There was a different feel to the air, but they didn’t bother to figure out that that feel was. Steadily carrying their son, Angel slowly climbed through the wreckage that was once the immaculate building of Wolfram & Hart. Passed bodies, some still twitching with the last denial of death; passed walls that were crumbling, offices that smoldered, and the unmistakable scent of the dead. Dead in the physical as well as the spiritual.
All the way up, they didn’t think. They already knew what they were going to do. It was simple, would take the least amount of time, and was only fitting.
Wolfram & Hart was going to be destroyed, Angel would see to that.
They didn’t know who the creature was who waited for them, but it was clear that he was. Waiting for them, that was. Angel spared the newbie a brief glance, not even deigning to sneer or growl at him, and continued his slow, steady pace to the front door.
Buffy. They had to find Buffy. Tell her…tell her what happened. She’d be devastated, just as they were, and somehow, that was a comfort. Sharing their grief, just…sharing. They needed her now, needed her there beside them. Her presence alone would do, but that wasn’t to be. Not yet. They needed to return to the hotel and fetch her…no. They weren’t going back there.
Not with their precious boy. They weren’t going to allow the vultures, the betrayers, to see their son. Not like this. Never again. This was his fault, Wesley’s. This was his doing.
They’d take Connor to the old apartment, where the family they’d dreamed of began, almost, truly, began. Bring Buffy there, bury Connor. And leave. Los Angeles was nothing now. The Beast was dead, Cordelia, or the demon who was Cordelia, gone. The sun…well, it either came back or it didn’t.
They just didn’t care any more.
“Mr. Angel,” the tall, well dressed man said from behind them. “I’m Mr. Hamilton, a representative for the Senior Partners.”
They stopped but didn’t turn.
“Wolfram & Hart has a proposition we’d like to make to you,” his well cultured voice continued, seeming uncaring that Angel certainly didn’t care. Hamilton expertly covered his rage and stayed motionless. “I’ve been authorized to offer you Wolfram & Hart,” he said, surprising them both with his bluntness and offer.
“As in the building?” they laughed, did turn now, and glanced around. “Already have some. And in much better condition than this.”
“As in everything,” Hamilton corrected. “Anything you need, right there,” he snapped his fingers. “All you have to do is know to ask for it.”
“Everything?” they murmured, curious, tired, and still without Her. They mourned, they hated, and if they could, they’d kill the bitch who again used their son.
But everything? What would we do with that? Bring Connor back? Difficult, but not impossible – Lilah brought Her back.
“Everything,” Hamilton confirmed. “You want your lover? You miss her, surely. Done. You want the demon gone? To finally be alone in the body that’s rightfully yours? We can do that, too. Power, money, cars? All yours.”
“You know what we want,” Angel said now, still holding Connor, eyes somber and steady on the human-looking male. But he wasn’t human, it was easy to tell. The power the taller man exuded, the scent, but it was his eyes, more than anything, that told them this man was no man.
“Ah, yes, the child.” Hamilton moved those large shoulders of his in what had to pass as a shrug for the creature. “Harder, but not impossible. He served his purpose well, don’t you think?”
He looked to where Connor lay, bloodied and broken in Angel’s arms. He was burned nearly beyond recognition, would have been if Cordelia had touched his face, just once. His body, thin and strong, was curled into itself, tight against Angel’s.
“Purpose?” they asked sharply. “What purpose would that be?”
Obviously not one to beat around the bush when it wasn’t needed, Hamilton told them straight out. “You really didn’t think two vampires could just have a child, did you?” he laughed. “Maybe you aren’t as smart as the Senior Partners thought you were. We created him, or created the means for you and Darla to have him. Cordelia needed to be stopped; it’s as simple as that.”
Angel narrowed their eyes, not letting their guard down for a moment. But they did gently lay Connor down, careful of their son’s charred skin. “Why her? What’d you do to her that went wrong?”
“Us?” another laugh. “Nothing. It wasn’t us, though that would’ve been something, don’t you agree? Using the seer of the Warrior who was to defend humanity in the End Days as the means to bring about those End of Days? I do so love irony, don’t you? No, this wasn’t us, no matter what you may think.”
“The visions,” they realized. “She was meant to lose the visions to Groo.”
