Libera Me
Disclaimer:(Unfortunately) none of the characters are mine, as they all belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enenmy and friends. I've borrowed them to play with and promise to give them back.
Prologue.
Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna in die illa tremenda,
quando coeli movendi sunt et terra,
dum veneris judicare saeculum per ignem.
Tremens factus sum ego et timeo,
dum discussio venerit atque ventura ira.
Deliver me, Lord, from eternal death on that dreadful day,
when heaven and earth are moved,
when you will come to judge the world by fire.
I tremble and am afraid,
I fear the trial and the wrath to come.
Text of Fauré's Requiem (Op. 48).
It was always quiet at night in the great city cemetery of Los Angeles. When the visitors had gone home, and the gates were shut, there was no living person inside to disturb the sleep of the dead.
That does not mean there was nothing moving in the grounds.
It was a particularly dark night. It seemed as if something had come to cover the stars, enveloping them in blackness, and the figure stooped in contemplation in front of the pair of headstones was not unaware of the fact. For a moment, though, he had chosen to ignore it, lost in contemplation of the names on the stones.
"It's difficult without your visions," he said softly. "Difficult without someone to back me up, too. Some days I long to get up and go outside and end it all, but then I think what you'd have said, and I don't. But it doesn't get any easier." He placed a bunch of white flowers in front of each stone and stood up, head bowed. "I miss you both."
He stood motionless for a second before turning and fading into the darkness, one hand twirling what looked like a short pointed stick, and a little while later a shadow vaulted the wall and set off down the street.
Part I.
Angel was tired. On the way back from the cemetery he had encountered three vampires and two demons of indeterminate species, and now, safely locked in his apartment against the day, he washed the blood and dust off his face with a sigh. Everything was different now. He missed the laughter and sarcastic jokes of Cordelia, and the earnest and much valued help of Wesley. He missed the sound of heavy human footsteps on the stairs and the noise of the kettle boiling for coffee or tea, and with the blackness moving in further every night he had no illusions about what was coming. The End. The Apocalypse. Perhaps the final one, not one of the small fake versions created by power-hungry vampires.
He picked up a towel and dried his face and neck before throwing the towel down again and closing the bathroom door behind him. In a way it was strange, the way he clung to the trappings of humanity - the pictures on the walls, the soft chairs, the kitchen utensils, but he could not bring himself to get rid of them now there was no human around him to need them. The years spent with Wesley and Cordelia had marked him, Angel realised that now, more than he would have imagined or dared to admit to anyone. It was automatic for his hand to reach for the pointless light switch as he came down the stairs, to make noise so as not to alarm them. And yet, he admitted to himself, as he sat down on the bed and pulled off his trousers, throwing them on to a nearby chair, in other ways he had allowed himself to become more than ever a vampire, a hunter, since their deaths. Out on the streets looking for demons he let his senses guide him, hunted the underworld in the same way he had once hunted for food, stealthily, silently, unconsciously; and he hardly ever spoke to anyone any more. The once-weekly brief exchanges with the butcher were as far as he got.
Angel pulled the covers over his body and lay back, closing his eyes and letting sleep wash over him. Yes, he was tired, tired of everything, tired of existing, of fighting, of waiting for the fulfilment of a prophecy that guaranteed nothing if it ever did come true. Perhaps it would be best to give up in a fight and let something take his head off, or stick a stake through his heart, and bring him blessed release at last.
The harsh ringing of the telephone roused him from sleep several hours later. Growling softly in annoyance, Angel pushed back his covers and padded softly into the living room.
"Hello?" He tried to remember who had his telephone number. Certainly not more than a handful of people across the world.
"Did I wake you?" A man's voice, and one Angel recognised instantly.
"Giles." He moved and sat down in a chair with pen and paper at hand. "It doesn't matter. What's wrong?"
Down the phone line, there was a sigh. Angel imagined the Englishman taking off his glasses and giving his forehead a rub.
"It's more a case of what isn't wrong, I'm afraid. I expect you've noticed the phenomena."
"No stars, increase in activity, peculiar things happening where they shouldn't," Angel ticked off. "Yes, I noticed. There's something not right. I'm guessing big."
"Big would cover it," agreed Giles. There was a rustle of paper. "We, er, that is, Buffy's beginning to get a little overworked. There's a concentration around the school that worries me."
"I can't come," Angel broke in, guessing what the ex-Watcher was going to say. "I'm needed, here."
"If the Hellmouth opens then Los Angeles will fall sooner or later," Giles said. "Indeed, everything will fall."
"I know."
There was silence. Angel closed his eyes.
"Buffy will fall."
The words cut into his thoughts, harshly, bluntly.
"Giles, I . I'm needed here."
"Who needs you?" The Englishman's tone was gentle, despite his words. "We do."
"But Los Angeles ."
"The Hellmouth will open," Giles told him, and a page turned. "I'm reading. The Hellmouth will open and they will come forth to take the world for their own. The forces of darkness will overtake the world, and she shall fall, Last, and none will save her."
Angel swallowed, seeing in the darkness of his room a shining face.
"Then is there anything I can do?"
"Prophecies don't always come true," reminded Giles softly. "Not if someone cares enough to change them."
"Prophecies ." murmured Angel, to himself. "Give me tonight?" he said to Giles, a decision forming itself in his mind. "I'll be with you by midnight tomorrow."
"I won't tell her," Giles replied, seeming to be able to read Angel's mind from a hundred miles away. "Thank you." There was a click as the line was broken.
Angel went back to bed, but after an hour of lying awake, he got up again, and showered, dressed, and finally switched on the light.
His weapons cabinet, a sturdy steel affair with triple locks, soon lay open, and around the room were a variety of weapons. Ranging from old to very old, they shone already with love and care and use. Now Angel was setting about making them shinier and sharper. From time to time he stood and tested a blade on a wooden beam in the ceiling before settling down again for another ten minutes' sharpening. After the swords and daggers, lances and spears, he turned his attention to a bundle of stakes, scattering wood shavings over the floor. Finally, as his senses told him that outside it was nearing six o'clock, he donned a pair of thick leather gloves and checked over his supply of Holy Water.
