moment, all she could do was try and slow her breathing so she wouldn't hyperventilate; that, and think:
Naiura,
you demon bitch.
And then: No. This
can't last. This was done, and it can be undone,
and I'm gonna figure
out how.
"Cordelia?"
The Angel who was not Angel -- not her Angel -- was still
looking at her,
patient and puzzled as ever.
It seemed wrong to
speak to him -- wrong even to acknowledge that he
could exist -- but
she managed to blurt out. "Thanks for the lifesaving. Gotta go."
She ran from him,
through the library, out the doors, and into Sunnydale
High --
(graduation day, her
cap and gown in the back seat of Oz's van,
taping explosives
under the library tables and trying really hard not to look at Wesley)
(graduation day,
everyone joking about the commencement speaker who
had to fill in for
the "missing" mayor, Faith giving Buffy a high- five, Cordelia sobbing as she and Xander finally split up)
The world is
different, Cordelia thought. Everything is different.
But why? Why? This
isn't what I asked Naiura for -- this isn't what she was supposed to do.
"Cordy!"
That was Buffy's voice behind her. By instinct only,
Cordelia half-turned
to see Buffy standing there --
(Buffy, the winter
of 1998, getting thinner and paler by the day,
living in terror,
crying every day, looking down and away every time Cordelia and Xander made the mistake of holding hands in
front of her,
suiting up for patrol every night as though she were going into
battle)
(Buffy, the winter
of 1998, glowing as though she were lit from within,
cutting study hall only to show up two hours later with beard burn on her cheeks and a silly smile on her face, giggling
with
Willow and Cordelia
as they slipped into Victoria's Secret, giddy
with happiness and
embarrassment)
"Hey, are you
okay?" Buffy said. She was staring at Cordelia very
strangely, clearly
torn between annoyance and concern. "Should you be up?"
"She did
it," Cordelia whispered. "She said she'd change reality --
and I didn't
remember, so I didn't realize -- "
"Cordy?"
Buffy was edging closer. Behind her, Cordelia could see
Angel and Wesley
leaning out into the hall, looking as confused as she felt.
(Angel and Wesley,
buying her magazines to read during working hours,
cruising Ventura
Boulevard with the top of Angel's convertible down, loving her as brothers and as men, asking nothing, giving
everything, coming
to blows with each other and tearing her heart out)
(Wesley almost a
stranger to her, someone she'd had a secret crush on
during those last
days with Xander, and Angel only a distant memory of the strangeness she'd left behind -- almost nothing to her
at all - -)
"I have to
go," Cordelia said, to Buffy, to all of them, only to
herself. "Just
let me go."
"Cordelia, you
aren't well." Wesley's voice. She wouldn't look at
Wesley, because he
was standing near Angel, an Angel with no love for her in his eyes. She felt a dizzying rush of blood, draining
from her head,
leaving her chilled and disoriented and more ready to bolt than
ever.
"You'll try to
stop me," Cordelia said. "You think this world is
real."
"Ohhh-kay,"
Buffy said. Buffy's face was shifting slightly, out of
focus and then in
again, and the the dim light in the corridor seemed to be getting even dimmer. "Cordelia, what isn't real to
you?"
"I'm going to
fix this," Cordelia said. "I'm going to fix everything.
I'm going to find
Naiura and make her make it right again. And don't - - don't you get in my way."
She turned away from
Buffy then, trying to ignore the nauseating
swirl in her stomach
as her head whipped around. As best as she could, she began jogging toward the nearby exit. All she had
to do
was get back to Los
Angeles, find the books -- no, the books were in
the Hyperion, and
nothing would be in the Hyperion now, nothing but empty rooms and dust and a hungry demon.
"Cordelia?"
Oh, God, that was Angel's voice. She tried to ignore it,
to pretend she
didn't hear his footsteps coming up behind her. "You shouldn't
be on your feet. Just stop, okay? Sit down and we'll talk."
"Don't you
touch me," she said without turning around. That wasn't
Angel. Not the real
Angel. "Leave me alone."
"It's dangerous
out there!" Buffy this time. Cordelia ignored her
too, put her hands
out on the iron bar across the door, only to have it swing open as soon as she touched it. She half-stumbled,
half-
swooned toward --
"Cordelia?"
Jenny Calendar. Alive. Framed in darkness and snowflakes
and the reddish glow
of the exit sign. Staring at Cordelia. "Are you all
right?"
Cordelia sank to the
floor, braced her hands against the linoleum. It
was better than
falling down. "Cordelia?" Buffy said, stepping closer.
"I'm
sorry," Cordelia said, to no one who would understand. "I'm so
sorry."
And then, to her
embarrassment and surprise, she burst into tears.
*****
Pull yourself
together, Cordelia told herself sternly. You have
committed the
fuck-up of all fuck-ups, but there's got to be a way out. There always is. The sooner you figure it out, the
better.
The little voice on
the inside had its act together. Unfortunately,
the rest of her was
still a total wreck.
Cordelia wiped at
her eyes, sniffled, breathed in as slowly and
deeply as she could.
They'd brought her back to the library, let her sit at the big oaken table and have a cup of hot tea. Buffy,
Wesley,
Angel and holy Mary
mother of God Jenny Calendar were all semicircled
around her, looking
equal parts worried and bemused. And every time Cordelia thought she was about to steady herself, she would
catch
sight of Jenny or,
even worse, Angel, and the tears welled up again.
She had to calm
down, she had to think --
But it was so hard,
with Angel near her but without even a single
memory of their
years in Los Angeles. Because she'd wiped them all away. It was like what had been done to her by the Powers,
but the
Powers had only
taken her memory. Cordelia had accidentally destroyed
an entire reality.
No, she corrected
herself, her eyes filling with tears again, she
didn't destroy it.
It was worse even than that. No, instead she had wiped it out of existence. Losing everything you loved was
terrible, but
it was so much worse to know that it had never been at all. So
much worse.
There was something
else too, something she couldn't quite put words
to. During her time
with the Powers, there was something she'd seen -- something important -- something yet to come. Eyes, she
thought, but she
couldn't see whatever it was she'd seen before. She only had that
one word, eyes.
It was a part of
that reality's future, Cordelia realized. And I
can't see the future
of a world that doesn't exist -- a world that I ruined --
Pull yourself
together, she told herself again, with more force this
time. You didn't
have your memory. You didn't know to be cautious, and you were counting on Connor to protect you, HELLO big
mistake. You
made this big fake world, and it sucks, so you just have to
unmake it. What's
done can be undone, and the only people who can help you are looking at you like you are a crazy person. Time
to
prove them wrong.
Cordelia sat up
straight and focused Buffy, then Wesley in turn. "I'm
gonna tell you guys
a few things," she said, choking back her last
tears. "And I
want you to listen, okay? Hear me out."
Buffy shrugged.
"Okay, but just know, you have to do the walk-a-
straight-line test
when you're done."
Ignoring that,
Cordelia stared at Wesley. Think objective, she
reminded herself.
Think facts. "Wesley -- you had a pretty miserable childhood,
thanks to the scariest dad this side of Marvin Gaye's. You like mint tea, and you hate it when they pile whipped cream
on your
coffee drinks. You
play darts really well -- anything to do with
aiming, whether it's
guns or crossbows or whatever, you're good at. And
you love word puzzles. You'll play them all day."
Buffy raised her
eyebrows as she looked over at Wesley. He said,
cautiously,
"Everything you've said is accurate."
Shooting Angel a
quick look, Buffy said, "You gonna do the mind-
reading thing on
me?"
"We didn't know
each other any better in this reality," Cordelia
said. "But
Angel --"
Angel, apparently
surprised to hear his own name, said, "Yes?"
Think objective.
Think facts. Cordelia breathed in shakily. "You
loved convents.
Churches. Holy places. You went through this way- disturbing phase where you would cut crosses in the cheeks of
your
victims. That was
about the same time you turned a vampire named
Penn. But being the
Scourge of Europe wasn't all about mayhem and gore, because you took time out to go to the ballet, the
Blitnikov's version
of 'Giselle,' and big bad evil you actually cried."
Angel blinked,
clearly trying to fathom how she could possibly know
about the ballet.
Cordelia fought back the urge to say more -- she could say so much more. Things like, You pay so much
attention to your
hair, to your clothes, to your car, and it's all because you're
so afraid of what
people will see -- that if they even find one external flaw, they'll see the internal flaws too. You can't
sing
worth a damn, but
you sang to your baby and didn't care who heard
you. You sometimes
don't take the time to slow down and listen, but when you do, you take it all in, every word, every moment,
and you
make the person
talking to you feel like she's the only person in the
world --
"So, you have
information about us," Wesley said. "More than you
ought to have.
Something has happened to you."
"Not that much
happened to me," Cordelia said. "But to everyone else -
- reality's been
totally warped. This isn't the world I remember. This isn't the way it's supposed to be."
Buffy and Wesley
traded looks; Wesley was trying to hide his skepticism.
Buffy didn't bother. "So this thing you think manipulated reality
-- what was the name?"
"Naiura,"
Angel said quietly. "Right? That's what you were saying
last night."
"That's the
name," Cordelia affirmed. "Kinda silvery-blue, tall,
thin, attractive if
you go for that kind of thing. Ringing any bells?"
"No."
Wesley suggested, "This Naiura creature may only have
manipulated your
memory."
"Don't think
so," Cordelia said tiredly. "I didn't exactly have a
memory to
manipulate. I mean, I remember this reality -- sort of. But I know which reality is real. I mean, more real."
"You do
remember reality then," Wesley said. "But you have a set of --
secondary
memories."
"It's so weird,
Wes. All the things that happened in this reality --
I know them, but
they're like something I read in a book, or memorized for a test. I know they're facts, but they didn't
happen to me."
She stood up, held a hand out beseechingly toward Wesley. Still
she could not look
at Angel. "Listen, even if you don't believe me totally
-- you know something's up. I know stuff about both of you guys that I shouldn't know. So, that's spooky, right? The
kind of
things a Watcher and
a do-gooder vampire would investigate?"
"Something
decided to reprogram your brain, Cordelia," Buffy said. "I
understand the
impulse, but still, that's a lousy thing to do. Worth looking into. But, believe it or not, we have problems that
rank a
little bit higher on
the priority scale. Remember that blizzard you
got yourself frozen
in last night? The thing that's responsible for it might just be on the verge of his next major crime, which
I for
one would like to
stop."
Cordelia looked up
at the skylight; no sunlight shone through, a
factor of the heavy
snow above. In her memory -- her true memory -- she knew that southern California was as warm and balmy as
ever. But in
the flat, artificial memory of the past few years that overlaid it
all, she knew that,
for two years, winter had had ruled an area some two hundred miles in diameter -- with Sunnydale right at the
center.
She said, slowly,
"The weathermen call it El Abuelo. They pretend
it's some new weird
meteorological phenomenon."
Wesley, obviously
grateful to have something constructive to add,
said, "Adam --
the underworld overlord here for the past two years -- he
found a way to harness the energies of the Hellmouth. A spell that not
only draws energy from the Hellmouth, but from the world at large -- it takes away heat. Plants don't grow as they ought.
Machines break down.
The fertility rate in Sunnydale is astonishingly
low, though that
might be as much a factor of people not wishing to bear a child here."
"Can't blame 'em,"
Buffy said quietly.
"Naiura didn't
mess with my brain," Cordelia insisted. "She messed
with reality. Adam
and El Abuelo and all the rest of it -- that's not supposed to be real. Naiura changed reality."
"And why would
she have done this?" Buffy countered.
Well, this wasn't
going to be pretty. Cordelia tried to edge into it
gently: "It's
worth something to her. And I should've found out what it
was -- should've found out what the changes were going to be --"
"Wait,"
Wesley said. "You mean -- you knew this Naiura creature was
going to change
reality?"
After a moment,
Cordelia nodded miserably. Might as well admit it, get it all out now. Wesley pressed further. "So, you
were -- working with
her. You wanted reality changed as well."
"I swear to
God, the only thing I was trying to change was something
that really, really
needed changing."
Buffy, apparently
unconvinced, crossed her arms in front of her.
"What was it you were supposedly trying to change, anyway? What was
so awful in your TV-star life that it was worth messing with everybody else's lives to fix it?"
"I'm not a TV
star!" Cordelia said. "At least, I wasn't. I had lost
my memory -- I mean,
ALL of it, no idea about my own name until somebody told me. And I wanted my memory back. I didn't know
to be
scared of demons
--"
"How much do
you have to know to know that?" Buffy retorted.
"Well, I DIDN'T
know, and I was scared -- you have no idea how scary
it is -- and I just
wanted my memory back. I only asked her to change reality to change that. But instead, she changed almost
everything."
"But not
everything," Jenny said. Just hearing her voice gave
Cordelia chills; it
was like hearing a ghost speak. Actually, after a couple years of living with Phantom Dennis, Cordelia thought
of
ghosts as fairly
comforting. Hearing Jenny Calendar speak was anything
but comforting. "I mean, you still went to high school here, right?
Still knew Buffy and the rest of us?" When Cordelia nodded, Jenny continued, "So, when exactly did things change?
What's the point
where Naiura altered reality?"
Cordelia sat back
and tried to put her chaotic memories into some
sort of order. God,
it was awful having no memory, but having two sets of memories was almost worse. May Queen -- check.
Cheerleader --
check. Boyfriend
killed by vampires -- check. Making out with Xander
in the broom closets
-- check, dammit. Leave it to Naiura not to change the embarrassing stuff. Buffy's 17th-birthday party --
check. Flame-thrower
in the mall --
No check. Angelus in
the graveyard -- nope. The attack in the library
-- didn't happen.
Angelus never got
out.
Cordelia felt the
shock all over her body, as though she'd been
plunged into
icewater. "Your curse," she whispered. "Angel, Naiura
changed your
curse."
"What?"
Angel sounded beyond horrified. "The curse -- that's my soul -
-"
Cordelia shook her
head. "It is NOW. But before, it was different.
The gypsies had this
weird loophole in it, a way you could lose your soul again. If you had -- perfect happiness, your soul went
away. And you
became Angelus again."
"You mean --
this could actually happen?" Wesley said. He pushed his
glasses up his nose
and drew back, as if recoiling from the very thought. "Good Lord -- if Angelus were ever to get out
again, to be loosed
upon the world -- "
"That can't be
real," Angel protested. "Why would they curse me with
a soul to make me
stop killing, then make it possible for me to become a killer again? It's a stupid loophole."
"We've done
stranger," Jenny said.
"What Cordy's
talking about -- is that part of Angel's curse?" Buffy
demanded.
Jenny shook her
head. "No. The curse is pretty straightforward --
well, by the
standards of Calderash curses. Which is to say, about as labyrinthine as it gets short of the income-tax code. But
there's no perfect-happiness
loophole."
Angel was clearly,
understandably, still in shock. "My soul could be -
- could have been --
impermanent. I could have been a killer again -- Angelus again --" He looked across the room at Buffy.
"I could have hurt
you." Buffy's face was pale, and everyone was silent for a long
time.
"I know it
sounds scary," Cordelia said. "It was pretty damn scary to
live through, let me
tell you. But it's still part of reality, and what's all around us now isn't reality. It's fake. And we
have to get back
to what's real. That's the way it works, right?"
Wesley folded his
arms in front of his chest. "Miss Chase -- either
everything in the
world has been affected, or just your memory has. Which do you think is more likely?" Cordelia breathed
out in
something that was
half a sob, and he hastened to add, "I do think
it's important to
track down this Naiura creature -- find out what's been done to you, and why --"
"Listen to
me," Cordelia said firmly. She stood up and faced them --
even Jenny -- and
called upon the new memories, the flat and terrible ones, to give her the words she needed. "In my reality,
Xander and Willow
and Giles are all alive. Alive and well and fighting the big
evil here in
Sunnydale, where there isn't any Winter. Never was. I mean, sure, it's still a Hellmouth, but Buffy's got it under
control."
Jenny was blinking
back tears. "Alive?" she whispered. "Rupert's
alive?"
Cordelia couldn't
bring herself to answer her -- to tell her that
Giles had lived and
leave out the fact that Jenny herself had died. Instead she said, "It's important for me to prove that
what I'm saying
is true. You and me and -- and Angel, we have to go to LA."
"Angel?"
Buffy was frowning. "What, you want a vampire sidekick on
your show?"
"The three of
us lived there," Cordelia said. As she thought about
this, forced herself
to grab onto those memories, she finally felt her strength coming back to her. She managed to look at Angel
-- not her
Angel, but Angel all the same -- and she focused on him as though
he were the only
person in the library. The only person in the world. . "We worked together. We had a mission. We have
to get it back
again."
*****
Part III
"She's
stark raving bonkers," Buffy said.
Wesley winced --
she'd said that very loudly -- and glanced back
through the doorway.
Cordelia, by herself at the library table, did not appear to hear, or at any rate to care. "I don't
think so," he said.
"I think there's more to this -- more than she's telling us.
But I don't think
she's insane."
All of them were in
the library office -- Angel and Buffy on the cot,
Jenny in the chair,
Wesley on his feet, fighting the urge to pace. Pacing meant that you had nervous energy to burn, and Wesley
did not
want to reveal to
the others -- or admit to himself -- how much
Cordelia's words had
affected him.
Yet he was realizing
that others were just as overwhelmed by what
Cordelia had told
them about her idea of what was real. Buffy was hugging herself tightly, a hunched, protective posture that
belied
her angry words.
Jenny's eyes were tear-filled, as they had been
since the moment
Cordelia first said that Giles still lived. And Angel still seemed dazed from the thought of Angelus' escape,
not that
Wesley could blame him. If such a thing were true -- though of
course it could not
be -- the repercussions would have been ghastly.
Angel was apparently
somewhat focused on the conversation at hand,
though, as he asked,
"That name she keeps saying -- Naiura. What is that? A demon?"
"Not that I
recognize," Wesley said.
He cast a quick
glance over at Jenny, who shook her head. "Me either.
Of course, that
doesn't mean Naiura's not a demon. Contrary to popular belief, Wes and I aren't on a first-name basis with
them all. Rupert
-- he would've known, I bet --"
"What's with
all this mission-in-LA crap, anyway?" Buffy
grumbled. "You
guys have a mission here. You're my Watcher, and Angel's my -- well, he's here to help me. You two wouldn't
ever leave me."
Wesley said nothing;
he knew what Buffy had said was entirely true.
He had never
questioned the fact that his calling, his purpose, was to help Buffy in her sacred duty as the slayer. Certainly it
was hard to
imagine that Angel could have anything more positive to contribute.
And yet -- something
in him he'd hardly realized was there had
responded powerfully
to what Cordelia had said. A mission. Not Buffy's or the Council's or anyone else's. His own.
Wesley remembered
Cordelia as Xander's girlfriend, remembered his own
rather guilty crush
on the schoolgirl. He'd indulged that crush by watching
"Cordy!" a few times; to him it seemed rather typical American
sitcom fare, diverting but forgettable, of interest only because of his familiarity with the star. And now, suddenly,
here she was
again, a flickering image on a screen made real once more,
arriving in his life
bearing tidings of a world that had never existed.
Of a man he had never been. And despite every bit of
training and
education he'd had in his life, Wesley was tempted by her words.
"Just going on
gut instinct here," Jenny said, "but I don't think
she's lying.
Whatever it is that's trying to pull a fast one, it's not Cordelia herself."
"Agreed,"
Wesley said. "But I do think we should find out what's
going on. I doubt
anything would have tampered so seriously with her memories and sent her to us only for amusement's sake."
"I think it's
just to hurt us," Buffy said. "Just to get under our
skin. Maybe distract
us before something important. I mean, think about it. She tells Angel that he went retro-evil to scare
him. She tells
Miss Calendar and me that Giles didn't die, so we have to miss
him all over
again." Her voice was trembling as she continued. "And that's
why she tells me that Willow and Xander didn't die -- so I have to miss them again too --"
Angel put one hand
on Buffy's shoulder; she did not acknowledge the
touch, but her
trembling diminished.
Wesley ventured,
"Not all of her stories were meant to placate us.
The bit about Faith
becoming twisted and evil, betraying us to the Mayor -- what could that serve?"
Buffy shook her
head. "Just reminding us that Faith's dead. That
those bastards in
the Initiative killed her. Hey -- the Initiative. You think they might've done this to Cordelia?"
"If the
Initative could alter memories, they wouldn't bother with
Cordelia. They'd go
straight for us." Angel seemed to hesitate for a moment,
then added, "I think we should do what Cordelia says."
"What?"
Buffy said. staring at her lover. "You're just gonna drop
everything and go to
Los Angeles? Wouldn't that be exactly what this Naiura chick wanted? If this is a setup, then walking right
into it
doesn't seem like
our Plan A."
"I don't think
we have to follow through on all of what Cordelia
wants to do,"
Angel said. "But I do think we have to get her to talk
to us. Whatever it
is Naiura made her believe in -- that's got to be important, right?"
"I see,"
Wesley said. He met Angel's eyes -- something he rarely did -
- and genuinely
considered what Angel had said, something he did even more rarely. "Yes. By not challenging Cordelia's
delusions, we make it
easier for her to talk to us about them."
"I've got
another idea," Buffy said. "Let's challenge Cordelia's
delusions a little
harder. She wants you guys to pick up and take off to LA? Okay, well, then, she can explain what the hell's
going on. And
just why she doesn't like 'this reality' to start with. I mean, I
know why I don't
like it, but she's a star and everything. So what's her damage?"
"There's more
to it, I think," Angel said. "Last night -- she was
rambling, kind of.
And she said something that about a -- a lover, I think -- somebody I think she lost."
"If she had a
psychotic break after getting dumped, too bad," Buffy
said. Wesley noted
the harshness in her tone. He understood that Buffy did not intend to be cruel about Cordelia, but she had
a deep
terror of being
alone. More alone, Wesley thought, remembering Willow
and Xander.
"Hey, Wesley, maybe it's you. You guys were making eyes at each other back during senior year -- and don't even try
to deny
it, because it was
obvious in a 40-foot-high-billboard kind of way.
Maybe in her
reality, you two had a hot-and-heavy affair, and now the reason she's all freaked out is that you don't even remember
it."
Wesley could feel
himself blushing, knew Jenny could see it, felt
even more
embarrassed, and so blushed all the deeper. He managed to say, "I don't -- I mean, I doubt -- that's not the, ah,
vibe I'm picking
up from her."
Buffy frowned.
"You pick up vibes?"
Angel said,
"This is just a weird thing for a demon to do. Why alter
someone's memories
if you don't have something to gain from the alteration? Whatever messed with Cordelia's head -- it had a
purpose. And
it obviously has some power. I'd rather go looking for it before
it comes looking for
us."
"We have stuff
to do here, remember?" Buffy said. "Looking up all the
weirdo stuff that's
been buried in Sunnydale? Which is a lot."
"I could help
with that," Jenny offered. "Buffy, I really think
something's up with
Cordelia. In high school -- I think she was fond of Rupert. You all were. But there wasn't anything special
there. But when
she was telling me that he didn't die -- that he was still
alive -- "
Jenny shook her head, and Wesley wished that he could do as
Angel had done. That he could reach out and comfort the woman he loved. "I felt like there was more she wanted to say. So
much more that
she felt. There's even more to her story than she's told us.
This isn't just a
knock on the head. This is something real."
Buffy did not look
any happier. "So Cordelia drops the vicious act
for a day, and we
all assume something supernatural has to be involved? Wait, that kinda made sense. But it's still not a
reason
for my boyfriend and
my Watcher to abandon me."
"It's a
two-hour drive, Buffy," Angel said. His voice was -- not
sharp, exactly, but
it was the closest Wesley had ever heard Angel come to snapping at her. "It's not exactly abandonment.
If we leave at
sundown, we'll be back before dawn. One night won't kill you."
Buffy sighed,
glanced over at Wesley. "So both of you actually think
this is a good
idea?"
Wesley looked back
at Angel. And for the first time ever, Wesley was
sure he knew what
Angel was thinking.
We had a mission,
Wesley thought. Cordelia and Angel and I? It's
quite impossible,
and it doesn't make any sense, but -- it would've been nice. To have a mission, a reason. Something that didn't
belong to
people you helped or people near you -- something that was yours,
alone. Maybe Angel
was as taken with the idea as Wesley was himself.
Even though it
wasn't true, he had the irresistible urge to hear more
about it.
Wesley said,
"Yes. I think we both do."
*****
Riley hurried
through the corridors -- tunnels, really, lined in
claustrophobia-inducing
sheet metal -- grateful for a chance to get back into the open air, cold or no. He had almost made it to
his
post -- was even
thinking the words "home free" -- when he heard her
voice. "You
almost missed the changeover, Finn. Again."
He turned to face
Walsh, who had her hands in the pockets of her
white coat. Her face
was set in the official detachment that, he'd learned the hard way, could conceal a number of emotions that
were neither
detached nor official. "I show up on schedule to take on my
duty, ma'am. Showing
up earlier would be an inefficient use of time."
"Ah,"
Walsh said. His defiance seemed to have amused her. "And
whiling away the
hours with a research subject -- that's efficient."
Research subject.
"Faith cooperates more now that she understands.
Doesn't she?"
"She cooperates
more," Walsh agreed. Her voice echoed slightly in the
corridor, flat and
tinny against the metal. "But I hope she doesn't understand too much."
"For her to
understand too much, I would have had to tell her too
much," Riley
said. "And it's your job to keep me from knowing too much.
You do it well, ma'am."
Walsh laughed out
loud. "It's a pity you didn't serve in the days
when they taught
fencing, Finn. You'd have been good." She gestured toward
the post. "Go. Scoot."
She liked Riley, a
fact Riley didn't find very comforting. He turned
and went toward the
south exit, his guard post for the day, turning down the earflaps on his hat and tugging on his gloves.
He silently thanked
whatever might be listening -- something in which
he had less and less
belief these days -- that there was no precipitation
today, no wind. Riley looked out on the broad, unbroken
expanse of white
from the snowfall of the night before; the horizon was almost lost against the pale sky.
Riley stared into
that invisible horizon as he thought -- as he did
more and more often
these days -- about Faith. The slayer.
One of the slayers,
he corrected himself. He had yet to capture the
other -- an
embarrassment, considering that both he and Walsh had briefly
known her and failed to realize her true identity. But also a relief, given what he now knew.
Slayers were not
monsters. They were not less than human, or even
other than human.
Just humans who had the ability to do some good, if others would let them.
For two years now,
Faith had only done what little good she could do
as a research
subject. If anyone needed to know, there were now cold, hard facts about how much pressure per square inch a slayer
could
exert, how miles per
hour a slayer could run, how hard a slayer could
punch. Riley worked
his jaw, ruefully remembering a less-scientific but quite effective test Faith had made of this herself.
But Riley had
learned other facts too, less cold, less hard. How much
a human being could
long to be free. How the need for companionship could override the most well-founded anger and doubt. How
some people could
be strong and brave enough to fight against their chains, for
weeks and months and
years, without ever giving in.
He wished they'd
discovered how to recreate that strength. To give it
to someone. Because
he could only imagine what that might be like.
Abruptly, Riley
realized that something was approaching the exit --
something or
someone, a shape in a long white cloak that was almost lost in the snow. Today his guard duty appeared to be more
than a
formality.
"Halt!" he said. "Who goes there?"
The shape took
another couple of steps before stopping, then pulled
off its hood. The
female smiled, her teeth bright against her silvery,
scaled skin. She was as thin and pale as a sliver of ice, as
much a part of the
winter around them as the snow.
"My name is
Naiura," she said. "Tell Adam that he has a visitor, who
has come to call,
and to share good tidings."
*****
"I don't like
this," Buffy said for the umpteenth time. For the
umpteenth time,
nobody listened to her.
Wesley was loading
bags as though he, Cordy and Angel were setting
out on a five-month
world tour instead of a drive to Los Angeles; Buffy would not have been at all surprised to see him taking
along
pith helmets and a
butterfly net. This was pretty typical Wesley-
overcompensation
behavior.
What was not typical
was the way Angel was behaving. He seemed --
excited wasn't the
word, but -- eager, maybe. "You're rarin' to go,"
she said, stepping
uneasily through the tire-tread grooves of snow and ice in the parking lot.
Angel glanced back
at her; in the twilight, it was hard to read his
eyes. "It's
interesting," he said. "Why would this demon give her a
totally different
set of memories. What purpose would that serve? It's -- I don't know -- like a mystery novel."
