March 19

The drive from Sunnydale to LA was slower this time.

Not out of any concern from the cops. Not even out of concern for himself. Because Spike couldn’t make himself move. The car drove itself. The road spread out before him.

And somehow he made it the two hours from his once home to his Grandsire’s. He didn’t kill anyone, or didn’t think he had. Nor did he crash into one of the many other commuters on the roads that merged and separated in a sprawl of civilization. He also managed to live through the drive, though how that happened, he wasn’t sure, either. Luck, pure dumb luck, but if it was good or bad, Spike didn’t know.

This time, when he pulled to a stop in front of Angel’s hotel, despite the circumstances, he still couldn’t bring himself to move. The sun had set, and still Spike didn’t move. Couldn’t. Wasn’t sure he could, wasn’t sure he remembered how to.

“William?”

Angel’s voice jerked Spike out of his fog, and he looked with desolate eyes through the door he wasn’t aware was opened. He, they, looked lost, Spike thought. Lost and alone. It wasn’t an emotion Spike was comfortable with, and yet it was one he was suddenly intimately familiar with.

“Angel.” he shook his head. Movement. It was movement, at least. “Faith...”

“Come inside, William,” Angel said in a gentle voice. They helped their dazed childe out of the car, wondered if the smell of alcohol and cigarettes would ever disappear. Knew the desolate stench of grief wouldn’t. He weaved, but not in the Spike-drunk way. No, this was something more. Faith...where was Faith?

A terrible sinking suspicion settled on Angel’s shoulder, in their heart. They already knew. Faith was dead.

“Spike,” Angel said as they walked up the stairs, past the looks of Fred and Cordelia. Into their room and the quiet darkness of it. “What happened? Where’s Faith?”

“Faith,” he mumbled, leaned against the closed door of Angel’s room. “He killed her.”

“Killed?” Their suspicions confirmed, Angel narrowed their eyes at Spike as he told of the gunshot. Of Warren and Andrew and Jonathan. Of Willow...Angel paused. Willow did that? She’d...but then grief made you do horrible things, didn’t it. And they knew, with a closeness they hoped never to experience again, just what grief could do to you. Did to you.

“I killed her,” Spike admitted, and there was no emotion in his voice. Angel simply nodded, understanding. They’d have done the same. Would, the moment Lilah was no longer useful and they had Her back with them. “I killed her and left her with the pup. I...Angel, she’s dead. My Faith…she’s dead.”

“We’re sorry, William.” Spike looked at them blankly, and Angel wondered why they’d taken to calling Spike by his human name.

Nodding, unable to say more, Spike sank to the floor. Lost. And Angel didn’t know how to help him. She would, She was always good with words, with compassion. She would know what to do. What to say. Lost, helpless in this, they did the only thing they could.

Blood, alcohol, and cigarettes. Loud music. And memories.

“Angel!” The banging on the door increased, making its way through the haze of smoke and music. Alcohol and depression.

Stumbling to their feet, Angel opened the door, wondering how they’d managed to get so damned far away from it in the first damned place. Wrenching it open, they stared blankly at Cordelia.

“Finally!” she huffed, waving a hand before her nose as the stench wafted passed her. “Geez. What are you two doing in here?” Peering past him, and his deliciously naked chest, the silk bottoms that rode low on his lean hips, the muscled arms she itched to touch, and seeing the empty bottles of single malt, the cartons of cigarettes, the bags of blood, and Spike’s equally half dressed state, she jerked back.

“Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Her eyes narrowed on him, and she murmured, intrigued. “At least I don’t think I do…”

“Cordelia,” Angel repeated. “What do you want?”

“Want?” She shook herself, smiled up at him. “Oh, right. We just wanted to make sure you were still alive up here.”

“Alive?” they echoed, glanced back at Spike who shrugged. “We’re…still here.” Alive was debatable.