“And now he catches up. Yes,” Hamilton agreed. “When Cordelia received the visions from dear departed Doyle – who wasn’t supposed to sacrifice himself, just so the record’s straight – it set into motion a series of events we worked millennia to prevent. Cordelia got the visions. Check. Vorcha Marks her – check. She’s now no longer Cordelia Chase, spoiled ex-rich girl from the Hellmouth. She’s now the human body to a goddess.”
“Let us guess,” Angel shook his head, chuckled at the interwoven connections, and, yes, the irony. “One of those Old Ones no one really knows the name of anymore. She was exiled or something very close to that, and this was the only way she could return. Yeah, we know this story.”
“You should – Glorificus had a similar one. Oh,” Hamilton shook his head. “But I guess you don’t know that story, seeing as you were too wrapped up in your own little Darla world to help your Mate, hmmm?”
“Be careful, Hamilton,” Angel warned with a growl. “You’re not as indestructible as you might think.”
“Skip it,” he said easily, but there was a hint of something in those words that said he believed them, absolutely. “To make a too long story short, she returns, using Cordelia’s body, mind, and willingness to be more than she was, takes over the world. And again, the irony of all that is that she does it through peace. Of course she’d eat the populace before they realized she was duping them – oh, and there was the small fact that in her natural form, she’s maggot covered. But that was more a product of poor preservation than anything else. Now Glory – she knew how to make a comeback.”
“So you brought Darla back to conceive Connor.” They nodded, arms hanging loosely at their sides, still and ready for the fight they knew was coming. “When she did, and sacrificed herself after his birth, it was one less thing for you to clean up, hmm?”
“Exactly,” Hamilton approved. “Connor was created and born for the sole purpose of killing Cordelia.”
“And now that he has…?”
“He’s completed his purpose,” Hamilton shrugged. “Still, we created him, we can bring him back.”
They wanted to know about Connor’s soul, whether it was at peace in heaven. They wanted to ask about where the Partners made Connor from, what, how. But didn’t.
“No. Whatever you offer us…no.”
“Now see? This us thing…it’s getting old.”
“Old?” They laughed, taking a measured step forward. “You don’t understand, but we didn’t expect you to. No big,” Angel shrugged. “She understands, and that’s all that matters.”
They smiled then, quick and evil, and leapt.
Hamilton didn’t anticipate that move, but probably should have. As it was, Angel got the first swing in. It wasn’t to be their last, but it was pretty damned close. Reeling back, more under the force of the angry vampire than the actual blow, Hamilton quickly regained his balance, and swung back. Hitting Angel with extraordinary force, he sent them flying along the lobby to crash into the elevator doors.
Walking leisurely across the floor, Hamilton smiled. Angel looked up, resisted shaking their head, and slowly stood. Okay, so maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as we thought. Good. It’s been a long time since we had a good fight.
Smiling, Angel jabbed Hamilton’s stomach, hard. It barely made an impact. “Damn,” they muttered. “Did that hurt at all?”
Hamilton shrugged, rolled his shoulders. “Little bit,” he smiled and grabbed Angel by the windpipe. “But it’s all part of the job. You know, I told them you wouldn’t go for it. Too much conscious, and all that crap. The girl, now that was inspired, if I do say so myself.”
“Lilah brought Buffy back under your orders,” they grunted around the hand slowly crushing their windpipe. Okay, so that hurt. This wasn’t going how they’d envisioned it. “Too bad we killed her before she could tell us that.”
“You really do have a thing with these pronouns,” Hamilton said, but he wasn’t at all amused. Tossing Angel across the room and straight into a column, he added, “It’s really annoying.”
Angel crumpled the column, hitting the opposite wall with a cracking thud.
“This isn’t working,” they mumbled, glancing at their beloved son to make sure he was still…untouched by this. Gingerly picking themself off the floor, they didn’t have time to regroup before Hamilton was there, rage marking his once placid face.
“Give him anything he wants, they said, so damned intent on having you on their side. We would’ve been fine without you, but so much expended – an awful lot of time and resources have been spent on you. Personally, I don’t understand their hard-on for you, but,” he shrugged and threw Angel across the lobby again, crashing into the company logo on the balcony.
“Fuck. That hurt.”
Walking upstairs toward Angel, he continued. “You’re gutter trash, and that’s where you should have stayed, drinking and whoring your way through an unremarkable life. But the fates stepped in and made you a vampire, with a soul, no less.” Hamilton clucked his tongue at that. “A champion. A damn hero of the damned people. Why do you keep fighting? There’s nothing in it for you anymore.”
