Angelus leaned negligently against a tree and watched the camp from the cover the jungle provided. The guards from the camp were frantically racing around, securing food and medical supplies, tents, people, and their young ones especially. Moving everything closer, making a fortress out of some canvas and wood. 

“It won’t work,” he snickered, arms folded comfortably across his chest as he straightened. 

He was in a terrible mood and didn’t care who knew it. He was worried, scared, and worst of all; it felt as if a hole had been cut in his heart. Angelus had said it often, had shown it with actions, had vowed it with words – Buffy was the only thing that mattered to him. Without her, there was an emptiness that threatened to consume him. 

“I miss you, baby,” he whispered into the jungle. The sunlight didn’t penetrate this deep, so he was safe from those harmful rays. Connor was asleep, still needing to rest for a few hours when the sun was at its zenith. Angelus was older, and while his body craved the oblivion that sleep promised, he knew better. 

In sleep, all he saw was Buffy. In sleep, all he heard were her cries for rescue, her pleas for him to find her. How she needed him, how she missed him, how she was literally dying without him. Her recriminations that he’d waited too long already.

Angelus couldn’t stand that, couldn’t abide to hear her voice scream for mercy from her unseen abductors. The thought that she needed him, needed his blood to survive. Was Spike right? Was it his fault that Buffy was like this? Angelus knew Buffy craved his blood, had seen it over the years they were together. He never suspected that it went this far. 

That mere days without him could render her so helpless, so weak. 

He never should have left her. So she wanted to go to Ireland, so what? Angelus should have just gone with her. Hadn’t he always told her that whatever she wanted he’d give her? Hadn’t he kept that promise so far? Except for this one thing, except for returning to the place of his birth and rebirth. 

“God, baby, where are you?” But the jungle had no answers. “I swear, love, that as soon as I find you, I’m never letting you out of my sight again. Just come back to me.” 

With a roar of anger and loss, unbearable sadness and desperate need, his fist shot out, imbedding itself in the tree he’d recently leaned against. Startled birds took flight and squawked across the camp, and a few smaller beasts followed their retreat on the ground. The roar didn’t stop. 

“Buffy!” He shouted, destroying the tree, and taking several of its neighbors with it. Limbs were ripped from the trunk, and the truck was pulled from the ground. Unlucky animals, those that hadn’t already fled when faced with the danger Angelus presented, were tossed haphazardly around their home as they tried to escape the crazed predator. 

Large jungle cats, unused to being prey, slinked away from something meaner, something scarier and more vicious than they. Unused to such wildness even in their home, they gave the beast a wide berth lest he decide to attack them. Even they weren’t sure if they’d survive, and they were always the top predators of the jungle. 

The people in the camps watched that; they watched the animals as they fled, watched the leopards and panthers as they raced out of the protective cover of the jungle and into the exposure of the clearing. Watched as the animals that feared nothing escaped the one thing that was going to destroy them all. 

“There’s something more terrifying than them,” one old man, John, commented as he continued to reassemble the tent closer to the center of camp. He wasn’t sure how well this was going to work, but supposed it was better to be safer close together, than afraid farther apart. 

“I’ve never seen them move en masse like that,” his partner in this, Stanley, said swallowing his own fear as they struggled with the canvas covering. “It’s as if the devil himself is after them.” 

“I think,” the old man said, eyes glued to the tree line. “That he is.” 

The sense of fear that surrounded the camp had grown. In the past few days – was it days only? - the group had gone from afraid but free to terrified and trapped. Several had already expressed their desire to run. 

“Are you leaving?” Stanley asked in a whisper. He couldn’t have said why he whispered, but felt that silent reverence was better than drawing attention to them. 

“I hear that a lot of people are leaving. Abdu and his family, from the village on the other side of the river?” John nodded to indicate he knew who Stan referred to, “Offered anyone who wanted to a place to stay. They’re scared; everyone’s afraid of what’s in this jungle and they want out. Figure their chances are better running than they are sitting here, just waiting to be killed.” 

“We’re all going to die,” John shrugged philosophically. “We’ve been lucky we made it this long; there are plenty out there who lost their freedom years ago. But the lucky ones died before they realized that freedom was gone. That it wasn’t theirs to have.” 

He hammered a peg into the ground, and continued. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, Stan. Wars and famines, greed and generosity; fought in the Korean War, watched my family grow. If I die here, at least I died free.” 