“Yes, well you’ve been here for three damn days.” They blinked, shook their head, chuckled. Cordelia’s eyes just narrowed again. “And we,” she backed up, shifted, tilted her head to show off her neck. Hey, every advantage… “We just wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong.”

Spike walked up, looking sexy and rumpled in his loose silk pajama bottoms, and Cordelia licked her lips, glanced back at Angel, eyed his naked chest once more, and swallowed. Both of them...both of them together…two were better than one, she imagined. And the two of them. She smiled, wondered how she could manage that…

“No worries, pet,” Spike said, and Cordelia realized what Faith had seen in the blonde. And hey, if he could satisfy a slayer, then bringing about her rebirth, her emergence, would be a piece of cake.

“No, I see that,” she agreed, smiled her most seductive smile she could, and turned, walking away with an inviting sway to her hips.

“I think there’s something wrong with her,” Spike commented as Angel slammed the door closed, picking up a bottle. Scowling at its emptiness, they tossed it aside, rummaging until they found one with alcohol still in it.

“Yeah, she’s a demon.”

“She’s always been a demon,” Spike snorted, swiped the bottle from Angel, and took another gulp.

“No,” they shrugged, took the bottle back from Spike, finished it off. “Well, maybe, but that’s not what we meant. She willingly became a demon of some sort to keep the visions.”

“What kind of demon?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Lighting a cigarette, they slumped back onto the floor, head against the bed. The bed where Her picture lay, where Connor’s smiled out at him. “But there’s something else off with her,” they admitted. “We just don’t know what.”

“Well, she has to be some kind of demon, right? She just can’t be a demon,” Spike pointed out easily. “The sooner you find out what kind, maybe you can find out what the bint is. And what she’s after.” he paused. “Other than you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Angel snorted. “We don’t care what she is, what – or who – she does, or why. All we care about is Her. Finding Her. Holding her.” Loving Her, Her acceptance, Her warmth and comfort. Her. Plain and simple.

“Yeah,” Spike nodded. “I get that. You know, I must be really gone,” he moaned, “If I can keep up with this pronoun thing. Man.” Another gulp from the bottle to rid himself of thoughts and ideas he’d never have tolerated before. They were going to need more booze soon at this rate.

“Still,” Spike said, laying on the floor. He was so tired. And, at least in dreams, he could see his Faith. “You need to quit with the royalty gig before your questionable use of pronouns makes your little Scoobies scared out of their tiny little minds. One measly whiff of anything remotely Angelus-y, and you’ll find yourself fitting in a shoe box.” He forced himself to crack an eye open to emphasize the seriousness of his next words.

“And you need to keep an eye on that bird. Something’s not right there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

March 24

“If you need me to stay,” Spike began, waited. Angel’s pain was all but palatable, and he wondered how no one else could see it.

“No, William,” they said, smiling. They weren’t the only ones in pain; Spike’s was harsh and loud. And his desire to be away from memories of both Faith and of the life they could have shared, for however long it lasted, wasn’t lost on them. No, they understood as only someone who has already gone through it could.

“We’re okay,” he promised, and they both knew they lied. “Despite everything, we’re…or we will be, okay.” 

“I’m heading for Europe, thought I’d check out the old stomping grounds.” Spike said, looking up at the night sky. Wondering if what Angel had said, once upon a time, was true. That Faith was looking down on him. Was watching over him.  “But I’ll be back,” he threatened. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, you big poof.”

They nodded, chuckled. “We never could.”

“I need time…and,” Spike laughed, tried to break the pathetic melancholy spell that’d woven itself over them. “I must be going crazy. I hit the city, and could’ve sworn I sensed Buffy…”

“Yeah,” and the far-off look Angel got in his eyes – their eyes – told Spike all he needed to know. “I understand.”

Their gazes locked, understanding passing between them. “Yeah, I guess you do at that.” Walking to the driver’s side of the DeSoto, Spike shook his head. “If you need me to help kick ass…”

“We know, William.”

