Connor had waited until his father – the demon part of him – and Buffy joined them. He didn’t really know how he felt about that, but then a lot of his perceptions of Angel and Angelus had changed. Angel. Angelus. There was a difference, and Connor knew that, now, at least. But Buffy. 

Buffy didn’t seem to know the differences. Or maybe she did, but didn’t care? Connor didn’t know that, either. All he knew was that with both, Angel and Angelus, in similar situations, she reacted the same; she had that same look, the same softening of her eyes, the way her body drifted towards his. Connor didn’t understand where half his memories came from, and wished Doyle was around to explain them to him, because he was pretty sure that he knew things he wasn’t supposed to know. 

Whatever that meant. He was confusing himself. Back to business. The First was still there, still waiting for Its Harvest to be completed. Turning his attention back to Buffy and Faith as they ran through the plan for the rapidly coming night, Connor wondered what Angelus and Buffy’s reactions were going to be when he told them his plan. 

“There will be no splitting up. I don’t care what any of you think you might be able to accomplish or how good you think you are. They’re better and I repeat: there will be no splitting up.” Buffy said with a fierce look around the group. She looked at Angelus, noted the amusement in his eyes, and refused to read his lips. She already knew what he was going to say 

Easy meals. They were easy meals for a bunch of uber vamps who were unstoppable to all but she and him. How her world got so wonky in such a short amount of time, Buffy would never know. Unimportant now, she had a war to finish. 

Faith nodded in agreement, not to Buffy’s thoughts, or Angelus’ unspoken comments, but to Buffy’s not so preppy pep talk. Shaking her head at her lover in warning, she crossed the room to where Angelus lounged negligently on a chair looking sexy and dangerous. He was completely unconcerned about her talk, but Buffy didn’t care. The talk wasn’t for him. It was for those who were going to follow her into this thing. 

“We have two goals tonight,” she finished as Angelus; hands snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him. No one said anything to that, either, and Buffy wondered just what rumors had been flying around since Angelus’ arrival. “The first goal tonight is to stay alive; the second is to find where the First, and his goons, are hiding.”

“I may be able to help with that,” a new voice said, and was greeted by two dozen weapons trained on him. He blinked and stared at the assembled group. “Well,” Robin said as calmly as he could, all things considered, “Hello to you, too.” 

“Principle Wood?” Dawn asked, and lowered her sword. “What are you doing here? And how did you find here?” 

“Came to see how it was going, Buffy, since I haven’t seen you since you quit. Under really mysterious circumstances, might I add,” Robin added, and waited. But no explanation was forthcoming, so he continued. “I saw your house – nice crater by the way – and thought you might need help,” he said. “I followed the path of destruction; led right to this place. Nice digs, by the way.” He added, turning to Buffy, “Yours?” 

Buffy shrugged, but said nothing; getting into the complexities of who owned this house was something that she didn’t want to think about. Angelus growled at the newcomer, at the interested he showed in Buffy and her business, and Buffy grabbed his hand to prevent him from attacking Robin Wood. No one said anything to the fact that a simple touch seemingly calmed Angelus, though they gave him wary looks nonetheless. 

Robin eyed the dangerous looking man next to his former employee but only asked, “Ah, new friend?” 

Connor spoke up, then, in an effort to stop Angelus – whose eyes were glowing a faint red – from killing the new guy. “Who are you?” 

“The principle of Sunnydale High and Buffy’s boss – former boss,” he answered the boy, then when Buffy, Giles, Dawn and Anya continued to look at him as if they wanted to hear the rest, he admitted, “The son of a slayer. You?” 

Since ‘the son of a pair of vicious vampires’ didn’t seem to be what the other man was asking, he answered simply, “Connor.” 

Dawn filled in the blanks for him though it probably wouldn’t help, “He’s Angel..us’ son.” 

Robin looked to the man standing next to Buffy, hovering protectively near the petite slayer. And still glaring…his eyes were red, and Robin wondered if he maybe had a little demon in him. “You must be Angelus, then,” was all he said, wondering if everyone else knew about Angelus’ probable demonic origins. And wondering why he was still alive if they did. “Nice to meet you.”

What was it with these people? And did he really want to know? “I think I might know where the First is hiding out, Buffy.”

Motioning to an empty spot on the couch, Buffy watched as the suspicious principal sat, looking at Angelus as if he wanted to kill him. Glancing sideways, Buffy sighed at Angelus’ glowing eyes. “Baby,” she whispered so quietly only he heard her, “Stop it. He’s an ally and we need all the allies we can get.” Without waiting to see what he said – or did – to that, Buffy turned to Robin Wood and said, “How do you know where the First is?” 

“Think,” Robin clarified suspicions not abated. “I think I know. Saw a pair of vamps going into the caves near the edge of town. I followed them, but lost them in the labyrinth there. On my way back out, I spotted a rather large army of demons that were talking to…” the principle looked confused here. “Well, Buffy, it looked like they were talking to you, actually.” 

“The First,” Angelus said with confidence as Buffy huffed at knowing the First was again using her form. “It has the ability to shift forms, take on the physical appearance of anyone who is…” He really didn’t want to finish that sentence, the whole thing made him angry. Robin and the potentials were looking at him expectantly, so Angelus growled, “Anyone who is dead.” 

