[A/N: These aren’t easy chapters to write. I’m trying to keep the gore to a minimum, but I really don’t know how much I can omit. Rest assured though, that all of it has a purpose. May not be the purpose you want to serve, but it does serve one. Title is from the Alarm (again) from the song of the same name and the quotes belong to those who uttered them (I’m just passing along the wisdom). And those pesky disclaimers prove once again, that I own nothing.]

Previously: Oz is recovering from his battle with Angelus; and Buffy isn’t feeling too hot. Wesley’s convinced the others that there’s some merit to his worry about Cordelia. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two, chapter 28. Rescue me


Sometimes that shark looks right at ya.
Right into your eyes.
And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes.
Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.
When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.
The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin' those sharks come in and... they rip you to pieces.
Quint, Jaws (1975)

My mommy always said there were no monsters
- no real ones - but there are, aren't there?
Newt, Aliens (1986)



“He’s so not supposed to be doing that.” Buffy was flipping through the pages of the book, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes half on the book and half on the almost crawling baby on the floor. “Look.”

Spike took the book from her, noting the progress the baby had made across the floor. “Figure he’s gonna reach the bed?”

“I dunno. But this can’t be good, can it?” She sat up, leaning on his arm. Spike glanced down at the book, squinted then moved it further away so he could read the print. That didn’t help, so he brought it closer to his face. “Sprog’s not supposed to do this for ‘nother couple of months.”

Connor wriggled forward again and Buffy looked between the two males. “This is so not good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xander crept around the side of the mansion, heading toward the back, peeking into the small basement windows as the bot continuously checked for awake vampires. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, not even sleeping minions. It was enough to convince him that this side of the mansion was deserted, until the bot tapped his shoulder. “There’s something in that room.”

He whirled around, following the bot’s pointed finger. “It’s a vampire. Can I stake it?”

“No. Just let me check it out, all right?” He moved forward slowly in case the vampire was awake. Xander leaned against the window, shading his eyes. Some nameless vampire was asleep on a couch, angled away from the window. He didn’t recognize it, rightly figuring it was a relative fledgling. What did catch his attention was the door opposite the window. The sleeping vamp’s posture sort of indicated, at least to him, that the vamp was guarding the door.

“C’mon, let’s keep looking.” Xander moved toward his right, toward the back of the house, the bot trailing him closely.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was funny how sleeping underground affected a person’s perceptions. Tara had the vague idea that hours had passed since Giles and Wesley had left them alone, but she had no other way, other than her small clock, of verifying that. Oz had barely moved in all that time, mostly shifting here and there to get more comfortable, but never truly waking up.

Even when Spike had come down with the baby, the werewolf had barely stirred. Part of her was beginning to worry, but, Dr. Thomas had said that the best thing for him would be sleep. While not blessed with Slayer or vampire healing, werewolves did have something akin to it.

Within a week, the doctor had assured her, Oz would be up and around, maybe not fighting vampires again, but he’d be well on the way to completely recovered. Tara wasn’t so sure she was thrilled with this news. Too many of them had been getting hurt. She was just afraid that the next time, whoever it was, wouldn’t recover so quickly. Perhaps she and the watchers could research protection spells for everyone.

Oz growled in pain and she sat up, her hands running lightly over his injuries, checking for any changes. For now she had to worry about him, the rest could wait until he was out of the woods.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Crouched down a bit, Wesley craned his neck to see into another window on the opposite side of the house. Rupert was further toward the back of the house, where they had agreed to all meet. From Wesley’s current position, he could see Giles and as he looked down into the window, he could barely make out two pair of feet and the corner of a bed. There was movement in a corner of the room and simultaneously both Englishmen hissed for attention.

Rupert’s voice was a bare whisper. “What have you got?”

“Possibly Angel and Drusilla. All I can see is feet. It appears there’s a girl chained up at the foot of the bed.” He turned to face the older man and his expression told Wesley all he needed to know. “How is she?”

Giles didn’t say anything, remaining silent until he joined Wesley. “Not good.”

Without sparing a second glance behind him, Rupert headed for the back of the house and the other two. Wesley hesitated a moment, moved toward the window, then changing his mind, backed away.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Gotta be something here I can use. . . something. Frustration was getting the better of her temper and Willow was vaguely aware she was sort of unraveling but the information was important. There has to be some way I can fix this mess. . . make all this badness go away. Make everything the way it should be. Why can’t I find it?

This wasn’t like the resurrection spell. Willow realized that – this was more along the lines of using the Lethe’s Bramble to make them forget – but that’s not really what she wanted. Don’t want anyone to forget, just want them to be the way they should be. Make everything right.

It hardly mattered that what she thought was right might not actually be the way things were supposed to be, because Willow didn’t much care anymore. She just wanted her rightful place back. Buffy’s best friend. Xander’s best friend. And Tara’s girlfriend. That’s the way things are supposed to be. I’m supposed to be on the inside one of the scoobies – not Spike. He’s a vampire, one of the bad guys.

Willow pursed her lips into a look Xander was well acquainted with and if he were there to witness it, he’d be very concerned about Willow’s intentions. It has to be here. . . whatever it is. Turning the page of the old grimoire on her lap, Willow focused on the words of the spell in front of her. Hhhhhmmmm. Maybe I can tweak this a bit.

Determination renewed, Willow set about finding a way to fix the world to her liking.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Cheerfully sending another satisfied customer on their way, Anya idly noted the time on the clock. Quarter past four and she could lock up in another fifteen minutes, then head home.

Home. Where Xander should be. Anya wasn’t so sure she wanted to go there. All they’d been doing lately was fighting. Fighting about announcing their wedding, fighting about Willow’s strange behavior; fighting about Buffy and Spike; fighting about everything. About the only time they weren’t fighting was while they had sex but lately they’d been fighting about that too.

Whenever Xander wasn’t happy with anything, he’d spend time complaining about it. Complaining endlessly. Xander bitched about everything. Every. Thing.

Anya thought that this was normal, until her brief conversation with Giles a couple of weeks ago. Something he’d said had started her thinking and now her head hurt constantly because of all the thinking she’d been doing. And not only her head hurt.

Her heart did too. She wasn’t blind – just outspoken, and yes, she admitted it; sometimes rather self-absorbed. But she’d seen things – lots of things. After all, she’d lived longer than any of them, hell, all of them combined, but she’d seen life along the way. Okay, so vengeance demons don’t always see people at their happiest or their best, but still, she’d seen. She wasn’t blind.

And it had come as a little surprise when she realized that a vampire was more capable of love than she’d ever expected. She was so totally jealous of Buffy; not because she wanted orgasms from Spike and hey, she wouldn’t turn him down if he offered, but really, Anya, off topic , but she was jealous of the way Spike treated Buffy.

It was quite clear to anyone who cared to spend more than five minutes watching them that Buffy was the center of Spike’s world; the sun around which his universe revolved. And that was what Anya was jealous about, because it was also quite clear that she didn’t fulfill that same role for Xander. And that made her head and her heart hurt.

Maybe Giles is right. Maybe its not how, maybe it’s the who that’s all wrong. Anya moved about the shop, needlessly cleaning an already spotless display case when her attention was diverted by the bell over the door pealing in the quiet shop.

Switching on the blinding smile and super-salesgirl persona, Anya greeted her next sale.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Do you think he’s gonna walk early too?” Buffy was curled on her side at the edge of the bed watching Connor scoot from one side of the floor to the other.

Spike looked up at her from his prone position on the floor blocking the doorway. He’d been coaxing the baby forward for almost an hour now, and all that practice had apparently paid off. As incredible as it appeared, Connor was, at just over two months old, pretty much crawling from one location to another. “‘Spect so. Sprog’s strong for his age, an’ look at ‘im go.”

Connor had reached Spike and was trying to pull himself up using the vampire as a prop, butting against his chest. Spike rolled onto his back and lifted the infant in the air, making zooming noises as he did. Buffy watched the both of them, thinking about how cute they both were. “We can’t. . . how the heck are we supposed to do this? I don’t know anything about babies. And you’re not exactly father of the year material.”

He turned an affronted face to her. “Least I’m here tryin’ to do m’best.”

She knew she’d hurt him by the expression in his eyes. Damn Buffy, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut? Coz he’s right, he’s here doing the daddy bit and where’s the baby’s real father? Oh. Right. Off terrorizing people. Better say something. “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll just have to do our best and figure it all out as we go.”

“Jus’ like everyone else, sunshine. ‘Snot like sprogs come equipped with how-tos. ‘Sides, we don’t know what spawn here is capable of jus’ yet.”

“True.” She watched them both a little longer, her eyes drinking in the sight of her mate playing with a baby. A yawn stretched Connor’s face and Buffy said, “looks like all that practice tired out our boy.”

Spike cradled the boy to his chest, getting gracefully to his feet in the next moment. “Yeah. Take him. Watchers should be in soon. Gonna call Niblet, tell her to head home. You rest with him.”

Dropping Connor on the bed behind her, Spike waited until she rolled over to tuck him in her arms, then kissed her forehead. “Get some kip, sunshine, I’ll be back.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Aside from confirming to the others that Cordelia was in fact in the mansion, Giles hadn’t said anything as they made their way back to the house on Revello Drive. None of them in fact had much of anything to say. Before their mission, only the possibility of Cordelia’s captivity existed; unfortunately, now it had moved from the realm of possibility into very harsh reality.

Reality they’d all hoped wouldn’t actually be true.

Hoping to spare the others what he’d witnessed, Giles had rushed them away from the mansion – partially also to distance himself a bit.

There wasn’t enough time and space to truly distance himself from that. Cordelia was. . . his mind shied away from the visions, from the sight of her. He couldn’t . . . Rupert closed his eyes against the daylight. He. . . oh god. Poor girl. He’d known firsthand the kind of damage Angel could inflict given the time. Without knowing how long he’d had Cordelia, Rupert had fooled himself about what had been done.

He was struck with the sudden realization that he quite possibly owed his life to Spike. But instead of calming him, Ruper also realized that no one had come to Cordelia’s rescue – she’d been in the clutches of a monster for days, without any protection at all – which increased his agitation.

So lost in his thoughts, Rupert had no idea they’d gotten back to the house until Wesley nudged him, after calling him more than once. Giles looked over at the younger man, a very distracted air about him and slowly reacted. “Right.”

