Prologue ~ Part I ~ Part II ~ Part III ~ Part IV ~ Part V ~ Part VI ~ Part VII ~ Part VIII ~ Part IX ~ Part X

Part XI ~ Part XII ~ Part XIII ~ Part XIV ~ Part XV ~ Part XVI ~ Part XVII

 

 

 

 

 

In The Darkness

Written by Gia

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

 

Despite her fatigue, Buffy had a smile on her face and a bounce in her step as she made her way through the winding corridors of Wolfram & Hart to the private elevator that would take her to the penthouse suite that had been her home these last three years.

 

"Buffy!" 

 

Hearing her name just as the elevator doors began to slide together, Buffy stuck out her arm to halt their progress. 

 

"I've been looking all over for you," Willow said breathlessly as she hurried forward and slipped through the doors and into the elevator. "How did it go?" 

 

"Well…" Buffy began quietly, her expression somber. Instead of finishing her sentence, she simply held up the small black and white picture clutched in her hand. 

 

Willow studied the blurred image for moment then returned her gaze to Buffy's face, her expression questioning.

 

Unable to continue the serious pretext, the blonde Slayer grinned and nodded exuberantly. "Yes!" 

 

"Really?!" 

 

"Yes, really," Buffy answered happily as she stepped out of the elevator into the apartment foyer. Unwrapping the scarf from around her neck, she dropped it on the back of the chair as she passed through the living room. 

 

"What did Angel say?" Willow asked, taking a seat at the kitchen counter as Buffy opened the refrigerator. Glimpsing the packets of blood hanging in rows next to the food items Willow grimaced and wondered silently how Buffy could so casually ignore the less than appetizing sight day after day. 

 

"He doesn't know yet," Buffy replied, holding up the half-gallon of milk she had taken out. "I'm going to tell him tonight." 

 

Willow shook her head no at the offered drink, so Buffy poured only a glass for herself and took a big gulp. "I'm only about five weeks along and already I have this craving for all things dairy. Milk, cheese, ice cream… It's so weird." 

 

"You're that far along and Angel doesn't know?" Willow remarked with surprise. 

 

"Um, yes and no…" Buffy admitted sheepishly. "But the five weeks would explain why the sonogram looks mostly like a blurred picture of a cashew." 

 

Willow laughed, glancing once more at the picture that Buffy propped up on the end of the counter. 

 

"And no, Angel doesn't know, though I'm sure he's beginning to wonder…" Setting the glass on the counter, Buffy sighed heavily. The emotional rollercoaster of the last several months had been hard on both of them, and it was taking its toll. Even with top-notch medical care and access to specialists, in vitro fertilization wasn't easy. The daily shots, the invasive medical procedures, the back and forth swings between hope and disappointment… "It's just… things have just been so strained lately. It seems like we never have any time together anymore, much less any time alone. And after the previous miscarriages, I just couldn't tell him yet… I didn't want to get his hopes up again until I was really sure."

 

"So what did the doctor say?" 

 

"The same thing that that she said last time - I'm young and healthy and so far, from all she can tell, the baby is healthy. But, given my history, there's always a chance that I might miscarry again," Buffy said sadly, the losses of the previous months still fresh and poignant. She stared at the sonogram picture, wondering if she could dare hope that this time would be different from the other two.

 

"You'd think that with all of the medical expertise available here at Wolfram & Hart they could be more certain, or that they could do something more." Willow commented with an empathetic shake of her head. "But," reaching in her bag, Willow pulled out three small, elegantly wrapped bundles of herbs and held them aloft, "where science falters, perhaps a little magic can help." 

 

Pulled out of her reverie, Buffy returned her attention to her friend. She looked at the offered sachets skeptically.

 

"I'm not practicing magic," the former wicca quickly explained. "It's just some morning glory blossoms mixed with raspberry leaves, pine and a touch of chamomile. Think of it as a little bit of happiness, a touch of protection and some sacred wisdom mixed with a little speck of comfort. I mixed them up for you, hoping maybe it'd help, you know, somehow. Just tuck them in your bag or a drawer or something." 

 

"That's so sweet," Buffy said smiling as she took two of the bundles, leaving Willow toying with the third. She sniffed one, inhaling the delicate scent before setting it carefully in front of the sonogram print. "Thank you. And if it will help, I'll carry them around twenty-four-seven. I'll do anything to give this baby a chance…" Fear and hurt were evident in her expression, even though she tried to hide it as she slipped the other sachet in her pocket. 

 

Changing the subject, Willow asked, "So you and Angel are going out tonight?" 

 

"Sorta," Buffy answered, glancing at the clock. "Actually, we're going away for the entire weekend. Angel rented a place in Catalina for a few days. Oh, and I need hurry and pack before he gets home."

 

"Sounds nice," Willow said as she followed Buffy into the bedroom. She sat down on the foot of the bed as Buffy took a bag out of the closet.

 

"I hope so. We really need some time alone and away from here. Sometimes I feel like there's something here conspiring to keep us apart." Buffy voice was muffled as she leaned further into the closet in search of a particular pair of shoes. Tossing the black heels behind her with a small sound of triumph, she dove in the back of the closet to find the dress that went perfectly with the shoes. She was half-way wedged between the hanging clothes when the phone rang a minute later. Cursing softly, Buffy asked over her shoulder, "Will you get that?" 

 

"Sure." Willow crossed the room and retrieved the portable phone. "Hello?" 

 

"Is it Angel?" Buffy called, as she tossed a pair of Juicy Couture sweats on top of the small pile accumulating behind her. 

 

"No," Willow answered, holding her hand over the mouthpiece. "It's Harmony. Angel's at the Long Beach Harbor waiting for you." 

 

"What?" Buffy exclaimed, jerking back and turning to look at her friend. Her hair was now in a wild disarray from her foray into the closet. 

 

"That's all she said. Well, that and the limo is downstairs waiting for you." Willow shrugged, hanging up the phone. 

 

Buffy crammed her things into the bag haphazardly, then rushed into the bathroom. The sound of doors slamming was heard as she hastily gathered up her makeup and toiletries. 

 

"I thought Angel was meeting me here," Buffy called from the nearby room as she rapidly ran a brush through her hair.

 

"Maybe he went early, anxious to get the weekend started?" Willow suggested helpfully. She adjusted the things that Buffy had stuffed into the suitcase, straightening them. In one corner, she tucked the remaining bundle of magic herbs that she had been holding. 

 

"Well, I was hoping to shower and change," the petite blonde continued as she rushed back to the bedroom. She dropped her things in the suitcase and zipped it up. "I wanted to be wearing something a little more date worthy than this." She glanced down at the long, dark brown skirt, cream colored sweater and heeled boots. 

 

"You look great, Buffy," Willow said with a smile as the pair made their way through the apartment. "Besides, Angel doesn't care what you're wearing." 

 

"I hope you're right, Will." Buffy said less than confidently, eyeing her outfit critically once more. She ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing it as the elevator doors closed behind them. 

 

"I am." Willow affirmed with a nod. "Trust me." 

 

When the elevator reached the basement garage, the two women stepped out and glanced around. Within seconds, a long black limousine pulled forward from where it had been parked alongside the row of cars. The driver got out and without a word, opened the back door then took Buffy's bag and put it in the trunk. 

 

The stoic silence of the unrecognized driver gave her a momentary pause, but Buffy was too anxious to see Angel, get their weekend away started, and, most of all, to share her good news. Giving Willow a quick hug, she climbed into the car. Rolling down the window, she waved. "See you sometime on Monday night!"

 

"Bye! Have fun!" Willow waved as the window rolled back up and Buffy vanished behind the darkened glass. 

 

Just after the car exited the garage and the automated door rolled down behind it, Marcus Hamilton came out of the shadows to stand next to the current, though largely unknown to others at the firm, head of the magic department at Wolfram & Hart. 

 

"It's done then," he said coolly. 

 

Willow's eyes grew dark and her expression hardened. Her lips curved upward in an unpleasant smile. "Yes, it's done."

 

 

 

 

Part I

 

Almost one year later… 

 

The sound of the rain woke her and Elise rolled slightly and reached out, searching for the figure that had been there earlier.  Finding the bed empty, she opened her eyes.  Stretching lazily and squinting at the clock in the still dark room, she saw that it was just before five am. 

 

She rose quietly and found the silk chemise she had been wearing earlier where it had been shed near the foot of the bed. Slipping it over her head, she padded through the dark apartment to the living room. She paused in the doorway, gazing at the tall form silhouetted against the lavender sky. 

 

"Angel?" She softly queried. 

 

Deep in thought, he didn't even hear the voice behind him. 

 

"Angel," she repeated, walking up to stand next to him. Reaching out, she touched him lightly on the arm. "Is something wrong?" 

 

Yes, he thought morosely, everything. Everything is wrong. Never in all of his imaginings of the future had it been like this - cold and empty, nearly bereft of hope and happiness. Unable to bring himself to give voice to his bleak thoughts, however, he simply stood still and stared out at the drizzling rain. 

 

Elise noticed the open box on the table near his elbow, the contents spread out on the surface: a silver ring, a woman's scarf, some sketch books, and several photos, the top of which was a black and white picture of a sonogram. Next to those sat a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the carelessly discarded cap having rolled to the floor.

 

"Talk to me, please," she whispered apprehensively. He had been preoccupied for the last few days, but when she questioned him about it he casually dismissed her concern as unnecessary. Now, however, she was almost frightened. 

 

Angel sighed softly. In the last few weeks he had finally managed to relegate his memories to temporary exile, but right now, tonight... the eve of the one year anniversary of her disappearance… he couldn't.  

 

"I'd like to be alone," he finally replied, his voice gruff. He hadn't even glanced in her direction, his gaze still trained on something in the distance. 

 

Elise looked at the items strewn on the table once again. "I understand," she murmured, hugging her arms to her chest. 

 

When she left the apartment a short while later, Angel was still standing in the same spot staring out the window at the gradually lightening sky.  

 

~~ 

 

It was just after nine when Angel appeared at her door five days later. He stood on her threshold looking distant and remote, his eyes shadowed with weariness.

 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the wind and rain. 

 

Elise studied him for a moment, her caramel brown eyes darker in the dim glow of her porch light. "Are you all right?" 

 

A small silence fell between them, only the sounds of the nearby street traffic conspicuous in the stillness.

 

"I don't know," he said finally, obviously discomposed. 

 

"Why don't you come in?" she asked, stepping back and opening the door a bit wider. "I'll open the bottle of Martel that Wes gave me, and we can talk." 

 

A few minutes later they sat next to each other on Elise's oversized sofa, Angel moodily contemplating the bottom of the brandy glass he held in his hand. A fire burned low in the fireplace, staving off the chilly night and casting the room in a warm, golden glow. 

 

"I knew when we met that you had been involved with someone," Elise ventured softly, tucking her feet beneath her and turning sideways on the couch to face him. "And that you were mourning her." 

 

Angel's dark eyes came up and he looked at the beautiful brunette that he had met almost six months ago. She had been researching werewolves for a novel that she was writing, and he had been seeking the creature that had reportedly attacked several people in the area when their paths crossed. She helped him find the werewolf which, in fact, turned out to be the perpetrator of the attacks, and he, in turn, provided her with access to Wolfram & Hart's extensive library. A safer form of research, he had said with an exasperated shake of his head.

 

Over the next several months, Elise had spent a considerable amount of time cloistered in the high-ceiling room reading volume after volume of demon lore. She and Wes became fast friends, often spending hours debating various theories and prophecies. The fact that her beloved stepfather had been a formidable member of the Watcher's Council furthered their friendship as they bonded over the challenges of a childhood in which the supernatural was taken as fact, and clandestine meetings, strange visitors and travels in the middle of the night were common occurrence.  

 

In small degrees, Angel found himself drawn to Elise as well. Her wit and infectious energy were so like Buffy's that, in his grief, she pulled him in like a lodestone. He began to seek out her company, joining in the conversations with Wesley or simply finding excuses to spend time in the library when she was there. Three weeks ago, with no small amount of prompting from both Wes and Fred, he had finally asked her out for dinner. 

 

"Is it that obvious?" he asked quietly.

 

"Well, yes," she replied with a slight smile. "But then I recognize the signs better than some, I think." 

 

"I've dealt with a lot of things in my life, but this… losing her… it's harder than I ever imagined." His voice was a hoarse whisper. 

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Elise asked softly, her brown eyes compassionate. 

 

"She just… vanished," he murmured, sliding down on the sofa and resting his head against the expensive suede-like fabric with an anguished sigh.

 

"You don't know what happened to her?" she inquired softly, her brows lifted slightly in surprise. Given the guilt he wore so obviously, she had been expecting him to say that she had died, possibly because of his lifestyle or involvement with Wolfram & Hart. 

 

"No," he murmured, taking a sip of his cognac. "I looked for her for months, followed every lead or clue no matter how small or remote or improbable. Still do actually." He ran a hand over his eyes and chuckled bitterly, thinking of the many times that the sighting of someone even vaguely similar to Buffy sent him off on what inevitably proved to be another wild goose chase. 

 

It was an understatement to say he simply looked for her. Every person at Wolfram & Hart had been deployed in the search, as well as everyone Angel knew or could call in favors on.  Finding her Claddagh ring and several strands of blonde hair in one of the Wolfram & Hart limos two days after she had disappeared had nearly been his undoing. From that point on, the search only intensified with near manic urgency. In the following weeks and months, he used every resource available, from science to magic to good old fashioned footwork, frantically searching, day in and day out, until he was worn out, exhausted and ultimately, defeated.

 

"Do you think she's still alive?" Elise asked, unable to keep the inquisitive, journalist trained, novelist side of herself at bay. She wondered for a moment which would be worse - not knowing what happened to a loved one, or knowing, even when it's something tragic. Immediately she concluded that it would be worse not to know. There would be no closure, only an open wound that refused to heal. 

 

He stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He couldn't feel her anymore, and that was perhaps the hardest thing for him to accept. That subtle sense of her presence that he always carried with him, no matter how far apart they were, had abruptly disappeared about a week after Buffy did. That terrified him. He had only felt this way once before, and that was when she had, in fact, died.  

 

"I don't know," he said finally. Even after all this time, he still couldn't bring himself to say it, much less completely accept it. He just couldn't.

 

Tilting her head slightly, she gazed at him for a speculative moment from under the dark fringe of her lashes. One didn't need to be clairvoyant to understand. "I'm sorry. I know how painful it is to lose someone you love so much."

 

He shook his head, and turning his dark eyes held hers. "You lost someone too, didn't you?" 

 

"Yes," she said, easily able to vividly recall the overwhelming sorrow she felt when Colin had been murdered. He had been so full life one minute, the next laid low by a senseless act of violence: stopping for smokes at small liquor store, he unknowingly walked into a robbery. A simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time had taken away the man she had loved and had planned her future with.  She had thought at the time that she would never get over it. 

 

Her grief obvious, Angel reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry." 

 

She leaned into him, and he put his arm around her, both seeking comfort from the aching emptiness of their memories. 

 

In a soft, quiet voice she told him about the man she had loved and of their dreams for the future. For months after his death she wanted to die herself, but instead had thrown herself into her work. She became fearless, venturing further and further into the dark of Los Angeles in search of new subjects and new stories. Vampires, demons, ghosts and other creatures of the night weren't at all unusual for someone whose stepfather had been a member of the Watcher's Council and they made great subjects for spine chilling tales. Her novels sold well, the last few making the best seller's list. Few people had any idea that they were actually based on true events and real stories. 

 

"Colin was everything to me. I was devastated when he died," she concluded, her voice low and filled with emotion. "But as hard as it is at times, I still feel incredibly blessed to have had such love in my life even once. Though," she smiled sadly, staring down at the amber liquid in her glass. "I can't imagine it ever happening again. I may fall in love with someone else, some day, but I can't imagine that it will ever be the same as what I shared with Colin… it was… all consuming, wild, passionate and at the same time, warm, and comfortable, like coming home. It's been four years… but sometimes I still miss him so much it hurts…" 

 

Angel didn't answer for a lengthy interval. The months since her disappearance hadn't dimmed even the most vivid dreams of Buffy or suppressed the gloomiest melancholy, but he wouldn't give up even one minute of what they had shared for the same reasons.  He had never loved anyone the way he had loved her, and he doubted that he was capable of feeling that same way again. 

 

"I just didn't expect it to turn out like this. But then things usually do turn out badly when I get complacent," he said quietly, a hint of derision in his voice. Running a weary hand over his eyes, he sighed. "We were trying to have a baby. I can't have one naturally of course, but with the resources of the Wolfram & Hart, and access to the very best doctors with their advanced medical expertise… it seemed like it would be possible." 

 

Elise turned her head and looked up at him. She couldn't quite hide the surprise in her eyes. 

 

"She had two miscarriages, neither that could be explained by the doctors. She had been healthy, the baby healthy as well, or so we had thought. She had just been to see the doctor after the latest round of IVF the day she disappeared." Pausing, he swallowed hard trying to force away the lump that was forming in his throat. The picture of the sonogram had been propped up on the counter; it had been one of the first things he had seen when he had walked into the penthouse apartment that night… He could still remember picking it up carefully, his hand almost trembling as he studied it. He still had it in his hand when the first feelings crept over him that something wasn't right. Later he hadn't realized that he had put it in his pocket, but it was still there when, weeks later, the first thoughts that Buffy was really gone crept into his mind… He closed his eyes against the steadily increasing pain in his chest. "She was pregnant again. She never even had a chance to tell me before she disappeared…" 

 

"Oh, Angel," Elise exclaimed softly. She set her glass aside then moved into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry." 

 

Having spent over two centuries keeping emotions at bay, Angel couldn't expose the extent of his distress,  neither could he  completely hide the emptiness that he felt. Unable to find any words, he simply wrapped his arms around Elise and held her in comfortable silence.  He appreciated her compassion, her warmth and her companionship, as well as the simple, uncomplicated ease between them. She didn't make judgments or demands, nor did she seem to expect more from him than he was willing to give. 

 

And she, like so few others, seemed to understand his loss. 

 

 

 

 

Part II

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Elise closed Wesley's office door behind her, stopping to lean against it. She considered the former Watcher one of her closest friends, having spent many hours in his company researching various subjects for her novels, debating theories and philosophies regarding demons and prophecies, as well as sharing an interest in good brandy and cognac.

"Pardon?" Wes glanced up from the text he had been studying. Calmly he set the magnifying glass in his hand aside giving her his full attention. "Would you like to be a little more specific?"

"About Buffy. Specifically, about Buffy's disappearance," she explained, crossing the room to drop heavily in the chair across from his desk. "I  knew he was involved with someone, and I know you told me that he needed time..."

"Ah. You found out about her," Wes finished for her. "I should have guessed given the timing."

"Yes and no. I didn't press. He told me about her... the other night." Running her hands through her dark hair, Elise met Wesley's gaze. "Last week, when I stayed over. I found him with some pictures of her and some of her things."

Leaning back in his chair, Wes clasped his fingers in front of him. He had noticed that Angel had become more withdrawn than usual in the last couple of weeks.  Now that he thought of it, he should've expected as much given that it had been the one year anniversary of Buffy's disappearance.  "It's only been a year. He doesn't talk about it much, but I know he hasn't forgotten her."

Shaking her head, Elise made a soft sound of derision. "It was only the first time... let's just say I need to work on improving my timing for romantic evenings."

Wesley gave her a sympathetic smile. "You didn't know."

Elise chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, both of them silent for a moment.

Returning her gaze to Wesley's, she asked, "It was... she was pregnant?"

"Yes, apparently." Wes dropped his gaze. That bit of news had made Buffy's disappearance all the more surprising, and that much harder for all of them to bear.  

"I feel so bad for him. For them. I've heard Buffy's name mentioned here and there, you know, hanging around the offices.  And I knew he had been involved with someone that he cared very much about. I just never really connected the dots or asked much about the specifics." She smiled ruefully, "Old lovers rarely make for good dinner conversation."

"How much did Angel tell you?"

"Not much. Remember we're talking about the guy that the word taciturn was invented for here." Elise sighed and picked up a crystal orb that was serving as a paperweight on Wesley's desk. She rolled in around in her hand for a moment, studying the kaleidoscope of colors.  "He told me that they were together, working here at Wolfram & Hart, for about three years. That in that last year they had been trying - with no small amount of difficulty, it seems - to have a child."

"Yes, she had miscarried twice before."

"And that the very day she finds out that she's pregnant again, before she even has a chance to share the news with him, she disappears almost without a trace."

"Yes," Wes said with a contemplative nod; they had all been baffled and saddened by her sudden disappearance.

"Damn," she muttered softly, struck by the incredible sadness of it all. "He really loved her, didn't he?"

"I believe it was mutual."

"Tell me about her."

"I'm not sure." Wes sat forward and shuffled the papers on his desk distractedly. "I really don't think he'd appreciate..."

"He's intensely private, I know. But I'd like to know," Elise entreated softly, her eyes wide and pleading. "And it's obviously too painful for Angel to talk much about it."

Wes studied the lovely, dark-haired woman across from him for a moment. He sighed; even though he had known her only a few months he found that he was already unable to refuse her anything. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything. Something. How did they meet? Who was she?" With a grateful smile, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her on the chair.

"Buffy was... she was the Slayer."

"The Slayer?" Elise repeated with astonishment. She knew about the existence of the one girl in all the world destined to save the world from vampires and other creatures of the night from the many times she secretly perused her stepfather's books or covertly listened in on his various meetings and phone conversations. Her journalistic and investigative skills were born then, as she began to keep her own little notebook of the various things she read or heard or saw during those years.

"Yes, the Slayer. Though she's changed that now. Regardless, I assume that's how they met, though most of what I know about this is second hand. I didn't come to Sunnydale until after much of all of this."

"Well then, tell me what you do know."

"Angel and Buffy... theirs was a powerful attraction from the beginning. From what I understand, they both tried to resist any involvement initially but clearly were unsuccessful. They fell very much in love, and, as you would expect, things grew increasingly intimate between them. On Buffy's seventeenth birthday, they, uh, consummated their relationship." Wes paused, uncertain how direct he needed to be.

"They made love," Elise finished for him.

"Yes," the former Watcher continued. "Only the very much unexpected consequence was that Angel lost his soul."

"Oh." she murmured thoughtfully. She hadn't realized that Buffy had been so young. And as for Angel's soul. she'd heard veiled references about both Angel and Spike having souls - very atypical for vampires - but despite her natural curiosity about that particular abnormality - she hadn't yet pried into the specifics.

"Yes, apparently a moment of perfect happiness was the trigger."

"A curse, then?" Her brows drew together inquisitively.

"Yes, his soul was his curse. He was to suffer for all the heinous things he did as a vampire and so by giving him his soul, his conscience, and all of the memories of his demon was the way that the gypsy's chose to make him suffer."

"And perfect happiness... lifted the curse?" Elise inquired, somewhat perplexed.

"Yes, interesting loophole, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Very much so."

"Angelus tormented Buffy for months after that, the demon as obsessed with her as much or more than Angel himself. When he attempted to release hell on earth, Buffy managed to stop him. They fought and she sent Angel to hell."

"How horrible, the poor darling."

"Yes, Angel suffered horribly there I understand. Time moves quite differently in hell dimensions as you know."

"Angel, too, of course, but I actually meant Buffy. Only seventeen... and to have things go so horribly wrong. It was bad enough that the man she loved became a demon, but then to have to be the one to stop him from unleashing hell..." Elise gave a shudder and shook her head. "I can't even imagine how one ever gets over something like that. At least, not to the extent that they ever have any sort of relationship again, unless it's truly exceptional - the sort of unconditional love that one always hopes to find. And to forgive him. Well, it would take someone of incredible character."

"Quite." Wes tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Angel returned, as you know, but they still couldn't be together."

"His soul...?"

"Willow actually resouled him prior to... just before Buffy sent him to hell."

"He was in hell with his soul..." She murmured softly, thinking how much Angel must have suffered, and how strong he must have been to retain any semblance of the decent, warm person she knew him to be. She looked back at Wes and gave a low whistle. "And Willow. That must be some powerful magic. She must have been what, only seventeen herself?"

"Yes. Willow was quite good at magic, even then. But she had help. Jenny Calendar, actually one of the Kalderash gypsies and a rather good practicing wicca herself, managed to recover the spell though was not able to cast it before... well, before Angel killed her.  The spell itself was lost for some months before it was recovered and Angel resouled. Make no mistake. Angel is as brutal a vampire - or worse perhaps - as has ever existed."

"I see." Elise glanced out the window for a contemplative moment. "So how was it that he returned? Hell dimensions - from everything I've read - are not something one easily escapes from."

"I'm not certain," Wes said thoughtfully. "Mr. Giles, Buffy's former Watcher, speculated that Buffy may have done something - either inadvertently or directly - that brought him back."  He shrugged. "No one knows for sure. If Angel knows himself, he's never mentioned it."

"Amazing. So go on... what happened after his return?"

"They tried for a short time to have a relationship. I think Angel became increasingly convinced that he wasn't good enough for Buffy for a variety of reasons. Buffy's mother and Mr. Giles, as well as Buffy's friends, were less than supportive of the relationship. And, even more so, I think Angel also feared that he couldn't trust himself to be around her after..."

"After..?" She prodded gently when he trailed off.

"The Mayor of Sunnydale was planning an ascension."

"An ascension?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Was he insane?"

Wes smiled faintly. "Yes, actually I believe he was."

"But that hardly sounds like a reason to make Angel believe he couldn't trust himself to stay with the woman that he loved, especially after everything they had already been through. There's something else here that you haven't yet told me."

"Yes, well, it's all rather complicated. There was another Slayer, Faith, who was working with the Mayor."

"Another Slayer? Wait a minute. I know a little of the lore here. what happened to 'the one'?"

"Buffy technically died once. Actually more than once, but her second death was a bit later. when she died, of course another slayer was called, not taking into account the possibility that Buffy would be revived. But Kendra. she was killed by Drusilla, so then Faith was called. And now of course, Buffy has managed to share her power with the other girls that would have been in line."

"Oh-kay. There's quite a bit more of story in all of that, but I'll leave that one for now. Angel didn't trust himself because..." she prompted, leaning forward and watching Wes interestedly.

"To distract Buffy and keep her from stopping the Mayor, Faith shot Angel with a rather debilitating poison - Killer of the Dead. The only known cure for this poison happens to be the blood of a Slayer."

Elise felt her breath catch in her throat. Suddenly she had a feeling she knew where this was going.

Wes continued, "Buffy attempted to kill Faith for Angel, but Faith escaped. Instead-"

"Buffy gave herself to Angel," she interjected softly.

The former Watcher nodded solemnly. "Neither of them has ever said much about what exactly happened, but I don't believe that Angel fed off her willingly as has been suggested."

"Then what do you think?"

"I don't know... Buffy was determined to heal him... she even quit the council over their unwillingness to help him at that time," Wes said contemplatively, his gaze drifting over the objects on his desk absently. "It wouldn't surprise me if somehow she forced him to feed or tempted him beyond his will to resist. He was quite ill when they were left alone. she would only have had to bring out his base demonic impulses."

"Still, she risked her life for him." Elise murmured, slightly awed. A vampire feeding wasn't necessarily in control of their instincts. And to quit the council. her step-father had passed away years ago, but from the little bits she knew the council was a centuries old organization that wouldn't have allowed a Slayer to 'quit'. It simply wasn't done. The Council would never have allowed it; they would have taken care of Buffy in ways too unsavory to contemplate - unless, of course, they considered her too valuable.  She must really have been exceptional. 

"Yes, and he, in turn," Wes continued, "marked her."

Her caramel brown eyes widened. "That's quite a bite." Elise knew the significance of marking in vampires; it meant that she was marked for life as his mate.

"A significant one, no question."

A knock sounded on the door. Immediately it swung open as Fred stuck her head in the room. "Wesley, Angel wants- Oh, Elise. Hi. I didn't realize you were here! I'm sorry to interrupt you guys, but Wes, Angel wants a conference. Something to do with the Sowell case. He said it was urgent, so his office, ten minutes."

The door closed again as Fred quickly darted away, on her way to the Science lab to pull her own files on the case.

"I should let you work since you are at work." Elise said with a smile as she slipped on her shoes and rose to her feet. "Thank you for... well, all of that. You've been a tremendous help."

"Any time," Wes returned her smile. His eyes followed Elise as she left the room. With a sigh, he turned his attention to collecting his own research on the Sowell case.

Knowing the Wolfram & Hart library as well as she did from the many hours that she had spent there, Elise went straight to the volumes that she knew contained Slayer lore. Taking them off the shelf, she curled up in her favorite corner with them, her iBook, a legal pad filled with scribbles, and a large toffee nut latte.  It was there that Angel found her several hours later.

"Hey."

Elise looked up and she smiled. "Hey yourself."

"Find something interesting?" Angel asked as he took a seat in the nearby chair.

"Maybe," she replied with a small degree of apprehension. Casually she closed the heavy book on her lap, leaving the legal pad tucked between the pages to mark her place. "I'm trying to get some ideas for my next book."

His gaze swept over the many stacks of books that she had accumulated in her afternoon of research, and he said with a faint smile, "It looks like you found a couple of things."

Her smile widened. "I may have found a few ideas, yes."

Angel picked up one of the books nearest his elbow. "'Demon Defenses and the War on Evil'? I don't think I've seen this one." His tone was facetious as he flipped through the aged, worn pages.

"It was written by a rather obscure group of monks, probably 12^th century, though some of it appears to be as late as the 15^th. They've documented what they believe to be the 'weapons' created over time to battle the various evils of the world, though some of them... well, let's just say I think that bit about olives as portents evil may have hurt their credibility somewhat," Elise returned with a chuckle.

"Maybe," Angel mused, stopping suddenly upon seeing the word 'Slayer' written in dark, calligraphic script. Beneath the title was an elaborate drawing of a young woman clutching a cross in one hand, and some sort of scythe-like weapon in the other. He closed the book abruptly and set it aside.

"How are you doing?" she quietly inquired.

He shrugged, his feelings still too muddled for him to easily reply. His gaze lifted and he looked at Elise, though his expression was distant. After a moment, he took an unneeded breath and seemed to focus.  "Would you like to get out of here for awhile? Fred mentioned that there are still tickets available for The Geffen Playhouse tonight."

"As nice as that sounds, I can't actually imagine that you're a 'Paint Your Wagon' kind of guy, and if it's 'I Am My Own Wife' I can already tell you that it's way overrated." Her smile was fleeting and impish. "But give me a couple more hours here - my editor will kill me if I don't get her an outline of something by the end of the month for my new book - and I'd be glad to take you up on a ride home."

"You could stay here. if you like," he offered softly.

Elise studied him for a moment as he lounged across from her, tall, muscular, and powerful with dark, soulful eyes, the kindest of hearts, and the capacity to make her tremble like so few others she had ever met.

"I should go home," she murmured instead. "I'm sorry."  

"Don't be." Angel said with a faint smile.

"Another night perhaps." she began, and then shrugged away the explanation that she couldn't give voice too. It wasn't that she was giving up on a relationship with him; more, it seemed that it was perhaps too soon and too much of a violation of something sacred given that she was now thoroughly immersed in researching the woman that he loved so dearly. She felt as though the path that she was now one was one that she had been meant to follow; they would have to see where things stood between them when she reached the end.

"I know," he murmured. "Thank you."

It was, perhaps, too soon for him as well.

 

 

 

Part III

 

"Hi. Mind if I join you?" Fred asked, stopping next to the occupied table in the Wolfram & Hart cafeteria. In one hand she held a bag containing her lunch and in the crook of her other arm, a stack of folders that she had been preparing to read during her lunch hour. When she saw Elise sitting there alone, she quickly revised her plans; some female companionship in a largely male work environment was a much more appealing way to pass the time.

 

"Not at all. In fact, I'd love the company and I could use a break," Elise replied with a smile, nodding to the chair across from her as she gathered the books and papers scattered across the table and put them in a neat pile.  

 

"Working on a new book?" Fred asked curiously as she sat down, looking at the notebook full of scribbles next to the sleek iBook. 

 

"Yes. Well, some plotting anyway," Elise answered as she jotted one last note before saving the file she was working on. She closed the iBook and pushed it aside. 

 

"I really loved 'Dark Rising', though I was unable to sleep for days," Fred offered as she unwrapped her sandwich. "It gave me chills. I know it shouldn't have after working here, given everything, but it still did." 

 

"Thank you, I think," Elise replied with a chuckle.

 

"Oh, it's definitely a compliment. It was a great book. What's the subject of your next one?" The slender brunette inquired, then amended politely, "That is, if you don't mind me asking." 

 

"My editor has the final edits for 'Dark Wolf' so that will be the next one to actually hit the shelves. As for what I'm working on next… well, I'm actually thinking of doing something about a vampire slayer." 

 

"Oh, um, oh." Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Fred shifted and dropped her gaze. "Er, I don't know if you know… oh…" 

 

"Fred?" Elise interjected, reaching out and touching the other woman lightly on the arm. "I know about Buffy, and perhaps more pertinently, I know about Buffy and Angel." 

 

"Oh, thank God." The head of the Wolfram & Hart Science Division visibly relaxed. "I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to bring it up. Cause you know, awkward. I mean with you and Angel… well, you know, together." 

 

Elise gave the other woman a warm smile. "Theirs is a truly beautiful story, what I know of it so far, though quite tragic. I'd love to immortalize it in print. Of course, I won't publish it unless he's okay with it, so I'll show it to him first - once it's done, that is." 

 

"That's really… really nice of you. And understanding too, I mean since you and he… well, I guess I thought the two of you… well, I don't really know about you two. How's that going? It is… going, right?" 

 

"Angel's wonderful, really. He and I… well, I don't know what really right now. I guess you might say we're just playing it by ear." 

 

"Is that good?  I mean, is that what you want?" 

 

"It's good. Definitely good," Elise affirmed sincerely. "But about the book… something in my gut that says I have to see this through; that this is a story that I have to tell… but I want to wait until it's been written before I tell Angel about it. I know it's a painful subject for him, so please-"

 

"Oh, I won't tell him," Fred interrupted with a hand gesture to indicate that her lips were sealed. 

 

"Thank you. It's not that I'm hiding it exactly… I just don't want to constantly rub an open wound, you know?"  

 

"I understand." 

 

After a moment, Elise asked, "You knew her, didn't you?" 

 

"Buffy? Yes, I did. I mean, only for about three years… when she came to Wolfram & Hart after Sunnydale, you know, exploded." 

 

"Ah yes, I had read something about that. That's when Spike returned here as well, right? In ghostly form until he became corporeal?"  Only yesterday Elise had come across articles about Sunnydale's rather abrupt disappearance from the California map, along with some annotations by someone at Wolfram & Hart about Spike's return.  She had planned to ask Wes who might have documented the information, but she had yet to find the opportunity to discuss it with him privately.    

 

"It - Buffy staying here - was awkward at first," Fred's gaze slid away from the novelist. "But then everything was great, until, well, until she disappeared." 

 

"Why awkward?" 

 

Returning her gaze to Elise's face, Fred leaned over and whispered, "Well, there was Buffy and Angel being ex for one, then there was the whole thing between Buffy and Spike… And too, I had thought that Angel and Cordelia… well, I thought that they would get together eventually." 

 

"Cordelia?" Elise's brows lifted curiously. The bit about Buffy and Spike didn't surprise her. She had heard a rumor or two around the office about it; rumors she planned to follow up on in the near future.

 

"Cordelia Chase. Oh, you probably don't know about her… She and Angel… I guess some of us, well, I thought that they were a couple." 

 

Picking up her pen and pad of paper, Elise made a note of the name; it was one that hadn't come up before in her months around Wolfram & Hart. "But they weren't?" 

 

"No, they weren't. And even if I had been right about them, it wouldn't have happened. Cordelia was in a coma because some evil thing had over taken her body," Fred explained thoughtfully. Her memories of exactly what happened to Cordelia were so vague, and she often felt as though there were more to it that she should know or remember. Shaking away the unsettling feeling, she continued, "But anything I saw or thought I saw between him and Cordelia was more like friendship, or at best, a brother-sister type thing. That was pretty obvious after Buffy showed up here, as was the fact that Angel was completely head over heels in love with her. Her being Buffy, I mean."

 

Elise took a sip of her now tepid tea before adding another note on her pad of scribbles. 

 

Fred took a bite of her sandwich, then continued thoughtfully, "It's not like they got together right away or anything like that. Mr. Giles, a friend of Buffy's, along with some of the Slayers in training, stayed here for a few months before they all went to England.  Anyway, in those first few months Buffy and Angel would go out on cases together, and eventually it became pretty clear that they were getting to be more than just friends again. They'd come back holding hands, or we'd catch them kissing when they thought no one was around. Then one day there was a big argument between Buffy, Angel, Wes and Mr. Giles about Angel's soul and how they could or couldn't…" The physicist paused and looked at Elise questioningly. "You do know about that, right?" 

 

"That being Angel's curse?" 

 

"Yes. Good, because I wasn't sure… I mean, I don't know who knows what or what they think…" Fred stammered awkwardly, twisting her napkin between her fingers. "I don't even know much about it myself." 

 

"It's fine, Fred. I understand - enough at least." Elise smiled reassuringly. "Do continue. That is, if you don't mind…" 

 

"Okay. So, um, one night not long after that whole big argument, Mr. Giles, Wesley and I'm pretty sure Willow, all hung around Angel's office while Buffy and Angel were upstairs in the penthouse. Mr. Giles kept pacing up and down the halls, and every time the elevator doors would open, they would all jump up nervously. They didn't come out and say anything, but I'm pretty sure that they were worried about Angel losing his soul and so had magic on hand to do something about it if necessary. Which, it turns out that it wasn't. Necessary that is." Fred chuckled, "Of course, you know that yourself."  

 

"Yes," Elise said, picking up her now empty tea cup and looking at it distractedly. She wasn't entirely comfortable disclosing personal details about her relationship with Angel, even more so in light of the current conversation. 

 

"Anyway," Fred continued, breaking the awkward silence. "Buffy stayed when Mr. Giles left with the Slayer trainees for England, and Willow stayed… I guess Willow stayed because Buffy stayed. Well, that and Angel gave her a job as head of the Information Sciences department. She's really amazing with computers." 

 

"I see. Did it work well, the two of them working here at Wolfram & Hart?  Buffy and Angel, I mean?" Elise prompted, twirling her pen between her fingers. 

 

"Oh yes. They were a really great team, though they'd argue pretty often during work." Fred smiled and shrugged. "We all got used to that." 

 

"What do you mean, argue?" 

 

"Oh, not serious arguments, really. Both of them were strong, protective type people - so he'd tell her to wait and she wouldn't, or she'd tell him not to take such risky chances and he would. Or it would be who was going in first. And they'd get into a fight about it, especially on the more dangerous cases.  Though, they always made up." The slender brunette trailed off, clearly embarrassed. "Once I accidentally walked in on them in Angel's office after one particularly loud argument. I certainly wasn't expecting… Let's just say, they might have argued, but there was a lot of passion in their relationship as well." 

 

"I've seen a photo or two of her. She was very lovely," Elise murmured, uncertain whether she wanted to hear any more intimate details about Angel's past relationship than she already knew. 

 

"Yes, she was beautiful. She was also much stronger and more powerful than you'd think after seeing her because she was so petite. She trained harder than any of the guys. I don't think any of them ever beat her in training exercises. "

 

"Do you mind if I ask… what was she like - as a person I mean?" 

 

"Um, she was… she was strong. Funny, too. She'd make these comments before slaying something… you know, puns… sort of taunting the bad guy or demon.  I could never do that, at least not like she could. It was like she was never really afraid. She had such confidence. She was crazy about Angel, too - you could just tell. And they were very sweet together. I never really saw Angel smile, or even laugh so much, as he did when he was with her. He was lighter, happier when she was here. It's just so sad about her miscarriages… and then her just disappearing like that.  I thought Angel was going to go crazy for a while…" 

 

"I feel bad for both of them," Elise murmured softly, still struck by the sense of loss that she imagined that Angel must still feel. 

 

Fred nodded somberly in agreement. She nibbled absently on her food as she thought about the events of a year ago. 

 

"So where is Cordelia?" The brunette novelist asked after a moment, reminded when she glimpsed the name she had written on the pad in front of her only a short while earlier.

 

Sighing, Fred set the remaining bit of her sandwich down and took a drink of water before answering. "She died, three or so years ago now." 

 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elise replied sympathetically. 

 

"Thank you," Fred answered meditatively. "Cordelia… she was Angel's seer, before we had all this." With her hand, she gestured to their surroundings. "She was also one of the first friends that I had… here. When I came back from Pylea." Taking a deep breath, she pushed away the horrible memories and changed the subject. "You know, she came from Sunnydale as well. She and Buffy even went to high school together! Small world I guess. Or maybe it just is when you're involved with the demon world."

 

"Maybe that's true," Elise nodded slightly in agreement. "Cordelia was a seer?" 

 

"Yeah, she had visions for supernatural things, things that Angel would then follow up on. It's how we got a lot of our work in helping the helpless back then, before Angel became the head of Wolfram & Hart." 

 

"I see. And you said Buffy and Cordelia went to school together? Were they friends? Was Cordelia a seer then as well?" 

 

"I don't really know, but I don't think so - about either thing. The few times Cordelia mentioned Buffy it wasn't in a particularly nice way. In hindsight, I think maybe she was a little jealous of Buffy, and of Buffy's relationship with Angel."  Fred paused and gave a small almost embarrassed laugh. "Of course, I had a little crush on Angel myself when I first met him. He was my hero, and well, he looks like he looks."

 

Elise chuckled. "Yes, he's quite something, isn't he? I can't imagine too many women that wouldn't feel the same way." 

 

"Maybe it's the vampire thing and not being able to see his reflection for so long, but I honestly don't think he's aware of how attractive he is." 

 

"That's true," Elise acknowledged agreeably; Angel was uncommonly modest. 

 

"As for Cordelia being a seer… I'm pretty sure that she wasn't one in high school. She got the visions from Doyle not long after she and Angel both came to Los Angeles. Sorry I don't know much more, that was before my time." 

 

"No, actually that's quite a lot. You'd be surprised how sometimes the smallest details make the biggest difference," the novelist said as Lorne waved at them from across the room. "I may have some more questions as I fill in the blanks. That is, if you don't mind?"  

 

"Ask away. I'll try to help any way I can," Fred returned cheerfully, before popping the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth. "It's exciting to think that I might be contributing to a published novel." 

 

"Well, hello there, lovely ladies." Lorne declared as he pulled up a chair. "Did I hear something about a published novel?  Does someone have a new book in the works? Because I know some people over at Fox that I'm sure would be interested in some ideas for a television movie. One of their networks cancelled their best show so they desperately need new ideas. I'm sure I could hook you up, just say the word." 

 

"Hello, Lorne," Elise said with a half-smile. The green demon had been offering for weeks to set up talks with some of his contacts in the entertainment industry; it had become something of a joke between them now. "And this is just in the idea stage, so not quite ready to pitch to your network contacts - if that was even in the realm of possibility, which it's not." 

 

"Hi, Lorne," Fred greeted as she shifted over to make room. 

 

"Think about it though, my caramel apple dumpling. You have some great ideas - or so I'm told. As soon as I have some time to read, I'll check them for myself." 

 

"I'll think about it," Elise returned, her voice playful. She had only a slight interest in turning her books into movies or television programs, but it wasn't something that she wanted to pursue anytime soon. And too, too many wonderful books that she had read had turned into travesties when converted to the screen medium; it was as though something that could only be captured in imagination was lost in translation. Then there was the fact that the author often ended up with little to no control or influence over the end result - though Lorne said that with Wolfram & Hart behind the specifics of the contract, that wouldn't be the case. 

 

"Oh, you should," Fred encouraged. "That would be so exciting." 

 

"Maybe," Elise mused politely before changing the subject. "So Lorne, what's the latest gossip from the entertainment world?" 

