Author: Dralf
Summary: When she’s too late to stop the Harvest,
she loses everything but an oath of vengeance and a man.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is an AU on what could’ve happened if
Joyce had kept Buffy from leaving the house when she did on the Harvest. It’s
not a pretty world.
The fragment Angel reads is from Sonnet XXV from
“Sonnets from the Portuguese” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
**
The
club stinks of blood and death. Bodies, mostly teenagers, lay scattered across
the floor, the fleshy wrappings of finished meals. They’re pale; necks crusted
with blood and faces contorted with fear.
She
knows she’s failed, that she’s too late, but she lingers in this temple of
death. Despite the grotesqueness of the scene and the feeling that she could
vomit up everything she’s eaten (shouldn’t
she? Isn’t that what normal girls do?), she can’t leave.
Instead
she trails farther into the club, scanning the bodies for familiar faces. She
hopes they had the sense not to enter without her.
†
She
finds Cordelia first. Pity stirs within her. No one deserves a death like this.
Even Cordelia.
Then
she sees her Watcher.
Giles.
She
kneels by his side and another man’s face flashes through her mind. Why? Why do
her Watchers always die? Is it because of her?
She
turns her head away and spots red hair.
No!
Trembling,
she approaches the body.
Willow.
And Xander next to her.
There’s
a cross lying next to his fingers. It failed to protect him. Just like she did.
Tears rise in her eyes.
If
she hadn’t been late, they’d still be breathing.
†
A
throaty, deep voice interrupts her. “Look who’s late to the party.”
Her
body stiffens and she reaches for her stake. But again she’s too slow and the
vampire is on her. It’s the one from the graveyard, Luke or whatever.
She’s
pinned to the ground with no leverage to knock him off. His mouth lowers and
she wonders what it’ll feel like to die.
Maybe
this is karma: she was late and now she’ll die like the innocents around her.
She doesn’t want to follow them to whatever afterlife beckons, if one exists at
all.
She
wants to live.
†
A
low growl breaks the silence and suddenly the weight’s gone and dust is
showering down on her. Someone’s helping her up. She recognizes him: the
handsome man with the annoying cryptic warnings.
Angel.
She
wants to say thank you, but instead says, “I thought you were afraid of them.”
He
looks at her with an intensity that startles her, that makes her look away. “I
had to help you.” He says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, but it
dredges up so many questions.
She
opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Not here.”
†
As
he leads her to the door, she halts in the middle of the massacre. He looks
back at her and she answers before he asks.
“I
have to stay.”
“Why?”
He looks at her as if she’s just suggested marching into Hell. Maybe she has.
“I
need to stay and fight the Master. He’ll come – no baddie can resist gloating –
and when he does, I’ll slay.”
“You’ll
die.”
Her
eyes flash angrily. “I have to do this! I can’t let anyone else die because I’m
not doing my duty.”
His
fist comes too fast and then darkness claims her.
†
She
wakes up on a bed in an unfamiliar room. She sits, muscles coiled.
“It’s
okay.” Angel’s there, leaning against the wall.
She’s
ready to interrogate him about the mystery room when she remembers everything.
Despair floods through her, but she shoves it aside in favor of fury.
“You
had no right to stop me!” She stands, pointing a finger at him.
“So
you could get yourself killed?” He shakes his head.
“One
Slayer dies, the next is called. That’s the drill.” She shrugs bitterly. “No
one will care anyway.”
“I
won’t let you throw away your life like that.”
†
“Why?”
She sighs, suddenly feeling tired beyond her years. The death of too many
people hangs like a veil, shrouding any possible light.
He
asks warily, unsure of her mood, “Why what?”
“Why
does it matter? Why do you care if I
die?” Her eyes drop to the ground, fear and vulnerability and guilt gnawing at
her insides. It’s all the spirits, crying at her for letting them die. “The
next Slayer might be better. She might be able to stop a slaughter before it
happens. She might be able to take the Master down.”
“I
care because it’s you.”
†
That
isn’t the answer she expects.
She
stares at him in amazement, really looking at him, and he looks away, biting
his lower lip. For her, that small movement cements the sincerity of his
words.
