May 1

“I just don’t understand why we’re still trying to get him on our side,” Lilah said as she looked through the file on her desk. “It hasn’t worked yet, and it’s been nearly two years. What makes you think anything will now?”

Her complete attention was focused on the man opposite her, not on the words on the sheet of white paper before her; it was never wise to turn your back on a cobra. And yet, she would never let him know just how much she feared him. But then, the man before her wasn’t a man. He was…something else. A large, scary – handsome – something else.

Lilah had heard a rumor that he was a child of the Senior Partners; while she wasn’t aware that her bosses could procreate – she wasn’t even sure they looked as human as the man before her did – she wasn’t about to ask.

“Hamilton,” she said, shifting her eyes from her desk to the handsome being before her. “Just a hint? Something, so I know why I’m risking life, limb, and eternal damnation to get Angelus on our side. Why him?”

“Because he has something we want,” Hamilton said, relaxed in the chair opposite Lilah’s desk, hands steepled before him.

“Why not just corrupt the soul?” Lilah demanded, when it was obvious he wasn’t saying anything more. “Angel has wants and desires, and at least his soul could be tainted.” She shrugged and added philosophically, “Though he does have this annoying little penchant for being all noble and honorable.” Lilah shook her head at that, it was one of the many mysteries of the vampire, but continued.

“And Angelus isn’t exactly known for playing well with others. All raping and pillaging, and not much else. Hell,” she reminded Hamilton, probably needlessly, “He tried to destroy the world a couple of years ago. What makes you think this time will be any better?”

“Oh, that Acathla thing,” Hamilton waved a hand in dismissal. “Yes, I know all about that, Hell on Earth and whatnot. Doesn’t count; different circumstances that don’t, we believe, apply anymore. As for the soul?” He shrugged, a graceful movement of those broad shoulders.

“We don’t want the soul, we want the demon. Souls may be corruptible, but Angelus,” and here Lilah swore she saw something close to lustful admiration, but chose to ignore it, “He’s different. He’s different from all demons; he’s got cunning and grace, the energy and drive to do so much, and yet he also has…”

Hamilton trailed off, as if he didn’t want to reveal too much. Or as if, Lilah thought, he wanted to tantalize her just a bit with what he knew and she did not.

“Darla didn’t work,” she conceded, opening a new file, one she knew by heart. “The soul is firmly in tact, despite the wild night of sex they had. Now she’s gone, disappeared into South America, and probably not returning to LA anytime soon. What do you suggest now?”

“Darla…” Hamilton sighed. He’d told the Senior Partners that Angelus’ sire wouldn’t work, but did anyone listen to him? Of course not. “She is but a sidebar on something much larger. It’ll all come around,” he stood, those impenetrable eyes looking down at her from his considerable height. Lilah couldn’t help but be turned on, whatever Hamilton was, he was a very attractive man, and she wanted him.

“I’m sure, Lilah,” he said in that smooth, cultured voice of his, adjusting his suit jacket. “That you’ll think of something.”

With that, he left, and Lilah couldn’t help but watch him as he did so. Yes, he filled out that suit nicely. Shaking herself out of her fantasy, she scowled and looked back down at the file before her.

Files that were useless; statistics, numbers, and quotes on nothing helpful. Reams of paper on Angel, Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, any number of exploits and women, and it was all useless. She wanted to lose her carefully controlled temper and trash her office, lash out at anyone and anything, but she didn’t. No weakness, she could show no weakness.

Buzzing her secretary, someone new whose name Lilah hadn’t bothered to learn, she held her temper, and snapped into the phone, “I want to know what Angel is doing now, and I want hourly reports for the next month, understood?” She didn’t bother listening for her secretary’s stammered reply before disconnecting.

Angel needed to lose his soul for the Senior Partners to be happy, and for Lilah to get a raise and promotion. And for her to continue her earthly existence, something she wanted more and more each day. But the clock was, to use an overused cliché, ticking.