With night falling outside the walls of the apartment, Angel packed the weapons into two separate bags, stowing one in the steel locker and closing it. The other bag he took to his car, shut it in the trunk, and set out.
Even as he drove he could see that things had got infinitely worse in one day. He saw several demons walking the streets openly. The darkness seemed to eat into the orange streetlamps, and the few humans about were hurrying along fearfully, obviously able for once to sense that something was wrong. As Angel turned his car on to the long empty highway he heard a dog bark, joined swiftly by several more, and then the world changed.
He realised afterwards that he had sensed it before it had come, and the car was stopped before the earth started shaking. It began as a gentle tremor, and increased in violence until Angel felt like his bones would shatter from the shaking. He gritted his teeth and allowed his features to change, and waited for it to end.
The darkness was even more intense when, at last, the earth stopped moving. In front of him Angel saw several huge cracks crisscrossing the road, but it seemed passable, and he started the car up and continued on his way. He had to halt twice to lever fallen tree trunks out of the way, his muscles aching with the effort, but he reached his destination in the end.
The prison could be seen from a mile away by the smoke and flames billowing out of its roof, and the alarms going. Angel leaped out of his car, shading his eyes against the fumes. On the roof of the building dark shapes hurried to put out the inferno, but he fancied that it had already taken too firm a grip to be extinguished. One corner of his mind registered the fire as a threat, a danger, but the other half told him that in fact it could be a help. He got back in the car and, putting his foot down, drove to the car park. There was nobody on duty, unusually, and as he got out of the vehicle not a soul was in sight to see him take several steps backwards and then a long running jump that easily cleared the razor-wire fence and brought him into the prison grounds.
Angel slipped into hunting mode without even thinking about it, gliding soundlessly past windows until he stopped outside the one he wanted; three stories up and guarded with a double set of bars in front of the triple glazing. At least there was a window, he thought as he attached the elastic cord to his belt and aimed the hook. Three years ago this would have been impossible. Until tonight it would have been impossible. With his eyes narrowed, he shot the metal hook off the end of the cord and watched as it caught on the bars, and he began his ascent. The bricks were rough and reasonably easy to grip, and he reached the bars in under a minute, setting to work even as he called in a soft voice.
"Faith. Faith!" One bar was loose when a pale face appeared on the other side of the glass, eyes open wide in astonishment. Angel set to work on the next bar. "Faith, break the glass." The face frowned at him. Angel wrenched the bar free and sent it spinning to the ground. "Faith, you're needed."
"Needed?" Her voice reached him through the panes. "What for?"
"You felt the earthquake?" Angel pulled the third bar away from its supports and tucked it into his belt. Second layer. "That wasn't natural. Had any odd dreams lately?"
"A few." Her eyes met his.
"It's the Apocalypse. The End, possibly. I . I have to go to Sunnydale. This could be the last thing I have to do. But I don't want to leave Los Angeles unguarded."
He felt a little odd, working on the bars of a high-security prison and trying to convince a convicted murderer to release herself at the same time, but it had to be done.
Inside the room Faith turned away, and he saw her sit on her bed. Angel threw another bar to the ground, and took out the spare one he had in his waistband. All right, he thought, if she won't, I will. Holding to the sill with one hand, he brought the other back.
One layer of glass shattered under the blow. Two strikes broke the next, and a fourth the final layer.
"That stuff was made to keep humans in," he commented, clearing away the shards and looking into the small bare room. "Faith."
"Hey, Angel," she said, not looking up. "Trying to save the world?"
"I have no choice."
"Yeah? Well, I do. I'm not wasting the nine years I've spent in here, Angel. I'm not coming."
"The prison is burning, Faith. By tomorrow there'll be nobody left to care. You stay there, and the city falls."
"You want me to Slay again? I gave that up. Run to B. I'm not coming."
Angel closed his eyes, forcing himself to remain calm.
"I need you. The world needs you."
"Nice try."
"You stay here and die, or other people die!" Angel told her, forcefully, his arm starting to ache. "That's as much murder as anything you did before. You can help, Faith. If we hold the Hellmouth, if you hold Los Angeles, we can stop this. Or stay here and let more people die."
Her nose crinkled in the same way it had when she was younger.
"Gee, Angel, you sure have a way of putting things." She stood up and stretched. "That smoke I can smell?"
"I already said the prison is burning. Do you think you'll be all right jumping?"
"Ain't going to catch me?"
"If you need catching," he replied, seriously. He braced himself and let go of the window sill, dropping lightly to the ground with only a slight jarring at the knees. In a minute, Faith came after a bundle of clothes she sent down first.
"Owch!" she said, straightening up. Angel picked up her clothes.
"The car's in the car park. Come on and keep quiet."
Faith's face showed she was possibly about to grumble, but just in time she caught herself, nodded, and followed Angel. At the fence it took her two goes to get over, and she got into the car with a scratched hand, breathing hard.
"Thought I'd kept fit."
"That's a ten-foot fence," Angel pointed out, starting the engine and setting off. "You've been out of practice a while."
"So you're just gonna abandon me to fight demons?" Faith said. "Great. Thanks."
Angel turned on to the empty, broken road and stepped on the accelerator.
"No, I'm going to stay with you tonight to back you up, and tomorrow I'm going to Sunnydale. I know how I felt during those years before Whistler tracked me down. I could barely kill a rat, never mind another vampire. It'll take you a few to get back up to speed."
Faith stared out of the window at the ravaged landscape passing.
"More of that 'I understand what you're going through' crap? I kinda thought people changed over time. But you haven't, have you?"
"It depends on what you mean by changed," said Angel, glancing sideways at her. "Nothing's got easier, if that's what you're trying to get at. And I do understand, you know that. Perhaps not fully, but I understand better than most."