With a sigh and a need neither really understood, Sire and Grandchilde briefly embraced. Then jumped back and scowled. “Must be all that slayer influence,” Spike mumbled.

The AI team watched from the shadows of the lobby, wondering what had happened they didn’t know about. Weren’t privy to. They watched, but they didn’t understand. Not what had happened, not what either vampire talked about, not why, two vamps who professed to not be able to stand each other embraced.

With one last look, Spike climbed into the car and drove off.

Watching until the car turned the corner, Angel looked up at the night sky Spike seemed so fascinated with. They needed to find Her. They needed to find Her so they could mourn their son.

Walking into the hotel, they took a deep breath, scenting the night air. There, just faintly, was a hint of Her scent. Wild and passionate, sweet and pure. She called to them.

And they were helpless…they had to obey.

~~~~~~~~~~

March 29

“I’m telling you,” Cordelia said in a whisper. “He’s acting weird.”

“Cordy,” Gunn sighed, “He’s just lost his son. You think you wouldn’t be acting weird, too?”

“No,” Fred said, jumping to her friend’s rescues. “She’s right, Charles. Angel hasn’t been doing, well, you know. Angel stuff. And…” she trailed off, wondered if she should say anything about the conversation she’d had with Giles and Faith and Spike about Angel and his reason for being. But no, she couldn’t. And, well, she wasn’t sure she believed it, either.

Plus, there was Cordy. And Fred was sure that there was something between Cordelia and Angel. Sure of it…after all, Angel had saved her. He was the hero. He was…just so wonderful, and so was Cordelia, and how could they just not love each other?

“I can read him,” Lorne offered. “Someone has to get him to sing,” he made a face, shrugged. “Humming is just dandy, too.”

“You’re talking about turning on the man when he’s at his lowest,” Gunn insisted. “That ain’t right.”

“Then you explain where he goes every night,” Cordelia huffed. “You tell me what he’s doing when he’s not here, doing what he’s supposed to be doing!”

“And what,” Gunn asked slowly, curious, “Is that? With the love of his life dead, and his son taken by a mad man. His supposed best friend the cause of that, tell me. What is he supposed to be doing?”

“Helping the people in my visions!” Cordelia yelped, then quickly looked around in case Angel was lurking, and quieted. “He’s our champion. He’s supposed to help the hopeless or helpless, or both. He can’t do that when he’s not here. If he’s not here to help the people in my visions,” she reasoned, “Then what’s the point of me having the visions?”

“I don’t like it,” Gunn stated, but made no move to leave the discussion.

“I’ll read him,” Lorne offered again, stood. “After I make myself a drink.”

They came up with and discarded excuses the entire night. Finally, Gunn shoved back his chair, walked to the stairs, and yelled for Angel. “Angel! Man, we got a question for you.” There was a long moment when no sound came from the second floor landing. No sound, that was, except the brilliant music of opera. The swells and dips, the harsh pain, and the tragic love.

It’d been that way since Spike left, and other than appearing for fresh blood, no one had truly seen Angel since then. He left the hotel, that wasn’t the question. He left as soon as the sun set, and returned nearly too late to avoid burning to a crisp.

Suddenly he was there, appearing at the top of the stairs as if by magick.

“The guys,” Gun waved a hand behind him. “Want you to sing for them.”

Narrowing his eyes, Angel frowned. “Why?”

Gunn shrugged. “So Lorne can read you.”

And that was when they got it. Laughing slightly, they shook their head and walked down the stairs. A slight smirk played at the corners of their mouth, but they made no move to conceal it. So that was what all the fuss was about. That was why Fred and Lorne were giving him strange looks. That was why – one of the many reasons, it seemed – Cordy was always trying to get them to open up.

They thought the soul to be gone, the demon in its place.

Ah, if they only knew the truth. Probably shit their pants.

“Anything particular you’d like to hear, then?” they asked, eyes landing on each person waiting for them. Their team. Their friends. They almost laughed again, but refrained. That’d really send the four of them over the edge.