Buffy felt a fleck
of ice against her cheek, scowled up at the low
clouds that were
apparently about to begin sleeting. "I didn't realize you liked those. Mysteries." Weird, to realize
that after six years
she wouldn't know something that mundane about Angel. Then
again, she and Angel
didn't have a lot of time for the mundane. Angel just shrugged.
"There,
now," Wesley said, sounding insufferably pleased with himself
as he studied the
back of the SUV. "We have a wide array of weaponry, basic
medical supplies, a change of clothing --"
"You're worse
than Ginger from Gilligan's Island," Buffy
sighed. "Taking
along evening gowns and a seven-year supply of hair spray for a three-hour tour."
Wesley smiled
slightly at the joke, and Buffy took a deep breath,
trying to fight down
her panic. She wanted to grab Angel, hell, to grab Wesley, and say, Don't leave, you can't leave, Willow
and Xander left
me, and I wasn't there to protect them, and I lost them forever,
and if I lose anyone
else, I'll -- I'll --
Buffy shivered, but
if Angel noticed it, he only thought it was the
cold.
Jenny made her way
down the school's back steps, clutching a brightly
patterned scarf over
her head. "Man, if you guys thought Cordelia was acting
weird around you --"
"What's she
doing now?" Buffy rolled her eyes.
"It's not what
she's doing. More what she's not. That girl does not
want to so much as
look at me if she doesn't have to." Jenny shrugged. "She ended up with a B+ in my class, so I'm
not getting what
the problem is here."
"Is she changed
and ready?" Wesley said. "Mustn't run any later than
necessary. Chop
chop."
Jenny nodded.
"Fortunately, we pretty much wear the same size. Though
I suspect my sweater
might be a bit stretched out in front."
"Why would --
oh. But you -- I mean -- where is Miss Chase?" Buffy
had to smile at the
sight of Wesley turning so brightly red that she could see it in the dark.
"Coming,"
Cordelia said as she came out. She had Buffy's silver
anorak on, with the
plum-colored collar of Jenny's turtleneck peeping out. Cordelia glanced around the parking lot, taking in
Sunnydale High,
the all-but-deserted roads, the snowy earth, the ice-frosted
trees. Buffy had the
distinct impression that Cordelia never wanted to see any of it again, and Buffy didn't blame her.
Wesley motioned
toward the shotgun seat, which Cordelia took without
another word. He
clambered into the back, saying to Jenny, "Now, if anything should seem amiss, anything at all, my cell phone
will be
on --"
"I'll take care
of her," Buffy said.
"Be sure to
fill my dish with water," Jenny said. "And walkies twice
a day."
"I -- I never
meant to suggest that you couldn't -- that you weren't
capable --"
"We're fine,
Wes," Jenny said. "Just go."
Next to Buffy, Angel
stood -- close enough for them to hug, not so
close as to suggest
that he was about to. She fought off another moment of irrational terror -- don't leave me, don't leave
me, bad
things happen when
people leave me, Angel, don't go --
"Drive
carefully," she said.
"I will."
Angel hesitated for a moment, as if wanting to say more,
then kissed her
quickly on the mouth. His lips were closed and dry.
Buffy turned around
and headed back inside. She didn't hear Jenny
following her; no
doubt she was watching as the SUV roared to life and headed away, out of Sunnydale and out of sight.
*****
If Angelus were
released -- no. Impossible. It couldn't happen. Not
even gypsies would
be so cruel -- to him, perhaps, but not to those around him. And through perfect happiness? Why happiness? And
had he ever
known perfect happiness in his existence? There had been days --
and nights -- when
he was first in love with Buffy, yes; they'd seemed like perfection, or as close to it as any man would
ever come.
But perfection would
have to last, wouldn't it?
Then again, perhaps
perfect happiness had something to do with the
mission Cordelia
spoke of. His mission. Something of his own.
Something he had
been given, had been granted, because something up
there thought he
deserved it --
The sleet prickling
against the windshield began to be mixed with
spatters of rain,
and Angel moved to shift the windshield wipers into faster speed. The simple motion broke his reverie, and he
shook his head
slightly, surprised at how deeply he'd been caught up in his
imaginings of this
other life Cordelia had been made to believe in.
A sideways glance
revealed that Cordelia was balled up in her seat,
parka still tucked
around her despite the SUV's heater blowing at full blast. Even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights,
Angel could
see how profoundly
troubled her expression was. He tried to imagine
her confusion and
fear, and once again he felt a wave of protectiveness
toward her. "It's going to be all right," he said.
Cordelia bit her
lip. "You don't know how far from all right we are."
Wesley, who'd been
fidgeting in the back seat, took the opportunity
to say, "What
are the principal differences you see, Cordelia? Knowing what the demon thought it most important to confuse
you
about -- well, that
could help us narrow down --"
"I'm not
confused," Cordelia said. "Not about what reality's supposed
to be, anyway. I
realize you guys don't remember what I remember, but I'm right about this. Just give me this chance, and I can
prove it to you."
"Prove it to
us?" Angel frowned. "How?"
Cordelia opened her
mouth, then seemed to think better of it and sighed.
"If I told you, you'd really think I was nuts. Just promise to give it a try when we get there, okay?"
Angel turned back to
Wesley, who nodded and gestured for Angel to
look at the road.
Carefully, Wesley ventured, "Well, all the same, can't you tell us more about this lost reality? If nothing
else, I
admit I'm rather
curious."
"So am I,"
Angel said. A thought hit him, made his gut twist and his
lips curl. "For
instance, if I was supposed to have some sacred mission, why did I turn into Angelus?" he asked, trying
hard to bank down
his cynicism, at least enough to keep it out of his voice. "If I
were doing this
important work for -- whatever it would be --"
"The Powers
That Be," Cordelia supplied. She sounded as though she'd
said it many times
before - as though she weren't telling Angel as much as reminding him.
"Well, why
would they let someone with a mission go evil again? Why
would they let
something like that happen?"
"I don't know
why they'd let it happen," Cordelia said. "But you've
got the order mixed
up. The mission came after the whole Angelus thing."
"After?"
Wesley stuck his head between them. "If Angel had lost his
soul, why would the,
ah, Powers ever entrust him with anything?"
"They
wouldn't." Angel wondered just how hard Cordelia had been hit
in the head.
"Angel got his
soul back," Cordelia said. Whatever web of lies she'd
been fed, it was
certainly intricate. "Willow did it -- I helped a little,
Oz too, but Willow did the magic stuff. They had to find the original curse again, I think. But Angelus was out for almost
six months.
Six very long months, let me tell you." Her eyes lit on Angel
as she said,
"You killed a bunch of kids in my class. Left them where Buffy
would find them, stuff like that. Nearly killed Xander one time. Tackled me in a graveyard another time. You killed
--" she hesitated,
then said, "You killed a lot of people."
Angel could well
imagine it. But the Naiura demon had obviously
forgotten to give
Cordelia the reactions to go with the false memories. If he had done the things she said he'd done -- of
which he knew
he was easily capable -- she could not be sitting here, now,
calm and content to
be in his presence. She could never have looked on him with anything but horror and hatred.
Wesley, obviously
thinking much the same thing, "But, when Willow
cursed Angel with
his soul once more, you all simply -- forgave and forgot?"
Cordelia was silent
for a while before she shook her head. "It wasn't
that easy. Angelus
had done this thing -- I never got the full story, so bear with me -- this thing where he awakened some evil
demon
called Acathla."
Acathla. The demon
Acathla. Come to destroy the world, sleeping and
waiting for its
chance. Two centuries ago, Angelus had sworn his blood in fealty to a dark spirit in the hopes of finding it.
The dark spirit
hadn't come through -- at least, he thought it hadn't, but
maybe it was only
taking its time --
She knows about
Acathla, he thought. She's heard of Acathla. How
could she know about
that?
Wesley apparently
had no knowledge of Acathla. "And this demon did --
what,
precisely?"
"Nothing,
because Angelus' blood woke him up -- but Angel's blood
could put him down
again. Buffy had to stab Angel to stop Acathla. And Angel got sucked into hell."
The SUV was quiet
for a very long time. Finally, Cordelia ventured,
in a wavery voice,
"You did get out, you know. And after that -- that was when the whole mission thing happened. You got out of
hell for a reason.
For good reasons."
She knew about
Acathla. Buffy had sent him to hell. She knew about
Acathla, and what
purpose could it serve to make her believe a story about Acathla?
Angel felt a jolt of
something that was not pleasant enough to be
excitement, but not
painful either. "Why did I become evil? When did I know perfect happiness?"
"When you and
Buffy had sex," Cordelia said matter-of-factly. Now
that she could talk
about the memories she considered real, she seemed much more confident and at ease -- despite the
subject. "The first
time. The only time. Which is, by the way, when my version of
reality and yours
part company."
"Oh, my."
Angel could smell Wesley's blush from the back seat. "Good
heavens. That's
rather, ah, personal --"
"Not when half
the town gets offed because of it," Cordelia said. "We
all knew. Not much
getting around it."
Angel remembered
that first night -- the rain and the thunder, the
fear of the Judge,
their terror at their own potential separation. He remembered sliding the claddagh ring on her finger, feeling
that ring as
a sliver of coolness against his back as Buffy embraced his naked
body, as they'd made
love gently, tenderly, for her first time. How precious it had all seemed. How right. And now it only seemed
so -- distant.
"The only
time?" Wesley said trepidatiously.
"Well,
yeah," Cordelia said. "I mean, if having sex with someone you
love turns you into
an evil murderer, you don't have sex with anybody you
love ever again. People you don't love, sure." She actually snorted. "Darla, for instance --"
"Darla's
dust," Angel said abruptly, grateful to find another hole in
this strange web of
untruths. "I staked her long before anything happened
with me and Buffy."
"Turns out
you're not the only one who can get out of hell."
"I would never
sleep with Darla again," Angel said, knowing down to
his bones that this
was true. "I never loved her. I grew to hate her, everything
she represented."
Cordelia sighed.
"To your face, I gave you way more hell about this,"
she said. "But
since you're not remembering the facts, and I now know how rough that is, I'll let you off the hook. You were kinda
having a breakdown
when it happened; you weren't yourself, exactly. It doesn't
make it okay -- not
by a long shot -- but at least some good came out of it."
"What do you
mean?" Wesley said.
"Connor,"
she said. Her voice was softer now. "Your son. Yours and
Darla's."
Absurd.
"Vampires can't have children," Angel said curtly.
"He's quite
right," Wesley said. "Dead bodies, however animated by
demonic forces, are
incapable of engendering life."
"I know it's
not supposed to be real," Cordelia said. "It seemed
impossible to us at
the time. It really did. But when you actually have 8 pounds, 4 ounces of screaming newborn on your hands,
you
become a believer,
and fast."
A child. A son.
Life, made from his unlife. Innocence, created from
his evil. Angel did
not believe it -- this, above all, he did not deserve and could not have. This above all was proof that
Cordelia's visions
of this other world were nothing but a demon's tricks or the
haze of injury.
But for one moment,
he did not see the dark, rainy road in front of
them, did not feel
the rubbery surface of the steering wheel in his hands. He imagined holding a child, small and warm and alive.
Imagined knowing
that this child was his. It seemed to him that, all
in a rush, he could
envision this life Cordelia described -- friendship and fatherhood and the knowledge that he was on
this
earth, not because
of the perversity of fate and the indestructibility of his unnatural body, but because he was
needed.
Because he was good.
It could not be
real, and Angel felt a rush of hot, unreasoning anger
at Cordelia -- no,
he reminded himself, at whatever had deceived her - -
for even giving him a glimpse of this world so far beyond his reach.
Wesley, clearly
attempting to be tactful, said, "Well, your memories
certainly don't lack
for interest."
"You can stop
patronizing me any time now." Cordelia wiped her cheeks
with the back of one
hand; she had been crying. Angel realized that talking about the child -- the child who had never been --
had
profoundly upset her
for some reason.
Acathla. She knew
about Acathla --
A child. A mission.
It could not be.
"I'm glad this
isn't real," Angel said. "Buffy wouldn't like the no-
sex rule." The
attempt at a joke, like most of his attempts, fell flat; Cordelia shrank down in her seat, as if his words had
only made it
harder to go on.
But she continued:
"Buffy didn't like it. And neither did you. And
that's why -- well,
one of the reasons why -- you guys broke up."
"We would never
break up," Angel said, the words snapping out of him
whip-fast, requiring
no pause, no thought. "Buffy and I are meant to be
together. It's destiny. My real destiny."
"Destiny's
never what you think it is," Cordelia shot back. "Not
yours, not mine, not
anybody's."
"I know that
Buffy's the only person I could ever love," Angel said
by rote.
"That's not
true." Cordelia was deadly earnest now, staring at him
intently, as if
willing him to understand something. To understand --
Angel raised his
eyebrows. "You?"
"Me,"
Cordelia said, not flattered by his disbelief. "I loved you. I
mean -- I love you.
And I'm pretty sure you love me too." The softness was back in her eyes, her voice. "This is so
not the way I saw
this conversation going."
It was so strange to
be told that by someone who wasn't Buffy. And,
really, to be told
that at all -- Buffy hadn't said it to him in a very long time --
"You don't even
know me," Angel said.
"I do,"
Cordelia said. "I do know you. I know you better than
anybody, except
maybe Darla, and maybe even better than her. Buffy -- she doesn't know half of what you are. Or what you can be,
anyway."
"My word,"
Wesley said. Angel paid him no attention, and there was no
sign Cordelia had
even heard.
"So you're
claiming that we were in love. That I fell out of love
with Buffy and in
love with you."
"It was a lot
more complicated than that, but that's kinda the TV
Guide-blurb
version." Cordelia thumped her head against the back of her seat. "I was just in total denial about it, because
we were best friends
for so long --" The idea of being Cordelia's best friend was
almost as alien to
Angel as the idea of being in love with her. "But finally, just when I realized it all, and I was coming to
tell you -- Angel,
we were going to meet up at the beach, and your voice on the
phone when I asked
you to be there -- I know you love me. I know you do. I know it. But that's when the Powers snatched me away,
and tried to
recruit me for -- okay, not going there, because it sounds even
crazier. Anyway,
that's when things got screwed up."
"Wait,"
Angel said. "Just wait." He felt his entire body tensing, his
teeth clenching, his
hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that the metal frame creaked slightly in protest. "You're
telling me -- I'm
supposed to believe -- that we all had this great, wonderful life
together, and I had
a mission from, the whatever, the Powers, and I had a reason for my miserable existence to continue, and I
had
friends, and I had a
child, a son, and it all went to hell because I
fell in love with
you?"
"That's not
why!" Cordelia shouted. She was furious at him, at his
disbelief, and if
Angel had been amused before he was exasperated now. "You know, if I didn't love you, and if I didn't
understand that you're
in a real different place, you would be in some serious
trouble."
"According to
you, you just wiped out a good life I had and replaced
it with this
one," Angel said. "If I didn't understand that you're just
deluded -- if I thought what you'd done was real --"
"Angel,"
Wesley said, his voice a warning. "Calm yourself. It's not
as though any of
this were true."
The warning trailed
off into silence. Cordelia buried her face in her
hands -- maybe to
cry, maybe just to hide herself away. Wesley settled
uneasily back into his seat. Angel stared at the road, white
lines in black
night, a path that extended no further than the headlights shone.
*****
Part IV
Everyone
left her, in the end.
Her daddy was only
the first. He was the one who hurt the most, by
far, but he was just
one of many. After her father left there was her first Watcher, dead at a vampire's hand. Then Kendra, dead in
Spike and
Dru's last attempt at conquering the Hellmouth; Buffy had staked
them to avenge her,
but it didn't do anything to assuage the gnawing emptiness she'd felt. Then Faith, murdered by the Initiative
in their first
days in Sunnydale; they hadn't even had a body to bury.
Then Willow and
Xander, murdered by a demon soon after the Winter
descended. Then Oz,
who made his apologies and got the hell out of Sunnydale; he'd always been the brightest of the bunch. Then
Mom, who simply
died. Finally Giles, drained by a vampire -- the last agony,
the ultimate horror.
No, not quite the ultimate: Angel had cut off Giles' head for her.
Angel was the only
one who'd never abandoned her. After Kendra's and
Faith's deaths, he
had been her rock, her comfort, her guide. But after Willow and Xander's death, it had changed. She had
needed so much
-- more than he could give. Maybe more than anyone could give.
Buffy needed Angel
to make her life right, and he couldn't. It was
unfair to expect him
to be able to perform miracles. In her head, she understood that. In her heart, it felt as though the anger
had been building
up for years on end. And yet she never walked away from him.
How could she? He
was all she had left. All she would ever have. Angel was the one consolation for all the sorrows in her
life; if he couldn't
make up for everything, well, she'd take what he could give:
Companionship. Sex.
Backup. Support. Strength.
He couldn't give her
any of that while he was wheeling around Los
Angeles with Wesley
and Cordelia.
She tried to tell
Jenny that and make her understand why it was so
hard to let Angel
go, even for a night. But Jenny just didn't get it.
"It's one
night," Jenny said. She was going through some of Giles'
old books, looking
for any mention of Naiura. Her elbows were propped up on the counter, and one eyebrow was raised. "Even you
can go without
for one night, right? Or is there something about vampire-
slayer appetites I
don't know? No, don't tell me. If I don't know, I want to go right on not knowing."
"It's not
sex," Buffy said. "Didn't you hear a word I said?"
"I heard you
saying that Angel's the only thing in your life," Jenny
said. "Which is
my cue to say something like 'What am I, chopped liver?'"
"We're
friends," Buffy said automatically. "But -- it's not the same
as it was with Will
and Xander. Just like Wesley's not the same as Giles." She hadn't meant it as an attack, but she could
tell Jenny took
it that way. Jenny took a deep breath, then shut the book. "Miss
Calendar -- I didn't
mean --"
"You just meant
that you've lost what mattered most to you," Jenny
said. "Guess
what? You're not the only one. And if I can live the rest of my life without Rupert, you can learn to make it one
night
without Angel."
Buffy thought Jenny
might be crying. She couldn't see for sure because
of the tears in her own eyes. "I'll make it one night without Angel,"
she said. "I just don't want to. I've had to make it so long without
so many people. I just -- I just want the one person I've got -- "
"I know,"
Jenny said, a little less roughly. "I'm just saying -- it's
only one night. It
could be a lot worse. At least tomorrow, Angel's coming back to you." After a moment of silence, Jenny
turned and went out
of the library, back to her own office, her own pain. Buffy felt
even worse than she
had before.
***
Wesley had thought
that Cordelia would take them to her L.A. mansion.
He hadn't really
thought it through or come up with a reason why she'd take them to a home she didn't believe was her own. He
only
knew that, insofar
as he'd thought about it, he'd pictured them seated
in some ridiculously large and luxurious home, Cordelia perched on a $50,000 sofa as she spilled out more tales of
this world that
never was.
Instead, she'd
brought them to a nightclub.
"Caritas,"
Wesley said. "That's Latin for 'mercy.'"
"I understand
Latin," Angel said shortly. Wesley sometimes forgot
that Angel had been
educated in a century when Latin was a requirement
for every schoolboy. "Unusual name for a nightclub."
"It's an
unusual nightclub," Cordelia said. After her melancholy and
silence in the car,
Wesley was surprised to see that Cordelia seemed alert, even eager to go inside. "Come on, guys. We're
about to get the
poop. As in facts, not as in, you know, poop."
"I should hope
not," Wesley sniffed.
Cordelia frowned.
"I forgot what a tight-ass you used to be."
"Used to
be?" Angel murmured. Wesley decided to ignore that.
As soon as they went
through the doors, Wesley realized exactly what
Cordelia had meant
by "unusual." The place was packed with demons --
good, evil and
neutral; ugly and beautiful; dangerous and harmless. Humans were there too: Lawyers with sleek suits and
suspicious faces, witches
with rune-necklaces, tourists with disposable cameras.
Strangest of all --
they were all enjoying a night of karaoke.
"The moment I
wake up --" crooned a small, violet-colored demon, "--
before I put on my
makeup, I say a little prayer for you --"
"Bizarre,"
Wesley said. "Of all the activities to bring about a sort
of truce between
demons and humans --"
"It's not the
karaoke," Cordelia said. She was smiling now, and
Wesley could only
describe the expression on her face as one of profound relief. "It's what happens after. Come
on." She tugged at Angel's
arm familiarly, as though she'd done it dozens of times
before; when Angel
stared down at her, Cordelia tensed and pulled away.
To cover the
awkwardness, Wesley said, "Is this where you met Naiura?"
"No," she
said, then sighed. "I actually summoned her. Amnesia is an
ugly, ugly
thing."
They wound their way
through the crowd to a small table next to the
stage. A green demon
with short red horns sat alone, nodding his head to the music and sipping what looked like a Sea Breeze. As
they got to
the table, Cordelia hesitated before saying, "Lorne?"
The green demon --
Lorne -- looked up and grinned. "Well, hello
there,
gorgeous!"
"You remember
me?" Cordelia's eyes lit up.
"Forget a face
like yours? Never!" Lorne said. "Let me tell ya, I
never miss an
episode. The sexual tension between Cordy and Todd? Hot stuff, baby, this evening!"
Cordelia's happiness
faded in an instant. Her shoulders slumped. "You
mean -- you only
remember me from the show. The show from this reality."
"Yes, like
another 22.9 million viewers each week, I watch the show.
But that 'this
reality' bit -- that's kind of a cliffhanger, hon."
Wesley cut in.
"Cordelia's memories have been tampered with."
"No, they
haven't," Cordelia insisted. "Reality's been tampered with.
Not my memory. I
mean, I remembered where to find this place, right?"
"We can argue
about this all night," Angel said. "We're never going
to get an
answer."
"Yes, we
are," Cordelia insisted. "As soon as I sing."
"Sing?"
Angel and Wesley said in unison.
"I don't know
about her I.Q., but she's got my M.O. down pat," Lorne
said. "When
people sing, their souls open up, and I can read them. I get a little peek at their past, maybe a sneak preview of the
future. That's
why people and sort-of people come to Caritas. To learn their
destiny. And as long
as people are singing, why not karaoke?"
Angel sat heavily at
the table. "I really thought there was something
behind all
this," he whispered to Wesley. "But no. Cordelia Chase has simply
gone insane."
Wesley couldn't
disagree.
***
Riley took sentry
position at the door, nodded for the guard there to
leave. His rank was
high enough to get out of this kind of duty if he chose, but he wanted to know what was about to be said here
-- and he knew
by now that Maggie Walsh only told him what she wanted him to
hear.
She was sitting at
the broad table now, glancing at him with a too-
knowing smirk. Dr.
Walsh could read him easily. It bothered Riley that she knew what he was up to and didn't feel like doing
anything about
it. He liked to think he could be a problem for her, if he
chose.
But then you never
do choose, do you? he thought.
Nairua sat next to
Walsh, not acknowledging her. The silvery-blue
demon didn't seem to
be deliberately ignoring Walsh so much as she appeared to be genuinely indifferent to her presence. Riley
wondered at
such nonchalance, even envied it.
The doors slid open,
and Adam lumbered in. His twisted face and
hulking body rarely
betrayed any emotion, but he reacted to Naiura. Riley couldn't tell how, exactly -- he could only see some
tension, some
hesitancy.
Naiura smiled.
"Greetings, Adam. It is a pleasure to know you. I am
Naiura. Do you know
of me?"
"I know things
that have been said," Adam replied in his usual grave,
polite voice.
"I know things that have been."
"Then you know
that I am from a dimension very unlike your own,"
Naiura said. She
steepled her long, slender hands in front of her.
"And that I wish to go home."
"I had realized
this must be so," Adam said. "But you have not made
it clear why I
should help you."
"Give me
time." Naiura smiled, her teeth shark-white in contrast to
her slate-scale
skin. "You owe me, Adam. Far more than you know."
Maggie Walsh drew
back. "He owes you?" she scoffed. "He's only been
alive for three
years, and I've been here for all of them. And I don't recall you doing him any favors."
Naiura was unfazed.
"You owe me too, woman."
"She is
correct," Adam said. It took Riley a moment to realize that
he was reprimanding
Walsh instead of Naiura. "But for Naiura's work, you and I would both be dead, Mother." Riley felt his
eyes go wide; he
fought to keep his jaw from dropping.
Apparently he wasn't
the only one who was surprised; Naiura
straightened up and
raised her feathery eyebrows. "How can you know this?"
Adam smiled -- a
rare, terrible sight. "I understand all realities. I
can sense when they
change around me, when they are created new. I have known such manipulation in the past, and I understand
now that the
reality we live in is a recent creation of yours. In the reality
that came before,
both Mother and I died long ago." Adam turned toward Walsh, and his smile was more horrible yet.
"Things were very different
between us, Mother."
"I don't
understand," Walsh said. Her hands gripped her clipboard
tightly; Riley could
see her white knuckles. "This -- this isn't reality?"
"It is
reality," Naiura said. "Now. And perhaps hereafter. But not
before."
"You gave us
the reality we now possess," Adam clarified. "The sight
granted to me does
not reveal why you did so, however."
Naiura was beginning
to relax again, her smile broadening; Riley
figured that the
conversation was going the way she wanted it. For his own part, he knew he was still in a state of shock.
Reality
wasn't -- real. Or
was it? His head would hurt later when he tried to
puzzle this out. For
now, he concentrated on what Naiura was saying. "I can only change reality when and as I am
petitioned to do so.
The limitations on my power in this realm are severe. For
centuries I have
twisted fate this way and that -- reuniting distant lovers, changing the outcome of wars, other such ridiculous,
earthly
things. But finally,
two days ago, a girl summoned me and made a
very -- vague --
request." Naiura laughed, a sound that Riley found lovely
and alluring despite himself. "I saw a way to answer her plea and yet serve my own purpose. The result is the reality you
now
inhabit."
"Your own
purpose," Adam said. "What is that?"
"To go
home," Naiura replied. "And I believe you have found the
means."
***
Angel couldn't take
his eyes away from Cordelia. Neither could anyone
else in the room.
They were all staring, all listening -- all aghast.
"Youuuuuu're
heeere, there's nothing I feeeear," Cordelia sang, her
voice cracking on
the notes. "I know my heart will go onnnnnn--"
"That answers
that question," Wesley said. Angel turned and raised an
eyebrow, and Wesley
shrugged. "I always suspected she was lip- synching in the musical episode." Angel shook his head
and went back to
watching Cordelia.
She thinks she loves
me, he thought as he studied her face, upturned
in the
rose-and-white stage lights. Why would she ever think that? Angel knew all too well that his love was more burden then
blessing; Buffy
hadn't ever put that in words, at least not to his face, but he
understood that it
was true. Buffy was hurting so much, in such desperate loneliness and need; she deserved someone who could
devote himself
to her, give her happiness and joy in her life. Angel carried
his darkness within
him, memories and guilt and grief that kept him from ever being able to elevate Buffy from her present
depression. They
could only suffer together -- but they were destined to support
one another, and
Angel had long since stopped asking why.
Why would a girl
like Cordelia -- wealthy and beautiful and successful
beyond her wildest dreams -- want to imagine herself in love with somebody like him?
Maybe it had
something to do with the mission she talked about, Angel
thought. She doesn't
just think we're romantically involved; she believes that we're partners in something. Something bigger
than just ourselves.
Something that really matters.
That feeling -- that
sense of being two parts of one whole, serving a
cause that was worth
living for or dying for -- it was intoxicating. Angel could remember when he'd felt that way about Buffy. It
bound
you together.
Cordelia's hallucinations might be false, but they had
the ring of
emotional truth. And he couldn't deny that the thought of having a mission of his own resonated powerfully within him
-- even
if it was
impossible.
"Goooo on and
onnnnnn!" Cordelia finished big -- as big as she could,
anyway. The audience
was silent for a moment, then applauded heartily,
celebrating the star rather than the song. She smiled
weakly at them and
went down the steps toward Lorne. Angel turned to look at the demon himself --
Lorne's mouth was
agape. He'd apparently spilled his Sea Breeze at
some point during
the number, but he hadn't noticed; a huge puddle covered his table. Angel tapped Wesley on the shoulder as he
got
up. "I think
something's wrong with this Lorne guy," he said.
"My word,"
Wesley said. "If he has sensitive hearing, no wonder,
after THAT."
They got to Lorne's
table at almost the same moment Cordelia did. To
Angel's surprise,
she was smiling at Lorne's stunned condition. "What did I tell ya?" she said with a grin.