What she needed was a new plan. Unfortunately, she didn’t have one. There had to be something she was missing, some facet of Angel’s life that she could use to get him to once more lose that annoying and righteous soul….

“How had he lost it before?” She wondered aloud, and then hoped no one had heard her slip.

All Lilah knew was that he had, and it was possible for him to do so again. But how? By experiencing a moment of perfect happiness? Something Lilah was convinced didn’t exist. And yet…he’d experienced it once, had become Angelus, had terrorized a tiny little town two hours away, and had tried to destroy the world.

How had that happened?

And why the hell hadn’t she wondered that before?
 

“Outside the box, Lilah,” she mumbled to herself as she rose to gather all the information she had on Angel and that loophole in his stupid curse. “Start thinking outside the box.”

~~~~~~~~~~

May 12

Lorne looked at the spot where his cousin had just disappeared from. “Wha-what’s say we all forget this ever happened?”

Angel couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Dealing with his own family was bad enough, and he hated it – Darla, Dru…Spike. But dealing with his friend’s families? He felt overwhelming homicidal tendencies that made Angelus proud. “I’m down with that. Wesley?”

“Fine with me,” Wesley nodded, brushing himself off. Why did magickal happenings always end in earthquakes? “Cordy?” He asked the final member of their group.

There was no answer, and, surprised that he hadn’t already heard her complaining, Wesley turned to where Cordelia had just been. She was nowhere in sight. Panicked, Wesley shouted, “Cordy!?”

Wesley’s shout caught Angel’s attention, and the three men looked around the dim interior of Lorne’s club. It was empty save for them. Angel frowned, wondering where the loudmouth had gotten to. Automatically chastising himself, Angel tried to remember that no matter what she had done, Cordelia was still his friend, and he had to stop with the mean thoughts.

They except the whole ‘You have to buy me a brand new wardrobe so I can be your friend again’ still grated – it was also something Angelus never let him forget. And the cinnamon in his blood? Angel didn’t think that was for his benefit, but hers because Cordelia couldn’t abide the fact that he needed it to survive.

“Yeah,” Angelus mocked. “She’s a friend. Why did you ever leave dear Buff again?” He smacked his lips and shuddered in orgasmic ecstasy to prove his point. “She wanted you, though I don’t know why. Must be the body.”

“Shut up, Mr. I’m-locked-in-a-cage,” Angel shot back, wondering the same thing. Not leaving Buffy – that hurt, but his reasons, to him at least, made sense. But why he forced himself to be something he wasn’t for those who called themselves his friends.

Why had he done it? Why had he stayed, why had he bought their friendships back? Why hadn’t he run back to Sunnydale to be with Buffy, shunning those who never understood him in the first place?

Because he was lonely. Because he hadn’t wanted to return to that pre-Buffy existence, and they were the only people in the world whom he considered his friends. If the only way to get back into that little circle was to buy his way in, then Angel had. It hurt, and he hated it, and Angelus had made his displeasure known by presenting more than one scenario where the three of them had died painful, prolonged, and bloody deaths. But Angel had done it.

Buffy. There was Buffy, there’d always be Buffy, but. But. His heart gave a little flip at the thought of her; at the feelings she’d stirred when he saw her several weeks ago. Love. Hope. Future. He needed to call her; something was going on, but she hadn’t told him what. Said it wasn’t anything to worry about, and she had it all under control.

Now, as Wesley frantically called for Cordelia, as he looked for her like she disappeared under a table, Angel wondered if that was true. And why he’d let her talk him into that. Why he’d allowed himself to believe her. He knew why.

