While Buffy was deciding that the Hyperion was probably the best place to crash – the safest at least even though Angelus no doubt knew she would be staying there – Gunn and Wesley were trying to remember that it was not their friend in front of them.                  

Angelus was in a superb mood now, knowing that Buffy was in town and that she had no more control over her responses to him in person than she did in their dream world. Neither of the two conscious prisoners in the room would have liked knowing that the vampire was in such a jovial mood; for their – or specifically Wesley’s – torture was just as cruel and sadistic as when Angelus was in a foul mood. 

Of course they didn’t know the reason for either mood and chances were good they wouldn’t have cared. 

Both were because of Buffy; this exceptionally jubilant disposition and the sheer meanness from a day or so ago when Angel had finally found the balls to assert himself and reach out for Buffy, breaking the immanently pleasurable dream-sex Angelus and his mate were indulging in. 

Angelus laughed at the look on the former watcher’s face – really that was the funniest part – and twisted the knife deeper. Not a real one, that would come again soon enough, no this was all mental; emotional, spiritual, it was almost as satisfying as the physical punishment. Almost. 

“Think on it, Wes. You know I’m right.” Whistling a jaunty little drinking tune from Liam’s youth, Angelus winked at Gunn, “You’re next, buddy-boy,” and left the room. 

Several minutes passed before either of them spoke. “So, Wes, are you happy now?” 

This was from Gunn who was tired of the other man’s torment, possibly more so than Wesley was. 

It was bad enough Angelus loved to hear himself talk – and Lord could he talk – but to do so over and over again about the same things? Intellectually Gunn realized what it was, a psychological breakdown of his prey, designed to weaken Wesley’s resistance. And it was working; anyone could see that. Wesley wasn’t exactly the mentally strongest being in the world in the first place and this was proving that fact even more so. 

Still, how many times was one going to be forced to listen to the same old tirade? 

“If you had just trusted us in the beginning none of this would have happened, you know,” Gunn said, weary of it all. He almost wanted Angelus to start his torture sooner; at least that way Gunn wouldn’t have to listen to anything the vampire said, he’d be in too much pain. 

“Let’s face facts, Wes; you were the big bad watcher so you thought that you were right, couldn’t possibly be wrong, and no one else could possibly be right in this matter so you took it upon yourself to betray your coworkers, hell, man, we were practically your family! And kidnap your best friend’s son. Way to go, really.” 

Gunn couldn’t help the words, he was angry; at himself for not fighting harder against Angelus admittedly overwhelming forces, at Angelus for Fred’s death even if he hadn’t been directly responsible for that, at Wesley for kidnapping Connor – okay so Gunn hadn’t really forgiven the former watcher in the first place – at Cordelia and Connor. 

Oh, yeah, Angelus had just loved to tell that story. 

And every time Gunn heard that he cringed. 

It was just nauseating and …incestuous, too incestuous for words, frankly, and he didn’t want to think about it but couldn’t seem to help his brain from traveling in that direction. And he really couldn’t understand how either of them could do something like that; Cordelia had helped raise Connor those few months they had actually had him; what the hell had she been thinking? 

All Gunn could do was thank whatever deity was listening to their pathetic group that he hadn’t been the one to see it. Talk about traumatized for life. No wonder Angel had been furious. And while that still didn’t explain, to Gunn, how Angelus had made this oh so fun appearance, it went a long way to explaining Cordelia’s current, ah, predicament. 

If that were him he’d be that furious as well. Maybe not show it in the way Angelus was, but Gunn doubted his ability to blow it off in anything other than an explosive manner. 

“Shut up Gunn,” Wes said now, raising his eyes to the only companion in the room not hanging limply from his chains and moaning about death to them all. Lorne needed a gag so far as Wes was concerned; he was doing nothing to help either the situation or moral. 

“Ooh, yeah, that’s going to make me.” Gunn said snidely, no longer caring if he had also once considered Wesley a friend. One just did not betray one’s friends no matter what.

It wasn’t the code of his street crew, so much as his. If you trusted the person then that was it. It was simple, you did or didn’t, there was no in between, no ‘well in this situation I do but not in that one’. Trust or lack thereof; Gunn trusted Angel. He had trusted Wesley. Now Angel was gone and Wesley was standing directly across from him and the lack of trust in the small dungeon-like chamber was palpable. 

