August 6

“Shh, Baby,” they whispered when extracting themself from her warm and comforting embrace without waking Her didn’t work. “Go back to sleep, Love.”

“Where are you going?” She asked groggily, rolling over to face them. Her eyes, heavy from the passion they’d shared, and weeks without sleep, stared up at them in the darkness of the room. Her lovely white hair spread across their pillow, stark brightness in the shadows.

She needed sleep, they could see. Sleep, food, and, maybe, sun. But She was a creature of the night, just as they, more so now. More than ever, they realized how much She walked in the darkness, beside them.

“We’re going to find Connor, Love. He wanted to see You again,” they smiled, stroked a hand down her face. “We told him to meet us at the old apartment, but,” they shrugged. “We came back here, instead. We want to get him.”

“I’ll come with,” She said, flinging the covers back to stand. Her body, pale in the darkness, shone like a beacon to them.

“No, Love,” they whispered, no less firm in denial for the gentleness of their voice. “Stay here. Please. We’ll go and be back. You need to sleep, Buffy.”

“Angel…” She sighed, sank back to the sheets. Nodded as if agreeing to what they hadn’t said. They wanted some time with their son. Alone, even though together, they were a family. They wanted these few moments, the return trip from across town, to be just them and Connor. To explain their plan, to see if their son was agreeable to leaving LA and all he never understood.

For the three (four?) of them to start fresh elsewhere.

“Be careful. Be fast.”

“We will be,” they promised, kissing Her briefly. “Love You.”

“And I you,” she murmured as they opened the heavy curtains and disappeared over the balcony. Into the night, where they both belonged.

Standing, naked in the cool night, Buffy wandered around the room. Connor wasn’t in the hotel; they’d realized that some time ago. But when he hadn’t returned, Angel grew worried. She could understand their concern, shared it, even, but wondered. Had he simply went to fight the creatures who flocked to Los Angeles more now than ever before? Or was he truly waiting in the burnt out apartment, waiting for the two of them?

The latter seemed more likely, though Buffy understood the restlessness that roiled around the insides to do something. Anything. Connor had that, too, the need to go out and fight. Not to sit and wait, useless in the dark.

She’d been the one to insist they return to the hotel, to see Connor, to plan how best to destroy the Beast. It was her fault they weren’t now together. But then Angel said they’d told Connor to wait a bit…so what happened?

Scared for Angel’s son, Buffy gathered the clothes Angel bought for her. Apparently, they’d been doing some shopping even as they’d tracked her. Instead of the filthy rags she’d worn for weeks now, Buffy put on silk and leather. The boots pinched her feet a little, but that was because they were new, and she wasn’t used to wearing confining footwear. Everything else fit perfectly, and she wasn’t surprised.

Pulling her hair back, she paused. Listened. Someone was coming. It wasn’t Connor, she knew that immediately. The feeling was unfamiliar, foreign, yet there somehow a faint familiarity that tingled in the back of her memory.

No one called through the door, but there was arguing, quiet and impatient.

Struggling to place the voice, Buffy debated opening the door. With obvious reluctance, she did so, compelled by something she didn’t understand to keep Angel’s privacy their own. If whomever was on the other side barged in, they’d see things Buffy knew her lover (lovers?) wanted to keep to themself. However. There was something in the voice overriding the nearly nonexistent protests that warned her against doing it.

Still, Buffy opened the door, staring at the quartet of people – three humans, one not – who stared back at her in shock.

“Uh,” the woman said, “You’re not Angelus.”

“No,” Buffy blinked. “Of course not. Who are you?”

“Buffy?”

“No, I’m Buffy,” she snapped, confused. Staring at the man who’d spoken her name, she tried to place his face.

Wesley. Watcher. Whiner. He was the one to kidnap Connor. Betrayer. Traitor.

“Wesley,” she snarled after several beats.

“Yes,” he nodded, and the angry, determined face he’d shown when she opened the door changed. Now it held a look of anticipation, joy, canniness, and she didn’t like that last. Not at all.

“Is it,” his eyes narrowed, a hand outstretched as if he expected it to go right through her. “Is it really you?” he took a step forward, trying to touch her.

Flinching back, Buffy retreated into the room. “Don’t touch me,” she said, voice strong and quiet, a thread of insecurity laced through it. Not because she was afraid of those before her, but because she didn’t want to hurt them.

