After Willow's news...
(or, "Angel, S2E22b")
This story takes place immediately after 'the Gift' and the following episode of Angel. The action picks up some hours after Willow brought news of Buffy's death to Angel in LA.
I started this after reading the first installment of Rane's wonderful "Post Finale" and have been too lazy to go back and write my own beginning. Standard disclaimers, etc.
Edited to add: Someone dug this out of the archives and asked where the rest was, so i'm posting some new chapters i've written as well as some re-written parts.
SO FAR: Angel has stormed out, Wesley has walked in on Tara and Willow 'in flagrante' (that's "getting it on" for all you English speakers) and what the heck was he doing in there anyway, Rane?
* * * * *
Part I
Fred followed Cordelia into the hotel kitchen hoping to find something else to eat. Cordy is fetching more ice.
Fred looked around the long tiled room with its rows of appliances, amazed. "This kitchen is bigger'n my whole cave." Her years at UCLA, and in another universe, had done little to dilute her West Texas accent. "Those sandwiches Tara made were great, but I'm still kinda hungry." She pulled open one heavy stainless steel door after another. "I was hopin' ya maybe had the stuff for tacos..."
"Not in that one.” Cordelia jumped to stop her as Fred grabbed the handle of the refrigerator where Angel stored his blood. "None of us actually eat here. Food, I mean." She refilled her ice bag and held it to her forehead. "Angel's the only one who lives here and he's...did he happen to mention his, umm, special diet by any chance?"
"Oh, I know about the beast."
"Yeah, great, the beast. Look, I know we've got some popcorn."
"Ooh, popcorn! I haven't had popcorn since... since before I was..." she sighed. "I like popcorn. I can't remember how it tastes, exactly, but I know I like it."
She followed Cordelia back to the office. "I'm sorry to be a bother; I know y'all are sad about your friend."
"We weren't actually friends. We didn't even like each other most of the time." She tossed a bag of microwave popcorn to Fred and collapsed into her office chair. "Here, help yourself. There's more in the drawer." She closed her eyes and sighed, her face drawn with pain. "But Buffy was...special. Very special. She saved the World. A lot."
Fred squinted at the microwave oven and scratched her head. "Darn. I can remember how to calculate the spin-wave turbulence of superconducting magnetic fields but I look at this box and I just go blank."
"Uh, yeah, whatever." Cordelia rolled her chair over and punched the buttons. "Five years in the dark ages will do that to you."
"So, this Buffy- she was a hero- like Angel?"
"Yeah. Buffy and Angel, now there's a tragic pair."
"They were sweethearts?"
"Like Bogie and Bacall. Or Bonnie and Clyde, what with all the bloodshed." She leaned back and repositioned the ice pack then sat back up. "Or maybe like Romeo and Juliet, seeing how they're such star-crossed lovers. Or maybe he's Hamlet, which would make her..."
"So they had a bad break-up?" Fred interrupted, leaning in close to watch the popcorn pop.
"Not exactly. They slept together...once... which led to the whole world almost getting sucked into hell. That's when she killed him."
"Oh my. But how did- " The microwave dinged. "Eek!" she squealed, jumping back. "Sorry, I'm sorry. That sounded like the- they rang it when, when they..." She looked at Cordelia, eyes wild with fear.
"Hey, it's okay, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just the little bell that tells us our popcorn is ready." Her tone was condescending, like talking to a child.
Fred frowned, annoyed. "I might be a bit squirrelley, but I'm not dumb."
Cordy turned away. "O-kay," she mouthed, rolling her eyes.
Fred breathed deeply of the fragrant steam rising from the bag as a blissful smile lit her face. "Oh, that's so much better than roasted crug grain." She sniffled. "Reminds me of watchin' Star Wars at the picture show." Tears rolled down her face as she began stuffed popcorn in her mouth.
"Yeah, well, I'll just leave you two alone." Great. A nerd and a trekkie, Cordelia thought, collecting her things.
Gunn and Wesley came down the stairs, meeting Cordelia in the lobby. "How's our other guest doing?" Gunn asked, glancing sideways and grinning at Wesley, who was looking very uncomfortable.
"Ms. Damsel in Distress? She's rediscovering the delights of junk food. I think she could use a clue. And a bath." She wrinkled her nose and looked from one man to the other. "What's up with you two? She's not going home with me, if that's what you're thinking. Angel saved her, he can put her up."
"I'm sure that one more guest won't be a problem." Wesley blushed and cleared his throat.
"What's his deal?" she asked Gunn.
"Ol' Wes here just had a eye-opening experience."
"Ahem! Never mind, it's of no importance." He couldn't change the subject fast enough. "So you're heading home?"
"I'm going to get some sleep. I can't look at Willow without crying, and I can't deal with seeing Angel again right now. Pretending I'm okay takes way too much effort. Anyway, something tells me he won't be back for a while."
I don't think he'll be back until he can't find nothing else to kill, Gunn thought. "I think I better hang here until he shows. I ain't seen him look that bad since Darla."
Cordelia looked worried. "Compared to Buffy, Darla was just a cheap one-night stand. Buffy was the love of his eternal life. Even when he was evil he was totally obsessed with her. Think about it: she killed him and sent him to hell for an eternity and when he came back he was still in love with her."
"I'm inclined to agree. If anything, this is worse than the Darla situation. Perhaps I'd best remain here as well."
Cordelia took a few steps toward the door then turned and ran back to Wesley. He could feel her tremble as she hugged him. "Call me if...if anything happens, okay?"
"Of course. And you- I'll be here if you need anything."
She hugged Gunn then ran for the door.
In the office Gunn found Fred sitting cross-legged on the couch, three empty popcorn bags in her lap and her hands and face all greasy. She was sniffling, tears rolling down her cheeks. Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel, he muttered to himself, handing her a bunch of napkins from the cabinet. She looked very young, and very lost.
"I gotta call my Mama and tell her I'm not dead."
"So, what are you going to tell her - about where you been?"
"Hee-hee," she giggled shrilly then clapped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. "Everythin' I say in my head just sounds crazy. I keep thinkin': 'twister, witch, ruby slippers'. Seems to make about as much sense as 'artificially imposed alterations of the dynamic reality sphere'."
Gunn smiled warmly at her. "There's always the old wardrobe in the castle story."
She giggled at this, a little calmer. "Or pills and a rabbit hole. That's kinda what it felt like anyhow." She gave him a wry grin. "Back home, they all pretty much think I'm crazy anyway. When I got accepted to the advanced physics program my Uncle Happy told all his friends I was studyin' to be a gym teacher." Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. "Well, I'll worry about it all tomorrow."