His hands convulsed on Buffy and she curled deeper into his strong arms. She didn’t like to remember her death, and reminding Angelus of it was just foolhardy. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered again, hands soft on his corded arms. 

“Buffy’s not dead.” Robin stated with conviction and then looked at her, “Are you?” 

“Ah, well, not at the moment, no.” Buffy shrugged and Angelus growled again. Dawn edged closer to Buffy despite her fear over Angelus, desperate for contact with her sister. “But I was and I guess that was enough for It.” 

“The First,” Angelus muttered, “Better damn well run when I find It. No one harms you but me, lover.” 

He wasn’t helping, so Buffy ignored him. “The point is, Robin, that it wasn’t me. Who were the two vamps you followed? And how did you know who they were?” 

His eyes, usually so bright and animated, hardened here, his full lips thinned into a straight line, his whole posture tensing. “One of the killed my mother.” 

“Oh,” Buffy murmured, “I’m sorry.” 

Angelus stiffened, but said not a word. Unless the First was importing some of the older vamps – and that was entirely possible – there was only one vampire in Sunnydale, besides him that had ever killed a slayer. 

“Spike,” he whispered just loud enough for Buffy to hear him and when she jerked around to face him, he looked her in the eye and nodded. “He’s the only one, it makes sense.” Louder, he asked the newcomer, “What did the two look like?” 

“He was blonde, obviously dyed, swaggering like he owned the town, she was dark haired, willowy, I guess you’d describe her as frail looking. And,” he added, again perplexed, “Possibly crazy.” Directing the question at Buffy he asked, “Is it possible for a vampire to be crazy?” 

No one said anything for a full minute, digesting all that Robin had described. It was Angelus who laughed in the absolute silence of the room. “Oh, it’s possible,” he drawled, “If they’re crazy before they’re turned. I’ll be happy to demonstrate if you like,” he smiled menacingly, with just a hint of fang for emphasis. 

Buffy dug her nails into Angelus’ arms. Now wasn’t the time. “One word, Angelus,” she hissed, “And I swear I’ll find some way of seeing you spend the rest of eternity inside Spike.” 

“Now, now, lover, you know you’d miss me.” His voice was next to her ear, smug, arrogant; and entirely too right, egotistical bastard.  “Besides, the way that pathetic specimen of a vampire is going, you’ll stake him before finding a way to carry out that little threat. Now Dru, on the other hand…”

Jealous rage coated Buffy’s vision for a second and her eyes flashed golden. Angelus laughed again, and everyone whose attention wasn’t on the couple – Giles and Dawn who didn’t want to see – turned to the vampire and his slayer. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck where the just healing wound lay. He wondered, as Buffy growled at his actions, if he could sweep her upstairs for a little alone time before this big shindig happened. 

Doubtful, but the world was full of possibilities. 

Robin was looking at them funny but said nothing. He already knew this was a strange bunch, the little display before him only reinforced that. 

“Can you take us back to those caves?” Giles asked as he cleaned his glasses, desperately glad for a diversion. 

“I think so, yes.” 

“Good, good,” the Englishman said, “Then we had better leave soon. Sunset is immanent, and it would be to our advantage to have the sun as an escape route.” 

Connor spoke up just then, “We have to wait for Doyle,” he said. “We have to wait for…them.” 

“Doyle?” Angelus questioned with a chuckle. “Doyle’s dead, son.” 

“True,” a new voice added, appearing so suddenly he took the whole group by surprise, and again the mass of weapons was trained on the newcomer. “But what’s a little death among friends? Like that’s ever stopped anyone before.” 

“Doyle?” Angelus questioned, doubtful as to what he was seeing. 

“It’s me, Angelus, in the almost there flesh.” He flashed a grin at the still-souled vampire. “And look at you,” his Irish brogue deepened. “All demony now, and growly. Well, we can still use you; gonna have to, actually.” 

“Really?” Angelus questioned. “You know I don’t work for those weakling Powers.” 

“Yes, yes, you’re all about Buffy. I know, I know. And you, Miss Buffy,” Doyle turned to the slayer he had met but that one time. “I see you’ve survived that little spell; how are you feeling?” At Buffy’s silent stare, Doyle shrugged, “Well, so it didn’t work, it was still a very brave thing you did.” Sill nothing but that cold watchful stare from her, the angry growl from Angelus; no wonder she was the best slayer ever. With Angelus at her back, she’d be even better. Too bad he wasn’t going to let that happen.

Pissed about the risk she took, and jealous enough at the look Doyle was giving her, Angelus glared at the dead man. “Yes well, she wouldn’t have had to take that risk, if some drunken sot thinking with his cock hadn’t given his visions to a two bit tramp who never once thought of anyone but herself in her entire life. But then that’s the pattern with you so called higher beings; you sit back on your asses while someone else does your dirty work. Someone else does the dying and bleeding for you. Well not my slayer…not anymore. So say your piece then take your ass back where you came from unless your here to fight for once.”

“No,” Doyle murmured, eyeing Angelus and wondering if he could die again. “I’m not here to fight.” 

