March 8
Spike drove literally like a bat out of hell, breaking speed limits, and the DeSoto’s odometer, as if it were nothing. A cop followed him for a few miles, then another joined when it was clear the car wasn’t going to stop. A third, then a fourth tailed them as if he were OJ going fifteen miles an hour during midday after murdering two people.
“I broke out of jail,” Faith hissed as she slid further down the seat, trying to keep out of view. “If they find me, I’m headed back there in a second.”
“Give me the phone,” Spike instructed, and the slayer tried to rummage through their duffle bags without giving her face away. “I’m not letting you go back to jail, Faith.”
Handing the cell to him without a word, Faith went back to hiding under the dashboard as Spike phoned some LA friends. “I don’t care what I owe you or what Angelus has done lately,” he snarled into the phone on the second call. “If you don’t get these cops off my tail now, then it’ll only be the beginning. Someone stole Angelus’ kid, and he’s not happy.”
There was sputtering on the other end that Faith could hear even over the roar of the engine, the constant wail of sirens, and her own pounding heart. She didn’t want to go back to jail. She really didn’t want to go back to jail. Never. But she desperately wanted to help Angel.
“That’s what I thought,” Spike grinned as he continued to speed along the freeway towards LA and Angel. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, “I’ll owe you two. You just keep counting.”
Tossing the phone to Faith, who caught it with a curious glance, she asked, “Who was that?”
“Old friend. John-boy,” Spike snorted. “Watched too many Walton’s reruns, but he’s good at what he does.”
“And what does he do?”
“Sell his services to fellow demons in need. In this case, he’s going to get these cops off my tail before we have all of LA County on us.”
“How?” Faith asked, stressing the word on a long breath.
“Dunno,” he shrugged, throwing her that shit-eating grin she so adored. “Didn’t ask. Don’t care so long as he succeeds.”
Not three minutes later, the police broke off their pursuit of the vehicle with one last high pitched wail, and Spike continued his race towards the Hyperion Hotel.
With a screech of tires and the nauseating smell of burnt rubber, the couple jumped out and raced into the lobby. Not stopping to do more than ignore those waiting there – Fred, Gunn, and Lorne with a couple, presumably clients – they sprinted up the stairs three at a time, leaping over railings and debris – from where they couldn’t guess – and pounding on Angel’s door.
No answer. Opening it, they saw the vampire sitting perfectly still in the dark room, the chair he occupied the only thing upright in the trashed area. That and the pair of pictures he held. He stared at them, completely absorbed in the faces smiling up at him; directly in front of the opened balcony doors, too close to them, oblivious to all else as he idly traced the features of Buffy and Connor.
“Angel?” Faith asked, hesitatingly stepping into the room. She wanted to ask the inane ‘are you alright’ but knew he wasn’t. Not knowing what else to say, she quietly picked her way through the mess and knelt before him.
Spike locked the door behind him, and followed, equally silent. If Angel’s ‘friends’ were anything like the Scoobs, that door needed to be locked. He set his hand on Angel’s shoulder, “We’ll find who did this, mate,” he promised. “And make them pay.”
“Holtz is in Quar-toth with Connor,” Angel whispered, startling Faith who’d been staring at him hoping for a sign of life.
“Then we’ll head there and get him back,” she said, venom in her voice.
It was then she saw his eyes. The bleakness within the golden brown scared her, worried her, and made her wonder just what he was thinking to have so many emotions, and so much emptiness, present at the same time.
“We can’t. It only opens once every…” he trailed off, unable to repeat – again – what he knew of the dimension. Fred, Gunn, Lorne, badgered them when they’d finally returned from the Wolfram & Hart building, defeated. Dead. Without hope. But all they could say was that Connor was gone.
And when they tried to pull them off Wesley…the traitorous bastard…
Fred offered to call Cordelia, but Angel couldn’t think of any reason why that should matter. What could she do that would fix this? What could she possibly say that would make this better?
“How did this happen?”
“Wesley,” Angel admitted hoarsely. “He betrayed us.”