"Look, there's a couple rooms upstairs all set up. Why don't you take the one across the hall from the girls? I'm sure Angel won't mind. Why don't you go on up and get some sleep."
"Thanks, Gunn."
The sight of Tara coming down the stairs in a black kimono caused Wesley to bolt for the office. Fred met her at the landing.
"Hi ya', Tara. How's Willow doing?"
"Sleeping, finally." She yawned behind one long-fingered hand and rubbed her reddened eyes. "I should be, too, but I need to talk to Gunn and Wesley, just for a bit. I understand you came back from that place without much of anything."
"Just the clothes on my back, if you can call 'em that." She plucked at the sack-like tunic she was wearing.
"If there's anything you need, just help yourself to anything you find in our room. But be careful not to wake Willow, okay?"
"Thanks, Tara. Y'all are so nice, I...thanks." She lunged forward and hugged Tara fiercely, then ran up the stairs.
Tara leaned on the polished leather surface of the front desk. "W-wesley? Can we talk? There's something we..."
He turned to her, staring fixedly at a spot in the air above her head. "Tara! My sincerest apologies. I assure you, I didn't mean to see... I mean, I-I didn't see-"
"Wesley, it doesn't matter. I don't care about that."
"Oh. Really? Ah, very well, then. What is it you wish to speak to me about?"
"We didn't come here just to tell you about Buffy. We need to talk about Faith."
"Yes, Faith. I've already been to see her." He sighed, remembering her look of disbelief that quickly turned to rage. Screams and the sound of furniture smashing against the walls followed him as the guards had hustled the visitors out of the room. "She didn't take it well, I'm afraid. At one time she and Buffy were close."
"I hope that wasn't a mistake, telling her." Tara crossed her arms, a worried look on her face. "Giles and Willow came up with a plan. It's complicated, but if it works we can get her out of jail and the police won't be looking for her."
"Really? That is interesting."
"It's important for her to not, like, get herself noticed or to get in any trouble. For the plan to work, I mean. We don't want her attracting any attention before we're ready." She sank onto the couch and pulled her feet up.
Gunn looked skeptical. "Are we talking about the same Faith that near tortured you to death last year? Cause jail sounds to me like the best place for her."
"Gunn, she's a Slayer. The only Slayer, now. She's needed, and I honestly believe she's reformed. The fact that she's in jail demonstrates her sincerity. The truth is, she could walk out at any time and there's little or nothing they could do to stop her."
"Well, she don't sound very low profile to me. I hope you didn't just light her fuse."
"Yes, well, she was rather upset, but I think we can trust her not to do anything too impulsive. Still, I'd better contact her first thing tomorrow. Just in case she decides to do something rash."
"What, like break out of prison?" Gunn peered over Wesley's shoulder into the shadowed end of the lobby.
"That most definitely would not be good."
"What wouldn't be good?"
Wesley gasped at the sound of the familiar voice. "Faith?"
* * *
Part 2
Across town a low scraping noise echoed across the empty concrete canyon of the Los Angeles River, in this season just a muddy trickle. A tall figure cloaked in black staggered from the darkened opening of a drainage tunnel into the moonlight. With a scream of rage Angel hurled a gore-spattered length of pipe out into the darkness. The sound of its distant impact rang hollowly through the night.
Leaning back against the concrete, he stared up at the Moon and tried to think of nothing. Smog tinged the moon a muddy red, like it had on the night he died so long ago. It was the last thing he'd seen as Darla's fangs sank into his throat, it's light tinted the same dim umber by the smoke of Dublin's peat fires.
"You'd think 240 years of existence would leave a man with a better store of memories, but most of what I remember I wish I could forget. Strange how the last few years have brought more good memories than most of the last two centuries."
That train of thought led to more pain than he was able to stand. He needed more action - fast, furious, violent - and he needed it now. Anything to escape thinking of his unbearable loss. He took off at a run, not thinking about where he was going, or why. He'd made quick work of the small, misshapen creatures from Cordy's vision, ignoring what their razor claws and needle-like teeth had done to his undead flesh, then he'd headed for the nest of scaly momeraths in the drainage tunnel. Other than burning them alive, they were supposed to be almost impossible to kill. It turned out that pounding them into paste worked too. Gunn and Wesley would be disappointed that they didn't get to try out their home-brewed fire bombs.
As he ran he let the rage boil up within him, coaxing it, focusing on it. The change came over him in a rush as the demon within manifested itself in fangs and claws, submerging human pain, human thought, human weakness in its mindless hunger and rage. For once he didn't try to rein it in or force it back down. He didn't care if his human half never came back. If he could have ripped his soul out with his own hands, and with it all the pain and horror and guilt and despair, he would have done it in a second.
It was 7 hours until sunrise; then it would all be over. For now he needed to find something to fight, something to kill. Maybe he'd even get lucky and lose.
***
"Hello, Wesley."
Faith's sudden appearance was more than he was prepared to deal with. "How did you...what do you want?" He yelled, voice cracking. "Have you completely lost control of your senses?" He backed up warily against the door and peered over his shoulder out into the darkened gardens. "Did...did you follow me here?"
"Geez, chill, Wes. I didn't bring the cops with me; they think I'm headed for Mexico. And I'm not here to make trouble, if that's what you're thinking." Her sunken, red-rimmed eyes spoke of a terrible emotional ordeal.
Wesley was too rattled to respond and Gunn just raised his eyebrows, so it was left to Tara to welcome the young Slayer.
"Hi, Faith. Why don't you come in and sit down. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Thanks. Hey, don't I know you? You're, ah..." she snapped her fingers, frowning in concentration.
"I'm Tara." She's right on the edge, Tara thought.
"Right, right. Willow's girlfriend. Sorry to just drop in on you, but I...I had to do something. Anything."
"Hi. I'm Gunn. I've heard a lot about you."
She hesitated a moment, looking at the hand he held out, then shook it. "I bet."
She looked around the art deco lobby, avoiding everyone's gaze. "Nice digs."
Wesley drew himself up and announced in his sternest Official Watcher voice: "Faith, we need to talk."
"Look, I'm sorry, but I couldn't just sit there while-"
"Did you once stop to think that you might be-"
Tara interrupted the brewing confrontation: "You know, we all have a lot to talk about and it's getting kinda late," She stepped forward to stand next to Faith. "Why don't we get some rest and talk tomorrow, when Angel and Willow are around, and we can, like, talk. Okay?"