Angelus smirked at him, not at all surprised. “So do what you’re supposes to do, get the fuck out.” 

“You know,” Doyle said instead, “You broke the cycle; by torturing Cordelia, you thwarted her destiny. She never really ascended, but was merely held in a realm outside this one, in stasis as they prepared her.” 

Snorting in laughter, Angelus couldn’t help but ask, “For what? Fashion police?” 

 “No,” Doyle said with a faint smile. “Her memories and personality enhanced the shadow of corruption within her, within all humans. There, they were given the chance to take seed. As she was always weak and selfish at her core, Cordelia had initially been slated for corruption in a different way,” his eyes strayed to Connor but he didn’t comment on that. Instead, Doyle said, “Her betrayal of Angel and Connor predicated releasing the demon, and with it his rage. The consequences of Angelus’ actions, actually saved Connor’s destiny from that taint, and he’s now here able to take his key part in the First’s Blood Harvest.” 

“Cordelia’s really a demon?” Angelus hooted.  ”That’s just great, why didn’t anyone ask me years ago, I could’ve told them then!” 

Shrugging Doyle said, “Now then, down to business; the lad’s right, you have to wait for everyone else. Everyone has a part in this little drama, and it can’t begin until they all arrive.” 

“And who are these others?” Wesley asked, massaging his legs. They still ached, but at least they were…whole again. 

Doyle smiled but it was Connor who answered. “I don’t know, he won’t tell me. Just keeps saying that we have to wait.” 

“Great,” Angelus mumbled, “I let the kid live, and this is how he repays me.” 

Buffy dug her elbow into his ribs, urging him to shut the hell up. These side conversations were becoming weary. Still, she knew why Angelus hadn’t tortured Connor, and was glad of that, glad that his son, Angel’s son, hadn’t known the anger of his father. 

The ‘miracle’ child, whether from Angel or Angelus, still came from the same body, and was something to mold, not destroy. And Gunn had only ever proven himself worthy as a fighter. He never tried to interfere with Angel’s personal life – except that one little indiscretion that was dubbed ‘The Darla Incident.’ But even Angelus could admit – with a sly grin and a mocking crack – that the soul needed more help than usual that year.  

But Connor wasn’t a threat to Angelus.   

No, the only threat to Angelus’ continued existence was Buffy, but she had proved herself worthy long ago with his first appearance. Still she had an advantage the others did not; Angelus’ twisted version of love, his passion tempered what his course of action for her would be this time. Her plan had failed, but Angelus hadn’t held the fact that against her.  

Was she punishing herself now because she had a plan and stuck to it, letting nothing rock the boat once she committed to this course of action? Or was it because she felt no guilt at the love and satisfaction she found in her lover’s arms while she went through with the plan? Even when she’d failed?

Dawn still hovered close to Buffy as though uncertain if the comfort she so desperately wished to give would be welcomed; and the comfort she so desperately wanted would be given. “Why won’t you tell us who they are?” Dawn asked the man who was dead and yet standing before her. Ah, life on the Hellmouth. 

“Not my place,” Doyle said. “But they’ll be here.” 

It was Robin who asked, “And how will they find here?” 

Doyle laughed. “They’ll know. Besides, with Buffy’s house a crater, and the high school not having the same feel since Buffy blew the last one up, where else would they go?” 

Turning to the slayer who was still wrapped in what were obviously her lover’s arms, Robin asked, “You blew up the last high school? They didn’t tell me that.” 

Curious Dawn asked, “What did they tell you?” 

“Gas pipe leak during graduation; caused hallucinations among those that survived the explosion.” 

“Oh,” Dawn said, and blinked as if she couldn’t believe anyone would believe that story. Then, “If we make it through this, I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale. It’s much more interesting.” 

Neither Buffy nor Angelus said anything, and Connor looked around for his guide, but couldn’t find Doyle. The spirit had left? Now? When they most likely needed him the most? Typical. So Connor settled for watching the play before him, nothing was ever placid with this crew. 

“So did we decide what we’re going to do with her?” Anya asked with a dismissive gesture towards the corner Cordelia laid in. 

Angelus glanced over indifferently at the shell of the woman who had once been the soul’s friend.  ”I can come up with a few suggestions for the so-called demonic higher being,” he said in a bored tone. “And when you add in my many variations, the possibilities are numerous.” He shrugged. “Or until I get bored that is,” he smirked at that. “With her boredom is a danger.” 

Robin looked over at the corner in shock; he hadn’t noticed the beaten and tortured woman there. Was that who that mysterious Doyle was talking about? He didn’t, however, open his mouth to ask anything. He didn’t want to know. 

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted, wondering at his change in attitude towards the seer. Cordelia was partly responsible for Angelus’ return, even if Connor didn’t exactly understand it all; hate made the demon stronger, but a dream, a mere dream about Buffy? THAT was the reason Angel experienced his moment of true happiness? Talk about your strong emotions.

And Buffy. She looked angry and hurt, confused, but…loved. But most of all, Connor thought, looking deeper into her soul, scared. There were too many forces within her puling in too many directions. And the slayer had no idea which way to go, which direction was the right one. 

Briefly closing her eyes, Buffy mentally chanted, I am not going to say anything, I am not, I am not, I am not. 