“Your choice, buttercup,” Lorne announced, sipped his drink, and ignored the glares Cordelia and Fred were shooting at Gunn.

“If you go down in the woods today/You’re sure of a big surprise/If you go down in the woods today/You’d better go in disguise…”

“That’s good, Angelcakes,” Lorne nodded. He looked a little orange under that green.

Shaking their head, Angel turned and left. But the faint echo of laughter drifted back to them.

“He’s got the soul,” Lorne confirmed. “But something wasn’t…I don’t know. It was off. Weird. Odd.”

“Great,” Gunn frowned, staring at the stairs Angel had just disappeared up. “Was anyone else freaked by the song Angel picked?”

He turned back to see everyone’s hands raised.

“Freaky,” Cordelia agreed.

“I never knew 'Teddy Bear’s Picnic' could be…” Fred frowned. “Scary.”

“Soul or not,” Cordelia shook her head. “I still say something’s wrong there. Remember Darla?” Her question was directed at Gunn who frowned again, dropping into the chair he’d vacated moments before.

“Isn’t she dead?” Fred asked, hoping she’d memorized the right chart. She was fairly certain she had, plus…dust right in front of her eyes. Something like that goes a long way to proving things, what with her actually witnessing it.

“You think he’s having dreams again?”

“I think,” Cordelia said slowly, carefully choosing her words. She needed these plebeians on her side. “That he’s…well, I don’t know. But between,” she looked at the stairs, dropped her voice. “Between the B-word, and Connor. I don’t think he’s all there. He’s losing it,” and when she said it, her voice was hurt, soft with emotion and fear. Pain. Damn, she was a good actress. If it wasn’t for this whole rule the world thing, she could’a made it big.

“Angel’s been through a lot,” Lorne agreed, finishing his drink. “I’m not surprised he’s in his room all the time. The pain I read in his soul was…” Lorne shook his head, shuddered at the memory of pain. “It was absolutely unbelievable.”

“A lot, yes,” Cordelia agreed. “But this is more. There’s something going on I don’t like or trust. And if he is losing it, then what are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?” Fred wondered.

“If Angel’s losing it,” Gunn explained, hefting his homemade axe and heading into the dusky evening. “Then we’re all at risk. Angelus has this habit of killing everyone Angel gets close to.”

“It’s not pretty,” Cordelia agreed as Gunn left and Lorne went to make himself another drink. “He, Angelus, I mean. He goes crazy. Murdering everyone close to the person, or people in this case, who made him feel. Or made Angel feel. Last time he was out?” Cordelia shuddered, though the thought of all that demon was enough to make her swoon.

If she’d have been in this position before, she had no doubt she’d have been able to talk Angelus into bringing about her transformation. Hell, maybe if she took the soul…did she need the soul? Or just the willingness? She’d have to double check with her acolytes on that one.

“Last time he was out,” she confided in a low voice, “He taunted Buffy for weeks. Months, actually. Tried to kill her every other day. And me! I mean all of us…because we were close to Buffy, and to make her suffer, he went after me. Us. It wasn’t pretty.”

“So this time, that’d be us? With the killing and taunting and torturing?” Cordelia nodded, and Fred shuddered in fear. “But I thought you said it was sex that released the demon.”

“It is,” the seer agreed, standing and stretching. “But if Angel’s losing it, then that means Angelus is gaining strength in the body.”

“Maybe we should go get him, make him spend time with us.” Fred took a step in that direction. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave him be alone so much.”

“I’m not sure what good that’s going to do,” Cordelia sighed. “But God, I want to help him. He’s in such pain, so lonely, and I don’t know how to reach him.”

“He’ll come around,” Fred patted Cordy’s shoulder, smiled at her friend. “He loves you. He’ll come around; see how you feel about him. I know he will.”

“I hope you’re right, Fred.”

~~~~~~~~~~

April 3

“Well?” Cordelia demanded once Angel left and Lorne was his normal green self. “What’d you see?”