"Oh, shit- Willow!" Faith grabbed Tara's arm. "How is she? Is she okay? And Angel - god, he must have taken this hard."
Wesley's eyebrows rose. There was something very different about her. She actually sounded sincere.
"Willow wasn't hurt. She's upstairs sleeping, finally. We'd been up for days." She led Faith away from the others, toward the shadowed end of the lobby. "And Angel...went out." She shrugged, looking worried.
"Hey, thanks for the save back there. I really didn't feel like getting into it with him right now. I know he hates me, not that I blame him; he must look at me and see pure evil."
"You're not evil."
"What do you know?" She sounded bitter. "I've done things that..."
"I know. I know what you've done." She reached out and lifted Faith's chin to meet her gaze. "But I know you, from when we did that spell? You felt us, when you were in bed with...wh-when you were Buffy."
"Not exactly my proudest moment."
"But I saw the real you. I've also seen real evil, up close- too close," she shuddered at the memory of Glory invading her mind. " I know you're not evil, Faith. I think you're a good person who's done some bad things."
"Thanks," she whispered, tears welling in her dark eyes.
"C'mon upstairs. We need to find you a place to sleep."
"Wait, please. I have to know: how did it happen? Wesley said something about a fight with a god, and then...I guess I kinda lost it."
Tara gave her a quick outline of recent events, about Dawn and the prophecy and the defeat of Glory.
"So, she died fighting this hellgod? I've been having these dreams, bad dreams, the last few weeks. Visions of this tower, and this voice..."
"No, it was after. The Portal had opened, that's what the tower was for, and the only way she could stop it was..." Faith could see it wasn't easy for Tara, but she had to know.
"How? How did it end?"
"Buffy...jumped. Into the Portal."
Faith's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "She killed herself?" She shook her head in denial. "She...she gave her...." she was almost strangling on the words, gasping for breath.
"It was the only way. The prophecy said...it said her gift was death."
"What?" Faith grabbed her arms, shocked. Her face went completely white.
"That was why she had to...She told Dawn it was okay, that she understood, she had to die to close the Portal." Tara looked at the younger woman with concern, worried about how hard she was taking this. She looked completely stunned.
"But the dream..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "The voice, in my dream... A grimace of terrible pain twisted her features and she collapsed onto a couch, sobbing and rocking back and forth. "Oh no, Buffy...oh god, no...NO!" Her voice rose to a hoarse, grief-stricken scream. She buried her face in her hands and cried in despair.
Across the lobby Wesley dashed into the office, panicked. Gunn cocked his head at him, looking puzzled until he saw the rifle, then ran around the counter to wrestle the weapon out of his hands. The two men confronted each other for a moment, Wesley brandishing a heavy tranquilizer dart, then slowly he lowered his arm as he realized Faith wasn't about to go on a rampage. He quietly packed away the weapon as the flush left his face.
Tara sat down and held the dark-haired girl as she sobbed and moaned. She kept muttering something into her hands, but Tara couldn't tell what, she was crying so hard.
"Sh-h, sh-h, it's alright, it was what had to happen." Tara stroked her dark hair as she cried. Finally Faith raised her head and looked up through her tears.
"No, no, it isn't what was supposed to happen."
"You can't blame yourself, Faith, it wasn't your fault."
She looked at Tara out of haunted, red-rimmed eyes. "But it was my fault. The voice told me, it said: 'Death is your gift.' Don't you see? It should have been me. It should have been me..." Sobs again wracked her body as Tara hugged her.
* * * * *
In the office Gunn spoke quietly to Wesley. "I got to tell you, there's a lot about this Slayer business I don't get. Aside from this thing about there supposedly being just one, how can they be on different sides? Plus, from the way she's taking this you'd think Buffy and her was best friends, not enemies."
"Buffy and Faith were rivals but they also shared something unique, something no one else could. A Slayer is intimately connected to powerful spiritual- magical, if you will- forces. It affects everyone around them. It even bends reality in a way."
"Sounds kinda spooky, if you ask me."
"So is Angel, if you think about it. Their powers come from the same source."
"Okay, now I'm worried. You're saying a Slayer is part demon, like a vampire?"
"No, not at all. A vampire drinks blood to maintain its connection to our world, but its power, its evil, if you will, comes from its connection to the demon dimension. The Slayer, though she is of this world, has a similar connection to the nether realms. She acts as a conduit or container for spiritual energy and uses it to do good, hopefully. In fact, in ancient times the Slayer was called the 'Chalice' from the Latin 'Calyx.' It's really quite interesting, you see, due to the-"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture. This energy, it isn't just good or bad then, it's what you choose to do with it?"
"Exactly."
"So a Slayer is strong as a vampire?"
"I don't think there's any way to quantify it. The Slayer's strength isn't purely physical. I believe, ideally, she can call upon whatever energy is needed to prevail. On the other hand, more slayers have died in combat with a single vampire than in any other way. Recall what Willow told us: the last thing Buffy did before her, ah... untimely demise, was take on a supposedly invulnerable, invincible hell god and wale the unholy tar out of her. Some have been more adept in the arcane crafts than in combat and seldom, if ever, fought hand to hand. The point being, no one knows what a slayer is truly capable of."
"And I thought Vampires were complicated." He looked over at Faith's slight form huddled in Tara's arms. "Damn. And what are we supposed to do if she decides to go all Callisto on us again? I don't think that dart gun is going to do the trick."
"Somehow, with Buffy gone, I think that's less likely to happen."
"Now I'm not following you. What's she got to do with it?"
"Their relationship may have been a critical factor in finally pushing Faith over the edge, though I believe she was in crisis before she even met Buffy. She had a rather unfortunate childhood, in fact the first adult Faith may have had a healthy relationship with was her Watcher. When she saw her killed - torn to pieces, actually - she fled her post and ended up in Sunnydale. Besides being traumatized by the event itself, I'm sure she blamed herself for failing to protect her Watcher."
"And Buffy?"
"Buffy is a-... was- a remarkable girl, even for a Slayer. She was courageous, self-sacrificing, modest, a born leader and a loyal friend. Time and again she would risk her life to save another's. She was really quite extraordinary. For Faith to compare herself to Buffy was to set an impossible standard."
" So Buffy's a better role model; that's not exactly motive for throwing in with a demon."
"Well, there were a number of unfortunate incidents and, to top it all off, there was a bit of a romantic rivalry over Angel-"
"Whoa! Jealously rears its big ol' ugly green head. Two young super-chicks and one tall, dark and brooding vampire in the middle? Now you're talking motive. Love and sex and crimes of passion, man. The rest is just sideshow; that's the main event."