She
can’t bring herself to ask why. Why does he care about her? What makes her
special? Had he seen her before?
It’s
funny that she’s being so quiet now since with any other guy she would’ve been
ready with a flirty remark to a comment like that. It’s far too confusing to
think about Angel’s confession, so her mind moves on to other things.
†
She
thinks about her friends instead. She didn’t know them very well and now she
never will. They’d been living normal lives, futures bright and shiny with
hope, and then she’d come. They’d taken her side and now they were dead.
She
doesn’t want to break down in front of him, but tears begin rolling down her
cheeks anyway. It’s too much. She turns away from him, wanting to hide her
sorrows.
Arms
wrap around her hesitantly. She can’t explain it, but she feels safe ensconced
in those arms. Like she can cry all she wants without fear or doubt.
†
She
wakes up alone.
She
remembers crying in Angel’s arms until sleep took over. She remembers the feel
of safety, of being with someone who cares. She also remembers the blood and
gore though she tries to put that aside.
Her
stomach rumbles. She rises and finds him in the next room, sitting at a table.
There’s a plate of waffles by him and she smiles.
He
notices and nods his head at the food. “Go ahead. I’ll make you some tea.”
She
eats the waffles, not really tasting them, her mind weighed down by everything
that is her fault.
†
“What
time is it?”
“Seven.”
She
frowns, making calculations. If she’d gone to the Bronze around one and then
cried till three, that would mean only four hours of sleep. “I slept longer
than that.”
“In
the evening.”
She
stares. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He
looks away. “You needed the sleep.”
“My
mom’s going to be worried sick!” She jumps up. “I need to get home.” He watches
her and she adds, “You can come.”
It
doesn’t seem as if he’ll answer and she’s ready to leave, but then he nods.
“The sun’s set. We’ll need to be careful.”
†
When
no one answers the doorbell, she shrugs. “Maybe she’s out.”
She
draws her own key and opens the door, entering the house. It’s quiet and
there’s an abandoned vibe, which is ridiculous since she was here just last
night.
She
glances back at where Angel’s lingering outside. Irritated and concerned, she
snaps, “Do you want to attract vampires? Get in.”
Once
he’s inside, they shut the door.
She
shouts. “Mom! Mom! I’m home!”
Nothing.
“Something’s
not right.”
“Vague
that up, will you?”
She
doesn’t know what he knows. She can’t even with Slayer-enhanced senses. But
she’ll know soon enough.
†
It’s
a frightening tableau straight from a classic serial killer film. Her mother is
stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes stare at the ceiling, glassy and dim.
There’s a wreath of blood around her, a halo for the dead. It’s matted in her
hair and crusted over her pale skin. Her neck hasn’t just been bitten; it’s
been torn open, the flesh pink and exposed. Some flies crawl over the meat,
buzzing softly. On the wall, there are words in dripping red.
Come out and play,
Slayer.
This
was their play, their games. This was what they called fun.
†
It’s
impossible. How could her mother, so apart from the Slaying, be dead because of
those creatures? Her mother’s not a part of that world – how dare they kill her
like this!
She
drops to her knees, retching, dry-heaving when nothing else will come. Tears
tumble down her face and she feels Angel’s arms draw her to him. She lets him
pull her close, her eyes frozen on her mother.
It’s
too much, far too much for a sixteen year-old girl to face. Her mother
shouldn’t be dead. Yet she is and again it’s her fault.
It’s
always her fault.
†
She
doesn’t know how much time passes, but her sobs fade away to nothing and she’s
left staring silently at the body. Her mother.
“I’m
sorry.”
“I
hate them.” Her eyes are blazing now, burning with a Slayer’s righteousness and
a deeper, primal hatred. She doesn’t remember ever feeling like this. Not even
when Merrick died.
“I’m
going to kill every single one of those damned creatures.” Her voice is harsh,
angry, so far from the teenager who didn’t want anything to do with the
supernatural.
He
doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t expect him to. This is her promise.
