Ever After After The Fall - aboutafox (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. - Neil Gaiman

Slayer Organisation Operation Report: Deep Impact - Year 5
Appendix G-K

Excerpts Debrief Julie Adèle Boudreau // Slayer (SiT) // ID 01-09-2006

Date of Interview: June 11th 2007
Mode: Telecon

Interviewer: Carol Porter (HW) and Silas Wyss (W)

CP: How are you doing Julie?
JB: Good. I’m good.

CP: You’ve recently been injured.
JB: Yes.

SW: Have you healed completely?
JB: [Pause] I feel fine. I’ve been patrolling…

CP: We’re aware. Headquarters didn’t recommend it, but let us commence. Please tell us what you know about the primordial weapons your squad encountered in Los Angeles this summer.
JB: I…Martin knows much more about these weapons than I do.

CP: We would like to hear from everyone on the squad.
JB: Well, uhm, they were forged by ancient demons…or wait…the Powers that Be? Is that the same? I don’t know. They’re old. They can create these passages to other dimensions and they are very powerful in battle. They never miss. They cut everything to pieces. They kill with one blow. Oh, it’s a knife, a spear and a cudgel or was that a mace?

SW: Did you witness the weapons in action?
JB: I did.

SW: Did you witness the weapons being destroyed?
JB: I didn’t. I was fighting the demon army at the Staples Center. Or well, in the ruins. There isn't much of a Center anymore. I don’t know exactly where I was when the weapons were destroyed. It was a long battle and I didn’t keep track of how we moved across the terrain.

CP: Who was in charge of your team during the battle?
JB: Rowena Miller. Faith Lehane later joined her.

SW: And that did not seem odd to you?
JB: Faith is an experienced Slayer…no.

CP: Faith is not associated with the Slayer Organization anymore. She hasn’t been for years. She is not authorized to give orders.
JB: Oh, I didn’t know all the details. I just figured…we needed all hands and she’d been fighting with us earlier.

SW: Where was Buffy during the battle?
JB: I didn’t keep track of Buffy’s location. She was assigned to a different team. I did see her on the battlefield multiple times throughout the night.

CP: Do you know she went back into the underground passages beneath the Staples Center because the vampire Angel was down there?
JB: I didn’t. Not at the time. We all found out later. When they were brought back up by Connor and Spike. Do I need to explain who Connor and Spike are?

CP: You do not. What do you believe happened underground?
JB: Last time I saw Buffy and Angel that night they looked … they had both been severely injured. Angel originally went down to the caves to hide the weapons until after the battle. But then they were ambushed and had to destroy the weapons to keep them from falling into the wrong hands again.

SW: That’s what they told you.
JB: Yes? As I said, I was not with them.

CP: There were sightings of the weapons on the battlefield.
JB: Really? That must have been before. But as I said, I didn’t really keep track of time.

CP: Do you think Buffy was in the right for helping Angel?
JB: What? We’ve been fighting with Angel…not with him, but on the same side for a while. He and his team helped us all summer, so I thought, all of us, we were one team? Maybe not a team team, but that he was an ally.

CP: What do you think now?
JB: Uhm, I think we should help our allies, but I’m not sure I know everything about this situation to make a call?

CP: How would you describe your relationship with Angel?
JB: Relationship? [Prolonged pause before answer commences] We know each other. We’re acquaintances. We’ve fought in the same battles. But that’s it. It’s not like I would throw a party for his birthday.

SW:Did you see anything during, before or after the battle that would lead you to believe Buffy’s judgment was in any way shape or form compromised?
JB: No. Definitely not.

Excerpts Debrief Martin Lasse Åström // Watcher // ID 02-14-2004

Date of Interview: June 11th 2007
Mode: Telecon

Interviewer: Carol Porter (HW) and Silas Wyss (W)

CP: Please tell us what you know about the weapons your squad encountered in Los Angeles this summer.
MA: The Trias?

CP: Yes.
MA: Everything?

CP: Just speak what comes to your mind.
MA: The Trias refers to three weapons from the Primordium Age. A knife, a mace and a javelin. We do not know the original names of these weapons. In internal documents it has become custom to refer to them as the Trias to distinguish them from other primordial artifacts. Earlier this year a Sabatia, who identified himself as Hassian and who we believe was a relative of Archduke Sebassis, set out to capture these weapons. He succeeded in bringing the mace and the knife into his possession. The third weapon, the javelin, was later captured by Willow Rosenberg and Satsuki Ishikawa in Nepal. Our resources on the topic are scant, but we believe the weapons were forged by the Powers That Be. They are nearly indestructible and can open gateways to other dimensions. In the Primordum Age they were used to vanquish the Old Ones and imprison surviving demons in other realms and prison dimensions.

SW: Do you believe in The Powers That Be?
MA: Do I believe there are entities more powerful than humans? Yes. Do I believe them to be the divine creators of this universe? No.

SW: Do you think it likely the vampire Angel is or was a champion of the Powers That Be and that he acted at their behest?
MA: I…I wouldn’t know. I consider Angel to be guided by certain principles, but…he did not talk about such an allegiance in my presence.

CP: How long have you known Angel?
MA: I have known of the vampire Angelus since I began my Watcher training in 2004. He’s a part of the Introduction to Demonology curriculum after all. I first met Angel in 2006, when I volunteered to join the forces in LA.

CP: How well do you know him on a personal basis?
MA: Not at all.

SW: Is it true that Angel met with outside informants on multiple occasions this summer?
MA: I did not frequent the Hyperion before our safehouse burned down. There was a lot of coming and going after. I am not acquainted with most of the residents of the hotel. Human or demon. So, I wouldn’t know who could have been considered an outside informant.

SW: How well do you know Buffy Summers?
MA: We crossed paths multiple times during my initial training. I worked with her this summer, but I wouldn’t say I got to know her personally.

CP: Did you witness an instance that would lead you to believe Buffy’s judgment was in any way shape or form compromised?
MA: I did not. I only saw her acting in the most professional manner.

Excerpts Debrief Kennedy Prescott // Slayer // ID 01-03-2003

Date of Interview: June 12th 2007
Mode: In person interview. Conference room Tartarus.

Interviewer: Carol Porter (HW) and Silas Wyss (W)

CP: Kennedy, how are you?
KP: Fine. Thanks.

CP: We…
KP: I know what you’re gonna ask. Yes, Buffy and Angel colluded to destroy the weapons, instead of capturing them for our organization. Buffy has willingly jeopardized the integrity of the entire mission because of her personal beliefs. I have written up my testimony already. Here it is. [Moves paper across the table. See appendix L]

CP: Those are grave accusations.
KP: Hugh will corroborate them. So will several Slayers who’ve been recently stationed in LA.

CP: For now could you elaborate on those personal beliefs you talked about?
KP: Of course. Buffy and Angel think they have a direct line to the Powers That Be and act on their behalf.

SW: They’ve said that?
KP: Not directly. No. But it’s common knowledge that Angel thinks he’s the chosen champion and that Buffy has always taken the manner of her calling as a free for all. She believes she has the moral high ground on every matter because she’s fought the fight the longest. She believes she can call the shots. Regardless of what was voted on within the Slayer Organization.

CP: Do you accuse Buffy of having willfully made decisions against the interests of the Slayer Organization?
KP: Yes.

SW: Do you think she might have been influenced by outside forces?
KP: If by forces you mean Angel then obviously, yes. Their actions made it clear that to Buffy and Angel it's Buffy and Angel first. Everything else, everyone else comes second.

Chapter 2: A Spark In The Night

Chapter Text

Spike flicked his cigarette butt over the rim of the roof. Like a tiny shooting star, it fell to the street, where it landed and died out in a puddle of black gutter water.

Faith clicked her tongue.

“What?“

“Was that necessary?“

“Do you want me to eat it?“

“No, but you don‘t know who‘s down there.“

“Nobody‘s bloody down there,“ Spike grumbled as he peeked into the alley. He pulled another cigarette from his coat pocket and tried to light it in the shelter of his hand, though the wind hampered his efforts. “And since when are you the litter watch? What comes next? Collecting money for orphans?“

Faith rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to squabble over this, although the urge to do so itched her.

From below, metallic clatter echoed through the concrete canyon and up to where they were standing. Something or someone must have crashed into an array of garbage cans that had been assembled for collection years ago.

Spike held up his hand, signaling Faith to remain silent.

Faith co*cked an eyebrow and stepped up to the ledge. Heaps of saggy cardboard boxes, broken plywood pallets, and old dumpsters obscured the ground. “Do you see something?” she asked.

“Ssh!” Spike hissed.

“Have we lost him?” Faith whispered. She zipped up her leather jacket, as another gust of wind swept over them.

Spike stepped forward to where she was standing and listened to the night in an uncharacteristically solemn manner. “Nah, he’s still down there somewhere. Running around like a maniac.”

Faith sighed and stretched her arms. They had been on this back-up goose chase for the better part of four weeks and it had often taken them their combined prowess to keep up with their target. She was growing tired of babysitting, and it nagged her that Spike seemed to have endless patience when it came to playing nanny.

In the alley, a shape scurried through the diffuse shine of a building light and set off another round of rattling noises. Behind it, a second creature appeared in the narrow passage. Its hunched-over body threw a distorted shadow against the brick wall. With slow spidery movements, the shadow prowled forward. The first figure screamed.

Faith’s muscles tensed.

“Easy, tiger. It’s just a vamp going after that girl.” Spike put his hand on her shoulder.

Faith shoved it off. “I knew that!” she spat.

Down below the vampire grabbed his victim by the collar of her red dress and hauled her into a standing position. They spun around in a tight dance of push and pull and between hisses and squeals random fragments of conversation became discernible.

“What do you want from me?” the woman howled, trying to break loose.

The vampire pulled on her arm, making her whole body jerk forward. “Don’t play dumb,” he growled.

“Get off! Get off of me!” The woman punched the demon with both fists, but he didn’t even flinch.

Faith willed her body to relax. She knew the drill, but some calls were too close to her liking. “How long do we…”

As if her question had been a cue, a third figure appeared in the street and strode over to the site of the altercation.

“Not at all it seems,” Spike said and lit another cigarette. He put his foot down on the ledge and rested his arm on his thigh, easing into a position that let him better enjoy the view.

“Stop this right now!” the newcomer called.

The demon turned, and the woman, using the moment to her advantage, broke free and scurried further into the shadows and into hiding.

The vampire roared in anger.

Faith quietly exhaled.

Unable to decide if he should follow his prey or deal with the intruder, the vampire puffed up his chest and snarled once more. The newcomer didn’t wait for an attack. He strode forward, grabbed the demon by the lapels, and threw him to the ground like a dummy. The vampire shook himself, sprung to his feet, and came at his attacker with flying fists. The latter, however, avoided the blows with ease, pirouetted on one foot, pulled out a stake, and dusted the demon before he ever saw the weapon coming.

“Oh c’mon,” Spike groaned.

“At least we didn’t have to get involved?” Faith replied.

Spike let out a snort tinged with disappointment, dropped his cig on the roof, and ground it to crumbs with the heel of his boot. “Let’s go before we lose him,” he said, and with a mock bow, invited Faith to be first to descend down the fire escape. They climbed down the ladder and dropped to the ground without making a sound.

Several yards away the new arrival had coaxed the woman out of her hiding spot and was trying to console her.

With hunched backs Faith and Spike hurried behind a dumpster and into the same nook where the woman had just hidden. A glass object cracked beneath Faith’s boot. Spike rolled his eyes. Faith stuck out her tongue at him and tried to move further into the cranny, but when she tried to lift her foot, her sole stuck to the asphalt ever so slightly. She shuddered and suppressed a curse. Probably an old crack pipe.

In the alley, the woman’s savior had taken off his leather jacket and had covered her with the garment. Even though he had just been involved in a fistfight, he was neither out of breath nor riled - his short dark hair was still styled with immaculate precision.

“There, there,” he said, “you’re alright now. What’s your name?“

“Wendy,” the woman said with a shaky voice.

“That’s a lovely name. How about we get you home, Wendy?” he asked.

Wendy didn’t protest, but as soon as they started walking, she began to wobble. Without hesitating, he linked arms with her and guided her back into a better-lit area.

Spike and Faith left their hideout and tailed the couple. As the two made their way through the deserted LA streets, vampire and Slayer stayed far enough behind to not be noticed.

After a few blocks, the woman began to walk with more composure and the man eased his supporting hold. On the outskirts of the former Chinatown, they stopped in front of a comparably intact apartment building.

Spike and Faith fell back and cowered behind the remnants of a temple. Stone slabs and shingles had been piled up on the sidewalk for rebuilding or removal, but moss and weeds had since claimed the debris as their new domain. A crow sat on the broken head of a chubby lion statue and cawed at Faith, but she ignored the nosy bird in favor of the send-off that was unfolding in front of them.

“How can I repay you for your help?” the woman sniffled, barely able to retain her tears.

“Oh, there is no need, Wendy! Your safe return is gratification enough!” The man grabbed the woman by the shoulders, gave her an awkward little shake, and pushed her towards the door.

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but decided against it and only held up her hand for a feeble wave goodbye.

“Good night now and sleep tight!” he called after her as she disappeared. When the woman was out of sight, he turned on his heel and walked back and right into the direction where Spike and Faith were hiding.

Faith pressed herself against the cracked half of a pillar. “You think he’s gonna see us?”

“Probably,” Spike said, and without consulting Faith further, he stepped into the middle of the street. “You do know he doesn’t talk like that, right?” he called out as he lit what must have been his fiftieth cigarette of the night.

Connor stopped in his tracks. “What are you doing here?” he groaned.

Faith peaked out from their hiding spot. When their eyes met, she smiled and waved.

“And you? How long have you two been following me?” Connor asked his nostrils flaring with anger.

Faith suppressed a smirk. For a brief moment, the whole sad situation got actually funny. When he was annoyed, Connor really did look like his father. All angry eyebrows and forehead creased with consternation.

Spike crossed the distance between them and gave Connor a jovial slap on the back.

“Don’t flatter yourself, junior. We’re just following up on some leads for Gunn. Pure coincidence we ran into you. The Girl Scout wanted to make sure you didn’t get your head smashed in, but I told her not to worry. You got the tortured crusader act down to the T.”

“If you’re unhappy with my impersonation you’re welcome to take the job. I didn’t volunteer for this,” Connor snapped.

They knew that of course.

Faith didn’t remember whose idea it had been to keep him fighting the good fight. She just remembered it had seemed smart at the time. They didn’t know how many of his enemies were still around, and it had seemed safer to keep the idea of the vigilante running, while the real man was MIA. In the end, Spike and Connor had drawn lots. And while Connor wasn’t happy with the result, he had still followed through. He had even cut his hair. He cared about the cause.

They all cared.

“Faith, you coming?” Spike’s voice pulled Faith from her thoughts and back to the rubble jungle that had once been North Broadway. Spike and Connor had stopped bickering and had already walked a few yards ahead.

Faith was about to follow when a prickling sensation crept up from her shoulders towards her hairline. She spun around and saw the woman from before reemerging from the apartment complex. Wendy had collected herself surprisingly fast and was walking straight towards them.

Without thinking about it, Faith shifted her weight.

Connor had also noticed the woman and jogged back in their direction. “Are you okay?” he called.

Wendy sniffled.

Faith licked her lips.

Something about the sound didn’t sit right.

Wendy had almost drawn level when Faith realized it was more than the sound that was off. The woman’s mouth stretched from ear to ear, distorting her face into a freakish grimace. Her teeth had grown long and pointy. She tilted her head and sniffed the air like an animal. Then her gaze jerked back to Faith. “Where is it?“ Wendy hissed. “Did you take my pudding?“

Faith didn’t answer but pulled her arms up in a defensive stance.

A second later Wendy jumped forward and threw her to the ground.

—

If Willow hadn’t come up with the mode of communication herself, she would have believed them to be seated in the same room. That the library as they had known it still existed. But it had been destroyed in the same way that the building that had housed it and the city had been annihilated. As it was, Giles and Willow sat 5000 miles apart, Giles somewhere in London and Willow in LA. Unearthed from the depth of both their memories, the musty smell of decaying school books and Lysol engulfed them. Giles shifted back and forth in the chair, awkwardly arranging his avatar behind the central table. He had picked a dark tweed suit for his magical alter ego to wear - a surprisingly formal choice, Willow noted.

“Is this line secure?” Willow whispered.

Giles didn’t flinch, but he did overenunciate his answer. “Of course,” he said. He didn’t ask why she had asked. They were on good terms these days, but it had been years since their trust in each other had been unconditional. Still, he was the only one she could turn to.

“What can I do for you?” Giles said, cutting out any polite chit-chat. Maybe she had affronted him with her question after all.

Willow wrung out her hands, forcing them to uncurl. She put her fingers straight down onto her thighs, and sat up just a little straighter - mimicking Giles’ posture. “We need more resources. We’re not making any progress.”

“This is not what Buffy and Rowena have told me,” Giles said, but he didn’t look all that surprised. “Do they know you’re talking to me?”