“But you just said that-” 

John laughed. “Freedom is all in your mind, Stan. If you believe yourself to be free, then no one can ever truly capture you.” 

“What about hang, drawn, quarter, eviscerate, and drain you?” 

John shrugged, but his casual attitude was gone. He was just as scared of the monsters in the shadows as anyone else. More so, maybe, because he’d actually fought them; that’s how his family died, years before these new wars. While he was fighting the monsters, the monsters were killing his wife, children, grandchildren. 

“Wes and Oz say that he’s missing his mate,” John told Stan, something that everyone in the camp – or everyone remaining – knew. Wesley had to make an announcement when the disappearances and deaths started, tried to keep the peace, tried to keep everyone calm. It hadn’t worked all that well, but then these were just normal people who were trying to survive in a world they knew very little about. 

“I understand loneliness,” John whispered. “But it’s still foolish to leave. What makes you think this vampire can’t find you outside the camp, when he’s already found the camp?” 

Stanley frowned, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure whether to stay or go, whether to run with the others, or stay and wait for death. But then, maybe John was right. The vampire could track them anyplace. Running was only prolonging death.
~~~~~~~~~~
The scream echoed throughout the camp. 

Jerking awake, those who had been sleeping tried to orient themselves to where the inhuman sound was coming from. It wasn’t the cry of a predator, nor even that of the many animals that once lived in the jungle. The human and demonic camp was alone now, smaller than they had been just a week ago. 

Many had chosen to flee, running into the dense foliage with no real sense of where they were going or what they’d do once they got there. Some had made it to other villages, promising to work the fields there in return for a new home. Many others had died. 

“Can you see anything?” Gunn demanded as he slowly scanned the tree line. 

“No,” Oz whispered, senses flaring. He and Gunn were on duty; it was a job few wanted, as the sentries seemed to be the first to die.

“I can smell it,” Oz whispered. He didn’t like what he smelled, the blood, the death. The hunger. It was in the air, the hunger. His…but Angelus’, too. 

“Wait until first light,” Gunn asked, “Or try and find them now?” 

He knew what his choice was, but didn’t think “Going back in time and making sure Angelus wasn’t released and Buffy wasn’t turned, and this whole awful war had never happened” was an option. 

Another scream rent the night, and another. 

Oz shook his head. “I vote for waiting. I don’t want to face Angelus at all,” he admitted, “But if I have to, I’d rather wait until there’s at least a little sunlight.” 

Gunn nodded, but his “Agreed” was blocked out by another scream. 

“Who’d he get?” Gunn muttered as the sounds of the camp waking stirred behind him. “Everyone’s inside, we’re all close together now. So who’d he get?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Wesley joined them just then. “Are you going to find them?” He demanded, looking not at Gunn and Oz, but into the thick night.

“No,” Oz told his lover, glancing at Gunn. “He can find us faster and easier in the dark.” 

“We’re at more of a disadvantage now than normal,” Gunn added, but couldn’t completely suppress the shiver that raced up his spine. He’d lied when he’d told Fred that all was going to be okay. 

It wasn’t. 

Dawn came, as it always did, bringing with it heat and blessed sunlight. And the knowledge that more of their group was lost. Already murmurings could be heard. How Omar wasn’t in his tent, and how Chen had disappeared just before sunrise. They wondered how Angelus entered the tents, considered to be homes and therefore unenterable. And they wondered if maybe he possessed powers far beyond that of the normal vampire. 

“Ready?” Gunn asked Oz as the pair, who hadn’t bothered to sleep, shouldered their holy water, crosses, and stakes. They were prepared, but it wasn’t going to do them much good, and they both knew it. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

The two of them, plus another dozen volunteers spread out from the camp. It didn’t take them long to find the missing. They were strung between the trees, over ten of them. Skinned, disemboweled, with their eyelids slit open, and their mouths sewn shut. Even the animals didn’t venture near the dead. 

“Why?” One of the volunteers wondered, turning away from the scene. “Why force us to listen to screams all night, then sew the mouths shut?” 

“Fear,” John said, looking into the forest. “It’s all about fear.” 

Oz and Gunn nodded. “Angelus likes to taunt,” Oz said quietly, though his voice seemed loud in the unnatural silence of the jungle. “He builds up the fear until we’re the ones to do something stupid.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Spike.” 

That one word, spoken by his grandsire from a couple of thousand miles south, was enough to make Spike’s fangs hurt. 

“Angelus, wow, been a while since you called.” In fact, it’d been less than two hours. But hey, he was getting better. The every sixty-minute phone calls were more than trying – Spike could set his watch by Angelus’ calls. If he’d had a watch. 

“Don’t start with me, boy,” Angelus snarled into the phone, causing the pilot to shift uncomfortably in the seat. Job security, Clint chanted to himself. He had job security – Angelus and Connor couldn’t get out of Africa without him, so he was safe for the moment. 