Buffy refused to give into the uncontrolled resentment storming through her at the sight of Cordelia’s prone form. She refused to loosen the lid on the emotions that surged through her at the sight of the reason for this whole situation. 

Buffy tried for rationality, but it just wasn’t coming and she started to panic. Was this what Angel felt, this constant anger and pain? Hate and groundless abhorrence, and unchecked aggression? Was the blood bond they shared somehow contributing to the extremes in her emotional state? 

Or was it the combination of several thousand slayers who were the pinnacle of what it is to be a warrior? Was it the First Slayer – the very essence of what was most primal about the slayer – enhancing Buffy’s anger and hate with her own contempt for what she saw as a defective warrior in Cordelia?  

Was the fact that all Buffy really wanted to do was rip into whatever remained of Cordelia until nothing did remain all Angelus’ fault? Or the combination of the Slayers who believed that it was the seer’s own fault she was weak and tainted; and because of that weakness not only had a warrior for their side been jeopardized due to her narcissistic selfishness but Buffy’s (Their) mate was placed in jeopardy in the first place? 

Or did fault lay at her feet, just hers, all Buffy’s and no one else’s? 

Buffy didn’t know, but the panic was threatening to overwhelm her, and she was deathly afraid of what she could and would do to Cordelia – comatose as the bitch was – if she let this fury get out of hand. 

Cordelia, at whose feet Buffy lay most of this mess. Definitely not the most rational thing the slayer had ever considered, but that did not change the fact that she seriously hated the other woman. 

Then there was a part of herself, beneath her own human emotions, beneath the endless throng of slayers and their anger and contempt that felt satisfaction in the punishment Cordelia had received. Because of the seer, Angelus had been released, because of her, countless had died for her part in this farce. Because of Cordelia, Buffy was in LA once again cleaning up someone else’s mess, instead of home where she had been needed the most. 

Willow’s death attested to that. 

And yet she still had her lover. Still had the one being who was never leaving her. The one who would mold worlds for her, and all for her. Damn, did that mean she owed Cordelia? The very idea was nauseating, and Buffy refused to think on it more. 

Besides, they had run out of time. The sun had just set. 

“Nothing,” Buffy said quietly, answering Anya’s question. “We don’t have time for anything. She’ll be safe here, and if she isn’t that meant we lost, and no one is safe so it won’t matter.”

Wes looked like he was going to protest, but didn’t. Gunn stiffened, but also didn’t say anything. 

“Good, now we have work to do.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The invading army hadn’t waited much past sunset before they were upon the group. 

The second everyone shook themselves out of their trances, weapons were handed out, and orders given. Faith and Buffy, sister slayers once more, dolled out instructions as if they had fought side by side only yesterday when, in fact, it had been years. 

“They’re going to come here,” Faith said with conviction. “They know we’re the only threat to the First and Its Harvest, and they know that if they wait any longer we’ll find a way to stop it.” 

She turned to Angelus who was standing casually by Buffy’s side as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Everything in her was screaming to fight him, but Faith knew it was useless. “If what Angelus here says is true, the two vamps allied with the First know us, and know what we’re capable of. And you know damn well they’re going to use that to their advantage.” 

“Who are these vamps?” One of the potentials asked. 

No one said anything for a moment until Giles decided on a partial explanation that helped not at all. “Old enemies. They’ve been here before, but we all thought they had left some time ago.” 

It was obvious there were more questions, especially from Robin Wood who looked like he wanted to drag the truth – or the rest of the explanation at least – out of Giles. But he didn’t and no one said anything else. 

Revenge was something many of them understood, and if nothing else, they’d let the son of a slayer have his vengeance…or die trying. 

“Giles,” Buffy said, smoothly taking over, “I want you, Dawn, and Anya towards the back. No lip, Dawnie,” the blonde slayer said not even looking at her sister who had, indeed, opened her mouth t protest. “I want the three of you out of the way in case something happens to us. We’ll need fighters who know what we’re up against.” 

Her sister seemed somewhat mollified with that, though none of them looked happy. Buffy smiled grimly and went on. “If we should fail, the First must not be allowed to win. I don’t care what it takes or what we have to do. It stops here.” 

“Most likely,” Angelus offered, “The Turok’s will fight in a mass attack kind of way. No form or style, they’ll try to overwhelm you…us,” he allowed at Buffy’s sharp look, “By sheer numbers. And they’ll probably be able to.” He sighed again at Buffy’s look. What he wouldn’t do for that woman. “So that’s,” he said, “All the more reason to stay together, keep the line tight, and don’t let them through. The moment one is, the rest are.” 

He slipped his hand around Buffy’s, squeezing her smaller hand in a show of love and support. She squeezed back, moving a step closer to him, needing his strength, if not his constant commentary. 

“Any questions?” 

“Aren’t we missing someone?” A new voice asked and everyone, already on edge, jumped, weapons again pointing to the newcomer. 

“Man, you people really need to work on your welcoming.” 

“Willow?” Buffy asked, hope and suspicion warring in her voice. 

“The First,” Faith said. 

“No, actually, it’s really me. And, I brought a friend. Two, actually.” Willow – or something that looked like her – said. Tara and Doyle appeared next to her. 