“Yes.“ Willow said, hoping her voice didn’t waver. It sounded shaky to her.

Giles took his glasses off and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He cleaned the lenses methodically and kept his gaze fixed on the witch. “I’m afraid we cannot allocate more resources to LA without exposing what happened. You will just have to make do.”

“But…”

“I’m sorry, Willow. I would like to fix the situation as much as anyone, but my hands are tied. If everyone had stuck to the plan, we wouldn’t be here. The weapons would be secure and not in the hands of a primordial demon.“

Willow wasn’t sure if Giles had intentionally skipped over her part in the whole ordeal, or if his subconscious had already picked a scapegoat. “You know they didn’t make that choice lightly…you make it sound like a mindless whim…like grabbing a Snickers bar at the checkout.”

“Oh, he is anything but mindless,” Giles put his glasses onto the back of his nose and carefully adjusted their placement. “I’m sure his plan was well thought through, otherwise he would have never convinced you and Buffy of such a folly.”

“So you’re not on our side?”

“There are no sides,” Giles said, his voice suddenly much more stern. “We voted as an organization to retrieve the Trias. That cannot be overruled by a minority of actors, let alone one person. No matter how well-meaning their intentions. All of us, when we founded the Slayer Organization, decided on a democratic structure to inhibit precisely what happened now. Abuse of power. Decisions influenced by personal feelings.”

“Giles…”

“You’re telling me her feelings for him had no effect on her choices?”

Willow took a deep breath. Her gaze wandered along the walls and got stuck on a poster appealing to the students to show Razorback pride. She exhaled. “They have always put the fate of the world above anything else. He gave his life to save her.”

Giles‘ lips formed a slim, humorless line. “As far as I know, that has yet to be seen. Or am I also ill-informed on this matter?”

—

Willow jerked up and inhaled sharply. She listened for a noise. A disturbance. Something in the here and now must have pulled her subconscious from the session, but the room was quiet. She ran her tongue along her gums. Her mouth tasted like a small amphibian had crawled inside it and died. She rubbed her hands across her face. The skin of her chin was sticky. Drool must have run down the corner of her mouth and… “Damn,” she groaned as she set up straighter at the antique table. Papers and books lay sprawled out in disarray in front of her.

“You should really take a break,” a male voice chided her from the direction of the door.

Willow blinked. Most lights in the lounge were turned off, and she couldn’t make out more than a shape in the shadows.

“I don’t know what spells you got up your sleeve, but endless energy doesn’t seem to be one of them. Get some proper sleep.” Gunn stepped into the light cone of the single burning ceiling lamp.

“What does it matter?” Willow huffed and was immediately remorseful.

“It matters. Everything we do matters.” Gunn pulled a chair from the table. The well-worn leather sighed, as he sat down next to her. With mere inches between them, Willow noticed that he looked as tired as she felt. “This,” Gunn made a big sprawling gesture.“This is not just your problem. It’s ours.” Her gaze followed his movement across the table and to the many volumes that covered the surface. On The Origin Of Interdimensional Travel. Resurrection In Christian Mythology. Spells for Seekers: Detection Incantations for Beginners and Masters. She briefly considered telling him about the call, but a strange pang of guilt hit her like she’d been caught cheating.

“So, you makin’ any progress?”

Willow pressed her lips together, unwilling to release the answer. “Barely,” she said.

Gunn got up from his chair and pushed the seat back beneath the tabletop. “I thought so. Go to sleep. We start fresh tomorrow. Maybe we can pull one of the younger Watchers onto this?”

Willow vehemently shook her head. “I already gave them some inconspicuous research. This…what happened…could well be the end of the Slayer Organization. It has to stay within our circle. It can never leave this room.”

Gunn groaned and ran a hand along his scalp. “You’re talking like trying to save the world was high treason.”

“It wasn’t so much the saving, it was more the taking. We’ll just have to make do.”

Gunn turned and walked towards the door. Halfway towards the exit he halted. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but for what it’s worth. It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have stopped Illyria.”

Willow closed the book in front of her and shoved it to the other side of the table. She didn’t think Gunn was right, but she did appreciate the sentiment. “I should have been more vigilant. I just didn’t think she would betray us like that.”

Gunn sighed heavily and pulled the door open. “None of us did.”

Willow grabbed the next volume from the stack. There was no point in trying to call Giles again, so she might as well continue her research.

“By the way, you hear anything from Buffy?”

“I‘m a witch, Gunn. Not an oracle.”

Chapter 3: Swift And Sure

Notes:

It pains me greatly that the term zompire came to me on its own, only for me to find out later that zompires already exist in the comics, and the name was coined by Xander of all people. I kept it anyway. But know, it does not refer to the same creature.

Chapter Text

A man in a dark coat crossed the intersection at Wilcox. A neon-green Kawasaki raced down the boulevard with a howl. The bar and the tuxedo shop across the street were boarded up. Like the building in front of them, tags and graffiti branded the two as places long deserted.

Her hand wrapped in her sleeve, Buffy rapped on a black metal door. "Hello?!" she called.

The door remained unmoving.

Buffy took a few steps back and scanned the building in its entirety again. The windows were barred with wooden boards. The blue neon sign on the front facade had been ripped off several mounts and dangled precariously above their heads. She stepped back beneath the awning. On top of everything, she really did not need to be smothered tonight. “Hello?!” she called again.

Next to Buffy, Rona yawned.

Vi checked her watch. “You wanna just go home? Maybe there’s no showing.”

Buffy shook her head. They had followed the lead for three days, and she wasn’t giving up prematurely. She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and dialed a number. While she waited, she dug her boots into the debris. The ornamental stars beneath her feet had been shattered, and the names they once held had vanished. All that remained was the pink dust that rose in small clouds from the ground as Buffy tapped her foot in rhythm with the ringtone. At last, someone picked up the other line.

“Hi Walt! This is Buffy. I know it’s late…yes as I said, I know how late it is. Yes…Walt…Walt…I don’t care. I’m at the Pacific right now, and your friend –”

A low grunt behind her back and Rona murmuring, "…just appeared." stopped Buffy from releasing a tirade of handpicked threats at Gunn’s contact. Lowering the hand with the phone, she slowly turned around.

Two demons stood in the middle of the sidewalk. They had neither aimed for stealth nor were they hard to overlook.

Buffy cursed quietly.

The larger of the two demons towered over the Slayers by at least two feet. A bulbous nose dominated his face, and strange twisted horns portruded from his forehead. The shorter demon, the physical opposite, measured three feet at best. A light fur covered his body, and two large teeth stuck out beneath his upper lip. With their maroon-colored pants and ill-fitted dress-shirts, the duo resembled an ugly version of Rocky and Bullwinkle.

“Walt sent you?” Rocky looked the Slayers over like he had just discovered a nest of roaches.

“He said you might have some information for us,” Buffy answered nonchalantly.

“Ugh!” The small demon groaned.

„Uuurrrgh.“ The larger one grunted in agreement.

Rocky pushed past Rona, pulled a tightly packed key-chain from his pocket, and - without taking a closer look - shoved a crooked black prong into the keyhole of the black metal door. “Well, follow me inside. I don’t have all night, and the place doesn’t get ready for customers on its own. And no funny business!” He swung around and jiggled the key-chain up and down in front of Buffy. “I know the likes of you. You enjoy poking little guys with sharp objects.”

The theater greeted the Slayer with a cloud of stale air and the smell of rancid nacho cheese. The chandeliers flickered like dizzy fireflies. Cracks ran through almost every wall in the lobby, and the once red carpet had taken on a dark purple hue. In some spots it was missing altogether, exposing the concrete floor beneath.

Without a word of explanation, Rocky disappeared into the box office while Bullwinkle stepped behind the snack counter. With a clammy smack, he turned on the switches of an air fryer and a popcorn machine. The meat inside the plastic container appeared to be skewered rats, while the popcorn machine contained...Bullwinkle caught Buffy staring, lifted a paper bag from the counter, and held it out to her. “Chilly crickets and mealworms?”

Buffy forced an appreciative expression onto her face. “No, thanks,” she said and walked over to where Rocky was sitting. He had pulled out a drawer of change and was counting quarters. “So, what do you show here?”

“Oh, you know, mostly family-friendly stuff.” He bit into a bronzy metal disc that didn’t look like U.S. currency. “The Creature From The Black Lagoon, Invasion of The Body Snatchers, The Grudge.”

“I love The Grudge!” Vi called from a few feet away. She was subtly checking the perimeter with Rona while Buffy stayed close to the demons.

Rocky narrowed his squinty eyes at the two Slayers, then turned his attention back to Buffy. “So what can I do to make you leave? And quickly? If people see you here, it’s gonna bankrupt me.”

Quick suited Buffy just fine. “We’re looking for some vamps. Hissing, sniffing vampires? Have you heard anything about that?” The smell of reheated rats wafted over to her, and she took the next breath through her mouth. “Or dozy and remote controlled? Like stoner vamps or zompires?”

Rocky stopped his counting. “Zompires?” He studied Buffy’s face, as if he were looking for a clue that confirmed she was serious. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Buffy throttled a sudden wave of frustration. “But Walt said you were our men. If anything was going on, the two of you would know.”

“Well then, nothing’s going on. Because I don’t.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“What about your friend here?” Buffy jerked her thumb towards Bullwinkle, and the demon smiled, proud that Walt or a Slayer or both considered him a creature in the know.

“He doesn’t know anything either.” Rocky glared at Bullwinkle, and Bullwinkle's smile dropped into a frown.

Rocky turned back to his coins. “I’ve really not been hearing much.”

Buffy crooked an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that.”

The demon threw up his short arms with exasperation, almost toppling the drawer over. “Buffy. It’s Buffy, right? Business has been sh*t recently. With the ongoing invasions and rampage, nobody’s been feeling safe at the movies. Little guys like us we’ve fallen on hard times. If you wanna know what goes on in LA, ask your boyfriend. He practically runs this town.”

A sharp twinge pierced the space above Buffy’s heart. “My what?”

“Your boyfriend. You know tall, dark, used to kill humans for funsies.”

The pinching sensation turned into a chill. It spread from Buffy‘s back until it encompassed her whole body. “I don’t understand.”

The demon glared at her as if she was now messing with him for sure. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Buffy tentatively shook her head.

“I used to hang at Willi’s when the Hellmouth was still it.” He sighed. “I miss that place sometimes. Anyway, everyone knew about you and Angelus. Playing house. Sitting in a tree. It was a small town with little excitement. The regulars used to have a wager about when he’d lose his sh*t and turn you.” The demon chuckled. “Looks like you turned him in the end.” He closed the drawer, and the lock shut with a snap. “Figured now that you’re here, you two are also back together. The Scourge of Europe and the Queen Reaper, ruling the kingdom and splitting its spoils.”

For the first time in a long time, Buffy was stupefied.

The demon leered, relishing the moment.

The slamming of a door cut through the embarassing silence.

“Hey!“ Rona shouted.

Buffy jerked around and saw Rona and Vi sprinting up the large staircase. On the upper landing, a hunched-over shadow disappeared from view. Buffy turned back to the demonic rodent. “Why do I have a feeling you‘ll regret this?“ she snarled, and rushed after the other Slayers to the first level, the stairs creaking under her boots. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the construction gave way and dropped her into the basem*nt. On the first landing, Buffy saw the last glimpse of Rona’s back as the other Slayer dashed around a corner at the end down a long hallway.

Buffy ran after them without inspecting the location further. Luckily she didn’t have to go far.

In the hallway’s leg, Rona and Vi had cornered a demon. He was neither a werewolf nor a vampire but looked like a bread between the two. His eyes shone yellow, and hand-long incisors stood out from his jaws. Spittle dripped down his flews and onto the already dank carpet. The creature shook with anger, clutching a ruddy brown messenger bag tight to his chest.

Rona and Vi were ready to attack, halting in the last second for Buffy to make the call.

Only she didn't.

They had never encountered this species, and she didn’t know what to expect. The demon might be stronger than he appeared. His bite might be poisonous. Maybe there was a weapon in the bag. Buffy’s mind raced back and forth between the options. What if she made the wrong call yet again.

In a similar fashion the cornered demon was also gauging the odds. He seesawed on the spot, his agitation increasing. Then, without warning, he jumped forward and grabbed Vi by the shoulders, but instead of throwing her to the ground, he used the Slayer as a means to leapfrog and somersaulted over her body. In a move of surprising grace, he landed in a crouch behind the three women, got up, and dashed forward and out of an emergency exit.

Buffy reached the door seconds later, only to realize that the demon had already dropped down the emergency ladder and into an alley, where he scrambled away from his pursuers. It was no use following him now. If he knew the area only slightly better than them, he would be in hiding before they even reached street level.

Swallowing her frustration, Buffy motioned Vi and Rona to backtrack he demon’s path instead.

Several doors lined the walls along the vast corridor, but they found nothing of interest behind them. They all lead into dark auditoriums that smelled like old tennis shoes. Behind one door, they discovered a room full of brownish tiles and holes in the wall, which must have been a restroom eons ago. Back at the staircase, another concession counter was set up, but its appliances were empty. Behind the counter, a door leading to a backroom or a storage closet stood slightly ajar.

Vi grimaced as she carefully pushed the door open, clearing their view to shelves lined with cricket and mealworm terrariums.

Rona gagged.

At the far side of the room, a naked lightbulb flickered groggily above a large metal table. On its top stood several gold colored crates with a V embossed in their center, and a contraption that reminded Buffy of an AP chemistry class. A blue viscous liquid bubbled on the floor between the shards of broken beakers and vials. Whatever wolfboy had cooked up here, very little of it remained. With no means to safely collect the evidence, the Slayers left the scene

When they came down the stairs, the box office and the concession stand stood empty. Only the fryers were still gurgling, turning the skewered rats in a never ending loop.

Back outside, Buffy took a deep breath and inhaled the heavy LA air. It smelled of asphalt and exhaust. Better than dead rats and demon drugs, but not by much. She threw her head back and stared at the dark, cloud-covered sky. Not even the stars were willing to come out and watch this mess.

The sound of Rona's footsteps came closer. “We’ll get some tools and return in an hour. Maybe one of the nerdy-bunch can help, and we can subtly stand on the side.”

Buffy nodded. But this wasn’t the only clean-up that bothered her.

“About Sunnydale,” she began, “It wasn’t how he said it was.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. Rumors about her love life had been circulating among the Slayers for years, she didn’t need any of them spurred right now. Not when she was already on probation. Not when he was…She ran her fingers through her hair and massaged her forehead with the tip of her index and her thumb. “Well, it was, but, I’d really appreciate it if you two wouldn’t share that with the others.”

Rona opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Sorry, you kinda lost me here. Are you talking about earlier? Vi and I must have stood too far away. The only thing I heard was that ugly Alvin frequented some dive called Wallie’s. You hear anything Vi?"

Vi shook her head.

A grateful smile flashed across Buffy’s face. But it vanished just as quickly.

Chapter 4: A Hundred Year Deep Sleep

Chapter Text

The sliding doors slammed shut like an ax hitting a hangman’s block.

No matter how many times Buffy set foot into a hospital, the feeling always remained the same. She had thought that she would have hardened herself against it by now. Eradicated her aversion through mere exposure. But that was not the case. If anything, her dislike for hospitals had only increased over the years. At this point, the smell alone made her sick.

Head lowered, Buffy rushed past the front desk towards the elevators. A middle-aged man and an old lady entered the cabin with her. The woman’s perfume filled the tight space with the smell of lilac. The man held a box of Lindt Mini Pralines close to his chest. When he caught Buffy stare, he smiled like they were comrades on the same mission. Buffy, however, turned her gaze to the panel and focused on the blinking red digits instead.

She doubted she actually needed the consultation, but she had also never sustained an injury of this kind. Its forced her to be reasonable. But, being reasonable and being appreciative were different matters altogether, and by the time the doctor finished her exam, Buffy had already forgotten her name. It was just as well. Buffy didn’t plan to see her again.

“You’re in great shape,” the woman said as she punched her diagnosis into the computer. “I’d call this a full recovery.”

Buffy pulled her shirt back on. She hadn’t cued the doctor in on slayerpowers. Nor anyone else at the hospital. In the aftermath of the battle, the healing process had taken longer than expected, rendering her medical record as supernatural as skim milk.

“The wounds have healed perfectly. We’ll get your blood results soon, but I would be surprised if your liver hadn’t completely taken over.“

“Great,” Buffy mumbled.

“Just to be sure. You didn’t notice any after-effects? Unusual pain? Skin discoloration? Illness?”

Buffy shook her head. Apocalypses weren’t pain-free, but no part of her body hurt more than usual.

“You still have the brochure about aftercare?”

Buffy slid off the exam table. “Yes.” Somewhere, it was somewhere.

“Great. We’ll call you once the final results come in.”

Buffy didn't care much for her stats or her newest entry in the Guinness Book of Slayer Records. Buffy Anne Summers, oldest Slayer in history. Only Slayer missing a spleen.