 

"Well, there was this one little incident over at the Mondrian involving a certain tall, dark and hunkesque actor…" 

 

~~~ 

 

"Marcus Hamilton left a package for you on your desk," Harmony said immediately as Angel stepped out of the elevator and into the Wolfram & Hart foyer. 

 

"More orders from the Senior Partners telling me how to run things, no doubt," Angel replied sardonically, striding down the hall. "Do they ever send anything other than more ridiculous orders and demands?"   

 

Keeping pace beside him, Wes smiled.  "There's the occasional mystical object or absurd, but still binding, contract, but then that's why they're around, isn't it? And it serves," he added blandly, "to keep things interesting." 

 

Angel glanced briefly at his companion. "Things around here are interesting enough without their 'help'." 

 

"Quite true."  

 

"If only one of these little gifts came with a clue as to their motives." Angel said as he pushed open the door to his office. 

 

"They'll get careless eventually." 

 

"It's been more than four years, and we still don't know anything more about why they turned this place over to us," Angel casually remarked, turning the package over in his hands before tossing it to Wes. 

 

"Maybe not, but we've done some good in that time. Even you have to agree with that." Wesley examined the oblong parcel carefully.

 

"Maybe," Angel murmured, his attention distracted as he shuffled through the other papers that had been left on his desk with the mail, along with his messages. 

 

"I think I'll have the lab open this one," Wes surmised as he turned and retraced his steps toward the door. "Afterwards, I'll be in the library. I have some work to do on the Grabok demon case." 

 

"So how is Elise?" Angel asked without glancing up. 

 

"She's fine. Busy, it seems, working on some new idea," Wesley casually noted. "You haven't seen her?" 

 

"No, not lately," Angel replied, his expression shuttered. "Not since… not for several weeks now. Would you tell her that I'm still planning to see her for dinner tomorrow night? That is, if she's still interested." 

 

"Will do," Wesley said, opening the door. 

 

"And let me know what you find with that." Angel nodded toward the object in Wes' hand. Several other similar such packages had wreaked havoc in the office. One had erased Angel's memory temporarily; another had nearly turned Wes into a controlled zombie right out of 'The Manchurian Candidate', while another had paralyzed Spike for days. In all cases Marcus Hamilton denied knowledge of any effects, claiming that he was simply the delivery person or that the material had been mishandled. "We don't need another problem right now. The Sowell case is turning out to be more to handle than we expected," Angel went on. "You do have the reports on the family?" 

 

"I do. I still think the wife is behind it." 

 

"Agreed. Now we just need a way to isolate her and prevent further harm." 

 

"I still think it's somehow telepathically cued. I don't think she intentionally brings forth those malicious entities." 

 

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way we have to stop it." 

 

"Agreed," Wes affirmed just as he slipped through the doors and down the hall.  

 

 

 

 

Part IV

 

 

It was just after noon when Elise pushed open the door to the Wolfram & Hart Information Services Department and walked through the short row of cubicles to reach the office door at the back that read, "Willow Rosenberg, Director."  She knocked and waited for a response before opening the door. 

 

"Willow?" 

 

"Come on in." 

 

"Do you have some time? I'd like to talk to you." 

 

"Let me just hand this over to Gavin to run, and I'll be right with you," Willow said as she came to her feet, a stack of papers in hand.  She gestured to the chairs in front of her desk as she started toward the door. "Make yourself at home." 

 

"Okay, thank you."

 

While she waited, Elise scanned the contents of the expansive, but windowless office.  She and Willow seldom, if ever, interacted; and this was the first time that she had ever been in this part of the building, much less this office. The walls were painted a dark, forest green, complimentary to the golden beige carpet on the floor. Along one side of the room there was a massive cabinet, the doors closed and, from the looks of them, securely locked. The subtle smell of smoke and herbs lingered in the air. On the credenza behind the desk there was a small marble bowl, a sprinkling of various herbs and the stubs of several black candles. Curious, Elise leaned forward to get a better look.  

 

"So what did you need?" Willow asked as she swept back into the office.  Noting the direction of the novelists' inquisitive gaze, her own expression became shuttered. Without a word, she swept the items up and placed them on a shelf below, closing the credenza door firmly.  

 

"I'm working on an idea for a new book, and I was hoping you might help me." Elise offered with a smile. The items themselves were curious; Willow's behavior however, made them curiouser still. But, Elise cautioned herself, she didn't know Willow very well; perhaps there was nothing unusual at all.  

 

"How so?" Willow asked, taking a seat at her desk and glancing over at her guest. 

 

"I'm really sorry, this is a bit awkward, so I'm just going to be straight with you. I'm interested in writing a book about a Slayer. Specifically… about Buffy." Gently Elise added, "I know you were friends." 

 

Willow looked away. "Yes, best friends." 

 

"If it's a painful topic for you, please say so. It's not my intention to bring up something hurtful." 

 

"No, no. I mean, it hurts, but I can talk about her." Willow replied, returning her gaze to Elise's face. "Is this because you're seeing Angel? Or are you really writing a book?" Her expression was somber, her tone curt. 

 

"I'm really writing a book. Well, that's the plan. I haven't actually started it yet. Right now I'm just researching." 

 

"Researching Buffy. Is this a story about her life, or slaying or what?" 

 

"Right now, it's looking like it will be more of a love story than anything else." 

 

"Buffy and…" 

 

Elise's brows arched in surprise. "Angel, of course." 

 

"Oh, yes, of course. I wasn't sure. I mean, there was Spike, and Riley too. And with you seeing Angel I didn't think you'd… well, never mind." 

 

"Seeing Angel may have prompted the idea, but I can assure you this has nothing to do with jealousy - or any other emotion - about his previous girlfriend," Elise replied candidly.  "Every woman has more than one relationship, but there's only one first love," she continued agreeably. "Besides - or perhaps more pertinently - it sounds like what Buffy and Angel had was very special, unique and rare. I'm interested in telling their story purely from that perspective." 

 

"So what did you want to know from me?" Willow asked solicitously. 

 

"Anything you're willing to share. As her closest friend and confidant, you have more insight and information about Buffy than almost anyone else," Elise said, taking her tape recorder out of the bag and holding it up for inspection. "Do you mind?" 

 

"No, I don't mind." Willow replied with a simple shake of her head. "Well, if you want to hear about Buffy and Angel specifically…"

 

"That would be wonderful. Would you mind starting with how they met?" 

 

"Well, we were in high school… He showed up one night, gave her some cryptic advice about vampires, and then disappeared.  He did that a few times. One time he gave her a silver cross necklace; another time he gave her his leather jacket. She used to wear both of them pretty much all the time back then.  She had a huge crush on him, right from the beginning." 

 

"Did she know that he was a vampire then?" 

 

"No… if I remember it right, she found out one night after he helped her fight off these assassin types - the order of Taraka I think it was - and then he stayed over at her house. They were kissing, and he vamped out on her.  Not long after that, she thought he attacked her Mom, but that was Darla - who was actually the vamp that made Angel one." 

 

Elise considered that bit of information for a moment. She did remember seeing something in one of the books about a vampire named Darla being Angel's sire. She made a note to check further on that detail later.  "And then what happened?" 

 

"Buffy went after Angel, and Darla was there. Angel saved Buffy from Darla by staking her. He disappeared after that only to show up a few days later at the Bronze… they talked, and decided that they couldn't have a relationship, so that was the end of it between them for a little while." 

 

"That seems to be a consistent theme with them." Elise noted thoughtfully.

 

Willow nodded. "Yes, it was. You should have seen Buffy when Angel broke up with her just before prom. She was devastated." 

 

"Before we get to that, can you tell me what brought them back together? After all, they had decided that they couldn't be…" 

 

"Let me think… there was the Master's death… no, that wasn't it.  Actually, it might have been me, now that I think about it." Willow's expression brightened and she smiled. "Buffy would see Angel, and they'd talk or he'd drop some clue about some demon or vampire, but nothing more. So one night Buffy and Cordelia had gone to a frat party, which just happened to be for sacrificing girls to this giant wormy. Buffy had lied to both Giles and Angel, telling them that she was at home, and of course I had to tell them that she wasn't. Without going into all the details of what happened, I ended up yelling at Giles about how he never let Buffy do anything other than patrol and train, and then at Angel because he wouldn't ask Buffy out, even for coffee. A few days later, he finally did." 

 

"I've heard of Cordelia, but I didn't get the impression that she and Buffy were friends…" 

 

"Oh, they weren't really. Cordelia invited Buffy because one of the frat guys liked her. Her being Buffy. So I guess you can say, Cordelia was using her. Buffy was bummed because Angel had pretty much given her the brush off, so she went." 

 

"Ah, okay. But after that, they started dating then?" 

 

"Yeah. Things moved pretty fast from there. I think that was October, because they went out on their first 'official' date around Halloween. By January, and Buffy's birthday, they had gotten to that next big step. You know about that, right? Angel and the whole 'lost his soul' thing?" 

 

"Yes, I do, but I'd love to hear your version of the events." 

 

"Hmm… well, Buffy and Angel were chasing down a demon called The Judge. Spike and Drusilla were reassembling him. That's a whole long story by itself. Anyway, they got caught, but got away and ended up hiding at Angel's apartment.  One thing led to another, and they had sex that night. After that, Angel was bad. Really bad. He killed Jenny Calendar, who was one of the teachers at the school, and Giles' on again, off again girlfriend. He left her body in Giles' bed. He arranged things like she had planned a romantic evening with music and flowers. It was awful… It really messed Giles up for awhile. Jenny, being sort of a techopagan, is the one that really got me interested in magic. Back then. I don't really practice any more. Anyway, Angel continued to torment Buffy with all these little tricks - like getting into her room and drawing pictures of her." Leaning forward as if imparting a confidence, Willow added. "I think he probably raped her then as well. Not that Buffy ever said so but…" 

 

"Oh, no." 

 

"Besides the fact that he was probably physically one of the strongest vampires she had ever fought, the thing was… Angel could manipulate Buffy mentally and emotionally, and he knew it. He took full advantage of that. He knew that Buffy wouldn't be able to kill him because she couldn't separate the demon from the guy that had been her boyfriend."

 

"That would be difficult for anyone." 

 

"I guess," Willow acknowledged with a shrug. "So Angel, along with Spike and Drusilla, unearthed the tomb of Acathla. They needed to know how to open it - which then would apparently suck the world into hell - but I guess weren't having any luck, fortunately.  So one night, Angel distracted Buffy while Drusilla captured Giles. Xander, Kendra, and I were there in the high school library when they came… I ended up in the hospital with a concussion, Xander ended up with a broken arm, and Kendra ended up dead. Skip ahead a few hours…  Buffy goes to stop Angel and save Giles, while I tried the spell that Jenny had found - the spell being the one to give Angel his soul back.  We didn't know that it worked until months later…" 

 

"Oh?" 

 

"Yeah. I won't forget when she told us… Giles and I were in the library, and Buffy came in.  She said 'When I killed him, Angel was cured.'  The spell worked at the last minute, just before she… killed him. Anyway, she said that he didn't remember what he'd done, that he just held her. She said that she told him that she loved him, she kissed him, and then she killed him. I felt so bad for her then." 

 

"I feel bad for her just hearing about it. I can't even imagine how hard it must have been." 

 

"But he was bad," Willow asserted brusquely. "Buffy just couldn't always see it. She could never be objective when it came to Angel." 

 

"And when Angel came back from hell…" Elise prompted, masking her surprise at Willow's seeming lack of empathy.  

 

"Oh, yeah, he comes back from hell, and Buffy hides him. I guess she was taking care of him too. Anyway, so we're all searching for Lagos and the glove of Myneghon, when Xander catches them kissing - so we had to confront her about it." 

 

Elise's brows lifted slightly. "You confronted her? You make it sound like some sort of an intervention?" 

 

"We had to," Willow replied defensively. "She hid him from us. Angel had killed some of our friends, tortured Giles, and we didn't even know that he was back because she didn't bother to tell us. She protected him instead of us. We didn't know if he was still bad or not, and we didn't know what kind of relationship he and Buffy had then either. For all we knew, they were having sex again, and he was evil." 

 

"But… did you really think that Buffy would do that? I mean, see Angel when he was… evil?" 

 

"You didn't know her," Willow stated coolly.  She softened her tone somewhat as she continued, "She could be completely blind when it came to Angel. I think she would do just about anything for him." 

 

"I see. What happened after that?" Elise inquired, her tone scrupulously cordial to hide her astonishment that Buffy's best friend seemed rather cold and insensitive about the whole situation.

 

"It would take hours to give you all of the details, so I'll just fill in the highlights for now. Faith, another Slayer, went after Angel and almost killed him, but Buffy stopped her. It worked out though, since Angel ended up saving me from a flamey death. A bad Watcher by the name of Gwendolyn Post had gotten hold of the glove, which was very powerful and dangerous. After that, Buffy and Angel tried to do the no touching, just friends thing."

 

"But that didn't work…" 

 

"Not really.  Eventually Spike - who was in Sunnydale then and was also bad - kidnapped me and Xander Harris. Xander was a friend of ours then too. Anyway, Spike wanted me to do a love spell for him so he could get Drusilla back." Willow rolled her eyes. "But before I could do the spell, Oz and Cordelia showed up to rescue us - only Cordelia fell through the floor and got hurt. They caught me and Xander kissing. I had a huge crush on Xander since practically forever, and it was only after I started seeing Oz and Xander was seeing Cordelia, that anything ever happened. I guess it was more of one of those forbidden love type things, because once it could happen - me and Xander - neither of us wanted it anymore." 

 

"Oz was a high school love?" 

 

"Yeah, Oz," Willow replied with a wistful smile. "He was my first and only real guy relationship. But back to Buffy and Angel… after that happened, Buffy broke up with Angel, and they tried to stay away from each other, but they started sharing these dreams." 

 

"Prophetic dreams?" Elise asked, obviously fascinated. 

 

"I guess…"

 

"That's amazing." 

 

Willow shrugged dismissively. "Buffy was seeing Angel kill people as a vampire. I'm not sure that's amazing." 

 

"Dream sharing is amazing. It's usually a sign of a powerful connection between two people at a subconscious level. It's very rare from what I understand." 

 

"I guess. Anyway, Buffy thought Angel was going to go bad again, so we all ended up spending our winter break in the Sunnydale High Library researching. Not like we didn't spend most of our time there anyway…" Willow declared almost peevishly. "It turned out to be the First Evil's first appearance in Sunnydale. I guess it was trying to tempt Angel into either losing his soul again or killing Buffy.  Buffy prevailed however, and the First Evil was vanquished for awhile."

 

"What happened with Buffy and Angel after that?" 

 

"I guess they tried to be sort of a normal couple for a while. Some of the tension was gone, and they'd go out like on dates and stuff. Hold hands, kiss, you know." Pausing, Willow took a drink from the water bottle on her desk. "We were trying to stop the Mayor's ascension, so we broke into his offices to steal this box.  I got caught, so Buffy made a deal to exchange me for the box.  When we all showed up at the school for the trade, the Mayor made a big deal out of how Angel would keep Buffy out of the sunlight, and something about 'was this what he returned from hell for'. I don't remember all of his exact words, but I think it shook both Buffy and Angel up.  It wasn't long after that when Angel broke up with Buffy. Right before prom." 

 

"You said she was devastated?" 

 

"Totally devastated. I've never seen her cry like that before or since. But I thought it was for the best. And especially after he… well, did what he did." 

 

"Which was?" 

 

"He fed off her. He was sick, close to dying, when it happened - Faith had poisoned him - but I suppose it was only a matter of time, being that he's a vampire and all. I mean, I think it would be hard to resist after a certain point, particularly when things are, you know, intimate. That or maybe it's a matter of the base impulses simply taking over. If he knew that her blood - slayer blood - was the cure, then… The instinct to survive is ingrained in all of us deeply; vampires would be no different." 

 

"Perhaps," Elise replied noncommittally to the obvious implication that Angel or his demon chose survival at any cost. "You mentioned that you thought their breaking up was for the best. Why's that?" 

 

"For one thing, they couldn't really have a physical relationship." Pausing, Willow shrugged. "I suppose in retrospect they could've, but nobody knew that at the time, or even thought it was possible. And Buffy hadn't really been with anyone else… I guess there was Tyler and Pike when she was at Hemery, but they weren't all that serious." 

 

"I suppose you just know when something or someone is right… you don't need to be with anyone else." 

 

"Maybe," Willow admitted reluctantly. "But too, she didn't think about the limitations that life with a vampire would bring." 

 

"Limitations?" 

 

"I'm sure you've run into them yourself… only going out after dark, no crosses around, no romantic dinners, blood in the fridge…" 

 

"I haven't really noticed, but then I haven't been seeing Angel all that long," Elise shrugged dismissively.

 

"Oh, I thought you guys were… involved." The insinuation in her tone was quite clear. 

 

Elise smiled politely. "We… are uh, seeing each other, but it's still very new." 

 

Willow's returned smile did not quite match her eyes. "I see." 

 

"Given what you've said about their separation being for the best, what did you think when Buffy and Angel got back together a few years ago?" 

 

"Honestly?"

 

"Yes, please." 

 

Willow looked away as if contemplating her reply. She sighed, turning back to Elise. "I wasn't sure it would work out." 

 

"Because…" 

 

"This is hard to say… and I'd prefer that it not get back to Angel. I mean, I don't want to hurt him after everything that he's already been through." 

 

"I don't plan on sharing the tape with him, Willow. And anything that you tell me - unless I use it in the book - won't be shared with anyone else outside this room. In fact..." Reaching out, Elise picked up the tape recorder that she had set on the desk earlier. She clicked it off. "How's that?" 

 

"Thank you," Willow said with an appreciative nod. "Look, Buffy didn't like living here at Wolfram & Hart in the middle of so much evil, and especially with Angel being the center of it. She loved him, I know, but it was hard for her. And it was hard for her having to share him with so many people." 

 

"Share him?" 

 

"Not share him, like that. I just meant, as head of an organization the size of Wolfram & Hart, there's a constant stream of people - and demons - demanding his attention. He has to take care of business here, which means that he's busy or gone a lot of the time. It wasn't like how it was in Sunnydale where Buffy was the center of his world, and Angel was usually at the mansion, waiting for her. In fact, things here are pretty much reversed."

 

"Ah." 

 

"There are so many restrictions here too - who she could talk to, where she could go, what she could do. I mean, it's for good reasons mostly, but she was frustrated by it. She couldn't just go out on patrol to burn off energy - which Slayers have a lot of - or even work on a case without getting Angel's approval. Then they couldn't go out together until after sundown unless they took the sewers or one of the cars with the protective glass. She was the typical California girl in that she loved the sun, the beach, tanning, the whole thing… and she couldn't do any of that anymore." 

 

"Are you saying… she was unhappy here?" Elise asked, perplexed. 

 

"At times, I think so, yes." 

 

"Do you think Angel knew that?" 

 

"No, I don't think she ever told him, and I doubt that he noticed. She was trying to make the best of things. It was sort of her nature to feel like she had to do that."  Willow paused. "That, or run away. She did that a couple of times." 

 

Elise considered Willow's statement for a moment. "If you don't mind me asking… it's a very personal decision I know, but why would she bring a child into a situation if she was so unhappy here herself?" 

 

"Angel really wanted a baby. Really wanted one, and she wanted to make him happy. I told you she'd do jut about anything for him."

 

"And Buffy? What did she want?"  

 

"She wanted a baby too… but I'm not sure she wanted it as much as he did. And the in vitro fertilization process is hard… the daily shots, the doctor's appointments, blood tests, ultrasounds... and that's all before the procedure itself. Angel wasn't always there for all of it. Buffy had to do most of it on her own. Then both times she miscarried Angel was gone, out working on some case or something. He'd breeze back in, buy her flowers, and jewelry as if that would make up for it, and he's stick around to take care of her for a couple of days, but I don't think he really saw how distraught she really was. If he did, he wouldn't have pushed her to try again and again." 

 

"I understand that she was pregnant when she disappeared…" 

 

"Yes. At least, that's what Angel said," Willow returned somewhat sharply. "I know Buffy had a doctor's appointment that day for a check up, but I hadn't seen her for a couple of days." 

 

"You seem angry with Angel…" Elise ventured softly. 

 

"No," Willow replied, before repeating with added emphasis, "No, not really. I'm just angry about what happened, I guess.  I mean, I know that they loved each other… it's just… love isn't always enough. Just because you love someone, that doesn't mean you can have everything you want. It doesn't mean that life is all happy hearts and flowers, and you live happily ever after. Sometimes the best people, the most deserving people - don't get the love that they want or deserve. Love isn't something that's fair."  

 

Noting the bitterness underlying the other woman's diatribe, Elise guided the conversation to a different topic. "You mentioned Buffy ran away…" 

 

"Yeah, she ran away for a few months after she thought she had killed Angel, back when we were in high school. And then later she ran away when things got tough just before Sunnydale exploded. Faith ended up having to do a lot of planning and strategy with the girls - the slayers in training - back then." 

 

"I see." Elise chewed her lip thoughtfully. Buffy was young the first time she had run away, and from what Elise remembered reading, suspected of Kendra's murder. That alone was enough incentive to flee, but in addition, Buffy had believed that she had just killed the man she loved… She certainly couldn't fault her for running then.  The second time wasn't something that she had heard anything about… the novelist made a note to check into it further. "Are you suggesting… that is, do you think that Buffy may have run away when she disappeared?" 

 

Willow looked away. Absently she toyed with a stray paperclip that lay on her desk as she seemed to collect her thoughts. Finally she spoke, "I've thought about it a time or two… I mean, when I first heard that Buffy was gone, it's what I thought probably happened. But after all this time… and the fact that no one, not even Giles or Dawn, has ever heard from her… I suppose something must have happened to her." Her voice sounded distant. "I can't imagine what… I guess after Buffy survived so much, including her own death, I just never thought…"  Her voice broke and she trailed off.

 

"I'm sorry, truly I am." Elise murmured sympathetically. "I'm also sorry to have brought all this up again. I'm sure it must be painful for you." She dropped her tape recorder in her bag. "Why don't I just go now… if you'd like to talk more later - or anytime - please feel free to give me a call." 

 

Willow took a deep breath and tuned back, her expression unreadable. "Did you get what you needed for your book?" 

 

"I think so… at least it's a start. I'm normally a fiction writer, not a biographer, so I tend to embellish the framework of an outline with my own imagination. Though in this case, I do want to be as true to the subject as possible so I'm sure to be doing quite a bit more research." 

 

"Well, if you need anything more, stop by. I'll try to help if I can." 

 

"I will. And Willow… thank you." 

 

~~~ 

 

Elise found it difficult to concentrate on the Sanskrit passage that Wes had asked her to read, having found what appeared to be one of Buffy's journals in the Wolfram & Hart library just a few hours earlier, shortly after she left Willow's office. She knew it hadn't been there that morning, yesterday or even last week when she had gone on her first quest for Slayer information. Where it had come from and why was quite the mystery. 

 

"Earth to Elise, hello," Wes said, gazing at her intently. "I realize that some of these passages can be quite riveting, but I believe you're read me that last section three times now." 

 

Elise sighed. "I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere." 

 

"Dinner with Angel tonight, perhaps?" Wes suggested, leaning back in his chair. 

 

Elise took note of his interested expression. "No. Yes. I mean, no, that's not what I was thinking of. And actually, I told him I had to reschedule." She smiled sheepishly. "I hope I didn't hurt his feelings, but actually he looked relieved rather than disappointed." Thinking over her statement, she gave a short laugh. "Maybe I shouldn't analyze that too much."   

 

"Angel is… I'm sure he's disappointed. Who wouldn't be when they're missing such delightful company?" 

 

"You're sweet," she replied distractedly.

 

"Is there something you'd like to talk about?" 

 

Elise studied the former Watcher and rogue demon hunter for a long moment, debating exactly what to tell him before finally deciding on the truth. "What would you say if I told you that I think that I have one of Buffy's journals? That it just… appeared, mysteriously." 

 

He raised his brows, surprised. "What do you mean 'appeared mysteriously'?" 

 

"Well, I combed the library the other day in search of information on Buffy, and on Slayers in general. I pulled every single book that I found, including some that look like Watcher's Journals - which I meant to ask you about, so remind me to do that later. Anyway, when I stopped by there this afternoon, there was a new book in the stack I had set aside - one that I didn't put there - and one that I would swear to you wasn't even in the library before." 

 

"Perhaps you didn't realize you picked it up?" 

 

"No," Elise declared firmly. "Wesley, I'm telling you, this book was not in that library last week. Someone wanted me to find it… it was put in the stack that I had set aside, just under the top book. Slightly hidden, but not enough that I would miss it."  

 

"I see. Angel would be the only one with access to Buffy's personal things, I would think. Perhaps he…" 

 

"I haven't told him that I'm researching her, or anything about the subject of my next book for that matter," Elise interjected in a subdued tone, her expression chagrined. 

 

Wes blinked. "Ah. I will presume that you have your reasons for that." 

 

"I do. I do plan to show him the draft when it's done," Elise answered calmly. "If he doesn't want me to publish it then, I won't. But until then… I didn't want to just keep bringing it up as the topic is obviously very painful for him." 

 

He considered that for a moment. "Very well. Then who does know what you're working on that may have left you the journal?"  

 

"You, now, Fred and Willow. The most obvious choice would be Willow since I talked to her about Buffy earlier today, but the book had to have been there this morning, before I talked to her so she couldn't have known… and afterwards… it just seems impossible that she could have gotten the book and placed it there without me seeing her, since I went directly from her office to the library. We would have crossed paths. I'd been in the library only twenty minutes or so when I noticed the book." She frowned in concentration. "And Fred… it just seems unlikely. If she had the book I think she would have said so and handed it over rather than sneaking it to me covertly."  

 

"Perhaps if you're this concerned, you should ask Willow?" 

 

"This is going to sound strange, but I don't want to ask anyone directly about it. If Willow gave it to me, then perhaps she'll mention it next time I see her. And if she doesn't…" Elise shrugged, unable to offer a better explanation. Her instincts were prickling, telling her that something unusual was at play - which only served to reinforce her earlier feeling that this was a story that she had to follow through. 

 

Wes stroked his chin contemplatively. "Are you certain it's one of Buffy's journals?" 

 

"No… not absolutely, one hundred percent certain," Elise returned thoughtfully. "But it does have her name in it, and it's definitely feminine hand writing, so who else could it belong to? I haven't read any of it beyond the first page - but plan to remedy that tonight. And in all honesty, Wes, I didn't want to read it here. I slipped it in my bag to take home." She shivered involuntarily and glanced around, as if expecting to find that someone was watching them. "I know you'll probably believe it's silly, but all of my instincts are telling me that something isn't right."  

 

"It's not silly, it's perfectly understandable. You have the case of a much loved young woman that disappeared suddenly, mysteriously. I would say that there's much about that that isn't 'right'."  Wesley murmured as his eyes met hers directly. There was an obvious sadness in the blue-grey depths, but there was something more as well, something she couldn't quite discern. 

 

"I think that some additional discretion might be in order…"  she suggested almost questioningly. 

 

Wes simply inclined his head. "Indeed. Shall we finish the Sanskrit then?" 

 

 

 

 

Part V

 

 

Elise took care to stay out of sight for the next week or so while she continued on with her research. The little bit of time she did spend at the Wolfram & Hart offices was in what she now considered her refuge, the library, tucked in a far corner out of the way. She saw Wes once or twice, and Angel not at all. 

 

An open book in her lap, she stared intently at the text trying to decipher the ancient and unfamiliar demon language when a shadow fell across the page. 

 

"Hello, luv. I was wondering where you've been keeping yourself these days." 

 

So much for her refuge. Elise eyed the blonde vampire intently. He was a handsome man in his own right, lean and solidly built. She'd never been one for blondes though, so in her eyes, he paled beside the older, taller vampire.  

 

"Hello, Spike," she returned with a brief smile. 

 

There were no other chairs in this particular corner of the library, so Spike simply chose to lean against the nearby wall, facing her. His eyes, resting on her, were a stunning, clear blue; his expression however, was bordering on hostile.  

 

Elise raised a brow in question. 

 

"Haven't seen you around much. Tired of the big honcho poof already?" 

 

"No," she returned evenly, hiding her curiosity at the vampire's obvious pique. On the occasions that she had run into him before, he was friendly and even flirtatious; this seriousness was a side of him she hadn't seen. "I've just been busy." 

 

"Working on a new book, then?" he asked, plucking the book off her lap with preternatural speed.  

 

"Yes." 

 

Casually, he studied the pages she had been reading before closing the book and handing it back. "Wouldn't happen to be a book on a certain Slayer, now would it?" 

 

Elise stared back at him quizzically.  

 

"Specifically, Buffy," he continued tersely. "Because as the new girlfriend you want to know about the last one, and he won't talk. Tell me I'm wrong." 

 

"You're… that's not it," she excused weakly, choosing a partial truth until she had a better feel for the reasons behind Spike's obvious objections. 

 

"Then what is it?"  The blonde vampire gave her an unfriendly, assessing glance. "And you might want to make it the truth. I may not kill human beings as a rule anymore, but I do make the occasional exception." 

 

Elise's eyes widened with surprise. "You wouldn't kill me, and certainly not over something as inconsequential as the subject of my next book." She was genuinely stunned by the threat, as well as the vehemence in the vampire's voice. Why would it matter that much to him? Did he have something to do with Buffy's disappearance, some reason to fear her uncovering the truth?  

 

"I don't consider the subject inconsequential." 

 

She raised her brows haughtily. "Don't misunderstand me. My book is inconsequential. Buffy is not. I'm not that callous." 

 

Spike considered her words for a moment, before admitting reluctantly, "Okay, maybe I won't kill you. But I can make things around here decidedly unpleasant." 

 

"Ok, Spike. I'll play.  Yes, I'm working on my next book, which is going to feature a vampire Slayer. And yes, I'm using Buffy as the model for my character," she declared, crossing her arms across her chest defensively. She'd been in tight spots on more than a few occasions; she wasn't all that easy to intimidate even though she felt a growing sense of unease. 

 

Spike stood there unmoving.

 

"I'm not going to use her real name, and even so, I'd never do anything to dishonor her memory." 

 

Dropping his gaze, Spike looked away. 

 

Watching him closely, Elise thought she caught something akin to grief in his expression before he quickly masked it and returned his gaze to her face. "And Angel? What does he think about all that?" 

 

"He doesn't know yet," she answered hesitantly after a long silence. 

 

Spike crooked a brow at her questioningly. 

 

"I'm going to write it first, then I'll share it with him. If he doesn't want me to publish it, I won't," Elise explained. At the vampire's continued silence, she offered, "Consider it a gift of sorts. For Angel. And if not for Angel, then for Buffy. For her memory. Now does that answer your question, or do I still need to fear for my life?" 

 

Spike debated internally for so long that Elise wasn't certain that he was going to answer. 

 

"Oh, bugger," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he visibly sagged. "I think I need a drink." 

 

~~ 

 

Settled in the dark, plush bar down the street from Wolfram & Hart a short while later, Spike toyed with an unlit cigarette. They ordered their drinks then sat in silence until the waiter returned with their order. 

 

"I don't believe she's dead," Spike said, breaking the silence. "I can't." 

 

"Then what do you believe?" Elise asked with some surprise. While it had never been said so explicitly, she thought everyone pretty much believed that Buffy's death had been the ultimate outcome of her disappearance.

 

Spike gulped his whiskey and signaled for a refill. "I don't know what I believe." 

 

Elise mulled that over for minute before asking. "Okay, so then what do you think happened to her?" 

 

Taking the bottle that the waiter had left behind at Spike's request, he poured another healthy draught of whiskey. He took a big drink then looked at Elise directly over the rim of his glass. "I think someone at Wolfram & Hart wanted to get rid of the Slayer, and so they did." 

 

"Oh. You… uh… you… does Angel know that?" Elise stammered, taken aback by his blunt statement and his candor - as well as the startling implication. 

 

"I may have suggested it a time or two." His tone was sarcastic and bitter. 

 

"And?"

 

"And nothing," Spike returned sharply. His tone was less harsh when he continued, "Not that Angel didn't think so as well, he did. It's just… Damn it. We turned over every thing that could be turned over and even those things that couldn't. Didn't find a damned thing. No hint as to what happened… no clues as to where she might have gone. Nothing! Whoever was involved covered their tracks pretty well. But then, that's a Wolfram & Hart specialty: covering tracks." 

 

"You cared about her, didn't you?" She gazed at the blonde vampire seated across from her. 

 

Spike lips twisted into a fleeting smile. "Are you telling me that you don't know?" 

 

"Know what?" 

 

He smirked. "With all your snooping around, I was sure you knew by now." 

 

"About you and Buffy," Elise suggested, leaning back in her chair. 

 

"Yep, me and the Slayer," he declared gruffly, though there was a hitch in his voice. 

 

"I may have heard a thing or two. So it's true then? The two of you were lovers?" 

 

Spike gazed at her speculatively. "We had a thing, yeah. I'm not sure that we were lovers, as much as we were..." he paused, dropping his gaze for a moment before returning his eyes to Elise's face. "Fucking. Really good fucking, but fucking just the same." 

 

"Oh." 

 

"Don't get me wrong. Our thing was… it was what it was. I loved her, for what it's worth, but I've been around long enough to distinguish between pleasures of the flesh and love." 

 

"She didn't love you?" 

 

"At the time, she needed someone, and I… I took advantage of that. I'm not saying I'm proud of it… it's not like I had a soul then. A chip, yeah. A soul, no." Spike said with a shrug. He looked almost shamed at the memory as he continued, "Let's just say it happened. But, no, she didn't love me.  She says she did, and maybe she did in a way, but it wasn't love. At least not love in the same way as her feelings for Angel. There was always something between the two of 'em, even when they were just pretending to be friends." 

 

"What happened? Between the two of you, that is?" Elise asked, taking out her notebook and pen, along with her ever present tape recorder. 

 

"She broke it off, and I… let's just say I didn't take it so well. After that, things were never the same, and I can't blame her. I did manage to get me a soul though, which…" Spike's words trailed away. He hadn't exactly gone for his soul; he had gone to get his chip removed. He probably should have been more explicit about what he wanted at the time… but now he couldn't say he had any regrets about it.  He figured that was probably another thing to attribute to having a soul. "Let's just say, it all worked out." 

 

Elise raised an eyebrow. "That's rather vague." 

 

"Yeah, well, that's all I'm going to say about it." Reaching for the bottle, he refilled his glass.

 

"Do you mind?" she asked, holding up the tape recorder. "It helps me remember things when I'm writing later." 

 

Shaking his head no in answer after a long pause, Spike took another sip of his drink. 

 

"What was it like, given that history, with the three of you here and working together?" 

 

The blonde vampire seemed to consider her question for a moment before answering. "It was… let's just say that at first it wasn't all grins and giggles. Angel and me - we aren't the best of friends under the best circumstances, and those were not the best circumstances." 

 

"You fought over Buffy," Elise surmised.

 

"Only a coupla dozen times. More." He chuckled then sighed. "But I figured she'd choose him in the end. Like I said, they always had a thing.  But a guy can hope. I did save the world and all." The last bit came out the cheek and bravado that she was used to seeing from the blonde vampire; it was oddly reassuring. 

 

"Why did you stay at Wolfram & Hart? I mean, it had to hurt - seeing them together if you were still in love with her." 

 

"Guess I liked the fight. The soul and all, makes me want to be a better person." Spike shrugged and gave her a slight grin. "Besides, there are few things I enjoy more than annoying Angel, and I do that best when I'm around." 

 

"Angel… he's your sire or your grandsire?" Elise asked, having read a bit of the history of both vampires recently. 

 

"Grandsire I suppose in the true sense, but I learned everything I know about being a vampire from him. He was the meanest bastard I've ever come across, then or now," he said, the words coming out like an affectionate compliment. "We did have some good times back in those early years." 

 

"I don't think I want to know," she murmured, picking up her gin and tonic and taking a drink. She wasn't sure she wanted to even contemplate the specifics behind either of those statements. 

 

Spike only grinned and lifted his glass slightly in salute.

 

"So how did you find out about the subject of my book?" the novelist inquired, finally asking the question that had been at the front of her mind since Spike had appeared in the library. "And why did you insist that we talk about of the office?" 

 

"I think you know the answer to the second question. As to the first… I make it my business to know what goes on around the office, and especially things pertaining to Angel." 

 

With a lift of her eyebrows, Elise gave the blonde vampire an assessing glace. 

 

"It's not what you think, so before you go making up something like you writers tend to do," Spike countered with dismissive shrug, "Let's just say it's in the interest of all of us at Wolfram & Hart to pay attention to everything that goes on around Captain Forehead. It's simple self-preservation."

 

A brief smile crossed her face at Spike's name for Angel. "I can see that," she agreed thoughtfully. There was a sinister feel to Wolfram & Hart, even with 'the good guys' running the place. "Do you - or Angel - have someone at Wolfram & Hart that you suspect?" 

 

"No, not really, and there's one of the bigger problems," Spike replied regretfully. He stubbed the unlit cigarette on the table before tucking it behind his ear. "Without a single clue, there's not much else to do but wait and hope that they trip up. And they will, eventually. At least I have to believe that. So I'll hang around until they do." 

 

"Angel… do you think he believes she's still alive?" 

 

Spike dropped his gaze and stared at the amber liquid in his glass for a long moment. When he lifted his head, his blue eyes were pained and bleak. "No, I don't think he thinks she's alive.  If he did… he looks for her at times, I know he does even if he doesn't say so, but I don't think he expects…  Look, don't take this the wrong way, but if he thought she'd come back or that there's a chance that he'd find her, you wouldn't be here." 

 

Elise considered that for a moment before nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment. "Vampires… they have some sort of connection to their mate, don't they?" 

 

"They do," he admitted quietly before taking another drink of whisky. He hated to admit it, but Angel's defeat and acceptance had nearly been his own. 

 

"I'm sorry, Spike," Elise murmured sadly. "Buffy must have been very special. Everyone seems to have loved her." 

 

"Yes, that she was." 

 

Lifting his glass, he held it up in salute. "To Buffy." 

 

Elise lifted her own. "Where ever she may be." 

 

~~~ 

 

Two hours later, Spike and Elise walked to her car which was parked a few blocks down from the Wolfram & Hart offices.   

 

"If you ever want to write a good vampire book, I'll be more than happy to tell you all about a certain blonde vampire with a rather notorious history and handsome good looks." 

 

"Anne Rice already covered that subject; 'The Vampire Lestat'. You may want to check it out sometime," Elise said with a smile as she pressed the button on the key to unlock the car doors.  She now had, in her possession, over an hour of tape recorded conversation about the hours after Buffy's disappearance and the weeks and months of searches that followed.  Spike left out nothing that he thought might be helpful or useful, and had even gone as far as to suggest that under the guise of researching for a book, she could ask more questions than most without raising the Senior Partner's suspicions.  It was an opportunity to find clues that might lead to those responsible for Buffy's disappearance.  Though, he admitted doubtfully, it was unlikely that she'd find anything - as much as he hoped for the contrary. 

 

"Already read it. It's a bit farfetched in parts, but she did manage to nail some of my characteristics accurately," Spike commented lightly.

 

Laughing, Elise slipped into the car and closed the door. At his signal, she rolled down the window. Spike leaned on the door. "Oh, that whole 'I'm going to kill you' bit? You know I didn't mean it, right?" 

 

"Yeah, Spike, I know," she smiled, turning the key. The Porsche Boxster engine roared into life. "But it was good. I was really convinced there at first." 

 

"Yeah?" Spike said cheekily.  

 

"Yeah." 

 

~~~ 

 

Without knocking, Marcus Hamilton opened the door and entered Willow's office. He sat down in the chair opposite her desk and casually crossed his legs, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge him. 

 

"I told you not to come here," Willow said without looking away from the computer screen she was staring at so intently. 

 

"Yes, well, I'm not overly fond of the basement or the geeks that you stock the place with, so trust me when I say there's little to no chance of me coming all this way for a purely social call," Marcus returned coolly. 

 

"What is it?" Willow asked impatiently, looking at him for the first time. 

 

"The woman, Elise Seymour, what did she want?" 

 

"She was asking questions about Buffy. Apparently she's working on a book." 

 

"I don't think that's a subject we want her digging into, do you?" he returned dryly. 

 

She rolled her eyes. "You're kidding, right?" 

 

"I wouldn't joke about this. Neither would the Senior Partners." 

 

"She's a novelist," Willow sneered condescendingly, making the occupation sound shameful or contemptible. "She writes fiction books. So what if she asks a few questions? She's not going to find anything. Besides, she said it's a love story." She snorted dismissively. "She's asking questions about how they met, and when they got together. She's probably just using it as a way to find out if Buffy is still any competition for Angel's affections." 

 

"That may be true, but I don't like it. I think she should be warned off." 

 

"By who? You?" Willow snapped arrogantly. "That will only arouse suspicions. If not hers, then Angel's because she'd whine about it to him." 

 

"She's asking too many questions," Marcus asserted firmly. 

 

"So? She isn't going to find anything. There's nothing here to find," the red-haired wicca countered confidently.

 

"And if she does?" 

 

"If she does, then we'll deal with it. But she won't." 

 

Marcus started back, undaunted. "You mean you'll deal with it."

 

"Yes, I'll deal with it. I held up my end of the bargain." Willow's eyes darkened, and her expression grew hard and cold. "Even though the Senior Partners failed to uphold theirs."  

 

"Still harping on that, are we?" Marcus inquired archly. "All of the terms were met, except for one." 

 

"Whatever," she returned bitterly. 

 

The Senior Partner liaison quirked an eyebrow. "I'll trust you to handle this situation." 

 

"If there is a situation that needs to be handled, then yes, I'll take care of it. I already said I would." Willow returned frigidly.  

 

"See that you do," Marcus said as he rose to his feet.  "Or it will be on your head that the Senior Partners will want on a platter." 

 

"Or it will be your head that the Senior Partners will want on a platter," Willow muttered mockingly as Marcus left the room. Resting her elbows on the desk, she leaned forward stared at the door with narrowed eyes. The Senior Partner Liaison was becoming annoying; if he continued to prove difficult, she just might have to do something about that. 

 

 

 

 

Part VI

 

 

Elise slowed the car and scanned the building signs until she spotted the one for "Ugly's" bar. Parking her beloved Porsche Boxster just a short distance away, she eyed the group of young men loitering just beyond the end of the block and momentarily wished that she had taken a cab or perhaps borrowed a less conspicuous car to make the trip into this neighborhood tonight. 

 

On seeing the address, she had known it wasn't one of the better areas in Los Angeles, but it seemed that the night brought out more of an unsavory element than she had anticipated. Too many years of tracking demons and less than savory characters on research expeditions for her writing made her largely immune to dangers for herself; however, the Boxster was an innocent. With a resolute sigh and a quick prayer that the car be spared, she reached for her bag and got out. Pressing the button on the key, the lights on the vehicle flashed indicating that it was locked. 

 

Ignoring the wolf-whistle behind her, she crossed the street and entered the run down building. The bar was small and dingy, and smelled faintly of both puke and alcohol. Trails of smoke hung in the air over a couple of the occupied tables, despite the no smoking ordinance imposed on the bars and restaurants in Los Angeles. From the looks of the clientele, breaking that bureaucratic rule was unlikely to be a concern. 

 

Elise received curious glances and interested looks from a few patrons as she wove her way around the tables and took a seat at the bar.  The bartender set the beer glass he had been filling in front of the elderly man at one end leaning heavily on the counter. They exchanged a few words, the bartender refusing to take the money clutched in the man's fist.  After another few words, the bartender made his way to the opposite end of the bar where Elise now sat. 

 

"Can I help you?" Reaching for a cloth, he wiped down the counter in front her. 

 

"I hope so," Elise answered with a friendly smile. "I'm looking for Xander Harris."  Her statement was politesse as she knew by the eye patch and the description that she had found the very man she was seeking. 

 

"Do I know you?" Xander asked warily. Attractive women were extremely rare in Ugly's, even more so when they appeared to be refined, educated, and dressed in the latest fashions from Fred Segal.  If nothing else, dating Cordelia had taught him to recognize certain labels; the perfectly tailored pantsuit on the woman across from him would have made the former Sunnydale Cheerleader green with envy.

 

"No, no you don't." Elise spoke quietly. "My name is Elise Seymour." 

 

After a moment, Xander tossed the cloth he had been using to wipe down the bar over his shoulder and stuck his hand over the counter. Maybe for once in his life, he'd get lucky. "Xander Harris. And I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you don't exactly look like you belong here." 

 

"No offense taken, Mr. Harris," Elise replied as she shook the offered hand. 

 

"Call me Xander. Mr. Harris makes me feel like my old man," Xander returned with a shrug. "So what can I do for you?" 

 

"Well, first I'd like a gin and tonic. Junipero if you have it," Elise said pleasantly. "And I'd like a few minutes of your time." 

 

"No Junipero in a dive like this. I have Beefeaters, Bartons, and some Tanqueray here. One of those do?" Xander held up one of the bottles for her perusal.  

 

"Tanqueray is fine." Elise nodded, tucking a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. 

 

Pouring a double shot in a glass of ice, Xander topped it off with tonic and slid it across the counter. 

 

"So I suppose it'd be too much to ask that somehow you'd heard of Xander Harris, the good looking but modest barkeep here at Ugly's, and that's what brings you down here?" 

 

"Actually, I have heard of you," Elise said with a smile, her eyes meeting his over the rim of her glass just before she took a sip of the clear liquid. "Actually, I'm a writer. Horror novels mostly." 

 

"Okay. Well, I don't read so much anymore," Xander replied, pointing at the patch over his eye. "Tends to give me a headache. And I've had my share of horror, thank you very much, so the little reading I do is usually limited to the type that involves looking at pictures. And I'm not so sure I'm flattered that you're a horror writer, and you've heard of me." 

 

Elise laughed.  "Actually, I'm doing some research for my next novel and was really hoping you could help me… It's to be a vampire novel. Actually, it's about a vampire and a Slayer." 

 

"Uh-huh," Xander murmured warily. 

 

"I'm basing it off a real Slayer… Buffy Summers. I understand she was a friend of yours." 

 

Xander drew back, all friendliness and warmth gone form his expression. "Sorry to say, I can't help you." 

 

"You are Xander Harris from Sunnydale, aren't you?" 

 

"Yeah, the one and only as far as I know, but I'm still not going to talk to you about Buffy," he returned brusquely. 

 

"Are you sure? I'd just like a few min-" 

 

"Yeah, I'm sure," he interrupted brusquely. "Completely sure." 

 

"I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured with disappointed. She mentally chastised herself for her bluntness and impatience; she should have been more tactful. "I really was hoping to talk to her friends. You know, find out what she was like." 

 

"Yeah, well, you'll have to talk to someone else," he said coldly. "Buffy was my friend. I don't even know you." 

 

Elise studied him for a moment before reaching in her purse and pulling out her notebook. She scribbled her name and phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter. "I understand.  If you change your mind, please give me a call. I really would love to talk to you." 

 

Xander stared at the piece of paper for a long moment before he reluctantly took it and shoved it in his pocket.  Without looking back, he moved away down the bar and began putting away the freshly washed glasses. 