Looking into Wes’ eyes, Gunn did pause, though. Man, he was broken. Physically he may have gained some strength, he had certainly changed mentally in regards to what he wanted and expected, but it was no use against Angelus. The vampire was a master manipulator and Wesley was his all too easy prey. 

“You have two choices, Wes,” Gunn said instead, trying to remember that at one point he did consider the other man a friend. And a trusted one at that; it seemed a lifetime ago rather than months. 

“Either face-up to your mistakes and get over them; of course to do that you have to admit that you made a mistake. And since you’re the only one who thinks he didn’t, that might be a problem. Or two,” he continued as if they were discussing the weather and not Angelus’ mental tortures – which were nothing more than pointing out the truth in every situation, Gunn had to allow, even if it was twisted to suit Angelus’ purposes. “You can give into Angelus and become nothing more than another of his conquests. A weak broken man who let a vampire torture him to the point of insanity.” 

Leaning his head against the stonewall behind him Gunn briefly wondered if asking for a pillow was an option. “Up to you, man, but right now you’re stagnant. And losing ground fast. Angelus is ahead in the polls and you aren’t even a contender in the race.” 

Wesley scowled at his former friend and went back to ignoring him. What business was it of his, anyway? Angelus had thus far ignored Gunn, focusing more on him, Wesley, and Lorne. While the former member of AI had no idea why that was he was equally sure he didn’t want to know. 

Closing his eyes, all Wes could hear were Angelus’ words chasing each other round and round in his head. Acerbic in their truth, bitter in their certainty and amusing in their tone. 

‘It’s all about trust, Wesley.’ Angelus of all people had said, mocking Wes by giving voice to words Angel never had. ‘Actually it’s all about power. You thought you had it, taking Connor from an unsuspecting Angel, thinking you were right because hey, you were a watcher and did this for a living. Too bad you never really listened to Rupert, Wes. He’d have been able to give you tips on more than just the validity of a good prophecy.’  

Wesley had no idea what ‘other tips’ Giles could have given him but probably wouldn’t have listened to them when he had been in Sunnydale, anyway. Or now, it seemed, as he was still the screw up his father had hated, still the wimp both Buffy and Faith had ignored, and Xander, Oz, and Willow had made fun of. Cordelia had only wanted him because she was so anti-the rest of the gang.

And why did those words echo in his head with the distinct voice of Angelus? 

Closing his eyes against the internal intrusion, Wesley allowed his head to bang against the wall at his back. These things weren’t true; he knew they weren’t. And how could Angelus know of Cordelia in high school, anyway? He couldn’t and that was that. Unless…unless Buffy had told him. 

Of course, that was it. Buffy. She had told Angel about Cordelia and therefore Angelus knew. That had to be it. Buffy was the reason for this; it was all about Buffy. She had been the first to reject him, all those years ago, she had been the one to ridicule and belittle him to the point that he had thought he needed to quit the Council and become a ‘Rogue Demon Hunter’ in order to prove himself. 

And Faith, as she had tortured him after awakening from her coma, she had demeaned his Watcher abilities over and over again. Blamed him for the way she turned out, for turning to Mayor Wilkins in the first place. 

So it really wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t told anyone of the (false) prophecy concerning Connor; past experience had taught him to not tell others of your suspicions concerning friends. They never believed you anyway, so why bother? And he had done everything right; he knew he had. 

He consulted source after source, had checked and double-checked and conferred with several oracles in his quest to discover the validity of the prophecy.

It wasn’t his fault that the prophecy had been false. Wasn’t his fault that he had honestly believed he was doing the right thing in taking Connor away from Angel. He never intended to hand the child over to Holtz despite what the other man had thought. Wesley was simply going to go away, someplace not in California, and raise Connor himself. And hope that Angel never found him. 

Which had all backfired when that bitch Justine had betrayed him. She was to blame, too. They all were, Wesley thought now as his blood boiled and Angelus’ voice mixed with his own inner one and his mind followed paths not logical in the least, shying away from the lone, tiny, and rational voice within him that said he was to blame. 