Without a goodbye, she left the exam room. This had been easy enough. Still, her lips and fingertips prickled. She counted to twenty, willing the sickening sensation in her stomach to subside. She should have just found a GP. Or better yet, she should’ve asked a doctor to come to the Hyperion. But she didn't want the others talking, and in the end, it had been easiest to confirm the hospital's follow-up call.

Just as Buffy reached the elevators, the doors slid open and a handsome dark-haired man stepped out. As he recognized her, his face lit up. “Buffy!” he said, clearly happy to see her.

“Hey, doc!” Buffy replied with less exuberance.

“You look good. How are you doing?” Dr Alvi beamed. Of course, she had to meet him here.

“Good. Great. How are you?”

“I haven’t seen you since you were discharged. That must have been a month ago.”

“Five weeks.”

“You’re here to visit?”

“I was here for a check-up.” Buffy tilted her head in the direction she had just come from “We just finished.”

“We can go downstairs together, if you like, I just wanted to drop something off and then I’m headed for the ICU anyway.”

Buffy bit her lip. “I wasn’t headed that way.“

A shadow of disappointment flickered across Alvi’s face. Like this was personal. She really should have taken the time to find a GP. “I mean, nothing has changed, has it?” Buffy asked, looking at her feet.

“No. We’re still bound by the laws of physics. We don’t perform miracles just yet. But we’re going to keep on trying. Tomorrow, we’ll probably--”

“I’m sorry, but I have another appointment,” she blurted out. She couldn’t hear it. Not anymore. The answers that weren’t answers. The hang-in-there-s. The we-just-have-to-wait-s. “It was good seeing you, Dr Alvi. Take care.” Without waiting for his reply, Buffy strode past the man and entered the elevator.

When the doors closed behind her, Buffy leaned against the wall, grabbed the railing, and exhaled. She focused on the coolness of the metal as it seeped into her fingers. As the small box carried her back to ground level, Buffy forced herself to stand up straighter again. She licked her lips. She swallowed. The doors opened up and a woman entered.

Buffy didn’t get off.

The elevator went up to the third floor. The woman and a man exchanged places and the elevator went down again.

Buffy barely noticed what was happening around her, and when the doors opened a third time she still couldn’t make herself move. She held on tighter to the railing and closed her eyes. Another woman and a boy stepped onto the elevator and they went up to six, mother and child left, a nurse got on, they went to three, a patient with a portable IV drip joined them, they went down to one. Buffy watched the doors open and close. She watched men and women and children enter and exit, but their faces blurred. She lost count of how often she passed each floor and how many people rode with her, how many people came and went.

Finally, a woman with russet curls rushed into the elevator. In her haste she hit Buffy’s leg with one of her large tote bags. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” the woman exclaimed as she turned to the panel. “Where do you need to be?”

“What?”

“You look a little lost. Where do you need to go? Women’s? Men’s? ICU?”

“ICU?”

“That’s five.” The woman smiled warmly and pressed the matching button, and when the elevator stopped on the fifth floor, Buffy was too embarrassed not to get off.

“Do you have any questions so far?” Kristen asked as they returned to the nurses’ station. She waved at Mandy, who sat behind the counter and handed Rabea the clipboard with the schedule and readings. Her shift was almost over and she inwardly prayed the other woman would say no. For once she wanted to make it home on time.

Rabea was a stickler for detail though. Kristen had already sensed that during the introduction. And now she studied the clipboard like this was the final exam of nursing school. She skimmed over the patients’ names and medications not once, but twice, her mouth silently mimicking the shape of the words while doing so.

“I know the first day’s a lot, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Kristen turned her left ankle and slipped her foot out of her white Croc. Her feet hurt. “We’re just so grateful you guys are helping us out. We know you’re understaffed, too. Paige will be here all night if you have questions.”

Rabea didn’t take the hint. “Of course. And don’t worry. It’s not my first stint in a larger ICU…I just…hold on.” Rabea flipped the pages back and forth, flipped her head back into the direction they had just come from. Her black bangs swung across her forehead like feathers. “There’s twelve names on here.”

“Oh yeah, we have one more. But there won’t be much monitoring to do.” Kristen stepped towards the beige door to her left and motioned Rabea to follow. Without knocking, they went inside. The dimmed glow of the lamp above the headboard was not enough to illuminate the whole room, and Kristen blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“The first years call him Snow White.” Kristen rolled her eyes, to ensure the other woman knew she disapproved.

Rabea walked around the bed to take a closer look. “Well, he fits the description.”

“Don’t you get your hopes up,“ Kristen said and checked the drip. They would have to switch out the saline soon. “He’s already taken. I wasn’t there, but my friend Sandra was downstairs the day he came in. Says the girlfriend pulled him from a car wreck and bled all over the ER floor while he was in surgery.”

“Oh, really?” Rabea whispered, a tinge of awe in her voice. She looked so impressionable, that Kristen wanted to ask her how old she was. Then again it was a good story.

“Yeah, apparently she didn’t want to go into surgery herself, til she knew he was fine. She had broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. Must have hurt like hell.” Kristen lifted the printout from the ECG and checked the readings. “But that’s true love for you. A little misguided maybe, but where do you find someone willing to do that? Bleed dry for you, that is. I love my husband, but I can’t even get him to take out the garbage.” Kristen chuckled. Rabea didn’t. “Anyway, we’re a little early, but since we’re here, she might as well fill in his readings.”

Kristen stretched out her hand and Rabea handed her back the clipboard across the bed.

“What’s his prognosis?”

“No prognosis. He’s been in a coma for six weeks, they tried to wake him a few days ago, but…” Kristen shrugged. “...no luck. They’ll know the damage, once he comes back. If he comes back.” Kristen wrote down the data, put the clipboard onto the bedside table, and checked the printout again. The beeping of the ECG and the soft hiss of the ventilator filled the stillness of the room. Beneath the soft rumble, Kristen heard a murmur. “Did you say something?”

“I said ‘If anyone in LA can help him, they’re here at Keck.”

Kristen looked over her shoulder and back towards Rabea, and for a second it appeared like Rabea had touched the patient’s leg. But time was ticking, and so she decided to let it slide.

“What about the girlfriend?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen her in weeks.” Kristen took the clipboard, and together they left the room. “She probably went straight to rehabilitation.”

Buffy walked down the hallway in a trance, her feet carrying her forward on their own accord. A heavy automatic door barred the way, but right before she could change her mind and turn around, the barrier magically opened. Two nurses walked past her. One of them looked vaguely familiar, but her black bangs covered her eyes and before Buffy could pinpoint the face, the two women were already gone.

It was quiet here. Even more so than in the rest of the hospital. There were no other visitors. Staff spoke with hushed voices.

When she reached the beige door she halfway expected someone to stop her, but no one did, and when she pressed the handle down, nothing held her back. The room was dark and a little stuffy, clean and impersonal. A few books were stacked on the bedside table.

Buffy pulled a chair up. Even though she knew what to expect, the set-up looked abhorrently surreal. A scene from a bad Hallmark movie. Tiny tubes and cables stuck to his arms and fingers, tubes were coming out from under the covers, a tube was stuck in his throat. His skin was pale, his hair a stark contrast to the white sheets. The doctors had told them to talk as if they were having a normal conversation, but she had never tried it out.

“Sorry I haven’t visited in a while,” she whispered. “Everything’s been a bit of a mess and you know how I feel about hospitals. I thought I’d be a bigger help if I did what I do best. Kill and maim things. I’m not much of a mender.” She lifted a book from the bedside table. The spine was broken and some of the pages were bent. The corner of Buffy’s mouth curled up the slightest bit. He would be so annoyed when he woke. He’d almost fainted once when he saw how she’d treated her copy of The Great Gatsby. “Faith’s been reading to you? She said she really liked Jack Ryan. It’s the first book she’s finished since high school.” Buffy ran her hand along the cover and tried to flatten the dog's ears. “Connor and Faith probably told you everything about what’s been going on. Or not. We’re not making much progress. The weapons are still missing, weird zompires are running around. I’m calling them zompires at least. Somehow it hasn’t caught on yet. Connor and Faith got into a nasty fight two days ago. But they’re fine. Really. You don’t have to worry. Just some scratches. They’ll be back tomorrow. They wanted to be sure, they didn’t infect you with demon rabies.” She put the book back on the stack. “I just met Alvi. There’s still no prognosis, but you’ve met him, he’s a glass-all-full guy.”

There was so much she wanted to say. And so much she couldn’t. She didn’t even know anymore what was real and what was not. Their time together had been short compared to the endless summer that followed. Maybe she had imagined everything that had happened between them - her feelings, a forlorn fever dream

“So, I guess being alive isn't all that it’s made out to be. I’m sure you expected this to be different. I know I did. I probably fantasized about this a million times, but...” A million times might have been an exaggeration. She had usually tried to stop the thought as soon as it arose. No good would come from wishing for the impossible. And it also felt like a fundamental betrayal. Like she didn’t love him for who he was. Just sometimes, sometimes, she let herself indulge. And she imagined what it would be like if he were human. If they were a normal boy and a normal girl and what their lives would be like. None of her fantasies had ever involved a hospital, though. “It’s all my fault. I should have been more vigilant. I shouldn’t have distracted you, and now I don’t even know if you’re in there…or trapped in some interdimensional hell space…or the great lost and found for souls. I know you can handle hell, I just wish you didn’t have to.” She took his hand in hers, closed her eyes, and pressed his palm to her cheek. She knew why she didn’t come here. Sitting with him, holding his hand, the need for him to get well was so strong it smothered her whole being. “You’ll be alright. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see. Everyone wants you to wake up.” Her lips touched the inside of his left wrist. “I wish you would wake up. I-”

The ventilator released a mechanical sigh.

The neon light flickered.

The ECG beeped with a stoic automatic rhythm.

His hand hung lifeless in her hands. His skin was warm but smelled of disinfectant.

The futility of the situation hit her like an avalanche.

This was all bullsh*t.

This was only a body. Kept alive by electrical currents and medical science.

Buffy gently put the hand down, got up, and left without saying another word.

Chapter 5: Three Magic Words

Chapter Text

Guten Abend, gute Nacht,

M i t R o s e n b e d a c h t, m i t N ä g l e i n b e s t e c k t...

In the dark, the faint lights of high rises flickered. An orange halo shimmered on the horizon, steadily seeping into the black. LA was burning and the whole world would soon follow. Violence begot violence, and the magnitude of this fight had even surpassed his imagination. He couldn’t hold back the flood anymore.

From behind him, hesitant footsteps resounded. She was as tired as him. They weren’t invincible, even if they liked to pretend otherwise. He heard her exhale, the soft thump of her heart. Protracting her movements, she halted, then rested her head against his back.

A jolt rippled through his body, turning every fiber onto high alert. Even though he had known she was close, the intimacy of the gesture was unexpected.

"So in your mind when you told me...when you tell me that we can be together, what do I answer?"

He choked back a laugh and a raspy sigh escaped his mouth. How could she ever know the longing she elicited? In his whole existence, he had never wanted anything as much as her. She was the safety of a home he never knew, and the promise of a better future. But further still, the idea of returning to her was forever entangled with the foolish hope of being human one day. Two desires so impossible, so improbable, he extinguished any thought of them as soon as it dared to glow. He let his head drop back. "You know how these things play out. They never go that far."

She lifted her arms and moved them carefully underneath his, wrapping them around his waist.

His muscles tensed.

“They do now,” she whispered.

It was a concession he didn’t know he’d been waiting for. He could feel the walls he’d built up giving way. With a sigh somewhere between pain and alleviation, all the hard-coiled tension he held left his body. His arms went slack. He leaned back into her touch.

"When you tell me that we can be together, what do I answer? 'No'?"

He slowly turned around and she eased her hold. Her left hand reached out and grasped his right, never breaking contact.

A gentle tug.

He opened his fingers and intertwined them with hers, and seeing their hands together he wondered for the thousandth time how someone so genial could also be so lethal. After all the fighting and killing, their hands found each other like they had never been made to cause harm. After all the time and space and separation, the answer had never changed.

"You're serious," he said, still not believing.

She took a step towards him, her head in a slight tilt. "When have I ever said 'no' to you?"

He could have told her the same. In a million lifetimes he would not refuse her.

Her heartbeat hammered in his ears.

He leaned forward.

And when their lips touched, darkness receded and light flooded the world.

The troubles of the universe faded.

His head spun, and through the rush of blood, he heard a far away voice.

“I wish you would wake up. I love you.”

Reality ripped at the seams.

Chapter 6: Aurora

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It wasn’t darkness.

It was more vast.

All-encompassing.

The absence of

Everything.

Time.

Space.

Matter.

It was perfect nothingness.

But change was a relentless master.

It forced its will even onto an abyss.

In the void, a murmur materialized and spread.

Ripples on a black lake.

“What’s his prognosis?”

Voices like the distant shine of a lighthouse.

“No prognosis. They tried to wake him a few days ago, but…”

A sigh.

“...no luck. They’ll know the damage, once he comes back. If he comes back that is.”

A scratch scratch. A rustle. A beep, beep, beep. Interrupted by a hiss. The mellow sounds of a mechanic ocean.

Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht, mit Näglein besteckt, Schlüpf unter die Deck’

And underneath a melodic whisper.

“Did you say something, Rabea?”

“I said ‘If anyone in LA can help him, they’re here at Keck.’”

Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt.

Footsteps.

Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt

Skin warm like the morning sun. A touch soft as white foam on blue-green waves.

wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt

A lullaby. A lover's wish.

W e n n G o t t wi l l, w i r s t du w i e d e r g e w e c k t

w e n n G o t t w i l l, w i r st d u g e w e c k t

w i r s t d u g e w e c k t

c k t c k t c k t

Angel opened his eyes.

Bright light pierced his retina like white hot needles.

His head throbbed, his throat burned, a dull persistent pain radiated from his core through his whole body. He willed his arms to shield his face but found they wouldn’t move.

From deep down and forever ago, the memory of digging himself out of his own grave flared to the surface of his consciousness, and the terror he had felt then paralyzed him once more. Demon or not, the fear of being conscious and trapped for eternity had consumed him like wildfire.

But there was no dirt now.

Angel could sense the space around him consisted of more than the inches of musty air inside a casket.

Still, he didn’t know when and where he was.

Only that he existed.

A voice reached him, but he didn’t understand a single word. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and saw the blurry silhouette of a red woman. Her movements were imprecise. She spoke gibberish.

But one sound stuck out.

Keck.Keck.Keck.

She repeated it over and over.

Angel tried to recall a demon species or a person who went by that name. Maybe this was a passcode for a Slayer safe house. He must have brought Buffy here after they fell from the skyscraper. He must have gotten hurt in the process.

Angel asked the woman about Buffy, but she shook her head, and when he tried to explain, the sentences came out garbled and nonsensical or not at all. Like his brain had yielded control of his vocal cords. He wanted to get up, to see his surroundings for himself, but the woman pushed him back down with ease. A Slayer then. Even if her concerned expression didn’t fit the categorization.

Defeated, he slunk back into the hard cushion, and an acrid odor puffed up around him. He couldn’t place it, nor the white and beige of the room, the strange silences, or the small blinking lights. At times Angel sensed he came close to an answer, but he couldn’t hold on, and it slipped from his mental grasp.

The restraints appeared sometime after. The thought occurred to Angel to fight them, but he never made a move. Maybe this wasn’t a safe house after all. But a prison. Or maybe he had died and gone to the one place where someone like him belonged.

“Angel?”

A new voice reached out to him.

He slowly opened his eyes.

In the harsh white shine, the washed-out contours of Buffy's face appeared. She looked gaunt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her nose was crooked just the slightest bit. She looked older than 19. She looked nothing like Buffy at all.

“Angel?” Buffy whispered.

He thought he’d nodded.

“Hi…”

Something cold coiled around Angel’s fingers, and he shivered until he realized it must have been Buffy’s hand. Her touch was uncomfortable. Too soft and too forceful at the same time.

“Can you hear me?” Buffy’s voice trembled.

Her mother had been buried only hours ago, obviously, she was shaken. He held onto her hand and gave it a tug.

Buffy’s other hand flew up to her face and covered her mouth.

Angel wanted to hug her but didn’t think it was appropriate. Fighting the Master had been traumatic, still, every sane brain cell told him to keep his distance.

Two men stepped into Angel’s line of view, and Buffy moved over. Dermot. It had been years since they had talked. The other one. Dark curls and tan skin. Angel had never seen the man.

The throbbing pain in Angel’s temple intensified. Nausea returned with force. A tangy liquid wormed its way from his stomach into his throat. He wanted to curl up on the side and vomit but found he could do neither. He swallowed hard. The bitter taste remained.

Angel blinked, and Buffy and the men were gone.

Darkness enshrouded the room once more.

His injuries must have been more severe than he'd thought. He’d heard of vampires who went into a state of hibernation until their wounds had healed, losing the main functions of their bodies in the meantime.

At the other end of the room, a man appeared in the sickle of light that crept in from the hallway. He was dark-haired and handsome, late 30s at the most. He appeared human, but Angel wasn’t sure. He couldn’t smell the blood pumping in the man’s veins nor did he hear his heartbeat. Better to tread wary. Demons came in all sorts of shapes and disguises.