Because he’d been so messed up from dealing with Darla – and Drusilla – that he couldn’t get his mind straight enough to listen to what Buffy wasn’t saying, as opposed to what she was.

He’d call her, Angel vowed already moving towards the phone, and see how everything was. “Cordy!” Wesley shouted again and Angel sighed. But first he had to silence Wesley before the other man died from apoplexy.
 

“Cordy!” Angel shouted, convinced that she had probably already left.

But, no, she wasn’t there. Angel didn’t sense her at all, and turned to stare at the now empty stage where the portal to Pylea had just closed. Somehow she had gone through the portal with Lorne’s cousin.

“Oh no. Oh my god, no.” Wesley turned to Angel, panicked. “How could I’ve let this happen?”
 

Trying to reassure his distraught friend, Angel said in a voice that showed he didn’t believe his own words, “I’m sure she’s here somewhere, Wes. Cordy!”

“Angel,” Wes said, unable to believe what had just happened. “She’s gone! Cordy’s been sucked into the portal; she’s in the host’s dimension now.”

Great, this is what happened when he cared about people, when he let them get close to him. They did things like this. Or things like this happened, and he was…and why was everyone looking to him? What was he, the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz that could open portals any damn time he pleased? Turning to Lorne, he demanded, “Where’s Cordelia?”

“Ah…” Lorne trailed off, not wanting to tell the irate vampire that he had this horrible suspicion the stunning seer of dubious morals – though he loved his little buttercup, truly he did – was currently in his home-world. A place he vowed never to step foot in again.

“Pylea,” Wesley said in a strangled voice. “She’s in Pylea, Angel.”

The vampire turned to look at his former employee, current boss. Who made the watcher in charge again? For several long and silent moments, Angel just stared; his still body not so much as disturbing the dust motes that rained through the air. Fuck this, he thought. 

This was what happened when he left others in charge, when he relinquished control.

This was what happened when he listened to others, when he didn’t order them about.

This was what happened when he let them convince him that he was somehow at fault.

How Wes could have done something differently, Angel didn’t know, but this was what happened when he gave up control to those who simply didn’t understand. Understand the fine line that he walked, the fine line between demon and soul. Understand the control he exuded over himself – neither soul nor demon and yet both – just to exist in the world these so-called friends created.

Expected him to live in their world, expected him to be a part of it, with little change on their parts. And all the change on his. They didn’t realize the façade he wore so as not to scare them, didn’t realize the lengths he went to just to hold back a part of himself that was so intrinsically him, as to be indistinguishable to himself. Apparently, however, they were all too indifferent to it, and never quite got it.

Angel was about to take it back.

When that control was placed in another’s hands, his life, his destiny, his fate, spiraled out of control into something nearly unrecognizable and unfamiliar. It was his, for ill or good; it was all his, and Angel had let it go long enough. Time to regain that control.

No more. Never again.

“Wes,” Angel said in a voice neither of the men had heard from him before, “Is the book still here?”

Staring at the vampire – still in human face – Wes nodded slowly, not really understanding the instinctual fear that skittered up his spine. “Yes, it didn’t go through the portal.”

Bending to pick up the book from the dust-covered floor, he eyed Angel: boss, friend, and employee. For reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, the former watcher was scared of this Angel; the one who stood still as death, silent and deadly, waiting and watching with predator’s eyes. With knowledgeable eyes. With eyes that saw right through Wesley, and he thought that that, perhaps, was the scariest thing.