“You have one day left,” Angelus needlessly reminded Spike. “Have you found anything?” 

“Ah…” Spike looked around the room frantically. No, they hadn’t found squat. Giles was frazzled, Willow looked like she was about to lose it again, Saffir and Paul hadn’t fed or slept in days as Saffir tried desperately to remember where she’d read that one stupid passage about…something. And Drusilla spent her time with Faith. Teaching the slayer the finer aspects of vampirism was all well and good, but now so wasn’t the time. Did his black princess listen? Of course not. 

“We’ve narrowed down the search,” Spike stalled. He got Giles’ attention, and made a face demanding information. Giles, looking tired and worn, looked at him bleakly and shrugged. “We’ve eliminated over a hundred hell dimensions,” Spike offered. Silence. 

“And we figure that she's definitely not here, hidden from us.” More silence, and Spike sighed. 

“You have twenty-three hours and fifty-eight minutes,” Angelus told him. He didn’t bother disconnecting, instead just left the cockpit and strode angrily into the forest, Connor right behind him. 

“Next lesson,” Angelus bit out, all patience gone. He could have told Spike that Buffy wasn’t in a hell dimension. Someone had kidnapped her; they wouldn’t take her to hell. Someone had taken her…why? No one claimed the kidnapping; no one demanded terms, money, freedom, or anything of the like. 

“The next lesson,” Angelus repeated more slowly, “Is that of…confusion.” 

”What?” Connor demanded, confused. He was going to be taught confusion? He already was. 

“Why did they take Buffy?” His father demanded. Holding up a finger to stop whatever Connor was going to answer, Angelus continued. “Whoever did, they’ve demanded nothing. Why?” 

Connor paused in his answer. His father was on the edge and most likely knew that. This sudden bout of questions…scared Connor. Mostly because he hadn’t a clue as to how to answer. “I don’t know. Most kidnappers have demands, right?” 

“Yes. They want something in exchange for what they’ve taken. They want their compatriots freed, or money or weapons, or transport out.” 

“And whoever took Buffy,” Connor followed, “Hasn’t demanded anything.” He didn’t like that, didn’t like that not only had he not thought of this, but that it’d taken days for Angelus to do so. 

Closer than the edge, Connor thought. He’s over it, and hanging by his fingertips. 

“So what are they waiting for?” Angelus demanded. “What do they want that it’s taken them days to demand something?” Without a word, Angelus turned back to the plane. Clint, seeing his boss, redialed a number he knew by heart, resignedly handing it to Angelus. 

Angelus took the phone from Clint, dismissing the human’s actions. Spike picked up the phone with a tired, “It’s been less than five minutes, Angelus. I still have twenty-three hours and…fifty-four minutes.” 

“Has anyone made demands?” Angelus asked, ignoring Spike. 

“What?” He had Spike’s full attention now, and they both knew it. 

“Demands, has anyone made demands for Buffy?” 

“No,” Spike said slowly, and the paused. He thought for a moment, and then, “Give me two more hours,” he bargained, “And I’ll know more.” 

“You have an additional hour.” Angelus hopped out of the plane and rejoined Connor. Spike was going to find out whatever was known in this planet, in this dimension, Angelus would bet on that. 

“So,” Connor ventured, trying to get his father’s mind off Buffy and the complete lack of progress they’d made so far. “Confusion? Just how is confusing them a form of torture?”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ten more people are missing,” someone whispered, darting looks around the camp as if warding off evil. “They disappeared in broad daylight!” 

“That’s a relative term,” his companion, shrugged. He was old and tired. Well, not that old; God above help him, he felt it. His hands were worn and creased, his body washed only sporadically, and his stomach gnawed with hunger. They’d started rationing two weeks ago…they cut those rations in half when hell came to town. 

“It’s never fully daylight here,” he continued, setting down his axe and sitting on the stump he used for cutting wood. “The trees,’ he looked up, “Cover most of the sun. Maybe we should have made camp in the desert.” 

“Maybe we should leave while we’re still alive to do so,” someone else said. “It’s too dangerous here.” 

“They don’t want us,” a fourth added. “They want them…” the four of them looked to the leaders of their camp. Wesley, Gunn, Fred, and Oz were surrounded by several demons who decided that living in peaceful co-existence with humans was better than living under Angelus and Buffy’s rule. 

“I think they want us all dead,” a fifth whispered, looking around with wide blue eyes. “I heard another one is gone.” 

“Where are they,” someone asked, “That they can be picked off like lice? Aren’t we all staying together? If we are, then how is it that Angelus can just walk up and take, without anyone seeing?” 

“Simple,” a deep voice said in a soft menacing tone. “Like this.” 

The five that were gathered didn’t realize Angelus was there, nor did they realize that his son was with him. In seconds, they were gone, taken into the dense jungle, their struggles unheard, their presence unnoticed. Their deaths another tally on the list. 