Human. They were human; every instinct told her they were, well, three of them were, told her she couldn’t hurt them. She couldn’t harm humans. Knew that, understood that. Protected them from the creatures of the night. But these…these humans wanted to harm her, she could see it in Wesley’s eyes, scent it on him.

And they wanted Angel. Buffy didn’t know what they planned with him, but she wasn’t about to let them touch him. They stank of fear and secrets, the betrayal she’d originally associated only with Wesley now circling them all. What was it Connor said? They’d taken Angel’s soul, thinking they could…they didn’t understand the differences, the similarities between soul and demon.

“Who is she?” The green skinned demon asked.

“Buffy,” Wesley repeated. “She’s supposed to be dead.”

Again, Buffy flinched. Death. She was dead. She was and Lilah (hate her, kill her) brought her back. Kept her in a cage. Wanted her for…Buffy frowned. Why did Lilah want her? To get to Angel as they’d suggested? For something only Lilah knew?

“Well, she’s not dead,” the black man pointed out, though that was clear enough to see, Buffy thought. But he kept the crossbow steady on her. “But what is she?”

“I’m the slayer,” Buffy said, standing still and ready. She was going to leave, the moment they least expected it. But there was something she had to learn first. Why were they in Angel’s room? What did they expect to find? If they thought him Angelus, as Connor, and then Angel, had suggested, then what possible purpose could they have in entering his room?

“Maybe Angelus turned her?” the skinny woman suggested. “Is she a vampire?”

“No. No, that’d be nearly impossible,” Wesley assured them. “Slayers can’t be turned. Or, I’ve never heard of such an occurrence.”

“Considering your speculator lack of knowledge so far,” the black man snarled, “I’m not taking that chance.”

“Besides,” Wesley continued, shooting the other man a dirty look. “She hasn’t attacked us yet.” He eyed Buffy speculatively, then went on contemplatively. “There’ll have to be tests, of course. To see what she is now, how she returned from the dead.”

Tests? Another cage? Locked in the tank, trapped with only Lilah for company, taunting her, sticking needles in her, magick and tests…something stuck her. Protruded out from her. Dropping to her knees, Buffy shook her head to clear it.

They rushed forward, she heard them, knew they surrounded her. Forcing the drugs away, refusing to let them overwhelm her. She was nearly immune to them now, anyway, what with the amount Lilah injected her with. With whatever Lilah injected her with.

“She’s not out,” someone said, slow and distant.

Gritting her teeth, Buffy commanded her body to move. Move, damn it. Move out of their path. Away from them. They wanted to harm her, wanted to…tests. They wanted to do tests on her. She wouldn’t let them. But at the same time, she couldn’t hurt them. She couldn’t, the slayer within was against it, while at the same time agreeing with the woman.

Kill them all for harming her. Kill Wesley for taking Angel’s son.

Wesley tried to inject her with something else, to inject her again most likely to keep her docile while they ascertained who/what she really was. Ha. Right. She was Buffy, knew it felt it, wasn’t going to let them drug her. Not like…Giles. Not like Giles had so long ago. Not like Lilah.

Too bad for Wesley and his gang that her reflexes had surpassed even what Wes could have ever hoped to comprehend. Shaking everything off and coming awake in a second, Buffy shot one hand out, grabbing his neck. Halting him with that one move, she watched his eyes bulge for a moment, shocked and stilled, while her other hand slapped the needle away from her arm.

Shoving him away, she stood. The black man tried to apprehend her, rushed at her across the few feet that separated them. Trying, no doubt, to take her in such close range, and unawares.  He succeeded in tackling her around the waist, but Buffy was furious. These were Angel’s friends? These were the people she entrusted him with, however unintentionally, when he’d left her? These were the ones who didn’t understand him, who had no idea the line he walked, who he was, what he did. How he suffered.

There was someone missing. Wasn’t there? Cordelia…where was Cordelia? Wasn’t she a part of this group? Wasn’t she Angel’s ‘friend’?

Keeping one foot firmly planted on the ground, Buffy turned her body sideways, taking this man with her and tossing him to the side. He hit the wall with a crash, but gamely and gingerly tried to stand. No doubt thinking he had the advantage and could take her, no problem.

“Her reflexes are fantastic,” Wesley said, awed. He was loading the gun again, another tranquilizer dart ready to hit her. “Far above anything I’ve ever seen, or even heard of.”

“I don’t think that matters,” the woman said, standing slightly behind Wesley, next to the demon. “She’s pissed.”