 

Placing several dollars on the bar to pay for her drink, Elise sighed regretfully and made her way out the door.  Well, there were at least two more people that she that she still wanted to talk too… 

 

~~~  

 

She was in the bedroom packing, but she heard the knock on the door as if she had been waiting for it. She padded through the house to the living room, peeking through the side window at the car out front before unlocking the door. 

 

"I didn't expect you to come by," she said with a small smile as she opened the door.

 

"I got your message." 

 

"You could have just used that new fangled phone thingie," Elise replied leaning forward to kiss him lightly in greeting. 

 

"I know," Angel returned with a shrug. "But leaving the country sounded like something we should talk about in person." 

 

"My aunt Flora, Charlie's only sister," she said as she closed the door behind him. She avoided looking directly at him as she continued, "Has taken ill. I haven't seen her in almost four years, so I thought I should go." It was only a partial lie; her step-father's sister wasn't in good health and hadn't been for years. True too, the last time she seen her had been at her step-father's funeral almost four years ago. But that wasn't the reason for her trip to London… it was merely a convenient excuse. In all honesty, she doubted that she'd make it to Hampshire to see Flora at all.

 

Padding down the hall toward the bedroom she continued, "She's a hoot. She was involved in British intelligence during the war, so she always has these amazing stories to tell." 

 

Following her, Angel stopped in the doorway. His brows lifted slightly in surprise at the two enormous suitcases on the bed. "Just how long did you say you were going to be gone?" 

 

"Only a couple of weeks," she returned, glancing over her shoulder at him and noting the direction of his gaze. "Oh, I'm not a good packer. I take one of everything, just in case." 

 

"Looks like you're taking two of everything," he noted, smiling faintly as she examined two pairs of shoes that looked nearly identical before dropping them both in the suitcases, one pair in each. 

 

"Then I'll have at least one when the airline loses my bag," she countered half-jokingly as she crossed the room to scoop up a pile of shirts. She divided them between the two bags, just as she had the shoes.

 

"Take the Wolfram & Hart jet," Angel offered solicitously.  "You'll get there faster, and you won't have to worry about that." 

 

"No," she answered almost too quickly, unwilling to draw attention to her destination. Not that anyone at W&H couldn't find out easily enough… but there was something about blatantly using their resources that didn't quite feel right.  Still, unwilling to admit the real reason for her trip to Angel, and feeling bad about not being completely honest with him, she turned and gave him an apologetic smile. "I mean, thank you, but no, I couldn't. I already have my outrageously expensive, non-refundable ticket on British Airlines." 

 

"And you're leaving tomorrow?" 

 

"Yes, my flight is at 9:20 tomorrow night." There wasn't really a reason to rush, but once she had made up her mind to go talk to Buffy's former Watcher and her sister, she hadn't wanted to wait. Her experience had taught her to plunge ahead and follow her instincts; the result was often some of her best writing. 

 

"I'll drive you to the airport then," Angel asserted politely, though still maintaining the reserve that had been present for the last few weeks. 

 

"That would be nice," she answered, her eyes meeting his across the cluttered bed. She was suddenly aware of the intimacy of the situation - the lateness of the hour, the soft sounds of Etta James coming from the other room, lingerie she had been about to pack clutched in her hand, and the two of them, alone together in the dimly lit bedroom. 

 

"This is a bit awkward," she said finally, breaking the silence. 

 

"It is," he agreed with obvious relief.  

 

"You know, I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone that I thought I might be able to fall in love with. Mind you, I'm not saying that's what this, us, is, but I think… there may be a possibility that maybe it could happen eventually." Her voice when she spoke held a guarded apprehension. "You know, some day. But-" 

 

"But not right now," he finished softly. He more than understood her apprehension, and perhaps even more pertinently, his own feelings of confusion and reluctance. He wasn't over Buffy, and might never be - despite liking Elise and having found some measure of transient comfort from his loneliness and grief in her arms. 

 

"But not right now," she agreed, her voice only a whisper of sound. She hadn't expected otherwise, but a small, sinking feeling of disappointment still settled in her stomach.  She had never expected to find love again, but Angel - being with him - had given her hope that it might be possible… someday.

 

"But that's not to say that we don't have something…" he recanted apologetically as he crossed the room to stand next to her. It was a weakness, he knew, lying instead of being completely truthful, not wanting to hurt her more than he probably already had. 

 

"You don't have to explain, Angel," she murmured, looking up at him. "I understand. 

 

He brushed a stray hair back from her face. "I'm sorry." 

 

"Don't be," she said with a brief smile. "Besides, there's no need to rush into anything. I mean, there's no hurry here, is there?" 

 

"There isn't," he agreed.

 

"When I get back from London we can figure all this… us, I mean, out…" she suggested, "That is, if you want…" 

 

"We can," he said softly, bending his head to brush a kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her comforted, and hopeful, and yet disappointed all the same.  Her trip to London and her upcoming book would change things between them irrevocably, she knew that.  Most likely the only thing they'd have to figure out would be if they were still friends, much less lovers. 

 

Sighing, she returned to her packing. 

 

 

 

 

Part VII

 

 

Elise had been in London for almost two days before she found St. Margaret's Ursuline School for girls; headmaster: Rupert Giles.  The former convent was, she suspected, now both home and training facility for the Watcher and the Slayers in training.  And, the secluded location, just on the outskirts of London, was practically ideal if one wanted to avoid attracting attention.

 

Much to her frustration and impatience, it was another two days before she finally managed to catch Mr. Giles alone. He was often with one or more of the girls, or a young blonde man who appeared to be - at least if Mr. Giles' expression was any indication - less than ideal company.  

 

On this particular afternoon, she was waiting on the steps outside the main building when he returned from some errand. 

 

"Rupert Giles?" 

 

"Yes?" Giles squinted into the late afternoon sun at the woman sitting on the school steps like a young girl. She wore a baby blue cashmere sweater with a white blouse peeking above the neck and below the hem, perfectly tailored black pants and a pair of high-heeled pumps. Other than the fact that she was a few years older than he initially guessed at first glance, she could have fit in with the other girls at the school. 

 

"Hello, I'm Elise Seymour. I left you a couple of messages…" 

 

Regarding her carefully, he shook the proffered hand and replied, "Ah yes. Hello."  He guarded the school and the girls carefully from any and all prying eyes.  He didn't want any attention on their efforts at the school, so to the world at large, St. Margaret's was known only as a highly exclusive college preparatory academy for girls. 

 

They stood for a moment, scrutinizing each other before Elise spoke again. 

 

"If you have some time now, I really would like to talk to you…" 

 

Glancing at his watch to check the time, Giles nodded reluctantly. He had a feeling from her calls and the look on her face that the woman would be persistent, so he'd have to deal with her at some point. It might as well be now. "I have an hour or so," he replied with a sigh. Taking his keys, he unlocked the door and escorted her down the short hallway to his office. 

 

"Would you like tea?" he asked as she took a seat in the chair across from a much cluttered and very old desk. 

 

She nodded, and he excused himself only to return a few minutes later with a tray containing a teapot, cups and saucers, and a random mix of Pettit fours, crackers, and shortbread cookies.  

 

Balancing the tray on a stack of books on the corner of the desk, he poured two cups and handed one to Elise before taking a seat across from her.

 

"By chance, was your father Charles Seymour?" he asked, flicking on the desk lamp to stave off the afternoon gloom. 

 

"Charlie was my stepfather, though for all intents and purposes he was my father. My real dad was a bastard," she trailed off, embarrassed by the uncharacteristic blurt of personal information. "Um, you knew him? Charles, that is." 

 

"I didn't know him personally, I'm sorry to say, though I did know of him. I'm sorry to hear of his passing." 

 

"Thank you. It's been some time now, but I still miss him." Picking up her tea cup, she cradled it in her hands. "You knew of him through the Council?" 

 

Giles paused uncertainly for a moment before nodding. "He was quite well respected." Despite being a former Watcher's stepdaughter, he didn't know how much she knew or how much he cared to reveal. 

 

"That's nice to hear. He was a good man, and very dedicated to… his pursuits." 

 

With an understanding nod, Giles asked curiously, "So, what was it that you wanted to see me about?" 

 

"This is rather difficult…"  Elise said with a sigh. "As I mentioned in my message, I'm a novelist." 

 

"Yes, I'm familiar with some of your work." Given her family connections with the Council, Elise's first novel had been discussed at length amongst the members of the Watcher's Council at the time of publication. While they all knew that the material was presented as fictional, there was considerable fact in what she had written, and for many that was a concern.  Some of the members feared that her book would compromise the organization, despite there'd not been a single word about the Council in anything she had written. Others believed that Charles himself had compromised the organization by providing her with the information, something he denied. The fury died down after her third novel, published not long after Charles' death. The Council wasn't in any position to question much of anything any more, regardless. Most, if not all, of the ruling members had been eliminated by the return of the First Evil. 

 

"You are?" Elise said with surprise. She smiled self-consciously. "I mean, that's nice to hear." 

 

Giles said nothing, only returned her smile. 

 

"I'm not quite sure where to start so I'll just… start.  I'm working on a new book, and I was hoping you might help me." 

 

"If it's about the Council, then the answer is no. I've not been affiliated with them for quite a number of years-" Giles began.

 

"It's about a vampire slayer…" Elise interjected politely, "and a vampire. I know Angel, you see, and I found out recently about Buffy." 

 

Giles stiffened uncomfortably. 

 

"I know that you cared about her deeply. And I understand that my coming here and showing up on your doorstep out of the blue, a complete stranger asking questions and wanting you to talk about someone that you cared about is intrusive and rude, especially given the circumstances of her disappearance…" she said solemnly but earnestly. 

 

Glancing away, Buffy's former Watcher stared down at the stack of assorted papers on his desk.  He hadn't been in favor of Buffy staying in Los Angeles with Angel, though he had to admit she had been happier there than he had ever seen her.  His concern was less about her relationship with the ensouled vampire, and more about her proximity to evil. It had been his estimation that one couldn't live in the belly of the beast for long before being devoured, and Wolfram & Hart most definitely fit the category of 'beast' in all capital letters. He wished he had been wrong, but Buffy's disappearance had been a brutal reinforcement of his fears.  Many times since, he had chastised himself for not doing more, for not taking her away, for not protecting her somehow, some way.  For not having found her... 

 

"I've read everything that they have in the Wolfram & Hart library - which is quite a lot actually - on Slayers, and on Buffy and on Angel. Her story is an incredible story.  You know that perhaps more than anyone else. I want to immortalize that story, her story. It's the least I can do, and far less than she deserves if everything that I've read about her is true." 

 

Sighing, he glanced back at the woman watching him intently. It was true that Buffy had been remarkable, and it was also true that if anyone deserved to have their story written down to be told for years to come, it was Buffy.  But would talking to a stranger about her life be a betrayal of her trust? Or of his integrity as someone who had been her Watcher, and who had loved her like a daughter?  

 

"If you have all of that, which I presume includes many Watchers' Journals, some of which were no doubt my own, then what more do you want from me?" 

 

"I'd like your perspective on what I've read, and, of course, on Buffy, as well as clarification on a few specifics," Elise replied, reaching into her bag for her tape recorder. "Do you mind?  I don't share the tapes with anyone, but it helps me stay true to the facts when I write." 

 

With a small shrug Giles shook his head. "I don't mind, as long as you understand that I may not answer all your questions - those things that are too personal, or that I would rather not see in print." 

 

"Understood," she said agreeably as turned on the tape recorder and set it on the desk.  Next she took out her pad and paper to jot down any reminder notes for herself.

 

"You said that you knew Angel. What does he think of you turning Buffy's life, his life, into a novel?" 

 

Elise glanced up, her expression a bit chagrined. "He doesn't know yet. I plan on giving him the draft before I give it to my editor." 

 

"And if he objects?" Giles asked calmly, unsurprised by the news that Angel didn't know about the intended book. The vampire was rather fiercely protective of Buffy and of their privacy; it was doubtful that he'd be supportive of the novelist's efforts to put their story into print.  

 

"If he objects… then I'll either edit or I won't publish it.  I don't want to hurt him, or Buffy, or anyone else with this book. That's not my intention," she said unequivocally. "You do understand though the lure of this, don't you? The sheer beauty and magnificence of the story? The challenge will be for me in capturing it properly, writing it in such a way that actually does it justice." 

 

Giles thought over her words for a moment before he politely acquiesced. "That will be a challenge indeed.  Now what is it that you'd like to ask me?" 

 

"As I mentioned before, I have read a great deal of what was documented about their relationship, and I have talked with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, whom I'm believe you know, so I have the basic facts in broad strokes… I'd like to start with your perspective, from the beginning. What did you think of Buffy's relationship with Angel when they first met?"

 

Giles' brows lifted slightly as he considered the question. "Of course, I was quite surprised. A vampire helping a Slayer is unheard of, you understand, so when he offered information to prevent the Harvest, and later when he actually helped her to defeat the Three…" 

 

"Almost as unheard of as a vampire with a soul?" she asked, curious about the former Watcher's response. 

 

"Indeed," Giles acknowledged, "Though we didn't know that he was a vampire, or that he had a soul, at least not initially.  He showed up in Sunnydale about the same time that Buffy herself did, and he'd drop her bits of helpful information. She thought he was a friend of mine then." Pausing, he smiled. "She called him cryptic guy." 

 

Elise smiled at the name; it was certainly fitting. "And later, after you found out that he was a vampire?" 

 

"After… I suppose I didn't see the harm in it. She had someone that could help her, someone that understood vampires the way that none of the rest of us could or did… Admittedly, having someone out there watching out for her was a comfort. As strong and capable as Buffy was, I still felt better knowing that she had someone with her, someone to watch her back. And it was obvious from the first time I met him that Angel cared about her a great deal." 

 

"I understand that they both tried to uh, refrain from any further involvement." 

 

"Yes, that's true. And they did manage it for several months, but inevitably young love, and, er, lust, wins out." 

 

"Were you concerned when it became apparent that they were moving toward something more than friendship?" She tilted her head, looking at him with genuine interest. 

 

"Yes, of course. Buffy was only sixteen, Angel much, much older, let alone the complications that were part of their lives just by the very definition of who they were: vampire and Slayer.  And we certainly didn't foresee the loss of his soul as a ramification of their involvement. I would have preferred to spare her those months following…" he paused and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jenny had foreseen it, of course, but hadn't been forthcoming with the information. Had she shared that very important detail, things would have been very different, and she would most likely still be alive today.

 

"I can't imagine how difficult that time must have been," Elise empathized solemnly. 

 

"Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat and shaking away the maudlin thoughts. "It wasn't easy." 

 

"After Sunnydale was destroyed, what did you think of Buffy staying in Los Angeles with Angel?" she questioned, shifting the subject to one that might a little be less difficult for the former Watcher. 

 

"After spending seven years on a hellmouth, I thought Buffy was overdue for a break. Oh, there are vampires and demons in all parts of the world, so it's not as though she would have given up her calling… but moving from one mouth of hell to another…" Picking up a cloth, he rubbed the lenses of his glasses before slipping them back on. Meeting Elise's gaze once more, he continued, "Make no mistake, Wolfram & Hart is as evil, perhaps even more so, than any hellmouth."  

 

"Was that your only concern?" she asked softly, reading more between the lines that he perhaps intended. Was he warning her about the law firm?

 

Giles took a sip of his tea as if to collect his thoughts. 

 

"No, it wasn't," he admitted on an exhale of breath. "I wasn't at all certain that Angel's soul was secure, and I believe the last thing that we need is a vampire as vicious and as shrewd as Angelus with Wolfram & Hart's resources at his disposal." 

 

Elise paled slightly. It was hard for her to imagine Angel as dangerous and evil as others had described him, but she had to defer to their experience. They had first hand knowledge of seeing him that way; she did not. 

 

"Understandable," she murmured softly.

 

"And I wondered, too, if they were rushing into things. Besides concerns about the curse, Angel had left Buffy because he wanted her to have a normal life, because he was concerned that he wasn't good enough for her, that he couldn't give her children or take her out in sunlight. Those things hadn't changed."  He paused, looking distressed. "Buffy was devastated when he left her the first time. In all honesty, I didn't know how she'd take it if it didn't work out this time." He said the last with all the concern and seriousness of a father whose child's future was at stake.

 

"Did you know they were trying to have a child?" she questioned tactfully. "I understand that Buffy had been undergoing in vitro fertilization. They were seeing the top specialists in the area, as well as someone in the Wolfram & Hart medical services group." 

 

His brows lifted. "Yes, Buffy had mentioned it several times. She called about once a month, sometimes more." 

 

"So some things had changed." 

 

"True enough," he admitted grudgingly. "You probably heard that she miscarried twice as well. She was quite distraught." 

 

"Do you think she wanted a child?" 

 

Giles looked almost startled by her question. "Yes, without question," he answered without hesitation. "She never thought she'd have children, much less children with Angel, yet like anyone considering parenthood, she was excited and scared at the same time. She was afraid of the changes that it would bring to their lives, and of her ability to raise a child, but she was anxious for the challenge. Are you suggesting-"

 

"No, no," she interrupted quickly. "I'm not suggesting anything. I just wasn't sure how she felt about children." 

 

Satisfied with her answer, Giles nodded. 

 

"And Angel, what did he think about having a baby?"  Elise asked, making a few notes as he talked. His words were a contrast to what Willow, Buffy's best friend, had said, which was rather curious. Either Buffy had lied to one of them, or one of them lied to her about Buffy… 

 

"I'm not certain, though my impression was that he was thrilled about the possibility of being a father.  I understand that she was pregnant again when she disappeared." He paused, his expression pained. "She had called the day before…"  

 

There was a long moment of silence. Giles stared at something on his desk as though he were struggling with his emotions. 

 

"What do you think happened to her?" Elise asked, going to the question that she knew would be perhaps the most difficult to answer. 

 

"I don't know," Giles said heavily. "I wish I did. I checked all my contacts. I went everywhere I thought she might go - despite Angel having been steps ahead of me every time. I even tried magic, as did Willow, to see if we could locate her. Nothing."

 

"Did she ever say anything to make you think that she wasn't happy in Los Angeles?" 

 

"No, not that I recall," he answered thoughtfully. "In fact, she was happier than I had seen her in years. She liked working with Angel, and said that she thought they were making a difference there. She often said that she never imagined she'd get a future with Angel, that it all seemed like a dream sometimes. There was no doubt that she loved him, and he her." 

 

Elise glanced at her watch and sighed with disappointment. "I know you said you only had an hour, and I don't want to take any more of your time. I do have some more questions that I'd like to ask you. Would you mind if I stopped by again some time later this week?" She switched off her tape recorder. 

 

"Yes, that should be fine. Thursday evenings are usually quiet. Why don't you stop by then?" 

 

"Thank you. That'd be perfect." 

 

 

 

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She slept. She hadn't wanted to, but she had. Exhaustion was an undeniable force, even when the dreams that came with sleep made her waking hours that much more unbearable.  

 

Fingertips, light as butterfly wings, drifted over her shoulders, along the length of her spine to the swell of her hips. Cool lips at her nape… delicate, soft, erotic brushing her shoulders, her back, moving lower… 

 

She stayed very still, hungry and waiting, wanting the elusive sensations to continue. Aware that if she moved, she would wake, and he would once again be gone. 

 

The tip of his tongue teased her bare skin, licking softly. 

 

She sighed blissfully.

 

He nipped and lapped with kisses that enticed with wicked pleasure. Fingertips stroking, caressing, gliding up and down over every inch of her skin… eliciting pure liquid heat that burned through her skin, into her blood to pool between her legs. 

 

Then she felt the powerful strength of his body, cool as a calming breeze, yet tempting as sin, as he moved against her, pulling her closer. The hard length of his cock pressed firmly against her ass as his lips once more grazed her neck, before sinking in to take her flesh between his teeth and sucking hard in mock imitation of what he desired. 

 

Aching for him, she whimpered and attempted to inch closer still.

 

His hands drifted along her arms, dipping in to caress the taut skin of her stomach. Stroking, petting, higher, higher, though not high enough. She arched in frustration, pressing her breasts firmly into his hands, her bottom into the cradle of his hips. 

 

He rolled her beneath him then and took her with swift, searing force, unable to contain the storm building between them. She shuddered violently beneath him only moments before he soared to his own explosive climax.  Exhaustion, satiation, contentment, filled her.  Amazed, happier than she had ever imagined she could be now that she was finally able to be with Angel in such exquisite intimacy… she reached out to draw him close. 

 

Finding only emptiness, her mind snapped back. Her eyes opened as the vestiges of sleep evaporated in a single burst. In the darkness, tears stung her eyes and Buffy wept silently. 

 

It had been real once, but now it was only a memory, and a dream. 

 

 

 

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On her return trip to St. Margaret's on Thursday, Elise talked to Giles for almost two hours before they were interrupted by an exotic young woman with dark hair. In perfect French she explained to Giles that there was a minor emergency in the girls dorm: a clogged drain that was grossing everyone out. With a slight roll of his eyes, Giles excused himself to handle the situation. 

 

Flipping through her notebook, Elise began to reread the notes of their conversation. Giles has commented that he thought Buffy and Spike's relationship was 'destructive' and that she had kept it from everyone for quite some time.  Given what she knew about their relationship from Spike, Elise wasn't too surprised by that.  Giles had then talked about Angelus at length, and the things that he had done to all of them, particularly Buffy, during his brief months in Sunnydale before he was resouled.  

 

"Are you really going to write a story about my sister?" 

 

Startled, Elise glanced up. "Pardon?" 

 

"I heard you and Giles talking," Dawn stated almost accusingly. 

 

"You must be Dawn Summers," Elise said, rising to offer her hand in greeting. "I'm Elise Seymour. And yes, I am. At least, I'm researching your sister with that in mind. I was hoping actually to get some of your time."

 

Dawn stared for a moment, an unfriendly expression on her face.  Finally she shook the offered hand. "Why?" 

 

"I'd like to talk to you about Buffy, if you feel up to it. I'm very sorry to hear about what happened to her." 

 

"Yeah?  Well, if she had come to London with the rest of us then she'd still be alive today. Instead she had to stay in Los Angeles at Evil, Incorporated." 

 

Elise was surprised by the bitterness in the young girl's voice. She wasn't quite sure what to say in response that wouldn't seem like an insincere platitude. Finally she decided to simply speak from the heart. "Losing someone you love is always difficult. It's completely natural to think of the what ifs and could haves that would have changed things." 

 

"What do you know about it?" Dawn asked sourly, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

"I lost someone once, only a few years back," the novelist replied quietly. "He was an innocent bystander at a robbery. Sometimes I still think about how different things would be now if he had gone out ten minutes later or had stopped at a different store. It's irrational I know, but sometimes I still even get mad at him for smoking in the first place. If he'd have given the damn things up he'd have never gone out for cigarettes at all. We'd have bought that house in Pacific Palisades or New Orleans or Dublin or any of the half a dozen other places we talked about living someday." Pausing, Elise took a breath. "Instead, I'm here with only my memories of him to keep me company." 

 

"Oh." Dawn murmured, her expression softening slightly. "Are you really going to write a book about Buffy?

 

"Yes, I plan to. Even if I never publish it and the only people that see it are Angel, and Giles, and you, if you'd like." 

 

Dawn frowned. "You know Angel?" 

 

"Yes, I met him while researching my last book," Elise supplied honestly. "That's how I came to know about your sister." 

 

The younger woman's brows lifted. "What? He just told you about her?" 

 

Elise debated how best to answer the question, which from Dawn's tone, was loaded with insinuation. "No, not at first, but we didn't talk about anything personal for several months after we met. And you know Angel, he's not really one for personal disclosure." 

 

Dawn snorted. "True, but Buffy was important to him. Or so he said."

 

"She was. Still is from what I can tell," Elise agreed. "My guess is that he doesn't talk about her because it's still too painful for him. He misses her, and is still grieving." 

 

"Then why doesn't he find her?!" Dawn exclaimed tearfully. "He has everything at Wolfram & Hart, everything. Magic, science, computers, seers… why couldn't they do something?!" 

 

"Dawn," Elise began soothingly. Leading the younger woman by the arm, they sat side by side in the chairs near the desk. "Have you asked Angel about it?" 

 

Wiping at her eyes, Dawn confessed halfheartedly, "No. I don't really talk to him at all." 

 

"You should, honey," the novelist encouraged. "I think you might find that the two of you have more in common than you think.  Look, I don't know all the details, but I'll tell you that Angel, Spike, Fred, Wes, pretty much anyone in the offices there… they all say the same thing… Angel used every resource available at Wolfram & Hart, as well as anyone and anything else that he could get in searching for her." 

 

"Then why'd he give up?  Why isn't he still looking?" she asked in a small voice. 

 

Giles, now standing in the doorway, overheard the last part of their conversation.

 

"Vampires have a connection to their mates," he began as he entered the office and closed the door behind him. "It's persistent, strong, and from what I understand, quite profound.  There's a similar bond among vampires that share a common lineage - their children, if you will - though not with the same degree of intensity. That connection is severed only in death."

 

Elise and Dawn both looked up at Giles as he took the seat opposite them on the other side of the desk. 

 

"We haven't covered this in your training, I know," the headmaster at St. Margaret's admitted to the young Watcher in training. "The circumstances of the last year have been trying, and it wasn't something I wanted to emphasize for obvious reasons." 

 

"Buffy and Angel had an abnormally strong connection from the beginning," Giles continued plainly. "There were signs of this early on, when they were having shared dreams. I also believe it was their intense emotional involvement combined with this connection that managed to pull - for lack of a better description - Angel out of hell." 

 

"Really?" Elise asked interestedly, hoping he might elaborate.

 

Giles sighed. "I never discussed it with Buffy, other than some basic details, but yes, I believe that something she did managed to bring Angel back from the hell dimension he was in.  I wish I knew more about the specifics, but quite honestly I feared discussing it with her. I thought that if she believed, even for a moment, that it was something that she had done, she would have tortured herself incessantly for not have done it sooner.  She felt guilty enough about having sent him to hell with his soul… I simply couldn't add to that." 

 

"So when he bit her…" Elise prompted.

 

"He simply put the finishing touch on what seemed from all accounts to be predestined. In other words, I think that was a formality of sorts, as they were essentially already bonded, but something that definitely strengthened or perhaps solidified their connection." 

 

"Did you know that at the time?" Elise asked, watching the former Watcher interestedly for his reaction. 

 

"Yes," Giles admitted reluctantly. "And quite honestly, the implications were alarming." 

 

Elise looked at him, puzzled. "How so?" 

 

"Angel had already decided to leave Buffy, and to leave Sunnydale. Given that we all believed that the clause in his curse was still very much an issue, I agreed that his leaving was for the best. Once he essentially staked his claim on her as his mate, I doubted that he would leave Sunnydale. I had, in fact, thought that the temptation for physical intimacy would be that much stronger. And in all honesty, it surprised me that he still had the strength of will to leave after that. If the lore holds, being away from one's mate is quite difficult for vampires - physically and psychologically. The feelings lessen over time, but in the first year or perhaps more, Angel was likely quite vulnerable."

 

"Vulnerable?" Elise questioned with a perplexed frown.

 

Giles shrugged expressively. "Physically weaker, perhaps. Open to psychological manipulation, certainly. In Angel's case, I imagine that he may have been tempted to give in at times, that he may have ceased to care about finding his purpose or mission, or his own future. When the First Evil attempted to work it's will on Angel, attempting to convince him to kill himself or Buffy, I believe that it knew about this weakness and was attempting to exploit it.  I suppose that we can be grateful that it didn't happen the first year Angel was in Los Angeles. The outcome could have been quite different.  There's nothing specific to back up the theory, of course, and I've not had the opportunity to explore the idea further."  

 

"So you think that Angel thinks… that Buffy is dead because he no longer feels that connection?" Dawn asked thoughtfully, looking from Giles to Elise and back again.

 

Giles nodded slowly. "He reluctantly admitted some months ago that he could no longer 'feel her', though he didn't go as far as to say that he believes her to be dead," he confessed sadly. "Though given that, as well as the complete lack of clues as to her whereabouts, it's difficult to draw any other conclusion." 

 

"I know." Dawn nodded, her voice was a whisper. 

 

"When's the last time you talked to Angel, or anyone at Wolfram & Hart?" Elise asked curiously. 

 

"It's been a few months now," Giles answered, glancing at Dawn. 

 

"I… I didn't really get along with Angel," Dawn admitted with a shrug. "I guess I always saw him as the guy that took away my sister. And he scared me… after all he had done and stuff." 

 

"Were you close, you and Buffy?" Elise asked. 

 

"We were, and then we weren't, then we were again. I mean, we were when we were younger, then not so much when Buffy became the Slayer and stuff. There were times things were better than others… and then after everything with Sunnydale when it blew up and stuff… well, we kinda were close again after that. At least as much as we could be since she was there and I was here." Dawn explained with a shrug. 

 

"Did she talk to you about her life with Angel, and about things about Wolfram & Hart?" 

 

"Some, yeah," Dawn told her.

 

"Was she happy?" Elise glanced at Giles who was watching her suspiciously, then back at Dawn. 

 

Dawn nodded. "I think so. I mean, when I talked to her it was always Angel this or Angel that. I know they spent a lot of time working, but she always made it sound like fun rather than work. I guess, too, they spent a lot of time at home, you know, doing it." 

 

Elise's brows lifted, but she smiled. "I see." 

 

Shaking his head, Giles asked, "You've asked that question before. Did you have reason to think otherwise? That Buffy was not happy in Los Angeles?" 

 

Elise looked from Dawn to the former Watcher pensively. "Well, someone that I talked with suggested the possibility… or perhaps I simply misunderstood them." 

 

"And you believe this person to be credible?" Giles inquired, concerned. 

 

"Was it Angel?" Dawn blurted curiously. "Because I know Buffy said he was always worried about that, if she was happy." 

 

Elise smiled at the young woman. "No, it wasn't Angel. And I can't really say who it was; I keep my interviews confidential. If I didn't, I'd never get anyone to talk to me." 

 

Dawn frowned. "Oh. Well, ask Willow. She'd probably know. She saw Buffy pretty much every day, and they were pretty close." 

 

Nodding politely, Elise glanced back at Giles who was watching her intently. She wondered then, if he knew something, somehow. Something he hadn't told her and wasn't planning too. 

 

"Did you know Buffy faced Dracula once?" Dawn mentioned, beaming proudly as if she herself had been there. 

 

"Really?"  Elise inquired, though she had read as much in one of the Wolfram & Hart journals. Accompanying the passage had been an annotation in the margin about a visit Angel had paid to Dracula not long after that, apparently to make sure that the Transylvanian Count understood completely the boundaries of his trespass. It was unclear whether the famous vampire had survived the encounter. 

 

Picking up her pen and notebook, and making sure her recorder was running, Elise listened to Dawn's stories about Buffy for the next few hours. It was as if the young woman had finally found an outlet to talk about her sister, and was eager to do so in considerable detail. 

 

Sipping his tea, Giles listened indulgently, smiling at times, and frowning at others. There had been so little time in the last year to indulge in walks down memory lane; the demands of running the school had simply not allowed it. But, he realized as he listened to Dawn's chatter, it was something that they both needed, and that was long overdue as Buffy was still very much in their hearts. 

 

 

 

 

Part VIII

 

 

Elise slept late the next morning. She had stayed up the night before working and reworking a plausible outline for the story based on what she knew so far, and she had even written a few draft paragraphs for one of the chapters. She had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn't gone to bed until well after four in the morning. 

 

When she did wake, she was still so immersed in the story that immediately after her shower she sat down at the desk with her iBook and once again began to write.  She typed away for a good two hours, before she took a break to order coffee and a light breakfast from room service. She was pleased with her progress so far, and thought that this might be one of those rare occasions when the story actually seemed to tell itself. 

 

It was just after six when she went downstairs and out of the hotel, needing a break and some fresh air.  Deep in thought, she walked distractedly for a while, ending up in Holland Park. The homes were familiar, and she realized with a start that a friend of her stepfather's had lived in the area.  William Wells had been a member of the Watcher's Council too, and they had often visited his house so that the two men could discuss business over cigars and scotch after dinner. Elise would usually sit in the kitchen with her mother and William's wife, Maggie, doing homework or reading her latest Nancy Drew mystery novel and listening with half an ear as the two women exchanged stories. Maggie had been fascinated by the tales that Catherine, Elise's mother, told about living in New York and working on Broadway as a production assistant.  Of course, Catherine hadn't told Maggie about the job at P.J.'s, or later Silhouette's, the strip club where she had met Charlie.  Elise herself had only found out the truth about her mother and stepfather's meeting after Charlie's death.  Thinking about it now, Elise believed that Maggie, a no-nonsense practical woman with an easy smile, loud laugh, and bawdy sense of humor, would probably have appreciated the story.  

 

Chuckling inwardly at the thought of Maggie's reaction, Elise wound her way through the area until she spotted the white, pillar-fronted house at the end of Ladbroke Walk. It looked just as she remembered, right down to the neatly trimmed boxwood shrubs. 

 

On impulse, after seeing a light on through the window, she crossed through the gate and knocked on the door. She shivered in the cooling evening air as she waited for someone to answer.  

 

"Yes?" The elderly gentleman opening the door asked, squinting up at Elise.  

 

"Hello, I'm looking for William or Maggie Wells." Elise returned politely. "They were friends of my parents." 

 

"Come in then," the man groused backing away from the door. "William's at home. No doubt he'll appreciate the company, since Miss Maggie is away at her Mum's. It's been nigh on a month, and she won't be back until a week on Sunday, which is a tad too long for the mister. He ain't used to being alone." 

 

Elise followed the man into the house and down the hall until they reached a lovely, glass enclosed conservatory. Several plants lined one wall, their blooms pink and cheerful. On the opposite side of the room, a thin man dressed all in black and with a thick mane of graying hair, was humming softly and trimming a rose tree.

 

"I think they need food. Do you think they need food?" The man asked without glancing up. Holding one leaf up to his face and peering at it critically, he continued, "Can you over feed roses? Or maybe I'm not watering them quite enough." 

 

The unnamed man in front of her cleared his throat loudly and announced, "You've company."

 

Turning abruptly, William looked in their direction. 

 

"Elise? Elisie Seymour? Is that you?" Dropping the sheers and the leaf on a nearby table, he walked toward her with his hands extended. "Come here, and let me have a look at you? It's been a year too many. I don't think I've seen you since Charlie's funeral." He said the last with a bit of sadness in his voice.

 

"Hello William," Elise returned with a smile, kissing his cheek. "How are you? And Maggie?"  

 

"Cantankerous, as always," he answered cheerfully, "And I'm fine as well. How's your mum? Thank you, Tony. We'll have tea and some brandy, in here, if you don't mind." 

 

"She's… the same. Still in Brazil, I think," she said dully. She hadn't talked to her mother in almost four years. Catherine was bitter that Charlie had left the bulk of his estate to his stepdaughter rather than his wife. Elise had still been grieving for Colin at the time, and so was less than patient, sympathetic or understanding with her mother. Instead of bonding over the shared loss of their loved ones, things were said that were difficult to take back, and so mother and daughter had gone their separate ways, a seemingly unrepairable rift between them. 

 

Ignoring the subtle but noticeable discord in her voice, William continued on, "Good, good. And you?" 

 

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile and shaking away the unpleasant memory.

 

"What brings you to London? Last I heard you were living in Hollywood with all the movie stars and such." Taking her arm, he led her over to a floral print settee near the window. 

 

"Los Angeles," she corrected, though she knew most people didn't really understand the distinction, especially since the city blended together.  "I'm actually here doing some research for a new book." 

 

"I've read them, you know, your books. Quite entertaining, if a bit pedantic," he said with a grin. 

 

"Pedantic? she questioned defensively, her brows lifting. 

 

He shrugged. "You can't intellectualize everything, my dear. Motivations are often much simpler than you think at first glance. They can even be inexplicable, and illogical. It's in the gut. The gut is eighty percent of why we do what we do, not the head. Much as we like to think otherwise with our opposing thumbs and big brains, at base we're still animals." 

 

"I don't understand…" Elise looked skeptical.

 

"Grave robbing demons, ghosts that come back to punish the sins of the past… Assuming for a minute that they even exist," pausing, he winked. "They're not driven by logic. The reason they do what they do, its emotion. It's the gut, I tell you. It doesn't always wrap up in a nice, tidy explainable package, much as we'd like. You write that, and you'll have yourself one of those best sellers." 

 

"I'll keep that in mind."  Elise nodded slowly, biting back a retort. She already had two best sellers, though she wasn't going to be immodest enough to tell William that. Though she was very tempted… 

 

"Good, good. You've said you're here researching then?" 

 

"I am. My next novel is going to be about a vampire slayer," she said plainly, watching him carefully for his reaction. She hadn't planned on mentioning the subject initially, but annoyed by his earlier criticism she was unable to refrain. 

 

"Oh?" He asked, glancing back at her. "What's a vampire slayer?" 

 

"A vampire slayer is a young woman, fighting the forces of evil essentially on her own. She slays vampires, of course, and other demons," she explained. "I think it'll make for a good story." 

 

William nodded agreeably. "Probably would. Take it to one of those Hollywood studios. I'll bet they'd even make a TV show out of it." 

 

"I don't suppose you know anything about the topic?" she prompted, trying again to provoke some reaction from him.

 

"Now why would I know anything about something as farfetched as all that?" he asked with a perplexed look. 

 

"William, you know I know about you and Charlie, and about the Watcher's Council," she admonished crisply. She had to give him credit; his expression was bland and unreadable. Had she not known better, she would have believed that he genuinely had no knowledge of the subject in question.

 

Peering over the rim of his glasses, he looked at her speculatively. "Oh?" 

 

"I used to spy on him sometimes. I loved hearing about the demons, and the magic, and all the ancient lore. I know that the two of you were in the Watcher's Council together." 

 

"You do, hm?" Crossing his arms across his chest, he gazed at her consideringly. 

 

"It's really too bad that so much of that was lost," she went on casually. 

 

William blinked. "Lost?"

 

"When the Council offices were destroyed.  I mean, they must have had priceless relics and books, countless artifacts..." 

 

"Hmm, yes," he murmured noncommittally. 

 

Elise tilted her head curiously. "They were blown up weren't they?" 

 

"Yes, yes, of course," William admitted, watching as Tony walked in with two cups of tea and a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm. He set all three items on the side table, them slipped from the room as quietly as he entered. 

 

"Really?" she asked, astonished. Up until that point he hadn't really acknowledged her queries one way or the other. 

 

"An organization doesn't exist for hundreds of years with the enemies the like of theirs without taking some precautions," he explained cryptically as he rose from the settee.

 

"Are you saying that the Council still exists? I thought they were gone." 

 

"Gone?" he echoed casually, crossing the room to pick up the brandy bottle. 

 

"As in doesn't exist?" she clarified, sitting forward with interest. If the Council was around, perhaps they had even more information that would be useful for her book…

 

"Who told you that?" he laughed, pouring a liberally splash of brandy in his tea cup.

 

"I… I heard it through some of my underground sources," Elise supplied. "The word on the streets in the demon world is that the leading Council members were killed in the explosion and that the Council was never reformed."  It was close to the truth, and she would never give away Wesley as the source of any specific information. 

 

William chuckled. "That's good. It'll keep them on their toes then." 

 

"Are you saying… the Council still exists?" She questioned as she took the tea cup he offered. "And it who? Who will be on their toes?" 

 

"Now Elise, honey. I couldn't say that even if I wanted to, now could I?" He said lightly as he once again sat back down next to her.  "Now what do you say we talk about something more interesting… tell me what it's like to live in Los Angeles. Are there movie stars on every corner? Do you go all dressed up and go to those film premieres?"

 

 

 

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When the car down the street backfired, Elise jumped nervously. She had been standing outside the nondescript building for over an hour watching the activity. Two men dressed in suits had exited the building not long after she arrived, and a thirty-something looking woman had arrived in a cab and entered.  Tourists on their way to Westminster Abbey passed by often, keeping the street congested, and often making it difficult to see the building entrance. 

 

She had gotten the address out of William's desk, having excused herself for a bathroom break after they had talked for quite some time about a variety of subjects that included almost every subject except the supernatural or the Watcher's Council, much to her frustration.  In her hasty search, she hadn't been particularly careful to leave things exactly as they had been. No doubt William knew that someone had rifled quickly through his desk next time he entered the room, but she hadn't a lot of time, and she knew, knew that he had information about the Council. And she had wanted that information, all else be damned.  

 

Over the last two days she had checked out the five addresses that she had hastily scribbled down, all of which had appeared to be relatively new entries in William's address book, all without names on them. This last one appeared to be the most promising. 

 

Her cell phone rang, and Elise jumped again.  Taking a calming breath, she checked the number on the small screen before she answered. 

 

"Wes?" 

 

"Hello to you too." 

 

"Hi. Sorry," she replied quickly. 

 

"Your message was rather… early, not to mention cryptic," he said, referring to the voice mail she had left him earlier that day - 4:23 am his time, to be exact.

 

"Remember you told me that the Watcher's Council was gone. Defunct and all that?" she asked, shifting the phone to her other ear and ignoring the subtle chastisement in his tone.

 

"Yes."

 

"What if I told you that they aren't? That they're back in business?" 

 

"I'd have to ask you what gives you that idea," he replied calmly, "followed by what you have been drinking or smoking? The last of the Council members, at least the core executive team, were all killed in November of 2002." He was more than familiar with the date; his father had been among those that had met their demise at the hands of the First Evil at that time. 

 

"But I don't think they were all killed. That or new ones were appointed," she insisted as she blended into the crowd and walked toward the Abbey.

 

"You're certain of this?" 

 

"No," she admitted reluctantly. "It's just speculation right now. Look, I stopped in on an old friend of Charlie's the other night, William Wells. He was also in the Council. Anyway, I mentioned the Council, and how disappointing that their store of artifacts was lost and also that I heard the Council was gone. He laughed and said something like 'good, it'll keep them on their toes' and that an organization as old as the Council doesn't not have contingency plans. Which makes sense if you think about it. So I figure they have to still be around." 

 

"That's a fair stretch from there to believing that the Council has been reestablished and operating again," Wes returned skeptically. 

 

"It was what he didn't say, as much as what he did. And he didn't deny that the Council is around again. That's telling." 

 

"It's a stretch, Elise, and you know it," he reminded her flatly. "Besides, I doubt that he would have admitted it to you, regardless of any friendship with your family. The Council members were notoriously close-mouthed."

 

"He also said my writing was pedantic. Can you believe that?" she muttered irritably, glancing up at the imposing towers of the Abbey. 

 

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he meant it-" 

 

"Do you know someone named Quentin Travers?" she interrupted, glancing around carefully to make sure no one was listening to her conversation. 

 

"Yes. He was the last head of the Council, I believe." 

 

"Well then I'm right. The Council is operating again," she exclaimed smugly. 

 

"Elise, Quentin is dead," Wes countered. "He was killed along with the others." 

 

"No, he isn't," she returned firmly. "I've seen him. His name is on an office door in the building that the Council is operating out of." 

 

"You're mistaken. Of course, it could simply be another man with the same name," he surmised, turning in his chair to look out the window. "I think I would know if the Council was active again. After all, I was a member." 

 

"Too much of a coincidence," she insisted. "I tell you it's the same guy. Do you know what he looks like?  I'll get a picture and prove it to you. And I thought you were thrown out or quit or something." 

 

"Elise," Wes began with a sigh. "Okay, say you're right for just a moment. If the Council is active, they are intentionally keeping a low profile.  They won't appreciate you nosing around, and pictures are out of the question. It could be dangerous. And for the record, I quit the Council. They did not throw me out." 

 

When she didn't answer immediately, he added warningly, "Elise… don't do anything stupid. And by that I mean specifically going into their offices, and asking questions." 

 

"I never do, Wes," she said absently, her attention distracted by a young man taking pictures in front of the Abbey. He was startlingly attractive in a rough, unkempt way that reminded her of Colin. Returning her attention to her phone call, she continued, "Do you think you could discretely check into it at least?" 

 

Wes sighed. 

 

"Humor me," she pled softly. "You can even say I told you so when it turns out to not be Quentin or anything relating to the Council. How's that?" 

 

"Oh, very well," he agreed reluctantly. "Give me the address. But I'm going to hold you to that." 

 

"Deal," she returned cheerfully, happy to have gotten her way. "Now tell me, how is Angel?" 

 

 

 

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With a confident stride, Elise strolled into the building. She purposefully walked close behind the man and woman in front of her, making it appear as though she were part of their group.  She quickly slipped into the elevator, all the while hiding behind them so that the security guard wouldn't get a good look at her. The pair, so engrossed in their conversation that they barely noticed her, exited on the third floor leaving Elise alone. 

 

Breathing a sigh of relief that her subtle ploy worked, she took the elevator on up to the fifth floor, which was the one showing on the property records as leased to 'Amaranthine Enterprises.' Quentin Travers, among others, had been the name on the listing with the leasing agent. 

 

Stepping out into the simple, undecorated hallway she cautiously glanced around. The imposing office doors to her immediate left were closed. To her right was a narrow hallway.  She followed it, carefully trying all of the doors until she found an unlocked supply closet. It was small, but it would do as a hiding place until later tonight when she could search the offices unimpeded. Making sure her cell phone was off so as to not give her away, she closed the door behind her and settled in to wait. 

 

 

 

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Bored and stiff from the hours spent in the small closet, Elise opened the door carefully.  Stepping out into the hallway, she stifled a groan as she stretched her cramped muscles.  Checking her watch, she noted that it was already 2:15 am. She'd have a few hours before the morning security guard showed; less if the night guy was ambitious and actually made his rounds in the building. 

 

The first few offices she checked were unlocked and uninteresting. Nothing more than typical office paperwork - notes and memos, a few invoices and some financial statements, but nothing that would indicate that the office was anything more than some sort of import/export business. 

 

The last office in the corner was locked, though after several tries with a credit card she managed to work the door open.  That always worked so easily in the movies, she thought grumpily as she dropped her mangled Visa card back into her purse. 

 

The office belonged to Quentin Travers, or at least the travel documents on the desk indicated as much. Immediately her heart began to race in anticipation. 

 

Twenty minutes later, she sat at the desk slumped in disappointment.  She had gone through all of the drawers and files twice and found nothing even remotely suspicious, much less interesting. Even the file cabinet that appeared as though it was supposed to have been locked, but wasn't because the lock hadn't been pushed in quite far enough, hadn't contained anything of note.  Perhaps Wes had been right. Perhaps this Quentin Travers just coincidentally shared a name with the former Council leader.  

 

Deciding to look one last time just to be sure, Elise pulled the few files out of the desk drawer and began to flip through them again.  Man, this guy invests in some serious real estate, she thought as she flipped through file after file named for various places.  Most contained what appeared to be deeds or escrow materials, but little else.

 

Opening the file neatly titled "Eastwood Park", she squinted at the legal document inside. It was hard enough to read the small print in good light, much less the dim overhead fluorescent that stayed on at night, but this contract was markedly different from the others. Still, looking it over, it appeared to be another property transfer document.  Just as she was about to close the file disinterestedly, a phone number jotted on the inside corner of the folder caught her eye.  It was a Los Angeles number, and even more notably, one with the same area code and initial prefix as the Wolfram & Hart offices. Taking her pen out of her purse, she copied the number down on a receipt that had been tucked in her wallet.  Curiously, she flipped through the contract again.  She hadn't paid attention before, but now she noticed that the property was referred to only as 'Eastwood Park'; there was no specific address, even a city or country. The last page had signatures from Quentin Travers, and one from an 'Alex Smith', and one that was completely illegible.  It appeared to be more of a mark than a signature. She wrote down the name on the same receipt, then attempted to copy the mark on the document.  When she was done, she stuck the paper and pen back in her purse.  

 

With her curiosity sparked, she meticulously went through the rest of the files but found nothing else out of the ordinary.  Disappointed, she put everything back as she had found it and exited the offices. 

 

To avoid alerting the night security guard to her presence, Elise crept quietly down the stairs. She heard a noise just as she reached the second floor, and paused in alarm. 

 

A door on a floor above her opened, and a flashlight beam flickered close by her elbow as someone peered down the stairwell.  As soon as the light moved away from her, she continued down the stairs at an increased pace. 

 

She could hear footsteps now on the stairs, descending quickly.  With Wes' warning to not do something stupid ringing through her head, and the thought that she'd never hear the end of this if he found out, she raced down the last landing and burst through the metal doors. 

 

The front doors that opened out to the street were only a short distance away. Heedless of the possibility that the security guard might be at the desk, instead of the man behind her, or that the lobby doors might be locked and inoperable without a key of some sort, she sprinted through the lobby and shoved at the door without slowing her pace. Beyond thankful when it gave way, she flew out on the sidewalk.  

 

Knowing that there was a metro station a short distance away, she veered right and continued to run down the street. For once she was grateful that she had worn sensible shoes, instead of the heeled boots or impractically high sandals that tended to be the mainstay of her wardrobe. Despite the fact that the clear and quiet streets made it easier to run unimpeded, she wished that the streets were as busy now as they had been earlier that afternoon.  It would have been much easier to disappear into a crowd. 

 

She was about halfway to her destination when a yellow Mini-Cooper came racing down the road behind her. Glancing over her shoulder frantically, she pushed herself for more speed. The car passed her, then swerved around and came to an abrupt stop.  

 

Gasping, terror-stricken, and thinking that her life was surely over, Elise drew up short and stared at the car with wide eyes. 

 

The passenger door opened, and the man inside shouted, "Get in!" 

 

Uncertain, Elise peered cautiously at the auburn-haired man behind the wheel, then back over her shoulder. She thought she could hear footsteps in the distance as the person behind her closed the distance between them. 

 

"C'mon, we don't have much time," the driver of the car urged, revving the engine. 

 

