October 6
Willow watched as Giles’ plane took off. “We’re so close,” she mumbled to her friends. “Another few days…”
“He’ll be surprised,” Tara offered, soothing her lover, “When we call him.”
Anya said nothing, standing in the back of the small crowd. She wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but had been vetoed – Willow and Xander, as always stuck together in all things Buffy, and Tara, unwilling to go against Willow, hadn’t voiced the many objections Anya knew she had.
“Come on,” Xander said softly. “Let’s go finish this.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“So he’s back, eh?” Lilah asked, though she didn’t expect an answer. Gavin provided her with one, anyway, but she ignored him as she always did.
“How is our little warrior holding up, I wonder. No lover, no sister to take care of. Things aren’t going at all the way he’d planned, and yet here he is, still pounding away like a good little drone for the Powers.”
She turned from her view, a lovely mid-afternoon scenery of downtown LA, and asked Gavin, “How’s our project going?”
“Well,” he nodded, straightening his tie, “Everything’s going as planned, no snags.”
“Yet,” Lilah added, laughing. “There’s always something when it comes to Angel, this isn’t going to be the exception to the rule.”
And she couldn’t wait to see what that something was; she so enjoyed her assignment in bringing him back to the dark side, so to speak. Though why the Senior Partners didn’t grab Angelus when he’d resurfaced a couple of years ago – bringing his own special brand of hell to the Hellmouth – she didn’t know.
Nor did she ask; she liked her life just as it was.
“No,” Gavin insisted, “Things are progressing smoothly.”
“And the friends?”
“Clueless, as always.”
“Excellent,” Lilah purred, and walked out of her office. She had a vampire to meet and taunt. Their little meetings were so fun…and highly arousing.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angel returned to Sunnydale just as he’d promised, and this time, when he entered Willy’s the place was nearly deserted. He wasn’t surprised. Of course since he’d killed several vampires, and a toad-like demon he’d never seen before, on his way here, word probably traveled that he was back and not in the least willing to let this slide.
“Willy,” he said conversationally, nodding at the human owner. “You know why I’m here…”
“Angel, man,” Willy shook his head, looking around his nearly deserted bar. “You’re never good for business,” he sighed. “First, I took care of her…I took care of her,” he said, not willing to say ‘grave’ for fear Angel’d do something painful to him. Besides, it seemed disrespectful, somehow. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.” Then, louder, “I heard something, after you left last night.”
“I knew you would, Willy,” and when he said the name, the human shuddered. That wasn’t Angel’s voice. It was Angelus’.
“People talk,” Willy nodded, already wondering how this information would get him into trouble. “The news is that the sorcerers were here about ten days ago. They paid a pair of Faryal demons to stand watch.”
“And…?”
“And that’s all I know.”
“And the Faryals?”
“They’re down by the docks, you know they like it better there,” Willy shrugged, as if saying you just couldn’t account for taste.
Nodding, Angel turned and left. It wasn’t too hard to find the Faryals; they were large, smelly, and loud. Unfortunately, he didn’t speak Faryal. But Spike did. So he’d bring the demons to Spike, and get his information that way – it didn't matter anymore how he got it, only that he did. The fight was brief, painful, and all too easy for Angel. Anger and righteous fear for his Beloved lent him strength and speed.
Dragging the pair across town and to the mansion was another matter entirely,
but one Angel did anyway – he wasn’t about to put the pair in his car. Not that
they’d fit, anyway.
“Spike!” he roared, entering the home he once shared with Her.
“Geez, Peaches,” Spike grumbled, entering the foyer. “What brings you here?” he spotted the Faryals. “And with company? Presents? Aw, Peaches, really. You shouldn’t have.”
“She’s gone, Spike,” Angel said briefly. “Someone took Her.” Spike stared at him for a moment, working through his words. “That’s right, William,” Angel said, his voice low and honeyed. “They took Her form Her grave…I want to know who and I want to know why.”
Tossing the pair of demons into the room, he added, “These two were on guard during the ritual. Find out what they know.”