“You stole Angel’s son,” Buffy snarled at Wesley, watching him steadily. “You think that’s easily forgiven?”

“Buffy,” Wes called out, stilling his motions with the tranq gun. He knew that if Angel ever learned what they’d done, this time he really would kill him. Granted, Angel hadn’t seen Buffy in years, but considering the fact the not-so-dead slayer was in Angel’s room, Wesley wasn’t sure what was going on.

Angel had obviously found her, but where? How? Buffy was changed, her hair was long and white, her eyes darker now, though that could be the dimness of the room.

Before Wesley could blink, she was before him, one hand around his neck, the other squeezing his arm, the one that fumbled with the gun. “Stay away from us,” she snarled. “All of us. And if I find out you had something to do with Connor…” the snap of breaking bone echoed eerily in a room that held its breath.

Watching her watch him as he clutched his broken arm, Buffy left. Backing away gracefully and quickly, she slipped over the side of the balcony and into perpetual night.

Racing to the windows, the four remaining members of the gang looked down. But she wasn’t there.

“Angelus isn’t here,” Lorne said needlessly. “Buffy’s alive…Connor and Cordelia are gone. You’re screwed, Wes, we all are, frankly. He’ll kill us all for this trespass, and that’s not even going near the multitude of thoughts I’m now having on what Angelus will do if he finds us first. This gang is fallin’ apart at the worst possible time.”

He shook his head, repressed a shiver, and went to help Gunn stand without benefit of the wall. Wesley still kneeled in the center of the floor, face white with pain, clutching his broken arm to his middle and rocking back and forth slightly.

“Let’s face it; right now we need Angel a helluva lot more than he needs us, and,” he sighed, “We won’t even have that when, or if, we get him back and he learns of this latest folly. We stole his soul in a useless act of futility that accomplished nothing. We’ve attacked his girl, and the Slayer’s someone we probably could have gotten to help us if we’d handled this fiasco differently. But now she sees us as the enemy. Is there anything you touch my little puffin, that doesn’t turn to doggie doo?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Connor wasn’t at the old apartment. Frowning, Angel sniffed the air, trying to pick up their son’s scent. But it was old, fading in the grimy air.

He’s not in the hotel, not here. Haven’t heard anything on the street. Is he injured?

Panic speared through them at the thought, but they remained calm. Or as calm as they could, considering they couldn’t find their son. In fact, now that they thought on it, there was a lot that didn’t make any sense.

The streets were quieter, not a lot, but noticeable to them. Magick hung heavy in the air, but that could’ve been a side effect of the lack of sun. Had Wolfram & Hart found Connor? Somehow captured him? Intending to use him to get to them? As they’d tried with Buffy. Buffy.

Leaping to the rooftops, they raced across town. They needed to get back to Her. See She was still safe, then the two of them could look for Connor, if Wolfram & Hart did, indeed have him. And Angel couldn’t think of anyone else who would.

Turning mid-leap, Angel skidded to a halt the second they landed, scenting the night air. Connor. Wolfram & Hart did have their son.

Changing directions, though their heart gave a lurch at doing so, they headed for the law firm’s building. To exact the revenge they’d waited so long to take.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wolfram & Hart, LA Branch, was not having a good day. Definitely none of those inside the building were, and considering there were something like 600 people in that building, that was saying quite a bit.

Half of those employees who’d bothered to show up today were dead. There was a rumor that even those on vacation or out sick were as well, but those remaining employees couldn’t be bothered to care. Nope, they had more important things to worry about. Like their own lives.

The Nexus was just a glimmer at the moment, small as it struggled to open, hungry for more. The remaining employees watched from the corner of the room, cowering behind each other as best they could, not to be the one closest to the growing opening that yawned and grasped.

“Ah,” she smiled, looking at her sacrifices. “Who’s next, then?”

She sent a sly, sidelong glance toward her lover, watched him smile back at her, the large rock of him moving heavy and hard as he nodded. The thunder of his footsteps could barely be heard over the soundless noise of the opening, swirling hole in the ground. Grabbing random people, one in each huge, lava hand, he moved back to the hole. Tossing them in without a glance, he returned to her side.

Cordelia raised a hand to his face, the contours of it giving new meaning to the word rugged. She caressed him then, hoping with everything in her that once she reclaimed her rightful place in this world, her rightful powers, if not the form she was once used to, she could return him to his own. The tall, handsome creature who worshipped her with hands and mouth. Who led her armies, and who killed in her name.