Not entirely, no, but for the most part he was to blame. But Wes refused to listen to that and Angelus’ voice was overpowering and stronger than that tiny piece of rationality. And Wesley was quickly losing ground within his own mind. 

And Gunn watched it all. He had only a vague idea of what was happening, but he could guess. Guess that Wesley refused to see reality and Angelus certainly hadn’t helped in that matter. 

Gunn had heard much of what Angelus had said to Wesley, the vampire wasn’t at all concerned with keeping his other prisoners out of the loop. And while it shamed Gunn to agree with the insane soulless vampire, agree he did. Wesley held himself above the rest of their group, thinking he was more knowledgeable than the rest because he had been trained in this kind of thing. 

The problem with that was being trained was totally different from being practical. And with Angelus involvement in things they needed that practical interest. It was unfortunate that they were all tied up in some form or another to be much use in any kind of practical involvement. Maybe Faith had made it out, alive, and would return with reinforcements? 

Damn, they were all screwed, weren’t they?
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus wandered by Cordelia’s room, taking a nice long look at the bitch seer. 

He liked her better when she was a bitch and not some holier than thou wannabe saint.  She had more style then, at least even if he still wanted to kill her. 

“And how are you feeling today, my Cassandra?” She was so easy, rising to the bait of his taunts each and every time. “Recover from our last intimate little session?” 

“Haven’t you anything better to do than wander around and listen to yourself talk?” Her voice was weak, pain, fear, and hatred leaking into the words. 

She should have just kept her mouth shut, but Cordelia was beyond pain, too far gone in her fear for any rational thought and wanted it only to end. Any way possible was rapidly becoming just fine with her despite what Doyle wanted of her. 

“Tsk, tsk, little seer, I thought by now you would have learned the rules. I can see I’ve let myself be sidetracked, though. Time, I believe for another lesson.” 

Cordelia watched as Angelus crossed the room, bright overhead lights suddenly shining harshly down on her, making the seer squint in pain. She had been in the dark for so long her eyes had grown accustomed to it. Angelus, for his part, didn’t seem to care. 

Maybe he’d feed her, though, Cordy thought as Angelus hummed to himself while looking at a tray or something she couldn’t see. The last time she had eaten…Cordy couldn’t remember it had been so long ago. And she was so tired, tired, hungry, and above all, terrified of the vampire before her. 

“Ah, here, I think this one will be perfect.” Angelus turned and wandered to the bed where Cordelia was still chained, his eyes moving over her in a detached way that held nothing of Angel…or of the emotion Angelus showed Buffy. 

“Do you know the full story of Cassandra, Cordelia? She was the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters, a princess,” he continued without giving her a chance to reply. “She fell asleep in the Temple of Apollo; the god saw her and wanted her. Now pay attention, here’s where it gets interesting: Apollo promised to teach her the art of prophecy in return for her body. Cassandra agreed, but after accepting the gift of prophecy, a divine gift, she denied him her body, going back on their bargain; Apollo was naturally outraged and added a condition to the gift. Okay that wasn’t the relevant part, but this is. Though Cassandra would always speak the truth, no one would ever believe her. Begging Cassandra to give him one last kiss, he spat into her mouth, as she did so, and when he backed away from her, the curse was planted.” 

Bringing his hands around from his back, Angelus played with the small slim curved knife he had selected. Cordelia’s eyes, already full of terror, widened even more and her struggles began anew. 

“Now, here’s the thing: Everyone believed your visions because they were given to you by the ever exalted Powers That Be, right? But it was up to you to tell others what you saw. I’ve always wondered if you conveniently left any details or possibly entire visions out of what you told Angel, but that’s not the point of today’s lesson.” 

For a brief moment Cordelia wondered if the demon before her knew of her one and only slipup. Of the vision she had received in Pylea of Buffy’s death. She had meant to tell Angel, really she had, but the vision wasn’t nearly as painful as all her others and she had been concerned with Groo, and…and had forgotten about it until the gang had arrived back at the hotel with Willow there to greet them. 

How was she to tell Angel that she had seen Buffy’s death but had forgotten about it by the time he had ‘rescued’ her? There was just no way so Cordelia had kept quiet. 