Making a sudden, impulsive choice - and hoping that it would prove to be the lesser of two evils - Elise jumped into the car. The driver put it in gear and they speed away.  

 

Looking back, Elise saw the man that had been chasing her drop back into the distance. She couldn't tell if it was the security guard that she had seen earlier, or someone else. 

 

Still breathless, she turned back and studied the profile of her rescuer.  

 

After skillfully guiding the car onto Vauxhall Bridge Road heading toward Hyde Park, he glanced over at her briefly. "I'm Oz. You're Elise, right?" 

 

 

 

 

Part IX

 

 

"Uh, hi. And yeah, I'm Elise. Elise Seymour," she replied, still baffled by his sudden appearance and the fact that he knew her name. She still wasn't entirely convinced that she hadn't gone from one bad situation to the next, but she was attempting to keep an open mind. "So, uh, how did you… uh…" 

 

"Wesley called me." Oz stated flatly, expertly shifting gears and guiding the car off the main thoroughfare and on to a less traveled and darker side street. "Said he thought you might need some help."

 

"Ah." Elise breathed with relief, only to have her relief replaced a few seconds later with a sense of trepidation. "You, uh, work for Wolfram & Hart then?" 

 

"Oh, no," the former Sunnydale resident answered simply. 

 

"Can I ask how you know Wesley then?" she prompted. Her color was high, and her eyes were still overly bright from her earlier fright.

 

"We met in Sunnydale years ago." 

 

"Oh. Oh! You know Angel then? And Buffy?" she asked, studying him curiously. Her interest in the taciturn stranger was growing by the moment.

 

"Yeah." Oz answered distractedly as he watched the streets for his turn. 

 

"Small world," she offered. 

 

He nodded. "Yeah."

 

"What are you doing in London? That is, if you don't mind me asking." 

 

"Living, mostly." 

 

Elise wrinkled her brow as a sudden realization dawned. Yeah, Oz. He was my first and only real guy relationship. Willow! 

 

"You wouldn't happen to be the Oz that dated Willow, would you?" 

 

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he replied, "Yeah, that was me. You know Willow then?"

 

She nodded. "I do, but not very well." 

 

They drove for a few minutes before Elise found herself fidgeting uncomfortably at the silence.  

 

"Where are we going?" she asked as they wound their way through London's city streets. 

 

"I thought we'd crash at a friend's place."

 

"I'm staying at the Abbey Court hotel, over in Notting Hill. You can drop me there, that is, if you don't mind," she countered, tempering the last bit so as not to appear rude. She was grateful that he'd shown up when he did, after all. 

 

"I don't think you want to go back there tonight," he returned plainly. 

 

Her brows lifted. "You don't?" 

 

"Unless you know for sure that whoever that guy was that was behind you doesn't know who you are." He gave her an expressionless look. 

 

"Oh. Good point," she agreed, disheartened.   

 

"It'll be okay," Oz offered calmly. "And we'll find a way to get your things if it turns out that you can't go back." 

 

"Thank you," she replied. Sighing, she ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "So, do you keep in touch with Angel or Wes or any of the others then?" 

 

"Some, not much," he said, glancing over at her briefly. They drove in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. "Wes told me you just finished up a book on werewolves." 

 

"Yeah," she answered with a small smile. "It's supposed to be published in a few weeks." 

 

"I'd like to read it." 

 

"I'll be happy to give you a copy. Autographed, if you want. I mean, it's the least I can do after you, uh, you know, saved me back there." 

 

"Cool," he nodded, turning the car left and into a narrow alley.  

 

"You're interested in werewolves?" she asked, glancing out the window. They were in a run down section of London, but where exactly Elise couldn't say. 

 

"Um, yeah, I am. I mean, I am one, so yeah, I'm interested."  

 

Elise looked at him, astonished. She thought she had keen eye when it came to identifying demons and other creatures - even those that on the surface appeared normal - but Oz had taken her completely by surprise. 

 

"We're here," he said before she could collect her thoughts and make any comment about his surprising revelation. 

 

Pulling the car up to a large metal overhead door, he got out.  Elise waited as he opened the door then pulled the car into the dark building. He closed the door behind them with a loud crash. 

 

She eyed the dilapidated warehouse skeptically as she exited the car and followed Oz to the back and up some stairs to what appeared to have once been offices. Probably where the shop foremen watched the factory floor, she thought, noting that it looked like an old textile factory of sorts. 

 

Oz opened the nondescript door at the top of stairs, and Elise was surprised to find that the area had been converted into a surprisingly modern flat that looked like something right out of the pages of 'Architectural Digest'.  An off-white couch dominated the main living area, along with a large metal and marble table. A single blooming orchid plant sat in the center of the table. There were doors on the right to what appeared to be bedrooms and a bathroom. The kitchen was in the back corner of the room, the appliances and cabinets a gleaming stainless steel, the countertops an unusual blue. The floors throughout the flat were a rich, Brazilian cherry wood, keeping the place from looking too austere given the other, stark furnishings.  

 

"Nice place," she commented just as her gaze settled on the one thing that was a bit out of the ordinary: a cage with thick, heavy duty bars that set in the corner opposite the kitchen. 

 

"Thanks. You want something? I think there's some juice, or soda, beer…" Oz offered, crossing the room to the kitchen.  

 

"Anything stronger?" Elise questioned with a sigh, sinking down on the couch. 

 

"Uh, let me look," standing in the kitchen, he opened the lower cabinets and peered inside. He set one bottle on the counter, then another. "There's vodka and some tequila. A couple of bottles of wine, but they need to be decanted." 

 

"Vodka, if you don't mind. On ice, if you have it. Straight up, if not." 

 

Taking out two glasses, he filled them both with ice.  He poured vodka in one, and orange juice in the other. 

 

"If you don't mind me asking, what did Wesley tell you that sent you to save my life?" she asked half-facetiously, taking the glass from him as he sat next to her on the couch. 

 

Oz shrugged. "Just that a friend of his was probably getting into some trouble, and he asked if I wouldn't mind stopping by. He also said that he hadn't been able to reach you at your hotel or on your cell." 

 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. Reaching in her purse, she took out her forgotten phone and turned it on. Nine missed calls, four unheard messages. She grimaced guiltily. 

 

"He gave me an address, so I went over to check it out. I actually can't say that I expected to see you come running like a bat out of hell out of there, though." 

 

"Me either," she said on a deep exhalation of breath.  

 

"Did you get a look at the guy that was behind you?" 

 

"No, not really," she replied just before taking a big gulp of her drink. After the events of the night, she wanted something to help steady her frazzled nerves. "I guess it could have been the security guard." She couldn't say for certain, but she didn't think anyone had been sitting at the desk in the lobby when she raced by.  

 

"Did he get a good look at you?"

 

"No, at least I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "It was too dark in the stairwell, and I think he was too far behind me. And when I went in I tried to hide behind the people in front of me so he wouldn't really get a good look at me then either." 

 

Oz nodded. "Seems reasonable." 

 

Elise gazed back at him, her brow furrowed in thought. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask bouncing through her mind, but combined with the harrowing events of the night, she couldn't quite seem to form a coherent thought. She rubbed her forehead, as though it might help. 

 

Oz stood abruptly and stretched. "It's late. I'm going to get some sleep. The bathroom is through there, and there's the bedroom." 

 

"Um, okay," she said after a moment. After some rest she should be able to collect her thoughts; surely Oz would be around for a few days so she'd get another opportunity to pick his brain for information.  Picking up her phone, she added. "I think I'll give Wes a quick call and then do the same. Oh, and Oz?  Thank you." 

 

Nodding, Oz left the room. 

 

 

 

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"Hello, Elise?" Wes answered on the first ring, his phone clutched tightly in his hand as he made his way through the Wolfram & Hart offices up to the library.  The preliminary lab results were back on the unusual stone that had been in the package that Marcus had left on Angel's desk. The stone itself was andesite, somewhere between 1,100 and 1,500 years old, and appeared, after extensive chemical analysis, to be benign.  Now it was a question of deciphering the unusual etchings that covered most of the surface. 

 

"Hi, Wes." 

 

"Where have you been? I've left you several messages." Despite the strict admonishment in his tone, there was considerable relief as well. 

 

"I know. I'm sorry. Look, I did get into those offices, the ones belonging to the Council. I couldn't just… not, you know, go in," she admitted readily, albeit sheepishly. "But you can't say I told you so. At least not yet." She wasn't quite ready to tell him about her dramatic escape from the office and subsequent rescue; he'd find out soon enough, and she'd endure the lecture then. And if Angel found out, no doubt she'd hear from both of them about her recklessness - which was definitely something she could put off indefinitely. 

 

"Did you find something?" he asked, ducking into a relatively private alcove off the hallway. 

 

"I found several files that look like a property transfers to a company called 'Amaranthine Enterprises'.  Most of them were signed by a Quentin Travers." 

 

Wes rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Elise, that doesn't mean anything. As I told you before, it's quite possible that the name is simply a coincidence."  

 

"No, I know. But listen to this. There was a phone number written on the file. Hold on." Fumbling in her purse, she found her wallet and pulled out the paper.  She read the phone number to him.  

 

Puzzled, Wes asked her to repeat it. 

 

Elise did as he asked, hope rising that she had found something of significance. 

 

"That's a number here at Wolfram & Hart," Wes said flatly. 

 

"Yes, I know," she said with a touch of impatience. "That's why I thought it was odd. Can you find out who it belongs to?"

 

"Are you sure you copied it down correctly?" 

 

"Yes, I copied it down correctly," Elise retorted tersely. "And check and see if there's an Alex Smith there. That's the other name on the contract. Maybe it's his number, or maybe he works at Wolfram & Hart, too. The only other thing was some kind of mark or symbol. I can't describe it, but I tried to copy it down. I'll see if I can get it scanned and send it to you." 

 

Taking his pen out of his pocket, he copied the number down on the top of the stack of papers in his hand. 

 

"Very well," he replied as he studied the number he had written down, as if the digits themselves might reveal something interesting. It was admittedly curious how a Wolfram & Hart number might end up on a file halfway around the world. 

 

"The other thing that's odd?" she continued as she stood and crossed the room to the kitchen.

 

"Yes?" he asked, tucking the paper in his pocket and returning his attention to the conversation. 

 

"The property deed or whatever it was. There was no address, no city or even a country. Just a name, 'Eastwood Park'."  She turned on the water, rinsing her glass in the sink. 

 

"What was that again?" he asked, uncertain if he heard correctly over the background noise. 

 

"The property listed on the transfer. There-" 

 

"No, not that part," he interrupted, frowning. "The name. What did you say it was?" 

 

"Eastwood Park. Do you know it?" 

 

"No, not really," he began, searching his memory for anything else that he could recall about the area. "It's Falfield, near Bristol. But this time let me check it out before you decide to venture down there." 

 

"But Wes-" 

 

"Elise, it will only take me a day or two to check this out. You can wait that long. As a returned favor for me, if nothing else." 

 

"Okay," she murmured, acquiescing. Her instincts were fairly screaming to head to Eastwood Park first thing tomorrow, but since he asked, she would wait. It was a show of restraint that she wouldn't make for just anyone, and for a fleeting moment she wondered at the ease of her capitulation.  She must be overtired, she thought. "But call me as soon as you find anything, okay?" 

 

"I will." 

 

 

 

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Angel walked across the rooftop until he reached the edge. It was one of the few places at Wolfram & Hart where he felt that he could get even a small measure of respite from the seemingly never-ending stream of evil that crossed his desk. As he knew all too well, it didn't stop there… it seemed to permeate every aspect of his life.

 

Absently he stared out at the familiar lights of Los Angeles just as he had done countless nights before.  He had spent hours in this same spot, long, painful hours, contemplating what might have happened to Buffy.  He missed her still, and the fact that he had never found her set heavily upon him.  

 

He had just lit a cigarette when the door behind him opened. Footsteps crunched across the gravel rooftop, as Wes strode over to stand next to him.  The former Watcher stood there for a moment, looking at him. 

 

Angel blew out a cloud of smoke, not yet acknowledging his friend's presence. 

 

"I didn't know you smoked." Wes said at last. 

 

The vampire gave him a sidelong glance. "I don't."

 

Wes glanced pointedly at the lit cigarette in his hand. 

 

"Well, not often." Angel admitted awkwardly. He took another drag and exhaled. The smoke drifted off in the light breeze. 

 

"The results on the stone are back from the lab. It registers less than .10 nanocuries per gram, so it's not radioactive. It's andesite, meaning it's from a volcanic region.  The lab is doing some sample matches now. The etchings are similar to those made by the ancient Nasca people in Peru - though of course those were on a much larger scale. Most of them even required aerial photographs to identify the pattern. It was quite fascinating, really. I'm working on interpreting the glyphs, I should have preliminary analysis in another few days."

 

"I also interviewed Marcus," he continued on. "He doesn't seem to know anything about the origins of the stone or the stone itself. If he is to be believed, and Lorne seems to think he should be after getting him to sing a few bars of 'Summer Wind', then he truly just delivered the package without any knowledge of its contents or it's significance. We'll keep working on it, of course." 

 

"Good." Angel answered distractedly. 

 

Quirking an eyebrow at the surprising lack of interest in his findings, Wes inquired, "Tough day?"

 

Angel shrugged. "When isn't it?" 

 

"Some days are better than others," Wes admitted easily. 

 

"Better?" Angel snorted. "I guess it all depends on your perspective."  He stubbed the cigarette out on the nearby wall and flicked the butt away. 

 

For a moment Wes was taken aback at the gesture, which was eerily reminiscent of Angelus. 

 

"Don't worry, Wes." Angel smiled grimly. "I can't lose my soul." 

 

"I am well aware of that," his friend retorted equably. "I'm the one that actually convinced you of that fact, quite some time ago if you recall. Several times I suggested that you could have meaningful relationships now that the secret of the curse had been revealed.  And when everyone else had written off any chance for you to resume your relationship with Buffy-" 

 

He stopped abruptly, casting a guilty glance at Angel. "I'm sorry. I didn't-" 

 

"You can mention her name, Wes," Angel replied flatly. "I'd prefer it to everyone acting instead like she never existed, like she was never here, never part of my life, of their lives. Like she never simply vanished without a trace-"  

 

He broke off as Wes put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry.  We know that you miss her. We all miss her," he said kindly.

 

It took him a very long time to reply, a rush of painful memories flooding his mind, all the what ifs and should haves that had haunted him this last year still fresh and raw.  When he finally spoke, his voice was low and pained, "You don't understand how I feel. You can't." 

 

"Perhaps not," the former Watcher admitted with a shrug, thinking for a moment of Lilah, and of his father. Dropping his hand he walked over to the edge and looked down at the currently empty sidewalk. "But we've all experienced some pain at the loss of a loved one."

 

"I never thought it would come to this," Angel said, looking off into the distance. "I thought I'd have to face losing her some fifty, sixty, seventy years in the future, not now. Not after only a few short years. If only I had known… I could have done things differently." 

 

"But we can't know," Wes returned, his voice soft. "That's the mystery of life, isn't it? Not knowing the future." 

 

"No, we can't," Angel conceded sadly, reminded of the words he himself had said to Buffy years ago. It had been at the docks, when he had been about to leave Sunnydale with the arm of The Judge to keep Drusilla and Spike from reassembling him.  It had also been the night that they had made love for the first time, an experience so profound he remembered every moment with vivid clarity. Their connection had grown stronger that night, even without the vampire ritual of blood exchange. The demon had felt it in the months that followed - that constant tug at his heart, and his gut, and his blood, and his very soul. It was an unrelenting reminder of his humanity and of his soul, and it had chafed Angelus sorely. It chafed him, even as it enticed him as strongly as it ever had his souled self.  

 

Shaking away the memories, Angel returned his gaze to Wes' face. "If anyone knows that you can't dwell in the past, it should be me. But I can't forget…" 

 

"You won't," Wes assured him. "No one expects you to, either. We can't control what happens to us in this world, particularly when we're sitting on the very precipice of evil, but we will always have our memories. You and Buffy had something very special; nothing will ever change that." 

 

Angel nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. God knows he was far from deserving of even what little happiness he had been able to grasp, after all he had done. Perhaps he had been too greedy in wanting more. 

 

"I spoke to Elise earlier," Wes said as a segueway to the topic that had risen to the forefront of his mind during their conversation. 

 

"Oh? How is she?" Angel asked politely. He had talked to her a few days ago himself, the conversation mostly about the sights of London. Curiously, she hadn't mentioned her aunt at all, and he had forgotten to ask about her health. Next time, he mentally reminded himself. 

 

"She's fine. You haven't talked with her?" 

 

"A few days ago." 

 

"And she, uh, didn't say anything about her visit?" Wes inquired curiously. All afternoon Wes had debated how much to tell Angel about Elise's trip to London and her suspicions about the Watcher's Council reforming, before finally deciding to keep it to himself - for now. Until he had time to research the name and number she gave him, all they had was improbable speculation, which was far from conclusive evidence of anything. And, he concluded, it would be Elise's place to tell Angel about her research when the time came.

 

"Not really. She mentioned that she was planning on going sightseeing in London and to Harrods to do some shopping."  Angel looked at his friend quizzically. "Should she have?" 

 

"No, no." Wes reassured him quickly, hoping that no guilt of deception showed in his eyes. "I just wondered if she was having a good time." 

 

"Ah. I thought you would have asked her that when you talked to her," Angel offered mildly. 

 

"Oh, I should've. No doubt she thinks me quite rude now." 

 

Angel studied the former Watcher for a moment.  "I doubt it." 

 

"She was visiting Westminster Abbey, and was asking me if there was any information in the library on paranormal activities there," Wes offered as an excuse for his earlier conversation with Elise. "I suppose she's looking for ideas for her next book. I believe she mentioned having an outline due to her editor soon." 

 

"And was there?" 

 

"I haven't found anything yet." Wes returned with a shrug. 

 

"Ah. Well, if there's anything to find, you'll find it."  For a fleeting moment Angel wondered if there was something more between Wes and Elise than friendship. He could see how there would be a connection between them, given their common background and shared interests. 

 

"Perhaps," Wes agreed noncommittally. 

 

"How about a drive down to the pier? I thought I'd check out that Thorak demon sighting myself, and I could use some company." Angel asked, changing the subject. 

 

Nodding, Wes followed Angel toward the rooftop exit.  

 

 

 

 

Part X

 

 

It was nearly dawn, and Wes sat at his desk carefully reading the next document from the stack of papers in front of him. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot; two days growth of stubble covered his cheeks, and his clothes were the same ones he'd been wearing the day before.  

 

The simple check of the phone number and name that Elise had given him had led him on an odyssey through the building that began in the personnel offices the night before last and ended in the basement files almost a day later.  Intrigued by the bits and pieces of information he had found, he had spent reminder of last night holed up in his office reading and rereading, trying to make some sense of all of it.  

 

The phone number had belonged to a Serge Dobryshkin, who was no longer with Wolfram & Hart. Pulling his personnel file, Wes found that he had been with the law firm for about two years, working in IT for Willow as a System Administrator.  He was originally from Tver, Russia, though he had been in the United States for eight years. From all indications, he was hard-working, brilliant, and one of the top performers in the department, until his sudden departure a year ago. No reason was listed for his leaving, so it was unclear whether he had quit or been fired. A brief search of the Los Angeles phone directory offered several Dobryshkins, but none by the name of Serge. It didn't mean much; his number could be unlisted or he could have left the area. 

 

Alex Smith had proved to be a bit more revealing. A lawyer with more than twenty years experience at Wolfram & Hart, he specialized in asset protection planning, construction law, evictions, land contracts and trusts, and real property.  After graduation from Georgetown, he worked at the New York branch of Wolfram & Hart for four years before transferring to the California office.  He had been the principal attorney on the larger real estate transactions for the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart, until his death on August 18, 2000.  He had been found in his office on the 18th floor, slumped over his desk. The cause of death was determined to have been an aneurysm, at least that's what was documented on the Los Angeles Country coroner's report, a copy of which was in his personnel file. Oddly, the acquisition of 'Eastwood Park' had been one of his last cases.

 

Tracking the contract for that particular deal had required considerable persistence. The file in the standard real estate transaction files contained only a single page with a reference number.  The reference number, once decrypted, led to another set of files; files which happened to be stored in the cavernous vaults of the Wolfram & Hart basement.  It had taken nearly two hours of searching before the cabinet containing the file was located; another hour before Wes managed to figure out the magical lock. 

 

One thing that Wes had to say about Alex Smith: he kept meticulous records. There wasn't just one file on Eastwood Park; there were twenty-six. 

 

Wes scanned through them until he found the actual contract. Pulling it out, he quickly flipped to the last page.  A chill had crawled up his spine at the first glimpse of the signatures. There could be no doubt that the Council - or at least the Quentin Travers - had been involved in the purchase of Eastwood Park.  His scrawling penmanship had been immediately recognizable. 

 

Impulsively, and since he was already in the basement, Wesley went to another familiar cabinet and combed through the files until he found one that he was actually hoping didn't exist: Quentin Travers had a personal contract on file with Wolfram & Hart, and in it, the standard perpetuity clause. That explained how he had survived the explosion that killed the other watchers. Just like Lilah, Quentin could be brought back from the dead until the Senior Partners chose otherwise. 

 

With a growing sense of unease, he tucked the stack of files on Eastwood Park under his arm, and took them back to his office for further review and study. That had been almost ten hours ago.  

 

Sighing, Wesley closed the file and ran a hand over his face. He still wasn't quite sure how it all fit together. 

 

The procurement of Eastwood Park had begun at the request of the Senior Partners in July of 1999; there was nothing to indicate that Quentin had been the initial requestor, though the timing was coincidental as Quentin's own contract was dated June of 1999.  The acquisition took over a year of negotiations, finally closing on August 12, 2000 - only six days before the former Wolfram & Hart lawyer was found dead in his office.  The seller, as it turned out, was a kamadi demon, which explained the unusual mark on the contract. Kamadi demons were typically illiterate, as well as notoriously simple minded.

 

Alex Smith had taken several trips to London during the months prior to the contract execution; copies of his expense reports were maintained in one of the files. He and a guest dined at such exclusive restaurants as La Gavroche, The Connaught, and Nobu.  During that same time, he had also taken several trips to a place referred to simply as Bjoutan. 

 

Several files down in the stack was the folder devoted exclusively to Bjoutan. It had been the home of the kamadi demons for centuries, until, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone, or at least undocumented in any of the files, they had traded it for several acres of land on the east side of the Island of Java, near the Kelut volcano. A little research had shown that coincidentally, or perhaps not so given the way that Wolfram & Hart tended to operate, the land was practically uninhabitable given the heavy tephra fall and relatively frequent eruptions of Kelut. The kamadi certainly hadn't gotten much in the bargain, unless they actually liked living in the shadow of the volcano. 

 

Bjoutan, unlike the island property that it had been traded for, was apparently not covered with tropical rainforests, fertile soil or active volcanoes. However, the two areas did share the monsoon-like weather conditions, and high humidity. The one other thing that significantly differentiated the two areas… Bjoutan was not in this dimension. In the file was a twelve page narrative on the magic required to open the portal that was needed to gain access to the dimension. It was written entirely in the language used for the Avesta, the sacred book of Zoroastrianism, by someone named Morgana. Until that moment, Wes had never seen the language used other than the rare glimpses at the surviving bits of the aforementioned manuscript. Needless to say, it was a bit of witchcraft that was not for the unskilled or faint of heart. 

 

There were no other names on any of the documents, making it appear as though Alex Smith alone had worked with Quentin Travers and whatever kamadi demon had marked the document to indicate his or her acceptance of the deal. The price was also not disclosed, which was most unusual for a land and title contract pertaining to a real estate sale. 

 

Still, after reading through all the files carefully, Wes couldn't figure out why the code name 'Eastwood Park' had been chosen, what the Watcher's Council would have wanted with such an inaccessible dimension, or how and why anyone from the Watcher's Council - a once time-honored, venerable organization devoted to good - had gotten involved with Wolfram & Hart at all. 

 

Initial research on places named 'Eastwood Park' offered no additional clarification. There were Eastwood Parks in Canada, Jamaica, Alabama, and Scotland, among others.  The most likely reference was, of course, Eastwood Park near Bristol. Quentin would have known that area over the others; but there was nothing that struck Wes immediately as relevant or significant.  Eastwood Park had once been a family estate that had eventually been purchased by The Commissioners of His Majesty's Works and Public Buildings and turned into a school, and later a District Police training center. Currently it operates as a training and conference center, as well as a popular destination for weddings.  

 

Sighing, Wes slipped the last document he had last been reading back into the folder and closed it. It wasn't making any sense, though he felt that there was something that he was missing. It was just the kind of thing he would normally take to Angel, who - if he didn't immediately have the answer himself - always somehow managed to ask the right questions that would unlock the mystery. Of course, he couldn't exactly do that with this one, at least not just yet. 

 

He swiveled his chair around to the window and looked out at the graying light of dawn. Did he risk attempting to contact Quentin himself? Almost certainly the former head of the Council knew about his employment at Wolfram & Hart, and given the recently discovered connection between the two organizations, the contact wouldn't be completely implausible.  He would, however, need to frame an acceptable excuse. The timing was too coincidental with Elise in London and asking questions.  He had no doubt that the Council knew about her, given that her father's old friend was apparently still involved with the organization. The man would have been required to disclose the fact that he had seen her, even if he covered up any details around their visit or her search through his office. 

 

What about Rupert Giles? Was he in contact with this new Council?  It was certainly possible; he did have the Slayers in Training in London, after all. Perhaps he should give him a call…

 

"Wesley?" 

 

At the sound of his name, Wes started and whirled around in his chair. Deep in thought, he hadn't heard the door to his office open. 

 

"Willow. You're here early." 

 

"I was just about to say the same to you," the red-haired woman commented as she walked in to his office. She was carrying a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "You've been burning the midnight oil around here a lot lately."

 

"Yes, well, you know what they say about idle hands," Wes remarked with a smile.  

 

"Ah, yes, the devil's work. That's the saying, isn't it?" 

 

"Yes," he agreed  with a nod, "And there's plenty of that around here, as we all know. Devil's work, not the idle hands." 

 

"So what have you been working on that's keeping your hands not in the idle state?" she asked brightly as she took a seat across from him. 

 

"The usual, or rather the unusual. Mainly I've been researching these symbols," he began as he shuffled though the papers on his desk to pick up a copy he had made of the etchings he had made from the stone that Marcus Hamilton had delivered to Angel.  He sat the other documents aside, unintentionally covering the Eastwood Park files. 

 

"Sumerian?" she asked as she glanced at the document he held up for her perusal. 

 

"Perhaps, though they're similar to the Nasca lines. Much smaller in scale, of course." 

 

Nodding, Willow studied the drawing for a moment. "Isn't there some theory about the Nasca lines being some sort of energy collector or transmitter?  That at some point on the diagram there's actually the key to your soul?" 

 

Wesley considered her words thoughtfully before slowly nodding. "I believe you're right. That was one theory behind the symbols. And certainly we all understand the importance of Angel retaining his soul, though the Senior Partners might prefer otherwise. It wouldn't be out of the question that they would gift him with something that might alter that particular condition." 

 

Shrugging, Willow took a sip of her coffee. "I didn't think he could lose his soul now. Are you saying you think otherwise?" 

 

"I'm saying I wouldn't put it past the Senior Partners - or any of a number of other evil entities around here for that matter - to try."  

 

"Ah. But it won't do any good, right?" 

 

"Doubtful," Wes answered, studying the diagram intently now. 

 

"Good. I mean because I don't mind not having to resoul him any time soon. Twice is more than enough for any one person." 

 

"Indeed," he replied absently, his mind now occupied with the various possibilities of how the stone might be used to affect one's soul. 

 

"Hey, so I haven't seen Elise around lately. Are she and Angel not seeing each other anymore?" Willow asked casually.

 

"Hm? Oh, she's away. Visiting a sick aunt I believe." Dragging his gaze away from the paper, he finally looked back at his morning visitor. 

 

"Oh. Then they're still together?" 

 

"I… I'm not entirely sure," he answered truthfully. 

 

Willow shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought it was in bad taste for him to get involved with someone so soon after Buffy, you know, just disappeared." 

 

"Yes, well, life is rarely black and white. I think that in one's darkest hours of grief, they can be moved to do things that they wouldn't otherwise. Some seek revenge against whatever target they blame for their pain, thinking that will help." Wes pointed out, not noticing the anger that briefly flashed over her features. "Others… may seek a momentary respite in some other form. We all deal with grief differently." 

 

"Hm," she sniffed irritably. "I guess." 

 

Wes offered a smile to break the tension. "You're comment on the stone etchings is a big help, I think. Thank you.  And now I'm sure you didn't come in this early just for that, as much as I appreciate the tip…"   

 

"No, I didn't," Willow said, rising to her feet. "I'm working on a plan to covert the majority of our paper files to electronic format. It's more secure, and will take a whole lot less space. Plus, we'll know who's looking at what when. We can't exactly do that with paper, unless we want to dust every thing for fingerprints every few days." 

 

"Ah, sounds intriguing," he returned calmly. He wondered for a fleeting moment if she knew somehow about his recent searches through the Wolfram & Hart archives. He struggled to keep from looking down at his desk at the incriminating stack of files; he didn't exactly want to explain those to anyone else just yet. "But I didn't mean to suggest that you should leave. Though it's early, I'm enjoying the company." 

 

"I know," she said, returning his smile. "But I really should get going. There's never enough hours in the day around here to get everything done that needs to get done." 

 

"Agreed." Wes nodded with a sigh.  

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

"I don't suppose Wesley told you the real reason why I'm here?" Elise asked as Oz cleared the table from their late lunch.  Oz had picked up Thai from a restaurant nearby while Elise called Wes. Over lunch she excitedly updated Oz with Wesley's findings; they all agreed that they were on to something but what, exactly, was what remained to be seen. 

 

"No, I guess he didn't." 

 

"I'm sure you can guess, given what's going on. I'm researching my next book," she explained. "I'm planning on writing about Buffy, and about Angel. Changing their names, of course. I had come to London see Rupert Giles and Dawn, when all of this just, sort of happened." 

 

"Ah," Oz replied without expression. 

 

"You said you knew them, right? Buffy and Angel, when you were all in Sunnydale," she said, tucking her feet under her as she sat at the table and watched him move around the kitchen with comfortable efficiency.

 

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. 

 

"So what did you think?" 

 

"Of?" 

 

"A Slayer dating a vampire." 

 

He shrugged. "Not one to judge. Werewolf, remember?" 

 

"I didn't mean it that way… just, is there anything you can share with me about their relationship? Some night on the town, something you guys all did. Anything at all." 

 

"Well, there was prom," he replied after a long moment.

 

"And?" Elise questioned eagerly, hopeful for some new bit of information that she could use in her book. She wanted details. She wanted to know about conversations that they had, things that they had done. She wanted a glimpse at the life that Buffy and Angel had led together.

 

"And… Buffy looked great. Kicked ass on these hell hounds that were all set to attack the kids, and got this class protector award," he paused in recollection. "Angel showed up, and it just sort of made the night perfect for her. But it was bittersweet actually." 

 

"Because?" 

 

"Because it was just for the night. They had already broken up, and Angel was planning on leaving town."   

 

"Oh," Elise responded softy, feeling suddenly like a heel for asking. She was prying into someone's very personal, very private life - and there were moments, like this one, that reminded her very clearly of that fact.  She didn't say anything else until Oz finished and sat down across from her at the table. 

 

"So tell me about you and Willow," she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, despite her recriminations. 

 

Oz looked over at her. "Not much to tell." 

 

"But you dated?" she pressed inquisitively. 

 

"It was your typical high school relationship," he returned vaguely. 

 

"Were you in love?" 

 

Oz sighed. "Yeah, at least as much as you can be when you're 18." 

 

"What happened?" 

 

"You ask a lot of questions." 

 

"I'm sorry. It's a trait of mine," she apologized with a small smile. "Too personal?" 

 

"A little," he replied plainly. 

 

"I meet a lot of people that like talking about themselves.  It's rare to find someone that likes to keep things private," she excused, genuinely contrite. She was too nosy, a little pushy, and often impatient; she knew that about herself but it wasn't easy to change - especially if those very same characteristics were often the ones that helped her to get the better stories. "Sorry if it comes across like an interrogation."

 

"It's okay. I just don't really-" 

 

"Like talking about yourself or your friends," she finished for him when he trailed off.

 

"Something like that, yeah," he agreed with a nod. 

 

"Understood. I know I don't have the restraint to not ask you any more questions, but I'll try to keep them to a few at a time and a bit less personal," she offered with an apologetic smile. "So can I still get that ride over to St. Margaret's?" 

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Elise waited in Giles' office for almost an hour before he returned, one of the Slayers in Training close on his heels.  He introduced Elise as a family friend, which was met with a skeptical look by the young woman named Stephanie. She closed the door behind her with a smirk, leaving them alone.  Elise had no doubt that within minutes the other girls at the school would be hearing some juicy, albeit untrue, gossip about Giles and the woman in his office.  

 

Chuckling, she said as much to him as she took a seat opposite his desk. 

 

"Yes, well, several of the girls have been trying to set me up with Ms. Cottswald at the bakery. They don't think I get out enough," he replied with a wry smile. 

 

"Perhaps you don't," she said laughingly. She didn't doubt that there were many women that would find the former Watcher attractive.   

 

"What brings you out here again so soon?" Giles asked, changing the subject to one less personal. Though the school and the training kept him extremely busy, he got out more than the girls even suspected. Ms. Cottswald was only one of several women in town that enjoyed his company. 

 

"I hope you don't mind me dropping in unexpectedly," Elise began earnestly, "but I needed to clarify a couple of things."

 

"No, it's quite all right. I do have a history lesson in, oh, twenty, minutes, so if it won't take longer than that…" 

 

Glancing at her watch, she nodded. "Then I'll get right to it.  I understand that the Council was destroyed back in 2002…" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"When did they reform?" Reaching in her bag, she took out her notebook and pen. She didn't really need them for this particular interview, but she often felt more comfortable with them in her hand. 

 

"Reform?" Giles repeated, surprised. "I wasn't aware that they had." 

 

"Are you certain? Because I have heard rumors suggesting otherwise."  

 

"I ended my affiliation with the Council quite some time ago. I disagreed with many of their practices," he admitted honestly. "So even if the Council has reformed, it's doubtful that they would have contacted me." 

 

"Really?  That surprises me given that you're the one training so many young Slayers, I would have thought you'd have been one of the first people that they would have contacted. I mean, after all, where better to find Slayers to watch?" she mused somewhat disbelievingly. 

 

"Yes, well, the Council, as you may know from your experiences with your stepfather, tends to be rather inflexible about most things. One of those was membership. I don't think anyone that ever left, or was dismissed from, the Council was ever admitted back in." 

 

"Do you think it's possible that they reformed?" she asked, watching his expression intently. 

 

Giles shrugged. "Possible, though unlikely.  When the offices were destroyed, most of those that were considered to be the managing executives were inside. They were all killed in the blast, leaving only a few scattered Watchers left alive to pick up the pieces." 

 

"Well, what about those Watchers? Wouldn't they have gotten together and done something?" she questioned.  

 

"I don't know that they really had any incentive to reform the organization," he said speculatively. 

 

"Did you consider it yourself?" 

 

"Not really, at least not in the formal sense. Informally, of course, we have a similar system. I've been training Dawn as well as Andrew.  Certain aspects of the knowledge - at least what little of it I still possess - will be passed on."  

 

"Why not make it formal? Round up a few of the former Watchers and put something together?  You could undoubtedly use the help…" she suggested. 

 

The former Watcher shifted uncomfortably.  When he spoke, his tone was cool. "Tradition for tradition's sake is not something I'm particularly interested in at this time. The girls need practical knowledge, and practical training. That's how they will survive. There are only a few surviving members from the Council that I believe would take that approach, and frankly, I don't have the time nor the patience to deal with the rest." 

 

"You seem quite passionate about this," Elise surmised thoughtfully. She wasn't sure why, but her instincts were telling her that Rupert Giles was telling her the truth. If the Council had reformed, then he wasn't aware of it or involved. Still, she wasn't about to divulge all that she knew. 

 

"Well, then, I suppose that's because I am," he agreed. "And now I'm sorry, but I really must prepare for class." 

 

"I'll walk with you, if you don't mind. I have just a couple of last questions." Dropping her pad and pen in her bag, she rose gracefully to her feet.  

 

They walked out of the office and into the hallway. 

 

"Have you ever heard the name, Eastwood Park?" she asked in a hushed voice as they walked along. 

 

"Yes," he replied, a perplexed expression on his face.  

 

Her nerves leapt anxiously, though she tried to hide her excitement. "What do you know about it?"

 

"Other than that it's near Bristol, not much really." 

 

Elise sighed, disappointed. She had been hoping for something more.

 

"Why do you ask?" 

 

"No reason, I was, uh, just thinking of taking a trip there so I wanted to find out if it was worth a visit," she excused. "What about Bjoutan? Have you ever heard that name?" 

 

Giles looked thoughtful as he considered her question. Shaking his head, he replied, "No… not that I recall." 

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

"I think I found something that you might be interested in," Oz said as Elise climbed into the car. He had dropped her off near St. Margaret's several hours ago, explaining that he was going to make some inquiries on his own about the information that they had gotten from Wesley. 

 

"Yeah, what's that?" she asked, leaning back against the seat tiredly.  She hadn't slept much in the last couple of days, her mind on overdrive due to the recent discoveries.  She, like Wes, was still puzzling over how it all fit together. She had hoped that her conversation with Mr. Giles would have been more enlightening, but that had not proved to be the case. 

 

"I found a guy, part demon, that says he knows something about Bjoutan," he returned, easing the car into traffic. 

 

"Really?" Elise perked up interestedly. "That was fast. Really fast." She frowned. "Too fast." 

 

"Surprisingly," he answered flatly, also skeptical of how quickly he was able to find the information. "I know some people that know people, so I put the word out. I thought it'd be awhile, if we got anything at all. I guess we'll see if we got lucky." 

 

"Or someone is lying," she replied suspiciously. "So what does this guy know?" 

 

"I don't know. The guy that turned me on to him says he's credible. I figured we'll listen to what he says then we'll decide." 

 

She gave him a brief update on her conversation with Giles as they drove, then they rode in silence the rest of the way.  Reaching Greenwich, Oz parked the car and they got out.  The streets were relatively busy with people going in and out of the various pubs and bars that lined the street. 

 

Just past Trafalgar Tavern, they took the stairs up to a relatively quiet bar. Elise recognized the symbols along the wall as one that identified the place as a demon friendly establishment, though it wasn't obvious, even after they stepped through the heavy iron door. 

 

She followed Oz inside, where he stopped and talked quietly to the bartender for a few minutes. They seemed to be well acquainted, and Elise hung back to give them some privacy for their conversation. Eventually, the woman nodded, and pointed them toward the back.  Winding their way through the tables, they stopped when they reached the one in the back corner where a man with long, thick dark hair and an equally thick mustache sat drinking a beer. There were several empty glasses on the table, indicating that the man had been there for awhile. Except for the gills on either side of his face, he appeared human. 

 

"You Gary's friend?" Oz asked plainly. 

 

"Yeah. Name's Rhys," he muttered, holding out his hand. Next he glanced past Oz to Elise. He blatantly looked her over with beady eyes, as he stretched out his hand. "You the writer?" 

 

"Yeah," she answered, returning his handshake. Afterwards she had to resist wiping away the feeling of his sweaty, slimy palm on hers.

 

"You're going to put my info in a book if I tell you what I know about Bjoutan?" he asked bluntly. 

 

"Um, okay, yeah, sure," she replied, wondering what Oz had offered in order to get this meeting. 

 

"How much is it worth to you?"

 

"Worth?" she repeated dumbly.

 

"Money, honey. Talk may be cheap, but it ain't free. You make money off them books of yours. I want a cut if you're going to use my 411." 

 

"Okay. If your information is useful, then I'll give you…" Glancing at Oz she lifted her eyebrows questioningly. In response, he covertly held up his hand. Turning back to the guy at the table, she continued, "20 euros." 

 

Oz grimaced. He had meant 200 not 20. 

 

"I want 50," the half-demon grunted, surprising them both.

 

"Okay," she answered with feigned reluctance, attempting to keep the surprise out of her voice. 

 

"But let's talk out back," Rhys suggested quietly. "I can't be seen saying anything here, if you know what I mean." 

 

Elise looked at Oz who nodded agreeably before answering. "Of course, yes." 

 

The three of them trooped out the side door and into a narrow alley.  Oz and Elise watched as the half-demon checked all the nooks and crannies carefully, including the area along the River Thames, before returning to stand in front of them. 

 

"So tell us what you know," Elise prompted tersely. The cool, dank air and less than pleasant smells coming from the water or the demon - she couldn't tell which - weren't helping to curb her impatience.

 

"Gimme my money first," he demanded, holding out one beefy hand. 

 

Reaching in her purse, Elise took out a few bills and handed them over. "Okay, part now. The rest after you tell us what you know." 

 

"Look, you can't use my name," he insisted gruffly. "There are people that don't want people talking about this kind of thing." 

 

"I don't reveal my information sources," she returned haughtily, as if he were questioning her integrity.

 

"Not even by description," the half-demon continued adamantly. "You can't say nothing to no one about what I'm going to tell you." 

 

"I won't, I promise. Look, I talk to uh, people, all the time about things like this and never disclose the informant. I understand the risk that you take simply by talking to me." 

 

The half-demon scrutinized her apprehensively for a long moment. 

 

"Please, just tell us what you know about Bjoutan," she asked politely, hiding her frustration. 

 

Pursing his lips, Rhys shrugged. "It's hot, it's humid. They have monsoons.  Mainly though, what I think you want to know is that it's a prison and it's in some other dimension." 

 

"What?" Elise's eyes widened. "You're joking, surely." 

 

He shook his head. "Clean the wax outta yer ears. I didn't stutter, and I ain't joking. It's a prison. Jail. Lock-up. You know, the can." 

 

"Are you sure about this?" she questioned with disbelief, glancing at Oz. "How do you know?"

 

"I hear things." The half-demon shrugged contemptuously.

 

Elise stared at him. "Who's imprisoned there?" 

 

"Demons, I guess, though mostly from what I heard it's Slayers in there." At her look of alarm he added matter-of-factly, "Hey, most of 'em deserve to be there. They abused their powers, or what have ya." 

 

"But who… who runs it?" Stunned, she looked back at Oz. She knew or could guess, but she dared not say it for risk of planting the idea in the head of the demon in front of her. They needed to know what he knew without leading him to any answers.

 

"I dunno. Mostly the guys that go there don't come back. My cousin Freddie, he signed on to work there a coupla years ago. He ain't a demon like me, he's all human. Our fathers were brothers. I'm demon on my mother's side. Anyway, he came back once or twice, but after that - nothing. Never heard from him again. We was told that he permanently relocated to Bjoutan but I dunno that he'd do that." 

 

Oz frowned. "You think something happened to him?"

 

"Maybe, I don't know." The half-demon wiped a sweaty hand across his face. 

 

"Why'd he take the job there?" Elise asked, licking her lips nervously. 

 

"Money, why else?"  The created snorted noisily. "From everything I heard, they ain't got no problem finding people, demon or human, to guard the place. Pay's good. The work ain't hard. The prisoners are kept drugged with something that keeps them weak as kittens. And then there's the perks - if you get my drift." 

 

At his obvious leer, Elise stepped back and tried to hide her disgust. If any of this was true… she shuddered to think of the implications.  

 

Agitated, Oz paced a short distance away. 

 

"Names. Give me some names of some of the women there," she insisted, her voice wavering slightly.   

 

"How the hell should I know who the dumb bitches are?" Rhys countered indignantly as he cast a suspicious eye over his shoulder at her companion. 

 

"You hear things," she asserted coolly, her composure returning somewhat though her stomach was churning anxiously. 

 

"I didn't hear no names." 

 

"Not even one?" 

 

"Buffy," Oz snarled, grabbing the demon's shoulder and turning him around to face him. The two men were similar in height, though Rhys probably outweighed Oz by a good fifty pounds. "Is she there? Did you hear that name?" 

 

"Angelus' bitch?" The half-demon smirked, shaking off the other man's grip. "You mean that Buffy?" 

 

Clenching his jaw, Oz nodded.  

 

"Maybe, yeah. They keep everything about that place locked up tighter than your mother's ass, but I'm pretty sure I heard that name. It's not one of those names that you hear a lot, ya know, so it kinda stands out." 

 

"How sure?" Oz persisted, his eyes narrowing darkly.

 

"It's worth an extra 100 euros," Elise interjected, holding out the money. 

 

"I think Freddie may have mentioned the name." The half-demon admitted, turning back to Elise and snatching the money from her hand. "And hey," he excused lamely, as he stuffed the bills in his pocket, "A lotta demons were glad to see her off the streets. She was rough on the population. I'm not saying that I was one of em, mind you, just that I understand their perspective." 

 

"Do you know anyone else we can talk to? How about the guy that hired your cousin to work there? Where can we find him?" Elise queried, her sense of unease growing steadily. "How can we get to Bjoutan?" 

 

"There ain't no one else but me that knows this stuff. And you can't get there, leastwise without knowing the right people." 

 

"You don't know who hired your cousin?" she repeated her question, her tone skeptical. "He told you all this, and never mentioned a name?" 

 

"Nah, he never said. Even if he did, I couldn't tell you. I said already, I'm probably one of the only living people that can tell you any of this as it is.  Anyone else would have been crushed like a bug for shooting their mouth off. Now give me the rest of my fucking money. I told you everything I know, which was more than I shoulda."   

 

Suddenly and without warning, the half-demon crumpled to the ground.  Elise looked up in astonishment at Oz, who was now standing over the man with a metal pipe in his hand. 

 

At her questioningly look, he simply shrugged. "He was starting to get on my nerves." 

 

"Do you think he was telling the truth, about the prison, and… and about Buffy?" Elise ventured tentatively, her gaze drifting back to the half-demon unconscious on the ground between them. 

 

"I kinda hope not, but I'm usually wrong," he returned quietly. 

 

"Well, we have to find out. Somehow." 

 

"We have to tell Angel," Oz countered firmly.

 

"But we don't know anything yet," Elise asserted, though her voice faltered unconvincingly. 

 

His brows rose questioningly. "We don't?" 

 

"Well, not for sure. It's all… hearsay, really. Gossip, until we can find proof otherwise." 

 

"We have to call Angel."

 

"We will, but first we should check this out. Wes mentioned something about some document with magic… We can go back and-"

 

"Elise… We're in over our heads. After your breaking and entering in to their offices, the Watcher's Council may be looking for us, and I don't know about you, but I'm not really up for them finding me. They're typically not really understanding about the whole werewolf thing, and if they now have their own secret prison in some other dimension where people go and never come back then I'm doubly sure I want to avoid them."

 

"But that's just it. If we can find this Bjoutan, we can-"  

 

"And even if the Council thing were a non-issue, Buffy may really be there," Oz continued as though Elise hadn't spoken. "For that reason alone, we have to tell Angel."  

 

She turned away and stared off into the distance.  She knew it was the right thing to do; it just… it wasn't easy, especially given this unexpected turn of events. How was he going to take the news?  And what if they were wrong?  Could she see him get his hopes up, only to see them crushed?  But equally worse, if not more so… what if they were right? How would he take the news that his beloved mate had been in a prison in another dimension for over a year?  

 

"If you won't, I will."  

 

It would be the easy thing to do, to have Oz be the one to break the news. It was also the coward's way out.  Turning back around, she gave a resigned sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll call him." 

 

A short while later, with Rhys stuffed into the small trunk of the Mini-Cooper, Elise and Oz drove in silence through the streets of London. They both were uncertain whether their newly discovered information was the truth or a lie. And under the circumstances, they were equally uncertain which to hope for.

 

 

 

 

Part XI

 

With his hands in his pockets, Oz hunched his shoulders against the cool night air. He paced back from the private terminal to lean casually against the front of the Mini as he squinted into the distance.  Inside the parked car, Elise sat waiting and chewing nervously at her fingernails. She kept thinking not so much of what she would say, but of how Angel would feel when he heard the news.   

 

When she had finally worked up the courage to call him, she told him only that she had been doing some research for her next book and that she had run into some trouble. Could he please come to London? He asked a few questions, mostly about her immediate safety, and she gave some vague answers. She agreed to do nothing more until he arrived, and within hours the Wolfram & Hart jet left Los Angeles. 

 

Oz spotted the lights of Challenger 604 first as it neared the darkened field, descending and growing steadily closer. Several minutes later, they watched as it landed gracefully on the long runway. 

 

As the pilot taxied to the terminal, Elise got out of the car. Her pulse was racing and her heart was in her throat by the time the plane finally came to a halt a short distance away. A few minutes later the door opened and Angel, followed by Spike and Wes, exited the plane. 

 

Reaching Elise first, Angel leaned forward to kiss her lightly in greeting.  Returning the brief perfunctory kiss, Elise felt her heart squeeze painfully. She avoided Wesley's alarmed and inquisitive stare as she gave him a quick hug in greeting. She nodded to Spike who was rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers, and studying the entire scene speculatively. 

 

Glancing beyond Elise at the man standing slightly behind her and to the left, Angel was surprised to find that he recognized her companion. "Oz." 

 

Oz nodded. "Hey." 

 

"Nice surprise," Angel returned. He glanced curiously from Oz to Elise and back to Oz again. He didn't know that the two of them knew each other, but then again Elise's recent book was on werewolves. It was possible that they had met somehow, or had friends in common.

 

"Thanks. You too."

 

"Been here long?" 

 

"Here, not really," Oz shrugged. "Europe? A few years." 

 

"So what's going on?" Angel asked, turning back to Elise. 

 

Her eyes met Wesley's briefly. She could sense his concern; he didn't even know yet what she and Oz had found, so no doubt he was also avidly curious. She had debated calling and telling him before she called Angel, and again after. After all, he had been her sounding board on this from the beginning; and then most recently, he advanced from sympathetic ear to partner in crime by actively helping with the research of her findings. Ultimately however, she decided against it. This was too significant. Wes would feel obligated to tell Angel, and Angel deserved to hear the information first, and from her, no matter how hard this might be. 

 

Returning her gaze to Angel's face, she struggled to speak, her thoughts in a chaotic jumble. Over the last several hours, she had rehearsed and rehearsed in her mind what she wanted to say, but her planned speech seemed to slip away now that he was standing in front of her.  Instead, the events of the past weeks threatened to come out in one incoherent blurt.  She took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. 

 

"So I've been working on an idea for a new book," she began, her voice strained.  She felt light headed suddenly, as if she might faint. 

 

"Yes," he answered, smiling faintly. His expression was indulgent as he studied her face. "And didn't I tell you that one day your field research was going to get you into trouble?" 

 