Growling, Spike whirled Angel’s chair while the elder vampire calmly looked up at him from the teetering wooden legs. “You let him live?”
“We didn’t let him,” and there was that spark of life. Anger. Fire. “They pulled us off him in the hospital. Security with guns…didn’t feel like explaining why bullets did little to harm a vampire. We’ll get him when he returns,” he vowed.
“Who is this we?” Faith demanded, standing next to Spike now. She didn’t like the tone of Angel’s voice, the empty, threatening hardness of it. Was this, then, Angelus? But no, Wesley would be dead, as would everyone else in this city in the demon’s effort to get his son back. But why would the demon want the child? There were things Faith didn’t understand, wasn’t sure she ever would, and thought that was probably for the best.
“Soul and demon,” Spike said, answering for an Angel who didn’t seem inclined to. “Good God! You’ve…” he frowned, cocking his head in confusion. “Well, I don’t bloody know what you’ve done, but apparently, pet, they’re one and the same. Except in pronouns.”
“And this…is a good thing?”
“Well,” Spike shrugged. “It’s new.”
“Angel,” Faith began, wondered what to say. Giving up, she simply sat on the floor next to him, leaning her head on his thigh. There were no words, nothing could express the heartache she felt at his loss, at the knowledge that his son, the pure joy, the happy and smiling and beautiful Connor, was gone.
The one who’d laughed at her, smiling at her as if she was the best and brightest thing in his world. The one who crawled to her, climbed onto her lap as she tried to teach him how to say ‘Aunt Faith’. Who drooled on her as she tried to feed him. Who gave her sloppy kisses because he didn’t yet understand how to do so.
Ripped away from Angel – from all of them – by his (their?) dearest friend.
So they sat there, quiet in the darkened room as the people below, the ‘friends’ went about their business. Was it because they knew Angel wouldn’t want to talk with them? Or was it something else, something Faith didn’t yet understand. She’d barely glimpsed them, saw only a blurred vision of five people – or four and one green-skinned demon – and that was it. Now, Faith thought they’d called out to her and Spike, but wasn’t sure.
Nor did she care. These were the people, these were the friends who were supposed to stay with Angel, help him, take care of him. These were, however unwittingly, the people to whom Buffy had left Angel’s care in. They’d failed. All of them.
Spike sat against the wall, legs stretched out before him as he looked at his Grandsire through hooded eyes. Was this a good thing? Spike couldn’t say, but it wasn’t all bad. He didn’t know what it was like to have a soul inside you, fighting, always fighting, for control with the demon who rightfully belonged there.
Was that, then, the purpose of the gypsy’s curse? To have Angel eternally struggle for control between killing and saving. But how could they know that Angel would end up as a champion, as a vampire willingly doing good? They couldn’t. There was no way in hell they could, it was impossible.
That meant they’d done it to punish the soul. Not the demon; the demon wasn’t dominant. The soul is/was; it was the soul who made the decisions for the last hundred some-odd years; it was the soul who stared at walls, watching the world go by because he didn’t know how to deal with it. How to handle the thing he’d become – not the human soul, not the demon, but something else. Something that was a mixture of both – confused with demonic needs and soul wants.
They’d put the soul back into the body of the demon who’d killed his way through Europe and back again with no remorse.
No, Spike wasn’t sorry he and Dru had killed them a hundred years ago. He wasn’t sorry Angelus murdered the freaky uncle with the bad accent or the gypsy teacher. Sure, at the time he hadn’t understood, but that was a long time ago, and a lot of changes since then. He’d grown as both a vampire and a man, understood more of the world, of the gray areas that populated the good vs. evil fight. Was a part of that now.
There was a knock on the door, only once, and Cordelia’s voice drifted through the destroyed room. “Angel? I know you’re in there,” she said, and tried the knob. When she realized it was locked, she said, “Come on, Angel. Open the door. It’s not good to be in there all alone. Let me in.” When still no sound welcomed her into the darkened sanctuary, she said, “I’m sorry. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here,” and left.
