October 3

The sun had already set as the pair of vampires walked into the maximum-security prison that held the only other living slayer. How even that facility expected to keep Faith was laughable; but she’d promised Angel – back when he cared – that she wouldn’t escape, that she’d follow the rules, and that she’d do her time.

“Angel,” Faith said surprised at her late visitor. He’d only come to see her a few times last year, and then the visits stopped; she’d figured it was something apocalyptic keeping him away, but then time had stretched into months, and now nearly a year, and Faith lost hope.

If the one person to believe in her never visited her, then why was she still in this pathetic excuse for a prison?

He looked bad, she noticed, drawn and haggard, depressed even. And he’d brought a friend. Narrowing her eyes, Faith tried to place him. Oh, she knew he was a vampire, her senses were going wild, but…why was he with Angel?

“Spike, isn’t it?”

“Right on, cutie,” he nodded, bright blue eyes dull with the same pain Angel carried.

“Buffy…” Angel swallowed at the name, tried again, couldn’t repeat it. Closing his eyes, he finished almost too softly for Faith to hear, “She’s dead.”

“I know,” Faith whispered across the phone, though neither needed the technology what with their preternatural senses, it was more a formality for the watching guards than anything else. “I had a dream…is that why you haven’t visited?”

He nodded, and Faith understood. Angel still loved Buffy with everything in him; Riley, that loser human she’d screwed in Buffy’s body, didn’t matter, neither did the fact that Angel helped Faith repent for those multitude of sins, and he’d fought with B over just that.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Dawn’s dead,” he whispered, pain clear in his voice. “And Sunnydale needs a slayer,” Spike said, taking the phone from Angel. Why the guards let the both of them in, he didn’t know, but was sure it wasn’t normal procedure. But then the poof often had connections. Or maybe he had that freaky mind control thing Dru did…that’d be cool. “You’re it, cutie.”

Faith smirked. “And you’re here to recruit me?” Spike nodded as Angel stood, walking away from the booth. Faith followed his progress, almost felt the pain he couldn’t hide, and nodded. “Stand back.”

Hanging up the phone, Spike went to stand with Angel, near the third story window of the prison. It was a far drop, but one made of glass and metal – not a wooden stake to be found. They’d all survive.

He watched as Faith backed up, took a short running start, ignored the guards who shouted at her, and crashed through the security window. The three of them then jumped out the outside window, and fell to the parking lot below, destroying the car unlucky enough to be parked right there.

Alarms already blared in warning as they stood, dusted themselves off, and raced to Angel’s GTX. They sped out of the parking lot, through the gates that were already closing, and onto the street.

“What a rush,” Faith laughed, shaking bits of glass out of her hair. Her arm was a little stiff from where she’d crashed through two windows, but it was nice to see some action again.

She hadn’t bothered to fight since her first week here, when the other, so-called tougher, women wanted to make her their slave. She’d spent more time in solitary that month – it was probably a record – but word spread quickly. Don’t fuck with Faith.

She lapsed into silence as Angel sped towards Sunnydale. Oh, she had questions, more than she wanted, but she wasn’t going to ask them. Angel wore his grief around him like a cloak, and Faith was sure no one could ever penetrate that shield. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, either…there was no telling what lay beneath.

When they’d passed the Welcome to Sunnydale sign, some four hours later, she had to speak up. “We’re not going to B’s?”

“No,” Angel said shortly, bypassing the turnoff to Revello Drive as quickly as he could. “You’re staying in the mansion with Spike.”

“And you?” Faith asked, “Where are you going?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel went to the graveyard.

He didn’t go patrolling, or see the sights of his once hometown. He went to the far corner where his Beloved was buried, under the tree where they’d once planned their future. They’d had a picnic that night, fruits and cheeses, all healthy things for his Slayer. He brought only a single rose, tonight, red tipped white, its bloom full and open. Desperate to feel Her once more, even if She was…

Kneeling before the grave, he placed the rose next to the stone, not bothering to read those few words that said nothing about Buffy Summers. What could they say? That She was missed, She was, God She was. Missed with a depth of loss Angel/Angelus hadn’t felt ever. She was missed, yes, so very much.