Almost blindly, Giles walked in the front door, and the contrast between what was struck him hard. Tears formed in his eyes and Rupert excused himself, leaving the others to wonder at his behavior.

Walking up the steps in a daze, Rupert Giles came to a decision, one that he should have made years before, but hadn’t for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom at this moment. This time, he was going to argue against re-souling Angel, and rather, he was going to advocate dusting him.

Spike was just closing the bedroom door when he reached the second floor hallway. At the stricken look on the older man’s features, Spike sighed. “He’s got her then.”

“Yes.” It was all he needed to hear.

Opening the door again, Spike held up a hand as Rupert started to speak. “Get dressed, kitten. They’re back.”

With that he moved to close the door, but Giles’ hand on his arm stopped him. “Wait Spike, I . . . need to say. . that is. . . I. Thank you. For what you did all those years ago. Diverting Angel’s attention like you did.”

Staring at him in slight shock, Spike shook his head. “Wasn’t doing it for you mate.”

Giles too was shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. The fact remains . . . regardless of why. You saved my life.”

Buffy came to the door, sharing a long look with her mate. “Giles? What happened?”

“Angelus has the cheerleader, love.” Her eyes left Spike’s face to glance up at Giles. His face was without emotion, but Buffy knew Giles was deeply affected; nothing else would have prompted his prior words.

“Oh god. I’ll be down in a minute. Get everyone together.” Buffy closed the door and both men headed back downstairs.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wesley was pacing the dining room and Xander was sitting at the table, waiting for Giles to come back down so they could discuss what to do and how to rescue Cordelia. The opening and closing of doors upstairs drifted down, and the soft murmur of voices could barely be heard. The bot was bustling about doing something in the kitchen, by the sounds of it washing dishes and generally cleaning. Neither of the two younger men spoke, the silence between them complete.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs was deafening, and both of them looked toward the staircase. Spike stepped down heavily, Giles a mere step behind him. Looking at the grim faces, the vampire said, “Buffy’ll be down in a tick.”

He headed for the phone and motioning toward the others to sit and wait for Buffy; Spike waited until Dawn picked up then told her to get home and bring ginger ale.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her belly was not cooperating. The rolling nausea that accompanied her every move was threatening to overspill and wreak havoc with her equilibrium. Buffy sat down on the bed, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to control the tempest. Okay, this is not good. Gotta stop this. Slipping into her sweats and one of Spike’s tee shirts, Buffy lifted a sleeping Connor and put him into his crib, then ran a quick hand through her hair. All right, let’s do this.

Inhaling deeply, Buffy slowly made her way downstairs.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


All four of them were ranged around the dining room, Xander and Giles sitting in two of the chairs, while Wesley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Spike was pacing, well not really pacing so much as not staying in one place, his attention focused inward. His head perked up as he heard her footsteps on the stairs, worry written on lines bracketed around his mouth.

She smiled at him wanly, knowing that putting a chipper grin on her face was not going to fool him, and kind of inappropriate, given Giles’ revelation about Cordelia. “Hey guys.”

“Hey Buff.” Xander had picked up his head at her entrance, his eyes doing a quick scan over her slight form. He grimaced, but held his tongue, at her choice of attire.

Buffy stopped short, swallowing the bile in her throat. “Xand.” She leaned heavily on the table, her eyes darting between all of the males. It was strange to see so many men at a makeshift scoobie meeting, usually they were overwhelmed by the girl-power. Sharing a smile with Spike, Buffy stood up and said, “what’s the sitch, guys?”

By default, it was Giles that spoke, since none of the others had seen where or how Cordelia was being restrained. “She’s in the mansion, on the mid-level floor, on the south side of the building. I’m not certain how many vampires are in the house. Angelus and Drusilla appear to be in the room adjacent to where Cordelia is.”

“She is . . . secured to a bed.” His voice faltered a little, as he paused to draw a breath, but he gathered himself after a moment and he continued, “I couldn’t ascertain the extent of her injuries, but they appear to be extensive. She’s going to need immediate transport to hospital.”

Nothing but silence greeted his words and they all processed the information he’d just imparted.

“We can’t protect her in hospital.” Wesley’s voice was grim.

Giles glanced up at him, anger and frustration evident on his normally placid features. “No, but we cannot keep her here. She needs medical attention of the kind we cannot provide and magic won’t be enough.”

“Can we risk getting her out of town? Or is there some way we can put a protective field around her at one of the hospitals here?” Buffy’s gaze flickered between Giles and Wesley, wondering if either one of them knew something they might be able to use to protect Cordelia once they had her safe.

“I’m not sure. Most public places can’t be barred.” Wesley thought for a few moments, then fixed his eyes on the older man. “How dire are her injuries? If she’s as badly injured as you are implying, she would be housed in ICU, correct?”

“It’s more than likely.” Lifting his eyes to Wesley’s face, Giles asked, “what are you thinking?”

“Since she’ll be in isolation, it might be possible to perform a disinvite.” Spike considered this, his expression thoughtful.

“Might work. She’d be livin’ there.”

Buffy’s expression mirrored Spike’s. “Okay, so we can work on that once we get her out of there. First we have to get her. Any ideas?”

“Our best and probably only chance is going to be a diversion.” Giles took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes to hide the emotions overwhelming him. “We somehow need to draw both Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion.”

“Yeah and how are we gonna manage that and who’s gonna be stupid enough to be the bait?” Xander’s first contribution to the planning session was typically him.

Wesley ignored his tones, focusing instead on the words. “Exactly. What’s the best way to draw both of them?”

Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. “Me.”

They shared a look wrought with tension.

“Are you kidding?” Xander exploded into the quiet room. “If you both act as bait, how the hell are the rest of us supposed to rescue Cordy – you two are the strongest. And I really hate admitting that.”

Without taking his eyes from Buffy, Spike said softly, “I’ll go alone.”

Buffy was shaking her head no, while Giles and Wesley were both spluttering their own negatives. She couldn’t speak for the emotion suddenly clogging her throat and her heart was in her eyes as she looked at him.

“We can’t. . . “ Wesley was trying to come up with a reason to deny Spike, but the vampire held up his hand.

“Listen. I’ll take the bot – get into something so that Angelus and Dru hear of it – all public like.” He paused watching Buffy’s reaction to his words. “You lot get to be the heroes an’ rescue the girl.”

He knew what she was feeling, could sense it through the bond, but he also knew this was pretty much their best plan. Right now it was their only plan.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She could hear the noises from the other rooms, the sounds of people stirring and moving about. In a Pavlovian response, her body tensed, muscles clenching, tears immediately seeping from her closed eyes. There were no prayers left in her, nothing beyond please let me die echoing inside her head. Everything else was numb. Pain had leached away every other thought, every emotion stripped away in the light of what she’d endured.

Blood was sticking to her, making everything crinkle and crack every time she moved. Whimpers sounded in the still air of the room and it took her long minutes to realize it was her own voice making them. The outside noises came closer and the desperation filled her. Please. . . no more. . . please. . . mommy. . . daddy. . . please. . . no. . .

There was no release, the chains still bound her, the leather cutting into her skin, slicing deep into already abused flesh, bruising muscles and creating a fresh flow of blood around her wrists and ankles. The door to her prison creaked open and the dark looming shape of her captor stepped over the threshold.

Cordelia whimpered, high-pitched and desperate, fear ripping through her. She couldn’t think of him as what he once was, who he once was. . . he wasn’t that person. . . He might wear the same face, inhabit the same body, but whoever lived behind his eyes was not the person she . . .

“Good evening Cordy. How are you tonight? Did you miss me? Hhhmmm?” He grinned ferally as he came closer to the bed, entering her line of sight. “You know, I’m really thinking that I like you all quiet and obedient. But hey, kind of missing the visions. Seen anything good lately?”

Angel ran a deceptively gentle hand over her face, which he hadn’t yet damaged. “You are a beauty.” She tried shying away from his fingers, but Angel gripped her chin in one hand, leaning close, so that their faces were bare inches apart. “Shouldn’t do that Cordy. Really.”

Tracing a hand down along her neck, Angel leaned down, squeezing and flexing his fingers around, tightening and cutting off her air. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she gasped desperately for air. Her lungs constricted, her body bucking and writhing in an attempt to get the oxygen she needed to survive. His face came closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear and he whispered softly, gently, “don’t fight so much. You get used to not needing to breathe after a while. Kind of like getting used to not having a heartbeat.”

Choking noises filled the room, and he abruptly let her go, watching with a wide grin as she coughed and wheezed. Purple marks bloomed freshly over yellowed bruises and Cordy refused to look at him as he moved a single finger from her throat down toward her slashed breasts. Pressing hard against barely healed cuts, Angel broke open the scabs, letting fresh blood ooze from the abused globes.

Musing almost distractedly, Angel spoke aloud, his words barely registering in her mind. “So much to play with, so nice and full and delicious. You know, you taste like catnip. Maybe I’ll let my kitty-cat girl play for a little while.”

Angel watched while tiny streams of blood flowed from tiny pooling red lakes, down the sides of Cordelia’s once lovely breasts. He drew shimmering Celtic designs in blood on her torso, patterns swirling on and over her breasts and down her flanks, dipping closer to her torn and battered sex. More to himself than her, he continued speaking, “maybe I’ll have this branded into you, before I bring you over. Prove to you forever who you belong to. That you are mine. . . . to keep . . or not.”

He shoved his thumb inside her, pumping once, then reached for the police baton he’d taken from his latest minion. Grinning, he played with it, making sure Cordelia saw what he was doing. There was a soft noise behind him, and without moving or turning away from his victim, Angel said, “not now Dru. I’m playing.”

A soft laugh accompanied his dismissal. “Really Daddy, might I play with you? I’ve been ever so good and Miss Edith says the little seer will be seeing things tonight. Such nice little visions.”

With her words, Angel did finally turn around to look at Dru. His leer upon seeing her was wide and hungry. She lounged in the doorway, covered in nothing but a virginal lace veil stolen from the bridal shop, her skin as pearly white as the material, save for the darkness of her long hair and the shadow at the junction of her thighs. “A vision? Miss Edith says our guest is going to have a vision?”

“And the pixies too. Daddy, might your little girl come in and play? Please. . . pretty please?” A coquette’s grin and wide guileless eyes graced Drusilla’s face and as always, Angel couldn’t resist her. Holding out a hand to his precious childe, Angel motioned her forward. A happy giggle sounded in the air and she bounced forward eagerly. “Oooohhh Daddy, I promise I’ll be good. . . . can I play?”