Her question broke
Lorne from his stupor. "Holy cow," Lorne
said. "And, not
being a Hindu, I do not praise the divinity of bovinity all that often. But what you just showed me --"
"What did you
see?" Angel said.
"Normally, big
guy, I'd tell you that what I saw was none of your
business,"
Lorne replied tartly. "Readings are personal. But as it
happens, this is
your business. Turns out we all knew each other a hell of a lot better, until recently."
Angel said,
haltingly, "You mean -- the world she's telling us about,
the one she
remembers --"
"Was 100% bona
fide," Lorne replied. "Believe you me, there is no way
I would imagine
ending up as your baby's nanny. In a totally unofficial sense, of course, but you don't do that much
babysitting without
earning your au pair creds."
Angel stared at
Lorne, then looked at Cordelia, who was gazing back
at him in a mixture
of triumph and hope. He tried to think of something to say, but could only come up with,
"Nanny?"
It couldn't be real.
A mission. A child. Loving Cordelia, and not
Buffy. It couldn't
be real. Something else was going on, something stranger
than he'd known.
Wesley had
apparently drawn the same conclusion. "Mr. Lorne --"
"The last name
is actually Deathwok, if you can believe that," Lorne
said. "So
please stick to the first-name basis. It's the least you owe me, since in the previous reality, you smashed me over
the head with
something very blunt, and no, I don't mean our TV star here."
"Hey!"
Cordelia said. But then she relaxed and smiled. "You know, I
don't even care.
Even being teased by you guys again feels good."
A mission. A reason
to be here. It couldn't be true. Angel wanted it
to be true, and he
did not trust his own desires.
"Lorne,"
Wesley said, in the measured tone of a schoolmaster, "you
must realize that we
need some verification of your abilities."
"Natch,"
Lorne said. "So, which one of you lads is going to rock the
mic? There are a
couple points of that other reality I want to clarify -- particularly one about a bunch of guys coming in
here and shooting
up the place --"
"I'll
sing," Angel said darkly. He hadn't sung for a very long time,
but he well
remembered that Cordelia's performance was likely to put his
to shame. However, he figured his embarrassment wasn't the most important thing here. "Read me. I want to know what
Cordelia's -- beliefs
-- have to do with me."
Wesley nodded.
Cordelia laughed, a little nervously. "I never thought
I'd be glad to hear
you sing Manilow again."
Angel stared at her.
"What did you say?"
Cordelia paused,
then realized what she'd said and began to smile
widely. "I said
-- I never thought I'd be glad to hear you sing Manilow again."
Angel stepped a
little closer. "Which song?" he asked. "Which song do
you think I'm going
to sing?"
She stepped closer
in return, so that their faces were close together,
and her face glowed with excitement. "'Mandy,'" she whispered. "You are going to get up and sing 'Mandy,'
because you are such
a big ol' softy that you think it's pretty."
Wesley scoffed.
"Don't be absurd. Nobody thinks that -- Angel?"
Angel kept staring
down at Cordelia's face in slow, dawning wonder.
She could have made
up the baby, he thought. She could have met Darla or Drusilla once, and they might have told her about the
ballet.
There are probably
records somewhere of my history with Acathla. And
anybody who knew me
might have guessed I'd want a reason to think I deserved to live. But there is nobody, nobody on earth,
living or dead,
who's ever known that I liked "Mandy."
Except Cordelia.
He whispered,
"It's true, isn't it?"
"It's
true," she said, and she took his hands in hers. "It's all
true. Angel, do you
believe me? Oh, God, please say you believe me."
"Angel?"
Wesley was staring at them in frank disbelief.
"I think -- I
think I do," Angel said to Cordelia. He felt it washing
over him, lifting
some weight he hadn't realized he was carrying. For the first time in years, Angel felt strangely, exhilaratingly free.
"I believe you."
She gave a wordless
cry of delight and flung her arms around him.
Angel stiffened and
stepped back, disentangling himself right away. The weight descended again, as quickly as it had gone.
Cordelia looked
at him, first in hurt, then in understanding. "This doesn't
exactly solve our
problems, does it?" she said.
"I should
rather think it doubles them," Wesley said.
***
Riley walked
alongside Dr. Walsh, hoping to catch her eye. Surely she
wouldn't let Adam
give this Naiura creature access to their latest find. Riley didn't fully understand what it was yet, but he'd
gathered that nobody
else did either. They only knew that it
possessed great
power, which was a pretty good damn reason to keep Naiura or any other creature like her far away from it.
Then again, it had
been years since the Initiative's reasons for
anything had seemed
to make sense to Riley.
They reached the
research chamber door, and Walsh punched in a code,
swiped a card. As
the doors slid open, Naiura swept in grandly, Adam by her side. Walsh followed them, and Riley followed her. He
saw Dr.
Walsh shoot him a
look -- his authorization to be in this area was
limited -- but she
didn't openly challenge him.
The giant stone
stood in the middle of the floor, various bits of
dust and debris
cluttering the floor around it. Riley realized that it had indeed been a box, a casing of some kind -- and the
box had
been opened. Within
it --
"Beautiful,"
Naiura whispered.
Walsh raised an
eyebrow. "If you say so. I find it somewhat
grotesque."
"The way home
is always beautiful," Naiura said.
"It opens up a
gateway to a hell dimension," Adam said. "I have
sensed this already.
That is your home?"
"It is -- close
enough," Naiura said, as if mesmerized. "From there,
I can find my way.
Nothing will constrain my powers there."
"So, you wish
me to open up this gateway," Adam said.
"You are close
enough to human to do it," Naiura said. "Only
something part human
-- a vampire or a zombie, or you, whatever you are -- can use his blood to do so."
"Why?"
Riley said. They all stared at him, angered by his
uncharacteristic
break from silence. But he stood up straighter and continued. "Why would he open up a gateway to a hell
dimension? That would
destroy him along with the rest of us."
"To cement this
reality in place," Naiura said.
"This is
reality!" Walsh insisted. "You said you'd changed it; I
can't verify that,
but I know what's real now."
Naiura sneered,
"It is real because I am in it. When I leave -- when
my influence over
this realm ceases -- then things will shift. They will change. I do not know exactly how. But I do know that it
does
not take many
changes to ensure that both of you cease to live, and
your power in
Sunnydale to be ended."
Riley was confused,
but Adam seemed to understand. "Opening the
gateway for a short
time would release great power into the Hellmouth," he said. "You could pass through. And
when I closed it, using
my own blood, then this reality will become the only reality.
Now and
forever."
"You see?"
Naiura said, delighted at his understanding. "We can all
have what we need.
All of us." She placed her hands on the feet of the stone demon. "I couldn't get to this, last time. I
didn't have a chance,
but now I do."
"Someone else
used it before?" Walsh said.
"Someone
else," Naiura agreed. "Someone else who had sworn his blood
to Acathla."
Riley made sure he
remembered the name. Acathla. Acathla.
***
Cordelia cried all
the way through "Mandy." She couldn't help it, and
she didn't want to.
At one point, Wesley
leaned toward her and said, "Come, now. It's not
THAT bad."
She laughed through
her tears. "No, it's not," she agreed. "It's
wonderful. It's
beautiful."
Lorne nodded sagely.
"That's how you know it's love."
She beamed up at
Angel onstage; she thought he looked at her once,
but mostly he was
concentrating desperately on the teleprompter, stumbling over the notes. "You came and you gave without
taking -- and
I sent you away -- " Angel sang, gripping the mic tightly in his
hands.
He looked awkward.
He looked earnest. Despite the sheer terribleness
of the moment, he
looked hopeful. In short, he looked like her Angel - - like the man she loved.
Angel believes me,
Cordelia thought. He believes in me, even with all
this craziness. This
Angel wasn't her Angel, not exactly -- but the difference didn't seem to matter so much. When she'd had
amnesia, she'd
been bewildered and disconcerted by Angel's unquestioning
adoration; now she
knew just how he'd felt. When you loved a person, you loved more than the shared memories and experiences. You
loved
the pure truth of
them, the spirit or soul or whatever you called it.
The part that never
really changed -- you loved that too.
Cordelia still wanted their world back desperately, but for
the first time
since she'd come to during the fashion awards, she felt certain
she would get that
world back. She had Angel at her side again. Now that they were together, they'd find a way. They always had.
They
always would.
"And I need
--" Angel looked even more uneasy than before, but he
gamely went for the
last note: "Youuuuuu!" Wesley winced. Lorne clutched
his temples. Even Cordelia felt her smile waver for a moment.
But he did this for
me, she thought. He did it to find a way back for
us. Cordelia laughed
through her tears and applauded furiously as Angel left the stage. Nobody else was clapping, but Cordelia
didn't
care.
Angel was smiling
ruefully at her as he walked to their table. "Even
you aren't going to
call for an encore."
"I wouldn't do
that to you," Cordelia said. "Well, actually, I would,
but not tonight. You
got the whole picture, didn't you, Lorne?"
"In Technicolor
Cinescope," Lorne said. "Aren't you the little bundle
of psychological
oddities? You could sing the whole EMI catalog, and I still wouldn't get to the bottom of them all. Not that I
want you to
sing," he added hurriedly.
"Can you tell
me more?" Angel said. "About this life Cordelia and I
had together? And
Wesley," he added, as an afterthought. Wesley looked pained. Weird, Cordelia thought. They don't even know
each
other or care about
each other, in this reality -- and they're getting
along better.
Then she remembered
Connor -- what had become of the baby, what had
transpired with the
teenager during her amnesia -- and she had to fight back a surge of anger. Cordelia reminded herself: Save
it for
the Wesley who
actually got you guys into this mess.
"I can tell you
she's been giving you the straight story," Lorne
said. "You were
quite the crusader in these parts, it seems. Doing good
deeds, righting wrongs, occasionally going off the deep end, but, hey, it all comes out in the wash. This reality's
clearer to me, though,
and in this reality, buddy, you are in serious need of a
change or two. Can
you say 'in a rut?' You're getting buried in snowdrifts, and it's high time you dug yourself out."
Uh-huh, Cordelia
thought. There's trouble in Buffy-Angel paradise.
She knew she
shouldn't care about this reality, seeing as how it was only going to last for another couple of days, but she
couldn't help feeling
a warm glow of satisfaction. Then she saw the pain in Angel's
eyes, and she felt
ashamed and confused.
"Okay, heading
back to the original reality for a sec," Cordelia
said. "I know I
got us into this mess, but how do we get out of it?"
"We need to pay
a little attention to this reality too," Lorne
said. "Big
things are a'brewin', and they bode not well."
"Can you
explain a little more, ah, concretely?" Wesley said.
"It's all kind
of a jumble to me," Lorne confessed, "but I know a
fella who's been
going on about some of this for a while now. I just thought he'd had too much to drink -- in here, it happens --
but I am starting
to think that you guys are the missing pieces to his puzzle."
Lorne rose to his
feet and started toward the bar; Cordelia and the
others followed.
"What do you mean?" she said. "Somebody else remembers
my reality?"
"I'm not
sure," Lorne said, gesturing toward a figure slumped on a
barstool. "Why
don't you ask him?"
The figure turned
around. Cordelia gasped.
"There you
are," Doyle said. "About time you guys showed up."
*****
Part V
Angel
watched Cordelia's face change into a mixture of surprise and
delight.
"Doyle?" she gasped.
The Irishman at the
bar -- Doyle, apparently -- smiled. "Don't tell
me we've been
introduced," he said. "I was hoping to make a good first
impression for once, and now it looks like I blew that one already."
To Angel's
astonishment, Cordelia stepped forward and kissed Doyle
hard. Then she
stared at him for a moment before kissing him again.
"Come on!" she said. "Hand 'em over!"
"You can have
whatever you want, darlin', seeing as how we're hitting
it off so
well."
"I thought she
was in love with you," Wesley said to Angel.
"I thought so
too," Angel replied. Absurdly, he found himself feeling
jealous of this
Doyle.
Cordelia smacked
Doyle on the arm. "Don't get big ideas, Mister I-
never-ask-girls-out-because-I'm-all-shy-about-being-half-demon.
You
blew your chance.
But I need the visions, Doyle. Give them to me. I'm
ready. I'm past
ready." She kissed Doyle one more time, but this time Doyle
appeared to be too surprised to much enjoy the experience.
"How'd you know
about the part-demon thing?" Doyle said. "Did I go
green and not
notice?"
"You're as
smooth as a baby's bottom," Lorne assured him. "But not as
smooth as this lady
here." He smirked at Cordelia. "Boy, you don't waste
any time, do you?"
"I'm in love
with Angel," Cordelia said. "I wasn't ever in love with
Doyle, though I did
go through a phase where I found him really attractive, despite the shirts."
"What's wrong
with my shirt?" Doyle protested.
Angel took in the
gold-and-orange polyester check. "Everything," he
said. Why did it
feel good to score a point off somebody he didn't know?
Because that
somebody was kissing Cordelia. Angel didn't truly feel
anything for her, he
told himself -- but the world she represented, a world where he had purpose and meaning, was already something
he was desperate
to claim.
Then he saw Cordelia
smiling at his joke, her dark eyes shining with
love; against his
will, Angel felt a shiver of longing for her -- just for her to keep smiling at him, just that way.
"So you're not
in love with Doyle," Wesley said, as maddeningly
analytical as ever.
"Obviously you're not overtaken by any sort of overwhelming magnetism --"
"Hey!"
Doyle scowled at Wesley. "Stranger things have happened. Not
many and not often,
I grant you, but now and again."
"-- so what on
earth are you doing?" Wesley finished. Angel was glad
the question had
been asked for him.
"She's trying
to get the visions," Lorne said.
"You understand
what's going on?" Angel said.
"Hell, no,
sweetpea," Lorne said. "I'm as confused as you are, and
that takes some
doing. But the star of the small screen did just say she needed the visions, if I heard correctly."
"My
visions?" Doyle said. "My greeting cards from the future,
courtesy of the
Powers That Be?" There was that phrase again.
"In the reality
I remember, they were my visions," Cordelia
said. "After
you gave them to me. After --" Her voice trailed off.
Angel tried to put
all this together. "You mean you had visions --
you had powers? You
could see the future?"
Wesley looked rather
piqued. "You never told us that."
"Excuse me, but
I was already sounding crazy!" Cordelia
protested.
"Saying, and oh, by the way, I was a psychic too -- well, it didn't seem like it was going to help my chances."
Doyle's face went
ashen; though Angel had only just met the man, he
sensed immediately
that something was seriously wrong. "What is it?" Angel
said. "If it's about the 'different reality' stuff, we can explain."
"I'm already
getting that picture," Doyle said. He took a deep drink
of his Guinness and
slumped back on the bar. "It's just that there's only one way to give up the visions. It involves kissing
somebody --"
"Right, right,
we got that," Angel said, trying to brush past the
subject.
"-- as I was
saying, kissing somebody right before you die."
Cordelia nodded
slowly. "I should have figured that out," she
said. "That
dying was the trigger, not just kissing. That explains a lot."
Angel pieced it
together and stared at Doyle. "You mean -- in the
other reality --
you're dead."
"You went out
like a hero," Cordelia said. Her eyes were damp with
unshed tears.
"If that helps. You saved a whole lot of men and women and
children, not to mention Angel and me."
"It helps
some," Doyle said. He was wary now, and Angel couldn't
blame him.
"What helps more is the fact that I'm alive in this reality right here."
The reality we're
trying to change, Angel realized. If we get back to
the world Cordelia
remembers -- this world that sounds like every dream I've ever had, slightly bent -- then we're going to
kill this man.
Cordelia had realized it too, he could see; the hands she lifted
to her face were
shaking. Angel grasped her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze; he didn't miss the dark look Wesley gave
him as
he did so.
"What really,
really bites," Doyle continued, "is the fact that I'm
supposed to help you
do what you're after, which I suspect ends up with a tombstone for yours truly."
"Wait,"
Angel said. "You know this, and you want to help us?"
"'Want to'
might be putting it a bit strongly," Doyle said. "Way the
hell too strongly,
as a matter of fact. But I had a vision of the three of you, just like this. I know you're headed into
serious
danger. And I know
it's my job to help you do whatever it is you
decide to do.
Helluva thing to do to a man, asking him to sign his own death warrant. But the Powers aren't what you'd call
fair." He drained
the rest of his Guinness in one great draught.
"No,"
Cordelia said flatly. "They're not fair. I'm starting to think
they're complete
bastards, if you want to know the truth."
Wesley said,
"You mean, even if the steps we take now -- about which,
incidentally, we
have not the slightest clue -- lead to the destruction of this reality and the restoration of the old
one,
you'll help us? Even
though it means your own death?"
"You can't defy
the Powers." It was Cordelia who answered him, her
face set. For a
moment, she looked far older and more formidable than Angel had ever thought her to be. "If you do, they make
you pay. I'm the
proof of that."
"Damn, look at
you," Doyle said. "White like a ghost, shaking like a
leaf. And you're not
the one who's supposed to be dying. What in the name of Christ and his Apostles did they do to YOU?"
"They stole my
memory," Cordelia said. "And because my memory was
gone, I ended up
erasing my whole world. Our whole world."
"It's going to
be all right," Angel said, projecting a confidence he
didn't feel.
"We'll figure out the right thing to do, and how to do it. We just need time to figure it out, that's all. But --
hey --
we've got Wesley's
Watcher training, and Doyle's visions, and Lorne's
power -- whatever
that is -- and we have you. Your memories of before. All that's got to add up to something, right?"
"And we have
you," Cordelia said. "Don't leave yourself out."
Wesley stepped
between them, not-so-subtly separating Angel and
Cordelia.
"Suffice it to say, we now know our situation. We have a group of people with various skills that may be useful. No
matter how fearsome
the situation may appear, it would seem that things are only
going to get
better."
At that moment,
someone fired a bazooka into the room.
Angel tackled Wesley
and Cordelia, bearing them down to the floor
with superhuman
speed. Doyle and Lorne hit the ground a split-second later, just as the bazooka exploded into the stage. A flash
of heat
seared Angel's skin
as shreds of wood and metal ripped through the
air. He felt
something spear him in the back -- nothing big, nothing fatal -- and tugged Cordelia closer to him, to shelter her
better.
Demons and humans
alike were screaming and running. At least one of
the vampires was on
fire; Angel saw it wavering on its feet, stumbling
toward the exit, before it crumpled into a pile of ash. A
furry demon bolted
toward the back door, then was hit by a spray of bullets from an automatic gun. It collapsed, dead or dying.
Lorne gasped,
"Remember that stuff I saw in your mind, Cordelia? The
stuff about the club
getting shot up? I knew we should've talked about that earlier."
"Cordelia?"
Angel said. "Do you know what's going on?"
"Not
exactly," she said, coughing from the smoke. "But I have an
idea -- and if my
idea is right --"
"What?"
Doyle said.
To Angel's
astonishment, Cordelia smiled. "Then this really is about
to get better."
"Attention,
ladies and gentlemen and ugly undead creatures of the
night!" A young
man strode into the smoldering club, a swagger in his step. He had a black cloth tied around his head, a long black
coat not
unlike one of Angel's own. And he had a large machine gun cradled
in his hands.
"The name is Charles Gunn. And we're about to get a few things
sorted out."
***
Riley had been
trained as a commando, and he knew how to be still.
Not still the way
most people are still, but absolutely free of movement. He could breathe so shallowly that his chest didn't
rise or fall,
could lock his muscles into complete immobility yet be ready to
strike again in an
instant. He'd had plenty of training, plenty of practice. The past three years, he'd perfected his technique
while
stalking demons of
every variety through the streets of Sunnydale.
Right now, he was
using it in the heart of Initiative headquarters,
against his own
people. Riley hadn't expected to ever do that, but he was getting a lot better at adapting.
The guards turned
the corner, giving him approximately one minute,
forty-five seconds
before the next team wound come into sight. Riley swung down from the ceiling, checked to make sure that the
missing
tile was invisible
in the shadows. Quickly and silently, he went to
the door of 941 and
punched in the code. It would mark him as the one who'd done this, later on. But later on, he hoped, it
wouldn't matter.
As the door slid
shut silently behind him, Riley could hear the
motion from the cot.
They were in total darkness, so he couldn't see her face. He didn't know if slayer abilities let her see his,
but
just in case, he
quietly said, "Faith, it's me."
"I figured
that," she said quietly. "They did all their sleep-
deprivation
experiments on me years ago. I wasn't guessing they had any left to do. Anyway, I knew you'd visit me some night or
another."
"You did?"
Riley had thought Faith took him for a straight-arrow
Initiative soldier.
He hoped everyone did. If he wasn't fooling people, they might be in more trouble than he'd thought.
"Sure,"
Faith said. He could hear the tension in her voice. "You
don't get something
for nothing in this world. I know that. You've been nice to me, Lee. You get me the quality snacks, don't
let 'em do too
many really scary tests to me in a row. So I guess it's my turn
to be nice to you,
huh?"
In his shock, Riley
couldn't think of anything to say. He knew his
face must be a mask
of pure astonishment and dismay, but apparently Faith
couldn't see him after all. As her covers rustled -- apparently being pulled back -- she continued, "I don't mind. Hell,
it's been long
enough since I got laid, and for a white-bread Iowa guy, you
look pretty good.
Just promise me I get something outta this, okay? We'll do whatever you want, but I'd like to at least get off
with
something besides my
right hand for a change."
"Whoa,"
Riley said. "Stop right there. Faith -- that's not what I --
how could you think
I'd force you to --"
"Ain't rape if
I say yes," Faith said. "Don't act all innocent with
me, Lee. You came
here to fuck me. I'll let you. Let's leave the sweet talk and lies out of it, okay? I'm in a cage and you
keep me
here, so this ain't
gonna be that romantic, even if you do bring me
extra applesauce
tomorrow."
"I'm not trying
to be -- Faith -- you don't understand." He was too
surprised -- and,
against his will, too aroused -- to think straight. He told himself, focus, dammit.
"What don't I
understand?" He heard her stand up, the soft padding of
her bare feet
against the concrete floor. Riley gasped as her hands went to his belt buckle; she didn't unfasten it, but she
pulled him forward
slightly, pelvis first. "You want to play all noble, pretend
this is
spontaneous?" Her face wasn't far from his now; he could feel the
faint brush of her breath against his skin. "Won't work, Lee. I know
you want to fuck me."
Her attitude had
gone just about far enough. Riley pulled back just
enough to tug his
belt free from her hands. "Of COURSE I want to fuck you," Riley said. "You're beautiful, and you're
sexy, and you give me hell,
which I happen to like in a woman, unfortunately for me. I'd
have to be CRAZY not
to want to fuck you, and somehow, the Initiative hasn't driven me crazy just yet. However, whether you believe
it or not,
not even you are hot enough to make me stoop to using a woman
who hasn't got a
choice in the matter. Or to make me stop thinking about subjects besides what's between your legs, because I
actually have
more important things on my mind. Are you still with me?"
"Oh. Um.
Yeah." Faith sounded surprised. "Shit, Lee, I'm sorry."
"Save it. We'll
talk about it some other time," Riley said. "And some
other place."
He heard Faith draw
in a breath. "What do you mean?"
"I mean,
there's big trouble here."
"Define
big," Faith said.
"Opening up a
gate to hell would be the definition of big."
"What?"
Faith's voice was a little too loud; Riley put his hand out
to cover her mouth.
His fingers found her lips in the dark, and he tried hard to ignore the jolt he felt. She whispered, her
lips moving softly
against his palm. "This the bitch-queen's latest project?"
"It's Adam's
latest project," Riley replied. "Adam and some demon who
waltzed in here
today. There's more to it -- something about shifting realities, and cementing one reality, and blood --"
"That all
sounds real encouraging." Faith shifted her weight
slightly; Riley knew
without seeing it that she was subconsciously getting ready for action. "What are we gonna do about
it?"
"I've been
thinking about that all day. And I realized -- in here,
there's nothing we
can do."
"You woke me up
and got me all excited about potential sexage just to
tell me this? Hell,
Lee, next time, wait until morning."
She was excited?
Riley pushed the thought aside. "We need help," he
said. "We need
to find Buffy Summers, and whoever else is helping her now.
You and I can't do anything about this from inside. That means we have to get out and get help."
"Get out. You
mean -- escape."
Riley let his hand
brush against the side of her face for a moment
before pulling it
away. "I know the risks. But we both know we were going to have to try this someday. I think today's the
day."
Faith's voice shook
as she answered. "Lee -- when I tried it before --
they always got me.
Always. And they used those things on me -- those things that shock -- I talk like a bad-ass, I mean, I
AM a bad- ass,
but them holding me down and shocking me 'til I scream and piss
myself and pass out
-- I can't take that again."
He knew what it cost
her to show fear and longed to draw her close.
If she hadn't
taunted him about his desire, he would have. "When you tried to break out before, you were alone. You won't be this
time. I
know this place,
Faith. I've got the security codes, the clearance,
everything. I think
we can get out, if we go now."
She was quiet for
another couple of moments. Then she said, "What the
hell."
***
Cordelia tried very
hard not to laugh. Gunn was doing his best gangsta
routine, street attitude and weirdo black head kerchief -- who told him that the kerchief look was tough instead of
dopey? But she
knew him, and because she knew him, she knew this raid was going
to go a lot
differently than the one she remembered from the past reality.
Of course, it didn't
look very different right now --
"Ain't got no
problem with any humans in the room," Gunn said. He was
pacing the perimeter
of the room, glaring at the cowering people and non-people on the floor. "You got zero scales, zero
horns and a normal
pulse, take yourself on outta here right now."
Doyle muttered,
"I haven't got any scales or horns at the moment. You
figure I'm
clear?"
"Just hang
on," Cordelia said. "Let me handle this." She saw Angel's
face shift from
surprise to disapproval and fear as she stood up, but she
wasn't afraid. It was just Gunn, after all. She knew that even if they didn't -- even if Gunn didn't.
"That's
right," said a member of Gunn's gang. "Get your human-hottie
self on outta
here."
"Charles?"
she said, folding her arms in front of her. "Just what do
you think you're
doing?"
Gunn glared at her.
"I think I'm conducting a raid on a demon
hideout," he
said. "Just what do you think you're doing? Playing like my
second-grade teacher?"
She grinned despite
herself. "Mrs. Mills, right? The one who totally
abandoned the lesson
plans and read 'Bluebeard' to a group of impressionable
eight-year-olds?"
"What the --
how the hell did you know that?"
"I know a lot
about you," Cordelia said, stepping closer to him. With
that closed-off,
grim look on his face wiped away by astonishment, Gunn looked more like himself. She felt the tension already
lifting
from her. "It's
a really long story, but I know you. I've fought
demons and vampires
with you. I've also been to see 'Lord of the Rings' with you. Three times, which I only consented to
because Viggo is
so hot, NOT because I am turning into some kind of fan-geek."
"You mind
explaining how we did all this, and I don't even know you?"
Gunn backed up a
couple of steps, reestablishing the distance between them.
"You do know
me," Cordelia said quietly. Over Gunn's shoulder, she
could see a few
demons taking advantage of the distraction to sneak out. Despite her increasing confidence that the situation was
about to
be defused, Cordelia didn't say or do anything to stop them. "You
don't know that you
do, but you do."
"Wait a second
-- " Gunn squinted his eyes as he peered at
her. "You're
that girl on TV. The show that's on right after 'Will and Grace,' right?"
"Not from
THAT." She already hated the very fact and existence
of "Cordy!"
"If I explained it just point-blank, it would sound
really crazy
--"
"No, surely
not," Lorne said dryly from his place on the floor. Doyle
stifled a laugh.
Cordelia pretended not to hear them. Gunn needed to be calmed down and convinced, and she was sure she could do
both.
"Hear me out,
okay?" Cordelia held out her hands. "You had it tough
growing up. Your
parents took off pretty early on, and there wasn't anyone but you and your sister Alonna." Gunn's eyes
darkened, and Cordelia
realized something this reality had in common with her
own. "You lost
her to vampires, and you blame yourself for not taking care of her. But you take care of so many other people --
you're not happy
unless you've got somebody to look after. For a long time it
was your gang, and
then it became your friends."
Gunn shook his head
slowly in wonder. "You're in my head."
"You used to be
pretty good at getting into mine, too," she said
gently. "We're
friends, whether you remember me or not. And I can help you, if you'll let me. But you're not getting anywhere
with
this. You're just
hurting and scaring people. Not everything in this
bar is evil, you
know? Stop fighting the world so hard. Just -- listen, okay? Listen to someone who knows you. I know
you."