“I love You,” he whispered, tracing the ground with his fingertips, staring hard at the green grass, the fresh earth that hid Her. Something was wrong, off…“Where are You?” he suddenly demanded, stilling. All grief disappeared, replaced by a rage so deep he hadn’t a hope of controlling it.

She was gone.

“No,” he whispered, unable to believe it. “No!” he screamed. There was no way someone would dare to take Her. Not Her, not his Love. Angelus raged within him, of equal mind of the soul.

Who dared do this?

They ripped into the earth, literally tearing into the ground – they had to find Her, they had to see. They needed to see the proof with their own eyes. Her coffin was empty.

Cold, hard, icy fury gripped him then. Where was She? Where was She?

She wasn’t there.

This, this ignobility of Her body’s disappearance on top of Dawn’s senseless death, was one too many. Who took Her? The ground had been undisturbed when he’d arrived; the grass was green and flat, neatly tended. No one had touched Her grave. Magick. Someone had taken Her body for magickal reasons. Why?

Someone was going to pay for this, and painfully.

Frantic, they reached out for Her, desperate to find Her, to feel Her, to…but She wasn’t there. The link that normally bonded Her to them was absent.

She wasn’t there.

There was no faint presence of Her beneath the surface of the grave; no distant pulsing that said the one being that mattered in his life was there. She wasn’t buried beneath the surface of the ground where they’d held each other, professing their love for one another.

She was not there. Someone had taken Her body. Someone had stolen Her from her grave, from Her eternal rest.

Roaring, Angel stood, stalked back to his car, and headed for Willy’s. Bursting into the bar, he took a moment to look around at the crowd of demons; the place was packed, but that was hardly unusual. It normally was; demons who frequented Willy’s tended to stay out of trouble, while those who walked the streets of Sunnydale often found themselves at the pointy end of a stake.

Without speaking, he grabbed the nearest demon, a hapless vampire who was playing poker with some friends, and twisted his head off, ignoring the dust as the dusted vampire’s friends rose to his defense. In less than a minute, all five were dust, and the bar was dead silent.

Warily, Willy looked at the demon before him. He hadn’t heard that Angel lost his soul and Angelus returned…and he wasn’t sure how that was possible, either. The slayer was gone, and frankly, Willy was surprised that Angel wasn’t as well.

“Where is She?”

Silence. “Angel, man,” Willy called, nervously, eyeing the piles of dust that now littered his floor. Ah, well, it wasn’t the first time. “What are you talking about?”

“The Slayer. It should come,” he continued smoothly, lethal grace walking further into the dimly lit bar. “As no surprise that She’s dead. I saw more than a few of you at Her funeral. Don’t think that because She’s gone you have free run of the town – Faith’s back.”

A predatory smile, “And I know most of you remember her last visit to the Hellmouth.”

Several demons, and a few unlucky vampires who managed to survive the former mayor’s aborted ascension a few years ago, shuddered. They remembered.

“Now where is She?”

“Angel,” Willy tried again, “Who are you talking about?”

“Buffy Summers, slayer,” and saying the name aloud, hearing it voiced, tore something deep within him. “Where-is-Her-body?”

Protests erupted at once, those who vehemently insisted on their innocence, and those – the louder of the group – who decried her grave being robbed. They may not have held any love for the slayer, but they respected her. She was the top of the food chain, the Alpha, and everyone knew it.

“Quiet!” he roared, instantly silencing the room.  “If anyone, and I mean anyone,” his eyes swept the room once more. “Hears anything, I expect you to contact me.”

“Yes, of course,” Willy voiced what they all agreed to do.

“If I don’t hear anything by the time I leave tonight,” he threatened, “I’ll be back tomorrow. And the next night,” he promised and took another step into the room. “And the next night,” another step, “And the next night.”

One more step, eyes sweeping the bar, secure in his knowledge that he had everyone’s attention. And that they knew it was he, Angel, speaking. Or worse, and the demons and humans in the bar didn’t know, weren’t sure, maybe this was Angelus? Maybe he really had returned? Angel, Angelus, soul, demon…not that many in the bar understood the fine line, understood just what happened inside that body.

But was this truly Angel?

“I’ll be back every night until someone gives me the answers I want. And each night I return,” Angel smiled, “I’ll kill off a couple more of you.” He paused. “Now. Did anyone see anything about the Slayer’s grave?”