The man turned on a muted ceiling light and stepped closer to the bed. His warm smile brought soft lines to the corners of his eyes. “Angel? Good to see you’re with us again,” he said in a hushed voice. “You’ve been coming back and leaving for several days now, but that happens. No need to worry.” He leaned against the footrest and the bed swayed a little. “My name is Dr. Anwar Alvi.”

Angel tried to remember if Wolfram & Hart employed a scientist with that name. He must have been brought to some sort of laboratory. Maybe he had lost limbs and they had patched him up like a modern-day version of Frankenstein’s monster. He commanded his hands to move, but once again they didn't budge. The harrowing fear of being paralyzed, of spending eternity in an unmovable body washed over Angel, and the feeling of white-hot needles returned. They pricked every inch of Angel’s skin. The doctor’s eyebrows crinkled and he put a hand on Angel’s leg, giving it a squeeze. Realizing he could feel the touch, Angel relaxed a little and exhaled audibly.

“I know you have questions about what’s going on, and I will answer all of them. I promise. Just let me check on a few things real quick.”

“Okay,” Angel croaked. There was nothing he could do anyway, and the will to fight was already receding.

“I will briefly touch your face. Is that alright with you?”

“Okay.”

Dr. Alvi moved over to the top of Angel’s bed, touched his face, pulled the skin of Angel’s forehead taut, and pointed a small flashlight at his eyes.

Angel tried to blink.

“Good.” Dr. Alvi said. He held up a finger in front of Angel’s face.

“Please follow my finger with your eyes.”

Angel did as he was told.

“Good. Now, I asked someone you know to come to the hospital because I find a familiar face helps with recollection.”

The prickling sensation grew stronger. Angel’s hands and face felt unbelievably hot. Hospital? What was this man talking about?

Dr. Alvi motioned for someone to come forward and Buffy appeared at the foot of the bed. Her face was composed and bare of any emotion.

“Angel, can you tell me who this is?” Dr. Alvi asked.

Angel opened his mouth to form her name. He must have smashed his head in pretty badly for them to go through such charades. When Buffy’s and Alvi’s expressions began to turn from expectant to concerned, he realized he hadn’t replied to the question. Angel tried again. “Buffy,” he croaked. The sound came out mangled.

“Do you know her full name?”

“Buffy Anne Summers.” Angel’s mouth was as dry as sand.

“When is your birthday?”

When was his what? Even if he had wanted to answer the question, which he didn’t, Angel wasn’t sure what Alvi was aiming for. Did they expect the date from his driver’s license or a date from 1727? Angel looked from the doctor to Buffy, just in time to catch the roll of her eyes.

“Touchy topic, doc,” Buffy said, and looked back at him. “When is my birthday?” she offered, over-enunciating every syllable as if he was hard of hearing.

“January 19th, 1981.”

“When is Connor’s birthday?” Alvi asked next.

Connor. How did they know about Connor? What was going on here?

Buffy made a shushing sound as if she wanted to console a crying child. “It’s okay, Angel. Connor is waiting outside. We just thought it would be better for one of us to come in here at a time.” She smiled, but the expression looked more like a grimace. Angel focused on her features, searching for a definite sign that this was the woman he knew.

And then it him.

He couldn’t smell her either.

“November 21st,” Angel finally answered, leaving out the year on purpose.

Buffy crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned to the doctor. “Good enough?”

Alvi nodded and made a note on a clipboard he had pulled out from God knows where. “That will do with the personal questions. I still have some general ones, though. What year is it?”

“2007?”

“Who is the president of the United States?”

Angel wasn’t sure all of a sudden. He had lived through the inauguration of all 43. He gave the doctor a tense smile.

Alvi winked at him and made another note on his clipboard. “I’ll take that as the correct answer. Now could you lift your right arm and touch your nose for me?”

Angel groaned. Apparently, they hadn’t noticed his struggle to move. He wanted to lift his arm. He wanted to lift his legs as well. Jump off the bed and get the hell out of here, but his body was not his to command anymore. Angel stared at the styrofoam paneling above him, the spot where four boards came together. He inwardly screamed at his arm to move, but when he turned his head to the side to check, his limb had barely lifted off the blanket. Angel let it sink back down. This was becoming too much. His head was spinning. They needed to leave. This doctor and this Buffy. They both needed to leave. Angel scrunched his eyes shut and willed them to go away, and somehow they did.

The next time Angel opened his eyes, the room was empty and dark again, except for a night light next to the door. Angel’s eyes slowly adjusted, but his vision was not nearly as good as he was used to. From the hallway, the sound of muffled voices and the clatter of a metal cart drifted through the walls. A repetitive beep called out to him like an echo sounder. He listened more closely and heard the slow rhythm of inhalation and exaltation beneath.

He wasn’t alone after all.

Angel recognized the sound as a familiar one, even if his sense of smell didn’t confirm her identity. He turned his head.

Buffy sat curled up on a chair next to his bedside table. Her arm slung over the backrest. Her head resting on top.

Looking at her, Angel couldn’t define what was amiss and how it had happened. Buffy didn't have smell, but more so she didn’t feel like Buffy either. Whenever they had been together in the past, his whole body had been awash with her presence. They communicated on their own frequency. Now all she emanated was white noise.

The world was wrong.

In her chair, Buffy let out a soft sigh.

If this was hell, Angel thought, his jailers had chosen a new approach.

She shifted, yawned, and stretched her arms. When she realized he was awake, she immediately sat up straighter. “Hey,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “How do you feel?”

“Not good.” The words came more easily now, but his voice still didn’t sound like his own. What had they done to him?

“Well, you haven’t moved in weeks. So I guess that’s to be expected. Is it okay if I…“ She pointed at the lamp next to his bed and turned it on.

“Where is?”

Buffy’s glance flitted to the door. “Anwar? Dr. Alvi? His shift is over. He went home. So did Connor.” His expression must have been distressed because she added hastily, “He will be back tomorrow. We’ve been rotating the Angel watch. He’s been here every day. Waiting…”

“Are you really Buffy?” Angel blurted out.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes.”

He wanted to ask for proof but knew that nothing she could tell him would convince him right now. And as much as he doubted her, he didn’t trust in his own senses either. Instead, he asked the next thing that crossed his mind. “Is this hell?”

If Buffy had looked surprised before her expression became indescribable now. “What? No. What makes you think you would...I would be in hell?” She shook herself as if to dispel the notion “We are not in hell, no. Not in the literal one at least. We’re not dead.”

A different thought began to creep into Angel‘s head. One so strange, so outlandish that he didn’t dare to think it. Not even in the privacy of his mind. “What happened? It hurts.” When he said the words loud, he realized how true they were. Everything hurt. His head, his throat and neck, his shoulders, his arms, his torso down to his legs.

Buffy started chewing her lower lip. “We were attacked. You got injured and were in a coma afterward. They’re currently weaning you off the painkillers.”

The space around Angel shrunk. The room, the bed with its fall protection, his skin - everything felt tight. The sense that something was profoundly wrong became stronger and stronger. “Alright, but why can’t I see or hear or smell properly? You’re here, and all I smell is antiseptic. Why is there antiseptic?” His hands began to shake, and he clawed his fingers into the mattress.

Buffy put her left hand on top of his and gently stroked the back. “You remember our fight in the cave?”

“No.” Angel stared at the chalk-white ceiling. He couldn’t remember much of anything. There had been a fight in a cave with a giant worm, but he hadn’t gotten hurt, had he? They’d hidden in a chute together.

Somewhere in the room, the faint beeping became louder.

“You got hurt pretty bad, but it’s going to be okay.”

“Then why am I not….why am I here? You could have just put me in my bed. It would have been fine. What’s this place? Why did they restrain me?”

“When you first woke up, you were confused. They thought you might accidentally hurt yourself. It happens a lot. Nobody’s imprisoning you.”

“So I can go?”

She shook her head slowly, and the weird beep sounded in sync with the motion.“I don’t think you can. Or at least it wouldn’t be a good idea. Angel, everyone here is trying to help you. They’ve been working around the clock for weeks to get you back.”

“Who are they?”

“The people at Keck.”

He only knew one Keck. Angel made a weird laughing, wheezing sound. “What Keck? Keck of USC? What am I doing at Keck?”

Buffy stretched out her hand to touch his head but pulled back, and rested it on his upper arm instead. “Angel, you need to calm down. Please?”

The beeping got louder.

“What’s that sound? You hear that sound?” Angel asked, distracted.

Buffy nodded. “That’s the ECG, I think.”

That didn’t make sense.

“Are you hurt?” Buffy looked tired, but she didn’t look severely injured. “Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt? Are you okay?"

Buffy closed her eyes. “It’s not mine.”

The beeping got louder.

Angel’s face scrunched up. He turned his head from left to right, trying in vain to extricate himself from the situation. “That’s not funny,” he finally said with a hoarse voice. “That’s a sh*t joke, Buffy. A sh*t joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I would never….,” Buffy insisted, but her voice broke off. “You got stabbed. You got stabbed with the knife and it separated you from your demon. We haven’t figured out the how completely. Or well at all.” She ran her hand across her face, dropped her arms, seemingly at a loss for words or an explanation.

Angel had stopped listening halfway through. Separated? From his demon? His chest tightened with such intensity he could barely breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

He heard it then.

The little wheezy inhales that came from and left his mouth. Without him even having to think about them.

An automatic motion.

“Angel. Do you need me to say it?”

He nodded imperceptibly.

Buffy took a deep breath. “You’re alive.”

As if to underline her words, Angel made a hiccupping sound he had been desperately trying to suppress. He had kept all the fear and confusion at bay, but now they pooled inside of him, much like the tears in the corners of his eyes.

He knew Buffy was telling the truth.

Because underneath the disorientation and the pain, and behind the beeping of the ECG, all he found was silence. A quiet Angel had longed to experience for a century, but that made him feel alone now that it was his to fill.

The demon was gone.

He was sole owner of his body.

A moment passed that felt like a lifetime.

Until Angel mustered some composure, turned away from the ledge of his inner chasm, and back towards Buffy. “So what’s the catch?” he asked, forcing nonchalance into his voice.

“I don’t know?” she whispered, and a small smile crept onto her lips. “It probably won’t last forever?”

Notes:

The German text are the lyrics to Brahms' "Wiegenlied". Why is it in here? Well if I told you, where would be the fun in that?

Chapter 7: The Pea That Pricks

Notes:

A short author's note because the topic has come up:
Medical content in fiction, and fanfic in particular, is a thin line to walk on.
I research everything I'm writing about, but I do not have the time to read medical journals or detailed treatment guidelines on the various topics. Thus there will be inaccuracies or aspects of the process I willfully ignore.
To me, the medical stuff first and foremost needs to serve the story, and this is not just a story about a coma. It's also a story about adulthood and zompires and bad puns and magic.

Chapter Text

“Thirty seconds," the pilot informed Chavez over the intercom.

It was supposed to be a covert insertion, which meant that the helicopters were racing up and down the valleys, careful that their operational pattern should confuse any possible observer. The Blackhawk dove for the ground and -

A tentative knock made Angel look up from his book. “Come in," he called.

Buffy‘s blonde head appeared in the gap between the door and its frame.

Somewhat surprised, he closed the paperback in his lap. “Hey.“

“Hey,“ she replied as she entered.

Unlike Connor and Faith, who had visited him daily, Buffy hadn’t returned since he had properly woken from the coma more than a week ago. Angel hadn’t thought much of it. The days in the hospital were bland yet extremely busy, and in a similar vein, he assumed the aftermath of the battle must have provided Buffy plenty to deal with. While he watched her make her way across the room, though, a feeling of uncertainty began to wind its way up his chest. Buffy moved through the space with the restraint of someone who wasn’t invited, and while his other visitors didn’t conceal their excitement about his new state, Buffy exhibited the mannerisms of someone bracing for a bad surprise.

If his memory didn’t deceive Angel, their relationship had been good before he had gotten injured. Better than it had been in years. But maybe he had been mistaken.

He sat up a little straighter in bed, and silently cursed at the effort it took.

“How are you?“ Buffy asked as she maneuvered a visitor chair to his bedside.

“Not too bad. Jack Ryan is keeping me company.” He lifted the battered book for her to see. He had tried to smooth out the dog ears, but so far to no avail.

Buffy smiled cautiously.

“I’m sorry if I spooked you earlier.” Connor had mentioned that he had talked plenty of gibberish during his week-long wake-up phase.

“Coming back from the dead is spooky.”

Not the issue then. Maybe it was the hospital. She hated hospitals with vigor.

“How is your head?”

Angel shrugged. Much had improved since they had last seen each other. He was able to stay awake for more than two hours at a time, he had taken his first wobbly steps with help and he’d been given actual food to eat. Well, food to drink, so that wasn’t all that new, but it was a step up from infusions. Slowly but surely he got better, and with each physical advancement, the sense of his new reality solidified. His memory, however, had seen little change. “I know who and where I am, but the rest is still patchy,” Angel admitted. “The last few years have gaps. The 20s are entirely gone. The 1920s that is. I have only vague memories of the years without a soul. 1740 is strangely vivid, though.” He chuckled bitterly. “I’d forgotten how much that year sucked.” It was an unsettling experience to make. He could not recall the office in which he had started Angel Investigations, yet the desperation and cold of a winter two centuries ago gnawed at his bones with the ferocity of a hungry dog. Images of dead peasants flashed before his inner eye, like a horror movie he had watched the previous night.

Buffy shifted in her seat. “And that is definitely related to the coma?” The question pulled Angel back into their conversation.

“Possibly. There’s a good chance my memories will return.” Angel sunk back into his pillow. “It’s also possible that it remains the way it is. They just --”

“Don’t know.”

It sounded like she repeated words that had been shared with her before.

“In their defense, I wasn’t completely forthcoming with the peculiarities of my situation. And it appears none of you were either. I don’t know what they would do if I told them I used to be a vampire. Send me to the psych ward most likely.”

Buffy flinched ever so slightly, and Angel instantly regretted his words.

Maybe he shouldn’t talk so callously about the matter, but it sounded so anticlimactic when he said it out loud. He used to be a vampire. Now he was not.

And so far life had been equally unexciting. The days in a hospital consisted of going through the motions. There were visits and check-ups, physical therapy and examinations, tests, and ward rounds - a never-ending procession of ward rounds - at every hour of the day. And when all the probing and probing was over, he was so tired he immediately fell asleep.

It was very different than what he thought it would be.

On the brief occasions, Angel had permitted himself to fantasize about being human in the past, turning mortal had come with much more high spirits. Not necessarily a hero’s welcome or a gift basket from the Powers, but at least a small slice of exuberance. At the moment, however, such feelings were out of reach. And as it appeared, not only for him.

Maybe that made Buffy anxious, too. A situation that should’ve been a paradigm shift, had turned out to be a mundane matter. Only that normal wasn’t their normal mode of operation.

Across from him, Buffy fidgeted in her chair. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Of course, when the doctors had posed the same question he had given a different answer. “The circles. There were magic circles, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m running away from Egret and I can feel the magic bristle in the air and then…..it just cuts off…next thing I know I’m here.” Angel had already gathered that the spell hadn’t been the end of it, but so far his friends and Connor had been reluctant to fill in the gaps. They didn’t want to plant false memories in his head, in case they covered something important.

Buffy sat on her hands. “Nothing else?” she asked. He thought there was a hopeful note in her voice.

“No,” Angel shook his head as if the movement could help mobilize the memories. “It’s driving me nuts, but the doctors told me not to force it. That triggering the memories on purpose could just cause dissonance.”

Buffy studied his face for a long time, too long for the answer that followed. “Then don’t. If it’s important, it’ll probably come back.”

The assessment didn’t ease Angel’s mind. “You would tell me if there was something I should know, right? Something I did,” he implored her. The way she talked, how she dithered, under normal circ*mstances he would have said she was hiding something, but here in the hospital, everyone handled him with kid gloves. He arched up one eyebrow. “You didn’t do anything?”

That elicited an honest smile at last. “Like what? Have I sold my firstborn? Signed a deal with the devil in blood? No.” She crinkled up her nose. “Only a complete moron would do that.”

Now it was Angel’s turn to grin. “That’s a low blow against a bedridden man.”

“So you do remember that part?” Buffy asked and scooted a little closer.

Angel groaned. “Unfortunately.”

Buffy took his hand and squeezed it, and a small shudder ran up from his arm. “Tell you what. You saved my life, and by some weird magical chain reaction that act restored yours. The rest is immaterial.”

The coin chinked as it rolled through the duct.

Connor waited for the sound to fall silent, then dropped another quarter into the slot. He pushed down three discolored buttons and on their behest, a mechanic arm rose up the rows of snacks towards the desired destination. It plucked a bottle of co*ke from the top shelf and slowly guided it down to the drawer.

“He’s doing quite well,” a male voice stated.

The bottle rolled into a drawer and Connor bent down to retrieve it. “Better than I had hoped,” he said and turned around.