“Twenty,” Wesley shook his head, several hours later when a full roll call had been taken. Twice. “Twenty people have…disappeared.” 

His heart, his conscience, couldn’t handle much more of this. The death, the missing bodies, those under his command, his leadership who had looked to him for support for several years now. They were dead. Missing with no hope of recovery. And he mourned for every single one of them. 

“We’ll head out,” Gunn volunteered with no enthusiasm in his voice. Oz nodded, as did several of the remaining demons, and a few humans. They left the camp, already knowing that none of the missing would be found alive. 

Oz paused steps in from the camp. One of the demonic trackers paused as well, nostrils flaring, he pointed to the left. “This way.” 

Except there were no bodies. 

Instead, there was a large pool of blood that spelled out, ‘You’re Next’ on the forest floor. 

“Where, ah where…what happened...where are the…?” One of the volunteers stuttered, turning away from the grisly sight of the bloodstained ground. 

The bodies weren’t to be found, but then the group didn’t look far. They couldn’t, not because Angelus was there, not because there was a barrier preventing them from doing so. Because they were terrified of what they’d find if they did find the bodies. Or what those who were gone were now turned into. 

Returning to the camp, Gunn headed straight to the tent he shared with Fred. He needed the comfort only she could provide, needed to spend this remaining time with her. if they were all going to die – and it seemed most likely the longer they lived – then he wanted his last days to be with the one he loved. 

“Baby,” Fred asked the moment Gunn walked in and wrapped his arms around her. He just held her tightly, their child cradled between them. 

“I love you,” Gunn whispered. “I’m sorry if I didn’t say it enough, I’m sorry that you were pulled into this fight, I’m sorry that we wasted so many years. I just want you to know that I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Charles,” Fred said, tilting her head so she could capture his lips wit hers. The kiss was sweet, loving…and desperate. They both knew the end was near. 

Picking her up, Gunn carried Fred to the cot, sitting down on the floor and cradling her on his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but then there was no headboard on the cot, and no wall in the canvas tents to lean against. 

“What’s wrong?” Gunn asked after several minutes of silence. 

“I feel like…” she trailed off, not wanting to add to his overburdened conscience, everything he already had to carry. 

“What, baby?” Gunn nuzzled her neck, “You can tell me anything.” 

“I feel like someone’s watching me,” she confessed. “Like, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like the eeriness that someone is watching me all the time.”

Gunn stiffened, pulling her tighter to him. It was a good bet that Angelus knew Fred was pregnant. What Gunn didn’t know was how the obviously crazy vampire was going to deal with that. 

Angel never talked about what Angelus had done, Wes had stories from the Watcher’s Diaries, and Cordelia cautioned them all – repeatedly – on the dangers of making Angel too happy. Which was odd, as Gunn had seen him laugh and relax in their presence. What constituted too happy? And if it was sex, then why hadn’t he lost his soul with Cordelia? 

Gunn had never asked that question, Cordelia’s temper scared him as few things had. Angelus being the exception. 

“It would’ve been nice,” Gunn found himself saying, “If we knew what Angel’s alter-ego was like before now.” 

“Cordy used to say that Angelus was pure evil. That he was smart and fast, and that the one time she’d met him in Sunnydale, he’d been insane.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Gunn warned with a forced laugh. “I don’t think he’d like being called insane.” 

Fred smiled at his attempt to lighten the situation. “Why now?” She wondered, “Why is he after us now? Is it because he’s just waiting until they find Buffy?” 

“I think,” Gunn said slowly. He’d had a lot of time to ponder this very question, and with Wes and Oz’s input, figured that wasn’t it at all. “That he’s lost without her. He needs Buffy, and when she’s not with him, he’s not the same. Notice that he didn’t give a shit about us until she disappeared. Why?”

“Because we weren’t a threat to him,” Fred nodded. She’d thought the same thing. “We’re the ties to Angel, though.” 

“It doesn’t look like that mattered. At least until Buffy was gone.” 

“But Cordy and Wes always said that if Angelus ever got loose, then he’d come after those who made him feel the most human.” 

“Obviously they were wrong-” Gunn was about to say more when there was a rustling outside. 

Fred stiffened, her heart tripled, and she grasped onto her lover as if she were drowning and he was the only thing between her and death. “There’s someone out there,” she whimpered. “I know there is. He’s out there, always stalking me, watching me.” 

“Shh, baby,” Gunn soothed, rocking her slightly. The ground was damp, even through the tent floor, and seeped into his pants, making the movement uncomfortable. He didn’t stop. 

Gunn wasn’t surprised that Angelus was stalking them, more specifically Fred. He couldn’t have said why, other than the very effective tactic of scaring her.
~~~~~~~~~~
Connor laughed as he listened to Gunn reassure his lover. It wasn’t going to help. Nothing was at this stage of the game. Leaving his position next to their tent, he went to find his father. 