"You should've been a shrink," commented Faith, shaking her hair back off her face. She changed the subject. "Big quake. Part of the whole world-ending deal?"
"Yes."
"Great." She fell silent.
In the city Angel parked the car and lifted the bag of weapons out of the trunk, setting it on the bonnet to open it up. He passed Faith a bundle of stakes which she took, feeling the points with a professional finger, and tucked away around her body.
"I'll leave you the bag when I go," Angel said. "There's a sword, a few knives. No crossbow."
"I was never very good with those anyway," Faith shrugged, and they shared a look and a memory. Brusquely Angel zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder.
"All right. I'll let you take them, but if you're in trouble or there are too many I'm joining in."
The first demons they came across were a pair of slime demons, dripping messily as they shuffled along. Angel glanced at Faith, and she caught the dagger he tossed to her and nodded.
It was possible that the demons never really realised what hit them, as a whirlwind of Slayer, caged for too long, attacked them in a swirl of shining metal; kicking, punching, slashing, and finally delivering the coup de grace and leaving them on the floor. Faith stood back, breathing a little faster, and bent and wiped the blade of the knife.
"Okay?" checked Angel.
"Yeah. Yeah."
They continued walking. With each new demon or vampire, Faith got quicker and more efficient, breathing more easily and hitting her marks better. Mostly Angel stood by and watched with an experienced eye, only twice having to step in and help when they were outnumbered by vampires. Finally, as he scented dawn in his nostrils, he called a halt.
"That'll do."
Faith stood over her latest kill, a demon of indeterminate origin, and shrugged.
"I'm just getting started."
"You need sleep, and I don't want to get fried. It's nearly dawn."
"Back to fun nocturnal habits," joked Faith lightly, but she suppressed a yawn. "Guess I can't disagree." Angel nodded and led the way back to his car, and for the short journey to his apartment neither of them said anything. Faith seemed to be taking in the space around her, lying back and gazing up at the stars. She was still silent until Angel was about to leave her in his bedroom to sleep, and then she stopped him.
"Hey. Thanks."
"Thanks?" he said, momentarily mystified.
"For getting me out. Wasn't like anyone actually cared in that place. Nobody came to open the door and let me out. I could've burned alive."
"You didn't."
"Yeah, I know," Faith said. "And thanks for coming to me, too." She smiled, and it lit up her pale face and made her beautiful. "Good luck in Sunnyhell, with B."
Angel nodded, and silently left her, closing the door behind him.
He spent the day attempting to sleep on the couch, and failing utterly save for a couple of hours at midday. Most of the time he thought about the girl - the woman - asleep in the room nearby. It had been perhaps two years since he had visited her, reducing the occasional contact to brief letters. Faith's patently false cheerfulness every time he had been to the dreary prison, the barrier she had built up against the world and everything in it, had eventually convinced him there was no point in visiting her any longer. Neither of them had ever had anything to say to each other. At once they were too close and too far apart, both loners, both struggling against what was inside them.
At sunset Angel was ready to go, having fed and packed the second bag of weapons. He took the first into his bedroom and shook Faith's sleeping shoulder gently. She woke immediately, sitting upright with a start.
"What! Where am I?"
"It's me, Faith," Angel said, stepping back. "It's dark. I'm going. There's a bag of things by the bed. I suggest you get going soon, and I'll be back tomorrow or the night after." He passed her a key. "Lock the door." Turning to go, he paused. "And take care, Faith."
Bent over the bag, she nodded, and he left.
Part II.
Despite the years since he had been to the little town north of the city, Angel found he remembered the way without having to think, and he made good time, reaching Sunnydale before midnight and parking his car near the cemetery. From the weapons he selected a few stakes, two knives and his favourite sword, and set out.
Even before entering the graveyard he could tell something was gravely amiss. Like Los Angeles, Sunnydale was crawling with demons and vampires; the scent of fresh blood on the air, mixed with fear and death. Angel knew that had it not been for his soul, he would have revelled in the night, made the most of it and celebrated, but as it was his skin crawled with horror. This was the showdown night, possibly the last of all, unless he and Buffy could prevent it.
Buffy. The thought of her made him quicken his step, following an invisible course through the old cemetery. There was a line of new graves, some of them with the tell-tale hole showing where a fledgling vampire had recently risen, and as he walked Angel began to hear thuds and cries. He quickened his pace.
In an open space surrounded by three of the oldest mausoleums, the Slayer was fighting. Angel counted five vampires, two piles of dust, and two different demons, and in the middle, the slight figure of Buffy Summers whirling, kicking, punching. He could have watched her skill for hours, he reflected, but tonight was not the night. Silently and quickly he threw himself into the fray, taking off one of the demon's heads with a sweep of the sword, and following it up by staking one of the vampires who was circling the Slayer warily.
Another vampire growled at the intrusion, and turned on Angel. Now the fight was joined in earnest, and he set about taking the creature down as quickly as possible. His opponent was a young male, not more than fifty years old, but obviously an ex-American football player with the weight and height to make up for his clumsy fighting. For a few moments Angel occupied himself with the vampire and almost forgot about Buffy, but when his enemy was dust he turned again and spied her in trouble against the remaining demon and two of the vampires.
He drew his sword and attacked from the back, slicing and stabbing at the demon, which turned away from the Slayer enabling her to deal with the vampires. For an instant she looked up, and her eyes met Angel's through a cloud of dust.
"Angel," she mouthed, and delivered a sharp flip-kick to the second vampire before staking it. Angel thrust his sword into the heart of the demon and pulled it out.
"Buffy," he returned.
She brushed dust off her clothes and straightened up, and irresistibly they came towards each other.
Without the whirl of movement he could see she was little changed since the last time they had seen each other - what was it, five or six years? Her eyes were the same defiant sparkles and her hair still bright, but around her eyes were the first signs of tiredness and age. If anything, Angel thought, it made her even more beautiful.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I came to help you," he said, resting the tip of his sword on the ground.