Gathering the swirling lace in his big hand, Angel dragged Drusilla forward, until she hovered over Cordelia’s trussed body. The white lace dragged through the congealed blood, abrading the sensitive skin on Cordelia’s naked flesh. “So Dru, where does Daddy’s little girl want to play first?”

Drusilla was nearly salivating and bouncing with unrepressed glee. “Can I lick her up, can I? Pretty please. . . . please Daddy?”

Angel appeared to contemplate the idea for long minutes, looking between the two brunettes. The mental image had Cordelia being a willing participant, but that would come in time. . . .

“Sure baby. Lick her all over.”

Drusilla’s mouth descended slowly toward Cordelia’s cracked and bleeding nipple, her tongue poking out from between deadly lips, but Cordelia didn’t care, her mind was blank, lost in the fog of pain and despair, all hope of rescue long gone.




[A/N: Sometimes it’s a struggle to just get a word down on paper and sometimes the words flow from the pen like they were pent up within the ink. Irony, it seems, isn’t lost at all. This chapter was a study in contrasts for me. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but some of the words wouldn’t emerge from the pen and then suddenly, it clicked and I had written 9 more pages. Hopefully none of it sucks. Title is from one of the quotes (yet twisted a bit) and the quotes, as always, belong to those who first uttered (or wrote) them. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Xander managed to put aside his animosity toward Spike long enough for everyone to attempt Cordelia’s rescue. Buffy is feeling not so good and its less than a week until Christmas. This picks up exactly where we left everyone.

Book Two. Chapter 29. Relying on hope


To the last moment of his breath,
On hope the wretch relies;
And even the pang preceding death
Bids expectation rise.
Oliver Goldsmith, The Captivity. Act ii.

For the wretched
one night is like a thousand;
for someone faring well
death is just one more night.
Sophocles Fragments, l. 377

Destroy yourselves,
you who are desperate,
and you who are tortured in body and soul,
abandon all hope.
There is no more solace for you in this world.
The world lives off your rotting flesh.
Antonin Artaud, General Security: The Liquidation of Opium, (1925)





Just minutes after Spike’s pronouncement, Giles had excused himself in an effort to escape from the wrangling over the finer points of the plan. Buffy had watched him, her eyes meeting Wesley’s for a brief moment then her attention was drawn once more to their plan.

Before they had a chance to come up with something solid, Dawn, with Casey just steps behind her, traipsed in the doorway, toting the requested ginger ale. Dawn made her way into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of the bot. “Spike?”

Her voice was strained with mirth and he couldn’t figure out why, until he remembered they had forgottten to put the bot away. Luckily, Casey had stopped to talk to Buffy about something so Spike hustled into the kitchen and hastily put the bot back in storage.

Buffy took the brief lull Casey’s appearance allowed for and sought out Giles, who was sitting quietly in the living room.

“Hey.” He opened his eyes at her greeting, angling his head in her direction.

“Buffy.” Actually taking the opportunity to look at her, he was shocked at the fatigue in her eyes and drawn look to her features. Her normally golden color was a bit off and he could now clearly see how much she hid from the others. “Are you all right?”

“I’m pooped. Staying up most nights with Spike and pretending to be Connor’s mommy very early in the morning make a totally tired Buffy.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps you should consider not going?” Buffy eyed him strangely, noting his own strained and tired look.

“Nope. Not unless you consider it.” She sat down on the couch facing him. “I’m fine, just tired.” She paused again, looking down at her hands. “How bad is she?”

“What? What makes you think this is in response . . ?” His voice trailed off when Buffy raised her eyebrow and just stared him down.

“Giles? I’m tired. Not blind or dumb.”

He grimaced, realizing he was going to have to tell someone. “Not good. By the amount of blood. . . I thought she was on red sheets until. . . “ he shook his head, unwilling to continue. “She’s tied to the bed, I couldn’t see how, but it probably involves chains.”

“Only if he thinks there’s a reason. Prob’ly tied her there with somethin’ else. Somethin’ designed to cause pain.” Spike’s voice sounded quietly from the kitchen doorway. He handed Buffy a glass of ginger ale, then folded his arms over his chest. “He’s goin’ for the hurt. Oxford said he was gettin’ the warm fuzzies for the girl. He’s tryin’ to break her.”

Buffy sipped the ginger ale, a slight grimace of distaste on her face. “You think he’s going to turn her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Spike’s one word answer was enough for Buffy.

“We’re going in tonight.” Spike wasn’t the only one with a game face. The Slayer was suddenly sitting next to Giles, tired and under-the-weather Buffy long gone.

“Tonight? Are you certain?” Giles’ eyes were on his slayer.

“Yup.” She was nodding her head.

“Best we wait ‘til after midnight – this way if we get stuck, its close to daybreak an’ they can’t follow you when you get her out.” Spike laid a hand on her shoulder, absently running his thumb back and forth.

“So we gear up around midnight?” Xander’s voice preceded him into the living room.

“Looks like it.” Buffy was shaking her head. “We have one shot at this so it has to work.”

Wesley, who had followed Spike in from the kitchen, glanced down at his watch. “That gives us roughly seven hours.” At everyone’s nodded agreement, he continued, “then I suggest we get some sleep.”

Only Spike disagreed, but that was expected. “Don’t need it, but you, sunshine, should go.”

Turning watery eyes on him, Buffy asked, “come with?”

“Right then, see you lads later.” Spike’s dismissal was quick as he pulled Buffy to her feet. They disappeared up the stairs as the three men departed out the front door.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She knew something was up when Spike called her, telling her to come home, but wasn’t sure how serious it was until she’d come in the door.

For one thing, Wesley was still wearing the same clothes as last night. For another, Xander was in the dining room and he and Spike weren’t fighting. So whatever was going on had to be serious.

Dawn knew it was really bad when the bot was out of storage. And she was beginning to worry. She couldn’t ask point blank because Casey didn’t really know about the weirdness that was her life and it would take far too long to explain it to him. Not to mention so not wanting to go there at all.

Hearing them all leave like that clued her in a little more, but she also knew she couldn’t ask what was really going on while Casey was still around.

On the pretext of finding out if she could order a pizza for them, Dawn left Casey in front of the television and headed up the stairs.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


They had climbed the stairs in silence, neither one of them inclined to talk. Buffy was feeling better, despite all the moving around, but still wasn’t up for the possible fight with Spike over the plan for the night.

Not that anyone else had been able to come up with something better. She didn’t like it, and some niggling sense kept her on edge about it. She didn’t like being split up from him while they were doing the rescuing bit. Didn’t even like patrolling without him – at least lately. While partially the claim, a just as real part of it was being skittish about certain things, not that fighting vampires was all that scary, it was the other stuff.

Knowing about Dawn had changed something fundamental for her. And that was before she knew the full truth.

Jumping to save Dawn had been the most right thing she’d ever done; it had also been the easiest. And now? Knowing the real truth – that Dawn was her daughter – Buffy would have only done one or two things differently. Now, with everything to live for, Buffy wasn’t inclined to take too many risks – and she was really afraid that something would go wrong and everything would fall apart, leaving her alone and without her mate. She didn’t think she could survive that.

Once inside their bedroom, Buffy turned to face her mate. The look on her features must have spoken volumes, because he opened his arms to enfold her and clasp her against his chest.

“I love you, you know, right?” A smile played across his face in answer, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always. You too kitten.” His arms tightened around her as he walked her backwards to the bed. Gently he pushed her onto the mattress, his touch firm. “Back to bed with you missy.”

“I’m fine.” He just snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow at her less than enthusiastic assertion. “Really I am.”

“Sure thing Slayer. How’s tha’ belly?” Two arms on either side of her hips, Spike leaned over her. “Hhmmm? Feelin’ a bit topsy turvy yet?”

“Bleah. Meanie.” She stuck her tongue out at him, pouting when he pushed her down onto the pillows.

“Right. ‘M mean coz ‘m makin’ you nap.” He was smirking at her, his eyes laughing.

“No. You’re a meanie because you’re gonna leave me alone the minute I fall asleep.” Her lower lip pouted and Spike growled. “And you’re making with the rumblies now too.”

His bark of laughter caused an answering smile in her. “If you wanted to snuggle, all you had to do was ask, love.” He pushed her further onto the bed, “shove over then.”

Once he was next to her, Buffy rolled into his waiting arms basking in his attention. He murmured into her hair as her eyes drifted closed. “Only have to ask kitten.”

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Her eyes had just closed when Dawn snuck in the door after knocking. Finding the two of them on the bed, Buffy’s eyes already closed, Dawn knew something very serious was up – and not just the slayer stuff.

“What’s up?” Dawn walked toward the bed, trying not to disturb Buffy too much. Spike shifted a bit, eyeing her over his shoulder.

“Buffy’s feelin’ poorly an’ she’s gettin’ some kip before we go out tonight.”

“Yeah about that. . . what’s going on?” Dawn folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.

She looked so much like Buffy that he had to laugh. Buffy opened her eyes and asked “what’s so funny?”

Spike nudged her, saying, “that look’s pure Slayer, love, nothin’ of me in there ‘tall.”

“Ahuh.” Buffy rolled her eyes, focusing on Dawn again. “Angel has Cordelia and we’re gonna rescue her tonight.”

Dawn’s expression faltered, knowing what that could mean. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“No. Giles caught a glimpse of her and she’s gotta go right to the hospital.” Buffy brushed her hair away from her face and laid her head down on Spike’s chest. “We’re gonna need you to take care of Connor tonight, while the rest of us sleep.”

Glancing over at the crib, Dawn made a face then gave in. “Sure. I’ll get him when he wakes up.” She started to leave, then remembered her original purpose. “Is it okay if I order a couple of pizzas?”

“Get some wings too, ” was Spike’s only comment as she headed for the door.

“All right. I’ll see you later.”

Buffy snuggled closer into Spike’s arms and closed her eyes again without another word.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was half eleven when the Watchers arrived and five minutes later when Xander and Anya walked in the door. Spike had been up for hours polishing weapons and Buffy had gotten up just after ten and showered. She’d tried once to talk him out of going with the bot, but he had retorted with “only if you stay home” which effectively ended that discussion.