Faith scowled at the door, listening to her retreating footsteps, before resuming her position on Angel’s thigh. Her hand reached for Spike, and he shifted closer to her. “You’re not alone,” she told him. “You have us.”
Moving for the first time in hours, Angel looked down at them, at Faith and Spike as they sat with him, stayed in the silence with him. They didn’t make him talk, they didn’t make him forgive. All they did was stay with him. Moving his hand to Faith’s head, he stroked down her dark hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered, before staring once more out the balcony doors.
“I called Giles,” Spike said eventually, just as the sun was rising on a new day. They’d spent the night in the room, reminders of Connor visible everywhere one looked. The crib, the clothes, the bottles and formula. The stuffed vampire Uncle Spike had bought him. The plastic squeaky stake Aunt Faith specifically sent away for in some online catalogue with ‘The Chosen 2’ engraved on it.
Just before dawn, Spike closed the balcony doors, drawn the heavy velvet curtains against the imminent sunlight. No matter Angel’s death wish, ash wasn’t going to bring Connor back.
“He’s on his way to LA,” he continued, standing now, looking at Angel look at the photos. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to get Connor back.”
“Yeah,” Angel answered faintly. But he didn’t move. Didn’t look at them. Just continued to stare at the pictures, and Faith wondered if they’d lost him.
Now she knew what Buffy went through, that one Christmas they shared together. Now she knew what Buffy meant by on the edge; she couldn’t lose him, not the love of her life. Faith didn’t understand then, no matter the face she showed her sister slayer. She didn’t understand that Buffy meant that literally. She couldn’t lose Angel because if she did, she’d lose herself.
Faith couldn’t lose Angel, not in the same way, but very similar, too similar. He was her rock, her savior. He believed in her, helped her when no one else could or would. And she’d made a promise to Buffy that she’d watch over him. Even though Buffy hadn’t been there to accept the promise, Faith made it nonetheless, and intended to honor it.
Helpless, she looked up at Spike; he only shrugged and sat back down next to her. There wasn’t anything they could do. Not yet at least.
~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s she doing here?”
Angel looked at his seer, wondering why that was the first thing out of her mouth. Maybe we should’ve killed her. They thought it, but didn’t say it. Their son was gone, taken by an enemy thought long dead, taken to a world that was so harsh, so terrible, its gateway was allowed open only once every several years.
Connor was gone, and all Cordelia could ask was why Faith was there.
“She’s a friend,” Angel said, and walked past her. “She’s here for…us.”
Pronouns, Spike had said. Yes, they had to remember that pronoun usage. It was key to keeping them complacent; to keeping the façade up as to who they were. Why Angel cared, they couldn’t say, but it seemed for the best.
They don’t understand; all they see is the face we show them. If they can’t see past the shadows, what’s the point? Why bother? Because it was all about control – who had it, who wanted it. They had it, finally, they had it. They had what control was left to them, what control they still cared about.
Yes, we have the control, but what’s the point?
What indeed. Angel looked longingly out the glass doors, watching the sun shine its heat on an unsuspecting population. The brightness of it – once upon a time it reflected off Her golden hair, shimmering in the glow. It sparkled in their son’s eyes, bright in the blue that held love and trust.
What was the point? There was none, and they took a step closer to the light, closer to the promised silence.
“Angel,” Faith said, touching his arm lightly. If need be, she was almost certain she and Spike could restrain the elder vampire, but she didn’t want it to come to that. Not in front of his ‘friends’.
Looking at her, they remembered the point. The point was to find Connor. To find Her.
“She’s here because I need her,” Angel finished, long moments after Cordelia asked her snappish question.
Huffing, the seer said nothing for a moment, then, “And Spike?”
“He’s here,” Angel turned to his Grandchilde. “Because I need him, too.”
“And what,” Fred asked in a timid voice, uncertain as to who these were, what role they were going to play. “Do you need them for?”
“To get Connor back.”