“Darling,” she murmured, feeling the pull of the power contained, barely contained in this tiny room. “How’s the boy?”

Without even a dismissive glance at Connor, unconscious against the wall, hands and feet tied just in case, he looked back at her. “He lives, my love,” the voice rumbled. “Why do you wish it?”

“I’m yet not sure my transformation is complete. I needed the love of a champion, the blood of a warrior. Until I know for sure,” Cordelia smiled, the strange golden glow around her flashing and shimmering. “He stays alive.”

The Beast frowned, or as much as he could, and nodded. Moving back to the slowly widening hole in the floor, he went to chose two more sacrifices.

~~~~~~~~~~

Connor was not unconscious. In fact, he hadn’t been since entering the room, wherever it was. No, he was planning. Angel always said he didn’t plan enough, just rushed right in and fought. Well, this time he was planning.

It was not, however, going very well. The planning part. He couldn’t think, what with the noise of the growing thing in the floor, whatever that was. His body hurt, ached as if battered by one of the cars that clogged the LA streets. Inside and out, he felt used, worn. Tender. And as if he was forgetting something.

Buffy. Stiffening at the thought, Connor resumed his attempts to free himself from the knots on the rope. While they weren’t expertly done, there were enough of them to make freeing himself…difficult.

At least she wasn’t there. With any luck, though certainly not his, she would be with his father. Angel…please God, don’t let his father come looking for him. A part of him, however, desperately wished Angel was there. There to save him from whatever was happening; there to rescue him, though even as he thought it, Connor repulsed from the word ‘rescue’.  Still, a little fatherly help would be appreciated.

Ah…there it was. The knot slipped free and the rope fell from his wrists. It did not, however, help with the fact that he had no weapons. Sitting still, listening past the throbbing in his head, he tried to understand what was happening.

And then, all at once, understood.

The fog cleared, his eyes sharpened to a narrow gaze. Everything rushed back to him, though with the feel of a dream. Cordelia, though he wasn’t entirely certain it had been her, not the her he remembered, at least. Cordelia had seduced him. And later, as they lay on his bed, him curled around her and breathing deeply of the passion they’d shared, he could smell it.

Not the passion, not the lust that streaked through him when Cordelia sat next to him, that spiked when he leaned over to kiss her. Magick. It hung heavy in the air, thick and pungent. Now, thinking on it, he knew what happened.

Cordelia used magick to gain his…what? Trust? His passion? Connor didn’t know, couldn’t really understand why she’d done it, only that she had. She’d used magick to use him. To get whatever it was she wanted from their joining.

And now, with the Beast they’d tried to kill for weeks tossing innocents – or not so innocent considering Connor clearly remembered entering Wolfram & Hart – into the silvery pit in the center of the floor, he only knew that he had to stop them. The Beast and Cordelia, whatever she was now. Or was before and no one noticed?

Another question he didn’t have an answer to.

Looking at her in the strange light, her odd golden-white glow clashing with the silver light coming from the hole in the ground, he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. He’d heard what they’d discussed, quiet as they’d been.

She meant to take over the world. The Beast at her side, reclaiming her place as a goddess, the ancient kind he’d read about in his father’s, in Angel’s, books. And he, somehow, had done it.

Damn. How that happened, Connor wasn’t sure, didn’t have the faintest idea how he had managed that. But he had. And now he had to stop it. Stop her. He had to kill Cordelia. The problem wasn’t her, or at least not really. He had to kill the Beast, first. And considering he hadn’t much luck before…

The Nexus. Would pushing the Beast into the Nexus kill him? Would it open the thing further? Would it do whatever it was supposed to be doing faster if the Beast was in it? Or would it spew it out, vomiting that which opened it?

Connor had no idea. Couldn’t even begin to guess. But it was his only choice, there was no other plan. So then what about Cordelia? How could he kill her? Weapons were scarce. Actually, they were nonexistent.

Break her neck? Well, he could. Now that his mind was cleared of whatever magick she’d used on him, he could. If he could get close enough. If he could kill the Beast first then turn on her before she used whatever was within her, whatever powers she held to kill him.

It was still the only plan he had. Wasn’t that pathetic.

But he didn’t attack, not yet. First, he prayed. Bowing his head, he repeated the Latin his Father – Daniel – had taught him. PATER noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen. Our Father…

Lord, please watch over of thy servant, Daniel Holtz. Father though he wasn’t, protector and teacher. Please forgive him his sins, and may he rest in peace.

Lord, please watch over Her…over Buffy. May she never know the horrors of what Lilah did to her, may she find peace in Angel’s arms. May she love and laugh and live happily for eternity.

Lord, please watch over Him…over Angel, my da. May he forgive me what I’m about to do, may he stay safe in Buffy’s arms. May he forgive himself for things he’d not been responsible for, for the past, and for this. This wasn’t his fault; this wasn’t anyone’s fault except Cordelia’s. Watch over him, protect his fragile soul, the bond soul and demon forged, and keep him safe with her.

Lord, please watch over me. I’m terrified. Not that I’ll die, but that I’ll lose. That I won’t be able to kill Cordelia, the demoness. That the Beast will survive and continue to murder, to open the pit in the floor. Lord, please help me through these next minutes, the last minutes, most likely, of my life; let me fight with bravery and courage. Let me do my fathers proud. Please help me to stop this evil. Even if I don’t see Buffy or Angel again, please keep them safe should I fail. Let them know how much I love them. Both of them.