Tara had ventured upstairs while Casey was still around and therefore had gotten a bare account of what was going on, but it was enough to alert her to the situation.

The bot was brought out of storage and given instructions which consisted of nothing more than do exactly what Spike says and ask no questions. Spike still had no idea what he was going to do, his only thought at the moment was to somehow draw the two master vampires away from the mansion. It was the how that was currently escaping him.

Looking around at everyone ranged about the dining room, Spike idly noted that the rest had done them all some good. Even Buffy was feeling better, that nausea dissipating after the enforced sleep. Her hazel green eyes sparked with life again and while her mood wasn’t exactly cheerful, she was back to herself.

She caught him looking at her and she tried forming a question in her head and was rewarded half a second later when his answer came through loud and clear. She didn’t have time to answer him, though, because Giles was talking and then it was time for him to go.

The plan, such as it was, hinged on Spike’s ability to lure the others away from the mansion, and, when he had their full attention, somehow telepathically let Buffy know it was time. The rescue group would be watching the mansion anyway, and they would move on Buffy’s signal. Once Cordelia was free, Wesley and Giles were going to take her to the hospital and Buffy was going to join Spike and the bot, hopefully confusing the hell out of the two vampires.

It wasn’t a great plan. It wasn’t even a good one. It was so lame that none of them thought it would work. However, they didn’t have any more time to come up with anything better, much less something that was guaranteed to work.

Spike was gone with the bot beside him, and the others were going to wait a half hour to forty-five minutes, then head over to the mansion.

He’d started out toward Restfield, intending to just cause a huge ruckus, hoping that the other two would hear of it and head out, when he stopped in his tracks, a thought swirling around in his head. Changing his mind abruptly, Spike headed straight for the mansion. If he was going to draw them out, he might as well ensure that they were out – and if he took out a few of the minions along the way, so much the better.

Change of plans, kitten, be ready to roll when I give a shout, was his last thought to Buffy before he shut down and focused on the new plan.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Cordelia hadn’t been so far gone when Drusilla interrupted Angel earlier that she missed what the insane vampire had said. So when the first vision had started, instead of reacting, Cordelia let it come. The pain that usually accompanied the visions was gone – overwhelmed by the pain her entire body was in. A little blinding headache wasn’t going to matter one way or another.

So she kept her silence, while Angelus and Drusiall tortured her body and watched as the disjointed visions showed herself, Wesley, Buffy and Spike fighting Drusilla, Angel grabbing Buffy by the throat – and then they ceased.

To afraid to guess at a meaning, Cordelia shut down again, forcing her mind away, detaching – until another vision assailed her battered psyche. This one, as earlier, was filled with images of Spike and Buffy and Xander . . . and Giles. Shuddering under the strain of keeping silent, Cordelia finally succumbed to the pain her body was in and surrendered consciousness.

And so she missed it completely when the first wave of the cavalry strode, black leather swirling, into the mansion, fists, fangs and swinging weapons, killing more than a few of Angel’s newest minions.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Without coming up with a better plan on the short walk to the mansion, Spike sent another thought to his mate, then closed off his emotions. He didn’t relish the idea of going against his sire or Angelus - the call of famiiy bonds was still strong – yet his bond with Buffy carried more weight. She had asked, he would do. For no other reason. He didn’t fool himself that he felt compassion for Cordelia – nor that he knew it was the right thing to rescue her – he just wasn’t sure he cared; it was enough for him that Buffy did.

Dragging on a cigarette, Spike contemplated the mansion in front of him. If he could hate a building, Spike hated this one. Hadn’t liked the decor from the beginning, all pseudo Spanish castello with a bit of art-deco thrown in for good measure, it housed some of the worst memories of his existence.

Being unable to walk while Angel fucked his woman under his bloody nose – within eye and ear-shot of him – hours on end.

His rage had been what set him on this path - -the behavior of the two of them – carrying on like he didn’t even exist – or was so far beneath their notice that it didn’t merit consideration had been the impetuous that goaded him into seeking out his own personal nemesis.

He’d already decided that it had been worth it – all that humiliation and anger. Stretching his neck side to side, Spike dropped the smoldering cigarette butt onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot. Addressing his companion, Spike said, “let’s go slay the minions.”

The bot’s only reaction was a bright perky smile and an “okie dokie Spike.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike followed after the bot.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The sounds of fighting reached both of them at the same time, and Drusilla looked up from her position between Cordelia’s thighs and growled.

It took Angel a moment longer, but when Spike’s unmistakable chuckle sounded in the air, he moved away from the two women, reaching for his trousers, muttering curses as he dressed.

Slapping Drusilla on the ass, Angel said, “now princess, no time to play with our guest.”

She scrambled from the bed, scampering into their room to retrieve her clothes. They could hear the sounds of fighting, Spike’s voice throwing laughing insults at his foes while Buffy’s voice chattered inanely in the background.

They were dressed and at the door of the bedroom in time to watch the Slayer and her pet dust some minions – one of which Angel had come to rely upon because of his brain and skill with electronics. With a growl Angel headed for Drusilla’s errant childe.

Sensing the presence of the other two, Spike signaled to the bot and slowly started retreating for the door. Drusilla screeched when the bot smacked her in the head, then followed Spike out the door.

The fight spilled out into the street, as Spike and the bot slowly gave ground.

Focusing on the bond between himself and Buffy, Spike sent his message through to her.


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She hated watching him go. Hated the idea that he was fighting without her. Hated waiting. Buffy really, really hated waiting.

Not for the first time since Spike and her robotic doppelganger had walked out the door, Buffy turned concerned eyes on the two watchers and said, “I should have gone.”

This last time Giles had merely raised an eyebrow and remained silent, while Wesley drank his tea. “How can you two be so calm? Is it some strange English guy thing?”

Wesley merely smiled and Giles answered, “yes. We’re bred this way, don’t you know?”

“Very funny.” She stopped talking, the quip dying before she voiced it. She waited a bit listening to something only she could hear and then after a moment of intense concentration, said, “okay people, let’s get ready.”

The general clattering of weapons being picked then discarded sounded in the quiet suburban home and grim faces were evident all around. Wesley hefted a pair of heavy bolt-cutters in addition to a sword, while Giles decided between an axe and a short sword. Anya watched them, then got up to leave the room.

She was back in moments, thrusting an old sheet at Buffy. “Here take this.”

“What for?” Buffy looked from it to Anya wondering what on earth the other girl was thinking.

“For Cordelia. In case she’s all naked and bloody. Because I wouldn’t want all these strange men looking at me unless it was group. . . well, never mind, you know what I mean.”

And strangely enough, once Anya started to explain, Buffy knew exactly what she meant. Thanking her, Buffy motioned to the sheet. “Think you can find another one just in case?”

With a quiet nod, Anya headed for the second floor linen closet.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


They were halfway down the block when Drusilla tried gouging out the slayer’s eyes and the bot retaliated by knocking her off her feet, sending her into the side of another house, setting off alarm
. Spike paused in his all out battle with Angel, calling out to the bot, then with a look that was designed to boil the older vampire’s borrowed blood, Spike taunted him mercilessly.

Drusilla got to her feet, practically flying toward the bot, while it and Spike continued to draw the other two away. The bot aimed another whirling kick at Drusilla, this time missing her and Drusilla stalked after the robot, hissing and swaying like a maddened cat. Spike nailed Angel from behind, grabbing his attention with a series of punches to the bigger vampire’s gut, driving him backwards toward the house with the shrieking alarms.

Police sirens sounded and although they weren’t part of his original plan, Spike used them to his advantage. “Love to continue this gramps, but Sunnydale’s most oblivious are arrivin'. Might want to chase after Dru an’ hide. . . “ and with that he raced off after the two fighting females.

Angel took a moment to shake off the broken ribs, realized what Spike had said and followed.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Spike’s second message ripped through her head and Buffy growled at everyone. “Let’s move people, now.”

She grabbed the sheets Anya had gathered and headed for the door.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


They cruised up to the mansion without lights, the whirling flare of the police vehicles at the end of the block not impeding their progress.

Buffy was out of the Jeep before Wesley had come to a complete stop, heading straight for the front door. Xander was right behind her and the two Englishmen made up the rear. She only slowed down as she neared the door, trying to sense how many minions were left behind.

Not watching to see who was behind her, Buffy said, “I’m going in first. Everyone in pairs, Xander you stay with me. Giles and Wes you go find Cordy. We’ll back you up.”

Deciding stealth wasn’t important, Buffy kicked open the door and stormed in.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Spike caught up with Drusilla and the bot just as Dru pinned the bot against one of the old high school walls. Swaying slightly, the vampire sing-songed at the bot, trying to thrall her. If the situation wasn’t so important, to keep Dru and Angelus occupied, Spike would have laughed out loud. As it stood, he was still trying not to chuckle.

Instead, he grabbed Drusilla by the throat, grinding out, “can’t let you do that pet.”

With her nails drawing furrows in his hands, Spike held her up off the ground until he could hear the lumbering feet of his grandsire. Making a face and glancing at the bot, Spike said, “I’ll take care of Dru love, you see to the poofter.”

Angel loomed into view and the bot nailed the side of his head with a flying kick that had him reeling. Spike watched with a jaded eye while Dru shrieked and scrambled trying to pry his vice-like fingers from around her neck.

To Spike’s eye – it was obvious this wasn’t Buffy – but neither of the other two had spent the amount of time with her that he had and not nearly enough to know the difference. Which just amused him no end.

Some death-defying love Angel had professed. Couldn’t even tell his “love” wasn’t real.

Spike laughed.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Buffy was trying hard to believe it was this simple. The house was deserted – no minions guarding at all. It was almost no fun. And then her mind registered that no, tonight wasn’t supposed to be fun – it was supposed to be just about rescuing Cordelia.

It wasn’t until they headed for the short flight of steps leading to the mid-level that the first sign of resistance appeared. Two vampires came at them, bigger and stronger than any of them had expected. Buffy ducked under a punch, rolling to her feet behind one, dusting him from the back, when another three vamps came up from the first floor, surrounding them.

Leaving Xander and Giles to battle the first vampire, Buffy turned to aid Wesley who was barely holding his own against the newcomers. Quickly knocking two of them away, Buffy held onto one while Wesley sliced off its head, and then turned as one of the others jumped on Xander’s back. Yelling “duck!” Buffy swung them both around and Xander dropped to his knees, giving Buffy a clear path to the vamp’s chest.