Continuing even though he had seen the acknowledgement flash in her eyes, Angelus snaked his hand out to grip Cordelia’s jaw. Forcing it open, he smiled down at her. “The point of today’s lesson is that now…no one will ever know what you have to say because you’ll never be able to speak again. Irony is delicious, isn’t it?” 

With that Angelus ignored her screams, though they were the last he’d ever hear from the bitch, and expertly severed her tongue from her mouth. Blood spurted out but Angelus let it run down Cordelia’s face. Shame to waste it, but he wasn’t in the mood for her.  Then again, he thought as he licked his fingers clean, her terror was delicious. 

Turning his back on the now whimpering and grunting seer, Angelus whistled a jaunty tune and left the room, plunging it once more into absolute darkness as he did so. 

“Make sure she doesn’t bleed to death,” he instructed a minion, “But that’s all.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Angel had been quiet the past day. 

Ever since Buffy had somehow changed herself the soul had been silent. Wondering, thinking, going through his life the past two years or so and trying to sort out just where it was he had gone wrong. 

Life had been so simple a few short years ago. Not better, certainly and on a number of levels, but…simpler. No choice between good or bad, no caring what the so-called higher powers wanted or even if they were truly real. He had lived off the streets, true, but he hadn’t had to worry about anything or anyone other than himself. 

Just as well for a kid from Galloway who hadn’t been any good whatsoever at taking care of himself at all before vampirism changed his life – no pun intended. And look where that had gotten him. Okay, on the up side if he hadn’t wandered down that alleyway, he never would have had a chance to meet Buffy. Or would he? Well, changing the past was subjective and pointless, anyway. 

He had once told Buffy that he was weak. 

And he was, he was scared of hurting her, knowing that he had already done so in the worst possible manner; granted he had had no control over his soul leaving his body but the guilt was there anyway. However, that hadn’t changed the fact that he had left their bed on their first fully intimate night together, knowing, or at least suspecting, that something was wrong. 

He hadn’t been strong enough to fight it.

Could he have? Angel had no idea, all he knew was that he hadn’t even tried, had just run as far as he could, trying to place as much distance between himself and his love because badness was about reign. He had left her to Angelus’ machinations and had done only minimal to try and stop it. 

Angelus, on the other hand, had showered Buffy with gifts, flowers, jewels, drawings – some intimate, some not – and attention. Granted his attention was considered stalking in most circles, an obsessive pursuit of her, but he hadn’t tried to leave her. 

Okay, so he had tried to open a gateway to hell. Angelus had been furious that Buffy refused to return his affections and had wanted a world where she would have to be his or risk the death of her precious friends. And Angelus had left her only because Willow had preformed the Restoration Spell on him, retuning Angel as the dominate half to their shared body. 

And he had screamed the entire time. Angelus had fought and attacked every step of the way as Angel reasserted himself over their body. He hadn’t been weak; he had wanted what was his – Buffy. 

Even in hell it was partly due to Angelus that Angel survived. 

As Angel sat on a nonexistent chair in his invisible cage, holding what felt like his real head with real hands but one could never be too sure, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. The answer was simple enough; his time in hell had seriously screwed with his brain, making memories seem surreal at best, bleeding into one another until he hadn’t been sure what was real and what was their version of fantasy. 

Buffy, though, had been the sole thought in both soul and demon’s mind, the only thing that united them in their attempt to leave the dimension and find their mate once more. 

Lying down to stare at an unending gray sky, though that, too, was subjective, Angel wondered why he had left Buffy in the first place. 

Because once again he had been weak. 

He would rather have left her than allow Angelus free reign on her once again, especially knowing how his demon felt about Buffy. Angel had been terrified that if they had stayed together even a little while longer than they had, he would have been too weak to resist her. And his weakness would have cost him his soul and his mate. 

Granted, those first months away from her were not only incredibly hard, but had the unexpected bonus of allowing him to see their relationship from a distance he hadn’t before.

Doyle was to thank for that and Angel suddenly wished he had a chance to see his friend once more to thank him. For that and so much more.

Why, then, had he not gone back to Buffy? Because she had moved on. He hadn’t really believed it then, and didn’t now, but it was what she wanted and so he had accepted that. Always expecting that she would see that Riley was just a filler in her life and Angel was whom she really wanted to be with. 