Tossing Angel off the balcony, Hamilton gracefully dropped to the lobby to finish this. “People who don’t care about anything will never understand the people who do,” they said, rising from the floor, only to have Hamilton right there, pounding on them. Christ, this hurt. A punch, couldn’t they get in just one punch already?
“Yeah, but we won’t care,” he laughed. “Mr. Man of the people. Helping the helpless and all that crap. And yet, you still managed to fail everyone around you. Doyle. Cordelia. Your darling Buffy….”
He tossed Angel across the room again, denting the shiny elevator doors. He walked to the vampire, but Angel was already standing. Waiting.
“That’s always the problem with you people. Talk, talk, talk!” Angel shook their head, felt slightly dizzy, but remained standing. “The dumbest street-demon knows better. Everyone knows better. Never,” they punched Hamilton directly in the face. “Ever,” another punch, drawing blood. “MENTION HER NAME!”
The last punch sent Hamilton flying across the room in a gratifying reversal of rolls.
They took their time, though they could feel time ticking past. But it didn’t matter – Connor was already dead. Part of them was, too, and even though they had Her, had their Beloved back, that part wasn’t ever going to be healed.
“So what are you, hmm?” they asked, pulling Hamilton up and slamming their fist into his face. The crunch of bone echoed throughout the dead building. A waft of smoke drifted by, and they wondered where it’d come from. No matter – the entire building would be gone by the time they were done.
“A junior partner?” they shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll taste just the same.” Without warning, Angel sank their fangs into Hamilton’s neck, drawing deeply before the other man jerked his elbow back into their throat.
“Doesn’t matter,” they repeated. “You’re dead.”
The fight was quick after that, not that Hamilton didn’t put up a good fight, but Angel was furious. Wounded, angry, grieving, nothing could’ve stopped them, not even an apocalypse. When Hamilton’s broken neck sounded through the lobby, Angel was already moving away from his lifeless eyes.
They carried the body of their only child out of the burning building. Wolfram & Hart deserved nothing more, though they knew it was only a matter of time before the company was back to its former capacity. Evil was easy to find. Those who wanted to sell their souls for money or fame without thought to the future or the afterlife.
Fame and fortune…wasn’t that a song? They couldn’t remember, not with Connor’s body in their arms. Song, yes. It was from a Christmas show they’d watched with a baby Connor. He was too young to understand any of it, of course, but they wanted to make sure Connor understood, from even that young age, what Christmas was; the meaning She’d shown them one Christmas, years ago. The joy of giving, the meaning of it.
And now all that was left of Connor’s hopes and dreams was their memories. Their precious child was gone, killed destroying the evil he’d inadvertently brought into this world. He’d succeeded.
“You did good, son,” Angel whispered into the night air. “We’re so proud of you.”
It didn’t change the fact that Connor was dead.
“We know you’re there,” they growled, not stopping their pace. “We wondered when you’d show up. Always after everything’s over but the mop up, eh? Yes,” they continued, turning the corner they knew he was hiding behind. “That’s usually about when you stage an appearance. When you’re of absolutely no use to anyone at all.”
“Angel, Angel, Angel,” Whistler sighed, leaning against the brick wall. “What’s happened to you, man? This isn’t what we envisioned for one of our Warriors.”
Angel tilted his head, and Whistler wondered if listened to something only he could hear. And what that something was. “You don’t know?” He laughed, harsh, strained. Unsurprised. “Not much of a destiny demon are you, Whistler, if you aren’t aware of what’s happened.”
Carefully placing the body of the boy on the ground, Angel smoothed his hair off his face before walking toward him. The sinister, controlled rage surrounding him gave Whistler the chills. Not what he’d expected when he came to this fun corner of LA.
“Or what,” Angel continued, “Would happen when you showed us Buffy so long ago. No, let us guess. Always changing is the future. Yeah, we hear that excuse a lot.”
“Angel, we...”
But Angel continued talking over him. Whistler wasn’t surprised. The vampire looked like he lost what few marbles he had left. “You know, we can almost see your reasoning. Strategically speaking, it’s a tactic we, or the demon, has employed numerous times. Use what you have. Send a vampire to protect the slayer. After all, he’s a thing. Nothing more. Merely an expendable thing compared to a warrior for the light. Compared to Her. And stopping the Harvest and the Master? Eh,” he shrugged, a movement of those broad shoulders Whistler found he didn’t like at all.