†
The house is too big and empty for her. It’s too full of ghosts; every time she walks into the kitchen, she expects her mother to be there, making pancakes or washing dishes. And even though she cleaned everything up, the sofa is stained with blood and the air with putrid death.
She
can’t stay here anymore.
…But
where else can she go?
He
offers her a place at his apartment and she accepts without a second thought.
She packs her bags and says good-bye to the place that never had time to become
her home and now never would.
†
“If
you want to face the Master, you’re going to have to work hard. You’re going to
have to train a lot.”
She
nods. “I know.”
“I’ll
train you.”
Her
brow rises. “You, Mr. Scared-to-face-them? I thought you were more of a
leave-cryptic-hints kinda guy.”
His
lips quirk upwards. “Punch me.”
She
curbs her strength, but not her speed. Still, it’s not fast enough to avoid
having his arm jerk up to redirect her punch to the side. His other arm shoots
out, fist stopping a few millimeters away from her body. He smirks.
“Okay,
you can be my Yoda.”
†
She
doesn’t have a Watcher anymore and with no way to contact the Council, she
doesn’t think she’ll get another anytime soon. The thought doesn’t bother her –
after all, her Watchers tend to die.
She
does have Angel. She doesn’t know where he learned and he’s evasive about her
prodding, but he’s got crazy good combat skills. He’s become her teacher, her
guide, and her partner.
They
patrol together, talking and hunting. He steers them clear of the big vampire
nests, telling her she isn’t ready yet. She lets him direct them, knowing that
she’d be lost without his anchoring.
†
“I’m
going to check out the Bronze.” She looks over at him, alarmed by his
proposition. She doesn’t want to think about entering the club again. He adds,
“You can stay here.”
“But
what if the Master’s there?”
“It’ll
be simple recon. I won’t get caught.” Angel promises. She stares pleadingly at
him, afraid for him but too unnerved by the thought to offer aid. “We need to
know if the Master’s there or if he’s got a different hideout.”
He
walks out the door. She considers following, but she can’t bring herself to
move.
So
she whispers, “Stay safe.”
†
As
minutes pass, she wishes she’d gone with him. She doesn’t want the one person
she has left to die. She thinks about his body immobile and still – another
victim of her incompetence.
Then
she hears him enter and she breathes out in relief. He’s still alive.
“What
was it like?”
“Empty.
The Master’s living somewhere else.”
“Are
we going to find him?” She doesn’t know if she’s ready to face the master vampire.
She didn’t think Angel thought she was ready.
“No.
You’re not ready.”
She’s
glad for his answer though part of her just wants it over with.
†
She
considers calling her father to tell him about her mother’s death, but every
time she lifts the phone, she can’t do it. She knows if she does, he’ll whisk
her away to LA. They’ll grieve her mother and move on.
But
she can’t move on.
She
can’t leave Sunnydale. She’s sworn that she’ll kill them to avenge all the
lives lost and to protect the lives still around. She knows Sunnydale will
probably be her grave, but she doesn’t care as long as she kills them in the
process. There’s nothing left for her but this oath of vengeance.
†
She
stops attending school. It just seems more important to focus on slaying. When
she makes the choice, she can see Angel watching her with sadness and she wants
to snap at him for it but can’t bring herself to.
She
also adopts a nocturnal schedule like her prey. He does challenge that, telling
her that she shouldn’t give up the sun and the human world to live in the
shadows. She fires back that he does the same thing, sequestering himself from
the light to better hunt the vampires.
He
doesn’t say anything else on the subject after that.
†
They’re
out patrolling one night when a trio of vampires jumps them. Two are men – she
dubs them Curls and Hedgehog for their hairstyles. The other is a blonde woman
whom she recognizes from her first night in Sunnydale. It’s two against three,
but the two fight well together.
“Angelus?”
She
doesn’t know why the blonde woman calls Angel that, but she’s backed away. The
vampire sneers at him.
“Slayer’s
lap dog now? How pathetic. You’ll watch her die and then maybe we’ll let you back in. The Master’s wanted a replacement
since Luke died. And you were the best.”
†
It
happens fast. Curls and Hedgehog charge her. A punch knocks Curls away, but
Hedgehog grabs her arm before she can withdraw. He twists. Then the woman is
there, fangs angled towards her exposed neck.