Downing the drink, refilling it before he answered, Lorne closed his eyes. “Soul, definitely a soul. But it’s in pain. In a strange, strange way.”

“What do you mean,” Gunn demanded. “Strange, strange way. Pain I get, no doubt of that. But the strange, strange way?” he shook his head. “Not seeing it.”

“I don’t know.” Lorne finished his fourth drink, sighed. “All I can see is this weird shimmer around him. It’s like his soul is glowing. It’s weird.”

“Souls don’t normally glow?” Fred wanted to know.

“They do,” Lorne agreed. “Occasionally. But Angel’s doesn’t…or didn’t before now. He has to share space with the demon and with memories of that demon’s deeds. Angel’s soul has never glowed.”

Fred said nothing. She’d already had this conversation, or rather a similar one, with Lorne before they met with Gunn and Cordy for Angel’s song. They agreed that Cordelia was the best thing for their friend, but convincing him that it was okay to love again was something else. That mourning Buffy, putting her behind him, but still caring for her was okay. That it was a part of life. That it wasn’t wrong to feel again. To feel, specifically, for Cordelia.

And that, Fred was sure, was the problem. He was guilty over his feelings for Cordelia when he thought he should stay true to Buffy. Understandable, but not very practical. After all, one couldn’t help who one loved. And it was so clear Cordelia loved Angel. And he had to love her, Fred was certain of it.

The way he acted around her, the way they just seemed to click. It was all so clear, and Lorne, who knew these things, agreed with her.

“Did anyone,” Gunn asked as he often did once these little soul-reading sessions were done, “Think his comment about ‘tying and frying’ was…weird?” And once again, all hands were raised.