"Well, perhaps. It seems a bit of a stretch, though."
"Spoken like a dude who's not up on his Jerry Springer. Or his Dr. Freud. Slay-gal wakes up from a coma after nearly gettin' herself killed and instead of grabbing her second chance and making herself scarce, what's she do? She goes after Buffy, then the boyfriend, then comes after her ex. Follow the hormone-trail, man."
"Ah, I think I see your point."
"Yeah, and dig chapter two: She gets the news Buffy's gone and less than 12 hours later she busts out of prison and shows up looking for Angel. I wonder what his reaction is gonna be."
"Let's just hope we don't have need of a vampire slayer when Angel returns. Right now I don't think she could slay a cartoon coyote.
***
Tara was thankful for the handful of tissues she'd stuffed in her pocket, now littering the couch and the floor nearby. She knew that Faith had a lot more to cry about than Buffy's death, and a lot of it was coming out now. Some of her tears were for Buffy but some were for herself, as well.
As she and Willow had explored their magical abilities, senses she had barely been aware of began blossoming. Her empathic sense, especially, had expanded to the point where she only had to look at someone to tell what they were feeling.
"Faith, you've got to listen to me. You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done." She told her again about Dawn, and the Key, and the Blood and why it had to be Buffy. She didn't expect her explanation to make a difference, just that the words would give Faith something to focus on.
Tara opened her mind and reached out, trying to understand what the troubled young woman was feeling. She's so full of pain and loneliness. But I need to know if we can trust her, if Willow will be safe.
Tara tentatively reached a bit deeper, then recoiled from what was just below the surface. There was so much anger there, so tightly controlled. She reached out again, hesitantly. Do I have the right? Am I interfering in something that's not my business? It feels more like giving water to someone dying of thirst. She touched Faith's mind, gently, and sharing her perception of the fear Faith wrapped herself around like an ancient wound, showed her how to let go, how to forgive herself, how to forget.
With a gasp, then a deep sigh Faith let go of some of the hurt and sorrow that had burdened her heart for so long. She shed a few more tears, though this time more out of relief than pain. It was Tara's kindness as much as anything that eased her. She hadn't felt so close to anyone, so cared for, as long as she could remember.
She rested a while in her arms, then sat up and looked at Tara, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "What did you...? I don't know how you did that, but thanks."
She smiled and, leaning forward, kissed Tara on the lips.
Too surprised to respond, and not wanting to offend, Tara just managed to restrain herself from pushing her away. Slightly embarrassed and struggling for something to say, it took her a moment to notice that someone had come down the stairs and was standing nearby.
"Tara?"
"Willow! What are you doing out of bed?"
***
Part 3
"Willow! What are you doing out of bed?" The words tumbled out as Tara felt her face grow hot.
"Oh god, no." Faith moaned, shrinking into the corner of the couch.
Tara felt terrible about doing anything to upset Willow. "Sweetie, we were just, you know...talking."
Willow didn't respond, just slowly raised her arms, drawing in energy as if for a major spell. Power began to roll off her in waves, causing the air around her to shimmer. Willow moved stiffly, strangely, so that Tara wasn't even sure she was awake. She tried to move but the forces Willow called kept her pinned to the couch. She couldn't even raise her voice above a whisper.
Willow's eyes were glazed obsidian and an otherworldly wind fluttered the hem of her nightgown, lifted wisps of red hair. She raised her right arm, a glowing spot of energy pulsing in her palm.
"I conjure thee, by Barrabas, by Satanas, by the Saracen Queen..."
In her raised hand a crackling, deep red ball of energy throbbed and grew, shot through with twisting, branching fractures like black lightning.
Tara gasped in alarm. She knew what that was, and what would happen if the spell was completed. She quickly muttered a spell of her own:
"By force of heart, my will decree,
As Diana's arrow, set me free.
She launched herself off the couch, shouting, "Willow, NO," and clasped her hand over the glowing ball of hellfire. It detonated with a sound like a thunderclap as the spell collapsed, knocking both witches to the floor, unconscious.
The smell of brimstone hung in the air along with eerie wisps of smoke that twisted and twined strangely as they slowly dissipated.
* * * * * * *
Billy Tobin, ex-marine, part-time thief, full-time junky, looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, then resumed digging at the top of the scarred picnic table with his ka-bar. It was only his partner, Griff, clumsily forcing his way through the overgrown shrubs and bushes. This time of night, the good citizens of LA avoided places like this.
Up close Billy didn't look too good. His face was pale and covered with a sheen of sweat, his bloodshot eyes were yellow. He had a feral look about him, a look both hungry and cold-hearted.
Being dopesick wasn't what was killing him, it just felt like it at the moment. According to the VA doctors he should have been dead years ago. What the fuck did they know, anyway? The drugs that gave him his only reason to live were the only thing keeping him alive, or so he figured.
"You get it?" he growled, peering through the bushes at the street, watching out for rollers.
"'Course I got it. Any of that '40 left?" Griff was puffing like he'd just run a marathon.
Billy passed him the bottle of Old E then retrieved a crumpled paper bag he'd stashed in a nearby trash can. With exaggerated care he pulled out a bent spoon and a well-used disposable syringe while Griff dug his own works out of his dirty sock.
Griff took a long pull on the bottle then shook a small square of foil out of his pack of Marlboros. "It wouldn't of took so long if you'd let me do some of that coke first."
"It wouldn't of took you so long if you weren't such a fat fucking pig." He carefully pried open the tiny foil package to peer inside then, snatching up the heavy knife, lunged at Griff, holding it an inch from his partner's left eye. "What's this shit?"
Griff didn't move a muscle. "I-I-It's good shit, Billy, swear to God. It's the China White, man. They was out of the tar."
"It better be, you plan to keep on breathing."
He dumped the tiny pile of white powder into the spoon, added some water and heated it with a wooden match until it bubbled at the edges. He sniffed deeply of the sweetish mediciney smell and groaned with satisfaction. "Oh yeah. That's the stuff."
Fishing a small paper bindle out of the bag, he added a glittering pile of coke to the mixture. With practiced efficiency he pulled a small bundle of fibers from a cigarette filter with his yellowed teeth, rolled it into a ball with nicotine-stained fingers and dropped the makeshift filter into the spoon. He pressed the bent needle into it, drew the pungent, colorless liquid into the syringe, then squirted a portion of it back into the spoon.
Pouncing on it like a starving dog, Griff filled his outfit and licked the spoon. "Speedball," he whispered reverently, feeling his tongue go numb.