Dr. Alvi was standing behind him, a crumpled dollar bill in hand. "Better than anyone would have expected." He stepped past Connor and fed it to the vending machine. “You know, it would be much easier to help him if he would tell us more about himself. Where he hails from. His medical history. But somehow I don’t think he’s going to be forthcoming.” A Mars bar dropped into the drawer.

“He’s always been taciturn.” Connor took a step away from the vending machine ready to leave Alvi behind. The doctor was a good man, but it wasn’t Connor’s place to disclose any --

“He’s a vampire,” Alvi said.

The words echoed through the empty hallway like the stroke of a gong. At their reverberation, Connor almost dropped his bottle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,“ he fibbed. From the corner of his eye he could make out Alvis' face.

The doctor’s jovial demeanor had given way to a stern, challenging expression. One of his hands fidgeted with a ballpoint pen. “I made some inquiries.“

At that, Connor perked up. Alvi surely didn’t know what he was messing with. Ask too many questions, and he would inevitably create attention none of them needed. Ask the wrong person, and he could get himself and Angel killed. In a town like LA, being a vampire didn't cause problems, but being a man who had returned from the dead was a whole different matter. None of them knew what that would entail. Connor turned to face Alvi. “You made inquiries? And how did that go? ”

Alvi sighed. “As well as you'd probably expect.” His prior bravado was already leaving his body. “The more I asked around, the more it became clear that I was out of my depth. I don’t want to cause any problems. I just need to know. Is it true?”

Connor looked left and right. Down the hallway, a tea trolley rattled across a metal threshold, but no one was within earshot. “Angel is not a vampire,” he finally said.

“Yeah, I gathered that, too.” Alvi put the pen in his pocket and ran the free hand through his hair. “He’s on top of the totem pole. It‘s just, everything makes so much sense now. I thought it was just gangs and weird rituals, but they exist, vampires and witches and unicorns? They’re all real.”

Connor shot him a sly smile. “I‘ve never seen a unicorn.”

But Alvi wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Has this happened before? A vampire becoming human again?”

“Doc.” Connor took a step towards him. This particular matter was one he wanted to talk even less about. “Even if I knew, there are things I cannot tell you. This is all kind of complicated.”

“I’m just trying to understand. This entire time I thought you were just part of some weird neighborhood watch. Misguided and voting for the wrong party, but ultimately on the right side of things. But now…they said he’s 250 years old…are you…is Buffy also immortal?”

Connor turned the bottle in his hands. “No, I’m not immortal. Neither is Buffy. You didn’t inquire about her?” That wouldn’t help the situation either. Buffy had enough to deal with as it was.

“I did. But the stories got even more convoluted. Someone mentioned a slayer. What‘s a slayer?”

Connor looked straight at the man. “They kill vampires.”

Alvi jerked up both his arms like he was trying to grasp for the last thread of common sense. “But she brought him here. She was the first person he asked about when he woke up.“ His mouth opened wordlessly as his head slowly turned in the direction of Angel‘s room. “Oh.”

Connor put one hand on Alvi's shoulder. “As I said. It‘s complicated enough as it is. And it would help if you could stop asking questions.”

Willow crouched down and lowered her head until her face was level with the bottom row of the shelf. The intense scent of lavender permeated even the worn-down floorboards. No moth would stand a chance, but she worried that she might not either. She ran the tip of her digit along the spines in front of her. The Lost Art of Vanishing. Magic for the Homestead. Maraskanische Sphärenreisen und Zeitmagie.

“You’ve been through all of these books already,” Myrna said, as she walked over from the main room of the store.

“But maybe there is something I missed.”

“You didn’t.” The blue-haired woman held a mug in one hand and stirred the hot content with a spoon she held in the other. “I can put in another request with the coven if you like." She took a slow sip and waited for Willow to react. Willow scanned the books' titles for a third time. "The request would have to be a bit more precise, though. You’re not just looking for a missing friend, are you?”

Willow bit her lip. She had visited the magic store in Ojai several times during the last months but had tried to share as little information with the witch-proprietor as possible. She lifted herself off the floor and gave the shelves of magic books one last wistful look.

Over in the main room, a middle-aged woman with colorful clothes studied the different healing crystals on the long window sill. She seemed preoccupied enough.

“We’re looking for advanced portalmagic," Willow confessed. Even when they had initially asked the coven to help search Illyria, they hadn't been forthcoming with exact details. "We think an ancient demon jumped dimensions to restore her former power. Possibly freeing old companions while she’s at it.”

Myrna inhaled sharply. “Oh, dear. That’s way beyond the dreamcatchers and tarot cards I’m selling here.”

Willow wasn't surprised by the assessment. As The Magic Box had back in the day, The House of Horus made most of its revenue with rose quartz, scented candles, and sage wands.

“How good of a witch are you?”

“Good,” Willow said, trying not to boast.

Myrna frowned.

“Soulmagic. Summonings. None of it has ever been a problem. I’m mostly self-taught, but I’ve spent time in Devon.”

“Are you a member of the coven?”

Willow shook her head.

“So you haven’t walked the Viae? I would like to help, but this is dangerous stuff.”

“It might be more dangerous if we don’t find what we are looking for," Willow retorted.

“Tracking, invoking, and closing portals is a highly specialized skill. Magic users train for years with their Masters so they can travel to other dimensions without corrupting the fabric of the universe. Most never reach that level of expertise.”

Annoyance flared up in Willow’s chest. Myrna radiated power, but Willow didn’t need a lecture about any of this. The Devon coven had offered her an apprenticeship several times, yet going back to basics with the novices had never seemed to be an option. How could she indulge in endless repetitions of magic exercises when there was a world to save?

The woman in the other room waved at Myrna. She had found what she was looking for. The witch excused herself and went back to ring her up. The customer had chosen a large Amethyst. Claimed to help with mindfulness, the only function the purple stone would excel at was serving as a pretty paperweight. Myrna thanked the customer, and the lady headed towards the exit. As she opened the door, a tabby cat sprinted past her legs and into the store.

“So? Will you still help us?” Willow asked as she crossed the room towards the counter.

Myrna deliberated her answer. “I will talk to the coven, but I can’t make any promises," she said at last. "In the meantime, is there anything else you need?”

“Do you know anything about wolf demons by chance?”

Myrna stepped around the counter. Her arms crossed in front of her chest, her gaze got stuck on the feline. “Wolf what?” she asked absentmindedly.

“Wolf demons?

The cat jumped onto the large tarot table in the middle of the room and began cleaning itself. Now it had Willow's attention, too.
“Is this your cat?”

Myrna shook her head. “Most definitely not.”

Chapter 8: All The King’s Horses…

Chapter Text

The shirts dropped into the basket with a soft thud. The scent of dryer sheets filled the room. After last night’s sewer patrol, the humid vapor of the washing almost resembled a spa retreat.

Buffy lifted the basket onto an ironing board and began pulling her laundry apart. She folded each piece with precision, stroking down the creases until her shirts and pants formed a perfectly aligned stack.

Behind her, the door to the laundry room opened, and Willow slouched into the hazy shine of the ceiling light. She crossed the room towards one of the washing machines and dropped her blue IKEA bag of dirty clothes onto the checkered tiles.

“Since when is Friday your laundry day?” Buffy asked, not taking her focus off her folding.

“Since I don’t have clean underwear left, and I want to remain a functioning part of society.”

“Isn’t there a spell…”

“There is,” Willow groaned, “but the clothes don’t feel fresh after.” She stuffed her shirts and pants into the drum, pulled an orange plastic bottle with detergent from a shelf, and smelled the soapy liquid like it was fine wine. “Nothing replaces Tide.” She started the washing cycle, and her work seemingly complete, sagged against the machine.

It must have been another long day of research without results. Buffy knew she should ask Willow about her recent findings or lack thereof, cheer her up, if necessary, but she couldn’t muster the energy. It was hard enough to push herself through the motions.

“So, what have you been up to?” Willow moved over to where Buffy was standing and hoisted herself onto a washing machine nearby.

Buffy pulled the last remaining exercise shirt from her basket and held it up into the dingy light to inspect its condition. The sleeve had ripped and turned the garment into a security hazard. “Getting rid of half my wardrobe apparently.”

“Scaling down for the big move? I’m sure he’ll give you more than one drawer.”

The shirt was unsalvageable, Buffy decided. She scrunched it up and threw it into a waste bin on the other side of the room. “Maybe I should,“ she finally said, having listened to her friend only with half an ear. “Move out.”

“Wait what?”

“We’re not making any progress. I’m not leading. Maybe I should head back to Scotland. Come along if you like. I’ll talk to Giles about an exit strategy for both of us.” Buffy hadn’t thought about closing up shop in detail, or at all, but now that she had said it out loud, leaving seemed like the only reasonable next step. Giles and Carol wouldn’t be happy, but there was no point in wasting more resources than they already had. She could make amends later.

Willow sat up straighter. “Yes, we’ve hit a bit of a dry spell, but we also just beat our tenth consecutive apocalypse in a row.” She reached for Buffy, but the gap between them was an inch too wide. Willow pulled her hand back and gave Buffy a look that was reserved for best friends only. “What happened?”

Buffy carefully moved her pile of folded clothes into her basket and rested her hands on top of it. What had happened? Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing she shouldn’t have expected. It was the same game as always. Rencounter. Truce. Challenge. Retraction. “He doesn’t want to see me,” she whispered. At least she didn’t have to elaborate. They both knew who the ‘he’ was and what not seeing meant.

“I’m sure that’s not true. He’s still recovering. He probably needs serious alone time.”

“He’s seeing other people just fine,” Buffy said with more emphasis. “Faith visits the hospital almost every day.”

“That’s true. And Connor also visits regularly …and Gunn and Gwen…and Volchak asked me for a cloaking spell so he could swing by during daytime…”

“Thanks, Will. That’s comforting to know. I had just heard about Faith and Connor. You think he’s gonna rehire Harmony to manage his calendar?”

“Maybe. He’s never been tech savvy.“ Willow quipped, but the smile on her face quickly vanished. “You can’t possibly think he’s making appointments.”

“Probably not,” Buffy relented. “I just thought I was…” She swallowed the end of her thought. It seemed presumptuous now. “I was at the hospital nearly every day during the wake-up. I visited on Monday. He could have called. Just once. But maybe that was too much to ask.” Funny how life managed to disappoint, even when you had little to no expectations. She grabbed her basket and walked out the door and to the fire escape.

Willow jumped down the washing machine “Where are you going?” she shouted.

“Upstairs.”

“Up the back? Why are you not taking the elevator? Are you avoiding someone?”

“No?” The answer came out much too slowly.

“There’s no one around,” Willow said and maneuvered Buffy out of the maintenance track and into the lobby. To Buffy’s surprise, the space was empty. There was no music, no mingling, no nosy junior Slayers on the prowl for the latest gossip. As they walked towards the elevators, not even Gwen looked up from her work at the front desk.

Buffy and Willow rode to the fourth floor in silence, but Buffy could practically see the cogs in Willow's head turning.

Once they reached their room, Willow plopped down on her bed. Unlike Buffy, Willow had made herself at home in the Hyperion. Magazines and books lay on her bedside table next to candles and a box of incense sticks. An electric kettle stood on her desk. There were teas of different flavors. Throw pillows lined the headboard of her bed. She grabbed one from the array, and scrunched it up in front of her chest, fumbling with its tassels like a homey rosary. “So why do you think Angel hasn’t called?” Underneath Willow’s concerned expression, resolve crept through. She wanted to get to the bottom of this and wouldn’t be content with anything but the blue ribbon of solving mysteries.

Buffy ignored her best friend’s stare as she walked over to her closet. “How should I know?“ she asked. “In my experience, men aren’t all that complicated, Will. He hasn't lost my number. He isn’t swamped with work. His cat isn't dying. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t want to.”

“He’s Angel!” Willow said, slightly exasperated.

“You’re telling me he’s not a guy? Because last time I checked --”

“ -- which, granted, was recently.” Willow quickly hoisted her pillow up like a shield. “Sorry! Sorry! Already zipping up.” She peeked over the red rim, rightfully expecting a glare. “But my point is still valid. Tea was served. Hot, steaming tea, right? Why would he give you the cold shoulder now?”

Buffy pulled a shirt from her basket and turned her back to her friend. “He doesn’t remember any tea. Or crackers.”

“Nothing?”

“Nada. Zilch. Gone and kapoof. And the fact that he’s not calling just shows how little it meant in the greater scheme of things.”

Willow looked earnestly appalled. “You don’t mean that.”

She didn’t. Not truly. But in a morbid way, it felt good to say it out loud like picking at a mental scab. And in any case, it was better to be prepared for anything.

“So you’re not going to tell him what happened?” Willow probed more carefully.

“And then what? I collect my dues?" In the worst-case scenario, she would make him feel obliged and that was an outcome so awkward and pathetic Buffy didn't even want to consider it. "Either way, it’s all different than now.”

“Different how?”

Different than before. When things were as they’d always been. When Buffy and Angel were dancing around each other and their feelings and what could never be. His resurrection should have been the starting point of something new, instead, it appeared to be the end of the road. Buffy had felt it the moment she walked into his room in the ICU. Something was amiss. “I don’t know if he’s the same,” Buffy whispered. “There’s….he’s different.” His reluctance to get in contact only confirmed her initially outlandish assessment.

Willow opened and closed her mouth without making a sound. She put the pillow down and scooted forward on the mattress. “Well, obviously he’s different. He has a heartbeat and a much higher tolerance to sunlight nowadays.” She placed her hand on her heart. “You think he’s someone else?”

Buffy shrugged. How could she explain the unexplainable? That she used to be able to feel Angel’s presence even when she didn’t see him. That it felt like their hearts were talking to each other, even when their lips stayed silent. And that now that he was human none of the sensation remained. “Not exactly.“

“Well, there’s no precedent. We could ask-”

“No!” Buffy almost shouted. “Let’s not. Ask. Anyone.”

“Okay. Okay. But you want to look into it at all?” Willow was shifting gears already, her mind rattling through all the possible scenarios, searching for an answer somewhere in her mental inventory of spells and potions.

Buffy didn’t want to look into it. No more probing. Prodding. Hoping. Wishing.

She slammed the last drawer shut. A pair of utility pants lay in a crumpled heap at her feet. One leg was tattered, and Buffy had only refrained from tossing the pants because it had seemed like bad luck. They were the first piece she bought after the vortex beneath Sunnydale had atomized her closet. Buffy snuck her hand in both front pockets and pulled out a scrunched-up tissue, a piece of red string, and three quarters. The tissue went flying into a paper basket. The coins and string remained in her palm. Buffy stared at them as if they could reveal the answer to all her problems. But it was useless. She dropped the items into her purse and frantically looked for anything else to stow away, but the rest of the room was barren. Her arms went slack at her sides. “Maybe it’s not even him. Maybe it’s me. Maybe something’s missing that I need.” A stinging sensation crawled up her nose.

Willow didn’t reply.

Buffy already regretted broaching the topic. It had always been one of her secret worries. That it was only darkness that lured her in.

Willow rose halfway from the bed, grabbed Buffy’s arm, and pulled her down onto the mattress. As they sat in silence, Willow took one of Buffy’s hands into her own. “You should know, the Angel you met this summer was as human as he could get. For a vampire. When I fixed his soul last year, I didn’t alter the curse. I lifted it.”

Buffy slowly looked up. In the aftermath of the battle, Willow mentioned that she wanted to talk about what had happened, but they had never gotten around to it. “Please elaborate for the magically ungifted.”

“How detailed do you want my explanation to be?”

“Movie summary while making a choice at Blockbuster.”

“Well, as far as I understand it, once a person dies, their animus, their soul, leaves their body. But animus is just another term for energy. In the case of a vampire, a demon takes up that space right in the moment of death and before decay sets in. It takes a couple of days to settle in the host, that's how you get the delay before it rises. Afterward, the flesh remains in stasis, but the mind lives on. However, the demon only has a closed range of tools to work with. It imprints on the person’s brain. Powers some neurons to pull the data, while leaving others dormant. That’s how you end up with a creature with similar personality traits and skills as the original human but without, for example, morals. Angel’s original curse was an add-on to that setup. An extra battery, if you will. It primarily fed the guilty feelings. The super-ego.”

Buffy furrowed her brows. “Is that real? I thought Psych 101 said Freud was majorly outdated.”

“It’s just a term I’m using so we both know what I’m talking about. Research into vampire brains is kinda underfunded.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyway, I lifted the curse and replaced it with a binding spell. I boxed up the demon and forced it to power everything until the knife cut it out.”

“So how come he’s conscious?”

Willow scratched the back of her head. “The reanimation. It must have pulled the animus back into his body. So whatever we have now, should produce the same result as before.” She paused and gave her explanation some additional thought. “Unless the demon has more energy than a human soul does. You know, like an evil Duracell bunny.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “So you’re saying he could be totally different.”