A
growl rips the air. Angel moves with a speed she hasn’t seen from him as he
barrels into the woman. They fight like jungle cats, spitting and hissing and
roaring.
She
watches, transfixed by the sight of his demonic visage, of the way he fights.
But Curls and Hedgehog are still around and she must fight when Hedgehog lands
a blow on her jaw.
†
It
doesn’t take long for her to stake them – they’re fledglings and she’s had an
excellent master. An excellent master who happens to be a vampire.
Angel.
A vampire.
How
could she miss that?
She
watches the fight between the vampires, unable or unwilling to jump in as
usual. His face sports the enemy’s features and he fights with a new ferocity,
but it’s still his style. She reminds herself that vampires aren’t people, that
they’re monsters intent on destruction and mayhem, but she can’t (won’t) plaster that definition on Angel.
He’s
something else. Or maybe she’s just a fool.
†
They’ve
been fighting for a while and she fears that he might lose. It’s irrational –
why care if another vampire is staked? But she doesn’t want him to become dust…
at least until he’s given her answers.
Like
why did he say he cared about her. Or why has he been helping her slay better.
Or why hasn’t he killed her yet. Or –
The
blonde woman pulls him close and her heart jumps.
She
murmurs, “We can be together again, Angelus. Powerful.”
“No.
That’s over.”
The
stake is swift, the hidden serpent, and then she’s just dust in the wind.
†
He
turns away from her, but she catches the look on his face.
Regret.
Sorrow. Shame. Not vampire emotions at all.
“Why
are you helping?” Somehow the words push past the bubbles in her throat though
they come out quieter, meeker, than she wants them to.
When
he turns to her, his face is back in its human mask. His eyes stay on the
ground. “I want to.”
It’s
an unsatisfying answer. Lions don’t help lambs and vampires don’t help Slayers.
They kill them. It’s a fact of life.
What
gives him the power and will to defy those facts?
†
The
bubbles in her throat pop and angry words rush out, “That’s not a good answer!
You should want to kill me. You should want to turn Sunnydale into your
personal playground. Not play hero. So why the hell are you helping?
“I
have a soul.”
“How?”
Her hand is still tight around the stake.
“It’s
a long story.”
“Then
let’s go home and you can tell me over a steaming cup of tea...” She frowned,
“…or blood, I suppose.”
He
looks at her, surprised, and she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m not staking you
right away. Now let’s go.”
†
They
arrive at his (their) apartment. He
puts the kettle on the oven and as they wait for the water to boil, he talks
about gypsies and curses and dirty alleyways and demons fighting for good. He
skims briefly over his career as Angelus, noting that he was a vicious,
bloodthirsty vampire. He finishes by telling her about the promise he made to
himself – to protect her.
She’s
quiet when he finishes, just as she’s been through the entire story. Finally
she asks, “How did I miss it?”
“Sometimes
people can’t see what they don’t expect.”
Sunnydale
syndrome right there.
†
After
that, they lapse into more silence. She drinks the rest of her tea. He stands
tall, the monster awaiting judgment.
She
wants to believe that he’s the man she’s come to call friend. And really, if he
was evil, wouldn’t he have killed her when he had the chance? Wouldn’t he have
helped Darla – his sire – out instead of staking her?
Maybe
he’s got a master plan, she doesn’t know, but she does know that he’s her only
friend and she’s not losing him like she did the others.
“Can we spar now?”
Judgment
passes, he’s welcomed by humanity.
†
She’s
awake before him tonight. He’s always made her breakfast and now it’s her turn.
Once she’s finished, she sits at the table, eating her food.
When
he enters, he freezes. His eyes focus on the cup across from her.
She
glances at him and smirks. “Better hurry or it’s going to get cold.”
“You
made me blood.”
“And
the award for stating the obvious goes to…”
He
smiles broader than usual. It looks good on him and she’d doubly glad for her
action.
“Thank
you.”
“No
big.”
But
looking at him, she sees that it is a big deal.