“That was so much more important than a murdering fiend beyond redemption, wasn’t it. But then,” he continued and Whistler hated the menace in Angel’s voice, the hatred; the fear it caused him. Because Whistler was scared, definitely scared of what stood before him. What Angel was, had become.
The smirk he gave Whistler didn’t do one damn thing to dispel that fear. “What was to stop her from staking us after she done with us? Either way you’re covered.” He was within arm’s reach now, closer than Whistler would’ve liked even on a good night. This was far from such amiable circumstances.
And something about his posture made Whistler want to step back, but he forced himself to stand his ground. The worse thing to do with a vamp was to show fear; it just excited them. Besides, he reasoned to himself, quelling the instinctive fear at who he was dealing with. This is Angel, not Angelus; regardless of how he’s behaving, the soul wouldn’t think of harming a representative of the Powers.
Softer now and more menacing than the before, there was a note in his voice that almost had Whistler lean closer…almost...want…to…lean…in…and... “Who knew that she would see us as something other than a monster?”
Blinking to dispel the feeling, he shook his head looking Angel in the eye. “No. We couldn’t foresee that you two would fall in love.”
Another step closer, Whistler could see the hint of gold in his eyes. “See? That’s good; honesty. Not a lot of that going around lately.” His voice was heavy with the Irish, now, thick with a remembered childhood. With the threat of Angelus, and Whistler shivered. Compulsion. Not many vampires had it, Whistler, himself, only knew of maybe five in history – Dracula and Master Nest being two of those five.
And now Angel. Angel, who was so wrapped in his grief he stank with it. No, this wasn’t the same Angel. This was different. More dangerous.
“We admire that,” he continued. “I bet you were going to say you didn’t have a clue about the curse…” another shrug, the movement careless yet still threatening. “Angelus, as usual, called it; he said you would brazen it out. All balls, no brains.”
“Angel,” Whistler tried again, but Angel talked over him.
“But we’ve-”
Whistler interrupted, firm this time, gaze sharpening. “We?”
The laughed was a short sounding harsh word in Gaelic Whistler was sure he didn’t want to know the meaning of. “Surely you haven’t forgotten with me you get two for the price of one? Yes, we. See, we had a lot of time to think after She…” there was a pained pause here, and Whistler braced himself. “After Buffy...died. And things Angel was too gullible to see before…no,” he shook his head. “Truth t’was; the soul naer want t’see. Wanted so damn badly, needed so desperately, for someone oop there to give a damn and believe they wanted to see a vampire to ay-ern redemption-”
Angel – Angelus – they? Cut off abruptly and laughed coldly. The Irish was thicker now, and for reasons Whistler couldn’t begin to fathom, scared him further.
“Alas, as me demon pointed out, and more than once whilst we were tortured in hell with nary a thought from those almighty Powers. I was a foocking fool.”
“Angel, what is this all about? What does all this have to do with you falling off the path we set you on now? The Slayers death?” Whistler shrugged, as if to say we had nothing to do with it. “Blondie died tragically, yes, but you knew that when we sent you there in the first place. She was the slayer. Sooner probably than later, she’d die and another would be called. You love her? Fine. No one,” he stressed, earnest in his speech.
“No one is taking that from you. You will always have that to guide you. You could still be of enormous help to her legacy. Don’t let this unfortunate event, let her untimely death, your son’s sacrifice, take you from the path of redemption. Especially now that the witch’s meddling has made Buffy, in effect, the last Slayer.”
Angel looked up sharply then from where they’d watched their son’s body. Half listening to Whistler’s words, wondering if they’d been only a little sooner, if they’d known what Cordelia was up to, if…
“What,” they demanded with narrowed eyes, “Are you speaking of, daemoon?”
“Yes,” Whistler nodded triumphantly, crafty look in his beady little eyes. “That’s right, Angel.” He seemed pleased, almost proud of himself. “Now we have two immortal warriors for the side of good. Now nothing can stop you. Either of you.”
Kill him. Now. Kill him now.
In the silence of Whistler’s comment, of the bombshell he’d just dropped, Angel continued. Slowly, as if realization, full realization dawned with those last words. Laughing, they shook their head. “We would’ve bet you were going to say you didn’t know about the curse. But you did. You knew, and your so-called Powers risked it, more importantly, risked Her anyway. Hell…well, we blamed no one for Hell but ourself after tormenting Her all those months, after failing Her. We figured we deserved hell.”