He studied her face,
and she could see the Charles she knew flickering
just beneath the surface of that face. All his intelligence,
his friendliness, his compassion -- it was all still in
there, buried down
deep, but she could get to it. Maybe she already had.
Then Gunn shouldered
his weapon and pointed it straight at her.
She gasped.
"What are you doing?"
"You're in my
head," he repeated. "You're not normal -- not anything
human. You're here
to confuse me, to stop me from carrying out my mission. Well, you ain't gonna stop me."
Her body went cold
as he went for the trigger -- oh, God, she'd been
so wrong --
"Wait!"
Angel was on his feet in a flash, standing between her and
Gunn. "Don't do
this."
Cordelia pulled at
Angel's arm. Desperately she whispered, "What are
you doing? He'll
kill you!"
"He won't kill
you," Angel murmured. "I won't let him."
"Don't do what,
vamp?" Gunn sounded surer of himself now. "You ain't
reflecting in the
mirror over there, so I know what you are."
"Yeah, well, I
know what you are," Angel said. "You're a kid who's
too scared of the
shadows in the dark to do anything but lash out at them."
"Are you in my
head too?"
"Nope,"
Angel said. "I don't know a damn thing about who you are. But
I know what you're
about to become, and I don't think you'll like it."
"A killer, you
mean," Gunn said. "I been killing for a while now."
"I don't blame
you. There's a lot of stuff out there that needs
killing."
"Including
you," Gunn retorted.
"That's one way
of looking at it," Angel said. "Another way of
looking at it is --
you were just about to kill a human being, a woman who didn't do anything to you but offer
friendship."
"Girl knows all
KINDS of freaky stuff --"
"She knows it
about me too," Angel said. "And about some of these
guys down on the
floor." Wesley waved somewhat weakly. "She hasn't done
anything to hurt any of us. She's trying to help us all, including you -- even though you came in here with a bazooka
and a
bunch of hotheads
who are too busy looking for a fight to look at
anything else."
"Hey." One
of the gang members came closer to Gunn. "You gonna let
him say this shit to
you?"
"Shut up,"
Gunn said. He was studying Angel's face a lot more
intently than he'd
ever looked at Cordelia's. She had to fight the urge to throw herself in front of Angel, or at least to tow
him down to
the ground, out of harm's way.
Angel continued,
"Cordelia says you lost a sister, and you feel like
it's your
fault." Gunn gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I lost a sister
too, and it was my fault. I know what it's like to carry that guilt around all the time. But you can't let it force you
into doing things
worse than what you're making up for in the first place."
"Just what is
it you think I'm gonna do?" Gunn's voice was tense.
One of Angel's hands
reached back and wrapped around Cordelia's. She
realized with a jolt
of panic that he thought there was a good chance Gunn would strike after what he said next; there was nothing
for her
to do but squeeze
his hand back. Angel finally replied, "I think
you're gonna do what
your sister would want you to do."
Gunn made a small
sound in the back of his throat. He remained tense,
at the ready, for
another moment -- and then he let the weapon drop.
Cordelia let out a
breath she hadn't known she was holding. From the
floor, she heard
Wesley murmur, "Remarkable."
The other gang
members didn't think so. "Hell, dog, what're you
doing?"
"Y'all
get," Gunn said. When they remained motionless, Gunn pointed
his weapon at the
one closest to him. "Just get outta here. We gonna talk
about this some other time, you hear me?"
"This is
bullshit," another gang member said. "You ain't stopped
nothing. We'll be
back." They all began to file out, and the various humans and demons on the floor began to sigh, stretch and
groan as they
got to their feet.
Cordelia looked up
at Angel, almost unable to contain her welling
pride. "There
you are." Angel raised an eyebrow. "The guy I fell in
love with."
Angel looked away
for a moment, embarrassed and uneasy. Then he
said, "He
sounds like a good guy. I wish -- I wish I were more like him.
In this reality."
"It's
you," she said. "It's all you. Believe it."
"I wish I
could," he whispered.
"You can,"
she said, smiling up at him. "I do."
Doyle got to his
knees. "I think we all deserve a free pint on the
house, don't
you?"
Gunn still looked as
though he might snap, but he nodded slowly. "Now
that guy -- HE makes
sense."
"A round for
everyone," Lorne agreed. "If we weren't friends before,
we will be after a
couple of beers."
Cordelia thought, I
couldn't talk to Gunn, but Angel could. She began
thinking about what
that meant, about the way she'd seen all the people around her, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably. She
put one trembling
hand to her lips. She'd thought it would so easy, but --
Angel, perhaps
concerned by her silence, touched her shoulder as he
smiled gently.
"Were these guys just as crazy in the other reality?"
She shook her head.
"They were a WHOLE lot worse."
****
Part
VI
The dream was
different this time.
Buffy had had
variations on the dream for years. It gained in
complexity and
intensity over the years, as her losses grew greater and greater, but the theme remained the same.
She was walking
through the streets of Sunnydale, and at first it was
warm and balmy, the
way it used to be. She wasn't alone -- when the dream began, it was Kendra who walked with her. Then, as
others died, others
entered the dream. Some nights it was Willow, the sunlight
gleaming on her red
hair. Sometimes it was Xander, who was always laughing and usually eating something. Sometimes it was Mom,
who had
shopping bags in
both hands. Very rarely, it would be Giles, quieter
and more grave than
the others. He spoke less. Buffy always felt, upon awakening, that it was as if Giles knew it was only a
dream.
Faith came into the
dreams too, but she was never like the others.
The others were only
there to be with Buffy, to keep her company or talk about the things they had always talked about, things
Buffy
almost didn't
remember anymore: school dances, bands at the Bronze,
making brownies and
watching Bollywood movies, or in Giles' case, a new
shipment of books for the library. They were always happy and carefree. Faith never was. When Faith was in the dreams, she
was
walking a little
behind Buffy, calling for her to wait.
And, as happy as
Buffy was in the first part of the dream, she could
never wait. She
could only cry out for Faith to catch up. Faith never did.
Angel was never in
the dream -- until this night.
Buffy turned her
head to see him in the sunlight. She wrinkled her
nose. "Aren't
you uncomfortable?"
"Not
anymore," Angel said. "I learned how to walk in the sun.
Cordelia taught me
how."
"Why didn't you
ever show me before?" Buffy said.
"I didn't know
before." Angel was smiling. "I kept waiting for you to
teach me. But then I
realized you didn't know how either."
"I'm in the
sunlight right now," Buffy said, holding out her hands.
But then the dream
changed, as it always did. The sun began to set
preternaturally
fast. As it became darker, the snow began to fall. Buffy cried out in despair and looked back toward Angel --
this was the
part of the dream where the people she loved disappeared --
Angel remained. One
single shaft of sunlight penetrated the growing
darkness and the
snow, illuminating the space around him.
"B!" That
was Faith's voice. She was farther down the street, her
voice all but lost
in the gathering winds. "I'm coming. I swear to God I'm coming."
"I can't wait
for you," Buffy said automatically. Her feet kept
moving, almost apart
from any conscious will on her part. Angel kept pace
beside her. "I want to wait, but I can't."
Faith laughed.
"I don't need you to wait this time! I need you to run
faster!"
"You need to
run faster," Angel said. He pointed to the horizon,
where the faint red
glimmer of sunset remained. "You have to reach the
light."
"Let's
go," she said. "We have to hurry, Angel."
He shook his head
and smiled, so sadly. "You won't get there with
me," he said.
"That's what I had to teach you. You have to go on your own."
Buffy's eyes filled
with tears that threatened to freeze on her cheeks.
"I don't want to be alone," she whispered. "I'm frightened of
being alone."
"You're alone
here," Angel said. "You won't be alone in that light.
But you have to go
there, Buffy. You have to go there on your own."
She wanted to
protest, to argue, to cry. Instead, she turned her head
and saw that
far-distant light.
Faith yelled,
"Jesus, B, you deaf or something? Run faster!"
Buffy began walking
faster toward the light. Then she started jogging.
She glanced over her shoulder just once to see Angel standing perfectly still, framed in light. He raised his hand
once in farewell.
Buffy turned away and began running, full-out, all her
Slayer strength
flowing out of her as she went, faster and faster and faster, and oh, God, it felt like flying, and the sky
suddenly opened up
in a brilliant burst of light --
She gasped as she
awoke, more from surprise than anything else. Buffy
sat up in bed and
clutched the pillow to her, trying to slow her breathing.
That dream had
haunted her for years, but it had always ended the
same way -- with her
alone in the dark, screaming in fear and pain, then awakening to find Angel's comforting arms around her.
Sometimes Buffy
thought half the reason they'd been brought together was so
that she could wake
from that dream with him by her side.
Tonight he wasn't
there; she was alone in the tiny apartment she
still thought of as
Angel's, despite the fact that she'd lived there with him ever since her mother's death. She'd felt
desperately alone all
night, ashamed of her vulnerability but unable to deny it, and
she'd thought she
would never fall asleep.
But she had, and the
one night she'd awoken without Angel was the one
night she hadn't
needed him.
Buffy leaned against
the headboard and went over the dream. I've
always been most
afraid of being alone, she thought. But when I was alone in that dream, it wasn't frightening anymore. It was --
beautiful, I guess.
Still slightly
disoriented, she swung her feet off the bed and stood
up, stretching out
all her muscles. She hadn't patrolled, of course; though she'd gone about alone before the Winter, she'd always
considered it far
too dangerous afterward. Angel and Wesley agreed, which was so rare that she'd decided the matter was beyond
argument. Yet
her body didn't feel as though she'd been inactive; she felt
energized, humming,
as though she'd been in the thick of battle but was still ready for more.
She went to the
window and lifted the shade. The sleet had stopped.
Sunnydale was still
and white, and so far as she could hear, silent. So much more is going on, she thought. So much more than even
I know.
Almost without
thinking about it, she grabbed her jeans from the rack
and slid them on.
Next came a T-shirt, then a heavy sweater. By the time she reached for her parka, Buffy knew what she was going
to do: She
was going to patrol alone, for the first time in two and a half
years. She wasn't
sure how she felt about it, but she knew that, for some reason, she was no longer afraid.
****
"This feel
weird to you?" said Doyle. "And what's this rubbish in the
tape deck -- Enya?
Who the hell put something that crappity in the tape deck?"
"That's my
cassette, actually," Wesley said, casting a sideways
glance at the man
who was riding shotgun.
Doyle did not appear
at all abashed. "I'd make fun of you if she
weren't Irish. As it
is, I figure I share the blame for her with the rest of the motherland. And you didn't answer me."
Wesley tried to
remember just what it was Doyle had asked him. In
truth, he'd been
paying more attention to what was going on in the rest of the SUV. At the very back, Lorne was trying to
convince this Gunn
person to submit to a reading, and insisting that rap generally
didn't work. Right
behind him, Angel and Cordelia were riding in silence. Wesley was familiar with Angel's quiet nature, but
he
remembered Cordelia
as a talkative, lively girl. They'd just proved
her words true, so
Wesley had expected her to be jubilant and even a little
self-righteous on the way home. Instead she said nothing, her silence strangely ominous.
"You have to
know some songs," Lorne insisted. "TV theme songs? A
little Brady Bunch,
perhaps?"
"I ain't havin'
my soul pour out of any song about the youngest one
in curls, you hear
what I'm sayin'?" Against his will, Wesley found himself
rather agreeing with Gunn.
Doyle prodded,
"I said, this is weird stuff. I say that as a man who
sprouts spikes when
he sneezes, so I don't go throwin' the word
'weird' around lightly."
"During my
studies to become a Watcher, I found out about some
unusual
things." Wesley confessed. "But this is unprecedented, at
least in my
experience. I -- I beg your pardon -- did you say something about sneezing and --" As he looked over,
Doyle shook his head
vigorously; his skin turned green and small points rose all over
his face. "My
word!"
"Whoa!"
Gunn yelled from the back.
"Looking
GOOD!" Lorne said.
"Oh, God,"
Cordelia said. Her voice was raspy, as though she had been
crying or struggling
not to. "I even missed that, and I only saw it once. How pathetic am I, huh?"
Angel said, "I
thought you didn't smell fully human, but there were
so many demons in
the bar I couldn't be sure. What are you?"
"Brachen demon
on my dad's side," Doyle replied, his face shifting
back to human.
"Irish on my mum's. That means I'm a terror in a fight, plus I can tell the difference between real beer and
this
American shite."
"Man, my night
took a weird turn somewhere," Gunn said.
"Was that
before or after the planned genocide?" Lorne said crisply.
An awkward silence
fell over the vehicle for a moment. Then Gunn said
brightly, "How
about a little 'New York, New York' action?"
"Let 'er
rip," Lorne said, apparently content to be doing his job
once more.
As Gunn began
singing, Wesley heard Angel murmur to Cordelia, "Are
you okay?"
"I just need a
few minutes," she whispered back.
Wesley caught Doyle
smiling at him knowingly, apparently aware of his
eavesdropping. He
forced himself to concentrate on the conversation he'd been having before. "This must be far stranger for
you than for any
of the rest of us," Wesley said. "Knowing -- that you would be
dead in another
reality."
"Yeah, that was
a kick in the ribs," Doyle said. "Trying not to think
about it, to tell
you the truth. But fact is, I'd had a kind of a premonition."
"You mean, the
visions that Cordelia spoke of? The ones where you saw
us before we
met?"
"No,"
Doyle said. "Those just showed us all fighting like hell on the
same side. I mean
something less clear. Just -- a feeling I had, you know? There was a time, a few years back, when I had a chance
to be brave.
And I wasn't." Wesley had only known Doyle for a couple of
hours, but he could
already tell the gravity in his voice was a rare, and important, thing. "I always knew I was gonna have to
make up for that
someday, and that it was gonna cost me dear. I just been waiting
for the occasion to
arise, and looks like today's the day."
Wesley considered
what Doyle had said. "Whatever you may have done
before -- surely you
needn't die to make up for it."
"We're on the
same page, brother," Doyle said. "But looks like those
Powers that Be have
another plan."
"I want to wake
up in the city that doesn't sleep --" Gunn warbled,
more than a little
off-key.
"Sounds more
like Sunnydale to me," Angel said. Wesley laughed, less
from the joke itself
than from the surprise that Angel had said it.
"To find I'm
king of the -- FUCK!" Gunn yelled. Wesley turned to see
what had changed --
just in time to see the Borca demon ram the side of the SUV.
Cordelia screamed,
and Doyle did something very like it. The SUV
swerved wildly out
of control, and Wesley struggled to keep them from plunging into a ditch. The icy curbs sent them careering this
way and that,
people knocking into windows and seats and each other as they
went. "Hold
on!" he cried, knowing it was futile.
The SUV slammed into
a lightpost, sending Wesley and Doyle flying
into airbags. For
one moment, Wesley was too stunned to think. Nobody spoke. Finally, Angel said, "They must have staked out
the highway. There
will be others."
Gunn coughed.
"Knew I was gonna be killin' demons tonight."
"Just keep it
to the ones outside the car," Doyle said, pushing
himself back from
the airbag. "We'll work on the finer points of your moral
education later."
"Cordelia?"
Angel's voice was concerned.
"I'm
good." To Wesley's surprise, Cordelia's earlier gloom and shock
were entirely gone.
When he turned, neck aching, to look at her, she was grimly determined. "Wesley, you are Mr. Prepared.
Tell me you packed
weapons."
Outside, he could
hear the crunching of demon feet in the snow. "Oh,
yes," he said.
"We're armed. Give me the crossbow, will you, Angel?"
Quickly, they got
their preferred weapons. Gunn's machine gun was a
more welcome sight
in his hands now. Wesley pulled out his trusty crossbow; he hadn't used it in actual combat much -- well,
ever --
but it remained the
weapon he felt best with. Doyle and Lorne helped
themselves to
stakes. Angel got his usual sword, and to Wesley's astonishment, Cordelia took one as well. When Angel looked at
her
curiously, she
smiled -- a strange, tight little smile. "You want to
see a few things you
taught me? Keep watching."
"Don't tell
me," Gunn said. "We gotta go out there to them."
"It's that or
wait for them to tear their way in here," Angel pointed
out.
Wesley took a deep
breath and tried to size up the situation outside.
Unfortunately, their
wreck had disabled the streetlight. "Are they close,
Angel?"
"Close
enough," Angel said.
"Right,
then," Wesley replied. "On my mark -- go!"
They all spilled out
of the vehicle -- Gunn, Doyle and Lorne on one
side, Cordelia,
Angel and Wesley on the other. Wesley glanced over at the others; Angel looked as prepared for battle as ever, and
Cordelia was
standing in perfect fighting stance, her grip on the sword a
professional's.
"They're coming," Angel said quietly.
In the white drifts
of snow, Wesley could make out a few sand-colored
shapes lumbering
toward them. "I see them now."
"Borca can only
be killed one way," said Cordelia. "Beheading. Well,
beheading or this
particular magic spell that requires one of the Great Pyramids, and I haven't got one handy. So we should
only stab to
weaken."
Wesley stared at
her. "How did you know that?"
She smiled bleakly.
"You told me."
"Heads
up!" Doyle yelled, just as the beasts attacked.
One of the Borca
lunged toward them, and Angel swung his sword with
deadly speed. He
missed the neck by a fraction, but the resulting gash sent reddish-purple blood gushing into the snow. The
Borca
bellowed, and
Cordelia sent her sword flying towards its neck. Her
blow struck true,
and the demon's corpse collapsed, sending snow and ash pluming into the air.
Great God, Wesley
thought. Cordelia's a fighter.
He had no more time
to watch her; another Borca was coming into sight,
snorting through its row of tusks as it sighted Wesley. Wesley brought his crossbow to bear. For a moment he was nervous --
he'd
only used this in
practice, never for real -- but then he found
himself remembering
something Cordelia had said: "Anything to do with aiming,
you're good at."
She said it, so she
must have seen it, Wesley thought. If what Cordelia
believes to be real WAS real, then I can do this.
The Borca leapt
toward Wesley. He fired instantly, and the arrow sank
deep within the
demon's chest. It bellowed and collapsed into the closest snowdrift. Cordelia jumped forward and brought her
sword
slashing down; this
Borca, too, collapsed into dust.
"Hey!"
Doyle yelled over the sound of Gunn's automatic-weapon
fire. "We've no
beheading thingamajigs over here!"
Cordelia looked
toward them in fear, but it was Angel who yelled,
"I'm coming!" He jumped atop the SUV, then disappeared out of sight
on the other side.
"They're still
coming," Cordelia said, wheeling around. Sure enough,
two different Borca
were lunging through the snow toward them. "Take the
one on the right!"
Wesley wheeled
right. The Borca's pale shape was almost invisible in
the snow, but not
quite. He brought the crossbow back to his shoulder and fired again. It howled, struck badly if not fatally;
Wesley
reloaded faster than
he'd known he could and fired again, sending the
Borca flopping into
the snow. "Cordelia!" he called.
"Hang on!"
He looked over his shoulder to see, to his astonishment,
Cordelia spinning
around in a roundhouse kick that landed squarely on the
other Borca's nose. It yelped, perhaps as much in surprise as pain, and in that moment Cordelia brought her blade slashing
down
again. The demon's
head rolled away, to vanish like the rest into so
much ash. She then
tossed her sword at Wesley. "Take him!"
Wesley dropped his
crossbow and caught the sword as much by accident
as anything else. He
fumbled for the right grip, but the moment he had it -- the moment the Borca in front of him began to stir
-- he
swung it downward.
The strike was unwieldy but accurate; the Borca
dissolved in an
instant.
He stared down at
the indentation in the snow where it had been.
Behind him, he heard
Angel's guttural attack cry, then whoops of victory from Doyle and Lorne. It was Gunn who called,
"Anything else out
there?"
Wesley scanned the
horizon, but he could sense no motion. He called,
"Angel? Do you hear anything else?"
"No,"
Angel said. "No. That's it."
"Yeah!"
Gunn yelled. "We kick ASS!"
The others started
laughing, and Wesley found himself chiming in. The
sword in his hands
didn't feel so awkward now. "We did it," he gasped.
"I never thought we could. Angel, perhaps --"
"We can do
it," Cordelia said. "We always could." She alone did not
share in the general
jubilation. Her face was pale and drawn as she shuffled through the thick snow toward the SUV.
Thinking that
perhaps she wanted some of her well-deserved recognition,
Wesley called, "Angel, did you see Cordelia? What a fighter
this girl is! And you trained her?"
"I saw,"
Angel said as he came around the front of the
vehicle. "Cordelia,
that was amazing."
"Yeah,"
she said dully. "I'm so Xena."
Wesley glanced over
at Angel, who also looked concerned. Cordelia
could only look at
Doyle, who was doing a little dance in the headlights. Lorne said, "Well, this has been a charming
winter
sojourn, but what
say we get to this Sunnydale hamlet you folk have
been talking about?
I'm all for carnage before breakfast, but I'm all for breakfast after carnage. Get my drift?"
Doyle said, amiably,
"Eggs sound nice right around now."
"Cordelia?"
Angel stepped toward her, but she seemed to shrink back.
"Let's get back
in the car," she said. "You think it'll still start,
Wesley?"
He appraised the
damage. "Most likely. Angel and I should push it
back onto the road,
though. Put it in neutral."
As the others
clambered in, and Wesley and Angel took their places
near the bumper,
Angel said, "Wesley, she fought -- I mean, that was amazing,
wasn't it?"
"Amazing,"
Wesley agreed. "But -- she is no Slayer." As Wesley had
intended, the words
made Angel looked abashed and ashamed. "Angel, believe
me, I know how -- seductive -- the world she describes can be. But we are still in this world. You are still with Buffy."
"I know that.
God, Wesley, I would never --" Angel put his hands
against the bumper,
more for support than for pushing. "Wesley, I love Buffy. Cordelia -- what's happening here -- it's not
--" He struggled
for words, and for the first time ever, Wesley found
himself feeling
something other than fear and tempered dislike for Angel. He felt a kind of empathy, unusual but undeniable.
"I'm just looking
out for her. I'm just -- looking."
"Every man's
prerogative," Wesley said. "But I warn you. I am Buffy's
Watcher, and I won't
see her hurt."
To Wesley's
surprise, Angel smiled. "She underestimates you."
"Okay!"
Doyle said. "Push!"
***
"I hear
something," Faith said for the eightieth time. Riley looked
around them, but he
could see nothing in the snowy night.
"We're
okay," he said. He'd thought Faith's terror would subside a
little once they
made it out of the confines of the Initiative compound, but even as they stumbled through the snow, she was
still jittery
and ill-at-ease. Not that he could blame her.
She was wrapped in
the Initiative cold-weather coveralls he had stashed
away for her; they were too big, but they were white, which was the main thing. They blended into the surroundings as
well as
they could hope to
do. What he hadn't counted on was the pure, visceral
shock for Faith; she'd never actually seen the Winter, only heard about it, and the reality of it had proved overwhelming
for her.
More than that -- she hadn't been unconfined for years, and the
mere fact of being
in open spaces had clearly thrown Faith off.
Even now, as they
tried to make their escape, she kept stopping and
looking upward.
"Stars," she whispered. "Lee, I can see the stars."
"They'll still
be there tomorrow," he pointed out. "Tonight, let's
hurry, okay?"
"We gotta get
to the library," Faith said, focusing once more on the
reality of their
situation. "I don't know what's going on with them anymore, but there's gonna be somebody in the library. All
the time. As
long as there IS a library, anyway."
"Lead the
way," Riley said. "And when we get there, mention I helped
you, okay?"
For one moment,
Faith looked like herself as she smirked at him.
"Maybe."
A few feet away,
some twigs snapped -- a normal enough sound, but it
made Faith wheel
around in fear. "What was that?"
Riley opened his
mouth to tell her it was nothing, then he heard it
again. Closer. He
pulled a stake from his belt and handed it to her wordlessly. Her eyes were wide as took it from him, her grip
unpracticed and
uncertain. Can a Slayer lose her edge? he wondered. I think I'm about to find out.
The vampires came
swaggering out from the hedges, each of them in
full demonic visage.
They were stronger that way. Riley got his own stake ready as he counted them. Five. Okay, maybe he and
Faith could take
five -- she might be out of shape and out of practice, but she
was still a Slayer.
"Well, well, well," said one vampire. "Initiative
types out for a
stroll. We just love you Initiative types."
"We ain't with
them," Faith said. "Don't mean we won't kick your
butts."
"Don't mean we
like you any better," said the leader vamp. He had on
a Subway jacket and
hat, which made Riley think some very strange things about sandwiches. "Don't mean you'd be any less
fun to eat."
Riley said,
"It's better for you to walk away now." The vampires just
laughed. They had a
good handle on the situation, Riley thought.
"Seven
words," Faith said, stepping closer to the leader vamp. When
he raised an
inquisitive eyebrow, she said, "Six-inch turkey on wheat, spicy mustard."
"SHUT UP!"
the vampire bellowed. "I am a SANDWICH ARTIST!"
Faith plunged her
stake into the leader vamp, and the Subway hat fell
alone into the snow.
Unfortunately, the other vamps weren't quite as slow. Even as Riley spun around, one of the vamps was
tackling him, and
they rolled into the snow. "Faith!" he yelled. "Faith, run!"
Maybe they'll take
me -- maybe they'll take me and let her go --
"Get
back!" Faith cried, and she began battling one of the other
vamps, a female. She
was strong; he could see the blows landing on Faith's body despite her best moves. Riley writhed in the
snow,
trying to push the
vampires on him back to staking distance -- or,
failing that, to
keep him from his neck --
Suddenly, one of the
vamps shrieked, then faded into dust. Riley
watched its face
turn to nothing, then saw behind it -- "Buffy Summers," he said.
"Bingo was his
name-o," Buffy said, then struck at the vampire still
hanging onto Riley's
back. It was nothing immediately. Buffy whirled toward the two vamps attacking Faith. Faith didn't see her,
just
realized that her
attackers were distracted. Even as she staked one,
Buffy sent a flying
side kick into the other, then staked it dead.
For a few moments,
they all stood there silently in the snow. Riley
wanted to say
something, but he had a feeling nobody would hear him. Faith was looking only at Buffy, Buffy only at Faith. At
last, Faith said,
"B?"
Buffy was shaking
her head, whether in wonder or disbelief, Riley
couldn't say.
"Are you -- are you a ghost, or a vision --?"
"Ghost, SHIT.
B, it's me. It's Faith. Is it you?"
Buffy's body began
to shake, and Riley realized she was crying. "I
ran toward the
light," she said, which made no sense, because it was still
completely dark out. "I ran toward the light to find you, and you're here. Oh, God, Faith, you're here."
"The Initiative
had me -- I thought you didn't look for me -- but you
thought I was
dead?" Faith was beginning to cry now too. "Oh, Jesus. B,
don't you know? Don't you know I couldn't leave you that easy?"
With a wordless cry,
Buffy embraced Faith, and they held onto each
other, sobbing, for
a long time. Riley lay there, uncomfortable physically and mentally, but unwilling to intrude on the
moment in any
way. We made it, he thought, but the fact held little
satisfaction. What
they'd accomplished was only the first step. Riley couldn't
forget the stony face of Acathla grimacing down at him, promising doom for them all.
At last, Buffy
pulled back from Faith slightly and scowled down at Riley.
"You say they held you prisoner?"
"Lee's
okay," Faith said. "He kinda looked out for me. He's the one
got me outta there.
Took his own damn sweet time -- but hey, better late than never."
Riley pushed himself
up from the snow. The cold had numbed him and
made him clumsy, but
he could still speak. "We've got trouble, courtesy of Adam," he said. "We need to find your
-- what is it, a Watcher?
We have to research this thing."
Buffy was still
sniffling, her arm still around Faith, as they all
began walking in
what Riley figured was the general direction of the library. "What thing is that?" she said. Then she
half-
laughed. "Don't
guess it was called Naiura." Riley froze in place.
Buffy's eyes went
wide. "You have GOT to be kidding me."
"Lee, make a
joke?" Faith shook her head. "You guys don't know each
other that
well."
"We have to
hurry," Riley said. "We don't have any more time to lose."
"Before
what?" Buffy said.
"How does the
end of the world grab you?" Faith said.
****
Part VII
"I
cannot believe you people dragged me halfway 'cross California to
go back to high
school," Gunn said as the group walked into Sunnydale High,
their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. "This is the weirdest-ass truant patrol I ever saw, and I've seen a
bunch."