That Angel could and did see all his secrets…and Wesley wasn’t sure that the vampire wasn’t going to exploit them.

Oh, Angel had worried him with his obsession with Darla, with his attitude towards Drusilla, with the way he’d handled all of that. But this was more. More than when the whole Darla thing started, when it was more an annoyance – to the watcher that was – than anything else. When Angel’s little tantrums, his firing of them, began.

His obsession with a supposedly dead woman, and his outlandish treatment of both a turned Darla – which Wes still thought Angel could have prevented – and Drusilla was nothing more than something he and Cordelia had joked about.

Angel should have killed the both of them, and yet he hadn’t, and neither Wes nor Cordelia understood why. They both thought that it was Angel’s guilt preventing it, but that was no excuse. Both vampiress were deadly and dangerous, and needed to be stopped. Angel was the only one who could stop them, though Wesley had seriously contemplated bringing Buffy in to do so.

Cordelia had halted that immediately, with reasons Wes still thought were somewhat contrived. She’d insisted that Angel was going through nothing more than a stage, that he’d come to his senses. That he wasn’t Angelus; therefore he wouldn’t let Darla or Drusilla live.

She was wrong. Dead wrong. And Wesley had let her convince him of that, let her all too easily persuade him that bringing Buffy into this already volatile situation would set it off. Now, with both Darla and Drusilla gone, Angel should have been back to his old self.

That Angel wasn’t gone, as Wesley had assumed. He was there, alive and in charge, and he was scary as hell. Good Lord, he was frightening. Not because Wes was a weakling as he once was, cowering under his own father’s notions and demands. But because Angel, in this mood, was…Angelus.

“Angel?” Wes asked, his words to Cordelia over a year ago coming back to him. ‘Angel’s moment of true happiness occurred because he was with Buffy.  You realize how rare that is – true happiness? And what are the odds he’d find that with an actress?’ He waited while the vampire turned to look at him. Cold, depthless eyes with only the faintest spark of humanity visible in them. “What are you thinking?”

And that was when Wes realized…he never, never knew what Angel was thinking. Never. The careful civilized veneer was foolproof, and Wes had fallen for it. Oh, God, he’d believed everything Angel had shown them! Everything. Most was real, and Wes knew that, despite his increasing fear over the situation and his boss. Employee. Whatever, not the point.

There were depths to Angel that Wes had never really understood, never bothered to understand. Never bothered to investigate. Now he realized his mistake. And now Wes wondered if it was too late to learn.

“We’re going to find Cordelia,” Angel said in a firm voice. No panic, no emotion. “We’re going to find her,” he said as he grabbed Lorne’s lapels, holding him in place as the Host tried to sneak away. “And we’re bringing her back. You keep saying we’re a team, right, Wes?” When Wes nodded, Angel finished, “Then we’re not leaving one of our team members in some other dimension she doesn’t belong in. Understood?”

“How, exactly,” Wes asked as he slowly handed the book to Angel, “Do you plan on finding her?”

“Please, Wes,” Angel frowned. “You don’t think that all of Pylea will know that Cordelia’s there? I’m sure she’s already shouting to the high heavens for us to get her the hell back here.”

Wes smiled, relieved; maybe all was not yet lost. “Yes, that does sound like our Cordelia.”

Not his Cordelia, but Angel didn’t say that. None of them were his. But he’d rescue Cordelia anyway; because it was partly his fault she was gone. And he did, in an abstract sense, consider her a friend. So he’d rescue her, and then he’d figure a way to work out the rest of his life.

The Buffy part. All the Buffy parts. Only the Buffy parts. Because it’d been long enough that his mate hadn’t been in his life, and he was going to get her back.