Swallowing once, satisfied with his prayers, he sprung. Leaping up, he rushed forward, hoping speed and surprise were on his side. His legs felt a little weak, trembling from something he didn’t understand. But it worked.

He raced forward, knocking into the rocky structure that was the Beast, and apparently Cordelia’s lover, in a hard blow that knocked him off even his large and lumpy feet. Connor hissed in pain as stars exploded behind his eyes and blossomed along his skull. Fuck, that hurt.

But it was enough. Or enough to unbalance the creature and allow Connor to use all the strength in him to push. Half blind from the pain, one arm tingling from shoulder to fingertips from the blow to the Beast, he watched in the stunned silence that followed his attack. The Beast wobbled, a look of complete surprise on his molten face, and fell backwards, into the still growing hole.

The silver shook, surged and eddied in a strange kind of dance, but didn’t spit Lava-boy back up. A faint shrill scream sounded from the pit, echoed an instant later by one next to him.

Cordelia was pissed. One hand gripped his throat, pulling Connor several inches off the floor. Considering she wasn’t really taller than he, he wasn’t sure how she’d done that. It wasn’t, however, important. The fact he couldn’t breathe, now that was.

“You stupid little shit,” she hissed, eyes glowing black, the golden light surrounding her now a bright white. The white wasn’t pure, not like he expected it to be, but it was bright. “You think you ruined everything? You don’t know how wrong you are, little boy. ! I’m queen of this pathetic hellhole; I’m the goddess who will rule! The Nexus will open up and bring forth my worshipers. This world will never realize what happened.”

“You still like hearing yourself talk,” he croaked, but stayed very still. He doubted he’d have a second chance at this, and wanted to make sure it counted. Her grip was strong, so his move would have to be fast, one clean sweep. Break her hold, shove her in, hope he didn’t follow.

That was when a tentacle struck him. It was so out of place, so odd, he could only blink at Cordelia. Yes, she was still Cordelia, so where had the tentacle come from?

It wrapped around his arm, burning away flesh and muscle. Connor tried to scream, but no sound emerged. All he saw were black spots, all he smelled was the searing of his own flesh, and all he felt was pain.

“You think you could stop me?” Cordelia demanded, short hair blowing in the wind that mysteriously kicked up behind her. Moving his eyes faster than even she could tell, he noticed the crater well up, wave-like, before subsiding once more, level with the floor.

Was that a good sign?

But then another tentacle wrapped around his other arm, and one on his leg, and the burning pain once more flooded his senses.

“I am the goddess of devotion,” she hissed, “Meant to bring this world to salvation through me. I am older than even those who walk this earth, older than time. You can’t kill me,” she gloated, and Connor just really wanted her to stop talking. Not that he could make sense of everything, only every other word or so, but still…her babbling on wasn’t helping.

“Cordelia welcomed me into her body, into her soul because she wanted to be more. She didn’t know what she was doing, but once she realized, I had control. My devoted servant saw to that, saw to this body as my vessel.”

Again the tentacle wrapped around him, searing his belly in hot pain.

“And you, my dear Connor,” she smiled, and for an instant Connor saw not Cordelia’s beautiful face, but the mask of evil. He wished he understood more of what she was saying, because he had a feeling, especially with her last words, that it was worse than he’d thought.

“Are going to bring that about for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel found little resistance, but those few who were wandering the floors he scoured, trying to find their son, died soon after meeting the vampire.

They were drawn further and further into the depths of the building. When the elevator would take them no further, they found a stairway that would. When that led no further, but they could still scent Connor in the air, deeper below them, the punched through the ground.

But stopped when they discovered the room She’d been held in. Her scent was still vivid here, primal and calling. Lilah’s was, too, but that hardly mattered. The lawyer was dead, and wouldn’t be bothering them or Her again. And if, through some means they had no doubt Wolfram & Hart possessed, was brought back, well…they had no problems killing her again. And again, if need be.

They tore apart the room, destroying what was left of the glass tank She’d been held in, ripping wires from walls and smashing computers. Spell books were ripped to shreds, dropped to smear in the thick gel that still coated the floor. The destruction of the room didn’t ease their rage, their blinding hatred for what was done to Her, but it did focus them.

Connor first. He was in danger. Then Buffy. She was safe in the hotel, though probably worried for both them and Connor. They should’ve let Her know what was happening yes, stopped by to tell Her, to take Her with them, but Connor was in danger. They’d needed to save their son. And they would. And then they’d start that family they wanted, far away from Los Angeles.

Eyes yellow, a constant growl hissing past snarling lips, Angel left the room. Stopped, turned back, and searched for something. There, how convenient. If Lilah knew one of her minions smoked in this room by her precious ‘experiment’, she’d have had the being killed. Actually, she probably had known, and probably had ordered his death. Unimportant.

In one of the drawers in a desk that lined the wall opposite the tank, a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches lay. Quickly, with steady hands, Angel lighted a cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a hurried breath, and set fire to the pile of printouts that lay on the floor. Igniting several pages of the spell books that also littered the floor, they watched a moment to make sure the fire caught and spread.

Turning sharply on their heel, they continued their search downward, to where Connor was.