"To help?" she said, and then her eyes widened. Angel swung around and swept the sword in a wide curve, taking the head off the vampire behind him. "Yeah, well. Just thought you'd have a little trip to Sunnydale?"
"Giles rang."
"Giles." Buffy turned away, looking down at the ground. "Did he think I couldn't cope?"
"He was worried," Angel replied, stepping after her. "He thinks you're tired."
"Tired?" She glanced up and shrugged. "No. I'm not tired."
"Buffy." Angel put a hand on her shoulder and then took it off again. "Buffy, the end's coming. Can't you feel it? This isn't a random growth in activity, it's a warning. Tonight, or tomorrow, something is going to happen."
"I know. I read the books." Her voice was dull and resigned. "This time there'll be no Xander to resuscitate me."
"Prophecies don't always come true," Angel said, repeating Giles's words and hoping he was wrong.
Buffy started walking away, glancing into the shadows as she did so, and Angel hurried to follow her.
"So you abandoned LA?" asked Buffy, still not looking at him.
"I . Faith's dealing with it for me."
That stopped her dead, and she faced him, her eyes wide in disbelief.
"Faith? Isn't she supposed to be locked up safely?"
"The prison was on fire anyway," Angel excused himself. "She would have died if I hadn't been there." Buffy shook her head in disgust and set off again, her paces fast and angry. "Where are you going?"
"To Giles's. Midnight report."
"Do you mind if I come?"
"I can't stop you. It's a free Hellmouth."
At the exit to the cemetery Angel caught up with the Slayer, and she reluctantly agreed to the lift he offered her; and they arrived therefore at the small apartment belonging to Rupert Giles ten minutes later.
The ex-Watcher was pacing his living room with a book in his hands when they came in, and he turned with a look on his face that was a mixture of worry and relief.
"Buffy. Thank God." She smiled affectionately at him, and in passing to get to the kitchen gave him a brief hug. "And Angel. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Oh, he came," Buffy broke in, halfway through a carton of orange juice. "Guess who he left in charge of 'his' city."
"Oh?" said Giles, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Angel. He came in properly and closed the door.
"Faith," replied Angel, briefly.
"Oh." Giles put down the book and took off his glasses. "Oh."
"I didn't come to talk about Faith," Angel said, dropping his weapons bag with a clinking of metal. "I came to help. What's the situation?"
"Bad," began Giles, and shortly the three of them were hunched over a map of Sunnydale. It was, Angel thought, almost like old times; except for the lack of the others - tonight, no wisecracks from Xander, no soft words from Willow. No sarcastic comments from Cordelia. At that thought Angel wrenched his attention back to Giles. "It's the school I'm most concerned about," the Englishman said, stabbing the map with his pen. "The most recent tremors have been concentrated around the ruins. Several children playing in the area have disappeared. So far Buffy hasn't been in to investigate."
"Too busy," said Buffy with a wry smile.
"That's one of the reasons I wanted you here," Giles continued to Angel. "I'll be happier if there are two of you."
Buffy straightened up.
"Giles, when will you remember I'm twenty-seven, for God's sake? You keep worrying about me like I'm still sixteen."
Twenty-seven? Angel shook his head in amazement. Twenty-seven. At twenty-seven he had been carefree, and usually drunk, and at twenty-seven he had closed his eyes and died. He found himself filled with an urge to stop Buffy from dying at such a young age, with nothing behind her except a trail of dead vampires - in short, to have a life, whether it be with him or without him.
"I haven't forgotten," Giles said gently. "You must remember we're in unknown territory with you, Buffy. And, I suppose, with Faith. Never before has a Slayer lasted as long. I have no way of knowing if the skills that make you what you are will last. They might suddenly disappear. And . and I could not cope if that happened and I lost you. You know that you're more to me than just the Slayer."
"Oh, Giles." Buffy sighed. "I know. I understand. Call it irritability before impending death. Remember?"
Giles and Angel shared a look.
"I didn't say anything," Angel excused himself. "She's done her own research. But that's why you called, isn't it?"
"That's why I called," agreed Giles. His wall clock struck half past the hour. "Now, you two need to hurry along and get Slaying while you still have time."
"See?" said Buffy. "Just like in the old days."
Giles smiled, but it was a forced smile and he turned away quickly. Angel sensed the need to leave, and he led the way out of the door.
They turned naturally towards the ruins of the high school without needing to discuss their destination. Buffy seemed preoccupied with her thoughts and Angel was able to watch her as they walked without her noticing. She was older, he realised that now, in several ways more confident and secure. Not for the first time he reflected that from now on, if she survived and he was not granted the fulfilment of the prophecy, outwardly they would grow apart. There was every chance that one day, as Sunnydale's demon-mayor had once pointed out, he would still look twenty-seven, and she would be an old lady with white hair and glasses. Would he still love her then? Would he have ever loved her if she had been plain?
Angel pushed the thoughts away. In any case Slayers, in his experience, were never plain. Perhaps not beautiful in the classic sense of the word, but each of them had an inner beauty that shone out. That applied even for Faith, even on the dark paths she had followed. And they had tonight to get through before they could consider the future, and what it might hold.
They were nearing the school now. The area seemed deserted of human life. Even the tramps dared not come here, and as they approached Angel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the power and the menace the Hellmouth was projecting. He knew for a certainty that had he come here, on this night, without his soul, he would have been drawn there as he could see so many other demons had been drawn. Buffy glanced at him.
"Feel it?"
"Yes. It's never been like that before."
"Started a couple of nights ago," she said, drawing a stake. "There's something in there, pulling things towards it."
They both looked towards the main entrance, and suddenly Buffy turned to Angel.
"I am glad you came. It - just kinda threw me off kilter, a bit. I'd got used to you not being there."
"If this is the end," Angel said, "I want to spend it with you."