Outnumbered two to one now, the vampires broke and ran. Giles headed unerringly toward the room where he’d spotted Cordelia, motioning toward the other room, calling out to Xander, “there’s another girl in there.”

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The sudden disappearance of her captors had roused Cordelia from the fugue state she retreated to. The noises and sounds from the outer rooms meant nothing, although she thought, at one point, that she’d heard Buffy’s voice, but dismissed it as her mind’s wish, not reality.

It wasn’t long before the noises had stopped, leaving a void that again allowed her to slip out of consciousness. She never heard the whoop of the nearby house alarm, nor the renewed sounds of fighting, until the door to her cell splintered and cracked.

Fear rose up in her belly, racing through her like a firestorm and her entire body started convulsing. Voices and images swam around her, making no sense and Cordy screamed a long wild keening cry of abject fear and terror, raising the hackles of her rescuers, echoing in the suddenly still house.

A crisp cool voice echoed in her head, calling her name while strong hands pushed and pulled at her bonds, ripping open half-healed cuts. The sickly sweet scent of fresh blood filled the air and Cordelia cried out as her bonds were loosened, her arms brought down to her sides.

“Cordy. . . . Cordy. . . its me. . . c’mon Cordy. . . shhhh. . its Buffy.”

Cordelia opened one eye, saw the blond hair through the haze of tears and screamed.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was carnage.

Brutal.

The body that once forged almost every wet dream of a teenaged Xander Harris was destroyed beyond imagining.

There was blood everywhere.

Dried spots on the floor.

Newer, fresher sticky wet puddles of it around the bed.

Big blooming splotches of it, like obscene roses, on the sheets beneath the pale body.

A once virginal bride’s veil was stuck to her battered skin, dyed maroon and cerise, and garish girly shades of pink.

Buffy forced away the rising nausea at her once reluctant friend’s form and battled her own tears.

Wesley stopped behind her, staring at the nightmare vision before them. “My god” breathed from him and Buffy silently echoed the sentiment.

Giles was moving toward the bed, able to focus only on parts – not the whole of the damage. Grasping his lethally sharp blade, he sliced through the leather as near to her skin as possible.

Her arm coming free galvanized the still form on the bed. Shivering, shaking, she flailed out at her rescuers, unable to comprehend she was saved because of the terror rising in her.

Buffy and Wesley moved together, their shock wearing off in the face of Cordelia’s reaction. Xander appeared in the doorway and Buffy yelled at him to get the sheets. Her eyes had been drawn to the bloodied veil and her brain focused on removing the obscenity from Cordelia’s flesh.

She was screaming now, absolute terror ruling her and every time one of them tried to touch her, she writhed and bucked off their hands. Wesley cut the last of her bonds and Cordelia lashed out with heartbreakingly feeble strength, kicking and flailing. Buffy tried calling out for her, using her name, calling her repeatedly and yet each time Cordelia’s convulsing worsened. She stilled as Xander returned, handing Buffy the sheets, opening one eye.

Cordelia appeared to focus, then let loose with a bloodcurdling scream.

With tears streaming down her face, Buffy looked at the three men around her, noting they too were crying, and made a decision. Whispering softly to Cordelia, Buffy simply said “sorry”, drew back her fist and knocked Cordelia out cold.



[A/N: I’m not so sure about anyone else, but I hated what was done to Cordelia in season 3 of Angel – that whole story line with Connor was just wrong in so very many ways that I can’t begin to list them all. But hey, this is where we, as fans and writers, get to “fix” what we thought was “wrong” or a “mistake” with the writing. And this doesn’t take away from any of the brilliance of the creator or his team of writers, it just shows that what some of us thought all along. That some of us are just as talented, just as dedicated and just as fanatical about the characters as the people who put them on the screen. That being said, I still think . . . well, never mind, I’ll get off my soapbox. The title is from the poem, which was written by me (the title for the poem is Desecrated Angel) and the quotes are as attributed. Those pesky rotten disclaimers prove that I own nothing, not even a lousy autograph.]

Previously: Spike and the bot lured Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion so that Buffy and the others could rescue Cordelia. This immediately follows the last chapter.

Book Two, Chapter 30. Ache of heaven

The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision—whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath.
Richard M. Nixon, Six Crises, 1962.


Crystal tears
battered innocent flesh
ache of heaven
rage of hell
unwanted angel
unspeakable violation
bruised bleeding ripped and torn
lambent eyes clouded with rage
silver shards of ice filled pain
snarling sneering
gasping shame
desecrated angel
bleeding life away
Niamh O’Connor, 1998


Moving her, once she was unconscious, was simple. Unfortunately doing so opened nearly all of the cuts on her skin, and the sheet they wrapped her in was quickly saturated.

Wesley’s call to Dr. Thomas alerted him to their arrival. The Englishman’s description of her external injuries had the doctor directing them to the Emergency Room, and he promised Wesley that he and a select team of emergency personnel would meet them there.

None of them spoke.

There were no words to encompass what they’d seen.

Even Cordelia’s superficial injuries, the cuts and bruises, were horrible. There was no way of knowing what kind of internal damage had been done. It was clear that Angel had raped her repeatedly but none of them said a word.

Buffy was fighting tears and nausea, even as she held Cordelia’s head in her lap. This wasn’t the work of the vampire she’d loved. Couldn’t be. . . . her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that her Angel. . . but he wasn’t hers. Hadn’t ever really ever been hers. This savagery was what the soul caged – the brutality and . . . Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach from spewing its contents all over.

He hadn’t touched her face at all.

What kind of sick fucker destroyed his victim from the neck down and didn’t touch her face? Xander was at a total loss, trying to understand why Cordelia looked so peaceful, her face untouched. The only thought, the only answer his brain could come up with was a frightening prospect. Angel didn’t want to destroy her face because he planned on looking at it for a very, very long time.

Giles couldn’t focus on anything but a silent prayer. He was thanking god – whatever deity – that had protected and watched over them all those years ago – the first time Angelus had raged throughout Sunnydale. He thanked god for the small mercy of finding Cordelia before she’d been turned. He thanked god too, for his rescue from the vicious hands of Angel. There was no way he would have survived the tortures Angelus had planned for him without Spike’s intervention. He had no idea how much damage Cordelia had sustained, her surface injuries were bad enough, the internal and emotional damage would take years to recover from – if she survived. His intuition was telling him that the internal injuries were extensive, more extensive than her body indicated – and he had serious doubts about her recovery.

He wasn’t alone in his worry.

Wesley, like Buffy, was fighting tears and nausea, but like Giles, was masking those feelings in anger and white hot rage. This . . . was done by someone who had professed to be a friend – who’d had feelings for Cordelia. What had been done to the girl was brutal. He wanted to weep, wanted to rage – wanted to grab Angel’s throat between his hands and squeeze until his head separated from his neck and his dust rained down on his skin.

At that moment, there wasn’t a one of them in the car that wasn’t willing to dust Angel.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Spike had felt through the bond the moment they’d gotten Cordelia out and away. Now it was just a matter of eluding the other two and heading toward Sunnydale General, where they’d taken Cordelia. The original plan had them meeting up in one of the cemeteries, confusing the two master vampires with multiple Buffys, but that had changed when Spike altered the plans. He knew, from Buffy’s thoughts, that they’d headed directly toward the hospital and that was where he was going to meet her.

Grabbing the bot’s hand, Spike headed for the sewers, knowing it was the easiest way of hiding their scent and losing the other two. Just like her real counterpart, the bot complained the entire trip through the sewers. Spike ignored it, his concentration on moving forward and listening for any signs of pursuit. After twenty minutes or so, Spike slowed down, heading straight for the hospital.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dawn was half-asleep on the couch, while Anya paced about, waiting for any word. She’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, had vacuumed the first floor and had straightened up the dining room. There was no way she could sit still while everyone else did all the hero stuff. Not that she was the hero type, but she still couldn’t just sit around like Dawn.

Anya looked over at the sleeping girl, unable to believe she was so calm. Dawn shifted, opened her eyes and Anya took the opportunity to talk. “How can you sleep? Its nerve-wracking. I can’t even sit still and you’re calm enough to sleep. How do you do that? Is there some trick? What do you do? Is it meditation? Did Buffy teach you that?”

“Anya? I’m tired. I get up early for school and its just nothing more than me being really tired.” She paused a moment, gauging Anya’s expression. “Its also that, you know, I’ve been doing this for years. Since Buffy was fifteen.”

“So this is just another night. Just another rescue mission.” Anya perched on the armchair, looking expectantly at the younger girl.

“Well, its different, because its Cordelia. And its someone . . . Cordy used to be one of us. A scoobie.”

Dawn wasn’t prepared for Anya’s reaction. The ex-demon smiled widely. “One of us? You mean I’m one of the scoobies?”

“Yeah. Of course you are.” A wide yawn stretched across her features and Dawn asked, “have we heard anything?”

“No.” Checking her watch, Anya said, “its only a little bit after two. We should hear from them soon.”

And, in the way of all things on the hellmouth, that had to be the signal, because both cell phones went off.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dr. Thomas, with a trauma team in tow, met them at the doors of the Emergency Room, his face grim. Wesley had tersely relayed Cordelia’s condition, so they were prepared for the worst.

Maureen Osborne was there too, and at the first opportunity she pulled Buffy aside, asking her how her nephew was and also what cover story they had concocted for the authorities. When Buffy had looked at her somewhat blankly, Maureen had bustled her into a side corridor, chattering softly. “The police will believe something, as long as its plausible. Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”

When Buffy didn’t answer, instead seemed to crumple under the strain, Maureen pulled her into a private waiting area and handed her a tissue. “Its okay sweetie, your friend is in bad shape. You can cry.”

Buffy sniffled then said, “I’m okay. Cordy’s safe now. I just wish Spike was here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.” Waiting for a moment to see if Buffy needed anything else, Oz’ aunt patted her arm and said, “if you need me, I’ll be doing the paperwork.”

She left Buffy alone, staring at the walls of the waiting room.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Giles and Wesley stood outside the doorway to the trauma room, waiting anxiously for any word of Cordelia’s condition. Xander was pacing around, muttering to himself, his hands tucked under his arms, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Wesley said something that Giles didn’t hear and when he repeated himself, the older man snapped his head around to look at him. Giles stepped away from the door to find Buffy and to call the girls to let them know they’d been successful.