†
He
punches her; she grabs his arm and hurls him to the ground. She straddles him.
A pen pokes his chest and she leans over him, “Dust.”
He
smiles back and with that smile, her heart flutters in her chest. With the
adrenaline fading, she’s suddenly aware of how close they are, how the air
buzzes with electricity around them.
He’s
noticed too; there’s an animal heat gleaming in his brown eyes. She only needs
to lean her head down a few inches and…
She
draws away quickly.
“I’m
going to shower,” she stammers out and hurries out the room.
†
Water
pummels her mercilessly, sweeping away the heat. A part of her calls for it,
but she ignores that part.
She
can’t get into this. She won’t. People she loves have a tendency to die and she
doesn’t want that for him.
And,
perhaps more than that, she’s afraid of getting hurt. She’s afraid of losing
someone again. It’s okay as just friends, that’s what she tells herself anyway,
but anything more would break her completely.
And,
hello, vampire. It would never work. Being friends was okay, good even, but
having fuzzy feelings for one?
Nope,
out of the question.
†
Things
are quiet when she exits the shower. For a moment, she fears that he’s gone,
but then she spots him curled up on the sofa. He’s reading a book.
She
sits on the armchair, peering at the cover. “Whatcha reading?”
“Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth
Barrett Browning.” At her puzzled face, he adds, “Poetry.”
“Read
some?”
He
looks intently at her before glancing down again. “A heavy heart, Beloved, have
I borne, From year to year until I saw thy face…”
Again,
the heat rises to her cheeks and she can’t make out the rest of his words.
†
When
he finishes, she forces out words, “It’s pretty. All nice and flow-y and
metaphorical. My English teacher loved metaphors. He was all about the hidden
meanings in stuff. I was never big on them. Deciphering metaphors, not poetry.
I like poetry.”
She
swallows down the rest of her babble and stares at the floor. She tries to not
think about Angel and heavy hearts and being near him.
“Poetry
is good.” He replies, setting the book down. “It’s late.”
“We
should get to sleep.” She agrees, grateful for the escape.
In
bed, she spends hours locking away her feelings.
†
The
Master’s elusive, hiding in the darkness. They keep their ears open, but there
aren’t any clues to his whereabouts. He’s a master at remaining hidden when
needed.
It’s
maddening, this game of cat and mouse. Sometimes she’s not even sure who’s the
cat and who’s the mouse anymore. Both sides stalk the other; both have death
gleaming in their eyes.
She
wonders how much longer this’ll last. She wonders how it’ll end, whether it’ll
end with blood or dust. Or both – maybe they’ll destroy each other.
As
long as the vampires die, she doesn’t care how it goes down.
†
“Buffy.”
He waits to make sure he has her full attention. “When’s the last time you did
something fun?”
She
looks away, suddenly interested in the wall. “I slayed that vamp last night… It
was fun…”
“I
don’t mean Slayer-fun. I mean normal fun.”
Her
eyes drift back to him and she regrets it because he’s watching her with so
much intensity that it’s hard to keep looking. So she looks away again. “I have
to kill them.”
“You
shouldn’t seclude yourself from the world.”
She
stands and smiles at him. “Come on, duty calls.”
“Buffy!”
But
she’s already leaving.
†
She
knows his words are true, that she has been locking herself away from the rest
of the world ever since the Harvest. She knows she shouldn’t be. It’s
unhealthy.
But
she won’t let him penetrate her armor. There’s a reason she’s drawn away from
the world. She brings pain and suffering to those whom she’s close to, those
whom could become friends. Angel’s different because he’s already in this
monstrous world, but she won’t pull anyone else into it.
Slayers
were built to kill and hunt, to protect the world from evil. She’s forgotten
how to do anything else.
†
“There
are vampires here?”
She
stares around them. They’re in front of a fair. The place is full of bright
lights and laughter and joyous whoops and overpowering odors and smiles and
cranking machinery. It’s not a place she can see vampires in… Though there are
plenty of people to pick off and so she supposes they could be lurking in the
shadows.
“No.”
He admits, shattering her illusions of skulking vamps. “But we’re here and I
already got tickets. It’d be a shame to waste them.” He waves the tickets in
front of her.