Angel smirked. “But you foock ups still weren’t done screwing with Us were you? Knowing how badly Wolfram & Hart wanted Angelus loose you couldn’t fix the caerse hmm…?”
“It’s not our job to interfere.” Whistler stated virtuously.
Angel laughed coldly, a look settling on his face, in his eyes that should’ve tipped Whistler off. But he just watched the vampire, wary but supremely confident in his own worth. “Who are you kidding? We’re no’ that dazed rat-eating refuse anymore, little fool, so doona try and feed us the company line. You manipulated and interfered already when you took us to see Her.”
Relaxing now, rocking on the balls of his feet, Angel nodded. “Bet you fools creamed yon pants when ye realized what you had. Not only the soulled vampire, but the soulless one as weel. Obsessed and in love with the Slayer. You saw the potential readily enough, we’re betting, because now you had a fool willin’ ta do what aever was naeded to aern that redemption. For Her. Always dangling joost oout of raech o’course, baecause together wae’re stronger than apart. And the daemoon...”
The corner of Angel’s mouth curved into half smile. “And the demoon, waell, we now know he naer harm Her doon’t we? Because he found this world a much more intaerresting place with Her in it. Providing, of course, he doona take raejection too far, he was aeffectively and willingly chained to Her side.”
“You’ve changed,” Whistler said after a moment of silence. “And not for the better, my friend.”
Angel’s eyebrow lifted, another mocking smile. “Ye’re just now notin’ this? Noot very bright. We’re no’ yer friend, daemoon. Doona fool yaerself. We lost the oonly woman we loved playin’ by yer rules. Oour son is dead. If we gave a damn aboot what ye think of us, that angle might work, aye, as t’has in the past. But yae’re talking to a new animal all t’gaether. We’ve had months of being jerked around by one side or t’other. The days when one of your messenger boys show up, guilt us, emotionally blackmail us, are oover. If we wouldnae let Wolfram & Hart do it, ooffering us our haert’s desire, we damn weel are not goin’ to let you play us for a fool agaein.”
Whistler looked up at the fire, now billowing out of every floor, rapidly consuming the building. Sirens sounded in the distance, loud and wailing as they raced to the scene. Unprepared for the carnage that would face them. For the destruction a champion’s wrath left in its saddened wake. “And is this how she would-”
He got no further. Angel’s hand snaked out, wrapping tightly against his throat. Whistler’s words sputtered to an inelegant halt, and croaking noises issued forth instead.
“Uh- uh. Ye doona get to tell us what She would want or expect o’ us. Yer no’ fit to lick the shite from Her boots. We told you; yaer noot daelin with the Angel of oold.” The vampire leaned closer whispering into his ear. Sniffed the fragrant scent of fear rolling off Whistler, and the demon was helpless to control that fear.
“We’re no’ the traumatized sewer rat anymore. You see, we knew you’d show up as soon as you knew we’d realized She was alive. Thought yer so-called Powers coulda poolled us back in line by dangling yet another carrot in our face, eh? Weel, She’s immortal, hmm? Then that’s one less thing we have to correct.”
Whistler jerked back, trying to get out of Angel’s grip. The laugh echoed along the empty alleyway, only the dead body of the son witness. Never more than in that moment did demon and soul seem more united.
“We told ye wae’d plenty o’ time ta think. Angel was the ooltimate weapon, no? Undead, powerful, and aesy to manipulate with a guilt complex wider than a canal. Always dangling ta’ promise o’ redemption and mortality...a life. The life we wanted so badly wit’ Her. But oonly so long as we played yer game, eh? We’re betting yer bosses were mighty pissed when yon Mohra daemoon screwed up and made us human. Did ye ken She begged us no’ ta do it? O’course ye do. Human or daemoon She looved us, but aet least human we cooulda had a few months.”
Whistler garbled something to that, but Angel shrugged. “Hmm? We can no’ understand ye, but t’at’s okay. Yer input’s unimportant, anyway. Ye talk entirely to mooch as tis and say noothin’ ‘hat makes a haell of a lot of sense. Just nod if we’re close, aye? And remember we’ll ken if yer lying.” Whistler nodded, having little choice in the matter.
“Ah good boy. You and yer flunkies underestimated our bullshit tolerance though. That’s oolright you’re not aloone; many have underestimated Angel and sadly only at the end do they laearn the error in their thinking. We gave up our haeart’s desire for Her little mon, for our heart, and ye took Her life mere months later.”