"Yes, you did," she admitted, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.  She sincerely doubted that he'd ever imagined that the 'trouble' he'd been referring to would be of this sort. "I actually started working on this before I left LA." 

 

"Yes, I remember. You said your editor was expecting an outline," he reminded her. She had cancelled their plans once or twice, saying she had to work. 

 

"Yes, she was. I mean, she is," Elise mumbled absently, rubbing her forehead and trying again to collect her thoughts.  The fact that Angel was waiting so patiently for her to speak, a look of concern on his face, was very nearly breaking her heart.  

 

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it," he returned calmly, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on her back. He was puzzled by her hesitation when she was usually candid and direct. 

 

Chewing her lip, she turned and moved away from him. She couldn't do this with him touching her, no matter how comforting it felt.  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. There was no simple or easy way to do this. Opening them again, she looked directly into the dark, intense eyes watching her attentively. "Angel… I was researching Buffy." 

 

There was a long pause before Angel asked in a cold, flat voice, "Why?" 

 

His tone was like a knife in her chest. Warmth and friendship had fled, and in its place was the formal, hard, all business persona that she had seen him use with his difficult - and usually evil - clients. 

 

"I… I wanted to write her story. Your story: a vampire and a Slayer in love.  After you told me about her, I got curious. I started reading about Slayers, and about Buffy. The more I found, the more intrigued I became, and the more I felt that I had to tell this story. Writing, telling stories… it's what I do… And this… it's an amazing story. I didn't tell you because I wanted to surprise you."

 

"It's a surprise, I'll give you that," he returned flatly. 

 

"I was going to give it to you when I was finished," she added lamely. 

 

"Well, hey now, it's not like it should be a complete shocker-" Spike began only to be shushed by Wes with a sharp tap on the shoulder and pointed looked. 

 

Elise's gaze flitted to Spike's briefly. He shrugged, but gave her an encouraging wink. She turned back to Angel once again. 

 

"I'm sorry, Angel. I am. I know this is a surprise." Wetting her lips, she braced herself and continued, "But… I have to tell you… I think… We may have found her. Buffy… she may be alive." 

 

Angel felt stunned, as though someone had slammed a fist into his gut. 

 

Behind her, Spike's jaw dropped and the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips fell to the ground.  Wes gasped loudly and looked from Elise to Angel and back again. Oz simply nudged a tuft of grass on the ground with his foot, his expression somber. 

 

"What?" Angel whispered harshly, his dark eyes blazing. Grabbing her arms roughly, he hauled her forward. "What did you say?" 

 

"I think we found out what happened to her." Elise's voice was barely above a whisper. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "Buffy… I think… it's possible that she's still alive."

 

"Don't say that unless you can swear on your life it's the truth." His voice was merciless, his expression pained. 

 

"It is true, at least as much as I know." 

 

Releasing her abruptly, he stalked a few feet away and stood staring at the twinkling lights in the distance. Dare he believe it?  And if it was true… where was she?  Was she all right? Why hadn't he been able to find her, despite turning over every lead and following every clue?  What had he missed?  How could he have missed anything?

 

Elise watched him quietly, rubbing at her arms. 

 

Finally he said, "Tell me what you know." He turned to look at her then, his eyes dark and unreadable, his expression remote and closed. "Tell me everything, starting with where she is." 

 

"I didn't come to see my aunt. I came to London to talk to Rupert Giles and to Dawn. I wanted to talk to everyone I could. I try to do thorough research on any subject I write about." 

 

He quirked an eyebrow. "You lied to me."

 

"Yes," she admitted hesitantly. "Though I really was going to tell you about all this… eventually, you know, when I had the first draft of the story written." 

 

He didn't reply, only stared at her intently with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 

"You knew that my stepfather, Charlie, was a Watcher. Purely by chance I ended up visiting a friend of his, William Wells. My hotel wasn't far from his house, and I had come across it coincidentally while out for a bit of air, you see. Anyway William was also a Watcher. We had tea, and chatted. We talked about my stepfather, and about the Council. I mentioned to him how disappointing it was that Council lost so much when their offices were destroyed a few years back. William all but said that the Council wasn't destroyed, that a centuries old organization like that survives because they have contingency plans. It made me think that the Council was reformed, and active."

 

"He wouldn't say more about it, but that was enough. I knew he knew something, so I… I looked through his office," she confessed reluctantly, slightly embarrassed now by her casual snooping through her stepfather's friend's things.  She hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now she wondered if Angel thought less of her for it. There was no help for it now; what was done was done. She sighed. "Anyway, I found some addresses. I checked them all out on the chance that I might find something, anything. The Council kept extensive volumes on every subject, so I figured at the very least I might find something to help me with the book. Some background on Slayers, some history, or something. After all, Slayers were a primary concern for them." She paused, drawing in a breath. "Instead, I found Quentin Travers. He's still alive." 

 

"And?" Angel prompted curtly. He recalled the name from Buffy's 18th birthday; Quentin had been responsible for the Slayer trials that risked Buffy's life by taking away her powers. When he had found out, he had wanted to pound the man into dust, but he stayed out of it in deference to Giles. Things had been strained enough between the two men; killing a member of the organization that Giles took his orders from would not have helped.  He wondered now if he would regret not following his instincts on the matter, however.  

 

"He was in the explosion that destroyed the offices, so it's curious that he's still alive, don't you think?" 

 

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't care. Tell me about Buffy," he growled impatiently. A sense of foreboding joined the hope he felt racing through his body. "Where is she?"  

 

"I am. I will. I just… you need to hear this first." 

 

"Then go on," he insisted grimly.

 

"One of the addresses was the Council's new offices. Or at least Quentin's office. I snuck in one night and searched the place. I found a bunch of property deeds, including one for a place called Eastwood Park. Travers got the deed to it with Wolfram & Hart's help several years ago. 1999, I think.  Wesley pulled the files and found that it's actually another dimension. Bjoutan." 

 

"Wesley pulled the files?" he asked archly as he cast a sharp glance at the former Watcher. "You knew about all of this?"  That explained why the former Watcher insisted on coming with him, even when Angel said it wasn't necessary. 

 

"Yes. No. Well, not all of it," Wes replied awkwardly. "I don't know anything about finding Buffy. If I had, I would have told you. I can assure you, this new development is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you." 

 

"And you?" Angel asked, turning a piercing gaze on Spike. 

 

"No. Yes. I mean, I knew about her book and all. Got to be pretty dull witted not to, after all. Horror writer writing about real demons as fiction in our midst, and having such a juicy topic as the Slayer come up. But no, I didn't know, about this," Spike retorted indignantly, one hand swinging wide in gesture. "This being the Buffy being alive this. I had hoped, or thought that maybe, but then I'm good at denial whereas you-" 

 

"I asked for Wesley's help," Elise interjected before Spike could continue. She needed to get the rest of the story out before her courage completely failed her. "The file, the one for Eastwood Park, had a Wolfram & Hart phone number on it. It was suspicious, so I called him and asked him to look it up. I also gave him the name of the lawyer that worked on the acquisition. The phone number belonged to someone that's no longer there, and the lawyer… he did work for Wolfram & Hart, but now he's dead. I also interviewed Spike, because he knew something about Buffy and about you. I talked to Fred and Willow as well. It's what I do, interview people and gather facts for my story."

 

"I even tried to talk to Xander Harris," she concluded quietly. "Though he wouldn't talk to me."

 

Distraught, Angel ran a hand through his hair. He had long suspected that someone from Wolfram & Hart had been involved in Buffy's disappearance, but he had never had any proof, much less even the smallest clue to follow. But now… if Wesley found files, there would be clues. It wasn't much, but it was a start. However, finding who exactly was responsible, and how all the pieces fit together, was a secondary concern. He advanced toward Elise impatiently. "Where is Buffy?" 

 

Elise looked up at his dark visage as he towered over her, the shadowy light of the moon behind him, and thought for a moment that he looked like a dark angel, fallen from grace. Shaking away the thought, she looked away from the intense eyes boring into her and focused on a flickering light in the distance. After a moment, she took a deep breath. "This Eastwood Park, er, Bjoutan…  Angel… It's a… prison." 

 

"Bloody fucking hell," Spike muttered in a hushed voice. 

 

"Oh, my God," Wes breathed at almost the same moment. 

 

Angel stood utterly still, his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. 

 

"I can only surmise that the Watcher's Council is behind this."  

 

"How do you know this?" Angel's voice was a pained whisper. 

 

Elise looked up and met his anguished gaze. "Oz found this guy, er, demon. Half-demon guy, I guess. Anyway, he knew about Bjoutan. He told us that his cousin had gotten a job there, as a guard."  

 

"Where is he? I want to talk to him myself," he said, his words underscored with lethal softness.

 

Elise shivered, despite herself. "You can. We have him locked up at Oz's place." 

 

"Good. Then we go to Bjoutan." He spoke through gritted teeth, one hand extended in front of him his fingers outstretched.  Those who knew him recognized the gesture as one Angel typically used when he was seriously angry and attempting restraint. 

 

"Angel…There's something else that you need to know.  This place… Bjoutan… it sounds bad. Really bad." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "The women there… they may have been… oh, God, I don't know how else to say this… physically and sexually abused." 

 

The wail of anguish that came from Angel sounded like that of a wounded wolf. It broke the stillness of the night, and made all who heard it shudder. 

 

Wiping at the tear that ran down her cheek, Elise wished for a moment that she could take it all back. She wished that she had never decided to write this story, that she had never been the one to find the information, and most of all, that she had never been the one that had to delivery such horrible news. 

 

She also wished with all her heart that Buffy was going to be found alive. She wasn't sure Angel would survive otherwise.

 

 

 

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"Hurry up," Giles said as he walked through the hallway of the girl's dormitory. "Take only what you need for a few days. Andrew will send the rest along within a matter of days."

 

"But Mr. Giles," Serena whined as she slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. "What if we don't want to go?" 

 

The former Watcher paused and turned to look at the curious faces of the young women following behind him. "I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice.  We've lost our lease, and need to vacate the school by the end of the month." 

 

"But that's not for another two weeks," Kate protested. "And that'd give us more time to pack our things. And say goodbye to people and stuff." 

 

"We leave for Italy tonight. I don't want to hear any more about it." Giles countered firmly. He crossed the courtyard and entered the library. "Besides, I think you'll quite like Florence. Some of the world's finest art is there. There's the Uffizi Gallery is magnificent. The Bargello sculpture museum is quite impressive, as is the Medici Chapel. Michelangelo's statue of David is there at the Accademia."

 

"Now you're talking. That's one piece of art I would very much like to see up close," Serena interjected glibly. "My interest in art and all." 

 

"Yes, I'm quite sure," Giles affirmed, though he cast the girl a sardonic glance. 

 

"But we like it here," Kate protested even as she helped as the former Watcher began to take books off the shelves and put them into boxes. 

 

"Yes, well, if I recall correctly you complained incessantly about the weather after we arrived. And that was only one of many complaints." 

 

"Okay, but that's before we all got settled in and stuff," Serena admitted from her seat on the now empty desk. "And before we got to know each other really well, or even to know any people in the area." 

 

"And you'll get to know people in Florence, and you'll come to like them as well." 

 

"But it's not the same," Kate pouted, picking up an empty box and moving to the next set of shelves. 

 

"Totally not the same," Serena agreed sagely. 

 

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to adjust. We leave promptly at 8:15. All of us, except of course Andrew who will stay and see to the rest of the packing." 

 

"Make sure and pack your underwear," Serena commented flippantly, smiling at Kate who laughed and nodded in return.

 

"What?" she asked innocently, noting Mr. Giles inquisitive look. "He would totally go through our, you know, girl things - our undies - if left alone." 

 

"Yes, well," Giles mumbled in response, annoyed that he'd have to have a talk with the young man about that again. "Then do pack them, and I'll have a word with Andrew." 

 

"Can't we stay just a few more days?" Kate asked again, her eyes pleading. "This is so sudden. If you knew we were going to lose the lease, why couldn't you have said so?" 

 

"Kate, if you want to go and say goodbye to the young man that you've been seeing, then by all means do so. Just be back by 7:00. You can tell him that you'll call or write or email, if that's what you do these days, once we're settled." 

 

"Really?" Kate squeaked, surprised that he knew about Bradley, and doubly surprised that he'd even suggest the continuation of a long distance relationship. He didn't particularly encourage the girls to have relationships, explaining all too often that life as a Slayer was difficult for most to understand. 

 

"Yes. And if Mia and Lacey are finished packing, take them with you. No doubt they will want to say their goodbyes as well," Giles answered distractedly. He'd had to call in a favor with a friend to find a place for all the girls on such short notice, but it couldn't be helped. He wanted to get them all out of London, and as quickly as possible. 

 

Kate and Serena were already gone before he could say any more. 

 

Giles sighed. He just hoped that they'd be back on time. 

 

 

 

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Buffy woke just before dawn. She lay still and listened numbly to the squeaking and rustling of the rats moving through the cells in search of meager scraps of food. She knew they'd be hard pressed to find anything.  What scant rations the women received, they tended to devour greedily - even the less than appetizing watery gruel that contained the occasional cockroach.  She had long become accustomed to the dull gnawing in her stomach that never went away. She had even gotten used to the dirt and the smell. It had taken months, but eventually she determined that resisting and fighting only brought more humiliation and pain, and used up every ounce of strength that she possessed.  The only way she was going to survive this ordeal, she told herself, if indeed she was going to survive, was acceptance. Simple quiet acceptance. The less she struggled, and the more she retreated into her mind, the more she could tolerate. 

 

Gradually she became aware of an inexplicable sense of dread creeping through her, then she remembered that today was the day for her weekly visit with Arno.  She shuddered, and closed her eyes, willing herself to somewhere far away.  She used her imagination to free herself from this place, and its horrors.  Whenever possible, she spent long, pleasant hours with Angel, far removed from the dark and dank walls surrounding her. 

 

She spent hours imaging what her baby would have looked like: tiny and perfect, with dark eyes and dark hair like his father. She would cuddle him in her arms, and he would open his eyes and smile at her. He would be sweet and clean and so innocent it made her heart ache. 

 

Sometimes she would go back to Sunnydale, back when things were new and seemed so simple. She and Angel would dance at the Bronze, their bodies moving together in slow, teasing, undulations, then he would walk her home or she would walk him home, but inevitably they'd end up somewhere along the way locked in a passionate embrace.  She could almost feel his hands sliding tentatively under her shirt, gliding across her skin as their kisses grew more heated and passionate. She could feel his cool lips on her throat, her breasts, sucking gently. His hands would roam over her gently, then not so gently and she had responded eagerly to both in kind.  He had introduced her to sensual delights she had never before imagined and she had loved every minute of it.

 

Other times, she would go back to their oh-so-few years together in Los Angeles. It was a dream come true for her in many ways - working together, fighting demons side by side, then going home together to spend their days together in blissful, and often more intimate, pursuits. Even the mundane things like going to the grocery story, or debating what movie to rent on a rare day off, took on special significance now.  

 

The single more pleasurable thing she remembered in her life was Angel. How he seemed to treasure their every moment together. He would look at her as though she was rare and precious, special. She could still feel the coolness of his skin against hers, and hear his whispered words of love against her hair as they'd curl together before dozing off to sleep. And the moments after they would make love, when the violence of their passion, unleashed and savage, drifted slowly away, he'd look at her with adoration and something more profound and powerful… it would take her breath away. 

 

Buffy sighed. She would never be completely imprisoned as long as she could see Angel, his broadsword in hand and a rare, cocky grin on his face as he prepared to attack whatever demon was opposing them. The fight exhilarated him as much as it did her, the predator inside of each of them unable to be completely tamed. 

 

One of her favorite escapes was into the heart of battle. She could smell the cloying scent of a decaying cemetery, and feel the smooth carved wood of a stake in her hand. Her confidence soared, and she felt as though she could take on anything…  If ever she could greet the night with such confidence again, she would do so eagerly. To be free - truly free - would perhaps come only with death, which was something she no longer feared. Death was easy. Living… that was hard. 

 

She no longer cared whether she lived or died. In many ways, she felt that she had been given more than one could ever hope for in life. She'd returned from the dead - twice. She'd stopped an apocalypse, or two or ten. She'd lost count. She'd known the exhilaration of sparring with - and often besting - one of the best champions the world had ever known. And she'd had Angel's love. As long as he survived a part of her would as well, for she was a part of him, and would be throughout eternity. 

 

The door to her cell opened, and the guard cast a leering glance in her direction. When she didn't move right away, he crossed the room and pulled her from the narrow cot with a vicious jerk on her hair. Though she fell to her knees, she didn't let out even so much as a whimper. 

 

Twisting her arm cruelly, he shoved her out the door. They went down the long hallway, then up two flights of stairs to the courtyard. From there, they crossed to the main offices, which also served as the home to the prison warden. 

 

"Need any help with this one?" The guard asked as he opened the door and pushed Buffy through. 

 

"No," Arno replied sneeringly, his beady eyed gaze roving over Buffy before finally turning to the guard standing on the threshold.  "She's learned her place here." 

 

With one last lingering look at Buffy, the guard closed the door. 

 

"Strip," Arno barked dispassionately. 

 

Woodenly, Buffy went through the motions of removing her filthy, ragged clothing as she had countless times before.  She had learned to follow his orders; defiance was met with brutal reprisals. Even as she did as he commanded, she cursed herself for being spineless and weak. 

 

"What do you think your high and mighty vampire would think of you now?" The beefy prison warden asked as he came closer to examine the fading bruises that covered her breasts. A satisfied smile crossed his lips. "You think he'd still pant after you?" 

 

Buffy didn't move, nor did she offer any reply. 

 

"You reek like a common street whore," he continued, walking around her slowly. She was wraith thin now. Her beautiful mane of golden blonde hair was now short, dirty and lank. Her once beautiful face was now sallow and haggard. Even her luminous green eyes appeared to have paled. 

 

Closing her eyes, she mustered her courage. "Please let me bathe then." 

 

"Why would I do that, when it pleases me to see you as you are?" he asked pleasantly. "Surely you don't think that if you're clean, you'd be able to bribe your way out of your punishment with sexual favors? Though that probably works with your filthy vampire," he added with mock consideration. "Base, lusty creatures that they are." 

 

Buffy stared at the floor. She'd heard it all before, in some form or another, since she'd been here. Arno seemed particularly intrigued by her association with Angel, and had thrown it in her face at every opportunity. He often used it as an excuse for her weekly 'lessons' which ranged from simple humiliation of standing before him nude to cruel and vicious lashings. Thankfully, so far, he seemed uninterested in sex though he did appear to have a fascination with breasts. 

 

"You know it's within regulations for me to brand you, don't you?" the beefy warden said, reaching out to viciously twist one soft pliant breast. "I think it should say Angelus' Whore, don't you? Across your skinny backside." 

 

"No… Please," Buffy whispered, her eyes liquid with apprehension. 

 

"No? I thought you wanted the world to know that you bedded down freely with the monster. You were living openly with him in flagrant sin, or so I'm told. You arrived here knocked up, so don't bother to deny it. Any Slayer that'd willingly spread herself for the very thing that she's sworn to rid the world of deserves punishing."  He rummaged through the chest against the far wall.  "I think the bullwhip tonight. It's been weeks since we've enjoyed that particular bit of fun, hasn't it?" 

 

Buffy closed her eyes. She couldn't object - he'd only make it worse. She couldn't agree - he'd only make it worse. Quiet acceptance. It was the only way.  

 

He showed no mercy on her whatsoever. He beat her with the bullwhip until she collapsed on the floor in a faint. Buffy's last thought before she lost consciousness was that at least he appeared to have forgotten the idea branding her. 

 

Afterwards, he called the guard to carry her down to her cell, where she was tossed carelessly on the dirty floor. 

 

 

 

 

Part XII

 

 

The ride to the flat where Oz and Elise were staying was tense and silent, punctuated only by the occasional dull thumps and muffled curses from Spike, who, due to the lack of space in the Mini-Cooper, was forced to ride in the trunk.

Angel stared out the window with bleak, red-rimmed eyes, alternately cursing those that had conspired to take Buffy from him, and praying for her health and safe return. To think that she had been locked away in a prison - and worse - suffering there for almost two years was unendurable to him. A knife was twisting in his heart, the pain made more unbearable by the guilt that he hadn't done more to find her; that someone at Wolfram & Hart had been involved in this... he'd find them, and he'd destroy them, and he'd destroy the Watcher's Council too, no matter how long it took. But first, and most importantly, he wanted Buffy back.

In the cramped back seat, Wesley was mentally reviewing the contents of the files on Bjoutan. He was frantically trying to recall any clue or bit of information that he might have come across that could be helpful or relevant. He would go through them again in detail once they arrived at their destination, profoundly grateful now for the impulse that had prompted him to grab the files and bring them along. Though never once had he actually thought he'd have a reason such as this to need them.

Elise, sitting next to Wes, was leaning wearily against the window. Oddly, she was thinking about a writing class that she had taken in college. The class had been on writing and ethics.  Professor Tierney had been an adamant proponent of writing the truth, no matter how distasteful you, the author, may have found it.  In particular, Elise recalled a quote by Nadine Gordimer that Professor Tierney had written on the white board in permanent ink: "Truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is." At this moment, neither the truth nor the hunger for it seemed particularly beautiful.

Angel attempted to curb his impatience as he followed Oz up the stairs to the flat. Pausing at the door, Oz invited them all in and pointed out the various facilities, but Angel was only interested in one thing. Without hesitation, he went straight to the cage in the corner where the half-demon was reclining nonchalantly on the floor and reading a magazine.

"Tell me what you know about Bjoutan, and about Buffy," Angel demanded as their gazes met and held.

Rhys glared contemptuously at the dark haired stranger as came to his feet. "Yeah? Why should I?" He tossed aside the copy of 'Tatler' magazine that he had conned Elise into letting him have to pass the time.

"Because I asked nicely," Angel replied smoothly as he took the keys Oz handed him. Unlocking the door, he swung it wide in one quick motion.

"Hey, you!" the half-demon barked as Elise came into sight. "I told you I wasn't talking to no one else about this. What'd you go and shoot your mouth off for? Dumb bitch." 

Ignoring the rude remarks, Elise continued on her way through the apartment, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind her.

Reaching into the cage with one hand, Angel jerked the demon out roughly by the front of his shirt. "You'll talk to me."

"Yeah? Why's that?  And who the hell are you?" Rhys groused as he stumbled forward, freed from the taller man's grip.

"He doesn't recognize you, Angelus," Spike chimed in helpfully as he came to stand next to the elder vampire. He scrutinized the half-demon critically. "Probably hasn't been around long enough to remember your reign of terror."

"Angelus?" The half-demon questioned as he looked up at the scowling countenance of the dark haired man in front of him. "You're Angelus?"

"Close enough." Angel affirmed coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, I don't know nothing about nothing." Rhys backed up a step.

Angel advanced forward. "You know about Bjoutan."

"Only what I heard through Freddie." The half-demon wiped his mouth on the back of his arm and took another step back only to bump into the wall.

"And what was that?" Angel asked softly.

"Why should I tell you anything?" Rhys spat, drawing himself up to his full height. He never liked vampires; he refused to bow down to one now - even one as renowned for his maliciousness and cruelty as the one standing in front of him.

"So that I might let you live," Angel calmly said.

Cracking his knuckles, the half demon assessed his interrogator for a long moment. The vampire was taller, but he was lean by comparison. In terms of brute strength then, Rhys figured he would have the advantage. Still, he was trapped between the two vampires, the cage, and the wall. His potential escape routes were effectively blocked. At least, they were blocked right now. That could change at any time; he just needed to stall a bit. And taunting the vampire might be fun in and of itself. "I guess what you is interested in hearing is that it's a prison of some sort."

"And?"

"How much is there to say about that?" Rhys shrugged indifferently, rocking side to side on the balls of his feet, and debating his chances of succeeding with a direct attack. He might be able to take the vampire by surprise... "A prison's a prison. Only this one's got a better selection of pillow biters than most."

"Who's in there?" he asked very quietly.

The half-demon blinked, his lips curling in a sardonic smile. "Slayers, mostly. Drugged to keep 'em in line, though they're tuned up often enough from what I'd heard."  

Angel closed his eyes for a moment. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to shift to his demonic visage. His eyes, when his eyes opened again, were filled with something dark and unfathomable. "What else do you know about it?"

Spike, who was watching the exchange interestedly, quirked a brow upward. He'd seen that look from Angelus many a time in the past, but never from Angel. And if past history was any indication... the look indicated that things did not bode well for the half-demon.

"And what?" Rhys snapped mockingly. His gaze moved from the two vampires toward the door and back again, measuring the distance.

"You know what I what to know."

Rhys inched to the right. "I guess you want to hear that your little bitch is in there? That right, Angelus?"

A savage light glinted in the vampire's eyes. He shifted right as well, effectively blocking the shorter man's escape path. "Is she?"

The half-demon stroked his chin and contemplated his response. Despite Angelus' reputation, the vampire didn't look like much of a fighter. Cockily, Rhys began to think that he could take him. Kicking the infamous vampire's ass would make a hell of story down at the pub; no demons would ever fuck with him again once the word got out. Or, at the very least, he could knock the taller man aside and make for the door. Either way, his escape was practically guaranteed. He grinned slyly. "Yeah, I heard her name a time or two. Buffy ain't one of those names that you tend to forget once you hear it."

"She's there? You're sure?" His countenance shifted and his fangs lengthened, Angel no longer attempting to restrain his demon.

"Yeah, she's there. And I heard she was a damned fiiiine ride too," the half-demon taunted belligerently. "But then, I guess, you'd know that already have tasted that cunt and all." His chance for escape was now or never.  With a sudden lunge he threw and upper cut with his left, the followed it immediately with a right jab.  Neither blow actually connected with their intended target.

"I guess the interrogation's over then." Spike said calmly, watching the half-demon crumple to the ground, his neck broken.

Running a hand through his hair, Angel ran his tongue over his fangs. The anger and impatience that had been simmering under the surface had gotten the best of him.

Nudging the body with his foot, Spike looked the creature over disinterestedly. "While I can't deny that he probably deserved it and that I would've done the same thing, you did just do away with the best lead you've had in over a year."

Casting the blonde vampire an irritated look, Angel turned and snapped at Wesley. "How fast can you get me to Bjoutan?"

"Us. I'm going along," the blonde vampire declared matter-of-factly, glancing past Angel to where the former Watcher was leaning over the table, his straight arms braced on the paper strewn surface. Paper covered the entire surface as Wesley poured over all of the documents in search of something, anything that could validate what the now dead half-demon had claimed.

"No, you're not," Angel countered, turning back to look at Spike as he shifted back to his human visage. "I don't need your help."

"You don't know that. And I'm not going to help you anyway, I'm going to help Buffy," Spike stated determinedly, jutting out his jaw.

"I'll take care of Buffy," Angel retorted heatedly.

"Oh, like you've taken care of her so far?" Spike sniped back, his eyebrows lifting mockingly.

Closing his eyes, Angel gritted his teeth. "Wes..."

"Besides, in your current frame of mind you're more than likely to kill any and everything in your path, which for the record, I might say I'm normally not opposed to that approach, in this case it might mean that you do away with someone that can lead us to this prison, and to Buffy," Spike stated matter-of-factly, "Which means that you have to take me with you."

"I don't have to take you," Angel replied, guilt softening his tone. He had failed Buffy, and he hated the reminder.

"We need some pretty powerful magic to open the portal to Bjoutan," Wes said thoughtfully, as he once more read through the narrative that Morgana, an apparently powerful Wicca, had ostensibly written.  "And a copy of the Avesta, if we want to verify the translations."

"If we need any magic supplies, there's a great shop over on Union Street," Oz suggested as he filled the kettle and put it on the stove. "Just let me know."

"Hm. We will need a few things... a coin, of course, and a key. Your standard objects to open a gateway.  It's less the... things... if you will, as the magic that is needed to command them."

"But if the Watcher's Council can do it... and they must if they send...uh, people, there," Elise commented as she rejoined the group. Upon seeing Rhys crumpled on the floor near the corner, she paused and glanced between Spike and Angel wondered what she had missed. She didn't think she had been out of the room that long, nor had she heard any commotion... "Wouldn't they have a way in?"

"Indeed," Wes replied distractedly, his attention focused on the specifics of the spell.

"Good point, that," Spike acknowledged. "So how do we find it?"

"Magic, maybe?" Elise suggested, taking a seat on the couch. "Wouldn't a portal be detectable, if there was one somewhere?"

"Seems likely," Oz agreed.

"Hmm...perhaps," Wesley murmured in polite acknowledgement, though he still didn't appear to be fully listening to their conversation.

"Willow."

"Willow?" Elise repeated, looking over at Angel.

"She can do the spell. We need to get her here, now," Angel demanded, fumbling in his pockets in search of his phone.

"Willow?" Wes finally tore his gaze away from the paper he had been studying and glanced up at Angel.

The vampire sighed impatiently. "She can find the portal. Or open the portal. Either way, she can get us to Bjoutan."

"I thought she wasn't practicing magic anymore," Elise asked.

"She doesn't, but she was quite power-" Wesley began. He hadn't finished his sentence when he was interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway.

"She does."

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice, and stared at the man now standing on the threshold. 

Wes found his voice first. "Mr. Giles?"

"Well, well. Hello there," Spike murmured, his expression betraying his astonishment at the former Watcher's appearance.

"But I don't think you want to call her," Giles continued, though he had yet to move from his position at the door.  

"Why not?" Angel demanded, though he halted in his dialing.

"Because quite frankly, I'm not sure you should trust her," Giles returned calmly.

The dark-haired vampire studied the former Watcher for a long moment, his fist clenching and unclenching.  "I'm going to need a little more than that."

"Willow has been dabbling with magic since she's been working with you at Wolfram & Hart. The sisters have been watching her, and have said that her powers have been growing stronger."

"That's all the more reason to call her," Angel countered insistently. He was single-minded in his quest to get Buffy back; nothing else mattered just now. 

"And darker," Giles added grimly.

"What do you mean, darker?" Spike asked.

"Some of the spells that Willow has attempted to cast... they aren't harmless glamours or protective spells..." Giles explained. "She's tried to resurrect the dead."

Spike shrugged dismissively. "She brought Buffy back and that turned out all right."

"She has cursed those that would have spoken out against her... Kennedy, Willow's former lover, is now catatonic and we can only speculate as to why," Giles told him gravely. "Willow may even have committed murder, though of that we are not completely certain."

"Why didn't you say something about any of this before?" Angel snapped, his temper rising. 

"Would you have believed me if I had?  Would it have mattered?" Giles inquired circumspectly. "Willow was under your roof, working at your discretion. For all I knew you condoned her practice of the darker arts."

Angel looked at Giles with reproach, his dark eyes hard and unblinking.  For several long moments tension lay heavily in the air as the two men simply stared back at each other.

"You've said yourself that someone at Wolfram & Hart was involved in Buffy's disappearance..." Oz suggested, breaking the silence. "If you call anyone else now, even Willow, you risk tipping your hand."

Angel turned his gaze to Oz.  "And if I don't, I risk not getting Buffy back."

Giles' brows lifted in surprised. "You've found Buffy? Is she alive?" he blurted, his tone both anxious and concerned.

"He has a point..." Wes added thoughtfully. "We know for a fact that Wolfram & Hart were working with the Council on the purchase of Bjoutan. We also know that Buffy was last seen in a Wolfram & Hart limo, so no stretch to assume that someone at the office was in collusion with the Council to arrange her abduction."

"We think that she's in this Bjoutan dimension, wherever in the hell that is," Spike offered. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the demon on the floor. "Or so this guy said. Which is why there's such an interest in getting there."

"And that it's a prison, set up by your friends at the Council," Angel said harshly, turning back to pin Giles with a look that would have cowed a lesser man. "Did you know about that too? Is that something else you decided not to tell me?"

Shocked, Giles retorted angrily, "Of course not. I would never condone such a thing, much less... for Buffy. To think so is simply preposterous."

"You're not in touch with the Council?" Wesley inquired curiously. He openly surveyed his former colleague, searching for some sign of the truth. He too was disappointed that Giles hadn't told them about Willow practicing magic, as well he was embarrassed that they hadn't known it themselves.

"No, not at all," Giles answered firmly.  Gravely, he added, "I've heard a few rumors that attempts were being made to reform the Council in some fashion, but I never knew by whom or to what purpose. No one contacted me directly, and if they had, I never would have consented to such a thing. Twice I've relocated the girls in fact, to avoid the possibility of being taken over by any such effort - my assumption being that they would, of course, want the Slayers."

"All that aside, Red may still be our fastest, if not our only, hope to get to this Bjoutan," Spike said, glancing at Angel.

"I have to agree with Mr. Giles, and with Oz," Elise spoke up, her voice touched with trepidation. "Someone at Wolfram & Hart was involved in Buffy's disappearance - that seems certain.  And some of what Willow said... when I talked to her... it didn't seem to be quite in sync with what Buffy had written in her own journal... I know she's Buffy's best friend, and I know I can't quite explain it, but my instincts are telling me that something's not quite right there. Maybe she knows something, and is afraid to speak up... Maybe someone threatened her..."

Turning to Elise, Angel stared at her coldly.  "You took Buffy's journal?"

"No... I mean, yes," Elise murmured sheepishly. "One day I found it in the Wolfram & Hart library, mixed in with a stack of books that I had been using as reference. I took it home and I read it..."

Angel studied her.  For a moment, she thought he would soften, that he would speak. He did neither.

"I don't know how it got there, I swear," she pled, stricken by the look of disbelief on Angel's face. She couldn't quite believe that he would turn from her so quickly and so callously. With a defeated sigh, she added, "It's in a safe deposit box in LA, along with some of my other notes. I didn't want to leave it lying around, and I didn't want to bring it with me. I was going to return it..."

Raising his hand, Spike interjected, "I gave it to her."

Angel swung around in a fury. "What?"

Undaunted, the blonde vampire explained with a shrug, "I stole it out of your apartment and slipped it in between the books she was rummaging through. I thought maybe she'd be able to find something in there that we didn't, something that would lead to Buffy. Besides, because she's always snooping around, so I figured no one would think anything of it."

Elise gazed at Spike with both gratitude and indignation. She wasn't always snooping around.

"Oh, I believe you stole it, but not because you thought it would help find Buffy. I think you stole it for other reasons. Like maybe you were hoping to find out if Buffy wrote something in there about you," Angel ground out angrily. "Did you take anything else while you were at it?  Her panties? Some of her other lingerie?"

"What if I did?" Spike countered belligerently.

"Guys. Guys!" Oz cut in loudly, the exclamation uncharacteristic for the normally quiet werewolf. Five pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction. "This isn't going to help Buffy."

"He's right," Wesley murmured.

Giles nodded his agreement.

Spike dropped his gaze.

Chagrined, Angel inhaled deeply searching for calm. After a moment, he said, "The Council has a way in, and we know how to find the Council. Let's start there."

 

 

Part XIII

 

Angel spent the next several hours in preparation, allowing everyone to rest and attempting to sleep himself for a few hours.

He called Harmony at the Wolfram & Hart office in LA and told her only that he would be staying in London and to cancel his appointments for the rest of the week.  Under the circumstances, he would have preferred that no one know his whereabouts, but he knew that was already impossible. Besides the fact that Harmony and Gunn knew his destination before he left the office, the pilot would have filed the required flight plan with the destination listed. He, as well as the rest of the team here in London, would simply have to be as discreet as possible about their activities. No information would be shared outside the immediate team. And he even intended to watch certain members of their small group carefully until he knew who he could - or could not - trust.

After almost an hour of intense discussion with Wesley, he carefully read through all of the files on Bjoutan himself.  Specifically, he was searching for bits of information that would help him find where Buffy was being held once he reached the dimension. Or, if Buffy somehow managed to escape from the prison but not Bjoutan, he would need to be able to find those places that she would be likely to hide.  Unfortunately, there was no map to speak of in any of the files; he would have to go by what information they could derive from the text.

While Angel and Wes sketched out a rough map of Bjoutan, Oz searched the internet for information on Quentin Travers. It didn't take him long to find an address for the current President and CEO of Amaranthine Enterprises; he printed off a detailed map of the Mayfair neighborhood, along with pictures of the house and even a floor plan.

Angel studied the area surrounding Quentin Travers home with the intensity of a general planning a battle attack; he fully intended to ensure that there would be no escape for the treacherous Watcher tonight.

Late in the afternoon, Oz and Wesley retrieved the weapons that they had brought along from the jet.  Angel never went anywhere unprepared, and given that Elise had mentioned 'trouble' in her call, it doubly ensured that Angel's favored broadsword - as well as a few other choice weapons - made the trip.

Giles and Elise went out as well. They were off to find something other than the Mini-Cooper for transportation. In addition, Angel asked them to pick up an assortment of medical supplies. He didn't know what to expect, much less plan for, so he simply asked them to do their best in anticipation of Buffy's return. It was clear that even considering the idea that she might be severely injured pained Angel immensely, so Giles ended the awkward conversation with a simple nod of understanding, his expression equally troubled.

Agitated and impatient, Spike spent most of the day pacing downstairs on the old factory floor, smoking cigarette after cigarette and staying well away from the sunlight that streamed in a few of the high windows. He would stick his head in the doorway of the upstairs apartment occasionally to ask when they were leaving or to get an update on the latest plans. He made a few quips intended to provoke Angel, but when the older vampire didn't respond, he left off.

In all of Angel's actions was a slow deliberation, as if he knew that careful planning and patience were required to face the challenges that lay ahead. Foremost in his mind was the idea that retrieving Buffy from Bjoutan - as difficult as that might prove - could, in fact, be only a small matter compared to the potential challenges of her recovery. That she was strong, mentally and physically, did little to soothe his fears.  And all the while he cursed himself for not doing more to find her, for leaving her to suffer such a fate for as long as he had. It was another of the many things he would surely have to atone for.

When the sun finally slipped toward the horizon, Angel picked up his sword and made his way down to the borrowed van.  Wesley, Oz, Giles, Spike and Elise met him there. They were all dressed in dark, functional clothing, and they all carried a weapon. No words were spoken as they all clambered into the van. They all understood their part in the events of the night and the importance of carrying out the capture of Quentin Travers without a hitch.

Willow closed her eyes as the acrid scent of the burning incense filled her nostrils. Opening them again, she focused on the dark liquid in the scrying bowl in front of her.  Gently she rocked the black stone and concentrated on the reflection in the rippling water. A vision of past days in Sunnydale appeared on the surface of the water. It was she, Xander, and Buffy at Buffy's house on Revello Drive watching old movies, eating snack food, and laughing. Frowning, she rocked the bowl again, shaking away the image. The next few images flitted back in rapid success: she and Buffy shopping, only days after they arrived in Los Angeles after Sunnydale had been destroyed; she, Xander, and Buffy at Rusty's Surf Ranch on the Santa Monica pier, Xander telling them that he couldn't stay with them. She and Buffy in her office, Buffy confessing that she and Angel were back together again. She and Buffy in Angel's penthouse apartment, Buffy admitting that she was pregnant.

Willow shook the bowl impatiently, sloshing water over the edge on the table and willing away the stream of images. She glanced at the fat wax candles burning on the table, then at the window across the room.

She hadn't thought that they'd stay in Los Angeles. She had assumed that they'd spend a few days there at most while they treated their wounds and regrouped, then they'd be on their way somewhere new. Cleveland, maybe, since there was another known hellmouth there. She never imagined that Buffy would consider staying and working at Wolfram & Hart. She certainly never even suspected that the blonde Slayer would reunite with Angel. That had seemed so far beyond the realm of possibility, the curse and their myriad of issues not withstanding, that it had never even crossed Willow's mind. She had even doubted the rumors that Buffy and Angel were going out for more than demon hunting when the whispers began around the office within a few weeks after their arrival. If Buffy was seeing Angel again, she would have told her, or so Willow adamantly insisted to anyone and everyone when the subject would come up.  When it turned out to be true, Willow had been humiliated. Buffy was her best friend, yet she hadn't confided in her. It hurt.

Another big surprise of that summer had been Kennedy's announcement that she was leaving, that their relationship was over. Willow hadn't expected it at all. She thought that everything was perfect, and that they were happy together. She hadn't even considered the possibility that they would break up, and not after all they had been through together. It had come as a complete shock, and Willow had been devastated.

Kennedy's abrupt desertion was what prompted her to stay in Los Angeles and take Angel up on the offer to work at Wolfram & Hart - despite her distrust of the organization. She thought it would take her mind off her heartache, but it only seemed to make her loneliness feel more acute.  Buffy was always with Angel... working on cases, going out on dates, spending time alone in what was now their home. Xander was still grieving for Anya and preferred being alone in his depressing little apartment. Giles, Dawn, Kennedy, and the other SITs left for England. Fred, Wesley and Gunn were all friendly and welcoming, but they too were preoccupied with work and their own lives.

Then she met Marcus Hamilton, the Senior Partner's liaison. He seemed to understand her in a way the others didn't. He respected her intelligence and often sought out her opinion on a wide range of topics. He spent time with her when everyone else was too busy, and while he didn't exactly give her a reason to trust those at Wolfram & Hart, he convinced her that there was a careful balance that could be struck between good and evil. He even encouraged her interest in magic, prompting her to spend her free time in the magic department. Her natural ability quickly resurfaced, and she found that the team in the magic department began to turn to her for advice or assistance. She began to feel wanted and, perhaps more importantly, needed. She was the key to success on many cases, what with her behind the scenes contributions in both the Information Technology and Magic departments. It was a shame that the others weren't aware of it... but Marcus assured her that that would change, when the time was right.

And all along she thought that Marcus encouraged her interest in magic with Angel's knowledge and blessing. That is, until Fiona.

Fiona's case had come to Wolfram & Hart through a client, Max Frome. Fiona had tapped into the black arts and had cursed her former fiancé, Cameron, for his suspected infidelity.  His life had become a living hell, and he was suffering from mysterious, excruciating pains.  Without consulting Buffy or Angel, Willow stepped in and broke the spell.  Furious, Fiona retaliated. The use and power of the magic spells quickly escalated between the two Wicca's, and Willow - being somewhat out of practice, though still quite powerful - managed to harm Fiona permanently.  She hadn't particularly regretted it - the young woman had been spiteful and malicious, and out to hurt her as well. It was her lack of control over her own power, and the fact that a novice demonstrated skills that were almost on par with her own that had disturbed Willow the most. Afterwards, she doubled her practice efforts.

When Buffy found out what had happened, she said very little. She didn't have to - the look of disapproval and disappointment in her eyes told Willow everything she needed to know.  Angel had been surprised, but no less condemning with his gaze and his actions. He told Willow that she was not to be in the magic department without permission and supervision. They both said that they were simply concerned for her well-being, but by then Willow knew better. They were too wrapped up in their own lives, their newly reformed relationship, and by that time, talk of having a baby, to be too concerned with her.  No, their only concern was how much her little problem interfered with their own plans. 

Admittedly, all of Buffy's talk about babies had reawakened her own longing for a child. She and Tara had talked about it once or twice, not long after they adopted Miss Kitty Fantastico. They both wanted children and had agreed that someday they would have two or three of their own. Of course, they never got their chance. They didn't get a lot of chances that they should have had. It was so unfair.

It was reckless and irresponsible enough that Buffy and Angel were together without a sure resolution to Angel's curse, but to even consider bringing a child into the world?  It was insanity. A vampire and a Slayer living in the midst of demons and darkness hardly spoke of a safe and healthy environment to raise a child. At least she and Tara had planned to move somewhere away from the hellmouth to raise their children. They had thought through what it meant to raise a child beyond just pregnancy.

When Marcus confided that the Senior Partners were gravely concerned about Buffy and Angel's plans for children, she admitted to sharing their concern.  When he suggested that the child might be something other than human, something prophesized as great evil, something that might disrupt that tenuous balance, her unease grew. Marcus seemed sure, and worried. And if the information came from the Senior Partners, who should know such things... perhaps it was true.  However, she couldn't discuss her concerns with Buffy.  Their relationship was a bit strained, and the blonde Slayer had already shown that she wasn't willing to hear Willow's concerns about her relationship with Angel. She wasn't likely to be any more receptive to candid discussion about her baby, particularly if that conversation was about things that she wouldn't want to hear.

Using a simple magic spell, Willow attempted to ascertain the truth for herself.  From what she could tell, the baby was normal and human. Using her scrying bowl, she next looked into the future... she saw only a tiny blonde girl, not a portent of evil. Her fears were allayed somewhat, yet her feelings of loss and loneliness were reinforced.

It was when she attempted to repeat the spell for Marcus, to show him what she had seen and prove to him that he and perhaps the Senior Partners were wrong about the child, that things went horribly wrong... She used coltsfoot instead of angelica root - how she had gotten them confused she still didn't know - and her spell had caused Buffy to miscarry. 

She had been distraught, the guilt almost overwhelming, and had confessed what she had done to Marcus.  Instead of condemning her, however, Marcus commended her for her quick thinking. They weren't positive that her spell had been the trigger, he insisted, and even if it had, she had actually done that right thing. Whether she would admit it or not, she knew that it was best for all that Buffy and Angel not have a child. She was only doing what was right - even if it was in her subconscious. As for the future that she had seen - that was only one possible outcome; what was read in the prophecy by the Senior Partners was much more certain than her vision.

A day later he returned to tell her that the Senior Partners were extraordinarily pleased with her actions, not to mention impressed with her ingenuity and her skill. They offered rewards... additional magic power and a day with Tara. Shocked, Willow initially declined. Why, Marcus asked her. Didn't she deserve even a day of happiness?  The Senior Partners don't offer such rewards lightly... he was clearly impressed by the magnitude of such a prize. And her guilt began to subside.

The one day with Tara - even though it wasn't actually Tara, but rather her spirit - was the best day that Willow could remember having in a long while.  But, like an addiction, it only made her crave more... she began to seek out ways to do the Senior Partner's bidding in hopes that they would offer her another such reward. They gave her access to magic that had been previously beyond her grasp and her power grew steadily; they offered trinkets and a talisman or two. But despite the few distasteful things she did for them, no similar offer was forthcoming. That is, not until Buffy announced that she was pregnant again... then it had been a simple matter then to slip a few selected herbs into Buffy's drink. The accompanying guilt was quickly assuaged by the Senior Partners, though instead of offering her a day with Tara, she was given a glimpse of what their life together would have been. It was wonderful, and yet bittersweet as it was a future that she would never have.

And yet, Buffy seemed to have everything. Life with her soul mate, a child, a bright future... it was all that she was denied.

Thus, the seeds of resentment began to grow...

So when Marcus offered her a way to have everything that she wanted, it hadn't taken long to rationalize what she was asked to do with what she would be given in return.  It was wrong, unnatural in fact, that Buffy was still around... she should never have been resurrected. This was her opportunity to correct the mistake that she had made... one that violated all of the basic tenets of nature, as well as the ancient laws set forth hundreds of years ago. The Watcher's Council would set things back as they should have been: one girl, chosen to fight the vampires and creatures of the night, not an army. The activated slayers would have their powers revoked, and they would be given a normal life; the normal life that Buffy always claimed to have wanted. Willow would, in fact, be doing these girls a favor. She could give them back a normal life, a life without demons or darkness. The rogue Slayers, and the ones that couldn't return to a normal life, would be given a life in another dimension where they would be safe from harm. It was the right thing to do... to restore the natural order, to set things back to how they should have been...

In exchange for helping the Watcher's Council collect their wayward Slayers, and restore things to how they should be, she would get a life with Tara...

With the permission of the Senior Partners, she even consulted her lover who agreed that restoring the natural order was indeed the right thing to do.

It wasn't until later... much later, after all was said and done, that she discovered that she had been played. The Senior Partners never intended to give her a life with Tara. She was told that she misunderstood what they offered, that they weren't promising her a life with Tara. As for restoring things to how they should have been... that takes time, and of course the Council was working on it but it wasn't Wolfram & Hart's concern. Marcus slyly insisted that Willow knew the truth all along, that she only used it as an excuse to justify her betrayal of her friend, when the truth was she was so resentful and jealous and full of guilt about what she had done that she wanted Buffy gone. She could always confess what she had done to Angel... all of what she had done, including the spells she had cast that caused harm to so many, to the cases she had taken without their consent, to her part in Buffy's miscarriages, and finally to her disappearance. Surely, he would understand and forgive her.

Furious, she tried to prove the strength of her power by resurrecting her lover herself... only to find that Tara's white magic from beyond the grave was much more powerful than she was, even with all of the skill that she had gained from the Senior Partners and Wolfram & Hart.  One thing however, was clear: Tara's disappointment and disapproval with her was keenly felt.

For days following, Willow retreated to her apartment and refused to leave.  Most thought that she was grieving for Buffy, that she had finally accepted her friend's death as a consequence of her disappearance. Other than Marcus, no one knew - much less even suspected - the real reasons behind her abrupt withdrawal from the world.  When she returned, almost two weeks later, she was a changed person.

A noise startled her out of her reverie and Willow sighed. No use dwelling on the past. It was the future that concerned her now.

Returning her attention to the dark water in the bowl, she concentrated intently.

