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“For the last time, I understand! I’m not a total ditz!” Buffy exclaimed angrily, glaring at Giles and Lyrik. Lyrik looked suprised and taken aback—to her, Buffy was an adult figure. A role model. Certainly not a ditz. Giles only looked tired.
“You are not used to casting spells,” he said coolly. Buffy knew he was right, but it was hard anyway. She would give anything to trade places with Angel at that moment. Yes, fighting was dangerous and hard . . . but it was what she did. She knew her own fighting ability. She knew she could win. She didn’t know if she could cast a spell. But she had to. Not only her life, but Angel’s, and probably a lot of other people’s depended on it. Yes, Annwyl was after her, but she WAS a vampire, and that meant that just killing the Slayer wasn’t going to satisfy her. Nothing less than the destruction of the world would.
“I know you’re worried, but I can do this,” Buffy said. “I know what I’m supposed to do.” Giles nodded, but still did not look too happy. Well, that wasn’t a big change. He hadn’t looked too happy all day.
“It’s dark,” Jon reported, entering the library. Angel nodded decisively, and looked to Buffy. She walked over to him, and winced when she saw the bruise beginning on his jaw. Where she had hit him. If she had weakened him enough that he lost the fight . . . But that was stupid and impossible. Angel was very hardy. He was a vampire, after all.
“Be careful,” she said, then gave a sad little laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to someone else. It should be me.”
“I know,” Angel said softly. She looked up at him, then glanced over at the other occupants of the library. They were all tactfully turned the other way. Angel followed her gaze and smiled, then looked back at her.
“I’m scared Angel,” Buffy confessed in a whisper. He nodded again.
“I know.” She reached up to touch the bruise.
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I deserve worse than a sore jaw,” Angel said. Buffy shook her head. She still couldn’t believe what she’d almost done that afternoon. If she’d had a stake . . . She shivered to think about it. He saw her shiver and took her in his arms. She tilted her head back to receive his kiss. When it was over he stood back and looked at her, then turned and walked towards the door. Time was up.
“Angel,” she called as he opened the library door. He turned back, a question in his eyes. “If you get yourself killed I’ll beat your ass down!” He almost smiled. “I love you,” she added. She seemed to be saying that a lot the last few days. She had to. She had to let him know, just in case. In case the spell didn’t work and he was there, all alone . . . Or in case it did work and she couldn’t forgive after all.
He left. In the blink of an eye he had disappeared and Buffy had no more time. she thought, turning back to where Lyrik and Jon were drawing a chalk pentacle on the floor.
“I’ll be back in just a second,” Buffy said, running into Giles’ office quickly. It would take Angel a minute or two to get there, and they didn’t want to start before he was there. They didn’t know how long the spell could be held, after all.
Buffy pulled her wrist sheathes and two stakes from a large bag she’d brought with her. She fastened them on with the ease of long practice and inserted the stakes, making sure she could pulled them out easily. She knew that she wasn’t going to be near a vampire that night (except, hopefully, Angel), but it could never hurt to be prepared. Besides, she didn’t feel right without her wrist sheathes.
Buffy slipped her jacket back on and went out into the library, taking the orb from Giles silently. It was the same one that they had used to summon Angel back, all those years ago. Giles had kept it around since. Just in case.
She stepped into the middle of the pentacle, careful not to smudge any of the lines. Giles and Lyrik took up their places at two points of the star, and Giles nodded after a moment. Lyrik began the incantation. Buffy waited for her part, a cold knot of fear in her stomach. What if it didn’t work?
“In the name of the First Slayer I summon you!” Buffy called, holding up the orb and pulling with all her might. She reached to her own power, as Giles had instructed her, and pulled for more like it. Slayer power. And then suddenly, it was there. Buffy directed it into the orb, and gave an audible sigh when it was safely inside. She could feel it there, and the orb glowed faintly.
“It worked,” she reported. It was all right to talk now—she had asked earlier. In fact, she didn’t even need to concentrate now. Just stand there and hold the orb. Which was good because she was finding it very hard to think about the spell and not about Angel.