“You never looked better, Red,” Angelus drawled from Buffy’s side. 

“Don’t you people ever work with living humans?” Robin asked.
~~~~~~~~~~
Attack. Distract. Kill her. 

It was furious. It wanted the slayer dead, and didn’t care how that happened, or how long it took. This little distraction was perfect and with Its two little allies to observe and report back, even better. 

Buffy, the slayer…she had stolen Its most prized possession, had turned Its most valued ally against It. She was going to die for that insolence. She and her pathetic vampire; no one was getting out of Its Harvest alive.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, they had decided to take on the demons here, on familiar territory at least. The cave with Spike and Drusilla could wait. How long no one knew, but there wasn’t a choice. Fight here with retreat as an option, or there, at the cave, with no place else to go. 

“Angelus,” Giles called to the vampire as the group scrambled with last minute preparations. Ideally his questions could wait; this was far from an ideal time. Giles worry had not stopped growing since Buffy made her appearance at the Crawford Street Mansion. 

At first he was too happy to see her, alive and well, but then little things began to add up. Buffy’s shakes, her need to always touch Angelus, the way he wouldn’t let her more than arm’s length away. Giles didn’t think that the failure of the binding spell was the cause, and yet he had no other idea. 

Silently walking over to the man he’d kill to keep his love safe, Angelus stared at the aging watcher, waiting. He blamed Giles for the spell – both of them – Buffy had done, blamed Giles for placing his lover in needless danger. He was allowed to take on any danger – like the re-turning at the hands of the First into a next generation Turok-Han. She was not. 

Despite the fact that he couldn’t have talked her out of this foolhardy endeavor, it didn’t matter, Angelus blamed anyone who put Buffy’s life in danger. 

“What did you do to her?” Giles demanded without preamble, too worried to bother, especially when time was running out. “What did you do to Buffy that she shakes when she’s not with you, and seeks your presence like a beacon?” 

Not the question Angelus was expecting, but not one to be caught off balance for long, he asked one of his own. “What did you do to her? So eager, eh Ripper? So eager to throw her to the lions yet again. I should rip your head off,” he growled, taking a step forward, “For that Slayer spell alone; had it killed her, I would have. Only to bring you back again and again, so I could kill your pathetic hide over and over.  Fortunately for you, my baby has always been stronger than you inept losers.  Stay out of it Watcher. That’s between her and me; the days where anything about Buffy being your business are over.”  

Angelus said. He knew Giles was worried but couldn’t bring himself to care. He, Angelus, was the only one who was going to worry about Buffy from now on. He, and no one else – despite what that infernal soul kept saying deep within him – was responsible for her happiness and well being. He might have failed in the past, but her friends and family had failed worse. 

“She’s safe, Rupert, and that’s all you need to know.” Angelus glanced behind him to where Buffy stood with Faith, giving last minute instructions to the potentials. She glanced up for a moment, and their eyes locked. He sent her a slow smirk, and winked at her, knowing that she’d think the worst of his conversation with her watcher.  

“I’ll watch and protect her, Rupert,” Angelus continued, not knowing from where these reassurances came. “Forever. Don’t try and find us, you’ll never succeed.” 

Giles glared at the vampire, but had nothing to say. He vividly remembered Angelus’ last reign in Sunnydale, and had no desire to experience his particular brand of fun again. And, much as he was loathed to admit it, he knew Angelus would take care of Buffy. And he was loathed to admit it. 

 “I see,” was all he said. 

Angelus’ eyes were hard and, a deep snarl threatened to erupt from him. “You had better, Rupert. You had better.” 

Buffy wandered over to them, her arms were crossed over her chest, and she glared at Angelus. “Planning something over here, lover?” 

Giles gaped at her word usage but Angelus simply laughed. “Not at all, baby, just having a friendly conversation with Rupert on the finer aspects of life, liberty, and the freedom to travel the world.” 

She smirked; obviously she didn’t believe him, but said nothing as she studied them both with all too knowing eyes.  “We’re ready, then. Robin just reported back saying there’s a large pack of demons on their way here.” 

Giles muttered, “God help us,” and went to oversee the packing once again. But he kept his eye on Buffy; her moves, her stance, the way she held her head high. And the way she looked at Angelus. Longing, love, and fear She was scared. But of what? Angelus? His actions? Or something else, something Giles was completely unaware of? 

Angelus gathered Buffy in his arms, not saying anything for a moment, he just held her. “I love you, Buffy,” he murmured, reassuring her of his part in this none too bright plan. “But I swear, if you put yourself deliberately in danger, I’ll kill everyone to get to you.” 

She laughed at that, and leaned up to kiss him. “You know as well as I, that something most likely will happen; just watch my back,” she slapped his shoulder at the leer he sent her. “I’m serious,” her voice told him that, but Angelus didn’t like it. “If we don’t defeat the First, then it won’t matter, we’ll all be dead anyway.” 

“Not all of us, beloved,” he said quietly and kissed her hard on the lips.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I feel like I’m in some bad Western. Or possibly an old war movie,” Faith said as the group stood in three lines, protecting nothing so much as themselves; if they fell, so did the world. 

How melodramatic was that? 

Buffy, Angelus, Faith, Gunn, Wesley, Robin Wood and Connor were the first row. It hadn’t been said, but if something should happen to that row, their finest warriors, the remaining two lines were, to use the vernacular, screwed. Literally, figuratively, any way imaginable. 

The second and third lines were potential slayers. It was hoped, most devoutly, by all that those second lines weren’t needed. 

Giles, Anya, and Dawn were packing everything up as quickly as they could. Cordelia lay in the corner, forgotten. 

Tara and Willow hadn’t said anything useful to this attack, mostly answering questions – the hows and whys, and wherefores, and so ons that were usually asked when people suddenly showed up from the dead to help with the latest apocalypse.
~~~~~~~~~~
The minutes ticked by and it was as if she could hear them moving. 