Without another word, each began the private ritual of searching for a functional vein.
Cindy and Jeff Andrews wove their way down the sidewalk, laughing and talking as they crossed the street to their Lexus. At sunset this neighborhood had looked merely seedy; now it looked dangerous. But the happy couple were far to high worry about it. They'd been celebrating their first anniversary at the Mile High Club with blues, ribs, shots of JW and Cindy's first taste of ecstasy. They were feeling too good to worry about anything.
Jeff squeezed the remote on his key ring and the car chirped in response. "Come here, baby. Give yo' daddy some sugar." He pressed his wife up against the cool glass and metal surface for a kiss. He mistook the look of alarm that flashed in her eyes for something completely different.
Billy was as high as he'd ever been in his life. The heroin they'd done an hour ago had been so pure he knew it would have done for him if it hadn't been for the coke. He felt elated, invincible, and filled with a ruthless ambition. He'd noticed the Lexus parked nearby, alone on the street, and he wanted it. He'd decided to stake it out, hiding in the bushes nearby. You never know when you might just get lucky. When he saw the well-dressed young couple weaving down the sidewalk toward their car he'd muttered one word under his breath: "Score."
The jack handle Billy swung hit the side of Jeff's head hard enough to lay his scalp open. Cindy let out a long piercing scream as her husband crumpled to the pavement before Billy clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her toward the bushes. "You can do your screaming later, bitch. First, you and me are gonna have some fun."
He yelled at Griff, who stood staring, slack-jawed. "You wanna quit gawpin' and lend a hand here? Get him into the bushes, and don't forget the keys."
A minute later Griff ran over to where his partner had Cindy pinned on the ground as he rifled through her purse. "How's the dude?" Billy asked. Not that he cared, but a body tends to really bring down the heat.
He's still breathing. Check it out, man: dude was holding!" He dropped a wallet, a cell phone, and a small plastic baggie on the picnic table. Inside were 6 fat white tablets.
"Damn, if this just ain't my lucky day." He popped 4 of the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the last of the beer, then leaned to pat the terrified woman on the cheek. "You and me babe, we're gonna get along real good."
***
Angel moved across the rooftops, heading south, letting instinct and the sounds and smells of the night draw him on. The sound of a woman's scream grabbed his attention, drew him toward the park ahead. He flew from the roof of a three-story building to a window ledge, then a light pole, and across the broad avenue in a series of inhumanly fast fluid leaps. His nostrils flared at the smell of blood, human blood, and beneath it, fear. His desire for blood, for the kill, flared to an overwhelming craving.
In seconds he was across the park, watching a human drama unfold from the shadows. One man held a slender, brown-skinned woman from behind. She fought fiercely, kicking and twisting as a shorter man struggled to pull down her tight fitting jeans. Angel could tell by their exaggerated, clumsy movements that the men were drunk. On the ground nearby another man lay bleeding. His blood soaked the dirt beneath his face.
An inner voice told him he was supposed to care, but he forced the feeling down, refusing to think about it. Thinking meant remembering and memory led to the abyss. The smell of fresh blood make it easy to forget he was anything but a vampire, one with nothing left to lose.
***
Cindy got a foot against Griff's stomach and shoved, sending Billy tumbling back against the edge of the picnic table. With a bellow of pain he grabbed her by the hair and pressed his knife against her cheek, drawing blood. "Alright, bitch. That does it. You're going to think of me every time you look at a mirror for the rest of..."
It suddenly dawned on Billy that Griff had just vanished. He peered into the darkness. "Griff? Yo, GRIFF! Where the hell are you?"
He broke off as the missing man stumbled out of the shadows, his face white as a sheet. Even his lips were an unnatural shade of gray. A large bite mark was visible on the side of his neck and his eyes were glazed. "Billy?" he whispered, "I'm cold, Billy."
Angel appeared behind Griff and gave him a little shove. He shambled forward a couple steps, sank to his knees, then collapsed onto his face.
Angel smacked his lips. "Mmm, tangy. What have you boys been drinking?"
Billy shoved the woman aside and charged, slashing wildly with the knife. It cost him a broken wrist and the ka-bar. Angel casually admired the heavy knife with its black, powder-coated blade. "Tell you what, Billy . You make it to the sidewalk outside the park and I'll let you continue to pursue your miserable existence, okay?" He faded into the shadows.
Billy didn't hesitate. He snagged the Lexus keys off the table and ran for the car. Angel materialized out of the dark right in front of him. "I didn't say I was going to make it easy." He slashed him across ribs then disappeared again. It finally began to dawn on Billy that he might not get out of there alive.
Angel let him make it to the other side of the park and out into the road before he leapt on him from the bushes, knocking him to the ground..
"B-but you said, the sidewalk..."
"Heh, heh. Now Billy, when in your entire life have you ever played fair?" Picking him up bodily he threw him over the bushes then propped him up against a tree.
He sank his fangs into Billy's neck and drank deeply, stopping when he felt him start to fade. His eyes glittered and a maniacal grin curled his lips. He lifted one limp arm and nailed Billy's hand to the tree with the knife, then began to pace rapidly back and forth.
"Whoo-ee! That is some nasty shit you got in your veins, pal. You know, I've been thinking: maybe I should have just tied you to a tree back there and given that girl the knife. That could have been fun. Or I could just leave you for the police." He looked at Billy straight-faced for a minute then giggled shrilly. "Just kidding. Alright, here's what we'll do. There's the sidewalk right there. All you gotta do is drag your bones a few more steps and you're home free, Okay? Ready, set, go."
He looked at Billy just hanging there, eyes rolled up in his head. "Billy me boy, something tells me you're just not in the game. How about a little pick-me-up?"
Angelus nicked his wrist with the knife and let the trickle of blood drip between Billy's parted lips.
"This'll get you in the game good and proper, boyo, then in a bit you and me are going to go pay a visit to some friends of mine."
* * * * *
Part 4
"Willow! What are you doing out of bed?" The words tumbled out as Tara felt her face grow hot.
"Oh god, no." Faith moaned, shrinking into the corner of the couch.
Tara felt terrible about doing anything to upset Willow. "Sweetie, we were just, you know...talking."
Willow didn't respond, just slowly raised her arms, drawing in energy for a powerful spell. Power began to roll off her in waves, causing the air around her to shimmer. She moved stiffly, strangely, as if she were a puppet controlled by invisible strings. Tara tried to move but the magickal forces swirling around them held her pinned to the couch. She couldn't even raise her voice above a whisper.