She nodded.
"Let's hope it's not."
For a moment there was a flash of the old tenderness between them, and their hands touched gently, and then Buffy ended the contact, squaring her shoulders towards the power radiating from the school.
"Ready?"
He wanted to tell her about the prophecy, to let her know what the night meant to him as well as her, to tell her that his hope had been rekindled, but instead he swallowed the words and the emotions and tried to become as clinical and professional as the Slayer.
"Ready," he said, and with a whisper of steel drew his sword, letting the blade glint for a second in the moonlight.
Pacing together, they started walking towards the Hellmouth.
In the semi-open hallway of the school, amid the shards of glass from display cabinets, they encountered the first obstacle; a group of vampires lounging around lazily. As the pair approached, the vampires sprang up and assumed what Angel decided had to be 'battle-ready' positions copied from bad action movies. Buffy glided elegantly into action, wielding her stake with deadly efficiency. Gone were the days of foreplay with the vampires - now, she simply staked in a few easy moves. Angel let the change come over his features and threw himself into the fight, getting rid of the vampires circling the Slayer. A few ran off into the night, but now was not the time to chase, and as soon as the group was destroyed, they brushed themselves off and continued further into the school.
Angel purposely, for once, kept his vampiric side at the forefront, the better to follow the trail. The power was thick now, tainting the air. Buffy was taking deep and controlled breaths, and he wondered if she was having problems breathing. Her face showed the same horror he felt, but as they came upon the next battle he had no time to speak to her.
From then on every corridor was infested with demons, vampires, even the odd poltergeist and malicious spirit. Everything was there, drawn like a magnet to the Hellmouth but not, it appeared, actually daring to go close to the brim of the crater in the library. Together Angel and Buffy carved a trail through the creatures, making it to the edge of the destroyed library, and there they stopped. Nothing came near them.
"God." Buffy's voice was strained.
"Giles was right. Something's .down there."
"It's pulling." Her face was white. "Angel ."
"Right here." His hand on the hilt of the sword was tight, tight in tension and fear. "What do you suggest?"
"Running." It seemed she was only half-joking. "We go down there, what do we find? How can we kill it if we don't know what it is?"
"Buffy." Angel took her shoulder with his free hand and turned her towards him. "Half the time you don't know what you're fighting. You've faced death before, and won. You've faced . the end of the world, and you won too."
"I didn't win. I cracked up."
"You won." He bent his head and looked in her eyes. "We can do this. We're together. We know how we fight, we know we can win if we're together. All the demons we've faced together. Believe me, I'm as terrified as you are. But I think we can do this."
"You do? I'd forgotten what a sucker you were." But her voice was firmer and held the old sarcastic edge. "Okay. We can do it."
"We can do it."
He started to take his hand off her shoulder, but she put her own up to hold it there and draw him down.
"For old times' sake."
The kiss seemed to last an eternity, a frozen moment of time in that place wracked by power from beyond the edge of the world. Finally they broke away from each other.
"I love you," Angel said, softly, stroking her hair.
"I love you too, you idiot," Buffy replied. "Now come on. If we're going to do this, we need to do it now." She put the stake away in the waistband of her jeans. "Got a spare sword in that bag of yours?"
Angel, still caught by her words, shook himself and pulled out a short, broad-bladed sword for her. She weighed it expertly in her hand and nodded, satisfied. Then, as one, they turned and dropped into the crater.
This was where the blackness was coming from, Angel thought, as they took cautious steps into the space. This was the source of all of it. Cold, clinging, raw power, throbbing through the air. He followed Buffy towards the hole, the Hellmouth itself, their steps growing leaden as they approached. Suddenly out of the darkness surrounding it five demons sprang at them, big ugly creatures armed with swords, obviously protecting the Hellmouth. Buffy and Angel put themselves back to back and took them on. Angel smelt blood and knew Buffy had been injured, but he felt and heard her fight on and tried not to let himself get distracted.
He fought backwards, moving against the demon, heading towards the Hellmouth. Turning, twisting, ducking, slashing. Now the demon was going back, blindly, and Angel lunged and stabbed. The demon tripped, and fell with a roar into the hole.
The Hellmouth gushed fire. The room rocked. Sound filled the air, making them drop their swords in an effort to block their ears. The world stood still.
"The fire!" Buffy shouted. "We need to stop it, to put it out!"
"Fire extinguishers!" Angel yelled back. "There used to be some here, right?"
They split up and raced towards the edges of the crater, searching for extinguishers that were a decade old and might not work. But, Angel reasoned, as he heaved a piece of concrete out of the way and picked up a red canister, it was possibly the only chance.
The fire's heat filled the room, an acrid stench hitting them, but with the smoke stinging their eyes there was nothing left to do. Aiming for the source of the flames they pressed the triggers on the ancient extinguishers. Angel discovered his was foam, and worked. Buffy's turned out to be oxygen. That worked too. The flames dispersed slightly, and they approached the Hellmouth, still firing the cylinders. A sheet of fire shot up and made them step back.
"What is it?" asked Buffy, shouting to make herself heard.
"No idea. Monster, maybe? We need to get closer."
"This is the end, isn't it?" Buffy said, looking hopelessly at the flames. "We can't expect to put this out with a fire extinguisher. And mine's empty, nearly."
Angel shook his cylinder.
"Mine isn't." He let his bag fall from his shoulders. "If it's the end, then I have nothing to lose."
She looked at him, realisation dawning in her eyes.
"The fire'll kill you."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Angel gazed at the girl he loved with streaming eyes, and he could not decide if the tears were from the smoke or from emotion. "I won't know unless I try."
"Angel, no. I'm the Slayer. This is my job."
"I'm not so sure," Angel replied. "I love you."