She
can’t resist the offer.
†
At
first, she’s determined to not enjoy
herself because this isn’t her life anymore. She’s determined to go through the
motions because it’s what he wants, but she’s not seeking pleasure. She’s not
the girl who goes out to have some fun anymore.
Those
thoughts slip away quickly, her emotional armor accumulating a number of
chinks. She shrieks in delight when the rollercoaster drops, laughs when Angel
mutters about the so-called entertainment, snorts when he admits to intense
dizziness after their sixth time on the Twister.
They
end the evening with ice-cream – well, she has ice-cream while he walks
near-by.
†
“Did
you have fun?” He asks as they near the apartment.
She
rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t tell.”
He
shrugs, smiling. She smiles back and the rest of the world melts away. Her eyes
focus on his lips and then she’s pressed against him, lips gently, shyly,
touching. The kiss deepens, the movements slow and passionate and like none of
the kisses she’s ever had.
A
pleasurable growl rises from his chest and then he pulls away, his eyes glued
to the ground. His face has changed, the demon excited.
“Don’t
stop.” She steps to him and resumes the kiss.
†
After
that, he convinces her to go out and see the world during the day. She walks
through Sunnydale, jacket drawn tight.
There’s
too much ruin. Cars broken, shop windows smashed, roads littered. At night, the
destruction doesn’t look so bad. It blends with the rest of the horrors. But in
the stark sunlight, it seems surreal.
The
people are changed too. They watch each other with leering eyes and hurry about
their business. There are no friendly greetings even between neighbors. Colors
are drab and laughter is gone.
So
much has changed – all because of the Master rising up.
†
Before
she returns home, she stops at the Bronze. It’s her first time at the club
since the Harvest. Angel has been here multiple times in search of the Master,
but she’s always remained at home.
She
stayed away because she was afraid. Afraid to face her failure again, afraid to
see bodies.
Now
she enters. It’s quiet. There are dark stains everywhere, but no bodies. The
club has become a monument, a memorial to the night things changed. Tears slide
down her cheeks as she murmurs promises to the dead.
She
couldn’t save them, but she’ll save the living.
†
They
sit on the sofa as she describes what she saw. He’s silent the entire time, his
lips pressed tightly together. When she’s done, she asks, “Did you know it’d be
like that?”
“No,
but I thought it might.”
“They
seemed so different at the fair.” She reminisces, leaning into his chest.
“They
were trying to forget their troubles if only for a bit. That’s what people do.
They live in perpetual fear and then they try hiding from it for a few hours.”
She
hopes they’ll succeed and chase away the horrors so people won’t have to hide
anymore.
†
She’s at the Bronze in
an ivory dress, surrounded by the slaughter. Angel’s waiting at the other side,
smiling. She smiles back and walks towards him.
A body rises in her
path. It’s Giles, his glasses broken and his neck coated in blood.
“You’ve failed your
duty, Buffy.”
She trembles and shakes
her head. Now other bodies are rising up – Willow, Xander, her mother. They’re
all blaming her as scarlet stains her dress.
“You should’ve died for
them.”
This unfamiliar voice is
cold and chilling. Hands wrap around her throat and the last thing she sees is
Angel bursting into dust.
†
“Buffy,
wake up, Buffy!”
She
wakes up, gasping. Seeing Angel, she pulls him into a crushing embrace. Sobs
wrench from her throat as the pallid faces of the victims swim around her. Her
eyes shut, but it doesn’t help.
“Do
you want anything? Tea? Hot chocolate? Food?”
She
shakes her head. “Just stay here.”
Though
she wants to tell him about her dream – Slayer dreams tend to be prophetic and
she needs to warn him – she can’t talk about it right now.
He
slides into bed with her. His arms wrap around her and like always, she feels
safer there.
†
In
the evening, when they wake up, she tells him over breakfast. She doesn’t leave
anything out because she’s terrified of what it means and she trusts him.
“Don’t
blame yourself for what happened that night.”
“It
was my fault. I didn’t get there fast enough.”
She
leaves out that her mother had kept her in. Don’t blame the dead.