The golden glow of their eyes shown brightly in the night. “Big mistake. You see, we may ha’ started helping oot of some sense of guilt, but continued baecause of Her. It’s foonny really; we should thank you. You and your powers with your manipulations of Her death, accomplished what nothing or no one could since the gypsies cursed us with the flimsiest, poorest excuse of a caerse we’ve yet seen. Soul and demon united as one entity; if we were the forgiving soort we’d let you live. As tis, we’re going ta rip your head ooff.”
The distant wail of sirens was closer now, and Whistler wondered why it’d taken so long for them to arrive. Wolfram & Hart was big, employed a lot of people, had money and power, and yet it’d been minutes since Angel started his diatribe. What was taking them so long? Of course, he figured when Angel dropped him, might be that until recently, there was 24/7 crime.
Whistler choked out, “What?! That’s not possible! But…but…that’s incredible.” He tried smiling through the pain in his throat. “Look, okay, let’s talk about this, Angel. This is an amazing development for our side. Imagine the good you can do. You’re pissed because she died; I can understand that. You’re going to kill me as a scapegoat because you can’t reach those your really angry at?”
Whistler shook his head, laughed. He wasn’t going to die. This wasn’t Angelus, as he’d thought those few moments there. “This is war. We all know we can go at any minute. You knew she could die at any time, and she did. Buffy was the fucking Slayer! If you thought becoming a vampire again bought her immortality your right...you are a fool!”
Pushing himself up, more confident now that Angel’s violent outburst was over, he continued. “There’re some things, despite all the power in the universe, that can’t be changed or flouted. Some things are just destined. This, bringing you to this point, united in one body a demon and soul working in concert for the Powers....”
Angel held up his hand. “Spare us. Despite the way we’ve acted the last couple o’ years, we’re no one’s patsy. We’re gooin’ t’ kill you because we can’t stand you. Never could. We’re gooing t’ kill you because you made a mistake. Fatal, as it turns out, for you. You used the woman we love to play us one time too many. But,” he smiled, “Fortunately this will be the last time. We think we can safely say between the message we’re sendin’ with Wolfram & Hart, and the one we’ll be sendin’ wit’ you, ye wee daemoon, will finish it. No one will mess with Her again.”
Another glance at their child, still and curled in the pale moonlight. “Once we realized and started thinking, the pattern was so foocking obvious. But we foocked up yer grand plan when we fell in love with Her, aye? Tied us to Her, hmm, total involvement, total commitment. Until Buffy again surprised us all. Always one to do the unexpected, She loved soul and daemoon totally, completely. Rebirthing Angelus.”
“Angel, let’s discuss this.” The sirens were growing steadily closer. And Angel was making less and less sense. Whistler was running out of time, he could sense it. “Look, Angel,” he ran his hands through his hair a little frantically. Not quite as he’d envisioned this conversation.
“Doona worry. We’ve time yet. Or,” Angel shrugged. “We do. You, however,” he shook his head. “Do not. I suppose I could go on as t’ the virtues of Her love, eh? But as ye’re no goin’ t’ live long enough to pass this wee bit o’ information oon, what’s the point, eh?”
“Angel-”
“We trust you and those manipulative bastards ye work for understand now, hmm? We’ve finished baeing your puppet.”
Whistler squatted down and grabbed his hat, putting it back on and staring solemnly at Angel. “Angel what do you want me to say? I’m sorry? I can’t. I won’t. You know as well as I that in a war we need every advantage we can. You want me to deny we’ve nudged and guided you when the situation merits?”
“No,” he laughed, “We don’t want you to do any o’ those things. What’s the word of a lying hypocrite worth? Less than noothing. Working for beings as hypocritical and ruthless as the so-called Darker Forces you claim to be better than sickens us. When you’re no different than the evil you fight, you’re no better than it either. It coomes down t’ choosing whether ye’r the player or played.”
Another glance at their son, longing and mournful. “Giving us Connor was inspired, but once again we became just a wee bit distracted, to complacent. Time for another reality adjustment. Time to once again remind Angel he’s destined to get foocked over repaeatedly until he stops letting others dictate his actions.”
Angel looked up, seeing the flashing lights in the distance, almost there. Ah, the cavalry had finally arrived.