By the time Faith returned from her patrol – a surprisingly quiet one, all things considered – the Faryals were dead, Angel was gone, and Spike was smoking and drinking by the fireplace. Shaking her head at the sight, Faith flopped next to him.
“And what exciting things did you do while I was saving the world from the scourge of demonitity?”
“Information gathering,” Spike said, but didn’t elaborate. Angel hadn’t said anything, but Spike was no fool. Whoever had desecrated Buffy’s grave, whoever had taken her body, it was enough to send the poof over the edge. Whatever line separated Angel from Angelus was thinning, blurring. Spike wasn’t sure he wanted to see what kind of creature Angel became when that line disappeared.
Plus, he didn’t want anyone to know that Buffy’s body was missing. Faith considered her a fallen friend, one to be mourned, one to regret losing, regret the what ifs in life. And if she knew that Angel discovered her missing, she’d be apt to do something crazy for the poof.
Something crazier than Angel was most likely already planning. Heaven help whoever had done this, because Angel wasn’t going to show any mercy.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angel stood perfectly still and listened.
Nothing. There was nothing there. Not a hint of Her, not a trace. Her body was gone, taken by as yet unknown beings. Why? To bring Her back to life? To rip Her out of heaven and return Her to this hell?
Nothing. No tingling along his skin, no quickening of his blood, no tightening of his body. She wasn’t there, She wasn’t alive…and yet, She wasn’t in Her grave any longer, either.
“Who took You, beloved?” He asked aloud, but the night sky didn’t answer him. “Where are You?”
~~~~~~~~~~
October 12
“I have to go to Sunnydale,” Angel said quietly as Cordelia stared at him.
He was looking down at the garden – or courtyard, really, with a few flowers scattered around it to look more than the bricks and mortar it was. He’d hoped She could someday see it, look down from the balcony in his room, sated from long hours of making love, and see the roses he’d planted for Her.
Eyes bleak with loss looked upward, and he smiled at the stars shining down on him. It was ridiculously sappy, melodramatic, melancholy even. And yet he had the feeling that She looked down on them, smiling in that way She had that promised everything in the world, if only they’d stay with Her.
“Stop being a sap,” Angelus hissed, but there was no bite to his words. He tried, oh the demon tried. But there was nothing left. If it weren’t for the fact that Her body was missing, he’d have curled into his own corner, deep, deep within Angel, and not bothered to surface again.
“Why?” Cordelia demanded, crossing the short distance separating them. Buffy was dead, what was left in Sunnydale? Nothing, and even had the slayer been alive, what could Angel have done in that horrid little town atop the Hellmouth? His destiny was here, his Shanshu was with them, his redemption.
“Information,” Angel said, tearing his eyes away from the night sky.
“That’s it?” Her question was met with silence. Exasperated, Cordelia huffed, “Angel, what’s this about? You disappear for hours on end every night since you returned from your spiritual vacation. You don’t tell any of your friends where you’ve been, you’re acting all distant and moody, and now you’re going to Sunnydale?”
“I have to go, Cordelia.” He turned, looked at her, and wondered why she didn’t understand. The seer knew how much She meant to him, so why this? Why was she standing in his way, why didn’t she understand? And why did she keep bringing him ridiculous plastic flowers?
“And are you returning this time?” She stopped, sighed at the look in his eyes, and softened. “Angel,” she put her hand on his arm, tenderly comforting. “I know this has been hard on you. I know that you loved her, but you have to move on. She wouldn’t want you to wallow; she wouldn’t want you to stop seeking your Shanshu. What’s in Sunnydale that you have to be there?”
“I’ll be back before sunrise,” was all he said, moving off the balcony and into his room. He grabbed his jacket, the wool soft and supple as he shrugged it on. Without another glance, he left, and Cordelia wondered just what was going on that he couldn’t tell her.
~~~~~~~~~~
October 13
“You wouldn’t dare,” Wes said in a scandalized tone as he stared at Cordelia. “You were just going to toss in a Prothgarian broadsword with a third-century ceremonial Sancteus dagger?”