An interesting move considering there wasn’t a clock in the whole house – neither Angel nor Angelus had any need for one, and when she was with him/them, Buffy hadn’t cared about the passage of time. But Buffy knew that things were counting down, even without Connor’s words, Doyle’s appearance, or Willow and Tara’s arrival. 

She resisted the urge to look behind her to her friends. She never got the chance to tell Tara goodbye, the other woman was dead by the time Warren shot Buffy; by the time, any of them realized that another of Warren’s bullets had gone wild, shattering the window the house and killing one of it inhabitants….And Willow. No matter what had happened between the friends, no matter how far apart they had grown during those months last year, they were starting to regain what they had lost. 

And now it was too late for any more. Buffy hadn’t run into Willow’s arms when she had suddenly appeared, but she wanted to. No, all they had had was enough time to exchange greetings, sort out the ‘No, I’m not the First’ problem thanks to Angelus and Connor, and form the bare essentials of a plan. 

“The First smells of death and rage,” Angel had said, Connor nodding in agreement. “None of them smell of anything.” 

“Besides, there isn’t that residual black magick surrounding them,” Connor had added, that serene look encircling him as it usually did now. Buffy gathered, from both Wesley and Gunn, that that wasn’t always the case. She was glad that someone, at least, could feel serenity; it certainly wasn’t her. 

Buffy glanced at Angelus now, wondering what he was thinking; she knew he hated this plan, but there really wasn’t another way. She wanted to touch him, kiss his aches away, let him soothe her, feel his strong arms around her. She wanted him to tell her everything was going to be all right. She wanted him to lie to her about the outcome of this battle. 

But in the distance, they could hear the sounds of the First’s army moving towards them, and there was no time. 

Never enough time, not for them. 

Angelus locked eyes with her, a boiling mass of waiting rage that threatened to overwhelm her from where she stood. Oh, yeah, he hated this plan. Buffy was far from stable at the moment; too many emotions were racing through her for her to even think about being on any kind of even keel. But his waiting, his eagerness to fight, to protect her eased that turmoil enough that she could focus. 

They were getting closer now, the sounds of large beings tramping through the dry underbrush louder with every passing second. There was something else, off to the side, but Buffy didn’t take her attention away from the advancing army long enough to acknowledge it. 

Familiar, she thought, it was a familiar feeling that passed through her, strong ties, blood and family. But then the first Turok-Han broke through the tree line right in front of her, and a group of green and brown demons to the left, and Buffy dismissed it. 

With a battle cry that broke the dusky night, and was heard throughout the little town of Sunnydale, Buffy and Angelus attacked. She, the epitome of all slayers, stronger, faster the ultimate expression of Power, and even that was augmented by the demon blood flowing within her, raging, shouting, promising a long and painful death to all who touched her.

Her eyes flashed golden as she took her sword, the same sword that was blessed by the knight who had once killed Acathla, and beheaded the nearest Turok-Han. 

Angelus was right beside her, no further than necessary despite the battle. His eyes were blood red, his face that of the vampire within. He cared for nothing save Buffy. Protecting his mate, seeing she survived unscathed, winning against the First Evil. In that order. 

His lips pulled back in a snarl, and a growl of rage issued from his mouth. He was the First Vampire, not equal but superior to any Turok-Han that attacked them. Angelus was the ultimate childe of the First Turok, reborn to be the First Evil’s greatest weapon. A weapon that turned on It, and was now used for his own needs. 

Strong and sure, more powerful than any of the Turok’s that emerged from the dense foliage surrounding the west side of the house, his power was augmented by the woman beside him. 

Together they made a forceful and formidable team. 

Side by side against the attacking hoards, Buffy and Angelus stood together, mirroring each other’s stance, each other’s techniques. Death incarnate. All waiting to happen in a bloody, but beautiful ballet, that sang with their passion and their strength. 

The potentials were now interspersed with the rest of the group, picking off what demons made it past the couple. The line of demons were massive; the sheer numbers facing them was slightly on the overwhelming side. It was just past sunset, the last rays of the sun still faintly lightening the darkening sky. Something was going on, something Angelus thought he should realize, but before he could figure out what was happening, they broke through the surrounding brush, en masse, and attacked. 

Due to their overwhelming numbers, it was easy to do so; and that’s exactly what the demons did. In a perfectly synchronized ballet, amid a strange feeling of magickal static, the two warriors fought. Each movement complimented the other, and if the rest of their gang wasn’t so busy fighting for their lives, they might have taken a brief moment to watch. Demonic or not, Angelus moved with a gracefulness that made his battle techniques seem striking. 