“Saw a couple of suits,” someone called out from the back.

Zeroing in on the voice, Angel took a step towards the back booths, and growled. “Suits?”

“Yeah, it was weird. He was dressed real nice, but the people he had working the mojo were your normal run of the mill sorcerers.”

“And where,” Angel asked, “Can I find these sorcerers?”

“Don’t know, man, but they weren’t locals. I heard one say that the flight from Paraguay was a bitch.” A few of his compatriots laughed, but the mirth quickly died down under Angel’s glare.

“They return, I expect you to tell me. You hear anything else, I expect you to tell me.” To Willy he quietly said, “See Her grave is taken care of.” Then, spinning on his heel, Angel left the bar, not bothering to close the door.

Willy shook his head, “What’s this world coming to?” he wondered. “Craziness, I tell you. Grave robbing is one thing, but the slayer’s grave? We’re not dealing with the same old Angel, boys. Better be careful out there.” He shook his head again, wiping the counter as he wondered when this world went to hell in a hand basket.

Outside, Angel looked up at the night sky. “I swear, Baby,” he promised, “I won’t let them do anything to You. If it’s in my power, I won’t let them desecrate You like this.”

~~~~~~~~~~

October 5

“I’m telling you,” Cordelia insisted as the three of them drug themselves back into the hotel lobby that night. “It was green. The demon I saw in my vision was green.”

“Cordelia, you led us to a nest of-”

Gunn cut him off. “If you’re going to say that name again in that annoying high pitched voice, then let me leave now. My ears can’t take it.” Gunn flopped onto the circular couch, sword dangling from his hand. “Man, I wish Angel was here – he could take all those green – or red – thingamabobs on at the same time.”

“Yeah,” Cordy nodded with a smile, a flash of resentment. “And then I wouldn’t have to ruin another pair of shoes!”

“When’s he gettin’ back, anyway?” Gunn wondered, standing to clean his axe. He decided it was best to ignore Cordelia when at all possible when it came to clothes, shoes, and anything else the seer decided to rant about.

“As soon as he works through his grief a little,” Cordy shrugged, leaving the cleaning to the men. Hey, she fought, didn’t she?

Gunn snorted, “A little? Cordelia, I don’t think ‘a little’ is going to cut it. Buff-”

 

“Don’t!” Cordy jumped in, looking wildly around the room as if Angel was there, and could hear them, and was about to go into serious brood mode because of the mere mention of the word. “Don’t,” she repeated softer, “Say the B-word.”

Gunn snorted again, giving her a dubious look. “The ‘B’ word, as you,” less than tactfully he should add,  “Put it, was the love of his life, Cordelia. And he’s what, two hundred and fifty? That ain’t no short life. You don’t work through ‘a little’ of that. This grief-work’s gonna take more than a vacation in Sri Lanka.”

“It isn’t a vacation, Gunn,” Wesley said, looking up from where he polished his own sword. “Angel’s at a spiritual retreat, at a monastery.”

“Hmm. Angel and a buncha monks in the middle of nowhere,” he shook his head. “Now there’s a party. He shoulda got hammered and gone to Vegas like I told him.” Then again, getting hammered and going to Vegas wasn’t the way to work through grief, either, but it was better than Mr. Broods-a-lot and monks. Angel probably wasn’t returning, and that didn’t surprise Gunn. Hell, he wished the vampire peace and luck.

“He doesn’t need a lap dance, Gunn. He needs some peace and quiet to work through this.”

“And I need to get this red goo off me,” Gunn said in disgust as he tried to peel a long layer of it off his arm. “Red, Cordy, not green.”

Wesley agreed, “Yes, Cordelia. That nest you led us to was filled with obviously red-skinned demons, not green ones.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved off. “But I’m telling you, the vision was green.”

“What was green?”

The trio spun to look at the intruder, already knowing who it was. Angel leaned against the doorjamb of his office, arms folded across his chest, looking about as nonchalant as he could, and still resemble the vampire they all knew.

“Angel!” Cordelia called, and pushed the sword she’d used – mostly with success – across the counter, running towards him. She hugged him, which he returned gingerly – she was covered with some kind of sticky red substance.

She didn’t notice the deadness in his eyes. She didn’t notice how he held himself away from them. She didn’t notice how he had been there, and most likely heard their conversation since they entered the lobby. She didn’t notice, but something deep within her understood and crowed in delight at all those observations.

Now that Buffy was gone, the her long planned resurrection could finally move forward.

“So, I hope you had a good retreat, all peaceful and meditate-y?” She wondered, beaming at him. He looked good, relaxed, not depressed and suicidal. Always a good sign; and Cordelia was sure – mostly – he hadn’t heard Gunn’s faux pas about the dreaded B word. Wouldn’t do to have him all…well, suicidal so soon after returning.