He walked outside the hospital doors, knowing that once Angelus and Drusilla discovered Cordelia had been rescued, there would be hell to pay. Angelus did not like his plans thwarted or interrupted in any way – and it had been obvious to Giles that he’d planned to turn Cordelia. His reluctance to mar her features was a dead giveaway. Added to the fact that he hadn’t bled her to death before they’d discovered her – Giles was fairly certain of it.

Sending out the all clear code on the cell phones, Giles was surprised when he heard the tell-tale chirp of another phone seconds later.

“Figured you lot were here. Everyone all right?” Spike’s voice sounded in the dark and Giles barely turned around when the bot was standing next to him staring up into his face.

“We’re fine. Cordelia’s inside.” Giles looked away, fighting tears again. “It was. . . worse than expected.”

“Thought so.” Spike was quiet for a moment, knowing nothing he could say would be enough for any of them. He’d never been like Angel, carving up his victims, destroying their entire lives, torturing them mentally and physically. No, he’d been more direct – bash and crash – all sound and fury. But that wouldn’t serve as anything other than cold comfort. And lip service on his part. He respected Rupert too much to give him that. “Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s inside.”

Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike said, “‘m goin’ in. You comin’?” At Giles’ negative shake, Spike said, “keep the bot with you. Jus’ in case.”

Giles nodded, “I’ll be in shortly.”

Spike nodded once, then headed inside.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Buffy was still sitting in the private waiting area, watching the hallways of the emergency room, at the activity in and around the trauma room Cordelia was in, ears attuned to any hint of commotion in the hallways.

Twice she’d almost gone to find Oz’ aunt, more for the comfort of the older mom-type woman that she represented than for a need of company, although that wouldn’t be bad either. The last two times she’d been in this building she’d nearly lost the two most important people in her life.

Her mom.

Spike.

Joyce’s first brush with death had been in the halls upstairs and had devastated both her and Dawn. Yeah, her mother had survived a few weeks, nearly a few months, but the end had still started here. Tears rose in Buffy’s eyes as she thought about her mother. Oh, Mommy. . . I’m so. . . I miss you so much. I wish you were here. A sob escaped from her throat and Buffy put her head in her hands and let the tears fall. Oh Mom. . . . being here is so hard. . . Everything about this life is . . . . But you were right about him. . . . about Spike. He’s been. . . . god, Mom, I love him so much. Without him, I’d have been really lost.

Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks and Buffy shredded the tissue between her slim fingers. A tingle of awareness shot through her and Buffy lifted her head, looking out for Spike.

He was standing just in her line of sight, talking to Wesley, while Xander hovered nearby. Despite her tears and worry about Cordelia, just the sight of him was enough to bring a steadying breath and an almost smile to her face. There was something so solid, so real about him and if you didn’t know he was a vampire, there was a strength to his carriage that said here was a guy you could lean on and let be the strong one. Hell, maybe being a vampire just made that more evident. For the first time, Buffy tried sending a complete thought, a phrase through the bond, just to grab his attention. Concentrating hard, Buffy thought of him and focused on the words in her head.

She watched as his body straightened, his head tilting sideways as he listened to something only he could hear, motioning Wesley to quiet with an upraised hand. A smile bloomed across his features and he slowly turned to look in her direction. His eyes bored into hers as he left the two men, moving toward her. Tucking his thumbs into his waistband, Spike prowled forward like the slinky predator he was, his eyes never leaving hers.

Spike came to a stop just in front of her, a grin on his face. Buffy tilted her head up to look at him and a shy smile crept across her wide mouth as she took in the expression on his face. His deep voice wafted over her. “Love you too kitten.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



One by one they had all drifted into the private waiting area, Wesley first to join them. He sat opposite Spike, his long limbs folded into an uncomfortable looking shape, his head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, but none of them were fooled into believing he was asleep. With the presence of the two younger Englishmen, Buffy’s over-stretched nerves were calmed and she leaned further into Spike’s arms.

Xander came in next, bringing coffee and hot chocolate as a peace offering, which was silently accepted. He sat down in a chair next to Wesley, leaning forward, elbows on knees and more composed than he’d been earlier. Giles and the bot wandered in last, the bot trailing behind the older man, her eyes darting about and taking in the surroundings. The coffee cups were lined up on the table between the anxious group and Giles leaned over to grab one of them. With a gesture to the bot, Giles sat down next to Spike. Glancing round at their faces, Giles asked, “no word yet?”

Negative head shakes were his only answer.

Buffy yawned, leaning more heavily against Spike’s chest. A tiny shiver snaked its way through her and Spike stood up to slip the duster off and around her. “Wanna lay down pet?”

She shrugged, looking up at him with very tired doe eyes and a minute quiver to her lips. Without a word he scooped her up, saying to the others, “‘m takin’ her home. Give us a ring when you get word, yeah?”

The others just nodded, but it was Buffy herself who started to protest. “We should stay, at least until we know. . . Spike?”

He was shaking his head in refusal when Maureen Osborne approached. “Buffy?” She was looking from the bot to the girl in Spike’s arms, confusion clearly written on her features.

“Here.” She waved a bit from her spot in Spike’s arms, then asked, “is there any word on Cordelia?”

“Yes.” She paused while the rest of the men got to their feet. “They managed to stop the internal bleeding, but her spleen was ruptured and her liver’s been bruised. She just left surgery and she’s in recovery. They’re going to put her in a private ICU room. And she’s going to have an armed guard outside her door.”

Relieved looks were exchanged, although Giles exchanged a look with Spike that spoke volumes. “Did they remove her spleen?”

“Yes. She’s being transfused also. She’d lost an enormous amount of blood and, I’m not going to lie to you, it was very close. But they managed to stop all the hemorrhaging.”

Xander asked, “when can we see her?”

Maureen was shaking her head, “not for hours. Go home. Get some rest, come back around three. She might be awake then.”

But both Wesley and Xander were shaking their heads, and Wesley’s voice sounded first. “I’d like to stay.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and Wesley answered his unspoken question by gesturing toward his jacket pocket. Turning toward Xander, Wesley said, “you go home, I’ll stay now and you can relieve me later.”

He started to splutter his disagreement, when Giles voiced his own quietly worded statement, “I’m sure Anya is worried and you should probably take her home and reassure her that everything is well.”

That stopped Xander’s protests.

Wesley handed the Jeep’s keys to Spike and after thanking Maureen Osborne for everything, those going home headed quietly for the door. Thinking quickly, Spike backtracked a bit, then motioned to Wesley with his chin. “Keep the bot here, jus’ in case. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Sighing deeply, Wesley eyed the robot with amused distaste, but knowing the value of Spike’s experience and trusting he wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was necessary, Wesley nodded his agreement.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Angel sniffed the air one more time, trying to gain a sense of the direction Spike and Buffy had headed, but the trail was long cold and diffused with the sewer scents. His growl of frustrated anger echoed off the cement walls surrounding the two master vampires and Drusilla clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds. It did nothing to help the reverberations that pulsed in her as an answer to her Sire’s distress, however, only making the situation worse by adding her temper to his.

He’d lost the two not long after they had descended into the sewers and although he could try and backtrack to the point of entry, Angel knew it was a lost cause. Traces of Spike’s signature were all over these tunnels, and there was no way of knowing which ones were more recent than the others, due to the other, less pleasant odors wafting from the sludge beneath their feet. Once more growling his disgust and anger, Angel motioned Drusilla to his side. “Let’s go. We’re not going to be able to track them.”

He grabbed Drusilla by the arm, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the nearest entrance. It had been years since he’d been down in these sewers and his memory of them was hazy at best. It would be easy above ground to get a location and make their way back to the mansion from there. Spying one of the sewer entrances not more than twenty paces behind him, Angel climbed up the ladder and emerged into the pre-dawn darkness. The night still held sway, though it was hours before the inky midnight sky gave way to early morning, Angel could feel the sun making its way eastward. Standing over the entrance, his eyes scanning about, as he waited for Drusilla to make the climb into the night, Angel’s gaze landed on a very familiar area.

They were just outside of Restfield.

No more than a handful of blocks from Revello Drive.

Grinning down into the darkness, Angel said, “come now Dru, we’re not far from family. Maybe we should pay a visit.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Spike glanced at the clock in the Jeep, his eyes disbelieving the device. It was close to five in the morning. No wonder everyone was punchy and tired, well, except for him. Buffy was more than half asleep in the seat next to him, curled up underneath his duster, her head dropping forward every couple of seconds. Giles and Xander were very quiet in the back and Spike glanced once in the rearview mirror to check if they too had fallen asleep. But they hadn’t. Both males were still awake, just not inclined to filling the silence.

He couldn’t blame them. What they’d witnessed tonight had to affect all of them. He’d be surprised if they didn’t have nightmares for a long time to come about this. Though Giles never admitted it out loud, he knew there were some sleepless nights for the watcher that blame for could be laid solely on Angel’s shoulders. He and Giles had spent too many sleepless nights together, both when he was captive and tied up, and later, just this past summer. Spike could tell when someone was haunted by memories they’d rather not have experienced – hard not to know when sometimes it was what he himself shied away from. There were plenty of memories he’d rather not have to relive. More than enough. Buffy too, was often affected by nightmares, although that was easing somewhat.

Kind of hard not to have monsters invading your sleep when that was what you faced every single day. The trick for the humans was not to let the nightmares, which highlighted unconscious fears, become reality. Xander shifted, breaking his train of thought, and Spike glanced back in the rearview mirror again. He couldn’t meet any of them in the eye that way, but he knew Harris could sense he’d gained Spike’s attention.

“You all right?” For once, Spike wasn’t going to goad the boy into a fight. There had been too much bloodshed in the last few hours, Spike had no desire to get into anything. All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed with his woman, affirming that they were both safe and sound.

Xander was just as subdued as Spike, perhaps even more so. He knew what kind of evilness a vampire was – he just had forgotten how truly brutal they could be. And he was beginning to realize something else that he just wasn’t quite ready to face, something that each of the others had gone through in the past few months. A re-assessment of the difference between Spike and other vampires. “I guess.”