“Dad,” Connor called the moment he senses Angelus. “Don’t kill Fred.” 

“Why not? Want her for yourself?” 

Connor made a face. “No, I like my women with more meat. I want her baby.” 

Surprised, Angelus turned to his son. He’d been planning out his next move. The final one. Spike now have less than twelve hours left, even with the one-hour extension, and Angelus was eager to return to London. 

He needed to find Buffy, with or without the help of anyone else. If he had to tear open all the dimensions to all the worlds to find her, then he would. 

“You want her child?” Angelus repeated. He knew Fred was pregnant with Gunn’s child, but hadn’t realized that Connor wanted the babe. 

“Yes,” Connor nodded, not sure of his reasoning. He couldn’t put it into words, but he wanted the babe. Wanted to raise it, wanted to take care of it. Wanted to be a father to it. It probably had something to do with his own crappy childhood, but Connor had never made it to the therapy sessions Angel thought they both needed. 

Angelus shrugged. “Fine, she’s yours.” 

He paced a moment, letting some of that restless energy out. He was waiting for nightfall and the final move against the little camp. “Fuck this,” he growled, still in his vampiric face. As far as Connor could tell, he’d been that way for days. 

Storming towards the camp, Angelus barreled through, twisting necks and killing people from one end to the other. He moved fast, using all his preternatural skills in cutting a swath of death through those who thought they had an hour left before they died. Broad daylight, he was killing them all in broad daylight, taking no prisoners; just ruthlessly murdering them. 

Connor watched, stunned at his father’s move. “Uh, dad,” Connor muttered from where he watched. “Maybe it’s time to head home. They’re obviously not fighting us, they’re just waiting to die.” 

Angelus either didn’t hear him as he worked his way around the edges of camp, leaving the bodies where they lay, or chose not to. Either way, he didn’t stop until he was on the other side of the group, leaving unimaginable chaos in his wake. Shouts and screams form those who found these new dead, right in the midst of their haven, resonated in the thick jungle air. Cries, pleas – “don’t be dead, oh, God! Don’t be dead!” – sounded from the frenzied camp. 

Breathing deeply, once more trying to control his anger and impulse to kill everyone. Everyone. Angelus worked his way along the edges of the tents, back towards Connor.

He was fed up, angry, knew his family thought he was over the edge, but knew he was closer to it than even they suspected. Buffy was going to be found, one way or another, and Angelus needed to do that now. He didn’t know how, wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he was going to do something. Now. Just not from here. 

“Last lesson,” he told Connor, eyes red, breathing heavy, not from the exertion, but from controlling his temper, from not obliterating everything in his path. “This is the most important one, son,” Angelus said, eyes wild. “Know when to end it...have priorities.” 

Connor nodded, and watched his father. Angelus took a long stick, wrapped a piece of tent canvas around one end, and lighted it. He set only one tent on fire, and watched.  

It spread, licking high and far, from one tent to another, enveloping the tree canopy in flames, the ground…people. They ran screaming, shouting into the night, the just setting sun no help to them now…if it ever was against a foe who cared naught for what happened to himself. 