“If
I’d been faster, they wouldn’t have died and the Master wouldn’t be free.”
“Buffy,
you can’t change the past.” His eyes are pained as he speaks. “But you can
fight. You can save the ones who still need saving.”
†
It
hits her then. He lives with all the lives his alter-ego had ruined and taken.
She’s separated Angelus and Angel so completely that his sins aren’t Angel’s,
but he hasn’t. He lives with the guilt draped around his shoulders, a
self-imposed cloak of blame. It’s like the failure bearing on her.
She
reaches across the table to hold his hand. “It wasn’t your fault either.”
Complaint rises in his eyes, but she continues, “You’re right, we can’t change
the past, but we can fight together.”
His
eyes shine in her acceptance and she feels the dead lift off her.
†
They
find Jesse that night. He’s smirking, the cocky bastard, bragging about being
the Master’s right-hand vamp now that Luke and Darla are gone. Sharing a quick
glance of understanding, they wrestle him to the ground.
Angel
holds him there as she asks, “Where’s the Master?”
Jesse
snarls, “I’m not telling you.”
She
smiles acidly. “For someone everyone’s going on about, he sure is a coward. I’d
start a coup if I were you.”
Jesse
stays silent, so she tugs off her cross and presses it against him. The vampire
hisses and it isn’t long before he’s spilling the information.
†
“I’m
going alone.” She says back at the apartment as they load up on weaponry.
“No,
you’re not.”
“Yes.”
Rage
flashes in his eyes. “What happened to fighting together?”
“You
died in my dream. I won’t let you
risk yourself like that.”
“And
I won’t let you go in alone.”
“Don’t
you get it? I can’t lose you!” Angry tears fall. “I can’t.”
He
closes the distance between them, pulling her in his arms. She rests against
his chest. He kisses the crown of her head and murmurs, “I’ll survive, I
promise.”
Yes,
he will. Because she won’t risk him.
†
As
they get ready to go outside, she snaps her fingers. “I forgot my jacket.”
“I’ll
get it.” He volunteers and she manages a sheepish look that disappears when he
leaves.
She
looks around for something that’ll do when his voice drifts from the other
room. “Leather?”
“Yes,
please.” She answers, finding what she’s looking for.
When
he steps into the living room, she swings the pan at him. He drops to the
ground. She leans down and kisses his brow.
“I’m
sorry, Angel, but I can’t let you die.”
Slipping
into the jacket, she gives him one last look.
†
Pushing
aside all the guilt (“we can fight together”)
and worry (Angel bursting into dust),
she leaves, a panther on the prowl. Jesse said the Master was in an old
factory, plotting revolutionary, grand things. She intends to end this
‘revolution’ tonight.
She
doesn’t meet any other vampires the entire walk over and that’s when she knows
that he knows she’s coming. Fine, it
won’t be an ambush, predator stalking prey. He’s inviting her over and she’s
gladly accepting the invitation to his party.
Part
of her calls for Angel, but she smothers that traitorous thought.
He
won’t die tonight.
†
The
Master stands at the center of the abandoned factory, caressing a piece of
machinery she doesn’t like the looks of. There are other vampires there, but
he’s the one she watches.
He’s
different – ancient with power rolling off him in waves. He’s been around for
so long, an unchangeable boulder in turbulent history, and she’s going to end
him tonight. She’ll never admit it, but the thought thrills her, that she’ll
end something so eternal.
“Won’t
you come in?”
She’s
been standing still too long, watching.
Well,
it wouldn’t have been fitting to end this with a crossbow anyway.
†
Angel’s
trained her well.
She
starts with a punch at his temple, switching for a jab to his stomach in the
last moment with her other hand. It’s the first hit, but it’s not enough to
stop him.
Other
vampires attempt to interfere, but he calls them off. Says he’ll finish her
himself.
They
fight, two predators locked in a fast dance to the death. She circles, he
lunges, she darts, he punches, she kicks, he dodges. It seems as if they’re in
a draw when he pulls a move she’ll never learn.
Hand
at her throat, he hisses, “Stop.”