"Angel!" she cried, and he glanced a final look back as he went into the heart of the flames, the extinguisher blowing foam before him. The fire tore straight into him, the scent of singed flesh joining the acrid smoke and the chemical foam. He glimpsed the Hellmouth directly in front of him, and aimed the extinguisher into it. There was another roar from the hole, and the ground shook. Angel threw the cylinder into the hole with his remaining force and lost consciousness.
Part III.
The room was large and airy, filled with a clear, translucent light. There was a big round table filling the centre, and round it sat an assortment of people dressed in pure white robes. Old, young, somewhere in between, men and women and a few who could have been either. They were all looking at Angel, and he glanced down at himself and with a shock found he was dressed in white too.
"Well met!" the man directly opposite him said, standing with an effort. He was old, and plump, with a round jovial face and a smile that seemed to split it in two. "We've been waiting a long time for this."
"Where am I?" asked Angel, his voice echoing in the vastness of the room.
The people all looked at each other.
"Erm, we're not sure where we are," a woman said, putting down her pen. "That's never really been decided. We just know we're not in the same dimension as the one you've come from."
"Am I dead?"
"For a vampire, that's a remarkably stupid question," commented a young man.
Angel shrugged.
"I mean, properly dead."
"Yes, we think so. It was prophesised, you know. Aberjian and all that."
"So Wesley got 'shanshu' wrong after all?" Angel sighed in disappointment. "All these years . and nobody told me?"
"No, the Watcher was right," the first speaker said, comfortingly. "We weren't sure exactly when it would all happen, but 'shanshu' does mean humanity for you."
"If I'm dead," Angel pointed out, "then it's not going to happen, is it?"
"That's your choice." There was silence. Angel found he was twisting his hands together. "You never told the Slayer about the prophecy, did you?"
"No."
"Then you have a choice. We can give you peace, if you want it; a nice little place somewhere near here, a role as advisor if we need it. Someone of your experience would be invaluable around here."
"Apart from the connections with your dimension," the woman cut in, "we've never really had anyone around who knows what it's like to live there."
"Exactly. Or, if you really wish it, we'll pop you back down there with all parts working, and in sixty or seventy years you'll die normally. Or earlier, if you happen to get run over by a bus or something. Anyway you'll be mortal."
"We can't guarantee what the Slayer will say," someone else added. "She might not want you. You risk that with everything else. And neither must you go around trying to kill the demons that remain. That's her job."
"Their job," the young man said. "Remember there are two of them."
"All right, their job. But not yours."
"So, peace for ever, or humanity," the first speaker concluded.
Angel stood still, thinking.
"I know where I am now," he said, eventually. "You're the Powers That Be. Cordelia always wondered if you had noses to punch. She wanted to punch them. You made their lives hell, you know, her and Doyle? Those visions, and the responsibility. Cordelia was just a girl."
"So is the Slayer. It's life."
"It was death!" Angel said, staring at them in disbelief. "You're playing with human lives down there, and none of it's real for you, is it? You manipulated all of us. You manipulated me, all my life."
"You were pretty important," agreed the chairman. "And you fulfilled your task."
"I killed people!" he cried, shaking his head. "I killed so many innocent people. And all so that I could be cursed, to end here?"
The Powers That Be shrugged.
"It all worked out," one of them said.
"Great. Thanks."
"So, your choice?" asked the chairman.
"My choice?" Angel did not hesitate. "Humanity. I've longed for it, you must know that. So Buffy may not want me, but I'm willing to take a chance. The last thing I want is to be bound to you for eternity."
"If you join the Slayer, then you may just be," the chairman said. "But we accept your decision."
"Enjoy it," said the woman. "It's your reward. You've earned it."
"Good luck, Angelus. Good luck."
He woke up on the broken wooden floor of the library, dust settling in the air around him and filling his lungs. He coughed, violently, and took a gulp of dusty air, and coughed again, and then opened his eyes.
Buffy was sitting nearby, holding his hand in one of hers, tears forming a clean streak down her filthy face. As Angel blinked to clear his vision, and coughed again, she looked up, her eyes opening wide.
"Angel?"
He sat up, his lungs aching with effort to bring in the air. Everything hurt. His eyes didn't seem to want to adjust to the darkness.
"Buffy," he croaked out, eventually. "Is the fire out?"
"The Hellmouth's disappeared," she said. "I thought I'd lost you. I was expecting you to disappear any second."
"Apparently, I was dead," he answered. "And now . I'm not." He moved their joined hands and placed them over his heart. "Feel that?"
There was silence as together they felt his heart beating out its life-giving rhythm. Buffy turned her face upwards, the tears flowing faster down her cheeks.
"You're ."
"Alive."
"Oh, Angel. Oh, God. I dreamed of this for so long, such vivid dreams. And now ."
"I know." He put his arms around her and held her close. "Buffy."
"How?"
"Wesley decoded the prophecy," Angel finished, an hour later, cupping his tea in his hands and gazing at Buffy. "Took him a few days, but eventually he worked out that 'shanshu' meant life. My life. It said things about the Apocalypse, the End of Days. I guess part of me always knew that today was it, the reckoning."
"Fascinating," Giles murmured, running an absent hand through his hair. "And did you . just wake up?"
"No. No. I think I saw the Powers That Be." He sipped the hot tea thoughtfully. "I don't know, it's all a little vague. I think they probably wanted me to forget that bit." He drank some more tea. "This tastes incredible."
"Giles's tea is not incredible," Buffy said, smiling. "It's just . tea."
"Thank you, Buffy," Giles returned. "What are you going to do?"
Angel put down the empty cup.
"I have no idea."
He slept on Giles's sofa for the rest of the night, and woke only when the Watcher came downstairs and began clattering dishes in the kitchen. He lay still for a few minutes, relishing the ray of sunlight slanting across his face, and then stood up. His limbs ached as if he'd gone through ten rounds against a boxing champion, and he noticed for the first time red burns on his hands.
"Morning!" said Giles, glancing round as Angel sat down on a stool to look through to the kitchen. "It's a beautiful day."