"Nobody really
goes to this school much anymore," Angel said. "We use
the library as our
headquarters."
Our headquarters,
Angel thought. It was true, and yet he'd never
thought of it that
way, not once in all the time he'd been around the school. He'd been in Sunnydale High more regularly than just
about
any student for the
past few years, and yet he'd always felt like an
intruder in this
space. The surroundings had taunted him -- posters about
pep rallies and the dangers of driving drunk, the locker smells of gym clothes and broken pens and hidden cigarettes. All
things that had
nothing to do with Angel, as alien to him as if they'd dropped
from another world.
But it was different
now. It was his. Theirs. And it had been for
years, even if he'd
never known. Cordelia had made him see it. For one instant, he was taken by the funny image of her in an
optometrist's
office, wearing a white coat and a professional bun, carefully sliding a pair of glasses onto his face and
bringing the world
into focus.
Angel turned toward
Cordelia -- not to share the private joke, but to
better envision her
in it -- and saw that she was still as grave and uncertain as she had been in the SUV on the way back.
"Are you sure you're
all right?" he said.
It was a token
question, and he expected a token response, maybe
"fine" or "hanging in there." Instead, she seemed to think
it
over, and then shook
her head and said, "No. Not sure of that at all."
But for Wesley's
words of warning, Angel would have taken her hand
then. He felt the
temptation to be nearer to her, physically and emotionally, and knew the wrong of it: he would not only be
betraying Buffy
and her love for him, but Cordelia and her love for someone who
wasn't quite him.
Angel knew he had to comfort her, but he decided he could do that best by doing it a little less. "We're
going to get this
figured out now," he said. "We can convince Buffy and Jenny,
dive back into the
research. And it looks like Lorne and Gunn and Doyle all know a lot that might help."
Cordelia held up her
hand to shush him. Angel expected her to say
something, but for a
few moments, she was silent. The only words echoing in the hallway were the voices of Lorne, Gunn and
Doyle,
arguing about who
was really the greatest diva of Motown. She must
have heard them
bicker like this a hundred times, Angel thought. So it can't be them she's listening to.
Finally she looked
over at him, her eyes dark with emotion. "This
world is real,"
she said.
"Yeah," he
said, surprised. "I thought you understood that all along."
"I knew it from
the beginning," she said. "But I didn't understand
it -- like, deep
down inside me -- until I couldn't talk Gunn down, and you could."
"I think I
understand what you mean," Angel said carefully as they
turned a corner.
"But why was that the thing that convinced you? I would have thought getting knocked on the head by a vampire
would be real
enough."
She half-smiled, but
it didn't reach her eyes. "Before that, I
thought I could
change it all, if I needed to. I could drag you guys to L.A. I could convince you I was telling the truth. It just
seemed like
a matter of time before I snapped my fingers and poof, the world
would be back to the
way I knew it. The way I wanted it to be."
At least she's still
a little like she was in high school, Angel
thought. He said
only, "And when you couldn't talk Gunn down, you realized it wouldn't be that easy."
"That's part of
it," she said. "But it's less that I couldn't talk
him down and more
that you could. See, back in L.A. -- I mean, in the L.A. I remember -- you were the one who got through to him
first.
When Wesley and I
thought he was some kinda street thug, you listened
to him and brought
him in and gave him a shot. He listened to you when he still laughed at us. When I saw you talk to him, I
realized -- that
connection you guys made, whatever it was that let him listen
to you, and let you
talk to him -- that's as real here as it was there. And it doesn't have a damn thing to do with me."
"It's only
fair," Angel said. When she raised an eyebrow, he
explained, "You
made me believe in your world. So I'm glad I could make you believe in mine."
"I'm not,"
she said flatly. "It was easier, before -- before I
realized that what
we do here has consequences."
Angel wanted to talk
to her about it more, but they were about to
enter the library,
and somehow, he felt odd about continuing this discussion in front of Buffy. Then, as he opened the door, he
saw who was
inside, and everything else -- even Cordelia -- fell away. He
whispered,
"Faith?"
"Dead man
walking!" Faith said cheerfully. She was wearing blue
scrubs, and her hair
was almost to her waist, and she was older, and she was alive. Alive.
He went forward and
hugged her tightly, feeling the agreeable crush
of her powerful arms
around him. Over her shoulder, he could see Buffy smiling -- no, beaming, radiant with energy he hadn't
realized she
still possessed. Angel smiled back at her, and for a moment, it
was as if many years
had fallen from them both. For one moment, he liked this world even better than the one Cordelia knew.
Then he saw another
figure in the back of the room, and he straightened
up, getting into fighting stance automatically. "Buffy --
" he said in
warning.
Buffy glanced over
her shoulder to see who he saw, then shook her
head. "Believe
it or not, he's okay," she said. "Angel, let me introduce
you to Riley Finn, ex-Initiative leader and Faith's new best friend."
"Maybe ours
too," Jenny said, emerging from Giles' office. She then
turned and saw all
the people coming in behind Angel and Cordelia.
"Speaking of making new friends, wow. That must have been
one hell of a
mixer."
"Faith!"
Wesley cried, hurrying forward to hug her as well. "You're
alive? How --"
"Initiative had
me," Faith said, her voice muffled from being nestled
against Wesley's
shoulder. "Lee got me out."
"I take it
you're Lee," Wesley said to Riley. "We've not been on the
same side for some
time now, but for this -- on behalf of the Council of Watchers, and for myself -- thank you."
"I did it for
Faith," Riley said, but he smiled. "I guess it's high
time we stopped
fighting and met each other."
"Introductions,
right," Angel said, grasping at one of the few social
rules he was good
at. He gestured at each person in turn, "Buffy, Jenny, Faith and, ah, Riley, this is Doyle, Gunn and
Lorne." For Riley's
benefit, he added, "And this is Cordelia."
Doyle raised his
hand in a half-wave. "Charmed, I'm sure." He looked
over at Cordelia.
"So, Hotlips, did you know this Faith girl in the other reality too? Because I'm hoping for a much warmer and
more
endearing
introduction in the near future."
"Yeah,"
Cordelia said. Angel realized that Cordelia looked
disoriented and
afraid -- more so than she had since she'd first awoken on the cot almost ten hours ago. "I -- I need a
minute here."
Wesley said,
quietly, "I suppose you must have heard what Doyle said
about the other
reality --"
"We know,"
Buffy said, startling Angel deeply. "This Naiura chick
made a stop by
Initiative headquarters earlier tonight. She's making big
buddies with Adam, and whatever they're up to can't be good."
"I must say,
you're rather cavalier about finding out your entire
reality's as fake as
Britney's breasts," Lorne said.
Buffy blinked at
him, then said, "It's not fake. It's just -- new.
That doesn't make it
not real."
Her words were an
echo of what Cordelia had said before, and Angel
looked at her once
more to see if she caught the resonance. Cordelia was still trembling and uneasy; he noticed that, for some
weird
reason, she was
staring at Jenny Calendar. It was almost as though she were forcing herself to do so.
"Who gives a
shit about this shifting-reality crap?" Faith said.
Angel had forgotten
just how quickly she could get to the subject.
"This is my world, new or used, and I'd like to keep it from
getting sucked into
hell."
Angel said,
"Wait -- what? Sucked into hell?"
"We don't know
for sure," Jenny said. "But you remember how we were
trying to figure out
if the Initiative had just found something major? Turns out that's a big, fat yeah."
Riley stepped
forward, obviously still feeling ill-at-ease in what
had been the lair of
the enemy. "What they found -- that's what Naiura's after. What she changed this reality to get to. It's
some kind
of sleeping demon, something called Acathla --"
Acathla. Acathla,
awakening from his unnatural slumber to drag the
world down into
hell. Acathla, sworn to Angel's own blood. It was here. Now.
"-- and they're
planning on using it to make this reality more real.
The fact that
they're going to let any amount of creatures from hell into our world doesn't seem to matter," Riley finished
grimly.
Buffy said,
"We've been trying to look this Acathla thingy up in your
books, Wes. Does
Acathla not start with an A? Because it seems like it would, but we can't find jack."
"I've only
heard of it once," Wesley said. "And that was from
Cordelia, in the car
before."
Faith raised an
eyebrow. "Queen C's the one with the knowledge?" she
said. "I
figured this reality was kinda weird, but that totally takes it,
right there."
"Cordelia?"
Gunn said. "You mind fillin' the rest of us in on just
what this Acathy
thingy is?"
Cordelia clapped her
hand to her mouth; she didn't scream aloud, but
Angel felt as though
he could hear it, high and shrill and cutting. He knew the scream because he was holding it back too.
She backed away from
them all until her back was against the wall,
then slumped down to
the floor. Angel went to her side and sat heavily beside her, supposedly to comfort her but also
because he needed
to sit down just as badly.
Gunn said, "So,
I'm going out on a limb and saying this is a bad
thing."
"Oh, God,"
Cordelia whispered, her voice so low only Angel could
hear. "Two
worlds, and I'm going to destroy them both."
***
Cordelia had to
excuse herself to the bathroom twice to cry out loud
in the stalls and
then splash cold water on her face. The fragile bubble of conviction she'd built around herself to stay sane
in this
warped reality had
been shaken when Angel talked Gunn down from his
rampage. It had
cracked when she'd walked in to see Faith hugging Angel, then Wesley, like they were the greatest pals of all
time. But it
hadn't shattered until the moment she'd heard the name Acathla.
Acathla. Angel was
explaining to them what it was. He knew better
than she did in
either reality -- but Cordelia knew enough. Acathla had taken Angel to hell for centuries of torment. Acathla
would have borne
them all down to hell, given the chance. And Cordelia's blind,
unknowing, desperate
clutch for her memory had not only erased one reality in favor of this one -- it had put this reality,
perhaps all realities,
in danger of being destroyed.
She felt like she
couldn't keep walking, keep standing. She wanted to
throw up, pass out,
scream until she couldn't speak or hear or think ever again.
Instead, Cordelia
looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. The
reflection she saw
was different. Her skin was waxen and soft from years of better sunscreen and skin-care products; her flat,
two-
dimensional memory
of this reality included dermatologists and facialists
laboring over her to make her complexion perfect. The diamond studs that glittered in her ears had been a gift from
the network,
a present to celebrate her sitcom's move to Thursday night.
She'd gotten better
hairstyling advice in this reality; her hair was still long and dark, just like it had been before she started
messing with
it and screwed it up. The reflection was one of a pretty,
pampered, wealthy
creature -- except for one thing. Her eyes, the expression in them -- that was the same.
"Acathla didn't
get the world last time," she muttered. "Didn't even
get Angel, not for
good. So we can stop it this time."
Cordelia squared her
shoulders and went back into the library. The
others were gathered
around the big table, talking animatedly, putting together what Riley and Faith and Angel and Wesley
had all
told them about
Acathla, Naiura and Adam's plan. She'd heard enough,
between crying jags,
to get the gist of it. "Hey," she said, pitching her
voice to carry. It worked; the others all turned toward her.
"Bear with me while I recap, okay? I want to make sure I'm clear
on this."
"As do we
all," Wesley said encouragingly.
"Naiura wants
to go home," Cordelia said. "Naiura needs Acathla to
get home. For
whatever reason, she couldn't get to Acathla when it showed up in my reality. So when I went to her with my
request, she seized
on the idea of changing Angel's curse to create this reality.
She could give me my
memory back and end up with a world that would show her Acathla at a time she could use it, also known as
now."
"That sounds
about right," Riley said. "It matches what I heard her
say."
So this was Riley
Finn, Cordelia thought. She had heard his name only
once before, on a
night almost three years ago when Angel came back from Sunnydale and got really, really drunk. She'd sat by his
side and
tried to match him drink for drink, listening to stories about
some grand new love
in Buffy's life. Riley looked nice enough, but Cordelia had imagined someone a lot more -- well, MORE.
"Moving along,"
she said. "Only certain people can wake Acathla up. Angel's
one of them, and
Adam's about to be the other one."
Angel said, quietly,
"The spell where you swear fealty -- where you
get the ability to
awaken Acathla -- takes the better part of a day to take effect. He won't be able to do anything until
tomorrow night, I
mean, tonight." The sun had risen an hour or two before; Cordelia
was used to staying
up all night in her own reality, but to judge by her exhaustion, her body didn't do it often here.
"Adam's
planning on waking up Acathla and opening up the gateway to
hell, which not only
sucks people from our side in but can spit stuff from the other side out," Cordelia said. "Then he's
gonna shut it, which
has the double-whammy effect of giving him loads of new demons
to serve him AND
freezing this reality in place forever."
"Yeah, yeah, we
get it," Faith said. She shrugged. "Since when does
the Homecoming Queen
lead the meetings?"
Cordelia'd won the
crown in this reality. She'd forgotten.
She looked down at
Faith -- who looked every bit as rude and as dangerous
as she'd been in the original reality. And yet, in her two- dimensional
memories of this reality, Faith hadn't gone rogue. She had always been Buffy's friend, their ally, a fighter. Sure,
she was
suspicious at first,
but she'd believed in Buffy and Giles ever since
she went and
reported her worries about Gwendolyn Post, and they'd believed her --
Of course, Cordelia
realized with a jolt. Faith fell for that evil-
bitch Watcher in the
beginning, but in my reality, she found out the hard way -- because Angel had come back from hell. In this
reality, Angel
didn't go to hell, and Faith got to figure out Post's act on
her own. That first
thing hadn't seemed to push her so far away from them all, but now Cordelia realized just how important the
first
damage to Faith's
relationship with Buffy had been.
"Quit starin'
at me," Faith said, scooting back in her seat. "You're
creeping me
out."
"Sorry,"
Cordelia said, pulling herself back to the here-and-
now. "So, we
gotta stop Adam. No question about that."
Buffy pointed at the
drawings on the table: Riley's schematics of the
Initiative compound
now had arrows, lines, paths of attack drawn on them. "Ergo the battle planning," Buffy said. She
squinted down at the
drawings again, then shook her head. "You have no idea how bad
we've wanted these
plans. If we'd had them three years ago, Adam never could have taken over."
And that answers
another question, Cordelia thought. She plowed
on: "Angel,
does the same person who opens Acathla have to be the one who
closes it? If we don't get there before Adam awakens Acathla, are we just doomed?"
"I don't think
so, no," Angel said. "Anybody who's sworn fealty to
Acathla should be
able to close it. Even if Adam gets started, I should be able to end it."
"And the person
who closes it -- their reality is going to be the
permanent
reality," Cordelia said. "Come hell or high water, and I speak
literally as well as figuratively."
"That sounds
most likely," Wesley said.
"Is all this
talking actually getting us somewhere?" Gunn
said. "Because
my night was pretty much sucking until we started talking about this major bad-ass battle going down here. And
now we
ain't talking about
that anymore."
Cordelia rolled her
eyes. "Gunn, be patient for once in your life, or
I'm gonna have to
tell all these nice people what your middle name is."
"Shuttin' up
now," Gunn said quickly.
"Okay,"
Cordelia said, taking a deep breath. "Angel -- could we do a
spell here? Fix it
so -- so that I've sworn fealty to Acathla?"
The impact of her
words hit different people at different times, in
different ways.
Angel and Wesley got it first, and their reactions were the hardest to read. Jenny was next, her eyes
brightening with excitement.
Then Doyle, whose head drooped just a little, making
Cordelia's heart
contract painfully. Riley and Faith each narrowed their eyes in distrust.
It was Buffy who
spoke first. "You mean, you'd want to be the one to
shut Acathla. To
restore your reality in the place of this one."
"I just want to
know if it's possible," Cordelia said evenly.
"Yes,"
Angel said. "It's possible. The spell is pretty simple. You
wouldn't be able to
do anything until tonight -- a few hours after Adam --"
"We could
possibly think of a way to stall him," Wesley said. "Delay
Adam's actions, so
that we have a chance to let the spell work on Cordelia --"
"We
could," Riley said. "If we wanted to. But why would we want to?
We want to save this
world, not destroy it. Right?"
Jenny said, quietly,
"Rupert Giles -- someone who meant a lot to me,
a lot to Buffy --
he's alive in that other reality. That's the only reason I need."
"There's also a
mission, apparently," Wesley said. "Some important
work Angel and
Cordelia and I are meant to be carrying out in Los Angeles."
"You guys don't
know the whole story," Cordelia said. "You need to
know the whole
truth, before you decide."
For one moment, she
imagined she could feel each reality like a weight
in her hand -- equally heavy, equally fragile, equally precious.
One of them would have to be smashed; it would slip from
her hand like a
glass sphere and drop, splintering into so many shards that it could never be made whole again. Cordelia knew
what she
wanted -- her real life, her life with Angel, and she wanted it
so badly it made her
body shake.
But this reality,
and the people who sat before her now -- their
desires mattered as
much as her own. Their destinies were no less important, their love no less desperate. Cordelia could not
treat
them as lesser any
longer. The price might be everything that had
ever mattered to
her, but she knew that she had to pay it.
"In my reality,
I work with Angel in Los Angeles. Wesley's there too -
- but he's not
exactly working with us right now. We had a falling- out." She decided the details weren't as important as
the spirit of the
thing. "Pretty serious falling-out, as these things go. I think --
I hope we all still
care a lot about each other. But Wesley, I'm pretty sure you're in a bad place, psychologically speaking.
I know
that there was
something in the future -- that reality's future --
that was seriously
scary, something we were all going to be up against." Cordelia tried once more to remember what the
eyes that stared
at her had looked like, and she failed again. "I can't figure
out what it was,
though. Apparently that future was erased along with that reality, so I don't know what we might be battling when
I
return. Until then,
though, Gunn and Lorne are with us and help out,
as well as this girl
Fred, who right now is probably in serious need of rescue from Pylea."
"Pylea?"
Lorne said, turning a paler shade of green. "Oh, no. Not
going back
there."
"We're getting
off-subject," Cordelia said. "In my reality, yeah,
Giles is still
alive. So are Willow and Xander --"
"And Mom?"
Buffy said, her voice tiny. "Is my mom alive?"
Cordelia closed her
eyes so that she wouldn't have to see Buffy's
face when she said
it. "I'm sorry. No, she's not. She died there too." When she opened her eyes again, Angel's hand was
on Buffy's shoulder.
Buffy wasn't looking at him, just looking straight ahead,
into a distance only
she could see.
"So that makes
two of us," Doyle said. When the others stared at him,
he shrugged.
"Seems as though I died a courageous, heroic-type death in her reality. Just goes to show you the kind of stand-up
guy I am beneath
this polyester exterior."
"You're not the
only one," Cordelia said. This was the hardest, but
she forced herself
to say it. "Jenny -- a few years ago -- you were killed."
She couldn't bring
herself to say who had done it.
"What?"
Wesley half-stood, his hands on the table, his entire body
tense. "Jenny
-- she was -- my God. You weren't going to tell us that changing
reality meant -- meant killing her?"
Jenny said nothing.
She stared up at Cordelia, her black eyes unreadable.
"I'm
sorry," Cordelia said. "At first this all seemed like some kind
of bad dream. It
didn't seem to matter what happened here. I -- I know better now. I'm sorry. Jenny, I'm sorry." Jenny
only nodded.
"Anybody else
kick the bucket that we oughta know about?" Gunn said.
Cordelia considered
that for a moment, then said, "Nobody died
permanently. We had
a couple of resurrections."
"I miss
Iowa," Riley said suddenly. He ran one hand through his
hair. "I never
had conversations like this in Iowa."
"No shit,
Lee," Faith said. "You were too busy talking about crops
and cows and all
that jazz. So, Cordelia, only one thing I want to know about this other reality. I didn't spend years locked in
a cell in
that one, did I?"
"Actually, you
did," Cordelia said. "You kinda made some major screw-
ups in my reality.
You've got your head together now -- at least Angel says you have -- but you're in jail for a long
time." Faith swore
under her breath.
Riley said,
"Did you even know me in this other reality?"
"We hadn't
met," Cordelia said. "I heard about you, though.
Apparently, after
Buffy and Angel broke up --" Buffy's eyes went wide, and Cordelia grimaced. "--you and Buffy had this
major romance for
a while." Riley and Buffy looked at each other, completely
nonplused, then
looked back at Cordelia. Faith laughed in disbelief. Angel didn't look at all happy.
Doyle grinned.
"So that's what freed up Angel there to fall in love
with you, eh,
Cordelia?"
Cordelia felt her
cheeks flush scarlet even before Buffy stared up at
her, mouth open,
eyes accusing. Then Buffy whipped around to look at Angel, who didn't quite seem able to meet her eyes. Lorne
chuckled,
"Doyle, buddy, you have no idea just how faux your pas just was."
"So now you
guys know," Cordelia continued, hoping her voice wouldn't
crack. "You
know the other reality isn't all peaches and cream. Some things
that seem important here -- they aren't as important there. But I can tell you that the Winter never happened. Giles and
Willow
and Xander all
lived. And those of us who were in L.A. had a mission
of our own, an
important one I wasn't ever supposed to mess with. We're only in this situation because I did. And I'd like the
chance
to change it
back."
For a moment, they
were all silent. Then everyone began talking at
once, arguing and
pointing and gesturing. After only a few moments, Wesley stood up again. "We'll get nowhere like this. As
astonishing as
it seems, it appears that we have different points of view on
this." He
sighed heavily. "As the obvious thing to do isn't obvious
to everyone, we
should probably put this to a vote. The saner majority
should prevail."
"Just us?"
Riley said. "We're supposed to make a decision for the
whole world?"
"We do it every
day," Buffy said irritably. She was still agitated
and angry, glaring
at Cordelia every moment she wasn't glaring at Angel.
"It's only
fair," Jenny said, her voice low but steady. "This affects
us all. We should
all have a say."
"Not me,"
Lorne said cheerfully. "Ixnay, no way. I don't vote."
Gunn said, "Why
not? You not registered in this dimension?"
"The answer to
that question is sort of a 'yes,' actually," Lorne
said. He sat back in
his chair, relaxed as ever. "I have my own connection to the Powers, compadres. That connection tells me
I'm a receiver,
not a transmitter. I help other people along their path,
show them which way
they ought to go. But I don't take them there. I'm supposed to advise people, not make up their minds for
them.
Doing that would be
abusing my abilities. It would take the music
right out of the
songs, forever. Does that make sense?"
"No,"
Wesley said shortly, "but that's fine. Your abstention prevents
a tie, assuming a
question this simple could possibly be close enough for a tie."
"So, are we
voting now?" Cordelia said. When nobody disagreed, she
took a deep breath
and said, "You know my vote. Yes. I mean, yes to changing
reality back to the way that it was before. I've already explained why."
Wesley said,
"My vote is, of course, no. Nobody regrets the loss of
Rupert Giles more
than I do. Or Willow Rosenburg, or Xander Harris. Nobody has fought harder against Adam's Winter. But no matter
how this
reality came to be -- as of now, it is reality. To change it is
not to undo past
deaths but to create new ones." His eyes were on Jenny
as he again said, "No."
"Speaking as
one of the dead," Doyle said, "I appreciate the thought.
Very civilized of
you, Wes, old man. But I vote yes."
"To your own
death?" Wesley protested.
"We talked
about this in the car, remember?" Doyle said. "I know my
mission as well as
Lorne there knows his. I got a vision of Cordelia. I'm supposed to help her do what she needs to do. If she
thinks
that's changing
reality, well, then, we change reality. Besides --"
he hesitated for a
moment, then continued, "I'd rather die a hero than
live a coward. Obviously, living as a hero would be choice number one, but that doesn't appear to be an option. So I
vote yes."
"Put me down
for a no," Faith said. "At least in this reality, I
escaped from jail. I
did three years in a cage, and I about went crazy -- and you want me to switch back to some reality where
I'm stuck
in the pen for life? I'm commuting my sentence to time served.
In fact, change my
vote to 'Hell, no.'"
"No offense to
you and your jail time," Gunn said, "but I'm voting
yes."
"Really?"
Cordelia blurted out. She couldn't quite believe Gunn had
sided with her --
his distrust and wariness were still evident on his face.
He just looked down
at the table and shrugged. "My life ain't gettin'
no better
here," he muttered.
"No,"
Riley said. "This is the only world I know. This is the world
I've been fighting
to save. These are the lives I've been trying to save. I can't throw them into some reality I don't
understand. I sympathize
with what you're saying. But I have to vote no."
Jenny Calendar
lifted her head, and Cordelia forced herself to meet
her eyes. Surely she
wouldn't just vote no -- she would vote no and then lash out at Cordelia for lying, for not warning her
right away about
her fate. Cordelia braced herself for the lecture she knew she
deserved.
Then Jenny said,
quietly, "I vote yes."
"What?"
Wesley stared at her. "Jenny, what are you--"
"Rupert's
ALIVE," Jenny said. "In Cordelia's world, he didn't die.
Some vampire didn't
rip his throat out and leave him in an alleyway. In Cordelia's world, Angel didn't have to saw the head off
the man I loved
to make sure he wouldn't rise again. What happened to me --
dammit, I don't care
what happened to me." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I would have died for Rupert before, if I could
have. I won't
do any less for him now."
Wesley looked as
though he might cry. Cordelia wasn't sure she
wouldn't join in.
Buffy spoke next.
"Jenny -- I loved Giles as much as you did -- not
the same way, but as
much. And I loved Will and Xan so deeply --" She looked
up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. "But I had this dream last
night. One of my Slayer dreams. I was supposed to go find Faith, and I went out and found her. I still don't understand
everything that
dream meant, but I know it had something to do with this world.
Walking in it. Not
hiding from it -- or throwing it away. I vote no."
Four and four,
Cordelia thought. That means it's all up to Angel.
She looked at him,
along with everyone else. Angel first looked up at
Cordelia, his dark
eyes meeting hers. Cordelia remembered every moment they'd been close to each other -- in the hospital
after the attack
by Vocah; in Pylea when he'd come to rescue her; when Connor
was first born and
they would sit up all night with him, napping on the same bed between feedings; the night at the ballet when
they'd
come as close as two
people could to making love without crossing the
boundaries. The
memory of his kisses made her skin flush, and she hoped some fraction of what she was feeling -- love, desire,
need and hope
-- was in her eyes, telling Angel what he needed to know to make
the right choice.
Then he looked at
Buffy, who had tears running down her face. Cordelia
saw him smile at her, very slightly, very gently. She recognized the expression from long ago, in another reality.
Angel
was looking at Buffy
with all the love he felt for her -- all the
love he didn't feel
for Cordelia. Tears began to flood her eyes, and she prayed for the strength to hold together until the vote
was over, and
she could leave to be alone and mourn what she'd lost in peace.
Angel finally looked
down at the table, drawing away from both of
them, drawing into
himself. He thought about it for what seemed like a very long time. Nobody spoke.
At last, Angel said,
"If the Powers gave me a mission now, I wouldn't
refuse it. I
couldn't. Knowing what I've done, being what I've been, I don't have the right to turn away. They gave me a mission
in
Cordelia's reality,
and -- and I can't turn away from that either."
He paused, then
said, "I vote yes."
Cordelia felt the
tears she'd been holding back begin to roll down
her face; relief and
shock did what pain hadn't been able to do, shattering her composure. She managed to choke out,
"Majority rules, right?
You guys will go along with this?"
Riley nodded, then
Wesley did likewise. Faith rolled her eyes and
shrugged. Buffy's
hands were gripping the table so hard her veins stood out, but she finally nodded too.
"We gotta do
that spell, right?' Gunn said. "Get Cordelia all sworn
over to that Acathla
thing. Work out some logistics. Keep on with the battle plans."
"And then we
could all use some rest," Angel said soothingly. He
spoke for Buffy's
benefit, but Buffy would not look at him.
"I'll be
back," Cordelia said as she stumbled toward the door. "Give
me a second --"
"I think we
could all use a few moments," Wesley said faintly.
Cordelia got into
the hallway before she began to sob. Thank you, she
prayed, to God or
the Powers or whatever might be listening. Thank you for giving me another chance.
***
Part VIII
Another
world, Buffy thought.
From the moment
Riley Finn had told her Naiura was real, not a
figment of Cordelia
Chase's fevered imagination, Buffy had felt as though
she couldn't trust anything -- anything at all. The ground
beneath her feet.
The grey-clouded sky above her. The bed she and Angel shared. Jenny Calendar. All of it could be gone in an
instant.
In other words,
Buffy felt more or less the same way she had for
years. Ever since
she'd reached into a coffin to put a lily in Willow Rosenberg's dead hands, her reality had seemed -- less than
real.