“How are we getting him back?” Fred asked, perky once more, desperate to help. “The only things I could find on Quar-toth were that we can’t get there for a few more years.”
“We’re going to find a way,” he promised them. All of them, though Fred didn’t understand the tricky pronoun usage. “We’re not going to let my son be raised in a hellish dimension with a madman for a father.”
Nodding in agreement, she promised, “I’ll see what else I can find.”
Cordelia watched her go with dark eyes that gave nothing away. “Angel,” she began, but when she turned to face him again, to tell him – demand of him – that he talk with her, work out some of his anger and frustration, his depression, he was already walking away, Faith and Spike beside him.
How was she supposed to move her plan ahead if he continually thwarted her? Honestly, this was getting ridiculous – she’d kill Holtz herself if she’d realized the bang-up job he’d do in destroying Angel. Then again, she thought, leaning against the counter now, thoughtful. A depressed, worried, out-of-it Angel might be better for her plans.
“Yes,” she said aloud to no one in particular. “This might work out perfectly.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Giles arrived that afternoon, cursing the airline industry, and apologizing profusely for his tardiness. He didn’t say anything about Connor, but the sympathy he exuded was clear for all to see. Or those in Angel’s room who actually saw him.
He’d got into a fight with the short brunette downstairs when he’d demanded to see Angel, and while he saw Cordelia clearly through the glass in the office she occupied, his former student had done nothing to ease his way. Odd, but not terribly surprising. It was Spike, who’d obviously heard the argument – and Giles’ shouted ‘Spike! Get the hell down here, you chipped vampire!’ – who had silently led Giles up to Angel’s suite.
“It-it’s a terrible dimension,” Giles now said quietly. Pulling a book from his carryon, he flipped to the page he’d marked, and read the words he’d memorized on the horrendously long trip from Heathrow. “Banished there at the dawn of creation, the demons of Quar-toth are the most vicious, brutal, ferocious, cruel, and sadistic beings still in existence. Their only rival are the ancient Gw’un’ty of the Banshar region of the Hu’tsi Dimension.”
“Heard of that,” Spike said quietly as they sat in Angel’ room, still a mess, but a well ignored one now. A couple of lights illuminated the interior, but that was solely for Giles to read by. Faith leaned against the balcony doors, guarding them he thought, while Giles sat at a desk he’d righted for just that purpose. Angel was in the shadows, caught in a corner of the room with his photos leaning against bent knees, and Connor’s favorite bear clutched in his hands.
“Nasty buggers,” Spike continued, automatically patting himself for a cigarette. But he’d quit the moment he began taking care of Dawn, and had stopped carrying them – for sentimental value only of course. And when the niblet died…he couldn’t bring himself to smoke, something she so obviously hated. “Heard tell they make Hitler look like a saint.”
“Giles,” Faith shot Spike a be-quiet look. “What does it say about opening the portal?”
“It says exactly what Angel already told us,” he sighed. “It can’t be done for another-” he cut himself off. “Three years, eight months, and five days.” Sixteen hours and twenty-seven minutes, if one was counting. And they were.
“We’re opening it, anyway,” Angel said, startling them all. “We don’t care what it takes,” he rose, carefully placing the bear on the bed and the pictures on the pillow beside it, caressing them one last time. “We’re getting our son back.”
He left the room, and they watched him go. Giles, alternating between looking determined, and looking downright scared, asked. “Who is ‘we’?”
“Angel, Angelus,” Spike shrugged, followed Angel. “They’re both the same now.”
“Ah,” the former watcher said, but didn’t know what else to say, so changed the subject. “And where is he…ah, where are they…going?”
~~~~~~~~~~
They were going to get answers.
It wasn’t a matter of finding out who had done this, it was obvious. More so than the fact Lilah was there when Holtz jumped into the dimension. She had to have permission for such a thing, even in so evil a law firm – Wolfram & Hart was nothing if not hierarchical.
“Lilah,” they said from the shadowed corner of the room. The sun was high in the sky, a bright cast on such a dismal day; but the Powers didn’t seem to care their son was missing, or about anything related to their so-called champion.