~~~~~~~~~~

May 14

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?” She sounded distracted, as if she wasn’t paying attention to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Is everything okay there?” Angel asked, worried. If she needed him, Angel was more than happy to let Wesley and Gunn go to Pylea to retrieve Cordelia.

There was a pause. “It’s been better, Angel,” and the vampire could hear her sigh over the phone line. Tension drained from her shoulders in that moment, only to reappear with the next breath. No, nothing was going to make this better.

“I can be there in two hours,” he said, already standing to pack.

“No,” she said immediately, and then smiled. “God, I’ve missed you. I wish I had the time to tell you just how much.”

Alarmed, Angel froze as he reached for his duffle bag. “Why don’t you have the time?” He demanded. “What’s going on, Buffy?”

“It’s nothing, or nothing,” she amended, “That I can tell you over the phone.” There was shouting in the background, and then Buffy said in a frantic rush, “Look, be careful, okay? I miss you and…I can’t tell you what’s going on, but it’ll be okay,” she promised in that soothing voice she always used when she knew he was upset.

“I love you,” she whispered, and hung up the phone.

For long moments, Angel stared at the dead receiver. “I love you, too,” he said to his empty room.

“Angel,” Wesley called as he opened the bedroom door. “Are you ready?”

No, Angel wanted to say, no he wasn’t ready. There was something wrong with Buffy, and despite the fact that she said she didn’t need his help, Angel felt as if he had to get to Sunnydale and help her.

‘It’s okay, Angel,’ the vampire swore he heard his beloved’s voice whisper to him. ‘It’s okay, trust me.’

Bleak eyes locked on the phone, but Angel didn’t call back. Slowly he nodded to Wes that he was ready. Ready to save Cordelia. Not his Buffy. Cordelia had better hope she was in serious trouble, Angel thought as he followed Wesley out the door. Or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

~~~~~~~~~~

May 20

“Tell Angel,” Buffy said to her sister, “That I meant it, and that I love him with everything in me.”

Dawn nodded, but couldn’t speak past the tears that clogged her throat and pooled in her eyes. Desperate, she embraced Buffy, begging her not to leave, not to do it. “I love you,” she insisted, sorry she hadn’t been a more understanding sister, that she’d been a brat and hadn’t appreciated everything Buffy had done for her.

“I love you, too, Dawnie,” Buffy said. “Live for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

May 22

“Yes,” Angel said with a faint smile on his face, wondering why the world seemed darker, bleaker, less welcoming to him. “It’s good to be home,” he agreed but wasn’t really aware of the words he was saying. And then he stopped, and it all came crashing down. “Willow,” he said and knew, without being told, that Buffy was dead.

“It’s Buffy,” he said in a whisper, demon and soul screaming out in pain and desperation, and Angel felt his legs buckle. His world collapse in on itself, black and bleak and empty. Falling to the ground, never feeling the impact of the hard marble under his knees, he died.

“Noooooo!” He roared loud enough for Wolfram & Hart’s surveillance to hear him without their equipment, face shifting into his demon’s. They screamed loud and long for their love, their beloved. And with each sound, they died a little more.

Angel didn’t remember destroying the lobby of his hotel or his room; he didn’t remember scaring his crew so badly they seriously contemplated tranquilizing him. Nor did he remember collapsing on the floor, holding a picture of Buffy, and growling at everyone to leave him the fuck alone. He didn’t remember looking at that picture of Buffy for hours, whispering how sorry he was that he wasn’t there to help her, and promising to take care of Dawn for her.

He didn’t remember agreeing with Willow to accompany her back to Sunnydale for Buffy’s…for her…funeral.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are you going?” Cordelia demanded, as she watched Angel pack. She knew where he was going, for a day or two at least, but he was packing for longer than the trip to Sunnydale required. Sure, she figured that he’d be there for Buffy’s funeral, and yes, that he’d be as distraught as he was over her death. But to leave like this? Cordelia hadn’t been expecting that.

“Away.”

“To Sunnydale?”

“Yes,” he said, fingers convulsing on the book he picked up out of the mess that only slightly resembled his room. The book of Irish mythology, ‘Acallam na Senorach’, ‘Tales of the Elders of Ireland’ that he often read to Buffy as they lay together after their version of patrolling. Snuggling and kissing, holding tightly onto each other, and doing their best not to give into temptation.

“When will you return?” Cordelia asked, dreading the answer.

But Angel didn’t answer. He said nothing, just zipped his bag, and left the room, not looking back.

He wasn’t coming back. Not for a while. Maybe not ever. He was leaving, heading to Sunnydale for Buffy’s…funeral. Her funeral. And then…he didn’t know.

“God, baby,” he whispered, as he started his car and reversed it out of the parking garage. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Cordelia watched his car speed into the night, watched the taillights disappear around the corner. She and Wesley were heading to the Dale in the morning for the actual funeral, but Angel insisted on leaving that night. Not insisted, had just gone.

“But is he coming back?” Cordelia asked the trashed room. There was no answer.

~~~~~~~~~~

May 23

Angel held Dawn as the girl cried for her sister.

He wanted to join her, wanted to let go of his control, and cry with the girl. He wanted to grieve for his lost love, wanted to bellow to the heavens and mourn Buffy. Wanted to die himself, destroy this earth and find her in heaven. A part of him even wanted to tear her out of heaven and keep her in his arms…forever.