Buffy had heard that
this world was in danger, again. She was
prepared to fight
and die to defend it, again. She didn't ask herself questions of right or wrong anymore, if it was worth it, if
she could face
the worst-case scenario. She already had. At least, so she'd
thought.
And then Angel had
chosen to end their reality -- in effect, she
thought, killing
them all -- in favor of another one, where he lived and worked far from her. Where he loved Cordelia Chase,
cheerleader and
homecoming queen and all-around bitch. He'd looked into
Cordelia's eyes,
then looked into hers, and he'd still chosen Cordelia.
Buffy tucked her
feet up under her; she was curled in Giles' chair in
his little office,
trying as she so often did to conjure up some fragment of his spirit -- his wisdom, his courage -- that
would make her
able to face what had happened.
As she often did,
she was failing.
"Netquereu --
levitaph -- Acathla -- quereu --" Wesley's voice
chanted from the
next room, and the entire library was thick with incense. In the center of the library, Wesley, Angel, Jenny
and
Cordelia were
performing the spell that would bind Cordelia to Acathla, freeing her to end Buffy's world and resurrect her
own.
Giles will be alive,
she told herself. Willow and Xander, too. She
tried to imagine
what they would all be like, a little older, a little wiser. Would Willow still be with Oz? After a few
moments, Buffy
decided she probably would. They'd been good together. Xander
would probably still
be bombing out in love, still flirting with her, waiting for his chance. With a jolt, she realized that maybe,
just maybe,
she would have given him that chance. With Angel out of her
life -- but no.
Apparently she was destined for a romance with stiff- necked Finn.
Frustrated, Buffy
went to the window and looked outside. It was
midmorning, but the
sky was as grey as dusk. Gusts of wind scattered sleet and snow against the windowpane, thrashed the branches
of the
shrubs beneath. She
tried to remember what it had been like before.
Did the shrubs ever
flower? What had that tree's branches looked like? She'd never taken the time to notice.
"Hey." She
half-turned to see Angel standing in the doorway behind
her. He looked
uncertain of his welcome, which showed some understanding of the situation. "We're finished.
Cordelia -- she, uh, she's
sworn to Acathla. She's going to get herself a hotel room to
get some rest."
He held out his hand. "We should do the same. I mean, we
should rest for tonight."
Buffy tried to
imagine lying next to Angel in bed again. Right now,
it seemed as
unimaginable as lying in that bed without him had seemed only a day before. "Yeah, tonight. When we end our world
so you can go
off to a better one with Cordelia."
He winced. She was
glad to see it. "Buffy -- that's not why I voted
the way I did. You
know that."
"I don't know
anything anymore." It was frightening how true those
words were.
"If I didn't
believe this was the best thing for everyone, I wouldn't
have voted the way I
did," Angel said. He stepped a little closer, and
she could see him trying to decide whether or not to touch her. He chose correctly and didn't. "You know that I love
you. That I always
will. Even in that other reality -- Buffy, if we're not
together, if we're
with other people, I know that deep down, I still love
you. That couldn't ever end. Not ever."
Buffy ran her hands
through her hair. "I'm sure you still love me,"
she said dully.
"Just like a sister. Maybe we go out for dinner and give
each other relationship advice. Maybe I sent Cordelia some naughty lingerie for Christmas. Maybe I just LOVE it that
you're
fucking someone
else. Hey, you think you gave Riley Finn some tips on
going down on a
woman? Hope so. Hate to think about Cordelia being the only one enjoying your expertise."
Angel opened his
mouth as if to snap at her, but hesitated. After a
moment, he said
only, "You're angry."
"And you're
perceptive."
Angel stepped away
from her -- or from the window, it could be either
-- and leaned against the wall. Buffy could see the hurt in his eyes, but she couldn't stop herself. It's the end of the
world,
she thought, at
least this world. No future. No consequences. All we
have is what happens
right now.
So why am I hurting
the man that I love?
As a pang of guilt
stabbed her, Buffy looked away, out the window
once more. Why am I
doing this? Why am I making it hurt so much worse? So it will be easier to let go? She tried to remember
the last time
she had felt happy, and it seemed so long ago --
Then her eyes lit on
the horizon, where it was just a little bit
brighter. She
remembered her dream. She remembered what it felt like to fly.
"Buffy -- let's
not do this, okay?" Angel's voice was hoarse. "I know
I hurt you. I'm
sorry. But if this happens the way we think it will, this is our last day together. I don't want us to spend it
fighting. I
just want to be with you." She could feel something melting inside
her, going warm and
soft and fluid, as he whispered, "Let's go home. If I could just -- hold you -- it would all feel so different
--"
She opened her mouth
to say yes. And yet, she heard herself saying,
"No." She glanced over her shoulder, and the look on Angel's face
nearly destroyed her resolve. But she realized what she wanted to say. "I've spent the last five years of my life being
terrified of being
alone. I know I'm not gonna die tonight, not technically. But
it feels like I am.
And I'm not gonna die afraid."
"Buffy --"
"What was it
you said to me yesterday? One day won't kill me. And it
turns out one day is
all I have left." Buffy lifted her head, blinking back tears. "I only have one day to learn to
stand on my own two
feet. So that's what I'm gonna do."
Angel opened his
mouth to speak, then closed it again. Finally, he
said only,
"Kiss me goodbye?"
A sob lodged in her
throat. Buffy forced back the tears, then shook
her head. "I
can't," she choked. "If I do -- then I won't be able to -
- Angel -- "
She looked at the ceiling, blinking fast. "Please go. Just
-- go."
She didn't look
down, but she heard him leave. And then it was
finally safe to cry.
***
"This is
fucked-up," Faith said. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah, I
know," Riley said. Everything that was happening still
seemed surreal to
him -- his world not real? Erasing the past several years? Dating Buffy Summers? He shook his head as he set the
small
bag of clothing
borrowed for Faith on the edge of the motel bed.
"Guess that makes sense, though. I mean, the way we've lived -- it
was wrong in so many ways. I ought to feel better that it's not real. I mean, as real."
Faith snorted
unattractively as she peeled off her shapeless
coverall, revealing
her shapeless blue scrubs. "So are we actually gonna do this? Help these guys erase this world, send me back
to
jail? And sentence
you to dating B, which, let me tell ya, would not
be a cakewalk."
"Of course
we're going to do this," Riley said. "We said we would."
"Yeah, I
know," Faith said. "I was wondering if we were maybe lying."
"Well, we
weren't!" Riley folded his arms across his chest. "Majority
rules, Faith.
Anything else would betray the democratic process."
Her mouth twitched,
and she bit her lip. Riley realized how he sounded,
and they burst into laughter at the exact same time. Faith clutched
her sides as she slumped against the wall, and Riley flopped over on the bed. As soon as he could get his breath, he
gasped, "I'm sorry
I'm such a square."
"Square!"
Faith said, laughing again. "Don't worry about it, Lee. If
you weren't so --
square -- you wouldn't be you." The smile on her face
was more brilliant, more free, than he had ever seen. "Not sayin' that would be a bad thing. Just sayin'."
The cheap bedspread
smelled like cigarettes, and Riley frowned in
distaste. "Why
did you pick this place?" he said, sitting up.
"Usedta live
here," Faith said, shaking out her hair. "Some kinda
swanky, huh?"
"We could have
afforded someplace nicer," Riley said. "It wouldn't
matter if I maxed
out my credit card."
"Sure
wouldn't," Faith said, stripping off her top.
All Riley could
think was, I guess the quartermaster never issued her
a bra.
"You doing okay
there, Lee?" Faith said, a wicked smile flickering
across her lips.
"You look a little pale."
She pushed down her
pants, and Riley was positive they'd given her
underwear, but
apparently she'd chosen to do without.
Faith -- naked,
beautiful and completely matter-of-fact -- strolled
toward the bed,
still smiling. Riley tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't do much of anything but look at her.
He'd
imagined her naked
before -- no denying that -- but all his frustrated
fantasies hadn't come close to the truth.
"Today is the
last day of the rest of my life," Faith said. "I
haven't taken a real
bath or gotten well and truly fucked in three years. Before we blow this reality, I intend to change that.
I can
run my own bath, but
I could use some help with the fucking. You up
for it?"
"I -- uh
--" Riley took a deep breath and said, "Yeah. Definitely. I
mean -- yeah."
"Looks like
it." She grinned as she glanced downward, then turned
around and headed
for the bathroom. Lazily, she said, "Gonna get all that nice, hot, steamy water running. Say, Lee?"
"Uh-huh?"
Riley began unlacing his boots as quickly as he could.
"How long can
you hold your breath underwater?"
He started laughing
even as he kicked off the first boot. "We're
about to find
out."
***
"It's not too
late," Wesley said. "You could still change your vote."
"I don't want
to change my vote." Jenny was sitting in her classroom,
staring at the
bulletin board. In lime-green foam letters, it read, "Computer illiteracy bytes!" Wesley
remembered helping her put it up. He'd cut the letters from the foam. Did she remember
that?
Probably not.
"Jenny --
please --" Wesley knew he was begging, hated the sound of
it in his throat,
but couldn't stop. "You don't have to martyr yourself. Your life is as important as anyone else's. Even
Rupert
Giles'. It is to
me."
She shrugged.
"It isn't to me." Jenny tried to smile at him a
little. "I
guess that sounds pretty awful, huh? But it's true."
Wesley turned away
from her and began to pace in frustration. It
frightened him to
think how easily he'd been willing to throw this world away, so tempted had he been by Cordelia's words of a
mission, a
destiny, a purpose. He'd selfishly thought only of his own good.
Never once had he
asked himself if this reality was the only one with Jenny Calendar in it.
He glanced back over
his shoulder at her; she wasn't looking at him,
just at her various
ZIP disks and CD-ROMs, all methodically organized in a way nothing else in her life was. Wesley had felt her
wrath when he'd
filed a CD of Calderash spells in with her technopagan research.
Now he knew better.
Now he knew her.
She was wearing a
red cashmere v-neck sweater, and he knew she'd
bought it from the
Land's End catalogue via their website. Her hair was pulled back in a clip, because she'd had to cut it
herself -- most
service professions had cleared out of Sunnydale since the
Winter -- and she
hadn't done all that good a job. On her desk was a coffee mug from the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and it
had a
chip off the handle
from when she'd been startled by a vampire and
knocked it into a
doorjamb.
Wesley knew all of
that. He knew her favorite flavor of ice cream
(dulce de leche),
her favorite musician (Bjork) and the reason she kept a teddy bear in the trunk of her car. He knew that, at
this
moment, she was
looking down at her careful files, thinking of the
futility of it all.
He knew that her feelings of futility mirrored his own. And he knew that she had no idea that her
desperation was echoed
in his heart.
She would give up
any reality for one with Giles in it, he thought.
Just as I would give
up any reality for this one, with her in it. I can't condemn her for that.
And yet he wanted
to. Anger and desperation and his final, ultimate
loss made him angry
-- not at Jenny, but at fate. He'd sworn to obey the wishes of the majority, and he would. Perhaps he was
moving on to a
better life. But it was a life without Jenny.
When have you ever
had a life with Jenny? Wesley thought. She never
loved you, and she
never would have done. Her heart died with Rupert Giles.
Jenny's voice broke
through the silence. "Do you think you'll have
your memories of
this world in the next one?" she said. "Like Cordelia does. Will you remember both realities?"
"I don't
know," Wesley said. "It doesn't seem likely, but then, none
of this does.
Perhaps."
"Will you do
something for me?" She got up from her desk and walked
over to him, and the
proximity of her was more intoxicating, more frustrating, than it had ever been before. "Will you
tell Giles that - -
God, what should I tell him?" Jenny was blinking back tears as she
clutched Wesley's
arm. "Tell him that I got to live a few more years here.
Tell him that I always loved him. That wherever I am, I still love him."
Wesley couldn't deny
her. He couldn't even want to. "I'll tell him if
I can," he
promised. "But -- Jenny --"
She cocked her head.
"What is it, Wes?"
Maybe it was a solid
day of listening to Cordelia Chase. Maybe it was
knowing that he was
alone with Jenny for what seemed likely to be the last time. Maybe he'd just remained silent as long as he
could, and could
do so no longer. But in one instant, Wesley felt his timidity
and fear drop away
from him, felt courage flush through him in a surge of blood.
"Your life
didn't have to end when Giles died. You have -- you had
reasons to be here.
You had things to live for. You could have had so much more, if you'd only taken it." Wesley knew he was
speaking to himself
as well, and it only made him angrier. "You could have had a
life worth living.
You could have had love." And he grabbed Jenny and kissed
her, a long, slow, intense kiss unlike any he had dared give a woman before.
Her arms went around
him, perhaps only by reflex, but he held her
even tighter,
pressing her body against his own as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Wesley was still astonished at his
own
behavior when he
felt Jenny begin to respond. Surprise and desire
nearly overwhelmed
him as they kept kissing, on and on, making the moment last.
Their lips parted.
Jenny stared at him in undisguised shock. The
courage that had
flooded his spirit a moment ago seemed to fade to black, leaving only the realization that he had just --
Wesley pulled away.
As Jenny kept staring at him, speechless, he said,
"I -- oh -- beg pardon." Then he hurried out the door before he
could do anything
else, or before she could.
***
Cordelia was
surprised that Sunnydale's one bed-and-breakfast was
still open; to judge
by the proprietor's delight when she arrived, they
were kinda surprised too. What with Adam's Winter, she was probably the first paying guest they'd had in months. They
asked for a
head shot of her, one she could autograph so they could put it in
the hallway.
Cordelia promised to send them one, feeling more remorse than she should have for making a promise she couldn't keep.
Business is probably
better for them in my reality, she thought. See?
Just one more reason
I'm doing the right thing.
She lay flat on her
back for a while, waiting for sleep that didn't
come. Instead she
catalogued the furniture (cherry wood, canopy bed, armoire, real antiques from the look of them), the faint
patterns of flowers
on the embossed wallpaper (big, droopy, extravagant blooms,
like hydrangeas),
and the patterns on the Tiffany lamp (water lilies in green and pink and cream.) She tried to think of the lines
for the episode
of "Cordy" she was supposed to tape next week and realized,
to her surprise,
that she still knew every word, the timing, the blocking, the whole bit. She tried to remember which of her
mother's friends
had had boob jobs and which ones had just had boob lifts.
In short, she
thought about absolutely everything besides the fact
that she was
spending her last hours in a world she had created and would, later on that night, destroy.
Doyle, she thought.
Jenny Calendar. I'm not killing them, I know that.
But it's almost worse, what I'm doing. If they died tonight, at least they'd have had the last few years. It's better to have
died than
-- than never to have been.
But then what about
Giles? And Willow, and Xander? Or even Connor --
in this reality,
Connor had never been born.
Cordelia remembered
Connor as a baby, and then as a man, and then it
was time to count
the flowers on the wallpaper again.
At last, in
frustration, she decided to go out and have a drink;
maybe after a glass
of wine she could relax and get a few precious hours of sleep. Then again, she thought, can I do that at
this hour? It's,
like, noon, and I don't think I could face eating alone in a
restaurant. Where
could I get a drink?
***
Cordelia smiled. At
least the Bronze was still the same -- ratty pool
tables, cast-iron
chair hanging from the staircase, and bartenders who didn't care about time of day or legitimacy of ID. She
got a
glass of the
"house white," which was the quality of alcohol usually
used as an
antiseptic, and prepared to sit down in the cast-iron chair when three more people came through the door.
"It's the last
day of me life," Doyle said. "If you think I'm
spendin' it sober,
you're a madman."
"I'm with you
there," Gunn replied. "You think they got Colt 45 in
this joint?"
"A likelier bet
than a good draw of Guinness," Doyle said.
"And a decent
Sea Breeze?" Lorne chimed in. "Forget about it. We'll
be lucky to find a
Michelob Light -- and a lovely, reality-shifting movie star waiting for us."
The other two looked
over at her; Doyle grinned and Gunn just sort of
shrugged. Cordelia
smiled back and waved; she'd thought she wanted to be alone, but the sight of them warmed her more than she'd
thought
possible. They came
and sat around her -- a circle of attentive men,
just like the Bronze
in the bad ol' days, she thought.
"Well, darlin',
see you couldn't sleep either," Doyle said. "Now, me,
I've only got a few
hours of consciousness left to drown in beer, so you
can see why I'd be awake. But you?"
She sighed.
"This isn't that much easier for me, believe it or not."
The waiter wandered
up and looked at Lorne in alarm. "Your face --"
"I lost a
bet," Lorne replied smoothly. "The darkest beer in the
house for the two
gents here, and I'll settle for a vodka cranberry."
Gunn looked at
Cordelia, an odd expression on his face -- as though
he wanted to talk,
but was unsure of himself. He hadn't held back his words with her in years. "So -- so you like being a
demon-fighter better
than being a celebrity. What's up with that?"
"Look at it
this way," Cordelia said with a shrug. "You could face
down crazed vampires
in a back alley or Joan Rivers on the red carpet.
Which would you pick?"
Lorne winced.
"At least you can kill the vampires."
"Exactly."
Cordelia hesitated, then held Doyle's hand in her
own. "Doyle,
there's some stuff I never said to you before --"
"Outstanding!"
Doyle grinned. "Are these words of undying love?
Confessions of hot,
sweaty, secret desire? I'll settle for finding out you owe me a lot of money."
She laughed.
"No such luck. But -- you were a great guy. More than
that. You were a
good man. I didn't appreciate you enough while you were here. I wish we'd had more time together, and I'm always
going to
miss you."
Now, see? Cordelia
thought. That was simple. But her eyes were welling
with tears all the same.
Doyle's eyes had the
soft sparkle that she knew meant he was moved,
but she also knew
he'd never admit it. "That has a nice ring to it," he
said. "But hot, sweaty desire would have been even better."
"Speaking of
hot, sweaty desire," Lorne said, "when I read you,
sweetie, I'd swear I
got a flash of you in a liplock with Wesley Wyndham-Price. Did my third eye deceive me?"
Cordelia blushed.
"That was just -- nothing. I mean, a crush. We're
both over it. SO
over it."
"And here I was
thinkin' I was something special," Doyle
protested. "You
and me nearly had a thing, and you and Angel apparently still have a thing, and now it turns out you're
lockin'
lips with the
English ponce, too? Are you from some magical universe
where everyone's in
love with you?"
"No!"
Cordelia protested, pointing at Gunn. "He's not in love with
me."
"Damn
straight," Gunn said. "I don't go for white girls." He glared
at Cordelia.
"Why are you laughing?"
Cordelia grinned.
"You don't know everything about yourself --"
Lorne cut in,
"Speaking of love and desire and the end of the world,
look who's
brooding."
She followed Lorne's
gesture up to the Bronze's skywalk. Angel stood
there, looking down
-- not at them, but at a spot on the dance floor where nobody stood. He seemed lost to the world, an outline
of black on
black, no more. Cordelia somehow felt as though she were
intruding, watching
him, and yet she couldn't turn away.
Gunn said, "Is
anybody gonna fill me in on this whole vampire-with-a-
soul concept?"
Lorne shook his
head. "It would take more time than this reality has
left. Besides,
Cordelia's about to go have a chat with him, and that'll free us up to return to our Motown divas
debate."
"I'm not,"
Cordelia said. "I mean, not unless he comes down here --
or if he --"
"If people had
not already run the phrase 'queen of denial' into the
ground, they would
have had to invent it for you," Lorne said. "Face
it, sweetcheeks, you
have two paths open to you. You can sit here debating about talking to him for an hour before you go talk
to him,
or you can just go
talk to him. Which one should you choose? Remember
what I said earlier
about this reality only having so much time left."
She opened her mouth
to argue, then just lifted her glass and drained
the rest of her
wine. "I'll see you guys at sundown," she said.
"Take care,
princess," Doyle said as she started up the stairs.
Princess. Cordelia
waved goodbye to Doyle one more time, then went up
to Angel.
He didn't turn as
she approached him, but she knew he was aware. Sure
enough, as she came
to his side, he said, "This is where it happened the first time."
"Yeah,"
Cordelia said, surprised he remembered. "This is where I
first saw you. I
didn't think you noticed me."
Angel looked over at
her then, his eyes both sympathetic and pained.
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Right.
Non-Cordeliacentric universe. They tell me it's real,
just having trouble
believing it." She pushed past her own embarrassment. "Where what happened the first
time?"
"This is where
Buffy and I broke up." He said it so simply, and yet
she knew him too
well not to know the deep undercurrents of pain in his voice. "I guess -- we weren't exactly dating before,
but we'd gotten
involved, and then she found out I was a vampire, and it
seemed like the only
thing we could do was let each other go. We didn't want to, but we thought we had to. She kissed me
goodbye, and the
cross I gave her burned my chest. I thought that was it. I
thought it was the
end."
Cordelia had never
known that Angel and Buffy originally meant not to
get involved. She
could hear the yearning in his voice, and she hated herself for the way her envy burned and twisted inside her.
"You said
-- the first time. I thought, in this reality, you guys never
split up. Again, I
mean."
"Today,"
he said dully. "She wants to go out of this world on her own
terms. Independent.
And that means without me."
"Oh, God."
Cordelia felt her body going cold, and she clutched his
arm. "Is this
because of me? I'm sorry -- I didn't want to hurt you -- "
"It's not
you," he said. His eyes flickered over to her briefly, then
went back to the
spot on the dance floor where, no doubt, a shadowy Buffy and Angel still stood in memory. "Not only you.
She didn't like finding
out that we were -- are -- in love, in that other reality.
But that's not why
Buffy broke up with me."
Angel was hurting so
much, and Cordelia was torn between her own
selfish resentment
of his pain over losing Buffy and the simple urge to take him in her arms, comfort him any way she could. She
settled
for resting her hand
on his. "Do you want to tell me why?" she
whispered.
"It's okay if you don't."
He hesitated for a
moment, then said, "Things haven't been right for
us for a long time.
I don't know why it changed for us, but it did. It seemed like I couldn't help her anymore. Like I could only
hurt her.
I never said the right thing or did the right thing -- maybe,
after a while, I
quit trying." Angel grimaced as he shut his eyes, unable to look at the shadows of the past any longer. "I
thought she needed
me. What if she didn't? What if I just held her back all this
time?"
"Angel,
no," Cordelia said, squeezing his hand. "You don't hold
people back. Don't
you know that?" He finally turned his head to face
her as she
whispered, "You have this way about you -- you can just look into my eyes, or say a few words, and all of a sudden,
it's
like -- like I'm
stronger, and smarter, and better than I ever was
before. And it's not
just me. You have this gift, Angel. You make people see what they are, and what they can be. You make them
believe in
themselves. So we all believe in you."
She expected him to
doubt her. Maybe to ask her questions. On his
best day, to thank
her. She wasn't expecting him to kiss her.
Angel, she thought,
her mind's voice speaking where she could not.
Angel's mouth was on
hers, his lips cool, his body close. Her head was tilted back, and her blood whirled inside her head, and
she
couldn't see,
couldn't speak, couldn't think. There was only the name
Angel, and the man
who was holding her close, kissing her, making her feel as though she could never get close enough to him.
When his lips parted
from hers, he whispered raggedly, "I'm sorry."
"No -- don't be
sorry." Cordelia took a deep, shaky breath. Their
eyes met. She could
see his regret, his pain, his anguish. She knew, with a conviction that pierced her to the core, that he
hadn't kissed her
out of love. He still loved Buffy. But he wanted to feel like
somebody who could
matter, somebody who had something to give. Buffy couldn't give him that. She could.
She thought about
the reality she would return to, the problems of
it, the
complexities. She felt his hands, still tight on her waist, and remembered how they'd felt against her bare skin one
night at the ballet.
She weighed the right and the wrong of it, made her decision,
and looked into his
eyes. "Come to my hotel with me."
Angel shook his head
no, responding automatically. But his hands
didn't leave her
body. "I shouldn't. You -- Cordelia, you deserve to be
with the man you love. That's not me. We're a lot alike -- but it's not me. I'm not the man you love. I'm not the man who
loves you."
"Shhh."
Cordelia put her fingers over his mouth. "We don't love each
other. But we can
comfort each other. And Angel -- the man who loves me -- he has a curse. He can't make love to me, not really --
not
without risking
losing his soul forever. Eventually, he's going to
feel all bad and
burdensome about that, like he's taking something away from me. Like the way we fell about each other couldn't
possibly matter
more than Tab A in Slot B."
"You mean -- we
never -- we haven't --"
"Never got past
the kissing phase," Cordelia said. She figured
mentioning that
their one petting session had been the result of ghostly possession would be completely beside the point.
"We couldn't.
We can't. Do you understand? But here -- Angel, you and I
could -- " She
swallowed hard, kept going. "If I could tell him that we
had made love -- that I knew what it was like to be with him, that he'd given me everything he could give me in bed, that I only
needed him
to love me -- it would help, I think."
"You could
never make love to your Angel," he said. "But you want to
make love with
me."
Just the words --
make love with me -- made Cordelia want to reel.
She murmured,
"Yes. Just once, Angel -- just to be with you once --"
He kissed her again,
clutching her tightly against him, so tightly it
almost hurt. So much
of this is wrong, Cordelia thought. But so much of it isn't.
Roughly, Angel said,
"Let's go."
***
Cordelia's room was
a frilly, feminine place. Brocade wallpaper and
lace coverlets. It
made Angel feel even more out of place than he already did.
He was betraying
Buffy (no, Buffy broke up with him, she didn't want
him anymore, she
hadn't wanted him in so long and Cordelia wanted him), and he ought to be resting before the battle (how could
he sleep,
how could he think, how could he do anything other than feel
the pain of losing
Buffy?), and he was about to go to bed with a woman he didn't love.
A woman he wished he
loved.
"Well,"
Cordelia said. She appeared as uncomfortable as he felt. She
pulled off her parka
-- no, Buffy's parka that Cordelia borrowed -- but otherwise, she made no move to undress. She didn't even
look
exactly at him.
"Not even a little awkward here, huh?"
"I'm
sorry," Angel said. He took off his own coat, wished for a
hanger for the
leather, then thought about the end of the universe and just let it drop. "I ought to be doing something
manly. Ripping off
your clothes or throwing you on the bed. Something."
"Those sound
okay," Cordelia said hopefully. But she was as uncertain
as he was. Their
eyes met for a moment, then they both looked away again.
"Cordelia --
before we do this --" Angel took a deep breath, then
plunged on. "I
just don't want to take advantage -- I don't want to do something stupid because I'm hurting --"
"Angel,"
Cordelia put her hands on either side of his face. "You're
not taking advantage
of me. I'm not taking advantage of you. You need to feel loved. I need to know what it is to make love to you.
We can be
there for each other, just for today. If you want."
Her hair was long
and soft and dark. Her eyes were shining with love
and desire. Angel
felt the last strands of his resolve pull and break. "Okay," he whispered.
"Okay,"
she said. But they still stood there, staring at one another.
Angel broke the
moment by taking her hand as he sat down on the foot
of the bed, pulling
her after him. "Your Angel -- the one you remember, the one you love -- what do you think he would have
done?" He
brushed one hand through her hair. "How -- how would he have
wanted it to be?
Your first time together."
She hesitated, then
hugged him close, resting her head against his
chest. Angel held
her, rocked her softly back and forth. He stroked her hair, feeling the soft curve of her neck. Her muffled
voice
said, "I think
-- I think he would have wanted it to be slow. Gentle.
Sweet."
"I can do
that." Angel pushed her back just far enough that her face
tilted up to his.
"I can go slow." Gently, so gently, he lowered his
mouth over hers
again.
This kiss was
nothing like the one at the Bronze -- so full of pain,
so hard, so harsh.
This time, he let himself feel; Cordelia's mouth was so soft, her tongue so warm, the taste of her so sweet
and so
real. He brought his
hands up to her face, traced along the line of
her jaw as they
kissed each other deeply.
Her hands pulled at
his shirt, her fingers tense, his collar taut
against his neck. He
had forgotten what that felt like -- to be grasped so desperately, held so tightly. Wanted so much.
Angel slid one hand
up her back to the base of her neck, so he could
hold her face up to
his, keep her from breaking their kisses for even an instant. With his other hand he began touching her --
soft, gentle brushes
of his fingertips against her back, her belly, the deep well
between her breasts.
As she arched against him, inviting him to touch her more, Angel felt himself swelling, going hard, getting
hot. "Cordelia,"
he murmured against her lips. She tensed slightly,
and he looked at
her, surprised and dismayed. "What -- did I do something wrong?"