"And I get to enjoy it." Angel accepted the cup of tea Giles passed him. "Everything hurts, though."
"That's normal. You'll get used to it. I imagine you'll probably need sun cream when you go out too. I can lend you some."
Angel nodded.
"Thank you." He frowned. "Giles . I . can I ask you something?"
Giles straightened from putting the teabags away and turned to face his visitor.
"Of course."
"It's . it's Buffy." Angel paused. "Now that circumstances are different . I mean, we both succeeded in moving on from each other, because of the curse, and her Slaying, and so on. But now ."
"You want to know if I think she'll agree to trying again?" said Giles, taking off his glasses and meeting Angel's eyes. "I don't know. Since Riley left her she's had very little success with men. The self-defence lessons she's been giving, and Slaying, those have really been all she's done. Now and again she's dated someone for a while, but I don't believe there's been anyone she cared about. I'm afraid she compared them all to you." Angel bowed his head. "A love like yours is difficult to bear. Trying to imagine you both leading a normal life together is . not easy. You both have memories which will haunt you the rest of your days. You, perhaps, have the age and experience to put that aside. I'm not sure Buffy does."
"So you think not?" Angel's disappointment shone through his words, and Giles smiled sympathetically.
"All you can do is ask her." His smile changed to that of amusement. "Really, it's ridiculous. The confirmed bachelor giving love advice to someone who'll see his third century in a few decades."
"But never my fourth," Angel pointed out. "Thankfully. But it's going to take some getting used to. All of it's going to take some getting used to. And I'm going to have to do something about the agency."
"Are you planning on staying in LA?" asked Giles.
Angel shrugged.
"That depends on ."
"What depends on what?" Apart from the plaster on her face Buffy seemed in remarkably good health. She threw a small bag down on the sofa and came to lean on the counter. "Morning, Giles. Hey, Angel."
"Good morning." Angel suddenly laughed. "That's the first time I've said that in . well, years. Wow."
"Wow about sums it up," Buffy said, laying her hand on his. "How do you feel?"
"Weird. Aching. Hungry."
Giles put a plate of toast in front of him.
"Mind-reading Watchers," commented Buffy, taking the top slice. "So. What depends on what?"
Giles muttered an excuse and disappeared out of the kitchen. Angel put down his slice of toast and took Buffy's hand in his.
"Whether I stay in LA depends on you. A lot depends on you."
"Hey, I'm the Slayer. Everything always depends on me," joked Buffy, but without heart.
"Us depends on you." Angel took a deep breath, and almost coughed on it. "I left Sunnydale all those years ago for several reasons, but mainly because I knew I was never going to be able to give you what you want, what you deserve, apart from help in patrolling you didn't need and constant worry. And I left because I was worried there would come a time when my . desire would grow too great and overwhelm me. I never stopped loving you, Buffy, not for one single instant; everything I did was for you. Since the day I first saw you everything has been for you." He paused. "Last night - if you can call it that - the Powers That Be offered me my humanity, but warned me that I would not get all I wanted. I took the risk. I gambled, because the hope was too great for me. It still is. But if you say no, then I'll leave again, and go and start a new life in Europe. I won't forget you because I cannot, but I won't bother you ever again." He lifted his eyes to hers. "Will you . could you . accept back the ring I gave you on your seventeenth birthday, and be mine, take me for yours, for the rest of our lives?"
There was silence. In the corner the clock struck nine. Buffy sniffed, and with the back of her left hand brushed tears away from her cheek.
"That's the most I've ever heard you say."
"Perhaps I'm going to become garrulous now," Angel said, out of nervousness.
"Angel," Buffy said, looking away over his shoulder, not quite at him, "you broke my heart so many times. Our whole history has been one long tragedy. On graduation day the moment you turned your back was harder than everything before, the moment I realised you meant what you'd said. Now, now you're human. And you expect me to say yes?"
Angel felt his newly-found world go spinning away from him, sudden nausea in his stomach, his mouth dry.
"I love you, Angel, you know that. But it's a love I've put behind me. I can't Slay with someone to worry about. I tried. I failed. When you were a vampire I didn't need to worry, you fought by yourself, you looked after yourself. I need you to carry on looking after yourself, I can't do it for you. You're a wonderful, amazing person. You deserve a proper life too." She put her left hand on his, lightly. "How much longer do I have? A year, maybe three? So the Hellmouth is closed, again. It might not stay that way. I might get careless, get jumped at night. I might ." a shadow of pain flashed across her face, "lose my powers, like Giles is worried about. I'm sure there are women out there who you could love. I need to stay here, with Giles, with my work."
Angel blinked, his eyes feeling oddly hot.
"That's it?"
Buffy took her hands away and straightened up, going to the window and looking out at the quiet courtyard.
"This whole . human thing, it's as odd for me as you," she said, without turning. "Why did you never tell me about the prophecy?"
"Because I never thought it would come true, not until last night," Angel replied honestly. "It wasn't specific. No dates, scarcely any details, except that after many fights it would happen. So much happened. I couldn't dwell on it. I couldn't let myself hope again. I didn't want to hurt you."
"And now?"
"And now I am hoping again."
"Then stop!" said Buffy, turning suddenly. "It's hopeless. I'm sorry, Angel, I've never been sorrier for anything I ever did, but I am the Slayer and that's all I'll ever be. Never someone's wife, or mother, never responsible for anything except killing demons. It's not a world for a human being."
"So it's just I love you but go away?" Angel whispered, his voice hoarse. "Now I'm human I can't share your life?"
"Yes."
Their eyes met, and for a second the world stood still, and then without saying anything else she crossed the room, picked up her bag and left. The door closed with a bang.
Angel gazed into space, not seeing anything. The day had been wonderful when he woke into it, full of new beginnings and sunshine. Now a dark cloud obscured the sun, and his heart beating in his chest was painful.
With a start he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he stood and turned quickly. Giles smiled reassuringly back at him.