~~~~~~~~~~

Most of his skin was gone. Some part of his brain, not bursting with pain and trying desperately to block it all out, knew that this was it. He was dead, knew it, accepted it, but wasn’t about to go down without taking the bitch with him.

Connor wasn’t sure how, not at the moment at least, she’d used him, but remembered that she had. Cordelia, who wasn’t really Cordelia, was evil. A monster to be slayed, one less creature from the earth.

She was still talking, spewing threats and promises – something about bringing him back to do all this to him again – but he barely heard her. Forcing the pain from his mind, knowing he didn’t have the time to dwell in it, Connor opened his eyes. His face wasn’t touched, she’d done that on purpose he supposed. He could hear and see and smell everything she was doing.

He could also see the hole behind her. Her nexus. Was it growing smaller? Or was his vision constricting? Eh, either way, this was it.

Taking one last deep breath, choking on the ash of burnt skin that wafted up to him, Connor grinned. It hurt, but he did it.

“Never torture someone over a pit to hell,” he said, waiting until the tentacle, or maybe tentacles, was off him and waving around her in a strange flapping motion. His hands were all but useless, but Connor brought them up in one move, broke Cordelia’s wrist, and kicked back.

She screamed, stumbled, the nexus lapping at her as if she was a tasty treat, but didn’t go into the pit. Well, damn. Wasn’t that typical. Crawling to where she struggled against the current trying to devour her, Connor pushed. And went in with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel burst through the doors. They didn’t care how far down they were, where they were, or what was going on. The bowels of the earth encased them, the pungent scent of growth and death the cycle of life, even so far down here where no one dared to tread. No one but Angel…

“Rot in the hell that spawned you, bitch,” Connor hissed, pushing Cordelia into a silver-looking pit in the center of the floor. Perhaps a hundred humans stood in a corner, cowering and whimpering, but making no move to help their son.

When Connor pushed, he went with her, and Angel leapt after him, catching their boy around burned ankles. Terrified, they pulled, managing to bring him free of the pit just as it gave a strange yell, a banshee shriek, swelled upward in a bubble of sound, and closed.

Holding Connor close, rocking the boy against their chest, Angel crooned soft words to their child. Their beautiful child, burnt and broken, but brave, God he was so brave.

“Da?” Connor choked, blinking up at them. “Knew you’d come, always to the rescue.”

“What else would we do?” They tried to laugh, but no sound emerged.

“Tell Buffy I’m sorry, and that I wish we had that chance at being a family.”

Denial sprung to their lips, and they wanted to say that Connor would get to tell Her anything he wanted to himself. That their beautiful son was going to be fine, and that they’d have that life they wanted. Only began to dream of.