The dark of night brought with it a chill breeze that swept through the air. Standing at the edge of the yard, the wind whipping his coat around him, Angel watched the silhouettes moving inside the house. One of them was undoubtedly Quentin Travers, of that Angel was certain. Who the other two were he didn't know or care.

A predator on the hunt, he watched his target with unwavering attention.  Though he stood perfectly still, his body cried out for action, while his heart and gut wanted only revenge. In that, he shared traits with his demon.  But he could not let his anger and impatience get the better of him.

Everything hinged on tonight.

Quentin could not be allowed to escape.

Nodding his head in the direction where he knew the others waited, he finally gave the signal. It was time.

The silk dupioni drapes stirred and Quentin glanced up from his desk. He didn't remember leaving the window open.  He got up to close the window and turned back toward his desk only to find his path blocked by a tall man clad all in black, staring down at him with a gaze that was both fierce and frightening.

"Angelus," he said after a moment, his tone curt and clipped. "I certainly wasn't expecting you." He managed to mask all but the smallest sign of his surprise.

"No, I'm sure you weren't," Angel returned, his face shadowed. Almost before the man could move, the vampire reached out and grasped the older man by the neck.  An iron cuff was snapped around one of Quentin's wrists with swift efficiency.  No time tonight would be wasted.

"I say, what are you-"

"Taking you with me," Angel interrupted, cuffing the man's other wrist and hauling him forward.

"What? Why? You can't do this!" Quentin protested futilely, jerking at his shackles.

"I can and I am," Angel retorted, dragging the man toward the door.

"You have no idea who you're messing with. I will be missed. People will be looking for me," Quentin countered, struggling still as they moved along the corridor toward the stairs. "Important people, people that a creature such as yourself would not wish to anger."

"We'll leave a note. We'll tell then that you've gone to Bjoutan for a vacation."

Stunned by the bland pronouncement, Quentin blinked. He stumbled and nearly fell to his knees only to find himself yanked forward forcibly.

"Though you will have to tell me how to get there first," Angel continued conversationally, though there was no mistaking the underlying rage in his tone.  Turning, they started down the stairs, the older man struggling to keep up with the vampire's rapid pace.

"You'll regret this, vampire," Quentin sneered. He pulled furiously at the chains, doubling his efforts to escape.  "As I said, people will be looking for me. When they find out that a vampire was responsible for my abduction, they will not rest until they have found me. And you, you will know hell on earth for what you have done. That is, for the brief opportunity that you'll be permitted to... live, or whatever it is that you call what you do."

"I've known hell in hell so you'll have to do better than that."

They passed through the dining room where Quentin's two companions were now sitting, each bound tightly to a chair.  Wesley and Giles had captured the other man in the house, who turned out to be a member of Quentin's reformed Watcher's Council, while Spike had grabbed the woman. She admitted to being Quentin's current lover, though she was quite open to considering a replacement. Or so she claimed with a flirtatious smile.

Without even acknowledging the others, Angel pushed Quentin forcefully through the swinging doors into the kitchen. There he shoved him into an empty chair that sat in the middle of the room. Taking another chain, he secured the man responsible for Buffy's disappearance firmly to the chair.

The only other occupant in the kitchen, Spike wheeled over a tray with an assortment of knives and other paraphernalia he had selected. Among the items there was an ice pick and even a fireplace poker.  "This should give us a start."

"You won't get away with this," Quentin said uneasily, looking between the two vampires. He had yet to spare even so much as a thought for his two companions; his concern wasn't for them anyway.

"Oh, I think I will," Angel answered distractedly. He appeared to be studying the selection of items from Spike's offering with interest.

Quentin swallowed hard trying to hide his increasing nervousness. He might not die, but he could still feel pain... They wouldn't dare. Would they?

"I hope you don't tell me how to get to Bjoutan for a long time. Hours at least," the dark haired vampire said. Picking up an 8 inch carving knife, he eyed the blade consideringly. "It's been years since I've tortured anyone. I mean, really tortured them."

"Well, there was that demon a few weeks back... The broken fingers, nose and jaw qualifies as torture I believe. Though he did seem to enjoy it when you broke his spine one vertebra at a time, so I'm not at all sure about that bit," Spike commented helpfully as he held up a corkscrew for inspection.

"Why do you think I know anything about this Bjoutan place anyway?"

"Because your name is on the deed," Wesley said matter-of-factly as he entered the room. He held a copy of the document in his hand, along with a stack of other condemning papers that he had retrieved from the safe in Quentin's office.  

"Ah, yes. I should have known your lackey would be within shouting distance," Quentin said with a sneer. "Wyndam-Pryce, your father is turning in his grave at what you have become and who you have chosen to consort with," he added before shifting his attention to the man immediately behind the former Watcher. "And Mr. Giles... I'm quite surprised you'd join in on this farce. Don't you have a school to run?"

"Travers." Giles greeted coldly. From the comment it was obvious that Quentin had known about his school for the Slayers in Training. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before the newly formed Council would have wanted to take over. He was glad then, that he had moved the school and hidden the girls away in Tuscany. Depending on the reach of the new Council, he might have to consider more extensive measures - but there would be time to figure that out over the next several weeks. Quentin's disappearance would no doubt set things back a bit.

From behind Giles Elise eyed the man that she had heard so much about with candid interest. The smallish, grey haired man didn't look to be nearly the evil villain that she had pictured in her mind. But then again, looks could be deceiving.

"I see. So what if I have title to a piece of property, and so what if I happened to use the services of Wolfram & Hart to purchase that property. It's all perfectly legal. And well before you were in charge."  He said the last part with obvious cynicism, the implication that Angel's position was in title only.  

"Oh, come on now. Let's just do this," Spike snapped impatiently. He picked up meat cleaver and brandished it menacingly in the air. "We can play little word games all night, but the fact of the matter is that you know that we know that your little vacation spot or whatever you want to call this Bjoutan is where you've stashed the Slayer. Or Slayers. I don't really care if it's 1 or 100. You're going to tell us how to get there-"

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Quentin spat with a forced laugh. "I don't think so." Admittedly, he was avidly curious how his prison for Slayers had been found. It was a tightly guarded secret; only a select few knew about it and though that could not be trusted to maintain their silence had been eliminated.  

"I don't want to kill you," Angel said, his voice lethally soft. He tested the weight of the knife in his palm. "I just want to make you wish you were dead."

Silence hung in the air for a long moment.  Giles shivered; the scene was much too close to his memories of his own torture at Angelus' hands.

A bead of sweat rolled along Quentin's temple. He licked his lips. "And if I tell you what you want to know?"

"Then your fate is no longer in my hands."

Quentin's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy will decide your future," Angel returned plainly.

The Watcher's Council head considered this for a moment before he asked, "And if you don't find her?"

"You should hope that I do because I'm certain that she'll be far more lenient at her worst than I will ever be."

"You'll regret this." Quentin blurted as Angel stalked toward him, the silver glint from the knife edge visible in his palm.

The feelings of rage that he had been holding in check surfaced, and Angel struggled to keep his demonic countenance in check. Now that the man responsible for the greatest loss that he have ever known in his life was in front of him, the desire to maim and kill was strong and growing steadily stronger.  At that moment, he couldn't separate himself from his demon - nor did he care to.

Leaning toward Quentin, the knife poised at the man's throat, Angel murmured, "I already do."

"Do you think Quentin was telling the truth? About the portal?" Elise asked Wesley as they walked side by side outside the flat where they were all staying. It would be light soon, the slightest hint of graying dawn in the sky.

"I believe so, yes," he said thoughtfully. The Council leader had proven harder to break than they initially thought, yet Angel had been merciless and determined. Wesley had never seen that side of his friend - at least not with his soul intact.  Admittedly, he wondered about that several times in the past few hours - if Angel still had his soul.

"It's a bit ironic, isn't it? I mean, the portal being at Eastwood Park where there also happens to be a women's prison?"

"Yes, well, Quentin wasn't particularly known for his cunning."

"What... what are they going to do with him?" Elise asked her unfocused gaze on the few indistinct lights in the distance. She hadn't stayed in the room while Angel worked Quentin over; she hadn't been able to stomach it. 

"I imagine precisely what Angel said: hold him until Buffy can decide his fate." The man in question was currently locked in the cage in Oz's friends flat. His injuries were many and painful, but not life-threatening. Not that they would have been anyway to someone who had sold his soul to the Senior Partners at Wolfram & Hart and was technically already dead.  Now he would only 'die' when the partners chose to release his soul.

"Have you... has Angel ever... I mean, is he that way..."

Wesley glanced at Elise. "Are you wondering if the man you saw earlier tonight is the same man you thought you knew?"

"Well, yes, Sort of. I just never knew that he could be... quite that... cruel? No, that's not the word, but you know what I mean."

"I don't pretend to understand everything that Angel has seen or done," Wesley began softly, "but after enduring several centuries in hell and fighting his way back through that... and given that Travers admitted to condemning Buffy to Bjoutan... let's just say that I imagine that working the man over is small by comparison." In fact, he imagined that Angel had been considerably restrained in his actions compared to what he would have preferred to do, or what his demon was no doubt demanding he do to the man that had dared risk harm to Buffy.

"Do you think the Senior Partners will intervene on his behalf?" She had heard his muffled threats and declarations and later his screams through the door before she had wandered further into the house, away from the sounds.

"Perhaps..." Wes mused, contemplating why the Senior Partners would have struck a deal with Travers in the first place. Travers had gotten Bjoutan, a secure place to imprison those Slayers that he declared as rogue or in violation of the Watcher's Council's tenets, but what had Wolfram & Hart gained in return?  It had been almost eight years since Quentin's purchase of Bjoutan, yet Buffy's abduction was just a little over a year ago. It was hard to imagine that it had been part of one grand plan... eight years ago no one could have predicted that Buffy and Angel would have reunited. Unless there was a prophecy of some sort... that would be something that the Senior Partners might have access to and would fear... something that would drive them to strike a deal with Quentin. But what was it?  Perhaps there was something more in the files, or in the library at Wolfram & Hart that would give him a clue... if only they knew if there was someone else at the law firm that had been involved in Buffy's kidnapping... 

"When do you think they'll be able to reach the portal?"

Elise repeated her question once more, her voice jarring him out of his speculative thoughts.

"Oh, um, in three hours perhaps. They were stopping off to pick up some friends of Mr. Giles in case they needed the help with the portal."

"Witches?"

"Yes, from a coven nearby. They're quite powerful I understand."

Elise hugged her arms to her chest. Things were moving so fast now it seemed. What would the future hold for all of them?  Suddenly she felt tired and weary and wanted nothing more than sleep. "That's good then."

"Yes, it is. It's better than we could have hoped really."

"Do you think they'll actually find her? Buffy, I mean?" she asked quietly.

"Angel is determined," he replied with a slight lift of his brows. He wouldn't want to be in the vampire's way, that he knew for sure. He doubted if there was anything that would keep Angel from Bjoutan and from Buffy now that he knew that she was there. 

"He really loves her," Elise said, her voice both reverent and sad.

"Yes, he does," Wes returned kindly.

"I wonder if he'll forgive me," she asked, more to herself than her companion.

"There's nothing to forgive, Elise," Wes said earnestly. "If you hadn't been working on your story, it's possible that none of this would have been uncovered. Angel is... well, he's obviously concerned about Buffy and filled with guilt for not having found all of this out for himself, but I doubt very much that he blames you."

"He's hardly said two words to me since I told him about all this."

"It's not your fault. And it's not as though there's been time for polite conversations," Wesley explained.

"I know. I just... I guess I never expected all of this. I never intended to hurt him. Or them."

"No one could have foreseen this," he replied, stopping and turning her to face him. "Don't blame yourself. Angel has a lot on his mind right now, but he's not blaming you."

"I know, I do. I'm being selfish and silly. I think I'm just overtired," she said, slightly ashamed that she was thinking of herself and her feelings at a time like this.

"It has been a long day. Perhaps we should head back now and try to get some rest," Wes murmured sympathetically. He genuinely liked Elise and didn't want to see her hurt. After a slight hesitation, he pulled her into his arms.

They stood there for a long moment, Elise resting her head on his shoulder, grateful for the comfort that he offered.

"Wesley?" she asked uncertainly, lifting her head to look at his face.

"Yes?" He looked down at her, thinking not for the first time how lovely she was and how remarkable.

"Do you think that she... that Buffy will be all right? You know, when they find her?"

Wesley looked away for a long moment before answering. "I don't know."

 

 

 

Part XIV

 

 

The drive to Eastwood Park was tense and silent.  Oz drove with determination, his foot heavy on the accelerator, while Giles offered murmured directions from the passenger seat at various intervals.  Angel and Spike sat in the back of the borrowed van, well away from the windows and the coming light of dawn.

Moire and Agatha, the two witches from the coven who agreed to accompany them and help with the spell to open the portal, sat to the left of Spike.  They would glance at Angel now and then, their gazes inscrutable, but spent most of the time on the journey studying the document from the files that described the magic needed to open the portal to Bjoutan and talking quietly with each other.

Sighing heavily, Spike toyed absently with the hardwood tonfa that Oz had found along with a few other marital arts weapons in a spare room at Quentin's house. As it didn't appear that Quentin used the equipment, they all could only guess where most of it had come from.  Given the initials carved on the well-used staff, Spike would've bet money that the former owner of the weapon would be found in Bjoutan.

Nothing of Buffy's had been found, and for that Quentin Travers could consider himself lucky. Angel's restraint had already been tenuous at best; he might have come completely unhinged had there been any solid evidence of her presence in the Watcher's house. He had already been closer to the edge of madness and more like his demon than the others had ever seen him before. Even Spike had a few moments of surprise, though he had certainly seen Angelus be far more maliciously brutal and sadistic - while taking great pleasure in every second of it - than his souled half had even considered.

The elder vampire sat unmoving, his eyes closed, and his brow creased in concentration.  He had said only a few words since they left Quentin Traver's house in Mayfair with the man himself in tow; but then no one seemed particularly inclined to make conversation after the events of the last several hours.

It had taken quite a bit more persuasion than any of them expected before Quentin grudgingly disclosed the location of the portal to Bjoutan that he and his select few, trusted confidants used on several occasions. Twice only, to be exact, was the number of times that Travers himself even bothered to visit the prison he had established and endorsed whole-heartedly. He had made that confession with a nasty smile, adding that it wasn't a particularly 'pleasant place' to visit. He regretted that comment when Spike ground out a lit cigarette on the center of his chest. 

Quite some time later, battered and bleeding, he admitted that his people had worked with an intermediary at Wolfram & Hart to arrange Buffy's abduction.  The man's name, he choked out, as the dark vampire broke each of the small bones in his fingers slowly and painfully, was Serge something or other; it was Russian he thought.  He then claimed that the Senior Partners at Wolfram & Hart had given their blessings for the creation of such an important detention center, and had been instrumental, in fact, to its establishment - hence their cooperation and their employee's involvement.  His last words, snarled out in desperation just before he lapsed into unconsciousness, were that Angel would regret this; that the Senior Partners would not let him get away with such a transgression against one of their own.

But by then Angel cared very little about any threats. He had everything he needed. The portal to Bjoutan, and to Buffy, was at the Eastwood Park women's prison; he would have her back in a matter of days, if not hours, of that he was confident.

With its leader missing, the Council would be temporarily thwarted; a decision about the future of the organization could wait for a few weeks or until Buffy was well enough to decide what she wanted to do with them and with Quentin.

The Senior Partners... their involvement in Buffy's disappearance didn't surprise him, especially since he had been engaged in an implicit war with them for years; but until now, he had only suspicions, not proof. Now he had a name; someone who could tell him what and when and why. Irregardless of his cooperation or the value of his information, however, the man had committed a transgression beyond forgiveness. There would be no absolution for the man named Serge; he would not be permitted to live out the year. 

And then, he would deal with the Senior Partners and each and every person that had contributed in any way to this insufferable act.

But first things first... Bjoutan and Buffy.

Impatient and edgy, Angel lit a second borrowed cigarette and paced back and forth in the small chamber like a caged animal.  The frustration of waiting while the two witches went about the complex business of preparing everything for the spell to open the portal was killing him.

"You can go as soon as the portal is open," Moire said calmly over her shoulder as she examined the contents of the cabinets along the back wall. She could sense the vampire's agitation even though she had yet to look in his direction. "The twin amber suns of Bjoutan will have no detrimental effect on you unlike our sun here."

"Even so, we'll do a protective spell just in case," Agatha offered quietly, lifting the jet skull carefully out of the black velvet bag it was wrapped in.

Barely slowing his stride, Angel nodded.

Getting into the prison had been absurdly simple. Giles merely told the guard on duty that they were there on business for Quentin Travers. The unconcerned young man shrugged his shoulders and opened the gate. He didn't care who came in to the prison, only who attempted to leave.

They were met within minutes by the warden, Fred Harris, and two of his finest - and most discreet - officers.  He looked at the incongruous group curiously, but only nodded when Giles offered a contrived and highly abbreviated explanation for their visit.  Amaranthine Enterprises paid an extraordinary amount in rent for the single basement room that was used infrequently; total discretion and confidentiality was assured.  Harris himself had been witness to the comings and goings of the various men - with young women often in tow - that Quentin had sent to the prison.  Given what he had seen, and what he suspected, he knew better than to ask questions. Ignorance was sometimes the better path.

He escorted them to the door that led to the basement.  After Angel opened the door using the keys he had taken from Travers, Harris excused himself leaving only one guard behind to watch the basement door to ensure that they would not be disturbed. 

Now they all waited in the sparsely furnished, dimly lit room as Moire and Agatha assembled everything to begin the ritual. Having all of the required items readily available, including the extremely rare jet skull, greatly simplified the task ahead of them. But of course, the Council would have kept everything conveniently at hand since they had used the portal a number of times.

"So, do you have a plan when we get there, or what?" Spike asked as he too paced restlessly along one side of the room.

"We?" Angel's dark eyes challenged him.

"You don't think I came all this way to just wait in this basement, do you?" The blonde vampire retorted.

"Do you think you're going to be the one to rescue her?" Angel crossed the room in two strides, grabbing the smaller vampire by the throat.

"No," Spike ground out. "But I won't leave her there to rot if you get your sorry ass dusted."

Gradually Angel's vicious grip on Spike lessened.  The younger vampire had a point. He might need the help, and if something happened to him there would be someone else that could get Buffy out of there.

Giles cleared his throat. "You, uh, will perhaps need some help. I'm prepared to go along as well."

Angel glanced at the former Watcher, then back at Spike.  He was moved by their loyalty and support. But then, it was Buffy.  He'd move heaven and hell for her... it shouldn't surprise him that others would be willing to do the same.  

Buffy, caught in a nightmare from which she could not seem to wake, struggled to free herself from the web of sleep. But like the clinging strands of a sticky web, the bad dream held fast, capturing her so completely it was impossible to break free.

She dreamt that she was trapped in a dark, depressing prison, and no matter how many times she tried to wake, to return to her penthouse suite home in Los Angeles, she couldn't.

Raising one hand to her head, she attempted to clear away the cobwebs cluttering her mind. Everything seemed so off, so distant and fuzzy.  She felt so weak.  With a trembling hand, she brushed her disheveled hair away from her face and stared around her in horrified disbelief. The last thing she remembered was the limo taking her to Long Beach.  How did I get here?  Where was Angel?

The tiny babe inside her felt like it did a somersault, and suddenly she felt sick. Stumbling, she rose to her feet and made her way to the dirty sink along the wall. Dropping to her knees, she retched violently, clutching her stomach. Gradually the nausea passed, but the sick feeling inside her increased with every breath she took as the reality of her situation sank in.

Hearing a sound behind her, she struggled to her feet.  She thought that it was someone coming to help her.  Instead, she looked up into the feral gleam of a complete stranger.  He was a large man, his stained grey t-shirt stretched over the bulge of his belly, but not quite far enough to cover the inch or two of girth evident above the waistband of his trousers. His pants were tucked into black, lace-up style military boots.

"My, my. What a filthy little whore you are. They told me that you had a vampire's bastard in your belly, but I didn't believe them." He stepped through the open door, and Buffy noticed for the first time that she was in some sort of cell.  There were no windows, and the single door was made of heavy steel bars.

Unconsciously she wrapped her arms over her stomach, as if that would somehow protect her unborn child from the man's wrath as he continued to advance toward her.

"Have you no shame?"  He said with disgust, bringing his hand up to backhand her hard across the face.

Purely on instinct, Buffy raised her hand to ward off the blow and retaliate, but found that she was nearly powerless. Her punch, landed on his beefy shoulder, seemed of no consequence to him.  Her brow creased in confusion. Where was her Slayer strength?  She swung again, but he easily deflected her blow.

"It's a disgrace, that's what it is," he spat, reaching to take her arm and jerk her forward. "I don't know how you think you'll raise the brat in here."

Refusing to be cowed, Buffy gathered what little strength she had, stood up straight and lifted her chin. "I won't be raising my child here. I'll be out of here before the baby is born. Now take your hands off of me before you regret it."

Arno stared down at the small blonde incredulously, a smile curving his lips.  These Slayers, they usually had spunk... this one more so than the others. She'd be quite the challenge to break. He always enjoyed it when they got a new girl; it made the months here in the shit-hole of Bjoutan tolerable.  "You think so, do ya?"  

As if time and motion slowed, Buffy saw him raise his arm and slam his fist in her stomach. She felt the hard impact of his cruel blow, and felt herself slam into the wall behind her before falling to the floor. She extended her arms to brace her fall almost the same time she felt the heavy boot land near her hip, kicking her solidly.  She rolled, curling up into a ball; her only thought to protect her unborn child, as she felt another kick strike her in the back.

Reaching down, the man grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked her toward him. "Now girlie, I don't care if they want your brat. I run things here in Bjoutan, and you'd better learn that right quick."

The intricately carved skull was placed in the center of the room and an imaginary circle drawn around it using the blood red hilted athame.  With deliberate precision Agatha then placed the ancient bronze coins, one with the etchings of Herkales grasping Diomeda's hair as she tried to kill him, and the other of Aesklepios with a serpent twined around the staff in his hand, over the gaping hollow eyes. 

Lighting the first of six black candles, Moire began speaking the phrases in ancient Avesta to complete the rite and open the bidirectional portal.  Once open, it would remain so for thirty-six hours after which it would close. They would then have to way for six days before the ritual could be performed again, or they would risk closing the portal permanently.

In her sleep, Buffy whimpered, the dream continuing apace.

Almost in shock, she lay on her small cot. The pain in her body from the beating was sharp and pervasive, radiating through her. Yet, she clung to the pain, refusing to allow herself to think of anything beyond it;, because if she did, she feared that she would give in to the panic she could feel pulling her skin taut and making her heart race.

As part of his standard procedure with the arrival of new girls, Arno subjected them to a humiliating inspection. They were stripped nude, and held in various positions by two of his guards while he poked and prodded and examined every inch of their young, firm, nubile bodies. He admired the bruises from his handiwork, and would add to them with vicious slaps and brutal twists and pinches. He liked a certain pattern to bruises, or so he claimed as he cruelly grabbed her breasts.

Technically, he didn't have sex with her, nor were the guards permitted to do so even though they had suggested it more than once during their 'examination', but the magnitude of such intimate violation might as well have been considered such.

Her greatest concern through all of it had been not for herself, but for her unborn baby. She didn't know who Arno meant when he said that 'they' wanted her baby, but it was clear that he wanted her to lose it.  But she wasn't ready to give up hope. Her hands stroked her stomach. Angel would find her.

Trembling slightly, Moire continued chanting softly. The lights flickered and dimmed, and the air seemed to swirl around them in steadily increasing gusts. The atmosphere in the room seemed charged with electricity. 

Anxiously, Angel strode toward Moire only to be stopped by Agatha putting a hand on his arm.

"Wait," she murmured quietly. "She mustn't be interrupted."

With a sudden flash of light, the center of the room above the skull seemed to part, leaving a strange, dark fissure.

Moire dropped to her knees, drained.

"Stay here and help her," Angel said to Giles as he strode toward the opening. "If we're not back within eight hours, then come through."  Without another word or a backward glance, he plunged through the opening.

"Stupid poof," Spike grumbled. "Didn't even wait for the protective spell. Won't be of much help to the Slayer if he gets dusted on arrival." Still, with a shrug of his shoulders, he tugged his jacket over his head and followed.

Buffy thrashed on her small cot, struggling unsuccessfully to wake from her nightmare of her past.

Weeks past and Arno was unsuccessful in his attempts to force her to miscarry.  Though she had little appetite for the unappealing food they served, Buffy forced herself to eat in hopes that it would strengthen her unborn child. She exercised regularly for that reason as well, though her activities were limited since she spent most of the time in her small cell.  Still, she remained as weak as a kitten, her Slayer strength completely sapped. She had only herself for company, as she didn't count her weekly visits with Arno or the twice daily visits from the guards who dropped off her meal trays.

She heard sounds that convinced her that there were others in this hell hole, but she never was allowed to talk to anyone else. Fear of the unknown was terrifying, so she determinedly focused on each day as it came. She couldn't allow herself to even consider Arno's threats that her child would be taken from her; that would snatch away her sanity.  Instead, she concentrated on the day she would escape, and she waited for just that opportunity.

Until the day she went into labor... four months early. Nothing had prepared her for the fear, or the pain. The guards brought Arno, who disinterestedly noted her plight though he did have her moved to the small building off the kitchen that doubled as an infirmary.

Mrs. Kerse, the kitchen assistant, came to her aide.  She wiped Buffy's brow and explained patiently that first babies usually took their time, though she couldn't quite keep the worried look from her face.

Tearfully, Buffy clarified that it was much too early; she couldn't be having the baby now. To which Mrs. Kerse agreed but said that there was nothing to be done now but wait.

The waiting stretched into twelve long hours, during which Buffy prayed, cried, cursed, screamed until she lost consciousness, only to be revived by the pain beginning the cycle all over again.

All the while, Mrs. Kerse stood by, talking with her, attempting to sooth her and reassure her, despite the fact that she herself felt overwhelmed by the events. She had no experience as a midwife, and very little with babies.

When Buffy finally gave birth to a tiny boy, Mrs. Kerse cleaned the baby and swaddled him into blankets made from several of the cleaner kitchen towels. The tiny baby boy had no strength to protest, all he could do was struggle for shallow breaths.

Arno, having heard the news from one of the guards that the birth was over, stopped in the doorway. He glanced at the small bundle in Mrs. Kerse's arms. "Is the brat alive?"

"Yes," the kitchen assistant replied hesitantly, looking at the exhausted young woman on the nearby cot. She lowered her voice, "But I'm not sure if he will survive. He's very small."

"Good. I'll be by to get the corpse in the morning. They'll want to see it."

Mrs. Kerse felt overwhelmed. She was as trapped here as many of the others; to attempt to do anything for the young woman or the child would be risking her own life. She looked back at the young woman, then at the impossibly small babe in her arms.  She prayed that both were sleeping.  After a moment of indecision, she concluded that there was nothing anyone could do; it was all in God's hands now.  

As luck would have it, the portal opened on a small hillside overlooking a foreboding structure with high, razor wire topped fences that could only be the prison they were seeking.  The walk along the narrow, overgrown path down the hillside took only minutes, but to Angel it felt like hours.

As Angel stepped up to the high gates, he realized that for the first time in a very long time he knew real fear.  His stomach churned and he had to clench his jaw to keep his panic at bay just by looking at the dreary, dilapidated stone buildings. A foul stench hung in the air; air which itself seemed almost thick enough to cut under the strange twin amber suns.  Of small comfort was the fact that the awareness of her presence, the long-missing pang of connection they shared, had returned in full force the very second he passed through the portal.  Buffy was here. And she was paying steeply for the sins he had committed. He wanted to curse heaven for the very injustice of it.

Flicking his collar up, he strode up to the small guard vestibule, and banged his clenched fist against the door.  The guard on duty had fallen asleep. The noise startled him, and he jumped up so quickly he knocked over his chair, as well as the cup of coffee at his elbow. A foul oath leaving his lips, he looked up to see not another guard but two unrecognizable strangers. What's more, they appeared to be angry.  

"You can't get in without a pass," he said blandly.   

Angel curbed the violence the surged just below the surface. "Open the door," he said quietly. "I own this accursed place now. It's mine."

The guard, his eyes boggling at the stranger's proclamation, staggered back a step but pushed the release button to open the gate allowing the man, as well as the man accompanying him, to enter. He cursed inwardly. He should have remembered that the few strangers that they got at Bjoutan were usually VIPs. "Sorry sir. I didn't know."  

"Take me to the warden." The order, given so softly, carried a deadly threat.

"This way," the young guard stammered as he led the way up the two flights of stairs to the main building. He was probably going to be reprimanded for this... 

"Hamlin? What is the meaning of this?" Arno murmured disdainfully, looking up from his desk as the door burst open. The interruption annoyed him; he didn't like surprises in any way, shape, or form. He operated with order and control; those who got out of line tasted the lash of his favorite bullwhip.

"Sir, uh, this is the new owner."

"And that will be all we need from you just now," Spike said as he pushed young Hamlin out of the way and closed the door. He leaned against it with a casualness that belied his keen vigilance.

"We're usually given a few days notice prior to the arrival of guests..." Arno began, his brows lifting in surprise. Bjoutan had a new owner?  Why hadn't he been told?

"But then we're not guests," Angel returned smoothly, his dark gaze shuttered as he looked over the man in front of him. The Bjoutan prison warden was a large man, his bulk unhidden by the desk. His face was shiny was sweat, and he seemed to be laboring for breath in the humid office for all that he was simply sitting at the desk doing paperwork.

"So then you're not guests. You are, if Hamlin is to be believed, the new owner of our most humble establishment," Arno said, struggling to keep the curiosity out of his voice.  "If that is, in fact, the case," he smiled broadly, extending his arms. "Then what, gentlemen, can I do for you?"

"Assemble your guards - all of them - for our inspection," Angel tossed over his shoulder as he approached the chest against the wall. Lifting the lid, his nostrils flared at the scent of blood and fear coating the various whips and implements jammed in a haphazard pile. A low growl rumbled in his chest, but with effort he controlled his mounting rage.  "Then assemble the... prisoners. And while we're waiting, I want to look at your records."

"Before I do that, I will need a name and some sort of proof of what you say," the warden returned, his lips curling in a sneer.  He had a pistol in his desk drawer; he could use that until the guards could be summoned.  His gaze flicked over the man at the door then back again to the one now standing in front of his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he added, "I'm sure you understand."

Angel stared at the beefy warden for a long moment, his mind going through the various and sundry forms of slow torture that the man would endure. It would be an agonizing death, and he would gloatingly relish each anguished groan and scream of pain. 

"My name is Angel."

Arno paled. "Noo..."

Buffy woke with a start, her eyes wet with tears.  The death of her baby had nearly been her undoing.  After that she had stopped living. She stopped daydreaming, stopping hoping, and stopped thinking. She existed - barely. In her heart she knew she would never again see Angel. She would never go on another moonlit patrol with him, or train with him, or make love with him. He was lost to her forever, just as her son was.

When she had first been imprisoned, she had been angry, outraged, that someone would dare do this. But since then she had lost everything.  She lost her child. She had lost her lover. She had lost her looks, her youth, her health. She lost her will to live. She no longer cared. She was numb now, impervious to any further pain or torment. She had also become a thing unclean, tainted. She would never forget the things that she had suffered.

She was so thin, her wrists and ankles looked delicate enough to break with the smallest pressure. Her clothes and skin were layered with so much dirt she though she would never be clean again. Her hair had grown a few inches since Arno had initially cropped it so very short, but the lank, greasy strands were plastered to her head. Her appearance was so changed, so was practically unrecognizable.

But oddly... today... for the first time in... she wasn't sure since she had long since lost track of time... she felt...something. That odd sensation, that familiar pang in her heart, and her gut, and her very soul... But no, it was impossible. This was yet some new trick; some new way to torment and break her. 

She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking slightly and willing the sensation away. She couldn't afford to have hope.

Spike called for two guards to come to the Warden's office with mops and buckets. The first to arrive promptly lost his lunch on the floor, giving them another mess to clean up.  The second took in the scene of the dismembered corpse of his former boss calmly, murmuring something to the effect that 'it was about time the bastard got what he deserved'.

Without a word, Angel wiped his hands on a towel Spike had tossed him from a nearby bathroom.  He shrugged back into this shirt and coat, then picked up his bloodied sword and wiped it off on one of the former Warden's clean shirts.  Angel then walked out the door and down the hall without so much as a backward glance.  He sent one man to assemble the guards on duty, and another one to bring all of the women currently incarcerated into the courtyard. 

Angel surveyed the rag-tag group of men assembled on the prison lawn. Without preamble, he told them that they were all fired. Several surprised responses were murmured through the crowd, but rumors of Arno's decapitated head, his eyes wide and mouth opened in silent scream, had already begun to circulate.  Not one protest was uttered as the men disassembled.

Next the women were brought forward by the two guards Angel had yet to dismiss.  With a keen eye, he searched the face of each and every young woman that entered the courtyard. A total of thirty-seven women had been imprisoned in Bjoutan at one time or another.  Fourteen were marked as deceased, leaving a total of twenty-three still incarcerated.

As the women trudged into the courtyard, they all seemed to be lethargic and beaten down. They kept their heads down and their eyes averted as the guard holding the records read out their names.

"Drugged with something to take away their powers, yeah?" Spike muttered disgustedly.

"They'd have to be," Angel replied quietly, disturbed by what Arno had confessed that he had done. The former warden might have been big, but he wasn't a skilled fighter. A Slayer could have taken him; without a doubt it would have taken a powerful drug for most, if not all of them, to allow the man to take the liberties that he had described.

"Faith?" Spike nudged Angel's arm as the dark-haired slayer was brought forward.

Angel nodded slowly in agreement. He was surprised by how much she had changed. Her eyes widened slightly in recognition of the two vampires, but she didn't react otherwise.

There were twenty women standing in the courtyard when Angel felt a momentary panic rise. She was not here! He ran a distraught hand through his hair and tampered back the feeling. He could feel her. She was here.

He took the clipboard from the guard and scanned the names, noting that the guard made a neat tick mark next to each name as the young woman was brought forward. The name Anne jumped off the page at him. He closed his eyes and searched for patience.

When she stepped out of the building, Angel felt the world closing in around him, and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out with the force of his rage at what had been done to her.  Without further thought, he strode toward her, surprising many of the girls who jumped back in fear.  Many of them held their breath, waiting to see what new punishment the tall, dark man would mete out.

"Buffy," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Buffy stared at him for a very long time with disbelief. She felt as though she was gradually waking from a nightmare. She reached out her fingers tentatively, and he held out his hand to meet hers. When her fingers touched his, his cool fingers closed over hers. She was afraid to blink, afraid that he'd disappear, afraid that this wasn't happening. Everything around them seemed still, silent. Then everything seemed to blur together as he pulled her into his arms and clutched her tightly, completely unmindful of the dirt and grime that covered every inch of her.

It was several minutes before Angel turned back to the others.  Clearing his throat, he attempted to gain some measure of control over his emotions before he spoke. In a matter-of-fact tone, he explained to the women that he would be taking them from Bjoutan, that the prison was being closed.  As he talked, he saw their heads lift and hope gradually begin rekindle in their eyes.  He explained that they would all be fed and baths provided after they passed through the portal. Once on the other side - he'd help them all find their way back home, or wherever they wanted to go.   They would all be making the short trek up the hill in a couple of hours. In the meantime, they were free to roam about the grounds.

Afterwards, Spike came up and brushed Buffy's cheek with a reverent kiss. He was afraid to hug her for fear he'd crush her - or cry - he wasn't sure which. 

His arm still securely wrapped around her waist, Angel escorted Buffy to the front of the building. There was a bench and several chairs, used most often in the past by guards during their break. He encouraged her to sit, his gaze never leaving her face.

Buffy looked up at him. "I can't believe you're here."

"I'm here," he said simply, his deep brown eyes staring into hers. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many apologies he wanted and needed to make... he vowed to do everything possible to make this up to her.  As he ran his thumb carefully over her now seemingly fragile cheekbone, he wondered if he'd ever be capable of letting her out of his sight again.

Spike made a trip through the portal to let Giles, Moire and Agatha know to expect 23 Slayers, including Buffy.  The men that wanted to return through the portal would be allowed to do so, after all of the women were returned.

Then in small groups of three or four, Spike, Angel, and Hamlin led the women up the hill. Despite being malnourished and weak, most of them would have made the trip even if they had to crawl, so glad they were to be leaving.

Before he could leave Bjoutan, something drove Angel to see for himself the place that Buffy had spent the last year and a half.  The smell in the building was putrid, and the cells were filthy beyond belief. When he stepped into the small cell, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.  

He stared at the narrow cot in outrage that his beloved had spent so long in such a horrific place. Again he swore vengeance on all those responsible. Then he slid down in a corner against the slimed stones and cried.

 

 

 

Part XV

 

 

After Spike's announcement that they would be returning from Bjoutan with more than 20 Slayers, Oz set out to find nearby accommodations. They'd need some time to figure out what to do with everyone, and some of the Slayers would undoubtedly need some time to recover.  With tactful negotiating skills, and a bit of financial persuasion, he managed to secure the entire Toghill House Farm for the next few days, which would give them enough time to make further plans. The current guests were expediently relocated to the Thistle Hotel in Bristol so that the 'employees' of Wolfram & Hart – and their guests – would have the entire establishment to themselves for their 'retreat'.  With nine rooms and three cottages, the farm was roomy enough for such a large group, but more importantly it offered comfort, security, and above all, privacy, which they would not find as easily in a large hotel.

It took four trips before everyone was transported from Eastwood Park to the farm, Oz driving each round trip circuit and Giles going along with the first group in order to stay at the farm and help everyone get settled as they arrived. Angel and Spike were the last to leave Eastwood Park, staying along with Moire and Agatha to ensure that the portal was securely and permanently closed.  Buffy and one of the young Slayers named Paloma stayed to the end as well; Buffy because she thought it was her responsibility as perhaps the eldest Slayer, Paloma because she felt safer around the petite blonde and her rescuers.

Only three of the guards were allowed through the portal before it was closed and those three had been vetted extensively by the two vampires and had more than one of the Slayers vouch for their character. The remaining guards would be confined to the dimension indefinitely – unless they were able to somehow manage to open the portal from Bjoutan itself, which was doubtful. The objects used by Moire and Agatha to open the portal would be removed from Eastwood Park; they would subsequently be hidden or destroyed thus preventing anyone from opening the portal from this dimension.

When it was time for the last group to finally leave, Buffy didn't hesitate nor did she look back. She wanted nothing more than to leave the horrible world of Bjoutan behind.

Despite the size of the group occupying the premises, Toghill House Farm was largely quiet. Some of the young women raided the kitchen to make up for long months of unpalatable food, while for others the first priority was a long, hot bath or shower.  Still others simply roamed the grounds, relishing their freedom. The few that gathered in groups to discuss their experiences talked in hushed whispers. 

Giles began to meet with each of the women individually, hoping to assess their mental and physical health. He offered them a place to stay in Florence along with the other Slayers in training, and with Oz's help began to make plans for those who would accompany him to Italy in a few days. 

Meanwhile, Moire and Agatha bought clothes to replace the dirty rags that most of the women still wore. They also purchased a duffle bag for each person that they filled with personal necessities, such as a toothbrush, as well as an assortment of other items, including fragrant soaps and lotions, pajamas, and even makeup kits.

Faith, having been in the prison longer than most of the other girls, bounced from bitterly vowing vengeance to all involved to withdrawing from everyone and lapsing into complete silence. Angel talked to her several times, which seemed to do some good though the effects on her mood were not long lasting. 

Many of the other women had never met actually met real vampires, much less vampires with souls, and were frightened enough of Angel and Spike that they stayed well away from them despite their gratitude at being rescued.  Others were awed by the two vampires - as well as the two women who regarded them with such familiarity - and treated them with something akin to hero-worship.

Buffy spent most of her first day at the farm outside in the gardens. She sat quietly perched up on the fence watching the sheep in the nearby field, rarely talking to anyone. It was paradise to her to simply breathe in the clean, cool fresh air and feel the sun – weak though it was through the grey and mostly foggy day – on her face. She wasn't quite ready to talk to anyone about her ordeal, but she began to think that someday she might actually be able to feel something again.

She and Angel shared one of the three cottages, but they had yet to really talk. In the hours since they had arrived, it seemed everyone wanted his time. If it wasn't one of the formerly imprisoned Slayers, it was Giles, Spike, or one of the two wiccas, Moire and Agatha. At other times, he was on the phone in intense conversation with someone that she could only guess was Wesley, or perhaps someone at Wolfram & Hart. After all, it was doubtful that the business of evil had stopped in the time that she had been gone. She was grateful that he seemed to shoulder the burden of responsibility so easily, but she regretted that it seemed he always had to.  As eldest Slayer, she should have done more to comfort the others and see to their well-being and their future, yet she was as emotionally closed and needy as they.

Buffy closed her eyes in distress. She had given up hope so long ago that she had simply withdrawn into herself and waited for death.  Angel showing up at the prison and taking her away from there seemed like a dream. She wasn't sure yet how to tell him about the loss of the son he never knew he was going to have, though he deserved to know. She also wasn't sure she could ever tell him about the humiliation and indignities she'd suffered. She didn't blame him for what happened to her, but she knew him well enough to know that he undoubtedly blamed himself. He bore enough guilt without her adding to it.  Yet, she also wanted to be honest with him… half-truths and non-disclosure had added to their problems too many times in the past.  It was a dilemma she would have to face at some point.  Right now, however, she knew he was giving her the time and space she needed, and she welcomed it.

Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes and prayed for strength to face the days ahead.

It was light when Angel woke. He lay still, careful not to disturb Buffy who was finally sleeping after a restless night. He turned his thoughts to the next few days ahead. He needed to make arrangements for their return to Los Angeles, as well as to call Wes and confirm that everything was in order to have Travers transported back to LA as well. He should check with Giles to make sure that all of the necessary arrangements had been made to Tuscany for him and all for the young women going with him.  Also, Moire and Agatha were planning on leaving later in the day and were taking several of the relics from the portal with them to hide or properly destroy. He needed to make sure that they took every precaution for their own safety as well as ensuring that the Council would no longer have access to Bjoutan. Spike would travel back to London with them as a precaution, and also so he could help Wes with Travers. But all of that could wait. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to lie here for a little while longer. It had been much too long since he had been able to hold Buffy in his arms, and he was overwhelmingly grateful to have her back, especially after such an ordeal.

Nestled together in the queen size bed, he held her as the darkness turned to dawn, then dawn turn to the bright light of morning behind the thick twill curtains. He nuzzled her hair and gently stroked the curve of her back with his fingertips, wanting to let her know without words that he was there for her. He wanted to somehow infuse her with his strength and his love. If it would help her heal, he would surround her with it, saturate her with it. He didn't know if it was his imagination or wishful thinking, but it seemed to him that Buffy finally slept once enfolded in his arms.

The sound of the door to their cottage opening and closing and someone stirring in the small kitchenette finally forced him to rise.

Giles was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in his hand, when Angel entered the room.

"There's more, or coffee if you prefer," Giles said, looking up from the papers strewn on the table in front of him.

"Thanks," Angel murmured, taking a cup from the cabinet and pouring a cup of coffee. He didn't really drink it, but he liked the sensation of holding something warm in his hands. Noting the travel documents on the table, he asked, "Are you still planning on leaving Thursday?"

"Yes. I believe we'll have everything in order by then. I'd like to get the girls somewhere safe where they will be able to settle in for a while." According to Andrew and Dawn, both of whom Giles had spoken to yesterday, they were all now comfortably settled in their new location in the hills of Tuscany. They'd have to find larger accommodations eventually, but the house where they were staying would be adequate for the short term, despite their increased numbers. "They've all been through quite a lot."

Leaning against the counter, Angel nodded. 

Giles stacked the papers he had been looking at neatly and set them aside. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "I'm sorry to barge in this morning, but I thought we might talk privately."

Knowing that the former Watcher wouldn't have entered their room only to have tea, Angel had been waiting for the man to get to the real reason for his visit.

"I plan to offer Buffy a place to stay in Tuscany."

Angel thought for a moment he must have misheard, but the former Watcher was looking at him so earnestly he knew he hadn't.

"I believe she will be happy there," Giles continued, though he looked away from the vampire's piercing stare. "Just as I believe that being around the other young women that were also… that spent time in Bjoutan, would be beneficial to all of them. I believe being together will help them all to recover." He removed his glasses and began to clean them, a long standing habit when he was nervous or thoughtful.  "There's also the simple fact that Buffy was taken from Wolfram & Hart. Someone in the organization was involved in her disappearance. You yourself have said you believe that to be true, but you also have not yet been able to identify who the person might be.  It's quite clear to me that she will still be in danger there on her return, perhaps even more now than before. If Buffy returns with you, your attention will be undeniably divided. The demands of running Wolfram & Hart have not ceased, nor will they on your return, and yet Buffy's safety is paramount.  It would be best if you didn't have to worry about her protection while you continue the search for those responsible for her abduction and take care of your other responsibilities. There's also the matter of Quentin Travers and the Council that has yet to be dealt with…"

Angel listened, his expression inscrutable, as Giles continued his explanation. He couldn’t disagree, and his stomach constricted at the very thought of Buffy being in danger or worse, taken again.  Yes, Buffy had been abducted out from under their very noses, but did Giles think that he wouldn't be prepared this time? That he wouldn't take every possible precaution, that he wouldn't trust just anyone with her safety?  Though, admittedly, the man did have a point – he didn't know who he could trust, nor did he know who all had been involved – but he would, soon.  Until then, he would simply have to keep Buffy with him. Though, he knew it would be difficult. Buffy wouldn't succumb to his desire to keep her under surveillance around the clock.

Giles was speaking in a low, quiet voice so Buffy, still sleeping in the other room, wouldn't hear their conversation. He was describing the benefits that time in Tuscany would have for her and the others, and how he would go about ensuring that the girls would be able to protect themselves and each other. And in the course of his discourse, Angel forced himself to put aside his own wants and to consider what might be best for Buffy. Perhaps her former Watcher was right. An army of Slayers protecting each other had definite merits. Buffy might, in fact, benefit from being around the other young women that had shared her fate. Too, if he knew she was hidden and safe, he could focus his full attention on finding her captors. And besides, there was a chance that Buffy wouldn't want to return home to Los Angeles; after all, they knew nothing about her abduction. She might not feel comfortable or safe in their penthouse suite, much less at Wolfram & Hart.

And yet, emotion didn't succumb so easily to logic, and despite all attempts at rationalization, Angel still wanted her with him. Having just found her again, he wasn't ready to consider being apart from her, even if it meant that he didn't return to Los Angeles either.  Unfortunately, he didn't see any options for getting to the bottom of things without going back to where it all began, at least for a awhile - which meant that he would have to go back.

Giles had stopped speaking and was waiting for his response. 

Angel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his indecision obvious.  "When Buffy wakes up we'll talk to her about it," he conceded unenthusiastically.  After almost a minute of consideration, he took the chair opposite Giles at the table. "In the meantime," he said, his voice changed, cool and businesslike, "you can tell me all of what you know about Willow practicing magic, and why you don’t think I should trust her."

"Do you think Travers has any loyal followers that will be a threat?" Spike asked Giles as he settled into an overstuffed chair in the Farm's main living room. It was late afternoon; a few hours yet before Spike, Moire, and Agatha would leave for London.  

"Not initially," Giles answered, glancing from the blonde vampire to Oz who sat opposite them, over to Angel who paced near the windows. "He will be missed eventually, and if they are organized, he will be replaced. With what agenda… it depends on who replaces him I suppose."

"Do you know who it could be?" Oz asked with a contemplative frown. At base he disliked and distrusted the Council; perhaps his feelings carried over from those years ago in Sunnydale when they seemed more bureaucratic than helpful.

"No," Giles answered pensively. He was as concerned as they about the future of any Watcher's Council; it could be a threat to the young women in his care. He could only guess at who Quentin had recruited or who might follow him… It was doubtful that any of them would be trustworthy.

"Too bad someone we know can't take over," Spike declared, "then we'd be able to keep tabs on the whole organization."

Angel turned back from the shadows near the window, his expression thoughtful. "Why not?"

"Why not what?" Spike's glance swiveled up.

The dark vampire looked pointedly at Rupert Giles. "Why not have someone we know take over the Watcher's Council." It was more a statement than a question.

"It is a good solution," Oz remarked, his gaze also falling on the former Watcher. "And more importantly, it makes complete sense."