Bah, champion. What a crock of shit. All they were to these Powers was a tool; a weapon to use as they would before killing them. Well, it worked. They were dead. Missing one son sent to distract them from Her, and one lover they needed more than anything in this world or the next.
“Angel,” she said, quietly, not bothering with an alarm. If it wasn’t already sounding, she wasn’t going to alert them. Again, that feeling moved through her. Pity? Sympathy? She wasn’t sure, didn’t know how to tell what it was, since she’d closed herself off to the softer side long, long ago.
“I’m sorry about Connor,” she said, and wondered why she’d bothered.
“Are you?” they wondered. “Is that why you planned this from the beginning? Is that why you allowed Holtz to be brought two hundred years forward? Is that why you were there that night? Because you’re sorry?”
She flinched, not at any threat he’d made – she was certain he wasn’t going to kill her by the simple fact that she wasn’t already being tortured. “No. I’m sorry because you loved him, and he was used as a pawn in a game he had no say in.”
“That was,” they reflected, “The most honest thing you’ve ever said to us.” Nodding, they continued with their original intent. “How do we open the portal?”
“We?” Lilah looked around, once more arrogant and in control. It was always about control, wasn’t it? “Who is this ‘we’ you refer to all the time? Your invisible friend?” It was the smile that tipped her off. That finally, finally, allowed her to realize what he’d been inadvertently telling her for days – weeks – now.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” she breathed, not knowing where the words came from, but believing them, wholeheartedly in that moment.
“You’re not Angel.” Her hand hovered over the alarm now, fear taking control for a very long moment. “You’re Angelus.”
“Don’t touch the alarm, Lilah,” they said, smoothly walking another step towards her, the sunlight not seeming to touch them. “Wouldn’t want to kill you before we have to.”
Slowly, she moved her hands to the top of the table, then stood. She didn’t want to be seated when he – they? – attacked. And Lilah knew the attack was imminent. “How did this happen? I thought it was a moment of perfect happiness that released the demon.” Saying this, she leaned against her desk, carefully watching the vampire who had turned infinitely more dangerous.
Laughing, truly amused now, they waited, watched. She knew something; Lilah knew something about Her, and they’d get that out of her, too. But first, Connor. He was smaller, more vulnerable – and if they didn’t get him back before finding Her, they knew She’d be angry. Then again, for a child who wasn’t ever supposed to be born, maybe not.
“If you truly must know,” they said, “We’re not separate. We’re the same, demon and soul.” They paused, wondered how to explain something they weren’t sure of themselves. It had just happened. Slowly, with their consent, but it’d happened.
“When She died, it was too much,” and they felt as if they were confessing, as if Lilah truly could understand. “Sending Connor – we have to applaud you. It was a brilliant move on your part, giving us a child to care for, to distract us from finding Her. Your mistake was in kidnapping him.”
“It wasn’t my plan,” she admitted, everything suddenly making sense. Angel, Angelus, Connor, even Buffy, thousands of feet below where Angel now stood. “I only went along with it, Angel, because, hey,” she shrugged. “Getting back at you is my new life’s goal.”
“Who wanted Connor?”
“The Senior Partners,” she admitted, and wondered if Hamilton could hear her, knew she was betraying him. But his real purpose was Buffy Summers, so what difference did it make? And maybe, Lilah thought, she could play this to her advantage. Wasn’t that what she did?
“They wanted Connor for something, I don’t know what; they never said. But they wanted the child of you and Darla for a purpose they said would save the world from impending doom.” She waved a hand to brush it all away, “Or something like that.”
Laughing once more, they took another step closer, the room shadowed now as the sun shifted lower in the sky. Or maybe he just had some kind of weird magick no one knew about and could create shadows – at this point, Lilah wouldn’t put it past him. Them.
“Not their apocalypse, eh? Someone else was going to use our son for their own means, and the Senior Partners, being the magnanimous beings they are, decided to take him for their purpose and stop it? Lilah,” they laughed, arm reaching out faster than the lawyer could blink, “Try again.”