Spike let it go, knowing any more talk could lead to a brangle and at the moment, he just wasn’t in the mood. The Jeep cruised along the quiet streets of Sunnydale, encountering no traffic, when Giles said softly, “I think I just saw Drusilla and Angel.”





[A/N: Struggled through a bit of a block, which I’m finding happens whenever I get through a particularly grueling chapter (or set of chapters), so I’m thinking its emotional break-down or something. Anyway, here’s the next installment of this saga. . . . My thanks to you all. Title is from one of the quotes, which are as attributed. Disclaimers, which are fully operative, prove that I own nothing of the Whedonverse, though if I did, I’d write that damn happy ending.]

Previously: Xander put aside his dislike of Spike long enough to assist in Cordelia’s rescue; Angelus and Drusilla have yet to return to the mansion and discover their captive is gone. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two. Chapter 31. Things of bestial shape

As a child, my heart bleeds for him.
Someone took a little boy and turned him into a monster.
But as an adult... as an adult, he's irredeemable.
He butchers whole families to fulfill some sick fantasy.
As an adult, I think someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.
Manhunter, 1987

Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray





Once the “all clear” signal came through from Giles, Dawn smiled sleepily at the former demon keeping her company, yawned widely and said, “okay, I’m heading for bed.”

“Wait! We don’t know how soon they’re coming back.” Anya held her back, hoping the teen would keep her company.

Dawn shifted on the couch, moving away from Anya. “Look, they’ll be back soon, because, well, just because, but I so need sleep.” Putting her head down, Dawn closed her eyes. “I’m gonna stay right here, but I’m going to sleep.”

Anya huffed a bit, but settled down when it was obvious Dawn wasn’t going anywhere. The two girls were quiet, the television on, an infomercial airing that neither girl was paying the least bit of attention to, as they waited. Dawn’s eyes drifted closed and Anya, finally relaxing enough to get comfortable, also succumbed to the sandman’s lure.


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Fuck.” Spike’s one word epithet rang through the Jeep, low voiced and menacing. “You sure?”

“I believe it was them, yes.” Giles spoke just as quietly, his eyes on the side streets as they continued through the still dark streets of Sunnydale.

Spike was quiet for a moment, then said, “need to warn Oxford.” Turning the corner from Main onto Revello, only two blocks from the house, the vampire added, “too close to sunrise. Doubt they’ll risk getting involved in much of anything an’ they both know they can’t get into the house. They’ll probably cruise by then head right for the mansion.”

“You hope.” Xander’s voice was terse, his nerves stretching thin again.

“An educated guess. ‘S what I would do. Can’t risk getting caught. Sunlight isn’t forgiving. ‘Sides, the house is too heavily warded against vamps.” Spike pulled into the driveway, reaching over to gently shake Buffy awake. He was beginning to get concerned about her, she usually wasn’t this tired or this willing to appear less than her best in front of anyone but him, especially lately.

“Except one.” Xander bit out the snide comment before his brain could override his mouth and Spike whirled around as he got out of the car, pinning him with a hard glare.

“‘S right. I live here. This is m’house, whelp, an’ sooner you adjust better off you’ll be.”

Giles grumbled from his side of the vehicle. “Must you two always do this? The territorial male posturing is so very tiring. Most especially at,” and he glanced tiredly down at his watch, “five thirty-six in the morning.”

Xander sputtered out something else, but Spike ignored him to circle the car and get Buffy. Giles passed the dark haired young man, his brow raised pointedly and strode into the quiet house.

With Buffy lurching sleepily at his side, Spike headed for the house, tossing out over his shoulder, “don’t wanna be caught outside, Harris, better get a move on.”

And just like that he deflated any arguments or nasty comments Xander might have thrown at him, at least for the moment.


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She was so still, her chest barely moving, the machines doing the majority of the work for her bruised and battered body.

Oxygen and fluids were being forced into her dehydrated cells, lending a false color to her cheeks. Cordelia looks so peaceful lying there, Wesley thought, as long as I don’t look at her arms.

White gauze bandages covered most of her arms, the IVs stuck into the only veins strong enough to sustain the influx of necessary fluids, at both sides of her neck. Most of the smaller cuts hadn’t even been bandaged, the surgeons using crazy glue instead, mainly to cut down on the number of scars. She was going to have more than enough of those as it stood; not all of them would ever show The surgeon had told him it had been necessary because of the severity of her injuries to induce a coma. He’d also told Wesley that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were the most crucial. If any one of her blood vessels burst, there was a real possibility they would lose her. The internal damage was that great.

Angelus had done his work well.

Oh Cordelia, I am so very sorry. I should have voiced my concerns sooner, not allowed this. . Not left you in his hands so very long. Wesley bowed his head, fighting angry tears. All this because Angel had feelings for her. It was outrageous. It was disgusting. It was. . . . Wesley couldn’t find words to describe how violently disgusted and disturbed he was by Angel’s actions.

To have. . . to be violated by someone who were the face of a friend was beyond betrayal. He’d raped her repeatedly, sodomized her as well. Battered and beaten her until she was nearly dead. Drained of her blood and starved her. The list of her injuries was chilling.

It would be nothing short of a miracle if Cordelia survived.

Wesley sat down in the chair next to her bed, praying harder than he could ever remember doing.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Angel watched from the shadows shrouding the house across the street from 1630 Revello Drive, Drusilla by his side, as her errant childe arrived at his human’s home. A sneer crossed his features and he spat on the ground. “Drusilla, we need to do something about that.”

“Too late Daddy. . . . so very late.” She crooned softly, a sad smile on her face. “My prince is long gone, lost in sunshine and baby strawberries, smelling roses and dancing with tea cozies.”

“Dru, maybe we should just. . .” Angel stopped talking when he saw Spike stop, his back stiffening as he sensed the presence of both master vampires.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Halfway between the car and the front door, Spike hesitated a moment, then he said in a whisper, “Xander, get in the house.”

Xander Harris froze. He could probably count on one hand the number of times Spike had ever used his first name. His use of it right now could only mean something very bad was about to happen or something very scary was nearby. Recovering by deftly tripping over his own feet, Xander ambled his way to the front door.

Buffy looked up at Spike when he’d spoken and his meaning came through silently yet all too clearly. “Across the street sunshine. Watching us both.”

“Wards?”

“Up and operational, including the new one tied to the electric.”

“Kay. Tired now.” And to prove her unspoken point, Buffy yawned and stumbled into his side.

Wrapping his arm around her and steadying her, Spike walked them up the steps and into the house, firmly closing the door behind him.

Take that you Irish fucker, Spike fumed as he locked the door.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“That piss ass feckin”. . . . Angelus muttered expletives under his unneeded breath, cursing Drusilla’s insolent get. Bastard should’ve learned by now not to try and play with his elders. He’ll always lose.

Striding off back toward the mansion, Angel didn’t realize Drusilla wasn’t following him until he was half a block away. “Drusilla. Time to go now.”

But she wasn’t listening to him, she was listening to the mournful pixies that were singing in her head. Who they were singing for, Drusilla didn’t know, but for the repetition of one phrase. “Bell tolls. . . bell tolls. Daddy?”

Angel had returned for his own madwoman, his tone for once gentle. “They’re talking to you, are they?”

“Uuuuhhhh.” Dru swayed a bit, lost to a vision, unable to speak clearly. Angel watched her babble and sway for another long minute, then feeling the twinges that signaled daybreak, he scooped her up and strode off into the waning night.

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Right then. ‘Fore everyone toddles off for shut-eye, need to talk.” Spike said as he almost kicked the front door shut. “Angelus was outside jus’ now, watchin’ the house.” He paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “No one’s out after dark. He doesn’t know yet that we’ve taken the cheerleader back. He’s gonna try and hurt us now. Every one has to be careful. Don’t fancy any more rescue ops.”

No one contradicted him, not even Dawn. For once, they all understood exactly what price carelessness would extract.

“Whelp you an’ your bird can sleep in Joyce’s old room. Air mattresses are all set up. Watcher?” At Giles’ raised eyebrow, Spike snorted. “Sleepin’ on the couch again. Gonna start chargin’ you rent.”

Buffy laughed tiredly, remarking, “you could write it off as a counsel expense.” When no one but her thought it was funny, Buffy grumbled a bit, “must be exhausted. I’m too tired to pun.”

Spike pulled her to her feet from her seat on the stairs, saying, “g’night all.”

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wesley had pulled his chair close to the bed, enough so that he could touch Cordelia and stay seated. Not overly religious, Wesley had spent most of his life serving good, almost serving a higher power, and at this moment he couldn’t come up with much of a reason why he’d done so.

Cordelia had been butchered.

Savaged.

Brutalized.

By the face and hands of a . . . not a man. . .but a being who claimed to value her position in his life. Wesley was sickened by it. Disgusted and despaired for Cordelia’s spirit. As an Englishman of a certain station, Wesley was supposed to maintain a stalwart mein in dire circumstances. As a former Watcher, he was supposed to make that rise to another level. He wasn’t supposed to ache with suppressed rage; to shake with suppressed despair and weep with profound sorrow.

Nor was he supposed to pray.

But Wesley did all that, sitting beside the broken, battered and barely alive form of Cordelia Chase.

Dropping his head down onto the bed, Wesley prayed to any god for compassion and strength.


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Anya trooped up the stairs behind Buffy and Spike, who was prodding the very tired slayer up the steps, murmuring so soft and low that none of his words filtered through to her. Dawn was just ahead of Buffy, mumbling something about school and holidays that Anya didn’t quite understand. Xander was the last one up the stairs, watching the sleepy parade, his eyes watching the interaction between the two blonds. There was a general closing of doors and muttered goodnights as he finally took the stairs, the fatigue and the emotional turmoil of Cordelia’s rescue finally catching up with him.

Pushing his way into Joyce’s old room, Xander was surprised to see boxes piled up in one corner and swatches of paint on the walls, as if someone couldn’t decide what color scheme to use. All of Joyce’s old bedroom furniture was gone, the only evidence of her occupation of the room the dark curtains and the boxes with her name on them. It saddened him, to see her things put away in boxes, when he looked closer, some of those boxes had Willow’s name on them. Xander sighed, wondering what his oldest friend was up to, and hoping that things weren’t so broken between everyone that they couldn’t be fixed.

Anya was already under the sheets, her head down on a borrowed pillow and she drowsily said, “come to bed Xander, its late.”