"It's just --
could you -- call me Cordy?"
He'd call her
anything. Do anything. "Cordy," he said. "You're Cordy."
She kissed him
again, even more deeply this time, and her trembling
fingers began
unfastening his shirt. His body seemed to flush with almost living heat, the warmth in her body transferring to
him,
calling something
from him that had been quiet for far too long. Her
hands slid along his
shoulders, removing his shirt in a soft brush of fabric. Her fingertips left tingling lines of sensation on
his
shoulders, his arms.
He imagined her touching him all over, and
something inside him
melted and gave way.
"Cordy,"
he whispered again, calling her by the name she wanted, the
name given to her by
the man he could have been. Angel pulled up her sweater, and she quit touching him just long enough to lift
her arms and
help him. She was wearing a bra of seafoam-green lace, expensive
and alluring.
Cordelia was staring back at him, as if torn between her physical desire and something that could only be --
"Are you shy?"
he murmured. "Haven't I -- seen you before?"
"You've seen
this much," she whispered. "So have I. But this -- this
is kinda where
--"
"I want to see
you." Angel kissed the corner of her jaw, the long
line of her neck,
the small hollow at the base of her throat. "I want you
to see me."
Cordelia sighed out,
a long, shuddering breath. Then she shifted away
from him slightly
and pushed her slacks down, letting them fall at the foot of the bed. Her panties matched the bra. She had
curves -- hips
you could hold on to, breasts you wanted to taste --
Angel's memory
flashed to Buffy -- tiny, reed-thin little Buffy, so
fragile, so delicate
-- and for a moment the cold had settled over him again, chilling his heart and his desire.
But then he looked
into Cordelia's dark eyes, wide and uncertain. She
didn't know how he
would feel about her -- whether he would want her, and in an instant Angel understood that her worry was for the
other Angel
as well. He saw her need and fear as clearly as he felt his
own. Only then did
he know that what happened between them in this room, in this bed -- it would be theirs and theirs alone. It
wasn't
about his losing
Buffy, or trying to lash out at her. This was about
Cordelia. It was
about two frightened people taking their only chance to
be close to each other. To give themselves to each other.
He owed Cordelia
that much, just for making him believe.
"You're
beautiful," he whispered. "You know that, don't you?"
A shadow of her old
smile flickered over her face. "In this reality,
I won the Maxim 'Hottie
of the Year' award. That kinda clued me in," she confessed. "But those -- those were other guys.
You're the only one
that ever mattered."
Cordelia's fingers
hooked into his belt; when Angel didn't resist,
she unbuckled it,
then began unfastening his pants. The heat flooded back
into his body as she tugged at the waist; he stood up, breaking contact just long enough to let his pants and boxers drop to
the
floor. Naked, he
stood before her for a long moment, reveling in the
way her eyes
followed the length of his body, the way her lips parted slightly as she let herself stare at his hardening cock.
She was shivering,
and Angel realized that her physical reaction
might not be
entirely arousal. "Come here," he murmured, stepping around
the side of the bed and pulling back the covers. He slid into the bed, making room for her beside him; she crawled up to
him -- her breasts
spilling almost out of the cups of her lacy bra -- and curled
by his side. Angel
draped the covers over her, saving her body's warmth for the both of them. "That's better."
"Oh,"
Cordelia breathed as his hand settled on the slight swell of
her belly.
"Yes."
Angel kissed her
again, long and wet and slow. Her mouth was so warm,
so wide. She tasted
like cheap wine and something else -- something so much richer --
Cordelia's
fingernails scraped lightly along his back, making him
arch against her and
groan. Encouraged, she scratched him a little harder,
kissed him more deeply. He pushed his knee between her legs -- oh, God, soft skin and the lace of her underwear, damp and
musky
against his thigh.
Cordelia moved against him, rubbing herself against
his leg, and he watched, aroused, as her face registered the pure, carnal satisfaction of the contact.
Angel caressed her
breasts; she filled his hands, warm and soft, and
he could feel her
nipples tightening against his palms, even through the lace. He tugged at one of the straps, pushing it off her
shoulder. "This
is beautiful," he said. "And it's got to go."
"Gladly."
Cordelia half-sat up, breaking the contact between their
bodies for a few
seconds that felt far too long. But he watched as she bent her arms behind her, unhooked the bra and let it
drop. The sight
of her full breasts, her wide, dark nipples, made Angel even
harder, blood
flowing into his already-thick cock so fast it almost hurt.
He pulled her back
down, pushing her shoulders down against the bed.
Cordelia cried out
as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, plump between his lips, soft against his tongue. He sucked at
her
gently, loving the
way she twisted beneath him, searching for both
escape and release.
Angel lifted his head away only long enough to whisper, "Cordy," before he moved to the other
breast, to tease her once
again into the same arousal. She cried out again -- oh, God, she
was loud, and he
liked loud, and he hadn't even gotten started yet -- and his cock was rubbing against one of her legs as she
writhed, and this
was already so damn good --
"Angel,"
she breathed, "please -- I want --"
"Tell me what
you want," he whispered, hoping his breath would be
cool against her
tight nipples. She shivered, and he smiled.
"Anything you want."
"I want to
taste you." Cordelia kissed him hard, her tongue doing
things inside his
mouth meant to suggest everything else she wanted to do. Angel's cock pulsed so hard that for a moment he
thought he might
come right then, right there, spilling out onto her thigh.
His face must have
registered the excitement he hadn't been able to
voice. Cordelia
smiled knowingly as she shifted him onto his back and began kissing her way down the center of his chest. Angel
grabbed the edge
of the headboard with both hands; the lacy canopy over them
shook. Just as her
tongue dipped into his navel, she paused. After a moment, Angel gasped, "Oh, God, don't stop now."
"I -- it's just
--" She looked up at him, almost comically
dismayed. "I
wasn't ever with an uncircumcised guy before. Is it different? I don't want to do it wrong."
"You're not
going to do it wrong," Angel said in a rush. "Anything
you do is not going
to be wrong."
Cordelia still
looked uncertain, and Angel -- forcing himself into
whatever patience he
could muster -- let go of the headboard. He took her hand in his and folded it around his cock. Just the touch
of her warm,
soft skin made him grimace, and it took him another few moments
to be able to speak.
"Do this," he gasped, using her fingers to smooth
his foreskin back. "Just like that."
"Just like
that," she whispered, her breath warm against the exposed
head of his cock.
"Got it."
And then her mouth
was on him, so hot and wet that he thought he
would explode. Angel
grabbed the headboard again, so hard he should have broken it. Her tongue flickered around the ridge,
pressed
against the
indentation right at the tip. He fought the urge to pump
into her, but he
couldn't keep himself from moving his hips just a little, just the faintest imitation of thrusting. Then
Cordelia started
sucking -- sucking hard, so much pressure that it felt as
though his cock had
never been so hard, so tight, so desperate to come --
"Stop,
stop," he gasped, pulling away. Her lips made a slick sound as
he slipped out of
her mouth. When Cordelia looked at him in confusion,
he managed to say, "Inside you. Want to be -- inside you."
"Then be inside
me," she murmured. Cordelia's long hair trailed along
his skin as she
crawled up to kiss him on the mouth once more. Angel pulled her panties down, the two of them fumbling to get them
off without
breaking their kiss. They were wet in his hands, and the
scent of her was
thick in the room.
As she straddled
him, Angel gazed at her naked body for the first
time. She was curved
and golden in the room's faint light, a fantasy woman, but so real, so near, he could hardly stand it. He
touched her gently,
quickly, everywhere -- breasts, back, collarbones,
knees. "Cordelia
-- Cordy --"
"Yeah?"
Her breath was shallow, and Angel could hear how fast her
heart was beating.
He looked up at her and saw her entire -- her body's beauty, her spirit's courage, her humor, her
fierceness, her impulsiveness,
all of it.
"He loves
you," Angel said quietly. "I know he does."
Tears -- whether of
grief or joy, he couldn't guess -- filled her
eyes. "I love
him too."
He dipped his
fingers between her legs, felt the soft folds of her
slick against his
skin. Then she took his cock in her hand and guided him, just where he needed to be -- and then she plunged down
onto
him, living heat, so
tight, so good.
Cordelia moaned, and
Angel grabbed her right at the waist, pulling
her closer, going in
even deeper. When he had sunk completely into her, for a long moment he couldn't move, couldn't think. He
could
only feel the pulse
of her heartbeat against his cock, could only
watch her as she
caressed his chest, then brought her hands up to her breasts,
Angel could take a
hint. He took one of her breasts into his hand,
circling the nipple
with his thumb. She made a low, humming sound of satisfaction. He brought his other hand to the joining of
their
bodies, searched and
found --
"Oh, oh, oh
God, Angel --" Cordelia gasped, then cried out
incoherently as he
began massaging her there, just there.
"Cordy,"
Angel whispered. Cordelia began to move atop him, twisting
her hips in a way
that was half thrust, half circle. He caught the motion immediately, spiraling with her, thrusting into her as
they
went. His fingers
pressed into her just as he was deepest inside her,
again and again,
both of them feeling the heat and pressure of each other at the same moment, in the same rhythm, building in
tempo and pleasure
as they went.
She threw her head
back as she moaned again, a sound so deep inside
her that he could
feel the vibrations against his own body. Her long, dark hair stuck to her skin with her sweat. She was alive
with heat -- she
was heat, and he was buried in her so deeply that it felt like
he was on fire.
Angel massaged her
just a little harder, a little faster, and her
moan turned into a
cry of pure pleasure. Cordelia's body tensed, and then he felt the contractions of her orgasm tight around his
cock. He felt
it then -- that lockslide shift in his brain and his gut that
told him he would
come at any moment, any moment --
Then there was
nothing but heat and light and sensation, pulling him
inside himself until
he was just one glimmer of sensation -- then exploding, outward and outward, better and better, flowing
out of
him, out of his
skin, spilling into her in a rush that wiped away
everything else.
Cordelia collapsed
atop him, her breasts heavy against his chest.
When Angel thought
he could move again, he managed to take hold of the covers and pull them back up around her, cocooning the
two of
them together. She
was breathing hard, her body sweat-slick and warm.
He embraced her as
tightly as he could; his muscles didn't seem to want to obey. He was shaking from emotion and pure release,
and she
was too. For a long
time they said nothing, just held each other as
the tremors passed
from them.
Finally, he
murmured, "He's a lucky man. That other me."
She didn't lift her
head from his chest, but she turned so that her
cheek was against
his skin and their eyes could meet. "He'll never have this, you know. What you and I just shared -- I can't
ever give that
to him."
"He has your
love," Angel says. "As incredible as this was -- I think
your love is worth a
whole lot more."
She smiled gently.
"I'll tell him that."
He looked down at
her face -- so beautiful, so frightened, so lost --
and touched his
fingertips to her cheek. "Tell him -- " Angel closed his
eyes for a moment and searched his memories. Then he smiled at her once more. "Tell him that once, back in Ireland, as
a boy, he climbed
a mountain. Not much of a mountain, I guess, but it was a
hard day's work. His
father forbid him to do it, and so there was that thrill to it too." He played with the dark strands
of her
hair. "When he
-- when I got to the top, I could look down over the
countryside. I was
tired, and my heart was pounding, but it was so beautiful. I was so proud -- of being able to climb that far,
of
knowing that the
country I was looking at was my own. And I was up in
the sky, so it felt
like heaven was all around me."
Angel kissed
Cordelia gently, then whispered, "Tell him, that after
we made love -- that
was how it felt. Just like that."
"Oh,
Angel." Cordelia took a deep, shaky breath. She said, "You
shouldn't say stuff
like that."
"Why not?"
Her smile was faint.
"You'll make me fall in love with you, too."
***
Part IX
Riley
tried not to think about the stabbing pains in his arms, or
about the fact that
people who used to be his friends -- Graham, Forrest -- were the ones holding him so painfully. Above all,
he
tried not to think
about what they were doing to Faith only a few
steps away. He could
hear her struggling, hear the swearing of the men trying to keep her down; even though Faith wasn't trying
her
hardest, they
couldn't know that, and it sounded like Faith was
putting on a good
show.
"Finn." He
looked up to see Maggie Walsh standing at the top of the
stairs, Adam at one
side, Naiura on the other. Riley felt -- everything
at once, it seemed. Guilt, fear and most amazingly and
strongly of all,
relief.
They hadn't started
yet, he thought. We stalled them. They won't go
back to Acathla
until they're done with us.
"Where were
they?" Walsh said crisply, directing her icy gaze at
Forrest.
"Far
perimeter," Forrest answered. "North side. They were holed up in
one of the abandoned
college buildings, some kind of maintenance shed --"
"That you
missed on your earlier patrol," Walsh finished. Riley could
feel Forrest's
tension -- Riley knew, as Walsh did not, that the Initiative team had done its job properly before. Faith and
Riley had sneaked
into that shed only a few moments before their "capture,"
just when Riley knew
they'd come by on their second search. Weirdly, he still felt protective of the team; part of him wanted to
defend
them. But he kept
his silence.
"Get your
goddamn hands off me!" Faith swore, still struggling beside
them. "What are
you trying to do? Rape me? I fucked that one to pay him back for getting me out, but no way I'm fucking you for
taking me back
in."
Riley felt his face
flush as his stomach dropped in pure horror. Why
had she told them
that? Then he remembered the medical exams they always gave her and realized -- she had to explain. They'd
probably find
the evidence, and she couldn't afford to make it look like
they'd hidden
anything. When Walsh came down the stairs, staring at him, he forced himself to say, in what he hoped was a
convincingly bitter
voice, "She wanted it."
"Good Lord,
Finn," Walsh said, folding her arms in front of her. She
seemed both
disappointed and amused. "If I'd known you were getting so desperate -- well. Measures could have been taken."
"We will not
eliminate him, Mother," Adam said. He lumbered up behind
her, his small, dark
eyes intelligent as they studied Riley and Faith. "He is my brother. He understands so much. We
could never find another."
"We could make
one," Walsh said. She was smiling, but Riley was
horrified to realize
that she wasn't joking.
"This is
foolishness," said Naiura, who swept up to the others in a
glittering of veils.
"Why do we waste time here? Reprimand your men on your own time. We have a ritual to prepare for now."
"What happens
here matters to our future, if not to yours," Walsh
snapped. "We're
doing you a favor. Act like it."
"A favor? You
should have seen yourself before, if you want to talk
of favors."
Naiura sneered. "No thought in your mind, your body shuffling
about to do your demon-son's bidding --"
"You've waited
so long to go home," Adam said. "Another hour cannot
be of
consequence." Naiura huffed, the small white feathers atop her head
fluttering. Adam looked down at Riley again, his expression more kind than Riley had ever seen it. "We have the Slayer
again, and we will
discover why my brother wanted to break free."
"Whatever it
is," Walsh said, "we can fix it."
Fix it? Riley
thought of the various chips and cables he'd been
required to endure
through the years, the drugs he knew had been slipped into his food. He thought of the masklike face of a
couple of new
recruits who'd come out from experiment rooms as shadows of what
they had been when
they'd gone in. For the first time, he felt raw terror -- Riley was willing to die, was willing to risk
everything on a
new reality, but to become one of Walsh's drones --
"Motherfuckers!"
Faith shrieked, throwing herself at Walsh. Her fist
made contact,
sending Walsh snapping back onto the floor. One of the soldiers hit Faith with the taser, and she jumped and twisted
in the currents.
Not the tasers, Riley thought. She hates them so much.
Adam knelt by
Walsh's side, cradled her head in his enormous hand.
She was blinking,
disoriented but clearly all right. "Take her back to
her cell," he said, nodding toward Faith. "And take my brother to room
812."
Room 812 was an
experiment room.
For the first time
since their deliberate recapture, Riley let his
eyes meet Faith's.
She was still stunned from the taser strike, but she met his gaze, her expression unlike any other he had seen
on her face.
He saw fear, compassion, the desperation to give him strength.
For a moment, he
thought he saw something else there as well --
"Come on,"
Graham grunted, pulling Riley away from her and toward the
experiment room.
Riley looked upward, wondering about the world above, and praying that the others were coming. Soon.
***
Angel was sure he'd
been in more uncomfortable situations. But at the
moment -- standing
on the outskirts of the Initiative compound, preparing to end the only reality he knew, with the woman he
loved at his
right shoulder and the woman he'd spent the afternoon making love
to at his left -- he
couldn't think of one.
"Check your
weapons," Wesley said. Though Angel could see how deeply
Wesley disliked what
they were about to do, he was still preparing them fully for the task ahead. "Make sure you've got one
in hand, one ready
to be grabbed if you're disarmed in combat."
"Wow, never
would have thought of that on my own," Buffy said. But
her voice was devoid
of the bitterness Angel had, he realized, come to
associate with her. She seemed curiously at ease; apparently her strike for independence had fulfilled something within her,
though
Angel wasn't sure
what. He only knew that she was smiling as she tied
a flashlight to her
belt, and that she hadn't met his eyes the entire time they'd spent gearing up.
Angel had expected
to feel guilty when he saw Buffy again, stood
before her with the
taste of another woman in his mouth, the faint traces of her scratches on his back. But he didn't. What had
happened with
Cordelia seemed to have nothing at all to do with Buffy -- as
though it truly
belonged to that other universe, the one that had been and would be. Something in Cordelia belonged to him, and
he knew that,
despite everything, something in him belonged to her, too.
Yet he still yearned
for Buffy, for her to turn her face to him, to
acknowledge
something of the pain he felt, the gaping wound her departure had left. Angel knew her too well not to know that
she felt it
too. They had spent almost seven years together, inseparable, both
for good and for
ill. The brutal suddenness of their break, the finality of it, was crushing her too.
Yet she kept it
within, kept this last emotion they would ever share -
- anguish -- beneath
the surface.
"Have you guys
ever tried spring-loading these things?" Cordelia
offered. She was
holding a stake against her wrist experimentally as she crouched slightly behind a frost-crisp hedge. "You
know, no swing,
all stake?"
Angel had thought of
that, once, but Buffy and Wesley hadn't been
interested, so he
hadn't followed through. "It's a good idea," he said.
"But no time now." Cordelia gave him an uncertain little smile, and
he returned it. Once again he felt the urge to comfort her, protect her. Then again, what they were about to do was the
best
comfort and
protection he could offer.
A better world is
ahead of us, he thought. For all of us. Cordelia's
showing us the way.
Nothing else matters, compared to that.
Gunn shook his head
as he hefted his own sword. "I shoulda brought my
truck," he
said. "We got a stake cannon mounted on that thing. Works great,
let me tell you."
"A stake
cannon," Jenny said. Her voice was just a little --
distracted, Angel
thought. As though she were with them far more in body than in spirit. "That's not a bad idea. We should
have tried that."
"Guess I should
get my game face on," Doyle said, shaking his head as
his visage shifted
into that of his Brachen-demon father. "Now, that feels better."
"Why don't you
wear that all the time?" Lorne said. He didn't look as
though he much knew
what to do with any of the weapons, but he'd gamely armed himself with a stake and a wide-bladed
knife.
"Seriously, green is your color. And I know what I'm talking about
here."
"I'm not as
smooth as you are with the excuses," Doyle said. "If I
weren't shuffling
off this mortal coil in about an hour, I'd ask you for a few."
"You should
switch back to human, just like Angel should keep from
vamping out, if he
can help it," Buffy said. Angel noticed that he was
only being spoken of in the third person. "The Initiative has a majorly
schizophrenic attitude toward demons. Adam totally runs their lives,
but they hate demons otherwise. They'll fight differently against you if they think you're human."
"As in, be less
likely to kill me?" Doyle said. "What's that matter
now? I'm stronger
this way. Best I stick with it."
Buffy shrugged.
"Take your chances. I guess we all are."
"Right
then," Wesley said. "Does everyone understand what we're
doing?" As he
said this, he looked at Jenny very hard. She didn't react.
"We're
ready," Angel said. "This reality is still in place, so Faith
and Riley must have
stalled them. But I don't think we have much time to lose." As in, let's get a move on, Wes.
"Very
well," Wesley said. He turned to Buffy, waiting, as ever, for
her call to strike.
Buffy looked toward
the small concrete shed that, according to Riley
Finn, was their
entrance to the compound; Angel felt his body tensing, preparing for her word. But then she turned toward
him and, at
last, looked into his eyes. She whispered, "Goodbye, Angel."
His girl. Blond hair
blowing in the icy wind. The end of the world.
Angel felt his
throat closing up, but he managed to say, "Goodbye, Buffy."
She turned back
toward the entrance, toward the battle. "Let's go."
***
They were deep into
the tunnels before the first patrol spotted them,
and fortunately,
Cordelia spotted the patrol first.
"Get
ready," she whispered, motioning for the others to duck down.
She saw the look of
surprise on Buffy's face, but the men -- the ones who'd seen her fight -- all immediately ducked. The patrol
was within five
feet before they realized what was going on.
"Stations!"
the patrol leader yelled, but Cordelia leaped forward and
spun-kicked her foot
squarely into his solar plexus before he could say anything else. He retched and doubled over, and Cordelia
whirled
around, searching
for another opportunity to strike.
The others seemed to
have the situation handled. Buffy was smacking
one Initiative guy
around like he was a punching bag, Gunn had already floored another and Angel pounced at the last one. He
tackled the
guy and smashed his fist into his face -- but too late.
Apparently he'd
given some sort of signal, because lights began to flash golden-yellow in the tunnel, and she could hear a
faraway
klaxon begin to
blare. "We got trouble," Cordelia said.
"And that
starts with a T, which rhymes with G, which stands for Gee,
ya think?"
Lorne darted forward. "They've got a few people already
headed this way. We
better hustle."
They split up in the
teams they'd agreed on beforehand -- Jenny,
Lorne and Doyle with
Buffy, and Cordelia, Angel and Gunn with Wesley. Cordelia saw Wesley's reluctance to go; she'd thought Angel
would be the
one who couldn't walk away, but he was doing so, resolutely. She
grabbed Wesley's
hand and whispered, "Come on. We have to hurry."
"Bye,"
Jenny said -- oh, God, that was the last thing she was ever
going to hear Miss
Calendar say --
And then they were
running, just the four of them, together in the
tunnels. Cordelia
felt her memories -- her true ones -- flashing back to a dozen times or more when it had been like this: Gunn at
her
right, Wesley at her
left, Angel charging ahead of them all. It was
more like the world
she remembered than at any other moment since Naiura's spell, and against all odds, Cordelia felt a smile
spreading across
her face. This is the way it's supposed to be, she thought.
This is the way it's
going to be again. I'm gonna get Angel to forgive Wesley, and Wesley to forgive Angel, and it's all
going to be like
it used to be, only better. It's too important to throw away. I
know that now. I'll
make them know it too.
Angel threw open a
door that, according to Riley's maps, would lead
them to the service
corridor for the elevator shafts. Apparently the elevators ran on voice-recognition; they'd have to shimmy
down the cables.
This had all sounded very practical when they'd discussed it
back at the library,
but as Cordelia looked down into the dark, cavernous shaft, she realized that reality was very
different. "Okay, not
liking this," she said. "I can't fly in this reality."
Angel stared at her.
"You can FLY in the other reality?"
"This story
just gets stranger and stranger," Gunn said.
"Not really
fly," Cordelia said. "It's more hovering."
Amazed, Angel shook
his head and half-smiled at her, the first real
expression of warmth
he'd given her since they'd left her hotel room. The memory of what had happened in that room seared her skin
and made her
wish the moment were a little less desperate, so she could talk
to him or just hold
him. This Angel wasn't exactly her Angel -- but they were close enough for her to care about him deeply.
"I'll go
first," he said. "That way you don't have to be frightened.
I'll be right
beneath you. I can catch you if you fall."
She smiled at him
and tried to mentally brace herself as Angel took
hold of the cables
and began to ease himself down. The drop's not getting any shorter, she thought, as she reached out for the
cables
herself.
"Hold!"
Cordelia whirled around to see two Initiative soldiers
running into the
room -- carrying guns. Wesley was fast; he fired his crossbow immediately, catching a soldier in the shoulder and
taking
him down. But even
he wasn't fast enough for the second one, who
swung his gun up,
aiming it right at Cordelia --
She saw Gunn move
the moment she heard the weapon's fire. He threw
himself in front of
her, and her scream mingled with his own anguished cry as he fell to the ground.
Wesley fired his
crossbow again, felling the other soldier. Cordelia
stared down at Gunn
in horror, seeing a pool of dark blood spreading across his torn abdomen. "Gunn? Gunn!?"
As she dropped to
her knees, Gunn coughed once, then tried to focus
on her.
"Stranger -- and stranger."
"Oh, God, oh
no, Gunn, no --" She put her hands on his belly; weren't
you supposed to
apply pressure? But his grimace of pain made her pull away. Her hands were wet with his blood. "We need a
doctor, or an ambulance,
or something."
Behind her, she
heard Angel climb out of the elevator shaft and his
sharp intake of
breath as he saw Gunn's injuries. "He can't be moved."
"Meaning I
can't go with y'all," Gunn waved one hand weakly at the
shaft. "Get
going. Don't matter none what happens to me."
"What do you
mean, it doesn't matter?" Cordelia cried. But even as
she spoke, she knew
what he meant. She was erasing this Gunn from existence in a few minutes -- what happened to him here
couldn't affect
the other reality. And yet looking down at him, horribly
wounded, she could
only see Charles Gunn, her friend and her partner, bleeding to death before her eyes.
"Cordelia."
Wesley's voice was gentle, but firm. "We don't have much
time."
She looked down into
Gunn's eyes; he smiled at her just a little.
"You say I got a better life ahead of me," he rasped. "Make
it happen."
"I
promise," she whispered. "I promise." She pulled off her parka --
didn't need it
anymore anyway -- and balled it up under his head,
giving him what
little comfort she could.
"Goodbye,"
he said, as she took hold of the cables to follow Angel
down at last. She
looked into his brown eyes for as long as she could before dropping into the darkness.
***
Buffy's part of the
plan was simple: Kick astonishing amounts of ass
in the Initiative's
main area, thus creating a distraction to let Jenny do her work, and let Angel and Cordelia get to Acathla.
So far, she thought
with grim satisfaction, so good.
One soldier --
Graham, was that the name -- came rushing at her, and
she
roundhouse-kicked him into the wall. Another half-dozen or so of his buddies were collapsed around her, and Doyle had taken
out about three
himself. Apparently his demon half meant serious business, even
if the human half
was kinda goofy. Even Lorne -- all demon, all goofy -- had managed to shriek a couple of the soldiers into
unconsciousness.
Jenny knelt on the
floor, her fingers working frantically on one of
the computer
keyboards. "I'm past the security lock!" she called. "Shutting down lights -- NOW."
Deep thumps echoed
from the walls as the lights began to shut down,
one row after the
other. Buffy pulled her flashlight from her belt and ignited it; she knew Wesley had one for the other group
as well --
-- not that Angel
would need it, Angel could see in the dark --
She shook her head,
came back to the here and now. "That oughta throw
them off," she
said. "Good job, Jenny."
"Thanks,"
Jenny said, peering into the faint green flow of the
monitor, which
seemed so much brighter in the faint light. "Huh."
Lorne peered over
her shoulder. "I am an expert on pitch and tone,"
he said. "That
'huh' said volumes. What's wrong?"
"Not that it
matters," Jenny said, "but apparently they're planning
on doing something
nasty to Mr. Finn."
"Nasty?"
Buffy frowned. "Nasty how?"
"I can't get
the exact procedure; I didn't hack deep enough into the
security,"
Jenny said. She pointed at one line of data. "But it says
experimental, and
we've seen a few of the Initiative's failed experiments."
Buffy had found
their bodies after, sometimes. Or worse -- twisted
things, not demon
and not human, unable to fight her or feed themselves, to do anything but suffer. Those were the only
times that her
slaying had felt like an act of mercy.
Not that it matters,
Jenny had said. This Riley, experimented-on or
not, wouldn't exist
in another half-hour, and neither would Buffy herself. And she'd spent enough time wishing ill to Riley
Finn not to feel
any particular horror on his behalf.
And yet. And still.
"Does it say
where he is?" Buffy said.
It was Doyle,
leaning over Jenny's other shoulder, who answered.
"Room 812. That mean something to you?"
"I can pull up
a map," Jenny offered. A few clicks of the keyboard,
and the map
appeared. The room wasn't too far away.