Sputtering as the hand tightened around her throat, Lilah said, “That’s all I know. I was to engage Sahjhan for whatever he wanted, let him think he was getting something out of this, and stop him only if Connor wasn’t taken out of this dimension.”
The grip tightened. “This isn’t helping your case, counselor. Try again. Better yet,” their face morphed, fangs shinning in the sunlight. “Why don’t you tell us what you did to Her.”
The confusion was only partly feigned. “Her? Who are you talking about? Still your precious Cordelia?”
The laugh this time was malicious, hard, and promising. “It was a good distraction,” they admitted. “We were so concerned with keeping our son safe, with keeping him out of your clutches, we let your knowledge of Her slide. No longer.”
Releasing her, watching her drop to the desk with a sputtering cough, they promised, “You have until sunset to find us information on Connor – after that, we’ll be back, and nothing will save you.”
Lilah watched him leave, the certainty he meant every word sinking into her very bones. Pressing a button on her phone, she waited for the research department to answer. “I want everything you have on Quar-toth.”
Angel smiled as they left Lilah’s office. They knew she’d come through – she wasn’t stupid and knew when to admit defeat. Step one down. Between Lilah and Giles, something had to come to light. Taking the elevator down to the lobby, they stilled.
She was there…close but not close enough. Where are You, love? What did they do to You? We swear, we’ll find You, we swear we will…but Connor…What should we do?
The answer was as clear as if She’d spoken to them herself, as if She was right there, standing next to them, holding their hand and comforting them. ‘Find Connor.’
Her presence filled them with warmth and love, easing the tension losing Connor crippled them with; She was close, closer than they’d realized. But not close enough. Where was She? And was it truly Her? Or was it another trick, another means to get them on the Senior Partners’ side?
The malicious laughter that filled the elevator car had the other two occupants cowering in corners, terrified of the psychotic being staring at the numbered buttons as if he could, somehow, make more of them appear. And that was their intention – to find a way to Her, though they knew it wouldn’t be in an elevator used by everyone, lawyers, Partners, and commoners, alike.
The prophecy was wrong, but no one bothered to realize that any longer. Before Her, it was possible – if they’d lost their soul before Her, chances were pretty good they’d have fought for the Partners, rather than the Powers. Just for the sheer fun of it, just to fight; they’d often been bored, it was one of the many reasons Darla continuously found them playmates. To entertain them so they’d stay with her.
That was before Her, before the light and love She gave them.
Shame prophecies can’t change themselves. Then maybe the idiots would realize what we really are.
But maybe that was just as well. This way, they didn’t know. This way, neither side had any idea what they were capable of; this way, both Partners and Powers were vying for them. It was rather humorous, but, damn. Really annoying.
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby, and they stepped out. With absolutely no way of knowing how to get to where Lilah held Her, they left. They’d find Her, it was a guarantee, and Lilah knew that – just as she knew that if she didn’t come up with information on Connor, she’d be dead.
“We’ll find you, Love,” they vowed, taking one last look at the building from the underground garage before climbing into the car. “We swear we will, and when we do, we’ll kill whoever did this to You.”
~~~~~~~~~~
With a frustrated growl, Giles tossed his priceless book into a corner. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing of use in any of these volumes. “What’s the point of all this if it doesn’t have anything in them?”
Fred, who’d entered the room at his behest, looked at him with curiosity and fear. “All information is useful,” she ventured. The room he used was barely furnished, had cracked walls from the earthquake of a week or so ago, and was piled high with books, scrolls, and faxes from a variety of sources Rupert Giles used to discover anything he could on Quar-toth, Sahjhan, or dimension shifting.
“Not,” he sighed, sipping tea long gone cold, “If it doesn’t help.”
Unable to argue with that, she said, “Wesley’s getting out of the hospital today. I think one of us should pick him up and take him home.”
“Ha,” Giles snorted. “Yes, you go do that. Run along and betray Angel just a little bit more, why don’t you.”