Cordelia frowned, gave it a second look, shrugged, and extended it again. “Hmm. Let’s see…long, metal, pointy. It’s a sword, so I’m thinking yes.”
“Cordy!” he shook his head. Turning his back on her and her sacrilege, he said, “The purpose of an inventory-”
“Yes,” Gunn interrupted, “Give us that,” he cleared his throat and adapted an English accent, “Purpose of an inventory speech – again. Please. Because we haven’t heard it enough tonight.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” Wes defended himself, trying to tone down his accent. Did he really sound like that?
“No. Angel keeps complaining that the weapon’s cabinet is all different every time he looks for something.” Privately, Cordelia thought it was because he just wasn’t himself, and when they went to chase down the thing in her vision, he had to force himself to focus. But she wasn’t going to bring that up – again – especially not with Fred there.
Fred of the Angel-obsession. Please, like that hadn’t been done to death. Everyone wanted Angel, but Cordelia was going to be the one to get him. She already had plans in motion to do just that.
“But, Wesley,” she turned sharply, sword still in hand and asked, “Who’s the boss around here? You - or the guy with the pancreas dagger?”
“Well, Cordy,” Wesley began.
“What time is it?” A timid little voice asked, interrupting their conversation – and cutting off Wesley’s reply. Shame, Cordelia thought disinterestly, she’d really wanted to hear his answer.
Wes held up his wrist so Cordy could read his watch. He didn’t care what time it was, didn’t care if Angel returned tonight or not, and frankly, was tired of always second-guessing himself when it came to his position in this company. Or his position in relation to the vampire.
“Six twenty four,” Cordelia said in a bored voice, “And for those of you who are playing the home game: that’s exactly three minutes from the last time you asked.”
Fumbling with something she'd been working on for over a week – since she finally exited her cave-room, Fred giggled nervously, and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I just – I have this theory that the more you are aware of time the more slowly it moves, which could make light speed travel possible, but only if you were to concentrate really...”
Whatever. Couldn’t she shut up for like five minutes? And please, get off the Angel-love kick. “He’ll be back when he’s back,” Cordelia interrupted shortly.
Fred wasn’t taking the hint. Cordy would have to figure a way to tell the girl when to keep her mouth shut, Fred blabbing to Angel over the B-Word was a definite no-no. “So,” Fred said, “What was she like? That girl with the goofy name?”
“Well, Fred,” Wes said in a condescending tone, emphasizing her own unusual name, “That’s a difficult question. She was the slayer, she fought demons, just like we do, she…” how to describe Buffy? Falling back on old habits, he said, “She’s the Chosen One, the one girl in all the world chosen to fight vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness.”
“Oh,” his audience – who hadn’t heard the line already – said quietly. Then, “And Angel, he’s…I mean he’s not going away again because of her?”
“I think it’s fair to say,” he shook his head adamantly, “No. Not a chance, never, no way, not in a million years, and also nuh-uh.”
“But you said he loved her,” Fred insisted, confused. “You said she and Angel were really in love. And, of course, she loved him back, how could she not? If he loved her that much, then she had to love him. Because he’s so strong and handsome, and he really listens when you talk. I-I mean, if you go for that sort of thing,” she mumbled, embarrassed.
“And he left once already; even now that he’s back, he’s always thinking of her, you can really tell. He’s gone a lot at night, probably thinking of her, trying to fight on in her memory.” Here, she nodded earnestly and continued in a dreamy voice, “He has that far-off look in his eyes all the time, and he’s always staring up at the stars, as if he can see her. So if he were visiting her grave down there, then why would he come back? I mean if-”
“Let me break it down for you, Fred.” Cordelia turned to look at the newcomer. She’d never given Fred ‘The Talk’ because it’d been unnecessary. Buffy was dead, therefore the Buffy/Angel show was dead, so there was no reason to bring up any of that angst-ridden melodrama.
And yet, even with the slayer dead, it seemed that things weren’t – or couldn’t – return to normal. To the way things were, the way Cordelia liked them to be. The way she wanted them to be. Damn it, did she have to do all the work here?