"I'm getting
him out," Buffy said. "You guys should stay here, make
sure they can't get
control of the power again."
"You got it,
She-Ra," Doyle said. "We'll leave the lights out for
ya." He grinned
-- a surprisingly warm smile, given the green spines
still all over his
face. Buffy found herself smiling back before she turned and ran.
She only ran into
two soldiers on the way to room 812, both of which
she easily
dispatched. They should have more guys out, she thought. Either they've sent their troops to their holding pen for
vamps and demons,
or -- or they've figured out what we're really after. As much
as she didn't want
this reality to end, she shuddered at the thought of Angel falling into the Initiative's clutches.
Which was, of
course, just where Riley was now --
Room 812's door had
a computerized lock; after a moment's hesitation,
Buffy smashed it in
with her hand. The door made a static sound, but remained shut. She shoved her fingers between the slender
crack and tugged
with all her considerable might.
The door swung open,
revealing Riley Finn, strapped to a chair with a
gag in his mouth. At
his side was Maggie Walsh.
Buffy had expected
some reaction to her breaking and entering, but
Walsh just raised an
eyebrow. "So you're what the alert is for," she
said.
"I like to keep
you guys on your toes," she said. "Speaking of which,
I'd like to see Finn
there on his feet. Now."
"You're here to
rescue Riley?" Walsh looked genuinely surprised. As
far as Buffy could
tell from Riley's expression, he was a bit startled
himself. "How novel. I thought you were strictly a part of
demon control."
"I'm bad-guy
control," Buffy said. "You make other people demons on
the outside, but
inside? You're the real thing."
Walsh smiled thinly.
"We have one Slayer to study," she said. "We
don't need
you."
She moved fast -- so
fast that a human would have been hit -- but
Buffy managed to
duck the hand with the taser just in time. Before Walsh could strike again, Buffy hit her across the jaw, hard.
Walsh staggered
back and fell against her tray table of instruments.
"That's for the Winter," Buffy said. She slapped Walsh this
time, hand open. "That's for the vampires overrunning this town, including
the one who killed Giles." She slapped her again. "THAT'S
for locking Faith up
for years and making me think she was dead." And again.
"That's for my Mom, which you didn't have anything to do with, but
it's for her anyway. And THAT'S for Willow. And THAT'S for Xander. And THAT --"
Buffy balled up her
fist and smashed Walsh hard, right in the nose.
Walsh collapsed back
onto the ground, unconscious. After staring down at
her for a moment, she went to Riley's side and pulled the gag from his mouth. He gasped in a deep breath, then said, "What
was that for?"
"Why did I
rescue you?" she said, already annoyed. "Boy, you're great
with the gratitude,
aren't you?"
"Thanks,"
Riley said fervently as she went to work unfastening his
restraints.
"But what I meant was -- that last time you hit Walsh -- what
was that for?"
"Oh,"
Buffy said. "That was for giving me a C+ on my final paper in
her psych class. It
had footnotes and everything."
"Would this be
a bad time to mention that I graded that paper?" Riley
said.
She stared at him,
then started to laugh. He joined in; their laughter
had a slightly hysterical edge to it, and Buffy knew it, but she didn't care. It felt so good to laugh.
When they quieted,
Riley said, "I'd like to find Faith now. I'd like
to be with
her."
"I would
too," Buffy said, feeling the rightness of it even as she
spoke. "Let's
hurry."
***
Wesley aimed his
flashlight ahead of them; the doorway had the right
number. They were
there at last. "Get ready," he said. "We'll only
have our one chance
to strike."
Cordelia nodded
quickly; Angel put one hand on his sword. Wesley took
a deep breath. More
than anything, he did not want to go through this door, to do the work they had to do there. To kill Jenny
Calendar, or die
in the attempt.
He hoped that
Jenny's wish came true, that he could remember this
reality in the new
one. If only he could remember her -- remember loving her --
Angel tensed, no
doubt hearing something lost to Wesley and Cordelia's
human ears. He put his hand on the door. "Now."
With his vampiric
strength, Angel tore the door from its hinges.
Cordelia plunged
through instantly, and Wesley followed her, blinking the darkness to make out what was happening --
The room was lit
with a few candles that burned with a greenish,
unnaturally steady
flame. Standing in the far corner of the room was a large, misshapen creature, part man and part demon. For all
his
years of hunting
Adam, Wesley had never actually seen him before. Yet
he knew his enemy
instantly; only Adam could be so powerful, so grotesque. A few feet away was one of the most beautiful
beings
Wesley had ever seen
-- a woman made of blue frost and feathers like
snowflakes. In the
room's center was Acathla -- a giant stone slab, from which the frozen form of a demon reached, its body
forever
captured in a snarl
and a pounce.
No, Wesley thought.
Not forever. Not even for long.
Adam stood there
with his human hand outstretched, blood dripping
from his lacerated
palm. And even as Wesley watched, energy began to flow from Acathla, swirling around it.
"Naiura,"
Cordelia said, her face set. "I'm calling off our little
bargain. Now."
"Foolish,
forgetful girl," Naiura said, raising an imperious, white-
feathered eyebrow.
"My arrangements are final. So is your fate."
"Hate to argue
with you," Angel said. "But the negotiations are back
on."
In a flash, Angel
threw his sword as hard as he could -- and it
speared Adam through
the middle. Adam clutched at the weapon and staggered, clearly in pain.
"You will
NOT!" The bolts flew from Naiura's fingertips even as she
spat the words from
her mouth; Wesley felt the jolt hit him, mid- chest, knocking him back several feet. He collapsed to the
floor
beside Cordelia, who
was gasping in the same pain he felt.
"You didn't --
mention -- the lightning bolts," Wesley choked.
"Didn't --
know." Cordelia struggled to sit up, but Wesley saw her
eyes open wide in
fear as Naiura raised her hands again. But then Angel -- apparently less affected by the power surge --
tackled her from
the side.
Naiura shrieked in
rage, and Wesley saw her claw at Angel with hands
that surged and
crackled with power. Angel was still holding onto her -- but his body shook, and his face registered the agony
he was
feeling as she
poured energy into him.
Wesley staggered
forward. The vortex near Acathla was getting larger
and more powerful.
An unearthly howling filled the room. "Cordelia!"
he shouted.
"You must close the portal! Now!"
"Angel --"
she said, staring at his tortured form as he grappled with
Naiura. But she
somehow got to her feet and began making her way toward the vortex, fighting the powerful winds pouring from
Acathla.
"Cordy!"
Angel cried, and it seemed to be more than a nickname.
Cordelia's face
changed as he said it, becoming more pained and yet more resolute.
Wesley forced his
way closer to Naiura; so caught up was she in
battling Angel that
she didn't even notice him. He didn't know what kind of demon she was, or what might kill her -- still, some
moves
were classics.
He plunged his stake
into her back, right between her shoulder
blades -- right
where the heart should be. Naiura screamed, a ghastly, unearthly sound that was too shrill for any human
throat.
Power crackled over
her entire body, convulsing her limbs, making her
eyelids flutter.
Then she flopped to the floor and vanished in a thick puff of blue powder.
Angel was still
shaking with pain, but he looked up at Wesley in
wordless gratitude.
My last act on this earth is saving the Scourge of Europe from pain, Wesley thought. And yet I think it was
the right thing
to do.
Cordelia's shriek
made them both whirl around -- just in time to see
her body flying
toward them. She tumbled into Wesley, knocking them both onto the ground beside Angel.
Adam -- hunched over
and bleeding, but still alive -- stood at the
mouth of the vortex.
He stared at them, his small dark eyes showing only something that looked strangely like compassion.
"If you knew," he
rasped, "if you knew the future of the reality you would return
to -- you would
thank me."
"Oh, this is
all for our own good?" Cordelia said. "Forgive me if I
don't believe
you."
"Adam,"
Angel said, calling to be heard over the wind, "you're dying.
You can't get out of
this alive."
Wesley added,
"Let us do what we're trying to do here. It can't make
any difference to
you."
Adam smiled.
"It is better
to have died," Adam said, "than never to have been."
He turned to Acathla
and pulled out Angel's sword. Blood gushed from
the wound, spiraling
into the winds, sealing the vortex. Adam held his arms open wide, silhouetted against the power and energy
of
Acathla for one
moment more -- then was sucked into it, spiraling
into eternity, out
of their reality and into the hell he chose.
The vortex snapped
shut. The light and wind was gone. The greenish
candles instantly
went dark. The only illumination in the room was Wesley's own flashlight, casting a beam across the
bloodstained floor.
"Wesley?"
Cordelia's voice shook. "What just happened?"
She already knew,
Wesley realized. But he answered her anyway. "Adam's blood closed the portal Acathla created.
He sealed the
breach in realities before you could." He looked at her face --
hers and Angel's --
and saw such pain that he hated to continue. But he had to.
"This reality
-- the reality of the Winter -- is permanent. The
reality you knew
will never return."
***
Part X
Cordelia
stared at Wesley.
She had seen what
Adam had done. She understood the repercussions.
She could see the
room around her -- an Initiative chamber, sterile and cold. Everything around her -- the pale blue dust that
had been Naiura,
the sleeping form of Acathla, even the long fall of her own
uncut hair across
her back -- told her that she was trapped in the world of Winter. But she couldn't quite believe it.
"There has to
be something we can do," she said. "You have to tell
me, if there
is." Wesley didn't want the realities to change, so he might not tell her the truth -- she knew too well that Wesley
could lie
if he thought he had to.
But when Wesley
slowly shook his head, she knew he was telling the
truth. "Adam's
blood sealed the portal," he said. "That makes his reality
senior to the one you remember. And without Acathla, I know of no other way to restore your reality." His voice was
softer as he continued,
"I'm sorry, Cordelia. But this is your reality now."
This is reality,
Cordelia thought. And everything that matters to me
in my life -- my
visions, my mission, the Angel I know -- it's all gone.
Dust and ashes.
She raised a shaking
hand to her mouth, trying to hold in the scream,
because if she
started screaming, she didn't think she would ever stop.
"Cordy?"
Angel put one hand on his shoulder. "Cordy, I'm sorry. I --
I wanted it
too."
Angel had wanted a
reality he never knew. Cordelia had destroyed the
only reality she
ever wanted.
A thousand precious
moments, so mundane, so simple -- all gone forever,
slipping from her life like an hourglass' sand, leaving her hollow: Holding baby Connor in the sunlight of the Hyperion
courtyard, Angel
watching them from the shadows with a smile on his face. Giggling with Fred over strawberry daiquiris at
Caritas. Riding along
the Sunset Strip on the back of Wesley's motorcycle. Dancing
with Gunn in a
parking lot, lit by the headlights of his truck, running down the batteries as they listened to the radio --
It hit her like a
rush of cold water. "Gunn," she gasped. "He's hurt.
We have to get to
him."
"Let's
go," Angel said. Wesley said nothing, but instantly, all three
of them were running
their hardest, back toward the elevator shaft. Cordelia didn't look back at Acathla, just ran.
I have to get to
Charles, she thought. I can get to Charles, I can
save him, I can fix
it, I have to fix it --
The elevator shaft
hadn't been very easy to shimmy down, but Cordelia
realized she didn't
have the first idea how to get back up. She hadn't thought she would have to get back up. Angel leapt
onto the cables,
clasping them in his strong hands. "Grab onto my back," he
said. "Come
on."
"I'll take the
stairs," Wesley said. His voice sounded so far away.
Cordelia didn't turn
to acknowledge him, just took a running leap and grabbed Angel. Her arm went hard around his neck, and she
grimaced before
remembering that Angel didn't have to breathe.
Angel began
climbing, preternaturally fast, hand over hand. If her
weight troubled him,
Cordelia couldn't tell. It felt almost as if she were
floating up through the darkness, almost as if she could fly once more.
But she never would,
never would --
At last Angel swung
out through one of the open doors, sending them
both sprawling onto
the floor. Gunn lay there, silent and still.
No, Cordelia
thought, unable to come up with anything but that one
word. No.
Then she saw, ever
so slightly, his chest rise and fall.
Angel said, "I
hear his heartbeat -- it's weak, but it's steady."
She let out a sob
she hadn't realized she was holding in. "We have to
get him to a
hospital, Angel. Now."
Angel began
gathering Gunn up in his arms; Gunn didn't stir. Cordelia
touched his brow
briefly, feeling how cool and clammy his skin was. She whispered, "You'll go faster without me." Angel
only nodded and ran,
so fast he was only a blur in the darkness, carrying Gunn away
to help.
Cordelia sank back
down to the floor. She'd wept so often since she
first awoke in this
reality, but now, when her grief was greatest, she had no tears. No feeling. Nothing.
Gunn's blood was in
a pool on the floor. Her hands were still stained
red.
"Cordelia?"
She half-turned to see Wesley standing there, out of
breath. "What's
happened?"
"He's
alive." Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "Angel has
him."
Wesley took her arm
and began steering her toward the stairs. "We
must leave, and
quickly," he said. "The Initiative troops will attempt
to reclaim their compound soon."
Of course. This
world she'd made had a future. It had consequences
she'd have to live
with. "All right," she said slowly. And she let Wesley
lead her up and out, into a world of ice.
***
"I wish we'd
figured out the world wasn't ending just a little
sooner," Buffy
said as she tromped out into the snow. The others all followed
her, making the best time they could through the snowdrifts.
"Lemme
guess," Faith said. "You wish we'd figured it out before you
cried and told me I
made you a better person."
"Also before I
hugged Riley," Buffy said. "Way before that."
"You figure the
Powers will give me credit for good intentions?"
Doyle said. He
seemed more relieved than not, Buffy realized; why had she assumed that it was easy for him to give up his life? He
was
braver than she'd
thought. "Then again, you never know with the
Powers. They might
be furious, or this might be what they'd intended all along."
"It
wasn't," Jenny said quietly. She trudged along, far behind the
rest, looking down
at the snowy ground.
"I was kinda
counting on not getting court-martialed," Riley
said. "I'm
gonna need to lay low for a while."
"No prob,"
Buffy said. "We can hide you. Besides, I have a feeling
they're gonna be too
busy trying to figure out which way is up for a while to worry about coming after you."
Lorne looked up at
the sky -- graying with the coming dawn -- and
quirked his mouth.
"Hey, guys, I was just wondering. Does it feel any warmer
out here to you?"
Buffy frowned. She
had been feeling a little overheated in her parka,
but she often did
right after a fight. But now that Lorne mentioned it -- "It is warmer. I mean, not warm -- but it's
warmer."
"Look,"
Doyle said, pointing to a palm tree nearby. Frost and ice
still coated it, but
at the tips of the fronds, water droplets were forming. As Buffy watched, a drop fell into the snow, melting
a tiny patch.
"The ice is melting. I got the idea it wasn't much in the
habit of doing that,
not in these parts."
Jenny finally lifted
her head. "The spell that created the Winter --
it was tied to Adam.
If Angel and Cordelia succeeded in killing him -- "
"The spell
would be broken," Buffy said. She stared at the water now
dripping from the
palm and felt a wide, silly grin spreading across her face. "Does this mean what I think it means?"
"Winter's
over," Jenny said, and even she had to smile.
"Better than
that," Riley said. He stopped in his tracks, staring at
the dissolving snow
beneath the palm. "The spell -- it linked Adam and
the Hellmouth. Permanently, I think. So if Adam's dead -- then --"
Faith's jaw dropped.
"You don't mean -- holy shit, Lee, do NOT get
our hopes up about
this if you're not sure."
"I'm not
sure!" Riley said quickly. "But I think that -- just maybe --
potentially -- the
Hellmouth is closed. Forever. Maybe."
Buffy began to laugh
from sheer joy, and she jumped with all her
strength into the
air, far above the others' heads. It felt like it was just her, soaring in the morning light.
She'd thought it was
the end of the world, when it was just the
beginning.
***
Wesley was relieved
to learn that Charles Gunn was expected to live:
Though he had lost a
great deal of blood, he'd escaped severe injury to any major organs. He was mostly relieved for Cordelia's
sake; she was
pale and shaking, a shadow of the vibrant woman he'd come to know
in so short a time.
Apparently Angel had
stayed long enough to learn about Gunn's condition
and no longer; he was gone before Wesley and Cordelia arrived. To Wesley's surprise, Cordelia agreed to go back to
her
hotel room and get
some rest. This left him on his own -- before two
days ago, not an
unusual circumstance for him. But Wesley felt somewhat lonely as he made his way back through the slushy
streets. Even
the evidence of the thaw and the potential for the Hellmouth's
end didn't quite
cheer him.
This is the reality
I wanted, he reminded himself. Jenny's still alive,
and Adam is dead; the Initiative cannot long survive without him.
So why do I feel so -- hollow?
In the world
Cordelia had known -- the world that was lost forever --
Wesley had been a
man with a mission of his own. And he had to admit, he still wanted to know what that felt like.
Then you'll just
have to make it happen here, he told himself. He
hadn't the slightest
idea how to begin, but even the resolution made him feel a little stronger.
The uplifted feeling
lasted all the way back to Sunnydale High,
through the
corridors and into the library. It dissipated in an instant, as he walked through the door and saw Jenny
Calendar. The memory
of what he'd done during their last moments alone together
flooded through him,
flushing his cheeks.
But the pained,
faraway look in her eyes quickly erased his embarrassment.
Jenny was hurting. Nothing else mattered. "I'm sorry,"
he said quietly.
"No, you're
not," she said, her voice devoid of anger. "This is the
world you
wanted."
Only because you are
in it, he wanted to say. Instead he replied,
"I'm sorry you're in pain. I know how badly you wanted to give Giles another chance at life."
"I know a
thousand kinds of magic," Jenny said. "And not one that
truly reverses
death. So I should have known better than to believe in all this."
"You were right
to believe. It was real. We just -- failed." Wesley
remembered Adam's
body, silhouetted against the unnatural light of Acathla. "Adam understood what was going on far better
than we did. He
died to preserve the last few years of the life he'd had."
They were quiet
together for a while. Wesley finished peeling off his
cold-weather gear,
perhaps, he thought for the last time. No doubt it would
take a few weeks for Sunnydale's climate to return to normal, but
perhaps they'd seen their last snow. He felt his hopes unfurling again, gaining strength despite his exhaustion and Jenny's
melancholy.
"I guess that's
one reason I was willing to die," Jenny finally
said. "I
haven't really had a life worth preserving, since Giles died." She looked over at Wesley, straightening up as
she did
so. "And that's
not because Giles died. That's because of me."
"Jenny -- you
mustn't blame yourself."
"I don't,"
she said. "What happened was horrible. I did my best. But
my best of two years
ago doesn't have to be the best I can do forever."
Wesley wasn't quite
sure what to say. His face must have betrayed his
emotion, because
Jenny frowned at him. "This does NOT mean I'm about to
come move in with you."
"Oh. Heavens.
No." Wesley found himself thinking about the damp towel
he'd left on the
bathroom floor -- so sloppy --
"But, you know,
if a certain person were to ask another person out
for coffee sometime
-- we could see."
Jenny went out the
door without another word. Wesley wasn't sure
whether to feel
shocked, worried or happy. Probably, he thought, a little of all of the above.
***
"Oh,"
Buffy said. "You're home."
Angel was sitting in
the small chair at his desk; he still had on his
leather coat and
looked more like a visitor than someone who lived there. She closed the door carefully behind her, mostly
because it gave
her something to do besides meeting his eyes.
Buffy sat on the
edge of the bed -- gingerly, as though she'd never
slept there before.
She and Angel were both silent for a while. At last, she said, "So, do you feel as weird as I do?"
"At
least," Angel said. She did look at him then, and his faint smile
helped, just a
little.
"Winter's
over," Buffy said. "The Hellmouth might even be closed."
"I'm
glad," Angel said. "I mean it." When she raised an eyebrow, he
added, "I
wanted that other reality, because I wanted the mission I had
there. That doesn't mean that walking away was easy. It was anything but easy. If we made this reality a better place,
then we
must have done the
right thing."
And wasn't there
some truth to that? Buffy realized that, if they
hadn't tried to
shift realities in the first place, they'd never have killed Adam and ended the Winter. She sighed, half-relieved
and half- surprised.
"Things never turn out the way you think, do they?"
"Not in my
experience," Angel said.
"What went
wrong?" Buffy asked.
"Adam wanted
this reality. Even if he wasn't going to be alive to see
it -- he wanted to
exist longer in its past. He wanted his memories, I guess." Maybe it was the mention of memories that made
Angel's face shift
slightly. "I don't think Cordelia's taking it very well."
"Not every day
you blow your own reality and lose your boyfriend all
at once," Buffy
said.
She meant it only as
a jibe; for all the raging jealousy that had
torn at her when
she'd discovered the other reality's Angel was involved with Cordelia, she realized she'd never truly
doubted this Angel's
love. That made it all the more jolting when Angel ducked his
head and said,
"Buffy -- about Cordy -- I mean, Cordelia and me --"
"I don't want
to know," Buffy said quickly. She thought about it for
a moment, then
repeated. "No. I don't want to know. The last day or so has been -- weird. Beyond weird. People do strange stuff
when they think
the world is ending."
Whatever it was
Angel was about to confess, she'd said enough to
silence him. He just
nodded, and they sat without speaking for another few moments.
Buffy saw two paths
in front of them. One led back toward the past.
The other led toward
a future that was more uncertain, and yet warmer than any she'd expected to see. Choosing between them was one
of the hardest
things she'd ever had to do -- yet her path was
clear. "Angel,
I'm sorry if I hurt you yesterday. But what I said -- I
meant it. I have to learn how to live without you. So I guess that means -- " Buffy looked at the ceiling, trying to keep
tears from spilling.
"I think we should split up. I mean, stay split up."
"I think you're
right," Angel said. "I hate it. But I see it too."
Buffy closed her
eyes tightly shut. "That's not what you're supposed
to say, you
know," she said, feebly trying to joke. "You're supposed to
be all upset. Maybe put your fist through the wall. Something like that."
"I'm
sorry," Angel replied. She looked down to see that he was
attempting to smile.
"I don't know my lines."
"I know why I
need out," Buffy said. "I have to make my life work on
my own, or it's
never gonna work with anyone else. Even with you. But why do you need out, Angel? I know I've been harsh with you
sometimes -- I hate
it when I do, you know that, right?"
"I know. I do
know. Buffy, you've been doing your best. It's been
tough. I understand
that. Never think I don't understand." His voice was
kind.
"Then
why?" Buffy hated the break in her voice, but the old,
terrifying weight
was on her again, the same plaintive refrain in her heart: Don't go, don't go, don't leave me. Even now, when she
knew she'd
sent him away, she couldn't stop herself from being frightened
that he was going.
"Do you -- just not want me to love you anymore?"
"No. God,
no." Angel covered his face with his hands for a moment,
then said, "Buffy,
I don't want you to hate me. And if we keep going on like this, you will."
He was right, and
she knew it. Buffy couldn't hold back the tears any
longer; she wiped at
her cheeks as she said, "I know it has to be over. But I'm so glad, Angel -- so glad -- that it happened.
If it
hadn't been for you,
I never would have made it." She'd always known
that. But she hadn't
thought about it in so long.
Angel was crying
too, now, something she'd rarely seen; the sight of
the tears in his
eyes tore at her, made her sob. He said only, "You saved me."
Buffy couldn't stop
crying for a while after that; she didn't think
Angel could either,
although she was weeping too hard to be sure. The world was hazy before her tear-clouded eyes. As soon as she
trusted
herself to speak,
she said, "So now what do we do?"
"I guess -- I
guess I should leave." Angel stood up, as awkward as he
had been the first
few times they'd met. "You can have the apartment, if
you want it."
Buffy started to
protest; she still thought of the apartment as his,
not theirs, and
certainly not hers. Then she tried to think where else she might go, and she couldn't come up with anyplace.
The house on
Revello Drive had been sold years ago. "I don't want to throw you
out on the
street," she said.
"You
won't," Angel said. "I can always find a place. There's this old
mansion on Crawford
Street -- I've looked at it before. It'll do for a while, anyway."
"Then I guess
you'll go to Los Angeles," Buffy said. "With Cordelia."
She said it without
bitterness; to her, it seemed like the logical
next step. Angel
blinked, then shook his head -- in confusion rather than anything else. "I don't know. I can't think about
that yet."
"You need to
get your stuff," Buffy said. She got up from the bed and
smoothed back her
hair. "I'm gonna clear out of here for a few hours. So
-- take your time. Do what you need to do."
"Okay."
They stared at each other for a moment. Strangers once more.
She remembered a
long-ago night at the Bronze, when they'd kissed each other goodbye. Buffy hadn't really known what goodbye
felt like then.
She knew now.
She slid her arms
around him and hugged him tightly. Angel returned
the embrace, burying
his face in her neck. For one instant, she felt her resolve waver -- felt how easy, how familiar, how sweet
it would be
to kiss him, take him back, smooth it all over. She knew she could
do it, even now.
But it wouldn't be
fair to Angel. And it wouldn't be fair to herself.
"Goodbye,"
she said. "Goodbye." And before he could answer her,
before she even had
time to look in his eyes, Buffy darted out the door. She ran down the steps, through the slushy streets, her
tears shielding
her eyes from the brilliant sunlight on the melting snow.
***
Riley woke up
slowly; at first, he was only aware that the sheets he
was sleeping on were
scratchier than usual, which was saying something,
considering that he was used to army-issue. Then he
smelled tobacco --
not so recent -- and sex -- very recent. He grinned and opened his eyes.
Faith wasn't lying
next to him. He could still see the dent in the
pillow where her
head had been.
She's probably
enjoying the sunshine, he told himself. Given the
enthusiasm with
which she made up for lost time in other areas -- he stretched and felt the soreness in his back and thighs -- she
was no doubt
sunbathing nude on the roof of the hotel.
They'd toasted the
survival of their reality, as well as Adam's death,
with a bottle of cheap champagne at noon. Then they'd had sex for
the fourth, fifth and sixth times before Riley had finally fallen asleep. He glanced at the clock; it was still only 6 p.m.
Plenty of time
for more celebrating. He laughed as started looking for his
clothes; between
hiding from the Initiative and staying with Faith, he was pretty sure he didn't need them. But it was fun
letting her take
them off.
Right around the
time he found the first sock, Faith came swinging
through the door.
She grinned at him. "You're not gonna believe what I
just bought," she said, by way of greeting.
Riley smiled.
"Is it flavored?"
"Get a load of
Captain Cornfed. Beneath that vanilla exterior is a
core of pure --
French vanilla," Faith said. "Get a shoe on and get
into the parking
lot. Don't worry. I figure even the Initiative ain't desperate enough to hang out at this dump."
He got dressed
enough to step outside the door, where he saw -- "It's
a motorcycle,"
he said.
"Check it
OUT," Faith said, grinning as she circled it. "I had some
money in a bank
account Giles made me start way back when. Turns out if you don't make a withdrawal for two years, interest can
really
build up. Bought
this baby with a roll of cash so big, you'd've
thought the salesman
was gonna choke when he saw it."
She would have had a
few dollars left over, Riley realized, looking
at her clothes. They
looked like thrift-store stuff -- faded jeans, battered boots, a flannel shirt big enough for someone twice
her
size. But they were
hers now, chosen and paid for, which was surely
the point.
"Looks dangerous," he said. "Like its owner."
"Sweet
talker." Faith said. She gave him a smile that had to be half-
responsible for the
ice that was still melting all around them. "I'm gonna
get on this baby and fly. Just head to the coast and take it from there."
"Are you taking
any passengers on this ride?" Riley said. He'd
assumed the
invitation would be forthcoming; that was the only reason he'd asked. But when her smile fell, he felt the bite of the
cold air once
more. "Oh."
"Lee -- I ain't
been alone for years. Not alone for real. I always
had people watching
me, telling me what to do, where to go. I've been locked up. I don't want to be locked up for a while."
Faith shifted on
her feet. "You run a real sweet jail. But I can't deal with any
keys for a while.
You know?"
Riley thought back
over the past 48 hours and wondered how much of it
was real, and how
much of it was desperation -- the crush of one world about to end, the exhilaration of sudden and temporary
freedom. For
himself, he didn't have to ask. But he had to remind himself that
making love to Faith
didn't mean he knew her. Apparently he hadn't known her at all.
"I'll miss
you," he said.
She shrugged, trying
very hard to look nonchalant as she straddled
the bike. "I
might come back," Faith said. "Sometime. You never know."
"No,"
Riley said. "You never do."
***
End.
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