Nothing came out like that. Instead, Angel nodded. “She loves you,” the whispered, smoothing hair off Connor’s forehead.

He smiled, but didn’t reply. His breathing was a wheeze in his skinny chest, rattling his ribs. His heart stuttered, slowing even as they prayed everything they could think of to anyone they remembered.

“Were you proud of me?” Connor asked, voice faint, eyes unfocused.

“Aye, son,” they nodded. “We’ve always been proud of you.”

“I’m glad,” his eyes drifted shut. “I’m glad I knew you. I’m glad you’re my father.”

“Love you, lad,” Angel whispered, just as Connor’s last breath rattled in his burnt and caved chest.

For a long moment, there was silence in the room. Then Angel let out a cry of defeat, their loss overwhelming them, bellowing their grief to the heavens. Roaring their anger at those who had brought their precious child into this world and forced him out of it with one careless sweep of the hand.

Long moments passed, and still they cried out. Slowly, they stopped, tears wetting their face, their heart feeling as if it, too, had caved in just as their precious boy’s had. Placing a gentle kiss to Connor’s forehead, rubbing their cheek against his, feeling, one last time, the softness of their son’s skin, they stood.

Picking Connor up, Angel walked out the way they’d come. Leaving those humans still trembling in the corner to their own devices.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia, or the demoness who wanted to bring peace to earth, rule through that, and feed her content on the masses so blinded by her ‘love’, screamed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. No, not after years of hard work, cultivating Cordelia, her mind, soul, and body for this, her eventual release.

True, she couldn’t be reborn, not as she’d wanted in a new body, but Cordelia’s was just as well. It was, after all, human. And, most importantly…hers.

She screamed again. And again and again and again.

Fire wrapped around her, hot yet not burning as it dragged her further down. Down…into what was once her home. She’d escaped only with the help of several loyal acolytes on earth, Vorcha among them…her most true and that damn bastard vampire, may Satan engulf his soul, killed him.

Then she was standing before the crowd. Well, then, this was it, was it? This was how she was to end. Defiant, she raised her head, staring haughtily out at the masses silent with anticipation for her blood.

“You broke the rules,” a voice said smoothly beside her, and Cordelia turned her head slightly to see her longtime nemesis. The smooth features of her black skin gleamed with laughter, mockingly displayed on somber features.

“And now,” the woman’s voice raised, but Cordelia refused to give into the fear that clawed at her belly. She knew the price for betrayal. For failure to truly escape this.

“Your punishment will begin.”

And so it did. With one last look at the sky, from where she’d fallen not moments ago, the sky that once held her salvation, Cordelia waited. The human Cordelia, now so intricately entwined with the demoness as to be undistinguishable, wanted to scream. Flee, beg them for one more chance.

Neither human nor demoness did. Instead, they waited for their eternity of torture to begin. And those before her were only too happy to provide just that.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hamilton stood alone in the ruins of the once magnificent building. Small fires smoked in small conflagrations throughout the floors; the acrid of the smoke reached him, and he wrinkled his nose, jerking his suit jacket down with an impatient yank.

This wasn’t how he’d planned on spending his evening. Not when he’d just gotten his lover back. A little worse for wear, but still the same Lilah he remembered. The fires of Hell burned brightly, even for a servant of Wolfram & Hart – but those burns would heal.

The elevator dinged on his level, and he waited. He had his instructions, knew what he had to do. Even enjoyed it, to an extent. Doubted very much it would work. Still Angel didn’t have Buffy. If he had, she’d have been with him. From everything Lilah said, and everything Hamilton read, that was the one thing that stuck with the pesky vampire.

He wouldn’t let the slayer out of his sight.

That was only part of the offer. The slayer. The boy, dead surely, but having accomplished what he was created for, what he was born to do. Destroy the evil that inhabited Cordelia, prevent the world from being overrun by ancient demons better left to the pits of hell to which they were consigned. It was truly Connor’s only purpose in this life, but hey. If Angel wanted him back, so be it.

Wolfram & Hart. It was his. Providing he used it in accordance to the terms set forth in the contract Hamilton had neatly folded in his inner pocket. Money, power, anything the vampire wanted. Hell, if he wanted to help people still, that was fine. If he wanted his little team back, done. If he wanted the betrayer dead that, too, could be arranged.

And so, the Last Temptation of Angel began…

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