Willow's eyes were glazed obsidian and an otherworldly wind whipped the hem of her nightgown around her legs, lifted wisps of red hair. She raised her right hand, a glowing spot of energy pulsing in her palm.
"I conjure thee, by Barrabas, by Satanas, by the Saracen Queen..."
The crackling ball of energy throbbed and grew, an fiery red orb shot through with twisting, branching fractures like black lightning.
Tara gasped in alarm. She knew what that was, and what could happen if the spell was completed. She closed her eyes and quickly whispered a desperate spell of her own:
"By force of heart, my will decree,
As Diana's arrow, set me free."
She launched herself off the couch, shouting, "Willow, NO!" and clapped her hand over the growing ball in her lover's palm.
It detonated with a sound like a thunderclap as the spell collapsed, knocking both witches to the floor, unconscious.
The smell of brimstone hung in the air, along with eerie wisps of smoke that twisted and twined strangely as they slowly dissipated.
* * * *
Willow and Tara lay crumpled on the floor. Faith put her hands to her mouth and just stared, horrified. 'This is all my fault,' she told herself. 'I don't deserve to live; everywhere I go people get hurt.'
Gunn switched on the big overhead chandelier, flooding the darkened end of the lobby with light. He ran over to check on Tara, lying on the floor behind Willow. Willow coughed and raised her head groggily.
"What- what happened?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, not exactly happy to see Faith. "What are you doing here?" She looked around at the lobby. "What am I doing here?"
Faith stared bleakly past Willow. "Is she dead? It's all my fault." She hung her head, tears rolling down. "Oh God. I'm so sorry. I didn't come here to hurt anybody."
"What are you talking about?" Gunn held a finger to the side of Tara's throat. "She ain't dead, just knocked out. Fainted or something."
"What? Tara-" Willow looked around, panicked, found Gunn holding Tara. She gasped and grabbed for her, tugging her limp body into her lap. "Tara, are you alright? Talk to me, baby, please talk to me."
"Oh thank god are you sure?" Faith knelt next to Willow and reached for Tara's hand.
Willow shot her a warning look then cupped her girlfriend's face in her hands. "Tara. Tara, baby, wake up." She shook her gently, bent close to listen to her breathing, heard her make a sound. "Help me get her on the couch."
Gunn bent to lift Tara, but Faith beat him to it, lifting her effortlessly and setting her gently on the couch. She glanced at Willow, then backed away from her angry glare.
Tara gasped, then gasped again. Willow grabbed her shoulders. "Help! She's having some kind of attack!" she cried.
Tara gasped a third time then sneezed explosively. "O-oh," she moaned, wincing and holding her head. "My head hurts." She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?" An acrid, sulphurous odor like overheated metal and burnt gunpowder still hung in the air.
Willow pulled a handful of tissues from the pocket of her robe. "Baby, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so, just...dizzy."
"Somebody get her a glass of water, please?" She looked at Gun and Wesley, but Faith jumped up and ran to the kitchen.
Willow looked after her, frowning. The total change of attitude from the Faith she knew was jarring. She had promised Giles she'd give Faith a chance, but she was reluctant to trust her. Just to be on the safe side she'd memorized a few spells that should be more than adequate to deal with the supposedly reformed rogue Slayer. No matter how badly they needed her help Willow wasn't going to forget how Faith had treated her friends. She wasn't about to let anything like that happen again. 'I'll open up the earth to swallow that bitch whole before I'll let her hurt Tara.'
Willow sat down on the couch with Tara's head on her lap. "You sure you're okay, baby?"
Tara raised her right hand and twisted it back and forth. "My arm feels kind of tingly. But yeah, just a little spacey."
Willow looked up at Wesley. "Would someone please tell me what's Faith doing here? And while you're at it, how'd I get down here? Downstairs here, I mean, not 'down here' as in 'down here in LA' down here. I went to bed and the next thing I know I'm standing down here feeling all hot and tingly and, uh- you know, with the magicks and the- the, uh- you know." She looked down at Tara, blushing furiously. "You know?"
Tara grinned and reached up to brush Willow's cheek with the back of her fingers. "I know."
"Faith just showed up on her own a little while ago. Apparently she broke out of jail." Wesley didn't sound to happy about it. "She does seem...sincere in her contrition, though she's as impulsive as ever."
Faith returned with water and a damp towel which she folded carefully and moved to place on Tara's forehead. She caught herself and handed the towel to Willow.
"So is somebody going to tell me what just happened?" Willow placed the cool cloth on Tara's forehead.
"You don't remember?" Gunn asked.
"All I remember is going to sleep upstairs and waking up here on the floor. I don't know what happened to me, or to Tara, either, except that it involved some powerful magicks."
In a small voice Faith said, "We were sitting on the couch. Me and Tara. Just talking. It helped. I mean, she was really nice to me..." She looked down at her lap where she was twisting her hands together, worried and uncomfortable.
"She was nice to you and what? You decided to knock her out?"
"No! God no, Willow, I was grateful so I kind of... I kissed her."
"Kissed her? You kissed Tara?" Incredulous, she looked down, but Tara had pulled the towel down over her eyes.
"I didn't mean anything, I swear. I mean, she's cute, but I wasn't coming on to her or anything. She just- she was so sweet and it made me think of- of someone, and I just got carried away."
"Tara?" Willow looked at her for a response but she had pulled the towel completely over her face, embarrassed. "Tara talk to me." Her only response was an exaggerated fake snore.
"Tara-" more insistent, this time. Tara's belly bounced up and down with silent giggles and she pretend-snored again.
"Tara please-" Trying not to laugh, she lifted the towel but Tara grabbed the other end, starting a mini tug-of-war, giggling out loud. Willow lost it and started laughing, too.
In a minute both girls were hugging and giggling as Wesley and Gunn looked on, baffled. Faith stood at the end of the couch, looking mortified, but relieved.
"Sorry, sorry." Willow smiled ruefully at the two men. "The magicks- they leave you feeling kind of giddy. It's a little hard to focus."
Finally Tara picked up the story: "It was strange, you looked like you were sleepwalking. You said my name, but not like you knew where we were or anything. Then you looked at Faith and started the incantation. At first I didn't know what it was."
Tara described the ball of energy, and how she'd stopped the spell before it was complete.
"It sounded like some kind of fireworks, like a magick cherry-bomb," Gunn suggested.
"That was no harmless firecracker, I'm afraid." Wesley leaned forward, his voice low. "What you summoned, Willow, was nothing less than Hellfire, if I'm not mistaken."