The last time a man she loved had gone to a fight in her place he had died. But these were rather different circumstance, she reminded herself. Angel and Xander were very different. VERY different. For one thing, though Xander had usually been able to take care of himself, he had never been a fighter, and was certainly no match for a vampire, especially a two hundred and some year old one. If the spell worked as they thought it would, Angel should be as powerful as Annwyl. And another thing—Angel was certainly not going to get his blood sucked. He was already a vampire. Though she had seen him bleed . . . Still, Buffy seriously doubted you could suck the blood of a vampire. And she knew he couldn’t be killed like that. Vampires did not die from blood loss. They died from a stake to the heart, beheading and burning. That was it. So he obviously couldn’t die the same way . . .
Buffy told herself firmly. Like that would work. If she could just do everything she told herself she should her life would be very different at this point.
Which was when her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of two strangers. Or one strange and one very familiar person. VERY familiar. But Buffy didn’t see her at first. She was too busy looking at the teenage girl standing just outside the pentacle.
“Who are you?” Buffy demanded, wanting very much to be able to leave the pentacle. This girl wasn’t a vampire, but she didn’t know what she was. Not yet, anyway.
“The name’s Alethea, though my friends call me Al. Not that I have too many of them at this point . . . Never mind. Forget I said that. This woman said I’m the new Slayer, whatever that is, and I’m supposed to take your place inside the star-thingie. She interrupted me in the middle of unpacking, so I figured it’s pretty important,” the girl said. She was tall and slender, unlike the shorter, more compact (though plenty skinny) Buffy. She didn’t look anything like her in other respects either, except for her green eyes. Other than that she had black hair cut Cordelia-style and ivory skin.
“What woman?” Buffy asked. Which was when Willow stepped into the candlelight (Giles had turned out the main light when they started the ritual) and smiled.
“Suprise,” she said. Buffy blinked, making sure she wasn’t seeing things.
“Willow? What are you doing here?”
“I’m Alethea’s Watcher. I couldn’t tell you before. We don’t really have time for this though. Alethea can take your place in the ritual now, as long as there’s one whole Slayer in the pentacle at any time. So you step out as she steps in,” Willow said. Buffy was still doubtful, but Giles nodded, and she trusted Willow, so she lifted one of her feet and set it down outside the star’s center just as Alethea set her foot down in the center. They did the same with the other feet and Alethea reported that the power was safe and secure.
“I’ll explain everything later,” Willow told Buffy. “Go find Angel now.” Buffy squeezed her friend’s hand and followed her directions immediately, running out of the library and out of the school, very gad she’d had the foresight to put on the wrist sheathes. She had a very definite feeling that even with the spell Angel needed her. And she wasn’t going to disappoint him.
Buffy came to the scene running, then stopped suddenly at what she saw. The woman Angel was fighting against was very small—smaller than Buffy—and very young looking. Well she hadn’t aged a day since sixteen, after all. She would also have been very beautiful if not for the disfigurement that marked her as a vampire. Annwyl of course.
The fight was not going well for Angel. He was favoring his left side and as Buffy watched he was knocked down, getting up slower than usual. He saw her as he stood up, and the expression on his face was one of horror. He must think the spell wasn’t working.
“Buffy!” He cried. Annwyl whirled to see the Slayer, but Buffy was ready. She ran forward and jump-kicked the vampire in the chest before she had a chance to register the fact of a new opponent.
“What are you doing here?” Angel asked. Buffy shook her head.
“I’ll explain later. Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she reassured him. Which was all she had time to do, because Annwyl chose that moment to break into their conversation.
“So the lovers are reunited?” she asked. “And this is the Slayer. I shall enjoy drinking your blood, my dear.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of blood to donate. Gave it to a good cause,” Buffy said, before attacking again. Annwyl laughed—a hideous sound—and blocked Buffy’s punch easily. Buffy moved back, waiting for another opening. The vampire smiled nastily.
“A little better than you’d anticipated, eh?” Buffy didn’t reply, focusing on her opponent’s fighting technique rather than her words. She was right though. Buffy could feel the power radiating from the vampire. Not Slayer power either, vampire power and something else. She’d almost forgotten that Annwyl had killed a Slayer with only her own power the first time, and that had been when she was very young. Now she was old, and that meant more powerful for vampires.
“Not really,” Buffy said, seeing Angel begin to circle around to Annwyl’s other side. What he needed now was for Buffy to distract Annwyl, and she was more than willing to try. “I mean, you’ve been around since the middle-ages right? And you hadn’t killed Angel yet? I mean, he’s only had a couple of centuries. I wouldn’t call that impressive, personally.”