“It was all right,” he nodded, his mind not on the retreat, but on Her empty grave. What had happened? Who took Her? Where was She? And why? Angelus screamed, angered beyond the telling of it. Why would they do that to their Mate?

More specifically, why would Wolfram & Hart want to? For who else could gather sorcerers from around the world to do such a thing? And the suit? Had to be a lawyer. But why? Why? Why? Why?

Angel ignored both his own feelings, and Angelus’…this wasn’t the place to show them, these weren’t the people who’d understand. “She’d understand,” Angelus reminded him, but it was said in a soft voice. “I know,” Angel replied, solely to his demon.

“Or,” Angel said aloud, determined to alleviate their anxious stares and tense stances. He had work to do and it wouldn’t help, them following his every move. “It was fine until the monks turned out to be life-sucking Shur-hod demons.”

 

“Oh,” Wesley shook his head. How was he to know?

 

“Vegas,” Gunn said, nodding sagely. “Shoulda gone to Vegas.”

 

“Yeah,” Angel chuckled, a forced sound. “It was supposed to be,” he shot Wesley a look, “A relaxing retreat on a Council approved site.”

“I’m sure the Watcher’s Council had no idea,” Wesley said, all prim and proper.

 

“Well the point is,” Cordelia interrupted impatiently, “That you worked on things, right? You worked though a few things, and now you’re all…better.” That wasn’t going to well, so she tried another tactic. “It wasn’t like a holiday where you’d come back home, to your friends, you know, with…some…small mementos of your trip…or anything like that.”

“Can we kill her?” Angelus demanded. Angel sighed warily at his demon; sensitivity wasn’t Cordelia’s strong point, true, especially not when it came to this, and for that, Angel was willing to let it go. For now. Until he discovered who took Her. Then no one was safe. “Fishing for gifts, Cordelia?”

“Yes!”

“I told you.” Angelus was smug not so far beneath Angel as he had been. “I told you she’d demand something. Hell, all it took was a new wardrobe to get back in her so-called good graces a couple of months ago.”

“With gifts, she won’t ask questions,” Angel reminded him, and Angelus shut up.

“Oh!” Cordelia said brightly, then, “A small…human head?”

“Should’ve put a spell on it like I told you,” Angelus chuckled, already imagining Cordelia strung up in a dungeon, all that smooth skin marked with blood, all her bones broken and mangled.

Angel took it from her and tossed it to Gunn instead. Catching it, Gunn laughed, “Cool!”

Handing Cordelia a necklace, neither he nor Angelus was surprised when she took it with a delighted gasp. Smiling, Angel thought, for a brief moment, that maybe this was just his friends’ way of not bringing up painful memories. Of not forcing him to speak about Her, of trying to be supportive…in their own way.

“Oh, my gosh, Angel,” she held it up to her neck, beaming at him. “It’s gorgeous!” She hugged him again, kissing his cheek.

“I still say we kill her,” Angelus mumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel listened to them from his rooms. Two years they’d worked with him, knew he was a vampire, and yet even now, they didn’t think he could hear them. They assumed that because he subverted his basic vampiric tendencies and desires, that he was as human as they were.

“I don’t think the seer’s human,” Angelus told him thoughtfully. “Something’s off about her.”

“Probably just the visions,” Angel replied absently, still listening to the voices below.

No, they didn’t once think that he could hear their conversation, two floors above them. Didn’t wonder why he’d secluded himself in his room so soon after returning from a supposedly ‘grieving trip’. They didn’t think to wonder.

“They’re talking about Her,” he said softly. But Angelus already knew that. “They think that a couple of months away, and we’re over Her.”

“They know nothing,” Angelus agreed with a growl. “That bitch…I’m telling you, there’s something off about her.”

“Cordelia?” Angel shrugged, but didn’t move from his position on the bed. His arms were crossed behind his head as he lay under the sheet. He’d claimed tiredness – even though it was only the middle of the night and that was his time – and had retired to his room. They let him go with sympatric looks and murmured goodnights.

“She’s always like that. No tact, but she means well.” Angel shifted slightly, turning his head to look at the picture of Her on his night table. “She just doesn’t understand. Her longest relationship was with Xander,” Angelus growled again, “And that hardly counts.”

“The demons at Willy’s know more than they’re saying,” Angelus changed the subject. But then it was a stated fact, something Angel already knew. “And Willy. There’s nothing in that town that happens that he doesn’t know about.”

“I know, we’ll go back tonight, once they leave, or once they think I’m asleep and won’t disturb us.” Angel took the photo of Her, the only surviving one he had of Her, and set it on the bed next to him. “We’ll find out what happened to Her.”

“And then we’ll kill them.”

Angel agreed, and drifted off the sleep, dreaming of Her. Holding Her, making love to Her. Whispering words of devotion and love to Her as they promised not to leave Her.