“No, I’m saying the building blocks didn’t change. He’ll never be an opera singer or, or a ballet dancer. All he can be is something we must have seen before. Maybe with slightly different nuances.” She suddenly looked alarmed. “Unless he was hiding something all along. Was he already weird this summer?”

“No, he was…” Buffy recalled the days of their artifact hunt. What had he been like? The same and different. He had changed since they had last spent time together but so had she. He was still broody and annoyingly taciturn, enigmatic if you wanted to romanticize his hermit-crab-behavior, charming and patronizing, stubborn and brave, intentionally and unintentionally funny, stupidly hot even in ridiculous situations, like when he was wiping dead bugs off a windshield or falling down skyscrapers. The most infuriating and infatuating person she had ever met. Often simultaneously. She knew she would never be able to explain. “He was Angel,” she conceded

Willow let the words linger before she wrapped her arm around Buffy’s shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “Then maybe. Just maybe. Allow yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Chapter 9: ...And All The King's Men

Chapter Text

The stream glistened in the sun as it cascaded down the rim of the fountain. A raven bathed in the topmost basin, diving into the shallow water with pure zest for life. The palm trees, the shrubbery, the grass; they were not just green but emerald, shamrock, and chartreuse.

"Some say it’s a waste," Barbara said.

Angel pulled his gaze from the patio and to the woman who had spoken.

"But I say let people have their small pleasures. We all know LA’s a trash bin, and keeping up the park costs money none of us have, but how’s anyone supposed to get well if they can’t look forward to life beyond this place?" Barbara tilted her head like 'this place' was an ailing dive on Skid Row and not one of the best hospitals in the city.

Angel nodded politely and pushed his bottled water forward on the conveyor belt. At its other end, Barbara waited for the item to reach her. She was tiny, with immaculate makeup and perfectly coiffed gray curls that puffed out from underneath her staff cap. She scanned the bottle and rang him up. "That’s $1.75, honey. Still no coffee for you?"

"Not yet. Maybe I can upgrade to camomile tea soon," Angel winked and handed her the money, and Barbara beamed back at him.

"Are you going outside later? It’s a beautiful day. No clouds in the sky."

"We’ll see. I have another consultation in ten." He grabbed his bottled water and the receipt. "See you later Barb," he said as he made his way toward the exit. Angel had no intention of going outside, and he had no intention of telling Barbara either.

He crossed the remaining space with ease, yet as the swing doors fell shut behind him, his gait slowed perceptibly.

Steered by an inner autopilot, Angel tracked down the path he had previously looked up on a hospital map. He followed the passages of white tiles and white walls and flat ceiling lights. A red strip of paint cut through the flooring, and Angel stuck to the thin line like a man on a tightrope.

Two nurses walked past him in their bright red scrubs. They smiled and asked how he was. They exchanged bits of small talk.

He knew their names by now - the names of nurses and the cleaning staff, the doctors, and the other long-term patients. The hospital operated like a small village. Secluded from the rest of the world, it stuck to its own rules and timekeeping. Within its walls, Angel was just one more number. A case file following a sequence. The days were structured, the liquid diet was predefined. Nothing happened by accident. Nothing required a choice. But this guided sojourn would come to and end eventually.

When he reached his destination Angel immediately knocked on the plain office door.

As much as he didn’t look forward to another conversation about his health, there was also no point in dragging the process out. Staff would catch up with him sooner or later. They knew where he slept.

Angel waited for a reply that didn’t come. He leaned forward. It sounded like two people were talking on the other side, but he couldn’t be sure. His hearing was abysmal these days. He cupped his hand around his ear, pressed it against the door, and jolted back. Embarrassed by his behavior, Angel turned left and right to ensure no one had seen him. He knocked again with more force. This time, his request was answered by a muffled noise and a croaked call to enter. He opened the door, and the light from the open window on the opposite wall blinded him momentarily.

"Hello?" Angel asked.

The office was not much larger than a broom closet. Beige file cabinets with beige files stacked on top of them lined the walls. In the middle stood a desk with two visitor chairs. Two large computer flat screens fenced off the whole width of the table.

The head of a middle-aged man appeared from behind one of the monitors. He was balding, and through his horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes appeared several sizes too big for his pointy face.

"Hello there!" the man exclaimed as if they had known each other for years.

"Dr. Park?" Angel asked. "We have an appointment at three?"

Behind the thick lenses, the man’s eyes got even bigger. "Dr. Park?"

"You’re not?"

"Absolutely not."

"I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong office." Angel took a step backward and was already halfway out of the room.

"Yes. No. Wait!" The man called before Angel had made his way through the door. "Dr. Park is not in today, but I’m subbing for her." He pushed up the sleeves of his green argyle sweater. "Do sit down! Let me find your file. It’s surely in the system. What’s your name?"

"Angel." Angel closed the door with trepidation and sat down in one of the visitor chairs.

"Right. Let me check if I have a file for…" The man disappeared behind the screens and pressed several keys down with his digits. "...a Mr. Angel." He waited for a result, deleted words, and tried a new query. Quiet mumbling escaped from his mouth. "This is peculiar. I can’t find your file. Could you tell me your date of birth?"

A tingle spread from Angel’s spine to his neck and the back of his head. The hairs on his arms stood up. "May 10th 17…1978 - And the name on the file would be Kane. Liam Kane." Saying his birth name sounded as strange as the movements of his now human body felt.

"So not Angel then, but not Liam either." The man chuckled. "And there you are. Right where you should be. Smack in the middle between Kamp and Kant." He resumed his file checking, scrolling through the information he had opened in his computer program. "So why did you want to see Dr. Park today, Angel?" The man dragged out his name with gusto.

"A nutrition consultation. I’ve had a partial colectomy with some minor complications, but I assume my file would tell you that."

"It does." The man rolled to the side with his office chair and leaned across the small strip of free table surface. "But I’d much rather hear it from you."

"Are you also a nutrition specialist?"

The man blinked at Angel as if he hadn’t understood the question. "Of course, I am," he finally said. "I am a registered dietitian nutritionist."

"Dr…"

"Excuse me?"

"Your name was?"

"Dr...O."

"Just Oh?"

The man straightened up. "O...Otto Lenghi," he clarified. "That’s German Italian if you’re curious. Well, German and Italian. Let me read the rest of your file real quick." He disappeared behind the computer for a third time, leaned back in his chair, and stroked his chin. When he got to a particularly interesting section, he dove back forward as if to take the contents in with more focus. Angel didn’t know what could have been written down in the file, but it appeared terribly exciting. Almost too exciting. At last, Dr. Lenghi rolled back into view. He clasped his hands together on a pile of documents and letters and smiled serenely at Angel.

Angel blinked.

Dr. Lenghi did not.

Angel scooted back and forth in his chair; the plastic cushion was somehow saggy and hard at the same time.

Dr. Lenghi continued smiling without shifting so much as a muscle. "Angel, you seem like a guy who appreciates few concise words. So, let me be frank with you."

Angel nodded.

"You don’t need a nutrition consultation. I will draw up a simple 3-month plan for you to follow, and then we’re done here. But-"

"Great."

"But —" Dr. Lenghi raised his hand like an aged schoolmistress. "I would still like to ask you one question. And you have to answer honestly. Sounds good?"

"Sure."

Lenghi might have been strange, but at least he was efficient.

"How are you doing?"

“What?"

"How are you doing?" Lenghi sat expectantly in his chair.

How was he doing? Good? Bad? In between? The sounds of a lawnmower chugged through the open window. A cradle pendulum on the desk swung gently from side to side - the movement coming ever closer to the end of its run.

Dr. Lenghi cleared his throat.

Angel turned away from the swinging tchotchke. "Good. Great. I’m doing great."

"Hmm."

"Couldn’t be better. Good as new."

"That’s good to hear." Lenghi exhaled like he was honestly relieved. "What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get out of here?"

"Get back to work."

"Of course. Of course. Your file says you work for a big law firm. I imagine there’s much to be done. Empires need to be built. Entire worlds are waiting to be changed. You probably don’t even know where to start. Every step right now must seem so momentous." Lenghi took a second for Angel to catch up, then abruptly clapped his hands together. "But you’re still young. And one day you’ll discover that while it matters what we do, not everything we do is a grave matter."

"Uh-hu." Angel agreed though he hadn’t understood half of the man’s monologue.

"So, are you excited about seeing your family? Friends?"

"What about them?"

"Your file says you’ve had several cousins cleared for visits. That’s very fortunate. To have a large family."

"Yes. Wouldn’t know what I’d dow without them."

"Your girlfriend must be happy to have you back."

“Obviously…my who?"

"Your girlfriend. It says she was in the car accident with you, but that she released herself against the doctors' recommendation a month ago. How is she doing?"

"I…uhm…don’t have a girlfriend."

Lenghi scooted back to the screen and scrolled through the file again. "Oh, my mistake. I apologize. There’s an addendum to your file. That was just part of the EMTs write-up. They probably misconstrued the situation.” He chuckled again. “Still. It’d be good to know, wouldn’t it? How is Buffy doing?"

"She’s fine," Angel retorted too fast to be polite. He licked his lips. Was that the truth? She had looked tired during her last visit. He hadn’t even asked her properly. And now that he thought about it, he also didn’t remember how long ago that was. A week? Angel’s palms got hot and sweaty. It was an unnerving, skeevy sensation. "That was more than one question," he blurted out.

"I suppose so. But I was concerned." Dr. Lenghi’s lips pulled into a thin line. "You see, car accidents can be quite traumatic. And we often forget that we are more than the sum of our parts. Our bodies and our minds - they are one." He intertwined the fingers of both his hands to emphasize the point.

Angel didn’t reply.

"Right. I'll get your plan ready for you. This is what you came for after all." Without looking at his screen, Dr. Lenghi clicked a button on his mouse, and from somewhere beneath the desk, the hoarse groan of a printer coming to life erupted. He bent down, pulled a single sheet of paper from the tray, put it on the desk, and neatly folded it in half.

Angel stretched out his hand to take the document. As he did so, a red string slipped from his sweatshirt sleeve and down his left wrist.

A curious look flashed across Lenghi's face. "That’s an interesting bracelet," he observed. "Kabalah?"

Angel pulled his sleeve down to cover the string. "No. It’s just a charm. I don’t even know why the nurses didn’t cut it."

"Do you want me to?" Lenghi pulled a pair of scissors from the pencil holder on his desk and snipped into the air.

Angel‘s right hand wandered to his left wrist. The memory of how he had acquired the charm was vague, but the thought of cutting it was disconcerting. The time had not yet come. He shook his head. "Thank you, but I still need it."

"Alright then," Lenghi said, an astute smile on his lips as he let the scissors slide back into their bin. "If you’re that certain, it must be the truth."

Chapter 10: Glass Slipper

Notes:

There seems to be a spacing problem with some of the words. It's not visible in the editor, and I don't have the time to search for the problem right now. I think it's readable as it is, so I will fix it later :)

Chapter Text

She had hoped she would never step through these doors again. Visit after visit, she had told herself that this time was the last. Yet here she was.Herang, and she dropped what she was doing like a lovesick Pepé le Pew.

When she reached the fifth floor, Buffy briefly oriented herself, then strode towards the room number Angel had texted her. He hadbeen movedfrom the ICU to a generalmen’sward - an exact copy of the ward Buffy had stayed in after the battle - a nondescript room somewhere along an endless chute of sickly beige. Buffy kept her head down as nurses, doctors, and patients walked past. The only thing that could make this worse was anyone recognizing her and dragging her into hospital small talk.

She had already lifted her fist to knock when an odd feeling engulfed her. She pulled her hand back and stared at her fingertipsas ifthey were broken.For aslong as she had known Angel, he had always elicited a specific sensation within her. In the beginning, she had thought that it was a side effect of her growing crush. Afterward, she wondered if it was her Slayer sense picking up on his demon. Lateron, she could hone in on the feeling like a radar signal. There had been times she had feltAngel‘spresence through a wall. When she knew he was inside a room, whether she could see himor not.

But the sensation had vanished.

Before the lack of connection got the best of her, Buffy raised her hand and rapped against the door. There was no point dwelling on the matter.

From inside, a voice called for her to enter, but when she didhisposture revealed his surprise. As if hehadn’tbelieved she would meet him after all.“Thanks for coming,”he said as she closed the door.

The bright light from the window left him a mere silhouette of a body. He was slimmer than the man that had been, and his shoulders hung slightly hunched. As he slowly walked towards her, his features took on more defined contours.

And for the first time, ittrulysunk in.

He was standing. And walking. Andtalking.

It was a sight Buffy had beencertain,she would never again or ever behold.

Angel was alive.

She forced her face to remain neutral, yet her expression must have been telling. Angel quickly pulled a chair out from the small wooden table."Would you care to sit?"

The question was awkwardly formal, and Buffy almost had to laugh. She moved a stack of candies to the side, put her purse and sunglasses onto the table, and obliged.

Angel stepped over to the bed, putting a decent safety distance between them, and leaned against the mattress. He put his hands on the duvet, clasped them together in his lap, and put themdownon the bed again. The light gray sweatpants, navy UCSD sweatshirt, and Adidas sneakers with Velcro were theleastAngel outfit she had ever seen him wear.

“It was either tennis shoes or slides,”he said as he caught her staring.“Boots are hard to tie with a 25-stitch-suture in your belly.”

“They’renice,”Buffy replied.“You look…”

“Sick?”

“Young.”

He shot her a sheepish smile.“The resurrection scraped off some of my most formative years.”

The tension inBuffy'sshoulders eased.“So why am I here?”she asked. Maybe thiswouldn’tbe so awkward after all.“Your message was a little on the vague side."

“Sorry, I was not trying to be cryptic.”

She co*cked an eyebrow.

“Not more than usualatleast.”Angel leaned slightly backward, but the stiffnesswas stillvisible in every move.“I wanted your opinion on something if youdon’tmind.”

“Of course not.”That was unexpected.“What is it?”

“Oh, not here.”Angel nodded toward the door.“Downstairs.”He grabbed his phone and wallet from a shelf beside the bed and put them in his pants pockets. On the way out, he abruptly halted.“Do you like candy and crosswords?”he asked. He grabbed a box of chocolates and two magazines from the table and handed them to Buffy.“I try to fend them off, but theyjust keep oncoming.”

Going to wherever Angel had intended took longer than Buffy expected. On the way down from his room, they stopped every few yards. Angel exchanged words withan old manwho had gotten a hip replacement, hegreeted a woman with an IV, and a janitor promised he would drop off his favorite Tom Clancy later. Stiffness crept intoBuffy'sback again. The Angel she hadknown,had been a solitary creature, but the new Angel was the one-eyed life of the blindman'sparty.

They entered the cafeteria with a flock of staff. Nurses were waiting inline,whiledoctors aimed for their favorite tables, and patients engaged in animated conversation with visitors. A quick search revealed every seat tobetaken;a sight that seemed to perplex Angel tremendously until he finally motioned at the patio.“How about you grab us a table, and I get drinks,”he suggested.

The patio was equally busy. Three women, lunches stacked on trays, passed her on their way toward an open table. They laughed giddily, and Buffy wondered for the millionth time how everything could go on. Howpeople couldcontinue living their lives amid so much destruction. Weeks ago, LA had been the site of an epic battle with a demonic army, but on the grounds of Keck of USC, no one would have guessed.

Through the windows,Buffy watched Angel joke with the lady at the register.He must have said something hilarious because the woman was close to tears as she threw back her head and covered her mouth with one hand. He finished the exchange, turned towards the door, and his smile evaporated.

She was the exception then.Acausefor concern in the wonderful world of rehabilitation.

A cloudy expression drew acrossAngel'sfaceandhis gait slowed as he walked towards the door. He balanced the tray with their drinks with strained precision, and likewise, the tension inBuffy’sshoulders returned.

The sliding doors opened.

The sliding doors closed.

Angel remained rooted in front of the exit.

It was chilly out today, but thatshouldn’thave deterred him. A pun about sunlight and smoke formed onBuffy’stongue, but the flicker of fear that flared acrossAngel’sface suffocated the joke in her throat.

Buffy held her breath.

Angel had been alive for weeks.He’dsurelybeen outside every day.

The doors opened and closed and opened again.

Angel’sbrows furrowed.

He looked left.
He looked right.
He looked straight at her.

He stepped outside.

An infinitesimal cower took hold of him before he straightened his posture and walked towards her as if this were the most normal of occurrences.

It was a momentous occasion, packed into complete insignificance.

Buffy’schest clenched.

How often had she dreamed of this? Angel in the sunlight. She had expected the world would stoprevolving,and the stars would fall if this moment ever came to pass.

But life just carried on.

“Old habits die hard,”Angel quipped, and an embarrassed, boyish smile flashed across his features.

“Angel …”Shedidn’tknow what to say to do justice to what had just happened.

Angel slid onto the metal bench that was attached to the table.“So, on a scale from chalk to milk, how pale do I look in direct light?”

“White as a wall.”

He grinned, seemingly relieved at the smooth transition frommajorto mundane, and handed Buffy her coffee.“Double shot latte, one sugar, am I right?”