“I wonder what he meant by that,” Fred asked.

~~~~~~~~~~

April 5

“Connor,” Cordelia gasped. She looked up at the group, sans Angel of course, and nodded. “Yes, it was him. I saw him in my vision. He was…” tears pooled in her eyes, dropped down her cheek and she hastily wiped them away.

Hell, if she couldn’t have Angel this way, she needed another way. What better plan than to find his son and return him to Angel? Imagine the gratitude then. Or the son…well, vampire with a soul, son of a vampire with a soul…she’d have to look into those ramifications. Just in case.

“What about him?” Angel growled.

Startled, the gang looked up. They hadn’t noticed Angel’s descent, hadn’t been aware he’d even left his rooms. Hell, anymore they weren’t sure if he was in the building or not. Always out on his secret missions and what not.

“Cordy,” he growled, eyes flashing that strange gold-brown they always were anymore. “What about Connor?”

“I saw him, Angel. I saw Connor. He’s alive.” Again tears pooled in her eyes, and she smiled brilliantly at him. “I think I can find him. I think I know a way to bring him back.”

“Do it.” he commanded. Whirling, he grabbed his favorite sword. “Do whatever it takes to make this happen. I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“You know,” Gunn commented when Angel was gone. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“You mean the leaving once buttercup here told him of her vision of his son?” Lorne asked.

Gunn nodded. “Yeah, that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel stalked through the streets of LA. Searching, always searching. And every night, they ended up in the same place as before. In front of the Wolfram & Hart Building – LA Branch. Staring at it, knowing She was inside. Knowing there was no way they could get to Her.

Lilah had been less than cooperative since the information on Connor’s whereabouts, but that was okay. She’d be dead within the month whether or not Angel found Her. They were tired of the game, tired of jumping through hoops, tired of someone else pulling the strings.

Control, wasn’t that what it was all about?

They hadn’t told anyone else about their suspicions. Certainties. Their certainties that She was alive. Giles had visited for a couple days with Tara and Anya on their way out of the state. Or country. Possibly both. But they’d come to say goodbye, to ask after Spike. To share the news of Willow. To inform them Xander was still alive, but drinking. Heavily. And living in his parents’ basement again.

“Control,” they said to the night sky. “We’ll find You, Baby. Because finally, we have the control back.”

They watched Lilah walk into her car, waited until she’d started it before standing directly in front of her. Silent, predatory. Deadly.

“Jesus, Angel,” Lilah snapped. Her heart was racing, and it was clear she was more startled than she tried to let on.

“Where is She, Lilah?” they demanded. Smooth delivery, promise and pain.

“She?” Lilah hated this game. It was evident by her movements, by the lack of witty comeback she offered them.

“You know who. We know you brought Her back. Where is She? What did you do to Her? What are you planning to do to Her?”

“Look,” she shook her head. “I know you’re on this weird kick, pronoun-wise, and I know you’re not getting much support from the team, but really, Angel. You should know better than that.”

“We know,” they smiled, slow, charming, a charismatic look that would’ve made her do most anything. If she hadn’t been who she was and they hadn’t been who they were. “That you brought Her back. Ripped Her out of heaven. You give Her to us, and we promise to leave you alive.”

“It’s not worth my life,” she said softly, and put the car into gear.

“Are you certain about that?” But they moved out of the path of her car, knowing she’d run them over given half a chance. Not that it mattered. But they did have to be back to the hotel…maybe Connor would be there.

Could his son forgive them? For not doing more to rescue him, for leaving him in the hands of Holtz the lunatic. For looking for Her when they should’ve been looking for him. Would She forgive them? For abandoning the search for Connor to look for Her?

When they returned that morning, the lobby of the hotel was a disaster. They were tired and bloody, had fought countless demons and vampires in a vain effort to exorcize the pent-up rage within, and still hadn’t found anyone willing to take them into Wolfram & Hart’s sublevels. Tomorrow they’d find Lilah again. Tomorrow, at their wit’s end, they’d threaten, bribe, plead to know where She was.

Tomorrow they’d find Her.

“Well?” they demanded. “You find anything?” They were careful not to use pronouns, remembering both Spike’s words, and Giles admonishments on that.

Don’t give them what they expect. Never give them that. Once they have that, they have power over you. Control.

Try as they might, however, Angel couldn’t care one way or the other over it. Did they care what the others thought? No. Did they think that in explaining it’d make things better or worse? It didn’t matter, for in the end, She was all that did. Connor. Their family.

“We tried,” and Cordelia was crying. “God, Angel, I’m so sorry. We tried. I thought it would work! It was a vision from the Powers, and I thought,” she was screaming now, looking up at the ceiling as if she could see the powers from there. “It would work! But it didn’t, and God, I’m so sorry, Angel.”

Face revealing nothing, Angel nodded. “Thanks, Cordy. You tried. I…” they paused, the small seed of hope they’d refused to acknowledge during the long night crushed under the weight of their knowledge that the Powers hadn’t ever tried to help them. This was just one more sign of that.

He allowed her to hug him, returned it, even. “Thanks.”

Slowly making their way to their room, Angel ignored the gang’s looks, their whispered comments. What had made them think this time would be any different than the others? What had made them think this time the Powers would give them something?

Fool, we’re nothing but fools. That’s it. No more. Control is ours. Tomorrow, we’re getting Her out. And Connor, our dear boy…

Blinking back tears, Angel finished their thought aloud. “And Connor. We’ll find a way to get him back, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Angel didn’t have the chance to get Connor. Their boy found his own way back to them. He’d punched through the very fabric of time and space, crossing dimensions in an effort to return to his father.

“Hello dad,” he said, smiling. And then proceeded to fire a homemade crossbow at his father.

“Connor,” they whispered, and stood there, transfixed. The arrow came closer and closer, but they made no move to dodge its aim. Catching the bolt at the last minute, they noticed one last thing before Connor scowled, leapt out of the ruined sacred circle, and into the night.

Connor’s aim sucked.

“I’m going after him.” Angel announced, and left before anyone else could blink.

~~~~~~~~~~

She opened her eyes. Looked at Lilah. Yes, Lilah. That was her name. She remembered.