"Hellfire? But- I don't even know how. I mean, yeah, okay, I read the incantation, which witch wouldn't? But I don't have that kind of power. And I would never use it on a person." She cast a dark glance at Faith. "No matter who."
"I keep telling you, honey, you have more power than you think. The spell was almost complete when I broke it."
Willow was shaken by the idea that she could cast such a destructive spell without even knowing she was doing it. "But why? I don't understand. How could I cast such a
dangerous spell, and in my sleep? It doesn't make sense. I mean, I'm not really a Hellfire kind of girl, you know? I'm more the cozy fireplace-fire type or a friendly little campfire-fire type, with marshmallows and scary stories but not too scary cause they give me bad dreams but even in a really bad dream I've never dreamed about doing anything like..."
"Shh, darling, it's okay." Tara placed her finger over Willow's lips to stop her babbling. "It didn't hurt anyone."
"But I could have- I could have hurt you," Willow cried, throwing her arms around Tara and sobbing against her breast.
She put her arm around Willow's shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. "I won't let anything happen, to either of us. We'll be okay if we stay close and watch out for each other. Maybe you just need to get some sleep."
Wesley nodded. Obviously this was unintentional on Willow's part. We're lucky Tara was here. Hellfire doesn't just burn its victims- they invariably go berserk, turning into lethal human torches running madly about igniting everything- and everyone- they touch, who in turn ignite everything they touch. Entire cities have been reduced to charred ruins in a matter of hours." Looking up, he realized that everyone in the room was staring at him in horrified amazement.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and, looking a bit smug, went into lecture mode. "Surely you're all familiar with the burning of Nero's Rome in 64 C. E., or the Great Chicago Fire in 1871, or the San Francisco Fire in ought-six? These are but a few of the accounts of the 'flamma elementum'. Hume's Paranormal Encyclopaedia goes into great detail about-"
"But Wes," Gunn broke in, "I thought it was an earthquake that destroyed San Francisco."
"Ah, yes, well, as those of us who've dwelt for any length of time in Sunnydale can attest, earthquakes are often associated with paranormal occurrences and the release of the most dangerous of demonic forces."
Gunn frowned skeptically. "You sure that ain't just coincidence? I mean, earthquakes cause fires, and they're pretty common around here."
"When you've studied these matters as long as I have, you come to realize there's no such thing as... ha-ha," he chuckled nervously as a large truck rumbled by outside, "...as coincidence in these matters."
Then it came again, a deep vibration pitched so low they sensed it more in their bellies than their ears. It was no truck. They gaped at each other in wide-eyed alarm as the marble flooring beneath their feet begin to tremble like Jell-O. The low rumbling quickly grew to a bone-shaking roar.
"Earthquake!" screamed Tara, wrapping her arms protectively around Willow. She didn't react, but just sat there, expressionless. No one noticed that the red-haired witch's eyes had again gone jet black, or that her lips were moving silently.
Faith headed for the doors then stopped, realizing that the others were unable to follow. She crouched like a surfer on the curl of a wave, shifting her weight as the floor shuddered beneath her. Gunn and Wesley tumbled to the floor as dust and bits of plaster begin to rain down. Willow and Tara were tossed off the couch and onto the floor in a heap, holding on to each other for dear life.
Glittering glass prisms and beads began to fall from the chandelier high overhead like deadly crystal raindrops, exploding into razor-sharp shards as they hit the floor. Faith glanced up to see the big fixture swinging wildly, one side of the mounting rosette already broken loose. There was no time to get everyone clear. Vaulting over them she grabbed the couch and hoisted in onto her back, holding it like a shield above the four prone bodies as bits of glass and chunks of plaster rained down.
After another handful of interminable seconds the shaking began to subside. The creaking, rumbling and groaning finally quieted and Wesley slowly raised his head, coughing and shaking plaster dust out of his hair. "Well, as I was saying, there's simply no such thing as a-" with a deafening crash, the chandelier slammed down onto the couch, driving Faith to her knees as glass exploded in every direction, "-coincidence," he whispered, collapsing in a dead faint.
Part 5
Angelus found the keys right where Billy had dropped them. The crime scene was deserted except for a couple cops in a patrol car parked behind the Lexus, waiting for a tow truck and the coroner. He slid Billy's corpse off his shoulder and dropped him on the picnic table. "Now don't you be going anywhere, Billy-me-boy. I'm feeling a bit peckish."
He appeared silently at the side of the police car and leaned in the window. "Hey, how ya doin'?"
The startled cop gasped, dropping a ketchup-laden french-fry on his blue serge shirt. "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm lookin' for a bite to eat."
"Dunkin Donuts two blocks down. Now move along."
"Actually, I'm in the mood for takeout." The cop looked at him strangely.
"Sorry, lame joke, couldn't resist." Without warning he dragged the cop halfway out the car window and tore into his throat with his fangs. His partner tried desperately to pull him back in, bellowing with outrage as they played tug-of-war with his partner's corpse. When Angelus disappeared into the bushes he scrambled out of the car to follow. He actually managed to get one round off before his neck was snapped, though he missed his target. The stray bullet took off the top of Billy's right ear and lodged in his brain. Needless to say, being even deader than the vampire who'd killed him, he didn't feel a thing.
"I got plans for you, Billyboy, but hauling you around like a sack of spuds ain't part of it.” Angelus said, dumping Billy's battered body into the trunk of the Lexus. “Now that I'm feeling like my old self again, I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine."
* * * *
The shaking had stopped and Faith heaved the couch to the side. The metal frame of the chandelier landed with a crash and rolled noisily across the floor. "Is everyone alright?"
Gunn, coughing and wearing the same gray coating of plaster dust as everyone else, waved a hand and slowly stood. It was difficult to breath through the clouds of dust.
“Damn, girl!” He raised his eyebrows at the young Slayer, impressed, then tugged on Wesley's arm to help him up. He remained curled in a ball on the floor, his hands clutched over his head.
Tara raised herself on one arm and whispered hoarsely:
"Tropo, Strato, Aero, Exo,
Elements are brought to bear.
Earth and Fire, spread upon the Waters,
Let the air be cleansed."
With a sweep of her arm a cool breeze swept through the room, precipitating the dust and immediately clearing the air. Willow moaned weakly and tried to rise, then collapsed on her side. Tara pulled her onto her lap and wiped the dust from her face. "Honey, are you okay?"
Gunn looked at Tara. "How'd you do that?" but she was too concerned with Willow to answer. He turned his attention back to Wesley. "Yo, Wes, it's over. You can come out now."