Angel could do none of that. He couldn’t move, let alone grieve.

His dark eyes looked up at the surrounding people, Willow and Tara, Xander and Anya, Giles, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn. Spike. Spike had told Angel all that had happened, all that Buffy hadn’t wanted him to know: about Glory, about Dawn, and about her own imminent death. Her sacrifice.

How Giles wanted Buffy to let her own sister die because she was destined to. Angel wanted to beat the former watcher for that, for even suggesting it. Wanted to beat him bloody, and then do it all again and again and again. Oh, Angel wasn’t entirely certain that he’d not have done the same; Buffy was significantly more important to him than anyone, even her sister. But to actually suggest such a thing to Buffy? Who had sent him to hell because it was the only way to save the world?

Giles should have known better; they should have found another way, any other way. To save Dawn, yes, because Buffy couldn’t have lived knowing her sister had died because of her. But to save his beloved, too. What was he supposed to do now?

In the end, Spike had even admitted his feelings for the slayer, but swore he hadn’t done anything about them. Spike expected Angel to beat him, the elder vampire knew.

Angel hadn’t the will to bother. Instead, he just nodded, and turned his back on Spike. “I know, William,” he’d said as he walked away. “You tried.”

Riley was there, too. How he knew Buffy was…gone, Angel didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care. The first surge of emotion Angel felt since walking into his hotel lobby…since throwing Darla out of his room…since discovering that the sire he’d killed for Buffy was alive in the most human of senses…since finding out that Buffy was seeing Riley…since turning back the most precious day of his life…since leaving Buffy standing next to the ruins of her high school.

He wanted to kill Riley, just for the simple fact of his existence. And then Spike had told him of Riley’s little addiction to having vampires suck him – suck both his blood and his cock. In that moment, grandsire and childe had formed an agreement. It didn’t ease the century of distrust and hurt the gypsies had caused by cursing Angelus with his human soul, but it had bonded them.

Riley’s broken arm and sprained ankle were only two small signs of Angel’s displeasure. He’d let the whelp off easy, and had told Riley so. Spike had sat back and laughed, smoking his cigarettes.

“He’s right, mate,” Spike said as he took another swig of his JD. “Bloody lucky, if you ask me.”

Riley hadn’t, but that hadn’t stopped Angel’s lessons, or Spike’s running commentary.

The echoing thud of the winches grinding together as they moved the coffin brought Angel back to the present. Back to the still night where even those creatures who thrived once the sun set made no sound. Back to his Beloved lying in a coffin. Dead.

Dawn clung to him as they lowered Her coffin into the ground, and Angel wondered if he’d be able to survive without Her. She was gone. Dead. She couldn’t be revived, couldn’t be brought back to life. God, why? Why Her? Why did You take Your greatest champion? Without Her, he was nothing…not a champion, not a man, not even a very good vampire.

Spike stood next to Dawn, the two vampires flanking the girl as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She was the only thing they had left, their last link to Her, so in a way, she was.

“I can’t live without her, Angel,” Dawn whispered through her hiccups and tears. Her nails dug into his sleeve, her body pressed against his as she tried to find some semblance of comfort. No one else understood, not Willow or Tara, not Giles or Xander. They didn’t understand what it meant to lose a sister, to lose someone who you were literally made from. To lose the one person who was willing to die in your place.

Guilt made Dawn tremble, and Angel wrapped his arms tighter around her. She had died for her, and Dawn wasn’t sure how to go on without her sister. “She died for me, Angel,” she sobbed, unable to look at the grave anymore. “I can’t live without her.”

Angel looked down at the girl in his arms, and simply picked her up. With a glance at Spike who nodded and silently followed them, Angel carried Dawn to his car, and bundled her inside, and left the cemetery. Everyone else be damned, they’d all had a part in killing his love.

Buffy Summers

Hero, Friend, Sister, Lover

She Saved the World a Lot.

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