This was getting tedious. Being here he’d been forced into a kind of holding pattern. He had to learn to be patient and that was just not who he was, dead or not. In his other life he’d been the same as he was now the only difference being that his kind of anger had been socially unacceptable, so he’d had to stifle his blacker impulses with the guise of befuddlement. But he was tired of keeping the façade in place. It was what Angel expected, but it was very taxing to keep up. He wondered how long it would take for Angel to notice the strain.

Once he’d become what he had been all bets were off. He could do, say, and have whatever he wanted. He loved it. He relished it.

Then things changed again, and he found himself changing, wanting to be better, for her. When that had exactly happened, he didn’t know, nor did he care all that much. He had to get back to her.

To do that, he had to keep Jonina safe. To keep Jonina safe, he had to be here. So, he stayed here and stood watch over him. Ever the fallen king’s loyal opposition.

Tedious or not, it must be done. This had to be done, he reminded himself, for Jonina and Buffy. He would do this if it meant that they would be safe. He would endure whatever vicarious torture Angel could concoct for him.

The specter that stood at Angel’s side had been willingly consigned to this vampire’s particular flames of woe to walk him through to the other side, kicking and screaming, if need be. Sighing, Holland took in the sorry tableau he presented, “Hello Humpty Dumpty,” he said as he leaned against the side of a neighboring tombstone.

Angel didn’t move a muscle in acknowledgement of his visitor, preferring instead to focus on his chosen instrument of torture. That was of no consequence to Holland. He was here for one reason. A reason that Angelus had yet to understand; he was tired of dropping breadcrumbs.

Angel had chosen to torture himself. That was no surprise, really. That was who he was. There was no changing that. For Angel, physical torture just wasn’t enough, there had to be a twisted psychological component or it just wasn’t worth doing.

Although, even as he stared at the stone with the familiar name inscribed upon it, Angel’s keeper had to admit that this was veering into the theatre of the bizarre.

The only thing that made him stay here was the insanely delicious notion that, if Angel truly understood whom he was speaking with in this graveyard, he might just squirm a little more.

He would have rather stayed with Buffy. Still, if being here meant keeping Joni safe in his arms, so be it. Let the Heavens fall. He’d take it, and gladly.

Angel noticed Holland’s casual air, watched the way his eyes seemed to wander as if he’d rather have been anywhere but where he was, and he fumed, “Have another appointment?” he asked flatly, “I thought there was no such thing as time here.”

Holland took his pocket watch from its pocket and opened it to stare down at the delicate face. It was a fine piece, really. Victorian. Holland was sure the luster of the gold made his eyes shine, as they once did. He was quite surprised that Angel hadn’t noticed, given his fondness for antiques. But then, Angelus was, at the moment, fixated on other matters.

He closed the timepiece with a soft click, and replaced it in his pocket, “Time exists everywhere, Angel,” he assured him as he looked at the self-imposed sadism that marred the vampire’s face, “It’s just not linear here. Another is due to arrive soon,” he shrugged, “It’s true. I’d like to be there to see his arrival. But, I’ve got all the time in the world,” he smirked a smirk that should have been known to Angel, had he been paying even a scant of attention, “I can stay. If you need me.”

Angel’s eyes burned him with a cold fire, “Why would I need you?” he bit out, “You’re part of the reason I’m here.”

Holland’s head gave a slow nod, “I am that. Yet, you keep bringing me here,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “To that stone,” he said, pointing where he could not look, “Why?”

Angel kept his eyes riveted to the stone as he answered in a tone that carried centuries of shame, “Because I killed him.”

Holland blinked. This was new. In all the years, years his charge was unaware of; that they’d been here, that admission had never crossed his lips. At least, not in that way, “You did,” Holland conceded, “You had given me the impression that you had gotten passed that,” Holland felt what could only be described as concern, “Apparently, you haven’t?”

“No,” Angel said, “I haven’t. I took his child from him,” Angel’s voice was strained with the memory of an old pain, “and I did it to keep him from losing Buffy. The loss of a child, it may not kill him physically. In fact, it may take years for the body to finally catch up to his spirit, but he’ll still die. Believe me,” he sighed, as his hooded eyes looked at marker that had become his nightmare, “I know. Buffy may live but, without the child, they’ll both die,” he looked at Holland with eyes that seemed to be a thousand years old, “So you see, Spike may have taken me out of the equation and I may or may not have prevented a plague. Either way,” Angel pointed to the tombstone, “he’s dead. And because of that, I have killed hundreds of people that I’ve never laid a hand on,” Angel’s voice shook with the weight of his unseen penance, “That is why I haven’t gotten past this. And, I hope I never do,” Angel looked up at his tormenter, and was disgusted when he noticed the child, once again, in his arms. A child he helped to put there, “I’ve become the one thing I hoped the soul would keep me from becoming. I’ve become a monster,” his eyes cut back to the stone, “I’ve become what you wanted. If this is the reward for not being strong enough to stop you, or the Senior Partners’ plans, then so be it. I’ll take it.”

The façade nearly slipped when Angel’s guide began to take in the quite real possibility that he might have been telling the truth, and he held Jonina tighter to him.

This is what he thought he wanted. But now that it was here, he realized that this pitiful sight wasn’t what he wanted. Buffy needed help.

Saving her from a living Hell, saving the Slayers, would take him away from her and he couldn’t live with himself if Buffy died of a broken heart while he was gone. She needed hope to carry on. And, as much as he hated the idea, Angel had the means to provide that hope. He grimaced inwardly, trying to keep the Holland mask in place. For this to work, Angel had to believe whom he was speaking to was who he purported to be, “I believe you’re right. That means that a vampire with a soul has indeed played a pivotal role in the apocalypse,” Holland sighed, “You deserve your reward. But, we must hurry, if we want to make it there in time.”

Angel looked at him in shock, “What are you talking about? I tore up the contract. I gave up on the prophecy. I signed it away!”

Holland shook his head in pity, “You know that contracts with the Home Office are iron clad. They cannot be made void. Ever,” Holland sighed again “And, a deal is a deal. You fulfilled your end. We will give you what we promised you. Things may not have gone the way the Senior Partners had planned, but the end result seems to have been satisfactory.”

Even as Holland was speaking, a hole opened in the fabric of the sky above them. Angel looked and was amazed to see what was beyond the tear in the sky that extended to the horizon. Somehow, he could see a heartbroken Buffy staring at him from the abyss.

Angel barely heard Holland’s voice over the howling wind. Didn’t hear the pain that he could no longer hide because he was too tired, “Well, Angel. It looks like your ship’s come in,” he looked up and nearly choked on the sorrow of his departure that was written on her face, “You’d best take it, before it’s too late. Go.”

At Angel’s shocked look, he insisted, his voice hissing, “Go. Now! Take care of her. Please? Don’t let her forget.”

The pleading tone cut through the shock of what was being said, and Angel saw, at last, what was just beneath the surface, “Spike?” Angel asked, too shaken to say anything else.

“Yes!” Spike yelled over the roaring gale, “Now run. Quick, you ponce, before it closes again. If it does we’ll both be trapped here. That can’t happen! As much as I hate you, I hate the idea of Buffy being lost even worse that that. She needs you. Take care of her until I get back. And, I will be back! Remember that, and make sure she remembers that too. No matter how long it takes, I will be back!”

Angel nodded, before turning and dashing toward the horizon, Buffy, and the unknown.

As the tear repaired itself, leaving it eerily quiet once more in this graveyard, the keeper wiped his eyes of wetness, and made his way toward the crumpled figure that lay in a broken heap just on the horizon.
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