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Spike pushed the door to their room open, at the same time pushing Buffy over the threshold. “C’mon sunshine, into bed.”

Quickly divesting her of her clothes, Spike tossed her one of his tee-shirts and moved to get his boots off when Connor started fussing in the crib. Getting up quickly to head off the howling that was threatening, Spike lifted the squirming bundle into his arms.

“Where are you going?” Buffy managed to mumble as her head hit the pillow.

“Gonna get sprog a bottle. Be right back.”

He headed downstairs before she could voice a protest and Buffy dropped her head down onto the pillows. “Stupid vampire.”

 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Drusilla kept up her litany of nonsensical phrases the entire trip back to the mansion. Angel was trying to figure out what some of what she was saying meant and track his progress at the same time. Sunlight was coming up fast now, and they had only a few more minutes to get to safety.

Arriving at the mansion, Angel strode through the front door, dropping Drusilla to her feet. The scent of humans was all over, the signatures clear to his keenly honed sense of smell. What the fuck is. . . . Growling ominously, Angel moved from room to room, finding nothing more than small piles of dust and the more than occasional blood splatter on the walls and floors. Spike’s scent was strongest in the outer rooms, and there should have been an equally strong smell of Buffy, but strangely enough there wasn’t. Not as strong as there should have been.

His stride through the rooms was quick, a blurred fast pace, trying to get a sense of what had occurred within the walls of his mansion, before completely losing his temper. Here and there, scattered about the rooms, were a few badly injured minions, but the majority of them appeared to be gone, dusted by the hand of William the Bloody and his bitch. Kicking one of them to consciousness, Angel leaned over the bleeding vampire, hauling him up to his feet. “What happened here?”

“Dunno. Last thing I remember was fighting the Slayer and then nothing til now.” The vampire grimaced in pain, letting out a deep yelp when Angel dumped him back on the floor.

“Get yourself someone to eat.”

Knowing somehow that he’d just escaped the final death, the vampire, a fledgling of Drusilla’s, scurried as best he could for the sewers.

Angel continued stalking through the rooms, his growls of disgusted anger getting louder and louder as he progressed through the rooms. Drusilla’s pet, the girl they’d both taken blood from was gone, her chains empty. Swearing furiously, Angel stomped into the bedroom where he’d kept Cordelia. He wasn’t surprised to find her gone. Not at all.

There’d been some niggling thought in the back of his head that Cordelia had been the reason for the unprovoked assault on his lair. And now he knew.

That knowledge did nothing to calm his temper. In fact, it just put match to a heated tinderbox and set it off.

Growling low in his throat, Angelus turned round to the remaining minions. Before any of them had time to react, his fists were completing the damage started by Spike and Buffy.

Ripping the leather ties from the head and foot boards, along with one of the corners of the bed, Angel flayed the first minion in the line, another one of the ones sired by Drusilla. Bloody splatters hit the walls and the ceiling, pieces of flesh adhering in various spots. Groans and cries of pain split the air, coupled with the harsh breathing of the other minions. Drusilla growled from the doorway, which changed to a high-pitched whine when Angel dropped the makeshift whip and pushed his hand through the minion’s chest. The others watched helplessly as the dust settled.

“I want to know who was supposed to be guarding the captives?”

None of them spoke. None dared.

Throwing cautious looks sideways, they all cowered before the raging master vampire, the legendary leader of the Scourge of Europe, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come. Angelus stood glaring at them all, his features rippling and changing into his vampiric guise, looming over them.

“I left some of you idiots here, so that I would have something to come back to. And now they’re gone. Both of them. Any idea who took them? Any?” The last words rose to the level of a shout, and Angelus hauled one of them forward by his shirt collar, bringing him close to his face. “You better find out how they got out of here. Now. Don’t come back until you do.”

He pushed the brown-haired minion away, selecting another to go with him. They ran from the room, despite knowing that sunrise was only minutes away. Turning to another minion, this one remarkably well kept and curiously unmarked in the aftermath of battle, Angelus grinned with the prospect of more violence. “Tell me,” he waited patiently for a name, which came on a whisper, “Ray. Tell me, Ray, how you managed not to get hurt?” Angelus brushed an imaginary piece of lint off Ray’s shoulder, leaning into him.

“Wasn’t here.”

“Really? When did you leave the mansion?” Angelus circled round him, sniffing him for evidence of lies or nervousness. There was none.

“Earlier. Went hunting.”

Which was, unfortunately, no less than the truth. Angelus stared into Ray’s grey eyes, daring him to back down. When the fledge didn’t cower like the others, he smiled appreciatively. “Got balls, Ray. Makes me happy to see that. Did you hunt well?”

“Yeah. Got two. Took one,” he paused for dramatic effect, “brought the other back.”

“Did you now? And where is the other one?” Angelus watched the effect his proximity had on Ray, gauging how strong he was. “Who sired you? You don’t smell like Aurelius.”

“Was sired in Los Angeles. Some blond bitch. Never did really get her name.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Got a job for you Ray, after I take your offering. You want it?” Angel motioned for Drusilla to come forward, running his sharp nails down her arm, slicing a thin cut that bleed freely. “Dru, feed the nice minion, make him one of us.”

She smiled, running her arm across his lips, then circled behind him to sink her fangs into his jugular. Ray’s knees buckled a little, but he quickly regained his courage and sunk his own fangs into Drusilla’s arm, at the crux of her elbow.

Abruptly, Angelus turned to face the rest of the bunch, his own fangs glinting. “Didn’t think I’d forget you pathetic fuckers, now did you? Anyone remember who was supposed to be watching the girls?”

One of the females tilted her head, then said, “it was Jake and Buddy. Dunno what happened to them.”

“Ahhhhhh. . . . thank you. So glad someone remembered.” Gripping her by the throat, Angel squeezed, and squeezed harder, lifting her high in the air. Then, when it appeared as if he was going to just let her head pop off, he let go, snickering as she dropped to the floor, her face a mask of pained relief.

Whirling on the others, Angel grabbed the broken piece of the bed frame and pounded into one of the minions, a vampire that looked no older than Buffy. The vampire cowered in fear, trying to fend off the enraged master vampire. The fear wafting from the vampire just incited Angelus more and the beating quickly turned savage. Bones cracked, teeth were knocked out and still Angelus kept on slamming his fist into the smaller fledgling.

Finally, the vampire dropped to his knees, skull bashed in, arms, legs, and ribs all broken, splintered. Gore covered Angelus and those nearest, blood spreading over the floor, the remaining minions, those few left to him, watched as the master vampire threw the destroyed wood down on top of the pulpy mass on the floor.

“Toss him into the sun.”

Angel moved away from the mass of tissue and bone while the others cleaned up, his eyes focusing on his now chief minion, newly infused with Aurelian blood. “Prove yourself boy, and you might get more,’ he said as he indicated Drusilla.

Moving toward the outer rooms, Angel stopped as a shadow detached from the doorway, eyes trying to discern the shape of the intruder.

A long unheard voice sounded in the chambers, capturing everyone’s attention. “Hello Chief. Heard your call. Looks like you could use some assistance.”


 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Xander couldn’t settle down, couldn’t stop the buzzing that was filling his bones and racing through his bloodstream. He could hear the muted noises of everyone else settling in, the murmur of Spike’s voice as he, apparently, headed downstairs for something, the closing of a bedroom door, the tread of his feet on the stairs. Mere moments passed and then another door opened, soft footsteps sounded, then another door creaked open. A few minutes went by, then the heavy tread of Spike’s feet, or what he figured was Spike’s feet hit the stairs and bounded up, accompanied by the fretting of a hungry baby. Thankfully, the mewls were just that, and not the full howls the infant was known for. Curiosity aroused, Xander glanced down at Anya’s closed eyes and got to his feet.

He tugged open the door just a crack in time to see Spike hesitate at the bathroom door, knock once and ask, “you all right in there?”

Dawn’s voice came through, muffled to his ears, but clearly to Spike’s because he responded, “jus’ checkin’ is all. No need to get huffy.”

The response this time was a deep chuckle, and then Dawn opened the door. “You know, you could be less over-protective sometimes. Not like I’m sneaking out, just going to the bathroom.”

Her tone was a bit snappish, and Xander fully expected Spike to get nasty back, but the vampire merely said, “only makin’ sure my girl’s okay, all right? No need to get all waspish on me.”

“Whatever.” Dawn faced off against Spike for a few minutes, then caved. Her face lifted to his and her belligerent stance softened. “I get worried too you know. Can’t just keep going off and being the hero for everyone.”

“Me? ‘M no hero. Jus’ doin’ what I can to keep you an’ your sis. . . all right, ” he paused, getting a look at the expression on her face. “Buffy safe. Can’t let anything happen to either of m’girls.”

Dawn sighed, then stepped closer to him, her arms attempting to circle him and the squirming bundle in his arms. “Still, you’re a hero. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, hugging her back. “Not bloody likely. Jus’ as soon keep that between us.”

“Okay Dad. ” She put a twist on that last word that Xander couldn’t decipher, then kissed him back. She whispered in his ear and Spike threw back his head and laughed. He sobered quickly as the baby began to whimper louder, shifted his hold on the boy and shoved the bottle of formula into his mouth in a move that Xander goggled at.

“G’on to bed now. Gonna need you to take the sprog in a couple of hours, so’s I can get some kip, yeah?”

He could see by her facial expression that Dawn wasn’t happy with this request, and Spike must’ve given her some look in return, because she quickly backed down again. “So not fair that you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna.”

“Parental privileges, pet.” He motioned toward her room, saying, “get now. Need to get some sleep.”

“Yes Dad.” She leaned up to hug him one more time then slipped around him to head toward her room. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Never, sweets, ‘ll just bite ‘em back.” Spike quipped as he headed toward the room he shared with Buffy.

Xander stood staring into the hallway, trying to make sense of the scene between Spike and Dawn. What’s with the dad thing? And the hugging? And the listening to evil dead? What the hell is going on in this house? Maybe Giles knows. Gotta remember to ask him in the morning. . . . er, later on.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him, never once realizing Spike didn’t close the door to their room until after he did.


 I’ve got a couple of others that I’m anxious to get started on, but I can’t – and won’t start them until I have one of these two current WIPs finished. Hopefully the new story will be worth the wait. Title is from a quote from the London Times Christmas editorial, 24 December 1984 (the full quote is below) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]