"Are you suggesting that I run the Council?" Giles inquired. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.  

"I have to agree with wolf-boy. It makes the most sense. You have all the Slayers, so you might as well have the organization too. Make it official, so to speak," Spike remarked succinctly.  

"I don't know…" Giles began hesitantly.

"There isn't much choice," Angel briskly said. "Either you take it over and put people in place that you can trust, or you remain in hiding indefinitely.  Eventually they'll reorganize and hunt you or the girls down. They'll want the Slayers."

"Wolfram & Hart can draw up any paperwork that you need to make it legal. Travers' won't be in a position to object," Angel continued, his tone touched with a hint of menace.

"We can remove anyone that you think will be a problem," Spike offered cheerfully. He stretched, settling more comfortably in the chair.

"I don't know…"

"You don't have to decide today, but think it over," Angel suggested. His attention returned to the garden outside the window, where Buffy was sitting and flipping absently through a book. He stayed clear of the bits of dim sunlight that shown through the windows, and attempted to control his anxiety that Buffy was outside, out of his reach should something happen. She seemed to bask in the outdoors and he didn't want to take that pleasure away from her. Still, he waited anxiously for sundown when he could join her.

"I'll give it some thought then," Giles concluded, rising. "Now I need to speak to some of the girls about our travel plans."

"Was that Angel?" Elise asked from the kitchen, where she was cleaning up after a hastily prepared late lunch.

"Yes," Wes said, setting the phone on the counter and crossing the kitchen to pick up a towel as well as a plate from the dish drainer.  "Spike will be on his way back to London tonight. He'll help take Quentin back to Los Angeles."

"And Angel?"

"A Wolfram & Hart Gulfstream IV is already in route to pick he and Buffy up in Bristol. They'll fly directly back to LA from there."  Wes left it unsaid that Angel didn't want Buffy to have to see Quentin Travers just yet, another reason for taking a separate jet home.

"Ah. How is… everyone?" Elise asked tentatively, her expression both curious and concerned.  She'd heard very little about Buffy's health, and even less about her ordeal in Bjoutan. She knew about the other Slayers who had been found and returned, and she knew that many of them would be going with Giles to an undisclosed location in Italy.  She also knew that, for the most part, the young women were in decent health – at least, no one appeared to have physical injuries that they would not recover from.  Their emotional and mental recovery remained an open issue.  But if Angel or Giles had shared any other information with Wes, he hadn't shared it with her.

"Doing quite well from what I understand, and certainly exceptionally well under the circumstances," Wesley answered, putting away the now dry plates and reaching for the glasses.

"That's good to hear."

"Yes, it is."

"I called the airlines. I can get on a flight Saturday," Elise pronounced as she rinsed the last dish.

"That's completely unnecessary, Elise. There's plenty of room on the jet. You should return with us. I insist on it.  In fact, Angel would insist as well." Wes said firmly.

"Thank you, Wesley, but no. I already paid for my completely changeable with a small fee but non-refundable ticket that I've had to change twice already. I'd feel forever guilty for wasting money on the unused ticket, so consider it appeasing my conscience. Besides, I thought I might stay in London for a few more days. I think I'll spend a day or two at the Sanctuary in Covent Garden. You know, get a massage, relax, and decompress a little."

Wes cast Elise a questioning glance.

"I'm sure," Elise said with finality. "I just… I could use some time."

His expression grew suspicious. "Tell me you aren't going to be doing some more research?"

"That I can say with some certainty that I will not do. Already I have to make up an excuse for my editor to explain why the outline I owe her will now be late. My head isn't on straight enough right now to be working, which is another reason I want to take a few days to myself." In all honesty she hadn't decided yet if she was going to continue her book on Buffy and Angel – with fictitious names of course – or not. The feeling that it was a great story still nagged at her, convincing her that it should be told. And yet, everything was so complicated now. She needed some time to clear her head and think it through.

He hesitated still. "If you're sure…"

Elise forced a small, reassuring smile. "I am."

"How are you feeling?" Giles asked as he sat down next to Buffy on the garden bench.

Buffy put down the book she was idly thumbing through and looked fondly at the man who was closer to her than her own father.  "I'm okay."

"Now why don't I believe you?" Giles replied dryly, his gaze warm and affectionate.

Buffy forced a smile. "You're a skeptic?"

"Perhaps. And I know you."

Buffy sighed. "I am okay. Or I will be. It's just going to take some time to… deal with… everything."

"I understand," he murmured sympathetically. He studied her for a moment before he offered quietly, "I'd like to help you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that," she returned quietly. Leaning back against the teak bench, she cast him a rueful smile. "But there's nothing anyone can do, really."

"I'd like you to come to Tuscany," he said firmly. "I think it would be good for you and for the other young women to spend time together."

She gazed for a moment at the man that had once been a guiding influence on her life. His assignment as her Watcher had been to train her as a Slayer, but, she suspected, it had become much more than either of them had expected.  His withdrawal from her had hurt deeply, even if it forced her to stand on her own. How much their lives had changed since those days… "I don't… Thank you, but no."

"We're not leaving until tomorrow afternoon. Please think about it."

"You have your hands full," she told him levelly. "You have more than twenty other women that need your help, not counting those already at the school, or Dawn and Andrew. Just those two by themselves are more than I think I could handle."

"But I can certainly help one more," he said, "and in return you will, no doubt, be of great help to me, and to them. The girls… they look up to you. You'd be a great influence to them. And I'm sure Dawn would like to see you too."

Buffy dropped her gaze, immense guilt flooding her mind.  She should consider the others, and her duty to them instead of what she wanted. She should go with Giles; at least until she was sure that the others were all recovered from their ordeal. She was the eldest Slayer; it was her responsibility.  And too, it had been quite some time since she had seen her sister.  She probably should make the time…

"Um, well, I…" Her throat closed on the words she could not bring herself to utter, the words that would separate her from Angel – yet again. Was it their destiny to always be apart?  It was so unfair. Tears began welling in her eyes, a wave of melancholy inundating her senses.

"You want to go home, with Angel." Giles submitted quietly.

She lifted her glassy, wide eyed gaze to her former Watcher. Was she so easy to read? She dabbed at her eyes, feeling desperately indecisive and torn.

"I know that you…" he hesitated at the intimacy involved, at the painful questions that were burning in everyone's mind though no one had yet to utter them. It was well known among her friends and family that Buffy had been pregnant when she was taken; what wasn't know was what happened to the baby.  Though, they all could guess… "I know that you lost your child," he stammered, a heat rising in his face along with feelings of awkwardness at bringing up the difficult subject. "It must be difficult for you…"

For one precarious moment she wanted to strike out at Giles for daring to raise the subject that she wasn't quite ready to talk about.  And when she was ready… well, Angel should hear it first. "Yes," she answered ambiguously instead.

"If you want to talk about it-"

"I don't," she interrupted sharply. She inhaled deeply then softened her tone. "Not right now."

"I understand." Giles said with concern.

No, you don't. You can't possibly understand. But she left the words unsaid. There was nothing she could say to him that would make him understand completely her feelings of loss.  Nor did she have the energy or desire to convince him of that just now.

"If you change your mind… I have a ticket for you."

She nodded, glancing up at Angel approached. The sun had finally slipped below the horizon making it safe for him to join her outside instead of watching her from the windows where he had been the last several hours.

She was struck by his splendid dark beauty; his tall, powerful frame etched against the ashen sky. The sight of him affected her more now than when she had first seen him, and even then he had practically taken her breath away.  As he drew closer, she noted his concerned expression and the question in his eyes. She could almost feel the tension in his body, their connection so acute. Her brows drew together then relaxed as she surmised the reason for his unease. Her lips curved up in a reassuring smile, and she instinctively held out her hand to him.

The sight of her smile transfixed him; joy, gratitude, and something decidedly more primal surged within him. His gaze didn't leave her face as he closed the distance between them, finally taking her hand in his own.

They simply looked at each other, unable to converse normally when raw sensation threatened to overwhelm them, both still in awe that they were together again.

"I want to go home with you. That is, if you'll have me," she murmured finally, wanting to somehow dispel his concern. 

At her answer to the unasked question, a feeling of relief washed through him in a rolling wave that nearly brought him to his knees.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," Angel replied simply, his voice low and intimate. His eyes held hers as he bent low to kiss her on the lips. He wanted to vow to her that he would spend the rest of his life loving her, that he would make this up to her somehow or die in the attempt, but he knew that now was not the time for impassioned declarations.

"I've missed you," Buffy whispered, enormously gratified by his mere presence. How much she had missed him! Lacing her arms around his neck, she kissed him tenderly.

"Um, I, uh, will leave you two alone," Giles muttered, feeling de trop. He rose to his feet.

"Thank you, Giles," she said softly as Angel took his place on the bench next to her. "I'll see you before you go?"

"Yes, I'll be sure to say goodbye." Giles nodded at them both then crossed the yard toward the house.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the soft sounds of conversation coming from inside the house.

"I wasn't sure if you would want to go back to Los Angeles…"

"I wasn't sure either." She said nothing more. Next to her, she could feel Angel tense.

"We can go…" he searched his mind for a destination but came up blank. "Some where else," he finished weakly.

Buffy turned toward him, her eyes searching his face. She could feel his strength, but she also detected an undercurrent of uncertainty and rare vulnerability. Very slowly, as though the words were difficult not only to say but to understand, she said, "No, I want to go home. I want to start putting all this behind us. I want to continue our lives together."

"I love you. I won't let anything happen to you." He said with an unequivocal authority, his determination to protect her firm. It tormented his heart to think of how much she had suffered. 

"I know." Her voice sounded husky, emotional, to her ears. Reaching out, she laced her fingers with his, the simple touch reaffirming, a reunion of hearts, of souls, of lives.

"Is Angel here?" Faith asked without preamble when Buffy opened door.

"He's in the shower," Buffy answered in the same cool tone.

"I'll wait." Faith returned stiffly.

The two women stared at each other, neither of them moving. Finally Buffy broke the silence. "How are you doing?"

"Five by five, now that we're out of that hell hole," Faith said, her expression softening for just a moment before her stoic mask slid back into place. "Besides, you know me, I'll survive."

"Faith?" Angel questioned as he walked toward the two women standing at the door.  Still prone to overreaction concerning Buffy's whereabouts, he had rushed out of the shower at the muted sound of voices.  As it was, he was bare-foot, clad only his slacks, which were now slightly damp from his hurried job of toweling off.

"Hey," the brunette slayer greeted, her tone softening somewhat.  The tall vampire was one of the few people that she genuinely trusted, and he was in many ways like an older brother to her. It might have been more, had he given any inclination that he was open to a relationship with her but that had never been the case. "I'm outta here."

"Faith-" he began.

"Don't try to talk me out of it," she interrupted firmly, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I'm not trading one prison for another. I just… I want to do my own thing for awhile."

Angel studied the young woman standing at the door, her back rigid and her expression closed. What Giles was offering was not prison; it was a place to stay and an opportunity to learn. But there would be guidelines and rules, which for Faith, would undoubtedly seem overly restrictive.  He nodded diplomatically, "I understand."

"You do?" Faith cocked her head. It wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. She thought he'd try to talk her out of leaving on her own, that he'd insist she go to Italy with Giles and the others, or to LA with he and Buffy.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"You're leaving?" Buffy asked, having guessed the reason for Faith's early morning visit. She knew that her sister Slayer had been at Bjoutan as well, but other than a brief greeting in acknowledgement, they hadn't talked. They'd never really been close, and that hadn't changed in the years after Sunnydale's demise.  They'd seen each other only once in the years since, though Buffy knew that Faith kept in touch with Angel, calling the office every few weeks or so.

"Yeah," Faith answered stiffly. "Me and a couple of the other girls are going to get out of here."  Her glance moved back to Angel. "I appreciate what you did, getting me out of there and all but…"

Nodding, Angel asked with concern, "Do you need anything? Money? A ride somewhere?"

"I got a train ticket, but some cash would help. I'll pay you back-" Faith paused. How many times had she told him that before?  More than she could count, yet not once had she ever managed to repay him. She would this time, she vowed silently, somehow.

"Hold on," Angel said as he disappeared into the bedroom.

"So I guess you're going back to LA, huh?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"I kinda figured," Faith murmured in acknowledgement, shrugging away her curiosity.

"So where are you going?" Buffy asked conversationally.

"I dunno.  Maybe Rome, Istanbul, Madrid, I'm not sure. Regan has some friends in Ibiza, maybe we'll hang there for a while."

"Oh."

Angel returned then, sparing them from the need to make additional small talk.  "Here, take this," he said, pressing a wad of bills into Faith's hand. "If you run into trouble or need anything, call."

"I will," Faith said, stuffing the money in her bag.

"I mean it," Angel insisted, knowing her sense of pride and unwillingness to ask for help even when she needed it.

Faith looked at Angel uncertainly for a moment before suddenly throwing herself at him and hugging him tightly.  After several seconds, she stepped back, her expression guarded once again. "Thanks. I owe you."  She gave a small wave and nod to Buffy, then without another word, she turned and walked away.

"She'll be all right," Buffy murmured, hoping to convince herself more than the man next to her.

"She will," Angel agreed, a small concern in his voice as he thought about the volatile young woman out in the world without restriction.

Turning slightly, Buffy regarded him with interest. "Do you think we should have stopped her?"

"I don't know that we could have," he returned plainly. Short of locking her up, which he wouldn't even consider after what she and the others had been through, there was no way to make Faith stay if she didn't want to.

"But should we have tried?"  She watched him intently, a hint of jealousy rising to the surface. She and Faith had a complicated history; she couldn't put aside long held feelings easily, even if she wanted too.

"No," he said, reaching out to put his hand on her waist. He wanted to help Faith and the others, but his priorities were clear.

"You're sure?" she asked with a fleeting grimace. Perhaps she should try to be more charitable, but her attempts to help Faith in the past had been rebuffed all too often.

"I'm sure," he murmured, pulling her closer and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Now, are you hungry?  I'll make you an omelet if you promise to eat it."

"With cheese?" she smiled slightly, fondly recalling the many nights he'd cook for her after a night out slaying, the two of them alone in his kitchen, and in later years, their kitchen, talking and sharing until the early hours of the morning.  In many ways, those shared moments of companionship seemed more intimate than the passionate encounters that often followed.

"With anything that you like," he returned, pleased just to see her smile.

When the Gulfstream jet touched down in Los Angeles, Buffy's heart began to thunder in her chest. She hadn't realized she'd be so nervous about returning, or facing her friends. Only those involved in her rescue knew where she had been; the curious others could be told anything she wanted or nothing at all. It was her choice, Angel assured her.

She nervously smoothed her hair and dabbed on some Chapstick, but avoided looking in the mirror. She didn't need to be reminded that her new clothes hung on her thin frame, or that her hair was badly cut and uneven. It would only add to her growing insecurity.

The plane taxied to the private terminal where a Range Rover waited to take them home.  The ride to the Wolfram & Hart building was quiet, Buffy too tense to make conversation and Angel all too aware of her growing disquiet.

She felt his hand on the small of her back, encouraging her as they stepped in the private elevator that would take them to their suite of rooms on the top floor. She was grateful for his support, her knees weak since they had stepped off the plane. 

As they stepped off the elevator, they were surprised to find that they had company. Willow and Xander stood on one side of the door, and Fred on the other, holding a bouquet of balloons, including one that said "Welcome Home". Behind them stood Harmony and another dozen or so people from the office, their expressions a mix of curious and welcoming. 

Buffy resisted the urge to turn and run. She glanced briefly at Angel, who gave her a reassuring smile, his arm still around her waist steadying her. He hadn't expected anyone to meet them, but then it was hard to keep anything a secret at Wolfram & Hart. Wes may have mentioned something to Fred who passed along the news to the others, or the pilot that was sent to Bristol to bring them home may have mentioned something in passing.

Buffy's friends tried not to stare as they immediately surmised that wherever she had been, she had been gravely ill. She was normally petite, but now she looked so fragile a strong wind might blow her away.

"Uh, hi everyone," Buffy murmured in a low, strained voice.

Xander came forward then, hesitating only briefly before pulling her into a tight hug. Fred followed, then Willow as they tearfully welcomed her home.  No one asked where she had been, or how it was that she had been found – something Buffy was profoundly grateful for. She had not yet had time to compose herself enough to decide how she would answer the inevitable questions.

After a few minutes, Angel ushered them all out, explaining that it had been a long flight and that Buffy needed her rest.  On their way out, Xander and Willow both promised to call tomorrow to check up on her.

"It was nice of them to come," Buffy said half-heartedly after the door closed, and Angel locked it behind them.

"It was," Angel agreed, though he wished he had anticipated the group and headed them off until much later. "And now you should rest, and I'll order dinner. Or how about a bath?  You always liked to soak in the tub." He tugged her hand pulling her behind him into the bedroom. "Now would you like for dinner?  Pasta from Maggiano's?"  

"That's fine," she said, taking in the well remembered bedroom.  The crimson silk sheets and patterned duvet were gone; in their place were sheets of soft, buttery ecru cotton and an elegant tan suede coverlet. Several pictures were missing from the bureau and the nightstand, but the rest of the room was as she remembered.

A while later, settled in a steaming tub of water filled with her favorite bath salts, Buffy set aside the tray containing her half-eaten dinner.

She felt the color rise in her cheeks when Angel came in the room, and she sank lower in the water.

He gave no sign that he noticed her reaction, taking a seat on the edge of the tub.  He had no intention of forcing things between them, but he did want to reestablish some degree of intimacy. Glancing at the food on the tray, he said, "Sweetheart, can't you eat more than that?" He opened the untouched container of lemon cookies, and plucked one from the dish.

"You used to love these," he reminded her, holding one cookie to her lips.

"Mmm," she sighed, taking a bite. Never again would she take a hot bath or an excellent meal for granted. "You're going to spoil me."

"I want to," he said, feeding her the remainder of the cookie. He couldn't resist running his finger along one bare, delicate shoulder. "You're beautiful," he whispered reverently.

"No, I'm not," she disagreed softly, dropping her gaze "Not any more."

"You are," he insisted. With a finger under her chin, he urged her to look up at him. "And I refuse to hear otherwise."

She smiled weakly. After a moment, she said, "I don't know what I'm going to tell them. My friends."

"You can say you were trapped in another dimension and leave it at that. No one else need know anything more. Anyone except me, that is," he said gently. "How did you get there, do you remember?"

For almost a minute she seemed to struggle with her thoughts. At last she said, "I wish I knew. I was in the limo on my way to Long Beach harbor to meet you, and next thing I knew I woke up in chains on a plane to somewhere. They gave me a shot, some kind of tranquilizer I guess, so I was out of it most of the time. The next thing I knew I was…" she paused and inhaled deeply before continuing, "in a cell with that horrible Arno and his goons. I was kept blindfolded most of the time on the trip, so even when I wasn't unconscious, I couldn't tell much of anything about my surroundings or the people."

"I'm so very, very sorry, Buffy," he said softly, though his eyes held a menacing fury. Tenderly he brushed a hair back from her face.  "Arno is dead. I killed him."

Her eyes lifted to his. "He won't be missed."

Reaching down, he took one of her hands in his. He squeezed it gently then lifted it to his lips. "What did he do to you? Did he-"

"No, he didn't," she interjected quietly, "He… did other things, but he never raped me."

"He was a cruel… thing."  She couldn't even bring herself to call him a man. "He enjoyed causing pain and humiliation to anything weaker than himself.  I couldn't fight him. My strength… my slayer abilities… they were gone. It was drugs, or lack of food, or both." Her whispered voice sounded as though it were coming from a distance. Shaking her head, she attempted to will away the painful reminder of the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of the awful warden. "I don't want to think about it ever again."

Angel's throat closed in frustrated rage as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. He brushed it away with gentle fingers and wished he could kill the burly warden again, though slower and more painfully this time.  He had known that the girls had been beaten; that was evident by the whips and canes in the man's office chest and the smell of blood that clung to them. What else the man had done to them, he hadn't wanted to contemplate.

Leaning down, Angel brushed her forehead with a kiss. "If there's a way, I'll make it up to you."

Buffy gazed up at the man she loved more than anything in the world. Tears welled in her eyes and she began to cry. "You already have."

Moving quickly, he lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a fluffy, oversized bath towel. He carried her into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He felt bereft of adequate words to ease her pain, so he simply held her tightly in his arms until long after her tears subsided.

Finally she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. The compassion and love she saw almost made her tears start anew. With effort, she wiped at her eyes and sniffed, gratefully taking the tissues he handed her. "What did you think?"

"About?" he asked carefully.

"About me being gone."

It was a few minutes before he spoke. "I knew right away that you had been kidnapped. But other than your ring and a few strands of hair, there were no clues, no leads, nothing. It seemed as though you vanished from the limo," he muttered in frustration. The limo he had never sent, with the driver that had never been found. But he wasn't going to tell her that just yet. "I- we looked everywhere for you. I nearly went crazy." It was an understatement, should you ask anyone else at Wolfram & Hart during those months after her disappearance. For a moment more he considered his heartrending impotence during that time, and then he continued in a low murmur, "What scared me most was that I couldn't feel you." His arms tightened around her as if to reassure himself that his former fears were now unfounded.

"I know," she whispered, touching his cheek tentatively with her fingers, seeing the pain of remembrance in his eyes. She was surprised by the rare disclosure, Angel not one to easily share his feelings or his fears.  "I'm glad you found me."

"Me too," he said quietly.

They sat for a few more minutes without speaking, content to simply be together.  When Buffy started to doze off, Angel rose and helped her into a pair of flannel pajama shorts and tank top.

"Get some sleep," he whispered as he tucked her into their big bed.

Comfortable and safe for the first time in almost two years, Buffy slept deeply.

Elise groaned audibly when she saw the length of the cab line outside of LAX.  Of course, it seemed as though hers was the last luggage to appear on the baggage carousel, giving everyone else plenty of time to get in the cab line ahead of her.  

She sighed tiredly as she waited, and wondered if Angel and Buffy were back in Los Angeles already, or if Wes and Spike had already arrived with Quentin Travers.  She thought for a moment about calling, but quickly changed her mind. She wasn't sure what she would say to Angel that wouldn't seem nosy or interfering, and she wasn't sure he'd even welcome her call. No doubt his time was occupied with Buffy and the never ending stream of cases that passed through the doors of Wolfram & Hart.  

She should call Wesley though. After all, she hadn't talked to him again after Spike and Oz returned to London and she left the apartment for her sojourn at the spa.  He had left a message for her, but she hadn't gotten it until late in the evening, and by then she thought it too late to return his call.  She would call him, she decided. Later. When she was home, unpacked, showered, and maybe settled in with a nice glass of brandy.

Her two day vacation at the Sanctuary had been nice, but not as restful as she had hoped. She brooded constantly over what to do about her novel, but she hadn't been able to reach any sort of a conclusion. On one hand, she had an amazing story. On the other hand, she had an amazing story that was intensely painful to those involved; how could she expose such a heartrending event, even in fiction?  Her editor, Gwen, hadn't been at all understanding when she finally called her and asked for more time. It hadn't helped that Gwen was annoyed with her for not returning her calls in almost a week, but it forced Elise to promise that it would be a novel worth waiting for.  And yet, she wasn't sure she'd even have such a thing…

Right now, she simply wanted to get home and sleep in her own bed.  Surely a few days in comfortable surroundings would give her time to clear her head.

It was almost half an hour before she was in a cab, and another hour and fifteen minutes before the cab pulled up at her door, the Los Angeles traffic worse than usual this evening due to a car stalled on the freeway.

The driver lugged her two heavy suitcases up to her door and inside, earning Elise's profuse thanks and a generous $40 tip.

Closing the door behind him, she dropped her keys on the table near the door. With a sigh, she kicked off her shoes and started toward the kitchen. It was only then that she realized that she wasn't alone.

Slowly, she turned toward to face the woman standing in front of her fireplace.

"Welcome home, Elise."   The cool tone was anything but welcoming.

"Willow."

 

 

Part XVI

 

While Angel and Buffy were taking small steps in becoming reacquainted, Marcus Hamilton was seeking to curtail what he deemed as "information leaks" in the organization. Or, at least in the parts of the organization he was most concerned with.

"She's a novelist. She writes fiction books," Marcus mocked as Willow joined him in one of Wolfram & Hart's many cavernous basement vaults.  They met there so that their conversation couldn't be overheard and their meeting wasn't likely to be observed.  It was always difficult in an organization of this ilk to know who could – and could not – be trusted.

Her jaw clenching and the slight slowing of her pace were the only signs that she heard him as she made her way across the room.

"If I recall correctly, you said she wouldn’t find anything. There was nothing to find.  And yet, let me see… Angel is now in his suite upstairs coddling Buffy, not to mention being doubly cautious and overly suspicious of everyone in the office; twenty some odd other Slayers are now free, and God knows where; the portal to Bjoutan is closed, the artifacts – many of which were quite rare and irreplaceable – destroyed or scattered to the wind; and Quentin Travers is locked up in our very own basement." As he spoke, he ticked each item off on his fingertips. "That doesn't sound like nothing to me. That sounds, in fact, like a great deal of something."

When Willow didn't respond, he continued, "Needless to say, the Senior Partners are not pleased."

"Are they ever?" she returned bitterly.

Ignoring her question, the Senior Partners' liaison crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"Well what?" Her expression was one of bored annoyance.

"What are you going to do about all of this?"

"Unlike you, I don't think it's that big of a problem," she murmured with a shrug. "It's manageable."

"You understand that I'm not completely reassured by your glib statements," Marcus declared, "after all, had this been managed adequately in the first place we wouldn't be here now."

"You're overreacting," she snapped, all the more annoyed by his implication that the current situation was her responsibility. It hadn't been her plan to turn Buffy over to the Watcher's Council; she only… facilitated. "First of all, the Slayers aren't a threat to anyone. I'm sure that Giles has them tucked away in the country somewhere studying demon manuscripts and doing practice drills.  There's no way he will want to give up the fawning students that feed his Watcher ego, so neither you, nor the Senior Partners, nor anyone else should have any concern that you'll have do-gooders with super powers out fighting the evil you work so hard to set loose in the world.  As for the portal to Bjoutan, who cares that it's closed?  The Watcher's Council?" She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Wolfram & Hart already has their cash for the deal; there was no guarantee that the dimension would remain accessible, so there is no recourse for any type of messy legal action.  Not that we should care about that or the Council's interests anyway.  The Watcher's Council is just an archaic organization run by a group of staid old men of average intelligence, no imagination or real skill to speak of, and a somewhat lecherous interest in young girls. If anything, they're an opposition and a hindrance – Slayers in general not being exactly friendly to Wolfram & Hart's typical clients - and we should be glad that they're out of operation. As for Bjoutan… it's a humid, barely habitable dimension. If any of the Senior Partners have a notion to go somewhere as fun and exciting as that place, they can. They have their ways to access any dimension they choose. You and I both know that.  As for Quentin Travers-" Willow paused, tapping her fingers impatiently and thinking about an appropriate response to the former Council leader's presence.

"The Senior Partners will be reviewing his contract later this week," Marcus finished.

"Well, then they'll take care of him – or not – as they see fit," the red haired Wicca returned coolly and dismissively.

"They don't like to have to get involved."

"They don't like having to get their hands dirty you mean," she snapped, more familiar than she would've liked to be with their preferred mode of operation.

"They believe they hire competent people to run their operations. If you claim otherwise, then you speak only of yourself," he countered antagonistically. "In your implausible chronicle of things that shouldn't concern us, you failed to mention Buffy's return or Angel's renewed zeal in investigating her abduction."

"Her return is inconvenient, I agree." She smiled darkly. "But not necessarily permanent."

"You are going to take care of her?" Marcus asked with a life of his brow. "And just how is that?"

"Let's just say that I don't think Buffy will choose to stay with Angel. At least not after she finds out a few things that she needs to know. As to his zeal…" Willow paused for a moment, considering the recent visit the vampire made to her office.  He'd asked several questions about Serge Dobryshkin, who had worked in her department. She apparently answered him convincingly because he seemed satisfied with her responses when he left. In fact, she'd bet money that he didn't have even a remote suspicion of the truth about Serge's whereabouts, which happened to be mostly in the storm drain near 754 East 12^th. The fact of the matter was that Serge had outlived his usefulness after driving the limo that took Buffy to the Watcher's Council representatives outside of LAX.  "I've seen it. His fear of losing Buffy again makes him weak, and weak is careless, and weak is vulnerable."

"We don’t want him incapacitated or permanently dead, just not with Buffy." The Senior Partner Liaison warned.

"I understand." Willow replied coolly.  She had heard bits of the prophecy, and she knew the Senior Partners fear of it. Together, Buffy and Angel were a formidable force, and it was not just their physical abilities to fight evil.  It was much more than that. They were destined for something big, something important; something that would significantly weaken the Senior Partners' evil reign for years, centuries even. It was as clear as prophecies tend to be, even as vague as it was. There was also the small fact that some of the Partners still held out hope that Angel could be relieved of his soul.  The consensus seemed to be that the return of Angelus would turn the "extremely bad for Wolfram & Hart" prophecy into one that was extremely good for them. To that end, she had helped several times to research various spells and magic relics, though nothing certain had yet to be found. "I told you I don't think you'll need to worry about that." 

Marcus nodded. Angelus was important to the Partners and the firm; the Slayer however, was expendable.

"It might take some time." Willow said, brushing an imaginary spec of lint from her sleeve. "But rest assured the Senior Partners will get what they…" she met his gaze levelly, "want."

Marcus looked at his companion with a slightly raised brow. Her eyes were darker and her skin paler than he had at first thought when he saw her, giving her an almost unnatural, eerie appearance. A rare sensation of fear passed through him, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come. "And the Seymour woman? If she's writing a book on Buffy, she'll still be nosing around."

Willow smiled. "It's already been taken care of."

A slight frown marred Angel's brows as he watched Buffy twist a water bottle in her hands, crushing the plastic.  He wasn't at all sure this was a good idea, but she had insisted. And he fully intended to indulge her in all things. With a resigned expression, he closed the door behind them.

Buffy set the now damaged bottle aside, her expression chagrined. She hadn't even realized what she had been doing to the now misshaped container. Perhaps she was a bit more anxious about venturing out of the apartment than she had thought. 

For her first three days at home, she had done little more than sleep, eat, and take leisurely baths. Angel was always near if she needed something or wanted company, but he didn't hover over her or smother her in any way.  He often sat at the kitchen table, going through stacks of files and paperwork that someone had apparently brought up from his office.  When he wasn't working, he lounged nearby on the sofa or the bed and read one of his many books.  She liked those moments most, as she'd often curl up against him and he'd hold her, or he'd talk to her when she felt like talking, though never about her time in Bjoutan or their baby. She would have to tell him eventually, she knew, but she wasn't quite ready for that just yet.  She even deferred the calls from her friends, content to enjoy the peaceful solitude.  Today, however, she was restless.

She shrugged out of her light jacket and dropped it on the bench next to the bottle.  Some physical activity would do her a world of good.  Her long unused muscles had probably deteriorated; it would take months of training to get back into her former shape, but she had to start somewhere. She rolled her shoulders, tilting her head from side to side. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked as he locked the door, guaranteeing their privacy.

Buffy turned at the sound of Angel's voice. He was watching her with concern.

"Yes," she said on an exhalation of breath. "I need to do something."

He didn't disagree, though he wasn't sure that sparring with him in the training room was the best choice of first activities.  When she said she wanted to get some exercise, he had been hoping for a walk on the beach or maybe even a jog. He didn't want to risk her feeling threatened or vulnerable.

As she crossed the room, a comfortable sense of familiarity crept over her boosting her confidence. They'd done this many times before, in this very same room, and also years earlier, at the mansion in Sunnydale.  Just as he had then, Angel was wearing a body hugging white tank top and a pair of black sweats; there was something reassuring in the fact that while many things had changed over the years, some things had stayed the same.

She felt better, stronger, rested.  The drugs were out of her system, and her stomach no longer ached constantly with hunger pains. She could do this. She was ready. "I'm ready," she said aloud, reaffirming her thoughts.  Raising her arms into a defensive stance, and rocking on the balls of her feet, she indicated that she was set to go.

Adjusting his stance to match hers, Angel nodded indicating that he wanted her to make the first move.

Buffy lunged forward and threw a punch with her right.  Angel countered the blow as she shifted her footing and landed a short left jab on his upper shoulder.  He returned a punch and she blocked it, then spun around threw a round-house kick that narrowly missed his midsection as he agilely backed away.  They sparred back and forth, matching blow for blow and kick for kick, for almost half an hour. Her strength wasn't yet back to what it had been, but she showed no signs that she'd lost any of her form or her understanding of the mechanics of the movements.  With practice – and plenty of rest and nutritional meals - she'd be back to her full Slayer strength in no time. 

Pleased that she hadn't lost all of her skills, Buffy breathlessly pushed on even though she was tiring, her muscles beginning to quiver with fatigue. She whirled, attempting to land a back kick but missed and stumbled forward.  Angel's right jab caught her unexpectedly, and he sent her tumbling hard to the mat.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, rushing over to kneel beside her. It wasn't a hard punch as much as a lucky, well placed one. Cognizant of her still weakened state, he'd been careful to restrain his strength, but he hadn't intended to land that last punch at all.

She was only half listening, focused instead on the impressive display of sleek, honed muscle now leaning over her.  They had made love often after training together, many times in this very room, on this very floor, both inspired by the physical activity and close proximity. How long ago that seemed now…

"Buffy? Are you all right?" he repeated. Her dazed expression concerned him; had he really hurt her?

She lifted her gaze to his face.

His dark brows were raised in query. He'd asked her something.  "Yes," she murmured, still half out of breath and hopeful that she was answering the question correctly. She touched his arm lightly, her gaze drifting back down his lean form. It would be nice if he would come closer. Much closer. She had the urge to feel the hard, sweaty length of his body against hers, pressing her firmly into the floor. Her lips curved up in a slight smile. She must be feeling better if her thoughts were running in that direction. 

"You're sure?" he asked with a lazy smile, as if he'd suddenly caught the drift of her thoughts.

"Yes," she replied distractedly, giving in to the impulse to run her hands along the curve of his biceps up to his shoulders.  She was pleasantly tired and oddly comfortable resting on the training room floor mat. She would be content to lay here and relax for a while. She toyed with the short hairs at his nape. How much she had missed the simple pleasure of touching him and being touched in return.

"That's enough for today, I think." His voice was carefully neutral. Not that his thoughts weren't going in the same direction as hers – they were – but he wasn't at all certain she was ready for that, and he didn't want to rush things. 

"Mmm… okay," she murmured, her hand idly stroking the now tense muscles of his chest. She tugged gently on his shirt and he accommodated her, moving lower so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

He kissed her then, tenderly and gently as though she might break, hesitantly as though he was afraid that he would frighten her.

"You feel good," Buffy whispered, the tip of her tongue tracing his lips teasingly. She scooted closer, bending her leg.

"I missed you so much," he murmured softly against neck, sending shivers up her spine. Guided by memory and by need, he was no longer thinking, only feeling.

Her thigh, clad only in the thin cotton-lycra of her workout pants, pressed against his hip as she moved even closer.

Angel drew in a sharp, unneeded breath at the intimate contact. Instant need raced like a flame through him.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders as she slid her thigh slowly up and down the long length of his.  She felt him shudder, and it filled her with a fierce, unfettered pleasure. She loved that her touch could affect him as much as his did her; it gave her a heady sense of power. Turning her face slightly, she waited, breath held, until his lips returned to meld with hers.

Instinctively, she hooked her leg over his hip and arched into him.

Lust exploded in Angel's brain – pure, unadulterated, starved lust – and his mouth met hers with an intense, driving fury. 

Buffy met his kiss eagerly, glorying in the delicious, overwhelming passion that she had thought never to know again.

He slid closer, pressing into her.

The door rattled. Someone knocked, softly at first then more insistently.

Tensing, Angel lifted his head, breaking their kiss.

The knock sounded again, louder this time.  A muffled voice that sounded like Spike could be heard faintly through the door.

"We have company," Buffy said with a deep sigh.

"We do," he agreed. He gazed at her for a moment, struck again by how lucky he was to have her, and how lucky he was to have her back. How amazing it was that they found her, that she was as healthy as she was, and that she was here. Impulsively, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly.

"Do you think maybe they'll just go away?" she murmured as she snuggled closer, her hazel green eyes half-closed.

The door rattled again, harder this time.

"I don't think so." He sighed resignedly, brushing her forehead lightly with lips. Forcibly restraining himself, he sat back on his heels.  Taking another breath, he rose to his feet slowly.  Reaching out his hands, he took her hands and helped her up.

"I guess we're done then," she muttered, disappointed.

"I'll bring you back tomorrow," he offered, though he wasn't sure if it was to indulge her or himself.

"Mmm… okay. I'd like that," she murmured as she slipped under his arm, wrapping her arm around his back. "One more kiss?" she pled softly, placing one hand on his stomach and tilting her head back.

"Just one?" He asked with a half-smile.

"At least one," she corrected, returning his smile just before his lips met hers in a lingering, sighing, breathless kiss. 

"How is she doing?" Wes whispered as he set a stack of manila folders on the kitchen table. He'd brought up more files that needed Angel's review; ones he'd exchange for those that Angel had dealt with earlier in the day.

"Better," Angel replied quietly. Despite her playfulness as they left the training room, Buffy had been exhausted.  She was barely able to keep her eyes open in the shower, and had dropped off in a deep sleep almost as soon as she curled up in their bed.

"I heard that the two of you were in the training room for awhile." Wesley said with a slight smile as he leaned casually against the counter.  Buffy's return was big news; it had all of the Wolfram & Hart employees talking.  And when the tidbit of gossip involved possible sexual exploits with Wolfram & Hart's current President in the training room, it was guaranteed to travel through the rumor mill that much faster.

"She wanted to go." Angel shrugged lightly.

"That's good. The, uh, physical activity will no doubt be good for her recovery." The former Watcher couldn't help but grin.

Angel grunted, casting an irritated look at his friend. An intensely private person, he was uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny that his personal life seemed to merit by the employees of Wolfram & Hart, as well as the gossip that seemed to follow. He supposed he should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. And now that he was doubly wary and cautious, he disliked the attention even more. "So what have you found?"

"Nothing more on Alex Smith than we already had. His cases were well documented and routine. The aneurysm that killed him may have been the result of natural causes, or it may not have - there's just no way of telling at this point. He was cremated," he paused, answering the unasked question. "He does seem to have been acquainted with Quentin Travers, having traveled to London several times during contract negotiations, and apparently even to Bjoutan as well.  However, he was dead before Buffy's disappearance, so despite having a role in the procurement of Bjoutan for the Council, it doesn't appear that he could have been directly involved in her abduction."

"Aside from Travers' personal contract with Wolfram & Hart," he continued, "there are no other contracts that I've been able to find with Travers, Amaranthine Enterprises or the Council. I'll do another search just to be certain, but it's possible that this was the only business between the Council and Wolfram & Hart. Not surprising really, since traditionally they have held opposing positions in defining good and evil."

"The only business that was contractual and documented," Angel suggested grimly.

"Yes, true," Wes agreed somberly. "As for Serge Dobryshkin… None of the Dobryshkin's listed in the book knew our former employee though I did get a description from his former landlord.  I'm told that his girlfriend gave notice on his apartment over the phone, and he disappeared virtually overnight.  The odd thing is that the landlord never knew him to have a girlfriend at all.  Boyfriends, yes. One in particular that was often seen at the apartment. But women that might be considered girlfriends, no.  I've started combing through the LA County missing person's listings on the off chance that I'll find a body matching his description, but it will take some time. Spike's looking for the boyfriend. Maybe he'll have heard from him, or have an address or location." 

Angel nodded. He had talked to Spike briefly outside the training room, when the blonde vampire finally stopped banging on the door.  He had said he wanted to know the minute anything even possibly related to Buffy's disappearance was uncovered, and Spike was very willing to comply.  At least, to comply when it suited him.  Not that Angel was necessarily complaining - Spike had uncovered something of interest.  Though his timing could have been better…

"As soon as you find anything on Dobryshkin, let me know. When we find him, I want to talk to the man myself." Angel's expression was dangerous.

Wesley nodded, recognizing the undercurrent of violence in the vampire's voice. "So did you have a chance to talk to Willow?"

"Yes," Angel replied thoughtfully.  His voice dropped. "She's hiding something."

"More than practicing magic?"

"Probably, though it's hard to say." Angel said pensively. "She said Dobryshkin gave his notice, but then took vacation and never returned to work. She thought she remembered something about him moving out of the area, but she said she never had a chance to talk with him beyond the one short phone call when he said he was leaving."

"That's essentially what's documented in the personnel file." 

His expression skeptical, Angel gave a slight nod.

Wes gazed at him quizzically. "You think there's more to it than that?  Or that she's not telling the truth?"

Angel mulled over the question for a moment before he answered. "Yes and no… but if she's as powerful as Giles believes, we have to move cautiously."

Wesley considered the implication for a long moment. "Do you think that perhaps… that she knows something more? Something she's not saying?"  At Angel's grim look, the former Watcher's eyebrows lifted and his face took on a startled expression.  "Do you think that… that she was somehow involved in Buffy's disappearance?"

"I don't know." Angel's voice went very quiet. "I hope not."

"What have you told Buffy?"

"I haven't told her any of this, and I won't.  I don't want her to worry about anything right now other than getting her health back."

"Perhaps she won't need to know."

"I'll tell her, eventually. When she's stronger and healthy, and it's safe."

"It may never be completely safe…"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to her again," Angel tersely said, his jaw set and determined.

"We'll find who was behind this," Wes promised quietly.  He was already turning over some additional ideas in his mind of how they mind find the missing Serge Dobryshkin.

Angel nodded. "We will."

"Well, I should be going," Wesley said with a sigh. As he picked up the stack of completed files to return downstairs, he asked, "Oh, by the way, have you heard from Elise?"

Angel's brows lifted in surprise. "No. You haven't talked to her?"

"No… I've left her several messages, but she hasn't returned my calls. I thought she was supposed to return from London Saturday, but she's not answering at home or on her mobile."

"Saturday?  She didn't come back with you?"

"No, she said something about wanting to use the ticket she had already purchased, that it wasn't refundable and she'd feel guilty about wasting the money. Quite honestly, I think she was uncomfortable with the idea of flying with Travers. Not that I blame her."

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

"Right before we left London with Travers.  She said she was going to spend a few days at the Sanctuary – the spa - before returning to Los Angeles. I put her in a cab just before we left."

"Maybe she decided to stay a while longer?" Angel suggested, though he said the words slowly as if unsure of his question.

"Maybe," Wes replied, unconvinced. He felt sure that Elise wouldn't just disappear without so much as a goodbye. 

"Give her another call.  I'll try to call her in the morning as well.  If we still can't reach her, why don't you go by her place and see if she's there?"

"Yes, good idea. I will.  Maybe she just got caught up in her work. I know she mentioned having to get an outline to her editor… "

"That's probably it," Angel agreed, following Wesley to the door. Elise wasn't irresponsible; easily caught up in her work and a tendency to be a bit reckless, yes, but she was conscientious about returning calls. She was probably just writing. At least, that's what he hoped, though the bad feeling settling in his stomach said otherwise.

"Well, good night then."

"Good night, Wes."

Angel dialed Elise's number for the third time that morning and listened to the sound of her voice as her voice mail picked up again. 

"Elise? This is Angel again. Please call me back when you get this. My cell phone. Call my cell phone that is. Thanks."

He flipped the phone closed and set it on the table. He stared at the small device apprehensively. He felt a little guilty about the last conversations he had with Elise.  He had been shocked, to say the least, by her revelations.  He had been angry too. Angry because he felt that she betrayed his trust by investigating something so very personal to him. But in truth, his anger was less directed at Elise than it was at himself. He was angry at himself for not finding Buffy, the woman he loved more than life, himself; he should have done more, searched harder. He was angry at himself for not finding the same leads that Elise had; he called himself a detective at one time, for Christ's sake.  His anger was also directed at those who had taken Buffy from him, those who had hurt her in any way, and for what had happened to her. 

There were so many things that frustrated and angered him, but Elise wasn't deserving of his anger and he had lashed out at her.  Truth be told, he owed her an apology, and more. It was a debt of gratitude he might never be able to repay – and he would gladly tell her so.  But where was she?

Leaning heavily on the table, he ran one hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Angel?"

He looked up. He smiled. "Hey, sweetheart.  How are you feeling?"

"Ugh, sore," Buffy said as she stiffly crossed the room.  She really had overdone it in the training room yesterday.  Every muscle in her body ached.

"I prescribe a massage, followed by a hot bath and plenty of rest," he declared, holding out a hand to her.

"Sounds wonderful," she purred happily as she climbed onto his lap. A massage from Angel was a not to be missed event, if her memory was correct.

"You have to take it easy. Only very short training sessions, and no more sparring until you get your strength back."

"Yes, sir," she said with mocking acquiescence.

"Buffy…" he murmured doubtfully, not at all certain that she would heed his words.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Well, I need to spar to train. I mean, I can only do so much on my own.  And if you won't work with me, then I'm sure Spike-"

"No," he interrupted. "Not until you're stronger."

Buffy affected a disconsolate moue. "Then how will I get any better?"

His dark brows lifted. "Something tells me you're going to get your way."

"I guess you'll have to work with me then," she said sweetly. "I mean, if I can't work with anyone else, and I need to train with someone…"

"We'll talk about. Tomorrow."

"Okay. Tomorrow then," she said with melodramatic docility.

He smiled, dropping a kiss on her head. "Are you hungry? I'll make you breakfast."

Seated in the chair they had previously shared, Buffy watched as Angel moved around in the kitchen making her oatmeal with fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice.

"So who's Elise?" she asked, having heard his earlier call. She assumed that he was working, as was often the case. She could also tell that he was concerned.  It didn't surprise her; he often became personally involved in the cases that crossed his desk at Wolfram & Hart.

Angel's gaze came up abruptly, the unexpected question taking him by surprise.

"I heard you on the phone," she explained, tucking her bare feet under her on the chair and propping her chin on her hand. "Work?"

"Yes," he replied, his brain carefully sifting through exactly what he was going to tell her.

"Can I help?  I mean, not physically," she corrected before he could tell her no, which she knew he would after their earlier conversation. "I mean in the figuring it out sense, not the actual doing anything sense."

"Elise… Elise is Elise Seymour," he began cautiously. "She's an author. She writes fiction books, horror, supernatural, that sort of thing."

"Cool," Buffy said, taking a bite of the toast that he set on the table in front of her. "But she's missing?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe." He paused, still uncertain exactly what to tell her. He didn't want to lie to her… but he didn't want to hurt her either. "Buffy… Elise… she's the one that found you."

"Oh?" she murmured, her curiosity piqued.

"She was investigating you, Slayers. Us. She wanted to use it – your story - as the basis for her next book."

"Oh-kay." Buffy exclaimed, surprised, flattered, confused and uncomfortable all at once.  

"I didn't know. About her book, or her research," Angel explained.  "Not until she told me several days before we found you.  She had been doing some research when she found the Watcher's Council, the paperwork on Bjoutan, and some demon that knew that you were there. She put the pieces together."

"I had wondered, you know, how…" She had wondered how they had found her after all this time.  She would never have guessed that it was due largely to a woman she had never heard of.

"She's a good researcher. Unafraid to ask questions or basically be nosy. And she's one of the most persistent and inquisitive people I've ever met."  It was clear from his tone that he meant what he was saying as a compliment.

"Um, how… where did she come from?" It wasn't the only question in her mind, just the first one she could voice.  She wanted to know how and why this unknown woman knew about her, and why she had chosen her as the subject of her book. She wanted to know how she found her, when the others couldn’t or didn't. She wanted to know who this Elise was, how Angel met her, and how well he knew her.

Setting the oatmeal and fruit on the table, he took the opposite chair. "About six months after you disappeared, I met her when I was out investigating a werewolf attack and so was she. She was writing a book about them. I gave her access to Wolfram & Hart's library to finish the research for her book, since it was a safer form of research."

Buffy only looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"She came to the office often after that, looking up various things. It turns out that her step-father had been a Watcher, so the supernatural wasn't exactly unknown to her.  I knew she was working on her next book, but I didn't know what it was about. I never asked. Honestly, I probably would've tried to stop her had I known…" A flicker of fear shone in his eyes and his voice dropped as he considered the implication of his statement.  "I'm very glad I didn't."

"Me too," she murmured agreeably. After a few seconds of consideration, she asked worriedly, "You don't think… I mean… could something have happened to her because… because of me?"

"No," Angel replied, though his voice when he spoke was guarded. "The Watcher's Council set up Bjoutan as a prison for the Slayers that they considered to rogue or disobedient to their authority.  Elise is not a Slayer.  And if her disappearance is related to yours, it's not because of you. It's because someone has an agenda we don't yet understand."

Despite herself, Buffy trembled.

Moving out of his chair, Angel squatted down in front of her, moving down so that their eyes were parallel and touching her cheek gently with his fingertips.  She looked very pale, and very fragile; it unnerved him. "I won't let anyone take you from me again," he quietly said, still haunted by nightmares where she was gone from his life.