Buffy took the paper cup and ignored the emotionsthat welled upin her belly.“That’sstill my order. No caffeine for you?”

“I’mon a strict diet.They’reworried about my microbiome.”

“They’rescaredyou’llsing?”

Angel unscrewed the cap of his water bottle.“No, my --”

“Your gut bacteria. I know.”

“Well, Ididn’tuntil recently. At least not that it was something to worry about. But it seems to be a theme.There’sa lot of worry. Worry about allergies, my ability to digest hyper-processed foods, infectious diseases. They were quite stumped to find a patient with completely clean bowels.We'llsee what happens when they take the stoma out.”

“Being mortal is a real combat, huh?”

Angel shrugged.“Speaking of battles,”he said, then paused.“There is something I wanted to say to you in person. As much asI’dlike to be the hero, we both know that is not what went down.”Buffy was about to object, but healreadycontinued.“You saved me, and I know that. I know that even if Idon’tremember the details. Because only you could.”He looked away from herbriefly, clearly trying to find the right words.“You saved me in more ways than one. And for that, I will never not be grateful to you.”

Buffywasn’tsure if Angel had only referred to their last shared battle or the whole course of their relationship. It did sound special when he phrased it like that. Yettoher, it was a simple matter.It’swhat they did. They saved each other from world-spanning trials and personal tribulations. She wassure,he would have done the same. Even if thiswasn’tthe time or place to argue that particular matter, so"thank you."was all she said.

“So Angel, Buffy, and coffee, huh?It’sbeen a while,”Buffy observedtryingto continue the conversation. Shecouldn’tevenremember the last timethey’dmet at the Espresso Pump or the Bronze.

“Almost ten years,”Angel said wistfully.

Another cloud of silence stretched between them.They’dbeen so familiar just weeks ago, but Buffydidn’tknow how to return to that state.

Across from her, Angel turned the water bottle over in his hands. He sighed and leaned across the table.“Do you want to talk about work?”he asked as if it were indecent.

Buffy took a big gulp from her coffee.“You’renot supposed to work.”

Angel leaned further forward.“I’vebeen thinking about the end of the world all day. And going outside. Andit’sbeen equally disconcerting.”

“You’resupposed to get well. Relax.”

Angel gave her a look.“If I have to solve one more sudoku, this will be a short resurrection.”

“Alright. Alright.“Buffy raised both hands defensively."Mayhem and monsters it is. What do you want to know about? The demonic crack den inside the Pacific? Zompires?”

Angel'seyes widened with delight.“Zompires? Did you come up with the name?”

“Idid.”

“Ilike it. Has it caught on yet?”heasked sprightly.

“Thank you. Not yet. But give it a few weeks.”

“So what do they do? These zompires? Do they suck on brains?”

“Faith and Connordidn’ttell you anything?”

Angel groaned.“They mentioned some strange occurrences, but you know how theyare,lots of action, a lot less observation.”

Buffy nodded empathetically and got ready to make the story good.“We’veencountered several groups of vampires in the last weeks that behaved oddly. Oddrangingfrom slightly confused to completely disengaged. Wandering through the streets aimlessly, without any reaction to outside influences.”

“It’salways vampires?”

“Always.We thinkthe common denominator is thattheygot hired to do somekind ofwork. Maybe they got hypnotized?Poisoned?Wedon’tknow. The patterndoesn'talign with anytype ofcommon drug usage.”

“How do you know?”

“Spike. He claimshe’stried everything.”

Angel unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip.“That is probably true. He once licked a toad in a market in Harbin because he thought it might make him see the world in rainbow colors.”He scratched the back of his head.“The number of poisons and drugs that affect vampires are also limited. Itcan’tbe more than two dozen.”

Buffy waited for a beat before she continued. She had his full attention now, and a not-so-small part of her reveled in it. Angel could always make you feel like you were the mostinterestingperson in the room.“Well, what ifit’snot from here?”

“Not from LA?”

“Not from this world. What if a demon brought it through one ofHassian’sportals?”

The sun had already set when Buffy returned to their room in the Hyperion.

Willow lay sprawled on her bed with her nose stuck between the pages of another musty tome. A mug of tea steamed on the bedside table while she flipped through the pages of On Demonology and Alternate Dimensions as if it were a Nora Roberts novel.“You seem chipper,”Willow remarked without looking up from the ancient text.

Buffy dropped the chocolates and crossword magazines onWillow’sbed.“What makes you say that?”

“Idid not observe growling and curses upon your entry.”Willow put a notepad between the pages, closed the book, and sat up straight. She checked the candies appreciatively.“So, where have you been?”

“The hospital.”

Willow’sexpression changed immediately.“Did you have another check-up? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,I’m--”From somewhere inBuffy’spurse, her cell phone vibrated. Except for Dawn, barely anyone contacted her via text.“Hold on a sec,”she said as she pulled out the gadget.

Buffy contemplated an answer and typed a few words but erased them and put her phone on her nightstand instead. She had to give this more thought.“So, youwant to know what happened?”she asked Willow, who had returned to reading her book.

Willow peeked at Buffy from behind the cover.“I already do.I’ve seen that face before.”

Chapter 11: Homecoming

Notes:

Hi guys! I'm awfully behind on comment replies. That's not my intention, but it will probably take a while until I can catch up again. Sorry about that.

Chapter Text

Connor pulled up the zipper of his white hazmat suit until his face was the only part left uncovered. He peeked out of the door to make sure no one was watching. Next to him, Gwen rummaged through a toolbox. She had donned a matching suit and black rubber gloves. Her long brown hair had been tied into a ponytail and hidden beneath hersuit’swhite hood.

“Idon’tknow about this. Are you sureit’llwork?”Connor asked.

“I’vedone this plenty of times,”Gwen said as she took several wrenches from the box and put themdownon the floor.“No one will ask any questions.”

“We should have done this at night.”

Gwen sighed. She dug deeper into the toolbox, pulled a small mirror on a handle from the verybottom, and held it up triumphantly“No. We should have not. At nightwe’reburglars. During thedaywe'reyour friendly tradesmen from down the street.”She stood up and stuffed the mirror into a black toolbelt.“Put on an overall or an orange vest - no questions asked. Pretend to be an exterminator - the neighbors take flight like roaches when the lights turn on. Nobody even wants to be near you.”

Connorgrumbled,but picked up his own toolbox and jumped from the loading space of the white van. Togethertheyheaded for the apartment building. Even if he had agreed to tag along, Connordidn’tapproveof this mission. It seemed shady. Gwen, however, wascompletelyin her element. She swung the tool belt through the air and whistled the A-Team theme. As they approached the building, the memories of a patrol gone awry crawled intoConnor’smind.Neither Faith nor he had been seriously injured, but the fighthad left him unnerved nevertheless.Hehad been sosure he was helping a helpless woman, only for her to turn into a snarling demon instead.He thought he was doing so well, but after all this time in LA, he was still gullible.No wonder Gunn had sent the nanny squad to watch him.

“You coming, Grumpy?”Gwen had already reached the front door and pretended to check the sill for animal traces.“Do you still have qualms about this?”she asked when Connor caught up.“None of the neighbors have seen her in weeks.We’renot taking anything.We’redoing the lady a huge favor.”

Connor grimaced."Idon’tknow about that.”

Gwen joggled the handle, but the doordidn'tbudge.“Connor.Let’s be real. She tried to take a bite outof you. Youdon’towe her anything.”She pushed a card-shaped device between the jamb and the paneland, like magic, the entryway cleared.

Connor said nothing but followed Gwen up the stairs. When they reached the third landing, Gwen briefly scanned the four doorbells and name tags and got to work on the second door to the right. Connor just hoped the informationthey’dacquired was correct. He reallydidn’twant to give an unsuspecting grandma a heart attack.

“Are you sureit’sthis apartment?”Connor whispered as he craned his neck up and down the staircase. For asecondhe thought he heard footsteps.

“Yes. I am. One hundred percent. How about you let me do my thing?I’mnot commenting on your lonesome nighttime escapades either.”

That, at last, made Connor perk up.“You think about me when I go out alone at night?”

Gwen ignored the question.“Why are you so anxious all of a sudden?You’vebroken into places before.”

“Not intosomeone’shome.”And not alone, but hedidn’tsay that out loud. It was too strange of a thought.He’dnever had problems during solitary stakeoutsandGwen was anything but helpless. She was apartner,who could hold her own. Still, he was worried for both of them.

The door opened with a soft click.

“Andwe’rein,”Gwen whispered.

Connorhadn’teven seen her move her hands.

Gwen gave the door a decisive push, and he halfway expected a screaming hell beast to jump out at them.

Yet, nothing of the like happened. Or at all.

The main hallway of the apartment was dark and quiet. The air smelled stale and musty like it had hung in the passage for so long itcouldn’teven be bothered to be carried away on the draft.Theybriefly scanned every room - a small living room with a pantry kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom - to ensuretheywerereallyalone. Then they split up. The apartmentdidn’tappear demonic. There was a couch with too many throw pillows. A dead houseplant. Framed prints of Warhol paintings. The sweet stench of rotting fruit hung in the air, and Connor followed the scent to a bowl of moldy peaches on the kitchen table.

“Sois Angel looking forward to coming home?”Gwen called from down the hallway.

Connor left the peaches to their decay and went to the bathroom where his partner in actual crime was rummaging through the cupboard beneath the sink.“Only cleaning supplies,”she observed before she slammed the doors shut and got back up.“What?”

“Don’twe have to be more stealthy?”

“Con. Shehasn’tbeen seen.I weeks.If she shows up, which is highly unlikely,we’lltell herthere’sa rat problem in the entire buildingandthe landlord gave us the key.”

Connor sighed and suppressed another complaint, well aware that he was behaving like theHyperion’sresident curmudgeon.

“So what about Angel?”Gwenrepeated,as she unfastened the lid of the water tank and shone a fleshlight at its dank insides.“Are you picking him up later?”

“Yes. Thoughhewasn’ttoo stoked."Connor dropped his toolbox and opened a slim white bathroom cabinet that hung on the wall behind the door. Most shelves were stacked with towels. He disregarded the linens and checked the toiletries instead. Eye Make-Up. Aspirin. Tums. Nothing out of the ordinary."Hehasn’tsaid much about any of it. Being alive. Coming home. What his plans are.”

“So he can barely contain himself.”

“Idon’tknow ifthat’show I would --"

“Oh, please. The less Angel talks, the more important things are. Has he said anything about Buffy?”

Connor closed the cabinet. The bathroom was a dead-end.“No?”

“See? My point exactly. His love language is silence,”Gwen quipped as they strolled back into the hallway.“Just kidding. Obviously,it’stouch.”

Connor froze. For asecondhis mind went blank, and he must have looked adequately mortified because Gwen quickly waved her hands up and down and added.“Not that I know from experience.It’sjust easy to guess what most people dig.Buffy’slove language is words of affirmation. Yours andGunn’sis acts of service.”

“And what is yours?”

“Receiving gifts.”Gwen brimmed at him.“You have no idea whatI’mtalking about, do you?”

Connor shook his head. He reallydidn’t.

“And that is why you are single.”

Theywent backto the livingroomwhere Gwen pointed at the sideboard beneath the TV.“How about you start over thereandI --”She opened the fridge and - with a yelp - slammed it shut immediately.

Connor was at her side just as quick.“What is it?”

Gwen slowly opened the appliance.“A whole lot ofewwww.”

Every shelf of the fridgefromtop to bottom, as well asthe drawers,were stacked with meat.The transparent packages even lined the insides of the door. Beneath the cling wrapthepink masses had begun to darken.

Connor briefly contemplated taking a closer look at theirfindings,to make sure itreallywas factory-processed beef, but then decided against it.Hewouldn’tbe able totell the difference between cow and something more sinister anyway.“At least the packaging says Costco,”he offered.

“Is that the upside to discovering 50 pounds of ground meat?”

“Could be worse. Could have been a severed head.”

“Still. This screams bipedal non-human citizen to me.”Gwen closed the door and shuddered.“Idon’tknow if I want to check the rest of the cupboards.”

Despite their repugnance, they finished the task. Fortunately, they did not cross paths with any other food items. Freshly packaged or otherwise.

When they had finished, Gwen dropped down on the couch as if she owned the place.

“Do you think you should do that?”

The question only made Gwen recline further.“Oh, hush!”She dug her hand between thecushions,andwitha smirk of great delight, pulled out a black flask from the cranny. It was the size of a perfume bottleandits insides shimmered dark blue.“Shiney!”Gwen exclaimed as she inspected the content and a small notethat wasattached to thebottle'sneck.“Thank you!”Gwen read out loud.“Andthere’ssomekind ofgolden bird printed at the bottom. Well,I'msure a bottle with a mystery liquid in ademon'slair is totally harmless. You agree we leave this closed?"

Connor just nodded.He wanted to leave. There was something about this place thatdidn'tsit right withhim,beyond the knowledge that the owner had six-inch-long incisors.

Gwen walked over to her toolbox, bagged the flask, and stored it away.“So you think this Buffy-Angel-thing is going somewhere?”she asked, still focused on her supplies.

“What thing?"Connor asked absentmindedly. He was done with being sketchy and already made his way back to the hallway."Let’scheck the bedroom and head out."

Gwen grabbed her toolbox and followed him.“The thing. Whenever they aretogetherhe looks at her like a starving man looks at a double whopper. And vice versa.“Gwen made a wiggly arm movement that extended from her own toConnor’sbody and was probably supposed to illustrate whatever the thing was."A thing like thatdoesn'tjust vanish."

Connor turned.“Well, if you have everything figured out, why are you asking me?”The question came out ruder than he had intended, but his neck was prickling, andAngel'slove life was currently the least of his concerns.

Gwen looked overly chastised.“Because whenever I bring it up, no one wants totalk aboutit. Even Spike goes mum.It’slike you all gotthis big, fat secret, andI'mnot good enough for the coolkids'table."

“That’snot true. Noone’stalking,because noone’sthe wiser. Why do you even care?“

Gwen heldConnor'sstare for a second, then gave way.“Because...ugh…this is stupid!”she exclaimed, suddenly shutting down the topic. She strode past him to the far side of the bedroom and stopped in her tracks. A shiver jolted through her body.

“Gwen? Gwenny?"Connor called.

He saw it before he had reached her.

On the floor behind the bed lay the dried-out corpse of Wendythewolf demon.

Chapter 12: Coming Home

Notes:

Chapter 11 and 12 were initially one chapter, but I split them to make reading easier.
Due to their length, I will probably have a two week break before I post the next chapter.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting when they reached the hotel. Shadowscrawled down its pockmarked facade like jagged fingers. Overflowingdumpsters peeked out from the back alley like actors waiting for their cue. Thewhole street was shrouded in an eerie orange light.

To Angel, Hyperion Avenue had never looked more beautiful.

“Sorry again for being late,”Connor said as he climbed out of his 15-year-old Camry. Itwas the third time he apologized.

“It’sfine,”Angel repeated. Hiswaiting skills had been honed in the last weeks, and itwasn'tlike he had anywhere to be. Asheexited the passenger side, he could feelConnor’sstare. Pretendinghehadn’tnoticed, Angel walked around the car and pulled his luggage from the trunk.“Don’teven think about carrying my bag,”he huffedand liftedtheduffle'sstrap over his shoulder.“Giving me a lift was help enough.”

“It’snot like you could have gotten a cab.”

That was true. Asfar as Angel could tell, not much had changed in LA in the last three months, even if the fighting, by all accounts, had subsided.Reconstructionwas an ongoing and slow effort, and cars on the road wereascarcesight.Theyhadeasilyfound a parking spot rightin front ofthe Hyperion - an occurrence Angel would have deemed a stroke of exceptional luck just a few years ago.

Damaged,but undemolished, the hotel now welcomed him back like an old friend. Acompanion he could always rely on to provide shelter, even when hedidn’tdeserve it. A safe space for everyone he loved.

A wave of screams erupted from the main entrance with force.

Angel dropped his bag, ready to jump into the fray, but retracted a step when Connordidn’tso much asblink an eye.

Deepthumping and a high-pitched wailing sound followed.

“What is that?”Angel picked his bag back up, still unsure whether immediate action was required.

“David Guetta?”

“Is he in pain?”

“Nah.It’sjust EDM. Someof the younger folk consider this a rather melodious tune.”Connor grinned and explained further,“The gang decided to take the night off.”

Angel wanted to ask what otherproclivities 'the gang'had acted out in his absence, but Connor walked past the gate and was halfway through the inner courtyard before he could do so. Asthey approached the building, the music and a cacophony of voices rolled towards them through the open front doors.

The lobby was packed.

Angel had not expected to see this many people here.

Connor, however, continued as if this was the most natural of occurrences.“Jules thought it would be fun to reinstate the Friday night potluck. Seemslike that was a popular idea,”he said as he scanned the room.“Oh, the Fleder demons from the fifth floor made empanadas.I’mgonna grab some dinner if youdon’tmind. Reconnaissancealways makes me hungry. Anyway, good to have you back.”He slapped Angel lightly on the shoulder and disappeared.