“Wesley thought he was helping!” Fred defended. “He thought Angel was going to kill Connor – ‘The father will kill the son’.”
Giles stood, slowly turning to face her. “Do you know anything about Angel? Do you know – really know – who he is, what he does. Why he does it?”
Confused, she watched him stretch the kinks out of his back. “What do you mean? He’s Angel,” she said reasonably. “He helps people. He saves them so he can Shanshu; so he can earn his redemption.”
For a long moment, Giles was silent, looking at her blankly as the setting sun filtered into the room. Then he laughed; loud, long, harsh, and mocking. “You know absolutely nothing about him, Fred. You don’t know who he is, what he’s done, what he does now. Who he really is. You know nothing. Why,” he continued as Faith entered the room with food, “Do you think Angel saves people?”
Faith took one look at Giles, glanced at Fred, and snorted in laughter. “Oh, oh!” she said, setting the Italian takeout on a separate table, far away from the priceless books. Slayer or not, she knew Giles’d kill her if anything happened to them. “I know this one, teach!”
Giles smirked at her, but shook his head. They both knew the answer to that one, even Giles, who hated Angel since his stint as Angelus several years ago and Jenny’s death, but Fred – Angel’s friend – did not. Waiting for her answer, he wandered to the containers and broke off a piece of garlic bread. He offered her some, but she shook her head, no.
“He saves people because that’s what he does.” But she sounded confused, as if she were questioning why they were asking her that. “He has a soul, so of course, he wants to do good.”
Faith snorted, but only dug in. A mug of warmed blood waited next to her for Spike, who was due to arrive back from his sewer mission momentarily. Apparently, Giles thought as Fred continued to look at him with a blankness he found disturbing, they had a system worked out – in addition to the personal interest he didn’t want to think of.
“He does good because he can,” Giles said slowly as he forked a bit of penne into his mouth. “Yes, that’s true. He helps because he can and is willing to, unlike many of the humans that populate this planet. Many of the humans with a soul. However,” he said as Spike entered the room, “There’s more to it than that.”
“We talking ‘bout Angel?” Spike asked, taking the mug of blood from Faith, his hand resting proprietarily on her shoulder as she ate.
“Yeah,” Faith nodded, sipping her soda. “Fred thinks Angel helps people to Shanshu.” She paused, then, “What’s a Shanshu?”
Looking important, Fred said, “He’s supposed to turn human. If he helps enough people, if he saves enough souls, and prevents the apocalypse, then he turns human. Well,” she smiled, pleased to impart her knowledge. “He’s supposed to live until he dies, but Wesley’s translation,” her voice faltered on her friend’s name, “Says it means the vampire with a soul will turn human.”
“Wesley’s translation,” Giles snorted. “Yes, we all know how well he does with those.”
“Angel’s supposed to turn human?” Faith’s voice was faint as she stared down at her food. “B would’a loved that.” Her voice was quiet, faint in the dimness of the room.
Spike’s hand convulsed on her shoulder, and he sat next to her. “Yeah, she would’ve.” He looked up when Giles, a catch in his voice, spoke again.
“Where did Wesley find this translation?”
“Uh,” Fred faltered. “I don’t know. I think Angel found it; um…maybe from a Wolfram & Hart client? I don’t really know.”
“And it doesn’t strike you as odd,” Giles sighed, tired now, disillusioned. “He happened to find this from the vaults, safes, or archives, or wherever,” he conceded, “He managed to find it?”
“They’re using him,” Spike agreed, cocking his head, listening. “He’s back,” sighed, “And alone.” Then, back to Fred who still looked stiff and out of place in the center of the room as the three of them ate in friendship. “Angel fights because Buffy did,” he said quickly, before Angel got close enough to hear them.
“He fights because it was something she did, something she taught him to do. Buffy fought because she was chosen to; she continued to because it was the right thing to do, and because she was a brave and generous person. No matter what happened, or who,” his gaze slanted to Giles, “Censured her over her relationships.”
“Bu-but what about Cordelia?”
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