Gunn grunted, and hacked away at a large brown and green demon he never wanted to see again. The Turok’s were left to Buffy and Angelus who had the weapons – and the strength – to kill them; blessed swords augmented by their magickally-enhanced strength were the only things killing those creatures.

Connor fought at his back, and Gunn was oddly comforted by that realization. Whether it was the fact that the angry young man no longer seemed to be so, or something else, he could not say. But the anger and rage which shadowed everything Connor did before being held captive by Angelus was gone, replaced by a purpose few had in life. 

Faith kept her eye on the potentials, feeling an odd affinity with those who were destined to replace her. She tried not to think on it, but the idea was always there, mocking her, tailing her, reminding her that she was the line now, and that the girls behind and next to her were the next step in that line, in a line that was now all bound up in Buffy. 

Buffy, Faith noticed as she spared a glance for her sister slayer, who was fighting as if she fended off the hoards of hell every damn day. And, okay, she did. Buffy had yet to break a sweat, Faith noticed, and was barely breathing heavily. Augmented strength certainly had its advantages. Faith was jealous. 

But then another demon attacked, and Faith was caught in a circle of them, fighting for her life.

Giles watched Buffy. He hadn’t meant to, was in fact, supposed to be guarding their backs, but he was worried about her. Especially with the revelations from both she and Angelus about the power of the Slayers. He wanted to see for himself what kind of effects whatever Angelus did to her, had on her. 

She was smooth in her movements, but she always had been, controlled, sleek. But there was something about the way she held herself, a recklessness that permeated her being. The smirk of pleasure, the flashing of golden eyes he could see from where he stood, everything about her screamed several things at the watcher. 

One was that Buffy had indeed grown from the too young girl he had first met all those years ago into not only her power, but herself, too. Her style had evolved, that much Giles knew just by all but living with her for several years. The second was that the Slayers within her brought a strength and style to Buffy that he couldn’t have predicted. 

Whereas before his girl had the strength to behead a vampire, now she could do it with one hand, the other engaged in fending off another, while keeping a well-trained eye on Angelus. Incredible. 

The third thing Giles recognized, was that smirk and he shivered at the sight. Angelus, pure unadulterated Angelus there. How had simply being in the monster’s presence done that? What had that beast done to her, that produced a smirk the likes of which Giles had seen only on Angelus? 

Giles didn’t realize that it was nothing Angelus had done to her, but what she finally allowed herself to be. Buffy was the slayers, all of them, all their power, their passions, their anger towards a life that was cut short. Rage at past transgressions glittered in her eyes, eyes that were slayer white-gold. The rage, the deadly viciousness toward a perceived enemy, the systematic calculated probing for another’s weakness. 

Buffy was all that and more, all that she was meant to be, all that she was supposed to be. She was The Slayer. 

“Giles!” Connor shouted, forcing the former watcher from his critical scrutiny of the blonde slayer. Barely in time, Giles lifted his sword, blocking the downward slash from a Bringer. In another instant the would-be Ancient was by his side, but Giles nodded his help off. 

Chastising himself for his lack of concentration, Giles moved forward to enter the fray, leaving Dawn and Anya to finish packing their cars. If retreat was necessary, he wanted to be ready. 

Gunn, Faith, Robin and, Wesley, formed a line between the advancing demons, and the potentials. Wesley was battered, bloody, and shaking, but he held his ground. Gunn and Robin looked tired but ready to continue the fight. There was nothing super-powered about them, but they weren’t about to let a world they swore to protect down. 

Faith was exhilarated. She hadn’t had this much action in ages and even with the seriously outnumbered odds, there was a grin on her face. Her gaze swept back and forth among the dwindling demons, and she wondered at the resources of the First. Or, she amended as her gaze took in the falling numbers, the lack of resources. 

That didn’t make any sense. 

Looking at the slowly advancing demons, Faith muttered, “Where are the rest of the Turok’s? I thought they were the First’s big bad army, so where the hell are they?” 

“Waiting?” Anya asked as she joined the fray, wondering the same thing herself, as she gripped her sword tighter in suddenly sweaty fists. “Waiting to pick up our pieces, or maybe to attack the rest of the town once we’re gone?” 

“A little positive thinking here, please, Anya,” Dawn grunted as she, too, joined the fight, swinging her sword at a fat demon that looked too overweight to move much less fight. Too bad for her he could. 

Angelus laughed at the women’s words, “I’m sure you’ll be a tasty treat,” he told Anya. 

“Who invited the talkative demon?” She muttered, helping Dawn fend off the fat demon. 

 Angelus laughed again, mocking and somewhat gleeful, as he fought next to Buffy, his focus was on not letting any of the admittedly small number of Turok-Han’s past him to harm her. The fact that she could take care of herself, more than, now that she possessed the powers of the slayers, meant nothing. She was his, his love, his mate, and nothing was going to harm her if he had any say in it. 

Slash, cut, dodge, jump over sweeping feet, duck swinging arms or clubs, leap to one side or the other as more of the ugly bastards surged forward, intent on taking the place of their fallen brethren. He was suddenly extremely grateful that only his strength was remade into that of a Turok-Han. 