Cordy moved away from the counter, flung her hair back, and pretended to be the shorter slayer. “Oh, Angel, Angel! I know that I’m a Slayer and you’re a vampire…and it would be impossible for us to be together, but-”
“But!” Wesley said, standing to the amusement of Gunn. “My gypsy curse sometimes prevents me from seeing the truth. Oh, Buffy!”
“Yes, Angel?” Cordelia asked, trying hard not to laugh.
“Oh, I love you so much, I-I…I almost forgot to brood!”
Fred was wide-eyed, and confused. Gunn was laughing. He’d seen something like this before, when he’d first joined the AI gang and Cordelia gave him the ‘Buffy Lecture’. He still didn’t think Angel was over the chick, and these secret meetings were just weird, even for Angel, but whatever. Wasn’t his place.
And like Cordy said, Wes was the team leader now, not Angel. If the vamp wanted to split that was fine, Gunn didn’t care. If he wanted to go out all night long, wanted to drive down to Sunnydale, wanted to do whatever it was he was doing, then so be it. As long as he didn’t turn back into Angelus, as long as Gunn didn’t have to carry through on that promise to stake him should he revert, then all was right in the world. A world with or without Buffy.
Besides, he still got paid. How, exactly, he wondered, did he get paid if Angel wasn’t in charge, but was the man with all the cash? But then the show went on, and Gunn dismissed the thought.
“And just because I sent you to hell that one time,” Cordy shrugged. “I had to, you have to understand! It was,” she sighed dramatically, “The right thing to do. And, well, it doesn’t mean that we can’t just be friends.”
Wes grabbed a hold of Cordelia’s wrist, pulling her closer in a poor imitation of Angel – it was more along the lines of an old black and white TV show.
“Oh!” she said, swooning, “Angel…!”
“Or possibly more than friends, my little slayer.”
“Gasp!” she turned her head away from him. “No! We mustn’t.”
“Kiss me,” Wesley said, trying to growl and failing miserably as he pulled her closer.
“Bite me!” Cordelia returned with a laugh, tilting her head to the side.
Bending Cordy over his arm, he pretended to sink his nonexistent fangs into her neck. Gunn continued to laugh, Fred smiled, though she was still confused as to what this had to do with Dead-Buffy, Angel, or their previous relationship, and no one heard Angel return.
“How about you both bite me.”
“You’re back!” Fred said, jumping up with a smile. All thoughts of the Buffy-Angel show gone, all thoughts that she’d just participated – however indirectly – in mocking Angel’s love, gone. All she saw was him, tall, strong, handsome Angel. Angel who’d rescued her, Angel who cared for her, who took care of her, and who gave her a place to stay.
She didn’t care that he was a vampire, she didn’t care that he loved someone else. Fred needed him, he kept her safe, and she loved him for that. He had to care for her, too, right? Because he did protect her, and he did keep her safe, and he was so nice to her…
Jumping apart, totally caught in the act, Cordelia and Wesley tried to avoid eye contact with Angel.
“How’d it go?” Gunn asked, setting aside his own store of not-inventoried weapons.
Angel looked at them, scanning their faces, wondering why they didn’t understand, why they thought he wouldn’t care that She was dead, why they thought he’d just move on as if nothing had happened. No, he wasn’t going to share – they wouldn’t understand, and honestly, he was tired of no one understanding.
“She understood,” Angelus said. Angel nodded but remained quiet for another moment, still wondering why this group, his friends couldn’t grasp it.
He’d got all the information he could from Willy – and the demons Willy was kind enough, or scared enough, to direct him to. Everything Sunnydale knew, he now did.
Spike was still there, though he’d made Angel promise to call him when he went after those who did this. Angel agreed, knowing what this meant just as well – if not better – than Spike. Someone had taken Her body, and were going to use it to go after him. Like Darla? Maybe, but those were different circumstances. Were they going to use Her to tease and taunt him, make him crazy, bring out Angelus?