“…really losing it,” Lilah was saying. “He’s going nuts not being able to find his son. I can’t imagine…” she shrugged, looked up at Buffy, and started when she saw those dark green eyes looking back. “Well good morning, sunshine.”

“Angel,” Buffy said around the mouthpiece she wore. Breathed. She wore it to breathe. Yes, that was it.

“No, Connor,” Lilah corrected, smirked. Wondered if Buffy knew what she’d been talking about. Wondering if today was the day Angel decided to kill her for her part in his mate’s…ah, current situation.

“Connor. Angel. Yes…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Connor,” they said not twenty minutes later. It wasn’t hard to track their boy, his distinct scent led them directly to him.

“Dad. You’re my dad. Aren’t you?” Connor asked, looking wondering up at the looming vampire from her perch on the rooftop. “Heard about you. Evil. Vampire. Going to torture me? Going to strap me to the wall and kill me because I couldn’t kill you?”

“No,” they laughed, stopped when it seemed the sound frightened their son. “Ah, of course not. We,” Angel cleared his throat…all in the pronouns. “Um…I gave that up about the time I got my soul back.”

“Soul?” Connor asked, frowned at the word as if it was foreign. “You don’t have a soul. Vampires are soulless creatures who walk the night because they’re cursed from God’s light.”

“Did Holtz teach you that?” they demanded.

“My Father did,” Connor countered.

Something in his defiance gave them hope. Holtz may have tried to teach Connor to hate them, to revile everything they stood for, but that defiant snap couldn’t be beaten from their boy.

“And where is Holtz?” they wondered, trying to be solicitous. “He didn’t come back with you?”

“He died.” The words were flat, Connor’s pain obvious. “Several seasons ago.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s alive,” Buffy said, blinking. Focusing. She needed to focus. Why? Why did she need to focus? Angel. Connor. She had to find them. Who was Connor? She had to help. She had to. No, she needed to. She needed to help. She needed to get out, to save, to rescue, to…

“Connor?” Lilah asked, weary now. “Yes, he is. But he’s still in that awful dimension I told you about. We’re not ready to bring him back.”

“Back…he’s alive. They’re alive. Home. Angel…” Buffy frowned, wondered why her words didn’t make any sense to her when she was almost certain she was the one speaking them.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry,” Angel forced the words out though everything within them rebelled at the mere thought. Kill Holtz, torture him for taking their son. But no. They wouldn’t say that. Wouldn’t say or do anything that’d turn Connor against them.

“Why did you come back here?” they asked instead.

“To kill you.”

“Oh.” Not the reply they’d hoped for. Wished desperately for…there…She was there. What was that? The faint echo along his skin? It was Her, yes, they were sure of that.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Connor,” Buffy whispered, locking eyes with Lilah.

Tearing off the mask, jerking her arms away from the wires that clawed at her, Buffy punched the glass.

Despite the fact it was five inches thick and reinforced – humanly and magickally – Lilah took a step back. Buffy punched again, and spider cracks appeared. Lilah took another step back. This so wasn’t in the plan. Another punch. Another. Another.

And Buffy was free. With that, she punched her way into the elevator, up the top hatch, and climbed the two miles onto solid ground. She stood on the rooftop of the building, sirens and alarms wailing around her. Staring into the night. Scenting her mate.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why haven’t you?” They asked, standing to wander to the edge of the rooftop. If Connor truly wanted them dead, all he had to do was push. Chances were they’d survive the fall, but Connor could feel better about trying. Scenting the night air, they confirmed what they knew. Their boy was behind them…and their Mate was free. She was out and free. Coming home to them.

“Because…” Connor stood, walked to the edge to stand next to Angel. “Something stopped me.”

“Your aim,” they told their son. “It’s lousy.”

Laughing, then frowning at the sound, Connor admitted, “No, actually, it’s not.”

With that, he leapt off the roof, and Angel let him disappear into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shouts boomed behind her, and without turning she leapt off the roof, disappearing into the night.

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