“As we’ve no need of any extra incentive to kill you, and for the sake o’ time, we’ll be skipping Connor’s kidnapping, his manipulation by Cordelia and her own evil daemoon, that seduction, and what not.” Angel snapped his attention back to Whistler. “We’re goin’ t’ kill you, because you let Her die, then let those evil bastards at Wolfram & Hart take Her oot o’ heaven to use as a lever against us.”
Their hands tighten relentlessly on Whistler’s throat. “You crossed a line, intolerable to soul and daemoon, and we have mutually decided to end any further interaction between ourself and your Powers. Still, we’ll be granting ye one last wish, just so in those last moments of life, you can have the answers you crave so badly. Buffy may have started oot your warrior, but She became our wife and mate. The penalty for even thinking o’ foocking with a vampire’s mate is death. We’ve seen Her. We knew the moment She drew breath. That’s the benefit o’ havin’ a daemoon within has marked Her our mate.”
Whistler’s eyes widen and that and he gurgled some more in response.
“Aye, we know. Kind of robs ye wee visit of its punch, hmm? Where did they find you? You’re beyond pathetic.” His mouth quirked as if reluctantly amused. “Naer mind we’ll taeke care of that final problem for TaePaeTaeBae, too. Just like we ken the only reason ye’ve shown up is because you or your powers sense we’ve had enough. We’re finished.”
“I brought you in,” Whistler wheezed. “Put my own reputation on the line, believed in you...had faith…”
“No,” Angel mused calmly. “You arrived thinking t’ pull us back into line with the one thing guaranteed to work. The knowledge of Her being alive, immortal, and we might find her. But you’re a wee too slow; Wolfram & Hart already made us that generous offer.”
They jerked their head over their shoulder. “As you can see, we had to refuse them.” Angel’s jaw clenched angrily, “Aye, we had to insist, and painfully as it turns out. Needless to say, after Wolfram & Hart we knew you, or someone like you, wouldna be far behind. You, however, underestimated our connection to Buffy. So doona make it seem like your arrival and Willow’s incompetence is simply a matter of altruism.”
Whistler started to struggle in earnest now, unable to breathe.
“Aye,” Angel crooned. “Only now do ye truly understand how deep the shite is that you’re in. Angelus was quite descriptive in suggesting the means to your death. We will be somewhat merciful but not enough to spare your life.”
Lifting Whistler so the wee demon could look into eyes now glowing golden with pain and rage, Angel added.
“You broot us Buffy, and we’ve repaid you for this many a time over. Your death will be quick. However, we will not forgive or dismiss this latest insult. You will die, but this shouldna shock you, eh? As you said; you are prepared t’ die at any time so the fear you stink of, the rage and denial in your eyes, confuses us almost as much as it sickens us.”
Angel’s nails dug into Whistler’s neck, drawing lines of blood as Whistler continued to kick and claw at him…at them. “We woonder; did you think death was for everyone else in your wee war but you? Did ye think that this time would never come for ye because you are always safely in the background never having to put your commitment for the cause to the test? Or did ye think your status as emissary would keep ye immune an’ safely above ooll o’ta pain and bleeding that occurs in a war of this magnitude?”
The sirens screeched to a halt in front of the building, emergency personnel flooded the streets, swarming the building. “Will your Powers save ye now I wonder?” The blood, once a trickle, now flowed from the claws that Angel used to puncture Whistler’s neck. Still, Whistler flailed, his struggles weaker and weaker.
Just snap his neck already; he’s pathetic. We have more important things to do.
“No,” Angel murmured. “Not yet; we’ve one more thing that needs doing.” Slapping Whistler’s face, he demanded, “Can you hear us?” Nothing, so he slapped again. “Whistler!” Angel’s tone was insistent, and Whistler’s eyes roll open as he gasped, twitching helplessly as blood gurgled from his mouth. Forcing his vision to pierce the growing darkness of death, one more time he tried to appeal for some small mercy in the Power’s former warrior.
“Ang...”
Angel smiled gently, but his eyes held a cold indifference reminiscent of descriptions of Angelus. “If your Powers save you, give them a message. Effective immediately, we quit. If they don’, and ye go to Hell...” they smirked. “Then tell the denizens of the underworld, the fiends of fire and ice, to enjoy ye with the compliments of Angel.”
There was a snap, then, and before the wet squelch of his decapitated head landed on the concrete, before Whistler’s head stopped rolling, Angel had already picked up their precious child and disappeared into the night.
Feedback is always nice.
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