“Grab them,” Angelus ordered, and leapt into the fray. He knocked Ethan Rayne unconscious, dragging him by one foot to the edge of the fire before returning. Connor had already got to Fred, who couldn’t move well, and knocked her out, carrying her gently, and placing her next to Ethan.  

Oz was next, and Angelus literally threw him halfway across the camp so his body landed next to Ethan’s. Wesley and Gunn were last, fighting as best they could the man they once called friend. 

People were already putting the fire out, but Angelus didn’t care. Nor did he bother with the rest of them as he took his quarry back to the plane. Clint started the engines the moment he spotted his master, not about to suffer the same fate as those Angelus dragged.  

“Job security,” Clint muttered, going through his pre-flight check. “And family safety. Money isn’t so bad, either.” 

He’d already thought of crashing the plane, of taking a circuitous route and crashing at noon on the sunniest day he could find. He wasn’t that suicidal, and found that he couldn’t. Not when the Family had his own family. Oh, they were free, they lived a great life in this new world, but…he knew they’d be the first to die horribly and painfully should he be responsible for anything happening to those he flew. 

“We’ll be ready to go in ten minutes, sir,” Clint informed Angelus. 

It took the survivors hours to realize the full extent of the damage. Tents gone, more dead. The leaders missing. It was this last that confused them the most: if they were all Angelus was after, then why wait so long? And why take them now when he could have done this days ago? 

“It’s all about the terror,” M’kesh, one of the demon-healers said. “The first time around Angelus was known as the Scourge of Europe. He inflicted terror wherever he went; just the mention of his name was enough to clear the streets and send those who knew of him scurrying to find cover.” 

“It’s a well earned title,” someone muttered. “When is it our turn?” 

M’kesh had no answer for the human, though he wondered that himself. When was Angelus going to return for the rest of them?
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy shook, she trembled with hunger and loss, except she didn’t realize it. 

Her mind had shut down, closing itself off from the realities of her situation, trying to protect itself from what this was doing to her.

“It’s very simple, my dear,” the Hart murmured to Buffy, smoothing her damp hair away from her forehead. Unseeing eyes opened and glared at him. He admired her spunk, the way she fought even when she wasn’t aware of what she was fighting.  

“All we want is the Key. You give us the Key, and we’ll let you return to your Angelus.” Nothing. “Why are you fighting us? You want to return to him, yes?”  

Buffy nodded. She wanted that more than anything. Wanted to feel his strong arms around her, wanted to breathe in his scent, wanted to feel him against her, just holding her. Forever.  

“Then why don’t you tell us, Buffy?” The Hart motioned for a flunky to bring over the basin of water and wash Buffy. “We’re not heartless animals,” he went on soothingly. “We want the same things, dear. And believe me, we don’t want to keep you here longer than necessary.” 

Buffy grunted as the minion was joined by another one; one holding her while the other washed. 

“Get away from me,” she growled, using all her strength to push them away. She didn’t want them touching her, couldn’t stand the feel of their hands on her bare and sensitive skin. Wrapping the blanket tighter around her, Buffy stared at her captor.  

The Hart nodded to the minions, and they scurried away, leaving the basin of hot water and a soft washcloth beside Buffy. Turning back to her, he waited. She obviously had something to say, but couldn’t work past the withdrawal symptoms. 

“It really cracks me up that you don’t know,” Buffy said. Her chest hurt, and her heart felt like it was going to explode. Each breath she took burned, and even though she didn’t need to breathe, the air helped to cool her insides…or it did until now.  

“You’re supposed to be these all powerful Senior Partners. The ones who created this whole network of evil law firms, tried to orchestrate the world the way you wanted it, used your little sheep to their best advantage. And yet you have no idea about the key you’re so hot to find.”

Buffy laughed, and curled back on the floor. “And you will never know.” 

The Hart stood then, staring down at the bowed but far from beaten woman at his feet. He felt the overwhelming urge to kick her, to take his frustrations out on her physically. With difficulty, he restrained. They’d agreed that they wouldn’t physically harm her unless necessary.  

It looked like that time was quickly approaching. 

Turning sharply on his heel, the Hart left Buffy to a misery of her own making – no matter what they did to her, it couldn’t compare to the agony she was already in. The hot water he left, making sure that it would always be so for whenever Buffy wanted it. 

“Contact Angelus,” he instructed the moment he reentered the room his companions were in. “It’s time to negotiate.”

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