Annwyl growled at Buffy, and Angel chose that moment to attack. He did a flip into a nasty punch, but as he delivered it Annwyl turned, backhanding him to the ground. Buffy attacked before Annwyl had a chance to regain balance, kicking her jaw, then sweeping her feet out from under her. The vampire kept rolling, but went straight into Angel who was up by then. He kicked her before she could recover and she turned to kick Buffy in turn.
Buffy ducked, but was caught by Annwyl’s follow-up punch and went to the ground, rolling and coming up as quickly as she could. Angel had Annwyl pretty good for the moment and Buffy took the time to recover her breath, before seeing her chance and launching herself in a flip over Annwyl’s head just as Angel went down. Buffy kicked Annwyl, giving Angel a chance to get up again, then feinted to the right. When Annwyl went to block Buffy’s punch, Angel got her other side. Buffy ducked and fell to the ground as Annwyl kicked her feet out. She somersaulted to her back and pushed herself up—kicking the vampiress in the process—as Angel ducked another blow.
Annwyl was powerful, there was no denying that. But Buffy was powerful, and so was Angel. And together . . . well, Annwyl didn’t have a chance from the moment Buffy arrived on the scene. They worked together perfectly, each seeming to know exactly what the other one was going to do. When one went down the other one held Annwyl off for long enough for the first to recover and provide them the same service.
All this didn’t mean Annwyl was easy to beat. Especially when she pulled out a rather wicked looking dagger.
“I would rather open your throat myself, but sometimes one must make sacrifices,” Annwyl told Buffy.
“I’m SO sorry,” Buffy said absently, looking for a way under Annwyl’s guard and out of the way of the gleaming dagger. Seeing as weapons were making an appearance, Buffy pulled out the stake from her left wrist sheathe, flipping it into her right hand.
Angel attacked low, going for Annwyl’s knees, and Buffy went high at the same time, chopping at her wrist to make her release the knife. She held on though, and brought it down on Angel before Buffy could stop her. There was a horrible moment when Angel cried back, then pushed away backwards. Buffy saw blood on his face and was possessed of a horrible rage. Annwyl would pay for that.
The vampiress must have seen it in Buffy’s face, because all of a sudden she looked almost frightened. Buffy unleashed a full attack—first kicking the dagger from Annwyl’s hand, then following up quickly with a punch and another couple of kicks. In desperation, Annwyl grabbed Buffy’s arm and used all her power—physical and other—to throw Buffy against the nearest gravestone. Buffy heard a sickening crack and felt a sharp pain on her right side, but struggled to her feet. She had lost her stake, but she still had the right one left.
Angel was up again, and fighting, despite the slash across his forehead and cheek. Buffy thought Annwyl had missed the eye entirely, but it was hard to tell with all the blood. She clenched her teeth against the pain and flipped forward, back into the fight. Annwyl was relatively unharmed, but beginning to look like a cornered animal. Well, Buffy wasn’t going to give this cornered animal a chance to lash at one more time. Before Annwyl had time to register that Buffy wasn’t still slumped against the tombstone, Buffy had thrust her second stake home.
Annwyl exploded in a cry of agony and a cloud of dust, leaving only Buffy and Angel once again. It seemed that at the end of the day, they were always together. Maybe it was meant to be that way.
“Are you all right?” Angel asked, walking towards her. He was still favoring his left side. Buffy nodded, stumbling towards her. He caught her and held her against him, but she gave a little cry and clutched at her right side.
“I think I may have broken a rib,” she said, then forgot her pain in the horror of seeing his face covered with blood.
“What about you? How’s that cut?”
“It’s fine. It’s not as bad as it must look,” Angel said. Buffy reached down and tore a piece of fabric off her shirt. Angel looked suprised as she used it to wipe off some of the blood and see what the cut was really like.
“You do realize you just tore your clothes. On purpose,” he pointed out. Buffy scowled, relieved to find that it wasn’t very bad after all, just bleeding a lot.
“I’m not a teenager anymore. Clothes aren’t the most important thing in the world. Besides,” she added in a different tone, “this is one of my old shirts, and I was planning to get rid of it anyway.” He smiled at her tone, then became serious as she clutched at his jacket and looked away for a second.