"She seems to be getting weaker." Tara looked up at the others, worried. "She must have been trying to do some kind of protection spell. We have to do something." Her tone was desperate, but no one knew what to do.
Wesley finally raised his head and looked around. Everyone but Faith seemed shaken by their near brush with death. The lights in the office were still on and everything seemed quiet. He let Gunn help him to his feet then lunged forward to wrap Faith in a smothering hug. “We owe you our lives,” he bleated, his voice breaking with emotion.
She held her arms out, clearly uncomfortable but resisting the impulse to shove him away, them squirmed out of the embrace. “Uh, yeah, whatever.” She shuddered at a sudden memory of her former Watcher screaming as she'd sliced into his shoulder with a shard of glass. She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory.
Wesley looked nervously at the ceiling. "If everyone is intact, perhaps we should move outside until we're sure the building is safe. There may be aftershocks."
Willow swayed on her feet and clutched at Tara. "Sweetie, can you walk?"
Faith held her hands out, and with a nod from Tara she scooped the unsteady girl up in her arms and strode out into the garden. She avoided looking down, afraid of what she might see in Willow’s eyes.
Outside in the garden they sank wearily onto stone benches, feeling stunned. Faith gently laid Willow down with her head on Tara's lap, then took off her coat and spread it over her. Underneath she wore a faded blue denim prison shirt with a number stenciled above the left pocket. Tara took hold of the young slayer’s arm. “Um, Faith? What you did in there? That was really...brave.”
Faith met her eyes for a moment, then, embarrassed by the sincerity she saw there, shrugged and turned away. “Hey, no sweat. It’s my job.”
Wesley sank down onto a bench opposite the girls, still shaking in reaction to his first major earthquake.
Gunn smacked a fist into his palm. Wesley whooped and jumped to his feet, then sank back down onto the bench sheepishly. "Oh, sorry Wes, but I almost forgot about Fred. Why don't y'all just chill here and I'll go check on her."
"I'll come with," Faith volunteered.
"Wait!" Everyone turned to her as Tara spoke up. "Listen." They all looked at her expectantly but she just sat there with her head cocked to the side.
Gunn snapped his fingers. "Damn, you're right."
"What?" Wesley glanced around warily, anticipating the next disaster.
Gunn nodded at the quiet West Hollywood street. "You grow up in LA you kinda get used to it, the earthquake thing. There should be, like, car alarms, sirens." The neighborhood was completely still. "It’s too quiet.”
"You're saying this wasn't a natural occurrence."
"Not even a little bit."
Faith turned and headed for the doors, Gunn following her inside. "We need to find out what's going on here."
She paused at the top of the stairs to look down into the darkened lobby. "This place looks like some kind of old movie set. Sort of creeps me out."
"You should have seen it before we got rid of the Thesulac Demon. Nasty bugger, all bad vibes and tentacles." He shuddered. "I'll look in on Fred while you take a look around, check for damage, or..."
"Yeah, I know. Creature features."
All the damage seemed to be confined to the center of the room where the chandelier and parts of the plaster ceiling had come down right on top of them. The rest of the room was almost completely undamaged. Two more identical ceiling fixtures at the far ends of the lobby hung undisturbed. As she looked around the mezzanine she saw that, aside from the layer of plaster dust, there was almost no sign of what had felt like a 6.0 earthquake downstairs. ‘Either this place is built like a brick shithouse or we’ve got some deeply weird weirdness going down here. This is way beyond coincidence, like all those so-called “accidents” that kept happening the last few months in jail.’
Being in prison sucked. It was boring, demeaning and brutal but in a strange way it made things easier. The senseless sameness of everything, they unvarying routine, removed the distraction of living in the world and let her focus on herself. Of course, being virtually invulnerable helped. It didn't take long for word to get around that messing with her could be very bad for your health.
She began studying the books Angel brought her. That had been hard, too, stopping every other sentence to refer to a dictionary. But she'd kept at it, even getting some unexpected help from a sweet old ex-minister whose Doctorate of Divinity degree hadn't stopped her from poisoning two husbands.
Besides the reading, she'd spent a lot of time thinking about the lessons her Watcher, Sister Theresa, had tried so hard to teach her. Lessons about the hidden talents that were as much a part of a slayer's legacy as superhuman strength and speed. She'd been a lousy student, though, too impatient to wrestle with the impenetrable jargon and flowery language of the compendiums and histories in her Watcher's library. She liked the fighting part, though; her Watcher had some pretty cool moves for a nun.
After her workouts she'd buy Faith dinner and talk nonstop while she ate. Some of it had sunk in, but what was the point? Why learn all that stuff if the Watcher already knew it? She'd never imagined being without her. Without her Watcher what was she? Just a kid, a messed up kid with no idea of what to do or how to go on. Alone.
‘Why, Terry? Why didn't you stop me? We never should of gone in there. I was so stupid, rushing in like that, thinking I could take him. Then watching while he- seeing what happened... Damn! Damn damn damn damn damn!’ She gripped the balcony railing so hard the polished oak began to creak and splinter. Her breathing became ragged and shallow as the memories rose up out of the darkness. ‘And then that fucking bastard Kakistos, dogging my ass for weeks, chasing me all over the country, running, hiding, no food, no sleep, fighting for my life. How many times did I wake up sweating over some sound in the dark, afraid that he'd found me? Afraid, and hoping that it was over.’
She paced rapidly back and forth in the hallway, now fully in the grip of those terrible, painful events. No matter how she tried to suppress the memory, she couldn't stop from seeing it in her dreams, night after night. Seeing the woman she loved horribly murdered by a monster she couldn't fight. By the time she got to Sunnyvale, she had completely shut down, emotionally. Nothing got in, nothing got out. If she'd learned one thing from Theresa it was that caring got you hurt. Like losing someone you love; it leaves you with a pain that never goes away. You just have to live with it. Or not. Losing everyone you ever loved, everything i ever cared about... once, okay, i can deal. I'm still standing. But twice? You make a hole that big in someone, you take that much away, there's just nothing left.'
That left a girl with two options: death or distraction. And there was no better drug to numb the pain than full-tilt violence and mayhem. She learned to take real pleasure in dancing on the edge of the precipice, flirting with death. On some level she knew her life had become a kamikaze mission, and she didn’t cared. Death could be a powerful ally, if you didn’t care about dying. Even the undead feared death. But she didn’t. Not any more...not since that night.
It was still impossible to think about what happened to Theresa. She'd never been able to talk to anyone about it. Except Buffy.