~~~~~~~~~~

October 5

Rupert Giles looked around his flat once more. It was nearly empty now, holding very few memorabilia – everything that remotely reminded him of Buffy was gone. Some were packed away – photos, journals, knickknacks she liked or had given him – some he burned in a rage of grief.

She was his daughter; Quinton was right in that respect, if very little else. Buffy Summers was as his daughter, and he was lost without her. Maybe he shouldn’t have become so involved with her life, but it couldn’t be helped.

Buffy was the type of person where you had to be involved, she took you, brought you into her world where you cared, where you wanted to be there, wanted to know and to help, and to be a part of such a wonderful woman. And now she was gone. Killed by her own wish, in order to save her sister.

Dawn. Dawn was dead. Dawn who had killed herself the moment Spike had turned away from her, gone to get Angel, the vampire had told Giles. The watcher wanted to stake the vampire for that – both of them, it didn’t matter – but hadn’t. He hadn’t because he could see the raw grief in Spike’s eyes when he’d gone to tell Giles what happened.

He hadn’t because he couldn’t summon the energy to do even that simple task.

“I’m leaving, Willow,” he told the group who’d come to visit. He wasn’t sure that was their purpose, but then he didn’t care. “I can’t…” he paused, removed his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes, hoping to stave off the rush of tears.

“I’m no longer needed here,” he said softly. “Faith,” he nodded to the slayer. “You don’t need a watcher – and I doubt you want one.”

“No big, G,” she shrugged. “I can take care of it myself.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, but again, didn’t care. It was as if when Buffy died, all hope and light in his world had, too. Was this how Angel felt? Suddenly, Giles had a none-too-welcome insight into the vampire’s soul.

“If you need me,” he said, looking directly at Faith and ignoring everyone else. “Call me. Don’t hesitate, just call.”

Slowly, she nodded, and offered him a small smile. One which he returned, suddenly feeling slightly better at leaving her un-Watched. Which was so a Buffy word, and one that caused him no small amount of pain.

“You’ve all grown up wonderfully,” he told the rest of the group. “I’m very proud of you all. And I know that you’ll be able to keep the Hellmouth safe.”

Faith didn’t listen to the rest of the goodbyes; Willow sobbing over the Watcher, Tara agreeing to write, Xander patting him on the back like some kind of kindred spirit, Anya telling him that she’d watch over his shop profitably. She headed out, already ostracized from the group, not willing to see just how far that split went.

“Wait up, luv,” Spike called from the side of the building where he’d been waiting. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Why are you here, Spike?” Faith questioned exasperated. “Always hanging around, sneaking up on everyone. Why haven’t you gone?”

He offered no answer, and somehow that didn’t surprise the slayer. He missed Buffy, Dawn, too, and thought that this was his only connection to them. Staying here, going on with the work, she supposed. It was incredibly sappy, and not a little freaky, but Faith understood.

You tended to follow in the footsteps of the one who offered you something more. Who saw something in you that you didn’t even know existed. For her, it was Angel. For Spike, it was the Summers’ women.

“Come on,” Faith sighed, “Let’s go kill something.”

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