"Only me. Has Buffy gone?" The ex-Watcher looked at Angel's face and frowned in sympathy. "Oh. Oh dear." Giles moved behind the counter and poured hot water into the teapot.
"She's gone. That's it."
"Angel, I'm sorry."
"You have no need to be sorry," Angel said, looking up into Giles's intelligent gaze. "You've always been much too . much too tolerant, and understanding, of us. Of me. It means a lot."
Giles settled himself on the sofa.
"I had hoped that this tr . transformation would get rid of the guilt. It's nearly ten years now, and I think we can agree conclusively that wasn't you. There's no saying that Jenny and I would have worked out any more than you and Buffy. What did she actually say?"
"She's the Slayer. She doesn't want to worry about me when she Slays. She loves me, but we can't be together. Not now, and not ever."
Giles turned the corners of his mouth up in a sort of frown, his brow wrinkling.
"So?"
"I promised her I'd go to Europe, and start again. I can't stay here, not so close, without her. It's been nearly a century since I was there. I imagine I can find a job doing something." Angel's face did not reflect his hopeful words. "Doing something."
"I might be able to help you," said Giles, putting down his cup and going to a cupboard.
Faith was sitting in the kitchen thoughtfully eating ice cream from the tub when Angel got back halfway through the afternoon, his skin red and sore and his eyes smarting from the sunlight. He came down the stairs into the dark apartment and threw down the bag of weapons which today seemed ten times heavier than the evening before, and went wearily to see her.
"Hey!" Faith said. She sported a black eye and several scratches but otherwise seemed unharmed. Then her eyes went to the clock. "Funny time of day for you."
Angel ran some water into his hands and dabbed his eyes.
"I'm not a vampire anymore," he said indistinctly through the running water.
"Excuse me?" Faith put down her spoon. "Did I get that right?"
"Yes. It's over. We prevented the Apocalypse and I got rewarded."
"You don't seem very happy about it." Faith started on the ice cream again. "How's B?"
"Alive."
Faith examined Angel shrewdly.
"She's cast you off. Bitch."
"Don't say that." His voice was tired. "It's not her fault. It just . it just happened. It's over, that's all." He found a spoon and dipped it into the ice cream. "I'm leaving the States."
"Yeah? Oh, well. Kinda doesn't surprise me. I'd hoped you were gonna need help around here."
"You can have the business, if you want." Angel found himself making the offer without having really thought about it. "The apartment, the furniture. The clients, if there are any. I imagine there'll still be people needing saving. There's no rent."
Faith's eyes were wide, and she took her spoon out of her mouth and put it on the table.
"You're giving me this place?"
"That's what I said." He rubbed the burns on the back of his hands and avoided looking at her. "If you want it."
"Yeah!" Her tone was enthusiastic. "I mean, wow. Really?" She stood up. "Thanks, Angel." The hug took him by surprise, but he returned it briefly, finding a small amount of pleasure in Faith's happiness. "And the car?" she asked, going back to the ice cream.
She dropped him at the airport a week later, helping him unload the three suitcases from the back of the car.
"Have a nice flight. And don't worry, y'know, it's not gonna crash."
"Five by five," said Angel without a great deal of confidence. "I'll be fine."
"Sure you will." Faith smiled at him. "Did I mention I like the glasses?"
Angel nodded, and returned the smile.
"Look after yourself. I'll send an address when I have it. And keep in touch with Giles too." He lifted the cases on to a trolley. "Oh, and Faith - thank you. For looking after LA last week. It meant a lot."
"No problem." She jumped back into the car over the door and started the engine, and drove off with a crashing of gears. Angel shook his head and started to push the trolley into the airport.
The flight was surprisingly pleasant, he found, though the meal they were given tasted of cardboard, reminding him nastily of food he had nibbled before when he did not have need of it. But the view from the small round window made up for it all, with the tops of the clouds creating landscapes and patterns in the air, and he succeeded in sleeping a little. He found it incredible to think of what he would have thought of the concept of machines to carry people across oceans when he was human before, but the thought made him dizzy and he turned his attention to the film playing above his head.
At Immigration the officials barely glanced at the forged passport (obtained for him by a friend of Giles - Angel wondered where the Englishman had met the forger, but had decided to ask no questions), and in half an hour he was breathing in the fume-filled air of Britain, a new life ahead of him. A life, for the first time in more than two hundred years.
Epilogue.
"Do you swear to protect the Slayer with your life, to fight against the forces of darkness and to dedicate the rest of your days to the Council?"
"I swear," Angel said, and he meant it.
"Then we welcome you!" declared the Chairman of the Council of Watchers, and extended his hand. Angel shook it, and turned to smile at the assembly, in the process of applauding warmly.
Drinks were served, and the Chairman took his newest Watcher aside.
"Mr Giles's request surprised me somewhat," he admitted, perching on the edge of a chair. "Since the unfortunate business around the time of Miss Summers's eighteenth birthday his relations with the Council have been strained at best. But you'll see that I have tried to make a few changes since my instalment as Chairman. My predecessor was a little . constricted . in his views, especially regarding yourself, I'm afraid. He never really accepted what you were doing in Los Angeles, nor the loyalty Mr Wyndham-Pryce showed you." Angel bowed his head. "We were very sorry to hear of his death."
"Not as sorry as I was, sir," Angel replied.
The Chairman smiled sympathetically.
"I know you're going to be invaluable here. Too many of the Council have no practical experience fighting demons ."
"Let alone being one."
"Exactly. Exactly. Plus we're losing our knowledge of languages, here. They don't teach the ancient tongues anymore. And finally, you know the Slayers."
A flash of emotion crossed Angel's face, and he glanced down into his glass of sparkling wine.
"I know them."
The Chairman nodded, and patted Angel on the back.
"You'll be fine. Welcome to the team."
Angel smiled.
"Oh, I've been fighting on this team for many years, sir. Just now, I know I belong."
END.