“We did it Angel. We really did it. I was so afraid. If something had happened to you . . .” she trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. Angel wondered. If something had happened to him, would she be devastated? Or glad? She had told him she loved him. She had asked him to hold her the night before. And then she had attacked him that morning. He did not ask though, only cupped her cheek in his hand and murmured,
“Oh ye of little faith.” She closed her eyes and smiled, trying to remember the last time he had said that. She couldn’t, but she could, and did, abruptly, remember the last time someone else had said it.
“Xander said that once,” she said in a small voice. “He was joking. Of course. He was saying that he was a match for any vampire and Cordelia told him he couldn’t take on a minion, much less any powerful vampire. ‘Oh ye of little faith!’ he exclaimed. Everyone laughed.” Everyone but Buffy. She hadn’t laughed. She had thought about Angel, whom she loved, and about Angelus, whom she hated. But now she had Angel and she was thinking about Xander.
“Buffy. I’m sorry. You can’t imagine how sorry I am,” Angel said softly, tilting her head up to look at him.
“Yes I can,” she said. “Because I’m just as sorry. You see, I got my wish.” He was looking at her uncomprehendingly, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I decided that I was more important than he was. That what I wanted was more important than Xander. But how could I ever tell them that? How could I ever say, it’s not Angel I’m angry at, it’s myself? It’s myself I can’t forgive! For getting what I wanted and forgetting what he wanted. And end to it all.” Buffy had started to cry and Angel’s arms tightened around her—careful not to squeeze her right side where her rib might be broken.
“It’s not your fault Xander died. It’s not my fault either, though I thought it was for a long time. It’s the demon’s fault if it’s anyone’s. And the fact that you chose your own happiness is not something you should be ashamed of. God knows you don’t get any usually. He died, yes, but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your own wishes for something that wouldn’t help him. Something that couldn’t help him. You didn’t do anything wrong, Buffy,” Angel said, softly but firmly. She gave a horrible sob and her whole body shook in his arms. She felt so small and frail and all he wanted was to keep her safe. To make her happy.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Angel repeated. And he thought that she heard that time. She continued to cry, but somehow there was a note of healing in it as well. And when her sobs finally subsided Angel was still holding her.
“Thank you,” Buffy said finally. Angel shook his head.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I just told the truth. If anyone did anything wrong it was m—” she cut him off in mid-sentence.
“You didn’t do anything! It wasn’t you, it was just your body! I know that now. I always knew it, I think, only I was so wrapped up in my own guilt I couldn’t see. Even Willow and Cordy knew it. In fact, they were completing each other’s sentences about it and that is just about as abnormal as things can ge—Willow!” Buffy exclaimed, remembering the earlier events of the evening.
“What about Willow?” Angel asked, startled.
“She’s here! I mean, not right here, but in Sunnydale. In the library, with Giles and Lyrik and Jon and the new Slayer. And she’s the Watcher. Only she didn’t tell me before. That’s why I could come. The new Slayer . . . Alethea or something . . . took my place in the spell. They’re probably still holding it. We should go back! Besides, your cut needs bandaging, it’s starting to bleed again!” Buffy turned to go rushing off towards the library, but stopped suddenly, clutching at the broken rib. Angel caught her before she fell.
“You’re not going anywhere like that! Come on,” he said, hoisting her into his arms. She struggled weakly.
“Angel! You’re in no condition to carry me anywhere! You’re hurt! And what happened to your leg anyway? Put me down!” When he ignored her protests she finally calmed down and lay still, putting her arms around his neck and just enjoying being carried by him. There were still a few things to clear up, but for now Buffy was happy, and that was an unusual feeling for her.
Angel stopped just outside the library doors. Buffy looked up at him and caressed his un-hurt cheek with one hand.
“I love you,” he said. It seemed easier to say those words now. Maybe he had grown up a little in the last fifteen years, though he’d thought before he had done all his growing up. After all, two hundred and forty years was usually long enough to reach adulthood . . .
“I love you too . My Angel,” Buffy whispered. Their eyes met and held each other for a long moment, and though all the pain
and sorrow and hurt was still there, love was by far the dominant thing in both gazes.