His demon growled, clearly unhappy with that prospect. Getting rid of the soul was one thing, returning triumphant to Her arms, ruling, all of that. But to bring Her back from the dead? No. Never.
“I didn’t find anything out,” he lied, looking at his so-called friends, his team. They never suspected he didn’t tell the truth, never suspected the real reason for his trip to Sunnydale, for his late night disappearances.
Because they saw only what they wanted to see, and Angel was so very good at showing them just that.
“To be honest, I really don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t find what I was looking for.”
Cordy tugged her mini skirt back in place and crossed to Angel. “But...ah, Angel,” fuck, he had seen the whole thing. Usually she was more careful where she gave ‘The Talk’, but this, with Wesley, well…she'd apologize later – and blame it on Wes.
“We’re your friends,” she gave him a large smile, hoping he’d forgive that slight faux pas – and remember that they were his only friends. “And, and it-it’s not healthy to repress stuff like this. You-you need to share your pain, express those feelings of grief and longing or... Damn it, Angel! The curiosity is gonna kill me!”
“Oh, no,” Angel said quietly, looking at her with eyes that reminded the seer of Angelus just a little too much. A devastated Angelus, which was even scarier. But how was that possible? Buffy was still dead – unless she didn’t know something, but Cordelia doubted anyone – Willow, the demon underground, hell, even Angel – couldn’t keep that a secret. So he was still her Angel. Good. But those eyes. They were hollow and dead.
Did this make the plan easier? Or harder?
“Wouldn’t want that,” he told her, and the pain in his voice prompted Fred to intervene.
“Personally,” she said, trying to change the subject, “I don’t care at all what happened.”
Cordelia walked past her, “Shut up, Fred.” She was getting the full scoop out of him, if she had to tie him up and torture him. Hmm, the possibilities…
“Actually, you know what I need right now?” To get out, to leave here, to find Her.
“To kill the bitch over there?” Angelus asked, snarling at Cordelia.
“Ice cream,” Angel said, trying to push his demon down, just a little, so they wouldn’t act on those murderous thoughts. Looking at Fred, who had no idea – until ten minutes ago apparently – of the story, even such a farce of it, Angel asked, “You wanna get some ice cream?”
“I like ice cream!” She told him as they left, Angelus musing on how the thin ex-slave would taste dipped in ice cream. The ice cream he’d tasted with Her that day, as She licked it off his chest, as he swirled it around Her nipples, tasting cold and chocolate and Her and…love.
“Now we’ll never, ever know,” Cordelia moaned, truly upset over not hearing what was so all-important in Sunnydale that he had to speed down there. Wondering if that was where he went every night since his return and why.
“That’s right,” Angel said quietly. Fred never heard him, not over her incessant chattering. “We’ll never tell you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
October 16
The tank was huge, unbreakable bulletproof glass lined all sides, connected by a network of reinforced steel beams. The liquid inside was clear, a thick gel that clung to the lone occupant.
“Well, Ms. Summers,” Lilah smiled, walking around the tank. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I have to say, I’ve heard a lot about you – rather, I’ve read a lot about you.” She shook her head, “You’d be surprised at how reluctant the demons in this state are to speak of you – The Great Slayer.”
Stopping in front of the slayer, Lilah continued, “It’s as if you have some kind of hold over them – they won’t say anything against you other than in that special demon-slayer kind of way, they won’t tell us anything – without a significant amount of torture – about you, your past, your method of slaying. It’s interesting.”
The door opened behind her, and Gavin entered with a thin file in his hands. “We’re nearly there,” he nodded, eyes not straying to the slayer in the tank. Lilah was sure there was a joke in there somewhere. The evil lawyer not willing to gaze upon the fruits of his labor.
“How nearly there?” She demanded, snatching the file from him and reading it herself.
“Another week and she should be fully…reanimated.” His distaste was hard to hide, but Gavin was a professional, and tried anyway.
“With her soul?” That was the key here. She had to have her soul, or it wouldn’t be the same. It was the soul Angel fell in love with, and the soul she needed for the vampire to lose his. And then when Angelus killed her, well, it was a worthwhile expense to get the soulless vampire on their side.