"I know," she whispered. "But-"

"It's possible that Elise squirreled herself away somewhere to write and isn't answering her phone. She was under a deadline; an outline was due to her editor this week." He sat back on his haunches and watched her. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Buffy searched his eyes for a long moment.  "You seem to know her pretty well."

"So how's things in the world of computers and data processing?" Spike asked as he strolled through the open office door.  He glanced disinterestedly at the computer on the desk, picking up a one of several metal ring puzzles that sat next to it.

"Fine," Willow replied, looking curiously at the blonde vampire.

"Keeping busy, then?" The metal jingled as he moved the pieces, trying to separate the metal rings.

"Yes, always. There's no shortage of work around here." She smiled slightly, sitting back in her chair and watching him. The puzzles, brain teasers of sorts from the 12^th century, stumped most people.

"Ain't that the truth?" he replied with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrow.  The rings slipped apart, and he held them up proudly.

"Did you want something? Because you usually don't wander down here or really anywhere where there's actually work being done." Willow asked. Her tone was light, but there was something dark and serious – and cautious – in her eyes.

"I resent that," he replied cheekily, setting aside the rings and taking a seat opposite the desk. "Well, mostly." He grinned. "I'm actually not that interested in the computer mumbo jumbo. It's a bit dry for me."

"Uh-huh."

"I just thought you might have some news," he said seriously.

She looked at him quizzically. "News?"

His eyelids lowered, shuttering his gaze. "You're going to make me spell it out, then?"

"I think you'll have to if you want me to know what you're talking about."

"Buffy," he answered, watching her intently.

"Buffy?" Willow echoed, her brows lifting.  Her voice was touched with constraint.

Spike hesitated, dropping his gaze as though reluctant to answer. "I was just wondering how she's doing and all that."

"You didn't ask Angel?"

He shrugged. "Well, no, I didn't ask Captain Forehead. He's a bit tetchy these days, particularly when it comes to all things Buffy.  Besides, we don't have the best history there, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"And I'm not sure what to say anyway," he continued gruffly. "Hallmark doesn't make a card for 'I'm sorry you were imprisoned, welcome back'."

"Hm."

"I just to know how she's doing. If she's all right and all that," he murmured. "I still care about her, you know."

Willow studied him for a moment before she answered. "She's fine. At least she seems to be fine."

"Yeah? So you talked to her then?"

"Yeah."

"Did… did she tell you what they did to her?  Not that I want details or anything like that…" Spike looked away, as if uncomfortable with the question. "I just want to know that she's all right."

"She hasn't said much about it," Willow said with a shrug. "I think she's just wants to forget what happened."

"I can understand that," Spike replied thoughtfully.

"You haven't been up to see her?" She wasn't surprised, though she sounded like it. She knew that other than the first night of her return, Buffy hadn't seen – or talked with - anyone other than Angel. Still, if Spike thought that she talked with Buffy, she wasn't going to correct his belief.

"No," he answered somewhat morosely. It wasn't a lie really, as he hadn't been "up" to see her in the penthouse suite she shared with Angel.  He had seen Buffy briefly outside the training room. He had hugged her, and she had thanked him for helping get her out of Bjoutan. He asked how she was, she told him that she was doing okay, and he said he missed having her around.  She smiled and said she missed being around.  They exchanged a few more banal pleasantries before Spike cut it short, saying he had to talk work with the boss. Buffy, leaning tiredly against Angel, didn't insist on joining their conversation as she normally would've.  Instead, she excused herself and ducked into the locker room to collect her things giving Angel and Spike a few minutes to speak privately.

"Hm, well, I'm sure she'll be out and about soon enough," Willow remarked. "Then you can see her."

Spike's head lifted. "Maybe… though the big poof will probably be in her shadow wherever she goes."

"Yes, well, he can try," she retorted. "But Buffy won't let him smother her for long."

"Yeah, well, he's always been a tad been overprotective where she's is concerned," Spike noted. "Now more than ever after what happened."

Willow snorted. "I guess."

His brows lifted questioningly. "You disagree?"

"I just think that for someone that supposedly cares so much, it didn't take him long to replace her."

His pale blue gaze took on a sharpness as he anticipated a potentially revealing remark. "The lady author, you mean?" 

"Buffy wasn't even gone a year when Angel starting bringing her around. I think that speaks volumes about the depth of his feelings for Buffy," Willow asserted.  Surveying her companion carefully, she added. "I'll bet he hasn't even told Buffy."

"You think he should, then?" The blonde vampire inquired blandly.

"Of course," she retorted. "He should tell her the truth."

"Now, when she's just returned and is still getting her health back?" he asked almost sardonically, "Like she hasn't been through enough, and so the first thing he should tell her is that he was seeing someone else what she was being starved and beaten in prison?"

"She has to know. It's only right," Willow maintained stubbornly.

"I suppose you're right," Spike murmured after a moment. "I mean, you'd know, being her best friend and all." His tone wasn't entirely sincere. He rose to his feet. "I guess I'd best be going. Supposed to be out looking for a Gorak demon in West Hollywood."

She gazed at him with cool regard. "They travel in pairs."

"What?"

"Goraks."

"Ah. Thanks." He tipped his head then left the office.

Willow stared thoughtfully at the door where he disappeared for several minutes, then dismissing him from her mind, returned to her work.

 

 

Part XVII

 

"I was beginning to believe that you had forgotten you had an office in the building."

"And I was beginning to hope that you had finally gone away – permanently," Angel retorted without glancing up from the paper he was signing.

"Very much your old self I see," Marcus noted drolly.

"You were expecting otherwise?" Angel casually inquired, glancing up only briefly before returning his attention to his work.  

"The thought had crossed my mind that you might have been rather… shall we say, 'perfectly happy' with the return of your little blonde paramour, so I wasn't sure who I might find minding these office these days." 

"I'm sorry if you're disappointed," Angel replied sardonically.

"Oh, no apologies necessary," Marcus said, taking a seat in the chair at the desk.

Angel's brows lifted. He finally leaned back in his chair and looked at the man now seated across from him. "Did you want something?"

Marcus smiled faintly. "I have to have a reason to stop by your office?  Perhaps I was simply concerned and stopping in to inquire about Buffy's health - which, I presume must be better given your return to work."

"And I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I find both your interest and concern suspect."

"Well then, since you're skeptical, I suppose I can say that I was stopping by to ensure that the daily business needs of Wolfram & Hart are being managed once again. I had actually expected that I would find that you were again neglecting your duties for personal concerns; yet here you are, working away industriously." Marcus smiled mockingly as he nodded at the stack of case files on the desk.

"Then you can report that back to your superiors," Angel said smoothly, "Unless, of course, you were hoping to tell them something else?"

"Not necessarily," the Senior Partners' Liaison replied with an ambiguous shrug. "Management turnovers here can be quite difficult."

"And yet, you've manage to survive them," Angel commented dryly.

"Hm. Yes, that I have."

"Tell me something, Hamilton," Angel began conversationally, "since you seem to know everything that goes on around here, how is it that you didn't know about the Senior Partners' agreement with the Watcher's Council? Or about the prison in Bjoutan for Slayers? Or is it that you knew but didn't choose to share any information? Were you protecting the Partners or their client? We would've found that bit of information quite valuable after Buffy's disappearance.  But then I'm sure you know that."

"You should know by now that I don't get involved in client business."  Seemingly unconcerned, Marcus adjusted his cuffs. "My job here is strictly as a liaison between you and management."

"I'm sure you don't," Angel murmured skeptically, "unless, of course, it suits you. Or unless it's requested."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're implying."

Angel's gaze bored into him for several tense moments. "And I'm sure you do."

Marcus took care to keep his expression bland. "I can only assume that you're referring to the contract in which the Quentin Travers took possession of Bjoutan. I know only that it was quite before my time here. Perhaps you should discuss the matter with Eve. Oh, wait, you can't. She's gone."

Angel scrutinized the man sitting across from him carefully, as if examining each word, each phrase and subtle nuance, as if looking for something.  Several moments of silence passed.  "That's right. She is," he finally murmured. "You were her replacement."

Hamilton's face creased into a tight smile, but his expression was masked.  He had survived decades as a liaison for the Senior Partners because he never underestimated his opponents; he would be wise not to do so now.

"If there's nothing else…" The implication was clear as Angel looked pointedly toward the door. "I do have work to do – as you reminded me so diligently."

Marcus rose slowly from his chair. "You know, I really had expected to see Buffy clinging to your side.  Rumor has it that you never leave her on her own now. Or perhaps it's that you never let her leave your side. I never can get the gossip around here quite right."

Angel's dark eyes glittered dangerously for a moment before he answered, his tone silky soft, "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"If it affects the business of Wolfram & Hart, then it's my business," Marcus countered, seemingly undaunted. He was admittedly curious as to Buffy's whereabouts, as it was well known that she and Angel had spent little, if any, time apart since her return.  When it was clear that he wasn't going to get an answer, he shrugged then turned and left.

Thoughtfully, Angel watched him go.

"Are you sure this okay?" Willow asked as Buffy pulled the BMW X5 into the tight parking lot, two tires over the white line marking the spaces.

"It's the Beverly Center. It's more than okay," Buffy said, opening her car door.

"And Angel knows about this?" Willow asked as she too got out of the vehicle.  Her brows lifted slightly at the bad parking job, but she said nothing as she followed Buffy to the escalators that would take them into the mall.

"Not exactly," Buffy admitted somewhat guiltily.  With a bit more force, she added, "But I left a note."  And she had, on the counter in the kitchen, where it still sat unread, as Angel hadn't yet been back to the apartment.  Though it hardly mattered; he knew exactly when she had left the building, what car she took, and where she was.  He wasn't about to risk losing her again, even if it meant covert surveillance; surveillance he knew she would object to – that is, if she knew.

"He's going to freak when he finds out," Willow returned with a shake of her head.

"He may not even know," Buffy countered. "Besides, he's probably busy catching up on work. He said he was going to his office."

"Oh, he'll know. You know he'll know. Or he'll find out. He hasn't left your side since, well… you know… since you got back.  And it's not like you just left the apartment and went somewhere else in the building. You completely left the building. You left the neighborhood. You know he's so not going to like it."

"Well, then he won't like it, but I needed to get out. And I told him that this morning… and that I needed some time," Buffy answered reflectively. "Some time to… to think about stuff." She wrinkled her nose almost guiltily. "I just may not have said specifically that I was also going to be thinking about stuff somewhere else. Somewhere outside the apartment. Somewhere, like, at the mall."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Willow asked as they stepped into the crowded mall. "The stuff you want to get out and think about, that is."

"Not really," Buffy replied as she turned toward Bloomingdales.  Outside the store she paused at the window display, studying the moss green strapless dress with the appliqué flowers on the skirt.  That, along with a pair of adorable espadrille-style wedges, would do for a start. It had been so long since she had the luxury of choosing new clothes, of having something new.  For that matter, it had been what seemed like an eternity since she had the freedom of going wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.  She'd never take even a simple thing as a trip to the mall for granted again. She smiled a little half smile; some things hadn't changed: a little retail therapy could still help to improve one's mood.

"Did something happen?" Willow asked again. "Something that you want to talk about? Because you seem… kinda upset. Or like something is bothering you."   

"No. Yes. No. I mean, I'm not. I don't know," Buffy sighed heavily and turned her attention back to her friend. "I am I guess."

"Listen girl here. I can be that is, if you want to talk."

"I don't know," Buffy paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully.  After several seconds, she added. "I don't know really what to say."

"But I'm your best friend, and that's what best friends are for after all. To listen and commiserate and console and stuff.  And it's not like we've had a chance to talk much since you've been back. I mean, I know you've been recuperating and all, and I know you probably wanted to spend a lot of time with Angel, but you know I'm still your best friend… or I want to be again. And we should talk and confide and catch up on everything. It's a best friend's duty and obligation. And besides I want to talk and confide and stuff. I want us to be close, like we were. You know, back in Sunnydale… before we came to LA."  

Glancing away from her friend, Buffy turned her attention back to the Bloomingdale's window display. For almost a minute she was silent. Finally, she inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself for what she was about to say, and turned back to look at Willow. "This morning… Angel… he told me about… her." Her voice was so low it was barely audible.

"Her?" Willow echoed, a sense of anticipation and excitement suddenly bubbling in her veins.  Perhaps she wasn't going to have to find a reason to bring the subject of Angel and Elise up after all – something she had been contemplating since the very moment Buffy had made her surprise appearance in her office doorway almost an hour ago and asked if she could escape for a while. Schooling her features to a perplexed solemnity, Willow asked, "Who her?"

"Elise," Buffy answered quietly. "Elise Seymour."

"Oh, her. Elise her. Did he… what all did he tell you? I mean, did he tell you everything?"

Buffy glanced at her friend speculatively for a moment, mulling over the implication of Willow's emphatic 'everything'.  Apparently Angel hadn't been particularly discreet about his relationship with the author… but then again, was there anything at Wolfram & Hart that wasn't common knowledge?  It had seemed that every detail of her relationship with Angel, including their struggles to have a child, had been well known by everyone from the front desk receptionist to the highest paid scientists and lawyers.

"Buffy? What did he tell you?" Willow prodded earnestly.

"Um… well, he said that he met her several months after I… after I was gone, and that she was a writer.  She was researching… me, slayers, Angel, us, I'm not sure exactly… for a book she was writing."  She paused before commenting cynically, "Since she's a she, and Angel's Angel, I'm pretty sure I know what she was really researching."  

"Yeah? Oh, I mean yeah." Willow nodded a little too heartily. She knew that Buffy thought that every woman who came in contact with Angel though him as sexy and charming and irresistible as she did. There was probably some truth in that, given the legions of sexual conquests he had left in his wake, but there was also no doubt that Buffy was more than a little biased when it came to the appeal of the dark vampire. "So what else did he say about her?"

The petite blonde shrugged one shoulder. "He said that she found out about Bjoutan and the Watcher's Council as well as their link to Wolfram & Hart, and that's how they were finally able to find me. He also said that she was smart and persistent, or something like that. Oh, and nosy. I think he said nosy."

"That's all he told you?" Willow asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing.

"No, that's not all," Buffy admitted reluctantly, looking back toward the green dress in the display, and suddenly wishing that they weren't having this conversation.  She shouldn't have mentioned it; she wasn't ready to talk about it.

"Really?"  Willow eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean he actually told you that he had been screwing her?"  She wanted to smile, but she was careful to keep her expression neutral. She should appear compassionate and understanding, as well as clearly disapproving of Angel's behavior during Buffy's absence.

Her gaze swiveled back to her friend, a pained expression on her face at the blunt statement. Nope, he had definitely not been discreet. An overwhelming feeling of heartache threatened to engulf her, but Buffy fought it, not wanting to break down here, now, in public. "No…"

"Oh. I guess… I mean… he did tell you about that, didn't he?" Willow grimaced self-consciously, as if she hadn't meant to blurt out such a shocking disclosure.

"Well, no… I mean, yes.  He did say that, but not quite like that. He said that they… that he…" she broke off, searching for the words that she could bring herself to use. After a moment she continued, "that he had gotten involved with her."  She paused, feeling the hated sting of tears in her eyes. She hadn't wanted the harsh truth. Not from Angel, not from Willow, not from anyone.  But Angel had insisted on telling her, and so she had listened, or tried to, but it had hurt so very much.  He hadn't been explicit or blunt, but he been honest and direct and had admitted that he had been intimate – "had sex" were the words she believed he had used though she wasn't completely certain - with this other woman. Once, he had said. Only once, but still… once.  Once was once.  She had been locked away in a horrible cell, fighting for her life and for their child… and he was… having sex with this Elise person. And he was probably smiling, and laughing, and having a wonderful time with this unknown, faceless stranger; this person that she had never met or heard of or even knew existed.  What else they had done, what other moments they had shared, Buffy hadn't wanted to know or even contemplate…the very thought of it all had all simply hurt too much. It was so very painful to know that Angel had essentially betrayed her, betrayed them… and that everyone seemed to know and accept it.  And while it was almost unbearable to think that he had been intimate with someone else, it hurt far worse somehow to think that he had found someone else that he had connected with emotionally; someone else to confide in, someone that could provide him comfort and love and solace; someone that could ease his heartbreak and pain.  He had probably even smiled at this Elise person, that rare little intimate half-smile that Buffy thought reserved just for her…

"He really told you, just like that?" Willow gaped, genuinely stunned. She knew that guilt was a huge motivator for Angel – something he was probably feeling now more than ever – but she never suspected that he would've confessed about his relationship with Elise, and certainly not this soon after Buffy's return and without provocation. Something must have happened that prompted him to come clean.  

"Yes." Buffy sniffed, dabbing at her eyes and attempting to shove aside the painful thoughts.  She had endured so much worse; she would survive this.  

"How did he tell you? I mean, he must have tried to make excuses.  He was lonely. He was bored. She reminded him of you. Something to justify betraying you."  

Buffy's mind winged back to the conversation this morning over breakfast. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "No… he didn't."

"He didn't?" The red haired wicca was perplexed.  He hadn't offered excuses? Some sort of justification for his behavior?  "Of course he didn't. He wouldn't I'm sure.  He probably doesn’t even think he did anything wrong.  Maybe he thought it was okay because you were gone. Like you guys were broken up or something during your imprisonment."

Buffy's eyes flared slightly in surprise. She hadn't told anyone other than Angel about her ordeal.  Spike and Wesley knew, but Angel had assured her that they weren't going to tell anyone…

Leaning over, Willow pulled Buffy into a firm hug. "I'm really sorry Buffy. I know this must be awful for you… you were in a horrible place, suffering, and Angel was here continuing with his life as though nothing happened. You know, working, going out to movies, and dinners, and plays and stuff, having sex with other women…"  

"Women?" The petite blonde echoed flatly, her curiosity about Willow's knowledge taking a back seat to a more unexpected consideration. She pulled back to look at Willow's face.

"Well, probably. I mean, I don't know for sure, but if there was one there were probably others.  I didn't spend a lot of time at the office in those months… I was out of my mind with worry for you, so I don't really know what he was doing then, you know," Willow offered sympathetically.  "Honestly, I'm totally surprised that he told you about her at all, and I just can't believe he didn't at least try to make some sort excuse. But then he probably just expects you to be okay with it, like he didn't really cheat on you or like it doesn't matter.  And if you ask me, she wasn't pretty or smart. She was…" she paused, wrinkling her nose, "kinda skanky."

"Well, he did say…" Buffy swallowed tightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking to collect her thoughts.

A smile flickered over Willow's features.  Reaching out, she patted Buffy on the shoulder piteously. "What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry. Very, very sorry…" she answered on a deep exhalation of breath. Opening her eyes, she ran her hands though her hair, smoothing a few unruly strands. Focused on her own tangled emotions, she missed the insincere pity in her friend's voice.  "He said that it would never have happened, that he would never have even considered it had he thought that I… that I was alive. He couldn't feel it… our connection… anymore…"

Willow snorted skeptically.

"Which, I can understand because I couldn't feel it… Angel… either…" Buffy continued, her voice wavering slightly. She was struggling to maintain her composure, as the world seemed to be crumbling from beneath her with every word. Talking about it with someone else, hearing the words aloud seemed to make it more… real somehow. "He thought that I was… that I was gone, that I was… dead. I mean, even when we're far apart, I can still feel him. But there, in that dimension, there was… just nothing. No sense of connection… I would've thought something happened to him if I hadn't known it was another dimension.  And he did say he was lonely, but that being lonely wasn't the excuse or any excuse. He said that there was no excuse," she finished wearily, suddenly tired of the conversation, exhausted by the emotional strain it was taking and hating the patronizing look on her friends face.  She really didn't want to talk about this, not now, maybe not ever. It was a mistake to have mentioned any of it in the first place. She hadn't sorted it out in her own mind, and she wasn't ready to explain or excuse or understand or anything really with anyone else.  She didn't want pitying looks or attacks on Angel, despite her own unsettled emotions.  

She didn't want to talk about what she had been through or what she was going to do now. She honestly just wanted a slice of time away from the apartment, away from the office, away from Angel, away from everything; somewhere just to do something other than be alone with her own thoughts. For just a while, she wanted to forget about Bjoutan, about Angel's apparent infidelity, about this woman who was now missing maybe because of something she uncovered that had led to her return, and everything else unpleasant. She wanted nothing more than to pretend – at least for a few hours - that none of it had ever happened.  She wanted to lose herself in shoes, clothes, makeup, mochaccinos, and all of the other things she had enjoyed in what seemed now so very long ago. She wanted to go back, if only for a short while, to the woman she had been before any of this had happened. "I'm sorry, Will, but this is just really hard for me to talk about."

"Oh, Buffy. I'm sorry. What am I thinking! You must be devastated about all of this.  I knew, of course, and I was going to tell you because I thought you should know; but I haven't really seen you, and it wasn't the kind of thing that I could just tell you first thing after you got back. But I would've told you eventually because you needed to know."

"I know." Buffy agreed flatly, noncommittally.

"Just buy whatever you need today, and of course, you're staying with me until you figure out what you're going to do. I've got plenty of ice cream, and we can watch 'Double Jeopardy' or 'Enough' or some other girl-gets-revenge-on-the-guy-that-treated-her-badly movie. We haven't done the girl thing in a long time, so I think we're way overdue. It'll be fun, and I know you could use some fun."

Buffy forced a smile. "Thanks, Will, I appreciate the offer, but…  I promised Angel that we'd talk about… all of this… later… tonight. We can't just… not talk about it, even if I don't know how I feel or how I should feel or what I want to do."

Willow stared at her, longing to reach out and shake some sense into her.  Or at least, use a little magic to sway her to her way of thinking.  But she didn't dare attempt a magic spell, much less one here now, in public.  Buffy was fairly perceptive – she would know.  In the car on the way home though… perhaps she could pull off a simple little spell that would convince Buffy to leave Los Angeles and Angel... Nothing too tricky… just a little something to nudge her thoughts in the right direction. It was so simple… "Oh, Buffy, tell me you aren't thinking about forgiving him?"

The look that passed over her friend's face made her slightly uneasy, and Buffy unconsciously drew back.

"You are, aren't you?  He cheated on you! As if that weren't enough, it was while you were imprisoned and pregnant! That's just… well, it's absurd, that's what it is. You can't just go back to being with him like nothing happened, like he didn't betray your trust."

"I know," Buffy glanced around self-consciously, hoping no one had heard her friend's raised voice. The blunt mention of her pregnancy caused her heart to squeeze painfully and her throat to tighten with emotion.  She had lost so much; her baby always in her mind without the need to be reminded.  "I mean… I don't know. Things are happening so fast that I haven't really processed all of it. I don't know what I'm going to do yet," she managed to say finally. She genuinely didn't know what she was going to do; she only knew that she wasn't ready to make any decisions.  

"I really don't think that's such a good idea. You can't just act like nothing happened!"  Willow insisted angrily. "Not after what he did to you."

"Buffy?  Buffy?! Is that you?!"

Startled, both women turned toward the sound of the familiar voice.

"Wesley?" Buffy questioned, watching as the recognizable figure strode rapidly toward them. 

"Yes, hello," he greeted, coming to stand in front of the two women. He kissed Buffy's cheek lightly, a custom that he had started since her return.  "Willow." He nodded, a friendly smile on his face.

"Let me guess, Angel sent you?" Buffy's voice was not unwelcoming or unfriendly, just matter-of-fact.

"I was actually here at the mall buying a gift," he answered, evading the question as he held up a small Bloomingdale's bag containing his purchase.  "I must admit though I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't realize you were feeling well enough to venture out."

"Well, she is," Willow snapped, annoyed by the interruption. "And don't bother to lie. It's sunny out, so the cheating bastard had to send someone else to do his dirty work."

"The who?" Wes inquired archly. He hid his surprise at Willow's angry pronouncement.

"Angel. Who else?  He told you to follow us, didn't he?  If not, then who's the gift for really?" Willow asked derisively.

"It's a small token of appreciation for Fred for watching my apartment while I was away," Wesley commented blandly. "An Orrefors glass vase. She mentioned liking the light blue color, though I got only the briefest glance at the picture over her shoulder while she was reading the paper so I'm not sure it's the right one. Would you like to see it?"

"I'm sure it's very nice.  We were just on our way to do some shopping ourselves," Willow said with a dismissive tone. "You'll excuse us, I’m sure, since you weren't following us."

Buffy glanced at Willow, her brows drawing together in a frown.  Her friend's tone seemed unduly harsh. "That sounds lovely, Wes. I'm sure Fred will like it."

"Yes, well, I hope so.  And did I miss something here?" His perplexed gaze moved between the two young women, stopping on Buffy.

"No, you didn't miss anything. You know exactly what he did. If anything, you probably even know all of the details since you were always hanging around in the library with her," Willow snapped tightly. "She probably bragged about the nights of hot, sweaty sex with Angel. I suppose she was going to put that in her book too, huh?"

Buffy sighed, Willow's words causing the dull ache in her heart to throb insistently and crawl up her spine to her head. Rubbing the tension in her forehead with two fingers, she looked from Willow to Wes and back. Had something else happened while she had been gone that caused a rift between them? Was she imaging things, or did Willow seem strangely agitated by Wesley's unexpected appearance? Granted, he probably had followed them at Angel's request… even Buffy didn’t quite believe that he hadn't. She was too newly returned, and Angel too overprotective. After days of not being more than a room apart, he'd left her alone in the apartment this morning with barely a protest. She knew he'd send a body guard of some sort – and if she were completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she didn’t really mind.  Her strength, as well as her confidence, hadn't completely returned. It was a little comforting to have the backup. But still, that didn't explain the tension or Willow's near hostility.

"Buffy?" Wes questioned softly. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?  Oh, I'm sorry.  I'm suddenly not feeling so well," Buffy replied, dropped her hand and returning her gaze to her one-time Watcher.

"Let me drive you home. I was heading back anyway," Wesley suggested softly, now a little alarmed. Buffy was pale and seemed distressed while Willow seemed intent on making a point about Angel's infidelity.  Did Willow tell Buffy about Angel and Elise?

"I can drive her," Willow insisted, her eyes darkening ever so slightly. "Besides, she may not be going back there." Turning to Buffy, she put her hand on arm.  "If you don't want to drive Buffy, I can drive you.  We can go to my place and hang out for awhile until you feel better. I think you should give yourself some time away to think about… well, all of this.  You don't have to stay with him.  In fact, you shouldn't stay with him. He cheated on you, for Hecate's sake, when you were pregnant and in prison. Think about what happened to your baby… he can't just get off scot free. You can't just forget it happened."

Buffy studied Willow's face for a long moment before her gaze swung over and met Wesley's.  "I'm sorry," she murmured quietly. In addition to her aching head and aching heart, her stomach was now churning uneasily. Reaching in her bag, she fished out the keys to the borrowed BMW.  Turning back to Willow, she held them out. "I'm really sorry, Will.  Would you mind taking the car back?  I… I just… I just want to go home now. I know you wanted to pick up a few things while we were here. I'd feel bad if you didn't get the things you needed, but I… I can't stay."

Willow's jaw clenched, but she held out her hand for the keys. Leaning forward, she pulled Buffy into a hug and whispered, "You don't have to go with him. You really don't. The offer to stay with me still stands.  Just remember, they can't make you do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to go back there, or stay there if you do. Call me and I'll come get you, anytime."

"I know," the blonde Slayer answered vaguely, hugging her friend back lightly. Pulling back, Buffy forced a smile. "I need to though, I think… Thanks for coming out with me, and for listening. I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Okay, but, Buffy, I really don't think you going back there is such a good idea," Willow returned grudgingly, her now dark gaze moving from Buffy to Wes and back again. Watching them walk away, she did not look pleased.

"Tell me the truth, Wes," Buffy murmured softly several minutes after they were settled in the car and moving out of the parking lot into traffic.  They were the first words that she had spoken since they had left Willow in the mall.

"About?" The former Watcher asked, glancing at the young woman in the seat opposite him.  She seemed so small and fragile against the black leather seats of the Mercedes he had borrowed from Angel's car pool that he felt his earlier concern about her health and wellbeing return.

"About what you were doing at the mall…  About why the tense with you and Willow… About Angel…" She dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Her voice, when she continued, was low and strained. "About Angel and… Elise."

"Angel is very concerned…" he said after a moment, carefully choosing his words. "I'm sure you know that we believe that someone inside Wolfram & Hart was involved in your abduction, but unfortunately, we don't know who for certain. We have only speculation and suspicions.  Until we find out, Angel doesn't want you to be alone or unprotected, but there are only a few people that he trusts."

"He trusts you."

"Yes, I should hope so."

"But not Willow?  I'm sure he knew that I left with her."

"I don't know," he answered ambiguously.

"You don't trust her."

"I don't know," he repeated, glancing at her briefly, wondering if she noticed the growing darkness in Willow that the young woman seemed no longer able to completely hide.

"Did you tell her… where I was?"

"No," he replied, his brows drawing together in a surprised frown. He glanced at Buffy contemplatively. She hadn't told Willow about Bjoutan?  Then how had she known?

Sighing, Buffy absently drew a circle on the window with her finger. Spike must've told her then; he probably thought she already knew and mentioned it without thinking. She should've known that they couldn’t keep it a secret – nothing at Wolfram & Hart was ever sacred. "Did something happen while I was gone? Something with Willow?"

Wes mentally debated his response.  What could he tell her?  That they suspected that Willow had been increasingly active in practicing magic?  That she had taken on several assignments of a less than savory nature for the Senior Partners?  They had only a few facts to back up their accusations… Telling Buffy now might lead to her confronting her friend – which risked tipping their hand. Given the current state of their investigation, this was something he wasn't sure they were quite ready to do. Particularly now, given that Willow seemed to know more about Buffy's whereabouts than anyone had told her…  "Willow and I," he said finally, settling on something truthful that might be convincing, "perhaps have a disagreement or two."  He was intentionally vague, hoping she wouldn't press for details that he didn't feel he could give her. Certainly at base, they disagreed about how much Angel should be vilified for his relationship with Elise.

She thought about his answer for a few minutes, knowing that there was something more that he wasn't saying, but choosing to let it go for the time being.  They'd be at Wolfram & Hart soon; she had other questions she wanted to ask. "Angel asked you to follow me?"

"Not explicitly though it may have been… suggested," Wesley admitted reluctantly. "I would've come on my own anyway. We all know that you're the Slayer and that you can protect yourself," he added before she could speak. "But you're still recovering your health and your strength, as well as your skills.  In the meantime, humor us."

"Angel… he thinks that someone is going to...kidnap me again?" Buffy asked quietly. She had noticed the extra diligence in securing the apartment, as well as sensed that her safety was the topic of several intense conversations between Angel, Spike and Wes. 

"It's a matter of tying up all of the loose ends.  We know that the Watcher's Council set up the prison in Bjoutan, and that they chose the Slayers that they placed there. They considered you a rogue Slayer like the others, since you disobeyed their orders and essentially quit the Council years ago.  And while the Council is out of business, and Bjoutan is closed, we don't know who at Wolfram & Hart orchestrated your abduction.  Angel won't be satisfied until he finds out and closes that loop. That's how he is. You know that perhaps better than anyone else."  

She did, though this Elise person probably knew him just as well now, she thought jealously. Sighing, Buffy attempted to push aside the green-eyed monster and the accompanying resentful thoughts. She looked out the window at the passing traffic.  "You said speculation and suspicions. Who?"

Wes glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't know how much Angel wanted to reveal to her about his suspicions. "You should ask Angel."

"I will, but you could tell me now, and then I'll be better able to protect myself from whoever it is. I mean, what if I don't get to talk to Angel until… tomorrow – or later. Maybe I won't even see him until later in the week. He's got work to catch up on, after all."

"You'll have to speak with Angel," the former Watcher repeated with a slight smile. He knew she'd press for details, it was her nature. But the likelihood of Angel waiting to see her until later in the week was slim to none.  He'd probably seek her out soon after their return to the offices – especially now that the issue of Elise hung between them.

"Is it someone that I see often? Or just in passing?  The mail clerk?  The receptionist?  The creepy little scientist guy on the fourth floor with the blonde curly hair and beady eyes?" she pressed.

"Buffy… you really should ask Angel. I can't tell you anything more."

"Fine, I will," Buffy sniffed almost indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest.  "But you know it's ridiculous for you to not tell me.  I can't protect myself from what I don't know. At least if I know who might be coming, I have a chance to protect myself."

He would be the first to admit that she had a point, but Angel would have his reasons for what he chose to disclose – or not – to her. "Angel-"

"I know, I know. Ask Angel. Which I will do when I see him," Buffy interjected before he could finish. "So if you aren't going to tell me who's out to get me, then you can at least tell me about her."

"Elise?"  he asked without guile, feeling slightly guilty now that he had at one time condoned Angel's relationship with the female author. "I, er, take it that Willow told you about her?"

"No, Angel did," Buffy answered calmly, though it seemed that her heart broke a little every time she had to mention their names together. "Willow just confirmed that everyone at Wolfram & Hart knew about… them. That he was involved with her. Sexually involved. And before you tell me to ask Angel, I did. He told me himself that he had… been with her."

Ah! Now he understood the sudden change in routine: Angel, terse and on edge, appearing suddenly in his office after days of working from the apartment and not leaving Buffy's side, and her abrupt departure from the penthouse when she hadn't left it unaccompanied since her return. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Well, um, what is it that you want to know?"

Buffy studied her fingernails for a moment, contemplating the questions she wanted to ask and wondering if she would really be able to handle the answers.  "Was he in love with her?" she asked finally, her voice throaty and emotional. He hadn't said he was, but then she also hadn't asked that particular question.

"No," he answered thoughtfully, guiding the car into the right lane and slowing to turn into the alley that led to the Wolfram & Hart parking garage.  The need to pay attention to the narrow drive gave him a few extra seconds to compose his response. "I believe he genuinely liked her and cared for her, but no, he wasn't in love with her."

"Then why did he…" she trailed off uncertainly, still unsure what exactly she wanted to know.

"Become involved with her?" Wes finished for her gently, watching the play of emotions on her face.  

She took a deep breath. "Yes."  

"Buffy…" Even out of the corner of his eye, Wesley didn't miss the pained look on her face. "He missed you terribly, every day. For a while we thought he was going to lose his mind.  We even feared that his grief might somehow unleash Angelus. Elise… she was a distraction."  He paused, checking the rear view then side mirror, as they stopped and waiting for the large steel door to rise.  "I don't mean that in a shallow sort of way. You and I both know that Angel isn't the sort to indulge in casual affairs.  It's just… We all thought… it had been months and there were no leads, no clues.  Angel admitted once that he could no longer feel the connection that you shared. That led us to conclude…"

"That I was… dead," she interjected quietly.  She knew as much, and Angel had confirmed it even though he hadn't said so in those exact words. How many times during her stay in Bjoutan had she thought that would in fact be her fate?  So many that she had even begun to accept it.

"I'm not explaining this very well, am I?" He couldn't bring himself to admit that he, Gunn, and Fred had pushed Angel and Elise together, hoping that she could ease his grief and pain.  She was a compassionate, intelligent, beautiful woman… it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to think she could help, somehow. They genuinely cared about the vampire as their friend, but a brooding, grieving Angel was a difficult and dangerous Angel.  It was better – and perhaps safer – for everyone – when he was not in a dark frame of mind. Perhaps it had been somewhat selfish on their part… but ultimately, Angel had made the decisions he made and the relationship with Elise was his choice.

"It's okay, Wesley.  You really don't have to explain anything anyway. I just… I don't know. I just wanted to understand… Or maybe I wanted to know…" A wave of hopelessness washed over her. She knew that Angel wasn't one for casual affairs – which perhaps made it worse, not better, knowing that he had gotten involved with someone else.  It meant that there was an emotional connection between them; it was not just a sexual gratification or physical release sort of thing, which might have been easier in many ways to forgive.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said softly as he pulled the car into the dimly lit garage.

"So am I," she whispered in reply.

"He's dead."

"What? Who?" Wesley looked up from the papers he had just laid carefully across the conference room table.

"Travers," Spike replied as he swept into the room, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

"What do you mean dead?" Wes asked, taken aback by the revelation.

"I mean dead, dead. Deceased. No longer among the living. Immortally challenged. Pushing up daisies. Figuratively, of course, not literally, since I doubt that anything would grow in the basement here."

"When? What happened?" Angel asked as he joined them from his adjoining his office, closing the doors behind him to give them as much privacy as they might find in an office seemingly full of spies.

"Can't say exactly. I went to talk with him about our mutual friend Serge and found him face down on the floor. He'd probably been there over an hour, maybe two. Not much more than that."

"You're sure he's dead?" Wesley questioned again, moving to straighten the papers that had blown around in the breeze stirred by Spike's pacing around the room.

"Let me think about it."  The blonde vampire paused for one beat. "Yes, I'm sure. He's dead." At Wesley's uncertain look, Spike added. "Very dead, and trust me, if anyone knows dead, it's me."

Angel swore softly.

Wes asked thoughtfully, "Suicide?"

Spike shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe."

"But you doubt it." The former Watcher interposed.

"I doubt it," Spike affirmed grimly.

"Travers thought too highly of himself to commit suicide," Angel added briskly. His brows had drawn together in a scowl. "And he believed that the Senior Partners would intervene on his behalf."

"Maybe they did then," Spike remarked. "Just not the way he thought they would."

"That's quite possible," Wesley murmured, reaching for a stack of papers. He rifled through them quickly until he found the one he was seeking.  He pulled it from the file and held it out for inspection. "This is the contract Quentin had on file. It's similar to Lilah's."

"So they could've kept him alive as long as they wanted," Spike surmised, glancing at printed paper with only mild interest.

"Or taken him out when they wanted, since he was technically already dead," Angel finished.

"True. He was in the explosion that killed the majority of the Watcher's Council. Clearly, he owed his survival to this contract," Wes explained, shaking his head.  "Should we have the lab examine him?  Maybe they'll be able to pinpoint the exact cause of death."

"No," Angel returned in a frustrated growl. "Too many people already know that he was here. I don't want the news to spread any further if we can prevent it."

The two other men nodded in agreement.

"And lock up the body," Angel continued, "in one of the secure vaults. Use magic if you need to. I don't want him resurrected or able to leave here in any way."

"We should take care of it now then," Spike declared, his expression grim.  He turned to Wes, "I'll get the body and the vault if you bring the magic sealant."

Angel landed another hard right jab on the punching bag, a low grunt escaping his lips as he pounded the bag, each blow harder then the last.  He was in a rage that the Senior Partners had taken Quentin, and therefore the little bit of revenge and retribution that he could offer Buffy, slight though it was.  It wasn't much in the way of compensation, but he had wanted to give her the opportunity to determine Quentin's fate.

With natural grace and innate ability, he moved around the swinging bag, eyeing it as though it were a skilled opponent.  There was no doubt in his mind that the Senior Partners had known about Travers' plans for Buffy.  He swung and hit the Everlast logo with a hard left, imagining the former Watcher's face; what he had done to Quentin hardly seemed enough now.   He never had a lead or any proof, but he had suspected that the Partners were in some way involved in her disappearance right from the beginning.  Whirling he landed a solid kick on the bag, nearly knocking it from its moorings.

He knew that the Senior Partners had an agenda when they put him in charge of Wolfram & Hart; that had never been in question.  He had always believed that in time they would reveal their hand, so he had waited; time was certainly something that he had. Perhaps taking the wait and see approach had been a mistake.  It had been unquestionably costly… He threw a right hook followed by a left jab, stepping to the side to set up the next punch.

They wanted him to lose his soul that much he knew. They had probably gotten their hopes up when he and Buffy renewed their relationship after Sunnydale's destruction.  When that avenue failed, however, a steady stream of mysterious 'packages' began to arrive. Often clever, sometimes clumsy, but all of which they surely hoped would prove the key to relieving him of his soul… His brows drew together. Clearly they understood very little about the nature of the curse that gave him his soul.

Turning, he hit the bag with a solid side kick. He could understand their interest in Angelus, if not their hope that they still could bring back his demon. It wasn't as if his demon would've simply kowtowed to them in gratitude and yielded to their demands. Angel's lips twisted into a bitter smile. Quite the opposite in fact... In short order they would've regretted gifting Angelus with such power as he would find as the head of an organization such as Wolfram & Hart.

He juked left and blocked the swinging back with a right side arm. But what did they have to gain by bargaining with Quentin?  Fewer Slayers to spoil their plans?  That didn't make sense… the Slayers that Travers selected for incarceration were those more likely to work with the Partners, not against them. Even with Quentin in charge, the Council and the Partners objectives were often at odds. So what was it then? 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he attacked the bag again with a series of rapid blows.  Maybe it wasn't about the Slayers at all, but maybe it was just as Spike had suggested: it was about taking something from him. Since he apparently wasn't going to lose his soul by being with Buffy, maybe they thought losing her would be the thing that would push him over the edge. If so, they don't know how close to correct they had come… 

His intuition was telling him that there was something to the idea, but a piece of the puzzle still seemed to be missing.  They wanted them together if he were to lose his soul… but they wanted them apart if he wasn't?  Unbidden, a vague memory drifted through his mind… something about the two of them, together… something from years past…  gradually the phrase turned in his mind until the sentence became completely clear…

"Together you were powerful. Alone you are dead."

The Mohra demon.  Pausing, his chest heaving from the exertion despite the lack of need to breathe, Angel stared hard at the swaying bag.  Those words had haunted him in the years following the Mohra's demise and the day that wasn't, particularly when Buffy had jumped into the portal and died less than two years later.  He had failed her then, leaving her to face Glory alone – as he had undoubtedly failed her many times before and since. But never again, he resolved, shaking away the painful thoughts.  Could it as simple as that?  Did he and Buffy together somehow pose a threat to the Senior Partners or their plans? They were always putting a lot of credence into the various prophecies that they – or their lackeys – spent so much time researching…

Thoughtfully, he plucked a towel from a nearby bench and wiped his face.  He'd have Wes look into it right away and see if he could uncover anything.  He'd call and ask for Giles' help as well; the former Watcher had always been good at that sort of research.

It was late afternoon by the time Wesley was able to leave Wolfram & Hart and make the drive over to Elise's house.  After parking alongside the curb, he cut the ignition and surveyed the house for a moment.  There were several newspapers strewn in the narrow driveway and the yard, making it appear as though no one had been there for several days. Not a good sign.

As he walked up to the porch, he noticed that there was a light on inside the house, though he suspected it was from a timer rather than an occupant since it wasn't dark enough yet to need the lights on.  He knocked on the door and waited; he heard only silence.  The hair on the back of his neck rising, he knocked again, louder.  The house was too quiet; he was certain no one was home. Whether it was experience, or just imperceptible feeling, he knew something was wrong.

The blinds were drawn on the front window, preventing any view inside the house. Glancing around to make sure he was unobserved, he crept around the side of the house. The windows and doors were all closed and locked; there were no obvious signs of tampering. 

Returning to the front porch, Wesley once again looked around before drawing out his keys as though he were simply going to unlock the door.  He eyed the double door lock critically before taking out a small tension wrench and several picks. Selecting one, he carefully picked the lock on the deadbolt.  After just over a minute, the locks tumbled and the bolt slid out of the door jam.  With a relieved sigh, he moved to the second, easier lock.

When the door finally opened and Wes stepped inside, the first thing he saw were Elise's suitcases.  They were open, the contents strewn on the floor.  Elise had returned from London – or at least her luggage had.  His stomach tightened, and he looked around.  A pile of mail sat on the table near the door next to several still wrapped newspapers.  Apparently someone had collected her mail and papers up until her expected return.

A quick survey of the house revealed ransacked drawers, particularly on her desk.  The file drawers were pulled out and emptied, papers littering the floor.  Her jewel case, in the top drawer of her open bureau, still held several expensive pieces of jewelry including a glittering platinum and diamond tennis bracelet that Wes knew to be worth close to $15,000.  Her purse was gone, but her laptop bag – the bag he knew she carried more than she carried a purse – was sitting on the floor, empty.  Apparently the thieves had made off with her iBook and a few files, but from what he could tell little else. From all indications, it wasn't simply the work of petty thieves.  It appeared that whoever had been there had been looking for something specific – the question was, had they found it?

The biggest question and overriding concern was, however, where was Elise?  Had she arrived home and interrupted the thieves at work?  But there was no sign of forced entry… unless they had surprised her at the door and forced her to let them in… Possible, perhaps, though he thought it more likely that the person or persons had already been in the house when she arrived. Why he thought that, he wasn't quite sure. It was just a feeling in his gut.

He'd start with the airlines and see if he could confirm when she returned; she would've taken a cab or a car service home from the airport.  Maybe they'd know something…

With rapidly growing concern, he made one last check around the house.  He wished he knew her place better in order to know what else, if anything, might be missing.  Maybe Angel would have a better idea… though he hated having to ask the vampire to check, especially now that Buffy knew about his relationship with the author.  They certainly didn't need any more complications in their relationship just now.

On his way out, he gathered the newspapers from the yard and stopped at her mailbox. It was full of mail, mostly junk mail and flyers, but one thing caught his attention - a small package that Elise had apparently mailed to herself from London.  Collecting the rest of the mail, he tucked it under his arm and headed for his car.

Buffy left through a side door of the Wolfram & Hart offices and turned left toward the street that would eventually take her out to Santa Monica and the beach. She walked slowly, letting the fading evening sun and slight breeze soothe her tumultuous thoughts, hoping that some fresh air and time away from the penthouse suite would soothe her tumultuous emotions, help sort out the uncertainty of her future, and prepare her for her conversation with Angel.

Elise Seymour.  The name was etched vividly in her consciousness.  Who was she, really?  Had the lady author really been researching her, or was it an excuse to be close to Angel?  And what was it about her that had so attracted Angel that he had become involved with her?  Had her disappearance mattered so little to him that he could so easily start a relationship with the first woman that attracted him?  Or was it really just a moment of respite after months of grief?  A need to connect with someone else after feeling so very alone?  

She grappled with the exact measure of her jealousy, along with her feelings of hurt and her indeterminate faith in Angel.  Could she blame him for a single lapse? After all, hadn't she done the very same thing after her return from heaven?  Spike had been her source of feeling, her reprieve from pain and grief.

But try as she might, she was unable to intellectualize away her feelings of hurt and betrayal. The memory of those days locked up in Bjoutan strengthened her resolve against her heart. She didn't know if she would be able to forgive him.

She slowed, seeing Angel waiting for her a short distance away.  Lost in thought, she hadn't realized that it had grown dark or that she was as far from the office as she had come.  Apparently, she also hadn't noticed Angel following her at a discreet distance in the sleek black Viper until he finally swept passed, parked, and got out to wait for her just before the entrance to the beach steps. He looked like any other California man at the beach, clad in faded jeans and a dark blue button-up shirt that he had left untucked. 

"How did you find me?" she asked, closing the gap between them. He was still as beautiful as ever, she thought, and wondered peevishly if Elise thought so as well.

"You always did like the beach," he answered, shrugging one shoulder slightly. He was leaning against the car, though the relaxed, casual pose was an odd contrast to the tension in his body, the concern in his dark eyes.  

Misreading his stance and bothered by her earlier thoughts, Buffy felt a touch of resentment toward him for his seemingly blasé repose. "Oh. And here I thought it was because you or one of your flunkies were following me," she coolly said.  She may not have seen him behind her, but she knew that he'd send someone.   

"Wes probably wouldn't like being called a flunkie."

Buffy's brows lifted fractionally at the unexpected candor of his response. "So you did tell him to follow me earlier."

"I didn't have to."

"I was coming back... I know we agreed to talk."  She wished now she had pressed for more time.

"I know. And I thought it might be… easier here."

"Why?"

"Because the sounds of the ocean are soothing, and because there's less chance that we'll be spied on or interrupted."

"I see." Her words were coated with a thin frost of resentment. His words affirmed her distrust in their surroundings at Wolfram & Hart, as well as the fact that he wasn't telling her everything. "Did you meet Elise away from the office then?  Or maybe you should've."

"You have a right to be angry."

"I do," she agreed, walking past him to stand at the top of the stairs leading down to the beach.

"I'm sorry for everything that happened.  I'm sorry you were ever taken, I'm sorry that I didn't find you before I did, and I'm sorry that I ever got involved with Elise." His words were heartfelt, sincere.

"Did you love her?" Buffy breathed so quietly that if he didn't have preternatural hearing the sound would have been inaudible.

"No," he answered gently, though without hesitation.

Her eyes, unfathomable, held his for a long moment.  "Then why…"

"I'm not offering any excuses, Buffy, but I am offering an apology. I'm sorry, and if there's a way to make all of this up to you, I'll do it. I love you, and I've missed you. I just want to put all of this behind us."

Buffy remained silent, steeling herself against the impulse to drown in those dark, soulful eyes or throw herself in his arms and have him hold her until the pain went away.  The honest truth was that she didn't know what she wanted right now.  Her emotions vacillated wildly from hurt and anger one minute to relief and almost happiness another; it was too much for her, too soon.

"I don't know, Angel," she said finally, taut with conflicted feeling. "I need some time."

"I have time," he said softly. "I'll give you whatever you need, Buffy. I love you."

 

TBC…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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