He wasn’t blind. Okay, sometimes he was, but in this instance he clearly saw what she was trying to do. 

Buffy was as afraid of his deserting her once more, as he was of allowing Angelus to again control his body. If he hadn’t pushed her in that direction she never would have gone; Angel was at least partly responsible for both Parker and Riley having a place however briefly in Parker’s case, in Buffy’s life. 

And even then he had still held out hope. 

Because deep down he firmly believed that they were meant to be and nothing could change that, nothing because he refused to believe otherwise. Except he let others have a place in their lives when it should have been only them. 

He had bartered for her life and he not only lost whatever time they could have had but he lost her to death, as well. 

Angel let others assume responsibility for a destiny that he tossed away to keep her alive and how did the so-called powers repay him? For allowing them to keep both their warriors, for giving up everything he had ever hoped to have, for letting Buffy go, once again, and then twice more after he turned back that day? 

They had killed the only thing responsible for him being Their warrior in the first damn place. 

Who was the greater fool? Angel wondered as the rage that consumed him whenever he remembered Buffy’s death cleared just a bit, allowing rational thought to seep through. He for believing Them, or Them for allowing it to happen? Either way They had again lost both Their warriors. 

So the Powers betrayed him, Buffy left him in the ultimate way imaginable, her mortal death, and Angel no longer cared about anything, let alone his destiny.

But he had spent time and energy building up Angel Investigations and people there relied on him. His friends…his friends, his ‘family’ who didn’t understand what it was like to lose the one and only thing in this life or any other that you loved beyond all reason, beyond all hope and all thought and breath. 

His friends who actually thought he could ‘get over’ Buffy, let alone in a matter of months. His friends who had all betrayed him in some way or another and yet still punished him, Angel, when he fell off their little pedestal and tarnished that gleaming image. Was this how Buffy felt when her friends had censured her relationship with him? She continually went back to them, needing their friendship because… 

Because she no longer had him. And he returned to his friends because he no longer had her. 

How different, then, would their lives be if they truly had each other and no need of fair weather friends? Which wasn’t a reasonable analogy in the least, as they all stayed through the years of fighting the good fight against things better off left in the dark. But both sets of their friends tended to chastise whenever their hero fell from grace and ignore their own stumbles along that path. 

But back to the problem at hand, his problem. 

Angel always knew what his greatest problem was; not his greatest weakness, for that was Buffy, her happiness and safety. But his problem was that he had never been in an emotionally stable relationship; when things became too difficult he bailed. Ran as far and fast as he could because he was… 

Weak. 

He was weak and knew it, he didn’t try to change because that was hard and he already had a demon within him taunting him over his weaknesses and how he, Angelus, would be more than happy to take over and give the weary soul a rest. 

He had to work twice as hard to resist the silky voice as it promised things Angel wanted desperately. Peace, respite from the constant battle; external and internal. But no Buffy. 

No Buffy. 

He hadn’t given in for just that reason, because Buffy was there. She believed in him, trusted him; had an unshakable faith in him that scared Angel down to his bones but at the same time warmed him so completely he could never again feel whole without her. He was a better man because of her and he knew it. 

Look what had happened without her; he had fallen so far he couldn’t even see the light at the end of the tunnel. He no longer cared if he ever did again. Once he surrendered his claim on Buffy all he had left was those so-called friends; he had bargained for Buffy’s life and what did he get in return? Her death. 

Again Angel remembered those months after his return from Sri Lanka and how he had floundered in his life and asked himself what was the point? Without her there was none. So he had let others dictate what he was supposed to do on the basis that he didn’t care what that was. And while that was all well and good for Liam, for Angel it wasn’t. 

“Great, now I’m not only referring to myself in three separate incarnations, but I’m talking to myself, too.” Briefly wondering if Angelus could hear him, Angel decided he didn’t care. What could his demon possibly say to or about him that Angel hadn’t already thought of? 

Mapping out the patterns of his self-destruction, Angel’s thoughts were once more brought back to Buffy’s death. No real friends despite what they believe, his love dead because he was trying to help one of those friends in another dimension, and the Powers took his absence as leave to allow her to die. 

Was it possible to torture those Powers until they had suffered as much as Angel had and still was? Something to think on later, Angel supposed. 