“Yes, it’s the final step.” Gavin took his files back. “Once she’s fully…regenerated, the shamans will call her soul from the aether and bring her back all the way.”
“And how long?” Lilah’s gaze drifted back to the woman in the tank. She was irrationally drawn to Buffy, for reasons Lilah couldn’t even begin to say. “How long will that take?”
“To pull a soul from the aether?” Gavin shrugged. “According to the gypsies, it took only an hour. I believe the file on Angelus claims the witch in Sunnydale did it in slightly less, but those were unusual circumstances – there was more prep work involved for the amateur.”
“Once you’re back, Miss Summers,” Lilah said to the woman in the tank, “You’re going to be very valuable to us.”
The body continued to float in the thick substance, slowly reforming skin and bones, muscle and sinew, nerves and organs. Blood would be pumped into her last, to fuel the heart and brain, and then an oxygen tube would expand lungs too long dead. Only then would her soul be called from aether and put back in its body. The brain, Lilah was assured, would suffer no damage whatsoever. How, she wasn’t sure; if her people failed her, however, they’d be the ones to suffer.
And then the real fun could begin.
Lilah took one last look at her latest project, the one she was certain would work, the one that was going to bring her to the very top of Wolfram & Hart, and left. Shame Lindsey couldn’t be here to witness her greatest triumph. But then he was most certainly dead by now.
One simply did not betray the Senior Partners and live to tell about it.
~~~~~~~~~~
October 17
Willow looked at the Urn of Osiris and frowned. She’d paid more than she should have for it, but then she’d used the money from Joyce’s insurance policy to do so. When Dawn had tried to sell the house, Willow and Xander had stepped in and offered to Spike to watch the place. Said that maybe someday Dawn would want some of the things in there. He’d agreed, reluctantly, as they knew he would, but made them promise never to tell Dawn…
Dawnie, poor Dawnie. If she’d known what they were planning, would it have made a difference? Then again, her death had allowed Willow to use the insurance money to bring Buffy back.
No matter; once they brought Buffy back from Glory’s Hell Dimension, the slayer would figure it all out.
If they could. They’d already tried twice, and nothing.
What was she doing wrong? She’d followed all the directions; she’d used every herb they demanded – even that freaky supposedly extinct one she had to send away to the Greek underground for, silphium. Why she needed it, Willow didn’t know, but that’s what the ancient text called for. She’d have to look up what it was, but not now.
She had other things to look up now. Like how to call forth a soul from the aether. Was she looking in the wrong place? Was that it?
Eyes widening in horror, Willow jerked her head up. Quickly scanning the texts that lined the back of the Magick Box, she frantically looked for a book on hell dimensions. Giles had to have one, this wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with such a thing. Willow knew for a fact that he’d kept an entire collection on Acathla when Buffy sent Angel to hell a few years ago.
Was she looking in the wrong hell dimension? God, was that possible? Climbing the ladder to the second floor where the Forbidden Texts were, Willow continued her search, hoping Anya didn’t notice her up there. The first time they’d tried and failed, Anya hadn’t said anything, but the second…she’d voiced her reservations on this entire thing.
The argument that had ensued, with Willow screaming at the former demon that she didn’t care if Buffy was in hell or not, and Anya telling her that she obviously hadn’t done her research if she couldn’t find one dead slayer in hell, had lasted weeks. They still barely talked to each other, but tolerated one another’s presence when Xander and Tara were present.
Here it was, Compendium of Hell Dimensions, updated 4th edition. If Glory’s portal opened into not only her world, but every other one with Dawn’s keyblood, then it was possible Buffy wasn’t in Glory’s world, but someplace else. Where, however, that was the question. With so many alternatives, it was going to take Willow a long while to find her friend.
And who knew what sorts of torture Buffy would suffer between now and then.
* Silphium is an Ancient Greek contraceptive plant that was used so widely, and with such great success that it’s now extinct.
Back to Scars On My Soul Page Christine's Page Home