“Christ,” Angelus muttered, “These Turok-Han’s are even uglier than Nest had been, and that’s saying something.” 

Buffy snorted in laughter as she flipped over the seven-foot tall vampire, still keeping an eye on Angelus. Make sure nothing happens to Angelus, make sure Angelus is safe; it was more a mantra to her than keeping herself safe. Buffy slashed through the neck of a Turok, grinning at the sheer exhilaration to be had, and before the dust had a chance to settle, she was fighting off another. 

But Angelus was always in her sights. 

Buffy buried deep within her any extraneous feelings she had, except those of her mate’s survival. Plus the slayers within her knew him to be hers (theirs), and weren’t going to let anything happen to him. 

So she buried everything but Survival – hers and Angelus’ – and Buffy became the Slayer. All the slayers within her clamored for the blood of the demons before her, the threat to their continued existence, and their mate’s, and so Buffy focused. She focused all her strength, her attention and her skills on them. 

Against the combined efforts of every single slayer ever, the invading armies of the First never stood a chance. 

Angelus, not trusting those watching his back not to accidentally stake him, fought with a passion that made the soul within him laugh. ‘I’m not used to seeing the renowned Angelus fight his own kind,’ Angel said as he watched Buffy with Angelus, making sure she was safe. ‘And all for a woman.’  

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Angelus snarled. ‘I’m working here.’ He wasn’t about to let anything happen to his mate, either. It was his need to protect Buffy that was foremost in his thoughts and feelings. That and his need to see the slaughter of her enemies, even if it was of his own kind. 

The potentials were terrified. They had fought before, a demon here, a small nest of vampires there. Never this. This was…the stuff movies were made of, this happened in television, or in books, or on video games. 

This didn’t happen in real life. 

Their lives hadn’t prepared them for this, even the time they spent here, in Sunnydale first with Buffy, then Faith hadn’t prepared them for this. Oh, the slayers had tried, but what good were words when there was no point of reference? ‘Attacking demons’ sounded fine, but how many constituted ‘demons?’ Three? Five? Ten? The number ‘a hundred,’ or ‘hundreds,’ was never thought of no matter what everyone, from Buffy to Dawn, and even Andrew, tried to tell them. 

And now they were faced with that and more. Swords shook in grips, and crossbows were wielded with unsteady aim at best. They were careful not to aim for Buffy’s boyfriend – he scared them the most. He’d killed Andrew, threatened everyone else, and only seemed…quiet, when around Buffy. So they fought with the demon, hoping that they didn’t accidentally shoot him in the butt. They didn’t want to see him mad again. 

Terror was its own adrenaline, and the terrified girls did their best against their very nightmares. If they noticed that very few demons made it past the more experienced fighters, none of the potentials commented, too busy fighting off the ones who did make it past. 

With an arm longer than the dozen or so remaining potentials were high, the Ver’zn demon swatted at Corrine, sending the tall Italian girl crashing into the wall. Her sword clattered to the ground, and she limply slid next to it. No one noticed when the poor girl didn’t get back up. 

For its effort, the Ver’zn demon was set upon by screaming girls, now more angry than frightened. In a gruesome display of hatred, the demon was hacked to death, splattering the girls with a greenish ooze that constituted its blood. With renewed energy they turned to the next enemy, weapons at the ready. 

It finally all made sense to them; it was a simple choice, their lives or the demons. They chose their lives, and would now do anything to ensure their own – and those with them – survival. 

Willow, Tara, and Doyle stayed in the background.

Had Buffy realized this at the time, she would have said something. As it was, she was too busy fighting for her life, to notice the lack of magickal otherworldly reinforcements. The so-called reinforcements, however, were performing their own ritual. 

This they could stop; this they were allowed to and would, maybe even if they weren’t allowed to. Because this wasn’t IT. This was the forerunner, the pre-show. This was easy. It was the rest that wasn’t. 

It was that rest where interference wasn’t permitted or even accepted. The Blood Harvest could only be stopped by The Chosen and The Souled Vampire. It was written, it was prophesied, and it was truly the only way. Mutable prophecies aside, this one was absolute in its execution and completion. Buffy and Angel…ah, Angelus were the only two who could halt the destruction of the world by the First’s Harvest. 

The irony was that the First Itself was responsible for that.
If it hadn’t intervened all those years ago, during a hot and sunny Christmas, then Its Harvest would have gone off when it was supposed to…several hundred years from now. And then, at that time, when the balance was truly even, and the world ready for the final battle, it would have brought about the End Days. 

Unfortunately, the Ultimate Evil was ultimately too impatient to wait. 

And now there was a way to stop It. 

A way that It only had Itself to blame. It wanted Angel, wanted Angel to revert to Angelus, wanted Angelus to rule in Its stead, a Master Vampire, a vicious and cunning sadist who would wield the power It gave him with perfection. In order to attain this perfect weapon, It formulated a plan, a long reaching plan that was as twisted and simple as It was. 

It had made moves in that direction a long ago Christmas, taunting Angel with the Slayer, the one being he wanted, the one being he could never again truly have without major earth shattering consequences. 

Part 7        Part 5

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