†
Paralysis
seizes her. She doesn’t know why, but his voice, the one that’s haunted her
dreams for so long now, holds her. She vaguely remembers Angel warning her
about thralls, about older vampires being able to control victims.
She
never thought she’d be a victim since she got her Slayer powers, but now she’s
truly terrified.
The
Master laughs; the hand not clutching her throat runs down her face. It stops
at her pulse and she wishes she could slow the frantic beating.
“A
Slayer in my hold, how pleasant.”
Then
he leans over and his fangs meet her neck.
†
At
first, it hurts, but then her head grows light and everything seems to fade
away. Even the pain… It’s becoming faint and she can forget about the vampire
at her neck. Peace wraps around her.
She
thinks about her dead mother and the friends that might have been. She wonders
if she’ll meet them, if they’ll have an eternity to get to know one another.
She hopes they don’t blame her for being too late.
“Buffy!”
…Angel.
She wishes she could’ve told him how much she loves him.
“Buffy!”
The
fuzziness disappears replaced with the harsh edges of reality.
†
It
takes a few moments for everything to sink in. She can feel the pain again and
there’s blood sliding down her neck, but her main concern is Angel grappling
with the Master. The image of him becoming dust overlays the scene in front of
her until terror is working its way through her system.
Other
vampires join the fray. She stakes those who get in her way as she approaches
the Master.
Sensing
her, he shoves Angel away and turns. Predatory eyes meet. She’s too fast and
the stake is entering his heart before he can lunge.
No
dust.
†
Everything
freezes. Vampires and Slayer in a historic moment.
A
gurgling scream ushers forth from the Master’s mouth. His flesh is becoming
dust, particles spewing in the air like a macabre fountain. When the flesh is
gone, his bones clatter to the ground. The only remnants of the monster.
Everyone’s
staring at her now, wide eyes. She smiles back tentatively at first and then
that smile becomes a triumphant smirk.
Maybe
it’s the smirk that does it. The others flee, not keen on facing the wrath of a
Slayer who’d defeated their leader.
She
murmurs, “I’ll give them a day.”
†
Angel’s
immediately at her side, his hand gingerly touching her neck. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,
beaten, and bloody, but I’m doing good.” She hugs him, looking accusingly at
his face. “You said you’d stay home. Remember, dusty-Angel dreams?”
He
lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t recall saying anything. I just remember being
knocked out.”
“Hmph…”
She draws close to his chest, inhaling his scent. To think, she was so close to
losing it tonight. “I’m glad you came.”
He
rests his chin on her head. “I am too.”
His
eyes scan the factory. “We should get home before anything comes back.”
†
On
the walk home, she’s silent, lost in thought. She came so close to losing her
life tonight. She wouldn’t have minded a while ago; it would’ve been a
discharge from her duties, a release from a grim world.
But
she has Angel.
The
Master isn’t the only threat. He’s probably not even the biggest one humanity
has to fear. One day, one of those bigger baddies will squash her. One day, the
string will slip from her fingers and she’ll be dead.
Or
it’ll be Angel – his body finally dust.
She
remembers her wish and makes a new oath.
†
They
sit on his bed. He’s bandaging up her wound and she’s still revolving this new
promise in her mind.
When
he’s finished, she turns and stares into his eyes. They’re lit with raw passion
and she knows that hers are the same, if the fire burning under her skin is any
indication. Her hand lifts to caress his cheek.
“I
love you.”
She
kisses him, slow and deep, and when she’s done, he responds, “I love you.”
As
she leans in again, pushing him down on the covers, he asks, “Are you sure?”
In
response, she kisses him again.
†
She’s
a bit hesitant once their clothes come off, a mix of fright and excitement
coloring her passion. He’s gentle with her, murmuring sweet exclamations of
love. They take it slow and she rides on a river of passion.
Then
they go faster and she’s lost in the rush of love and ecstasy. Past and future
are erased – all that exists is the two of them, wrapped up in one another.
They move together, two beings as one. For that moment, there are no painful
memories, just love, warmth, and acceptance.
There’s
only one thing to call this.
Perfect
happiness.
The
End