So if the first step in his destruction was his leaving Buffy, then the second was her death. And the third, strange as it seemed, was her return; he couldn't accept the fact that she was back when he couldn't even begin to deal with her being gone. 

When she died Angel had drifted, let his seer dictate his destiny because, as far as he was concerned, Buffy was his destiny and she had died so he, and his destiny, had as well. There he was, Angel thought now with such self-hatred it was a wonder he didn’t fully meld into Angelus and finally erase the line separating them. No longer caring about his destiny, what was the point, he had let others tell him this was how he felt and believed them because it was easier that way. 

Speaking of Angelus, and Angel had to wonder at his thoughts and the direction they insisted on jumping, maybe he should have taken lessons from his demon. If he had ignored Joyce and his own fears about their relationship, had trusted in Buffy’s commitment to him and to them, shaky as it sometimes was, would he have learned that lesson? 

Angel would never know now, because he had Liam’s trait of giving up when it got too hard. Another thing that separated him from his demon. 

Maybe that was part of the problem; he spent so much time and energy separating himself from his demon that Angel went too far in the opposite direction. Angelus knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Angel knew but was terrified that if he finally held it once more in his hands, it would be ripped from him again. 

Permanently. 

He, Angel, loved Buffy wanted her but couldn’t believe she would be satisfied as they were until something could be done about the curse. So he had left her, thinking that it was for the best because it was easier to leave first than to be the one left. 

Angel supposed Buffy could have fought him, fought for them, but she had given up as well. But that was for another time, if – when? – the soul ever regained control of the body that was a conversation to have in person. 

Snorting in disgust, Angel realized what he had done; fallen back on old habits and comforting, meaningless ‘relationships’ because that was what was familiar. He was lonely, missing Buffy and it was hard; he knew he screwed up and her being with Riley was his own damn fault. 

So again when it got hard, emotionally, as it had when he had first got his soul back, Angel let himself fall into being with Darla once more. 

Darla was a whore and, like it or not, that was all he knew; again it was familiar, easy. He could go with the flow instead of fighting against it. With Darla it was uncomplicated, he wasn’t really after losing his soul since it was obvious he couldn’t with Darla or it would have happened a century ago. 

He had just wanted that comfort that came with being with the familiar. 

That lessoning of loneliness that had consumed his soul – his entire being – when he had turned his back on Buffy and walked away. When he had held her in his arms and told her he loved her knowing that they had seconds left before things went back to the way they had been before their almost perfect day in the sun. 

Along comes Connor. Now Angel had to take responsibility for this new life because Connor truly was a defenseless innocent. But it was tough, hard; Buffy hadn’t needed taking care of, only comfort and companionship and…him, but Connor needed him. 

It had rocked Angel terribly, emotionally. So he again gravitated towards the familiar: Cordelia. She was similar to Darla in so many ways: selfish, self-absorbed, had perfected that ‘the world revolves around me’ mentality. She was a comfort zone because she had been a ‘friend’ to him for years now so he clung to that friendship and, consequently, her. 

It was all making a pathetic pattern now, Angel thought as he continued to go through his life. Maybe the Powers truly were out to get him. 

So, add in another emotional blow when Wesley betrayed him and stole Connor. Then another when Connor returned but hated Angel, his father, more than any child should ever have to. A chance for his, Angel’s, father to get back at Liam? Angel had no idea and didn’t even want to think about that. 

The unconditional support and knowledge that, no matter what, Buffy was always there for him, no longer factored into his life because Angel would have to confess to her how he badly had fucked up since leaving her. He couldn’t risk that, couldn’t risk the loathing or disappointment in her eyes if she had ever learned of what had happened to him since he had left her. 

Buffy had always seen him as her knight in shining armor and to admit what had happened in his life would have admitted that his armor was tarnished in the ugliest of ways, never to gleam again. 

So the silence between Sunnydale and LA continued. 

“I have to stop that,” Angel said aloud and his voice echoed around the hollow prison. “Silence is what got us into this mess, silence and a lack of the right communication is what brought us to this point.” 

He stood as if that would somehow help him in his prison and yelled to Buffy, “I will fight for you, beloved, and I swear this time it WILL be forever!”

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