Angel remained frozen where Connor left him. Potluckseemed like a popular idea indeed. Eventhe busy Friday get-togethers had never been this busy.

Everyone was here.

Martin and Nika stood in a group talking with Willow. Beth, Anne, and Gwen were grabbing food. Volchakwas arm wrestling DooDoo, who fought with three of his six tentacles but still lost. Spike, Faith, and Dotty tried to open beers with anything but bottle openers, and Faith and Dotty broke out in howls when Spike removed a cap with his eye socket.

Everyone was happily mingling.

No one noticed Angel.

No one even turned their head.

He let his bag slide to the floor.

“You need help with that?”a familiar voice called from the thick of the crowd. Gunnappeared from the lower floor, his step more energetic than Angel had seen all year. Withone long stride, he climbed the three stairs to the entrance."I thought it was just the hospital lighting, but you look pale, man.”He reached out for a dab.

“Good to see you, too,”Angelreplied,and returned the handshake.“How’severything?”Angel was mostly up to date on all recent occurrences, but the situation in LA could change fast. Onemomentyouwere fighting goblins in a deserted retirement home, and the next, you were impeding an apocalypse.

Gunn shrugged.“Seen better, seen worse.We’redoing what we can.”

“Don’tlisten to him!He'sgot everything under control.”Faith strolledupbeside them and raised her beer bottle in a silent toast. Angelgreeted her with asmallnod, but before he could ask how she was doing, something in the crowd caught her eye, and she leaned on him to get a better vantage.“Is Connor eating all the empanadas?Can’tlet him do that.“Faith jumped down the stairs.“Gladyou’rebackA.,”she called before she vanished into the crowd.

“What was…?”Angel began when a heavy claw grazed his shoulder. Volchaksuddenly stood on his right and let out a low growl. Thenthedemon turned on his heel and returned to where he had just come from.

A feeling of unease crept fromAngel’sbelly up to his neck.Likehehadn’tgotten a memo, or Harmony had forgotten who she had scheduled thenextthree appointments with.

Gunn continued as if nothing had happened, filling Angel in on theday'sevents and their recent findings. Whilethey were talkingnoneof theHyperion'sresidents interrupted their conversation for long, but every other minute, a hand touchedAngel'sback, a tentacle rested briefly on his shoulder, or a claw streaked his upper arm. Thepats were heavy and soft, wet and barely discernible. Oneof the bat demons from the attic dropped an empanada in a napkin onto the floor in front ofAngel'sfeet. Martinawkwardly handed him a book on interdimensional travel, which he said Angel would love. Angelpicked up the empanada and clutched the book to his chest, uncertain what to do with either one. Gunnprocured a glass of water and a Heineken, and while Angel was still figuring out how to hold the drink, the book, and the pastry, a gush of laughter washed into the lobby.

Swinging plastic bagsin their hands, the Slayers walked in through the front door.

“Replenishments are here!”Rona shouted, and cheers erupted from the crowd.

Satsu and Vi held up their bags triumphantly, and Jules and Kaori howled in response. Buffywalked in last, laughing with rare exuberance.

With a pang of disgruntlement, Angel realizedthathe, too,wanted to be in on the joke.

Buffy handed her bags to Satsu, and the Slayers took their spoils to the buffet.“So this is noisy,”she observed as shemade her way towardsGunn and Angel."Since when is the lobby so busy on Friday nights?"

"Must be the potluck. Peoplejustlove buffets,"Gunn replied.

Togethertheyfollowed the gathering on the lower level of the lobby, where the Slayers and Watchers mingled with the residents of the Hyperion likethey’dalways been one team.Connorand Faith, Gunn, Gwenand Beth, Martin, Nika, Jules,andKaori, Volchak, Rowena, Vi, and Spike.They’dall survived.

“Everyone made it,”Angel said more to himself than the others.

“Illyria’sstill missing.”Gunn took a sip from his beer."But I have ahunch,wehaven'tseen the last of her."

“No casualties,”Buffy confirmed. Sheshifted her weight, and her upper arm nudged intoAngel’sbiceps.“It’sgoodyou’rehome,”she added more quietly.

Angel sat on the rim of the fountain when she approached him. Hehadn’theard her footsteps until she was three feet away. Hehadn’tfelt her presence in the courtyard either. Themissing connection should have bothered him morebutbetweenbeing blind in the dark, and the complete deterioration of his sense of smell, not feeling Buffy anymore was simply another way the human experience was lacking. Itwas an uncomfortable adjustmentto make, but he knew the irritation would pass eventually. Angelhad once forgotten what it felt like to be a man, and he would surely soon forget what it had felt like to be a vampire.

“Mind if I sit?“Buffy asked as she came closer. Herclothes were black and functional, her hair tied back in a braid. Apparentlytakingthe night off was noteverybody’splan.

Angelscootedto the side to make space.

“Are you just enjoying the night sky or hiding?“she asked.

“Both. You?”

“You know me. Ican’ttell the difference between an airplane and the North Star.”She slumped down next to him and threw her head back, staring into the dark like she knewpreciselywhat she was looking at.

“So that was nice,”Angel said.

“You hated every second of it?”

“Iappreciated the gesture. Someof the touching, not so much.”

A smile crept acrossBuffy’sfeatures.“DooDoos hugs can be very wet. Justbe happy no one setJules’initial party plans into motion. Theyinvolved balloon animals and a cake with your face on it.”She took a breath to saymore,but stopped herself, clearly struggling to find the right words. Herhands grabbed the rim tighter.“People arereally gladyou’reback,”she finally said, never taking her eyes offofthe stellar constellations.“It means a lot to them you survived.”

Angel tensed. Theirprevious conversations in the hospital hadlargely stayedon lighter topics.“I noticed,“he said, and then his shoulders slagged.“I justdon’tknow how to tell them not to get their hopes up.”

“Ithinkit’stoo late for that.”

Buffy’sassessment wasrightofcourse. Hehad felt the buzz from the moment he had woken up from his coma.Hehad seen the excitement hiding on hisdoctors’faces, had seen itlurking behind hisfriends’visits to the ward.Theirindividual contributions werehardto determine, but togethertheyhad brought him back to life.Theyhad carried him from the depths of Hadesback to the mortal realm.Andwhen he had passed thatthresholdhe had morphed into the living proof that the odds could be beaten. Aparadigm for their victory over death. Besideshimself, only one other person had been reluctant to show any signs of ardor.

“So, what do you think I should do?”Angel asked.

“Iwish I knew.Don’tlettheirexpectations crush you is a good way to start.”

“About how I should go on with my life?”

Buffy shook her head.“About how you should feel.”

Of course, she was right on that account, too. Sofarhehad been so occupied with taking the prudent next step thathisactual emotions had been of little concern tohim. Itwas a skill he had honed for years.

“Are you doing alright?”Buffy asked.

“Still improving, but my body is in decent shape for someone who spent the last years of his life on a diet of potatoes, pork, and booze. Notin that order.”

Buffydidn’tseem to care much for the joke. Instead, she looked increasingly tired.“Are you doing alright?”she repeated.

He had known what she meant the first time, but it was ahardquestion to answer. Washe alright? Wasitalrightto be alright? Partysounds emanated from the hotel. Thewind rustled in the trees. TheHyperion was still standing.Everyone he cared about had made it through the last apocalypse. Andthe world was in one piece. Hedidn’tknow why he hadcome out ofthe battle alive, but he was far fromdesolate.“I’malright.”

“Do you feel guilty?”It was a question only someone who knew him like Buffy could ask.

“Not particularly.”Curiouslyhedidn’t. Maybein time, he would.“It’snot likeI’vehad a hand in what happened.”

She turned to him and co*cked her head.“You really believe that? Thatyouweren’tinstrumental to your Shanshu?”

“I’mnot surethat’swhat this is.”

Buffy slid off the ledge, ready to leave.“Maybe not. Butfor whatit’sworth, someone really wanted you to live.”

Chapter 13: Quest

Notes:

Hi guys! Just to give you a heads-up, I will alter my posting schedule. From now on I will either post two chapters every other week or four chapters once a month. I don't know yet, but I think this will be better suited for my editing and writing.

Chapter Text

Papers lined every inch of the wall. They had beenhand-writtenand typed, cut out, and glued together. Yellow notebook pages hung side by side with printer paper, pieces ripped from the LA Times (which consisted of eight pages front to back these days), and pink Post-it notes.The differentmemoswere separatedinto three clusters: Missing Weapons, Strange Occurrences, and Angel. Even though the latter collection was the smallest of the three, Angel read the attached jottings with particular interest, his gaze repeatedly returning to the central index card. Thehandwritingon this note was more familiar to him than any of the others, and strangely enough, he even remembered the last time he had seen his name written in this hand. The loops and lines excavated old feelings of longing and loss that became too visceral too fast.“So where are we at?”Angel asked with sudden urgency as he turned to Gunn.“Are we closer to solving any of these mysteries?”

Gunn shrugged unphased. He wore his new leadership role like a bespoke suit and seemed at ease with anoveralluneasy situation.“Same as before. We have a lot of paper trails but no actual leads.Stilldrawing a blank on the weapons.It’slike Illyria just went poof,”he pushed himself off the Edward Wormly table and scanned the Missing Weapons cluster that he assumably knew by heart.“Which isprobablyexactly what she did. So far, wehaven’tbeen able to track her.”Gunn and Buffy had already given Angel a rundown of the status quo, but he wanted to be sure hewasn’tmissing anything important. Gunn continued his summary.“The strange occurrences started happening three weeks after the battle. Wedon’tsee a pattern to them just yet. Things not following a pattern is the pattern. There are crazy vampires, a crazy wolf lady, crazy frogs, a whole lot of crazy.”Gunn walked over to the wall and pulled down the‘Angel’-index card.“At least wedon’thave to worry about you anymore.”

“Wedon’t?”

“As far asI’mconcerned, you got injured, magic juju happened, and you survived. Time to celebrate good times and the wonders of modern medicine.”

Angel flinched. He wished his case was that easy, but such hopes were usually misplaced. Coming back from the deadcouldn’tbe that simple.

Gunn rolled his eyes.“Should have known, Koolwasn’tyour jam,”he said as his attention shifted toward the door.

Angel followed the motion, even if hehadn’theard a thing.

A heartbeat later, Spikesaunteredinto the lounge, a burning cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Spike!”Angel exclaimed.

“Well, hello to you, too, Pinocchio.”

“Youcan’tsmoke in here.”

“What now? Are you worried about lung cancer or burn holes in the carpet?Don’tfret,the girlsdon’tlike it either, andthey’remuch more menacing than you.”Spike took another lungfull, plunged into one of the chairs, and put his cigaretteoutin a used coffee cup that had left a dark ring on the antique table.

Angel was about to prolong his complaints when he noticed a stain onSpike’sgray t-shirt.

Spike usually put a lot of effort into appearing like he made no effortat all, and stains were not like him. Angel dropped the topic of ash on Persian rugs and coffee stains on classic furniture pieces and pulled his attention back to the wall of notes. The best he could do now was to go over the research with a fresh mind and figure out what they were still missing.

While Angel re-read the notes with methodical diligence, the rest of their group filed in. Vi and Rona, Connor, and Faith all belonged to the core team, who knew about the scope of snafu they were facing. Willow and Buffy entered the room last.As they did,Angel could feelpeople’sinconspicuous gazes shift toward him.They were expecting something.

Angel quickly sat, pretending not to notice.

“So what have we got?”Gunn asked with practiced nonchalance.

Although a couple of centuries had passed since Angel had been a student, the setting reminded him a lot of school. He clasped his handstogetheron the tabletop, waiting for someone else to speak up.

Finally, Willow caved. With a stiff turn of her wrist, she rolled a small vial across the table thatdidn’tquitemake it towhere Gunn sat. The substance on thebottle'sinside shimmered in different hues of blue.“I did some basic identification spells, but I have no results.It’sthe same substance we found in the movie theater. It appears to have originated in this dimension, but I have not figured out its properties yet,”Willow said grudgingly.“UnfortunatelyI’mneither a potions master nor do I have an advanced chemistry degree.”She made a face like this was a personal failing on her side.

Angel picked up the vial to take a closer look.Thismust have been the substance Connor and Gwen had retrieved in Chinatown. There was a small note attached to the neck of the bottle. Thewords ‘thank you’slanted across the silky parchment and the embossed emblem of a golden goose. Angel ran his thumb over the ridges. The icon looked familiar, but hecouldn’tquite place it.

“Anyone else?”Gunn asked.

“Yup!”Rona said and dove beneath the table to pull something from a canvas bag.“Since Willow was stuck with the space jam, Vi andme drove to that new age store in Ojaiand picked up the book Myrna found.”

The name, too, sounded to Angel like it should ring a bell.

Rona dropped a hefty tome onto the table and skimmed to a page with a hand-drawn image of a wolf.“That’sour buddy from the movies. Orwellhis species.They’recalled Veekola? Vykola? We should ask Martin or Nika. Either way, they are distant cousins of the common werewolf. Major differencebeing,that they take over the host entirely and shapeshift whenever they feel like it.Apparently,they'rea hot commodity in demon land and are often hired as bodyguards or hitmen because they look unsuspicious and haveadecentamount ofimpulse control.”

Gunn grabbed the book and moved it over to Spike and Faith.“Anychance,he’salso a cousin ofWendy’s?”

“Positive,”Spike said.“I never forget a bird who comes on to me like that.”

"You were barely involved in the fight.”Faith shot him a glare.“You only called her a rabid --”

“Great!”Gunn pulled the book back.“Now thatthat’ssettled. I suggest we focus on the wolf gang. Except for Willow. Can you stick with the goo? See what else you can find?”

Willowdidn’tlook too pleased. Knowinghershe had already tried every option at her disposal and was nowloathto admit it.With Wolfram &Hart'sresourcesfindingthe origin of the blue liquidwould have been an easy feat.But they had no scientists or shamans at hand. The Slayer Organization was not an option either, Angelknew that by now. He went through all his contacts in his head. Most of them had left the city, were mad at him because of whathehad done to his former employer, or refused to talk to him because of his former association with the law firm. There was only one person left he could think of.“Have you contacted Whistler?”Angel blurted out. He was sure they had,stillthe demonhadn'tbeen mentioned so far.“He usuallydoesn'twant to share what he knows, but it might be worth a shot.”

Gunn shook his head.“We tried to find him while you were MIA, but we had no luck. Even the fewpeople,who’veheard ofhim,haven'tseen him in months.”

“Not even at the Lake House?”Angel asked, automatically turning to Buffy.

“Wedon’thave the address…”Buffy bit her lip.“I wrote it down on a napkin, remember? But I lost it during the Harpy attack.”

Angel paused. Hedidn'trememberandhe had an inkling hisnextadmission might thrust him onto thin ice.

“Ihave it,”he confessed. Hedidn’trecall,if hehadn'ttrustedBuffy'snapkin filing system or Buffy herself, but sure enough, he had seen the address in one of his notebooks earlier this morning.

From the looks he received from his friends, he could tell this news was unexpectedandso he quickly moved the topic along before anyone spent too much thought on his prior reservations.“I could go? Ask them about the liquid?”Angel suggested. If anyone had answers to anything - the strange occurrences, the whereabouts of the weapons - it would be the Powers That Be.“I could also get us some information on interdimensional travel whileI’mthere. They have a big library.”

Gunn scratched the back of his head.“That’snot a bad idea…,”he said slowly.

Faith snorted.“It'sa terrible idea. Hecan'ttravel to another state to seek out random demons. He looks like Urkel could whip his ass in a fistfight.”

Angel glared at Faith.“Who’sUrk--”

“No,she’sright,”Gunn interjected.

Now Angel glared at Gunn.“What?”He knew his friends were worried about him, but hewasn’thelpless. Or stupid. What did they think he would do? Start a fight with the first demon he met? Get into a brawl with a street gang because hecouldn’tkeep his mouth shut? Hedidn’tneed a nanny.

Gunn looked from Angel to Faith“Youlook like a slinky dog. You need to take some muscle.”And then across the table.“Buffy, can you go with him? You knowwhat’swhat at the Mystery Mansion. Andhe’sscared of you.He’lllisten if you tell him to sit down. In the meantime, the rest of us will hit the streets again.”

"Sure,"Buffy said, her expression neither enthused nor appalled at the suggestion.

Angel forced a similarly neutral expression onto his features. Saying anything now would only prove hisfriends'assessment that hewasn'tjudicious. Or it would make Buffy look stupid. Hedidn’tmind her presence per se, but she had better things to do than get roped into babysitting him. Unfortunately, he expected that was a moot point, too.

With no objections from the others, the planwas agreedon, and the meeting ended.

As the group filed out of the lounge, Angel stayed behind. He re-read the notes on the walls, still trying to memorize their contents, but the exercisedidn’tcome as easy as it used to. It appeared photographic memoryhadn'tbeen one of his human talents either.

Gunn, too, had remained seated, typing what must have been theworld’slongesttext message. When everyone had left, he spoke up.“I know youdon’tlike this.”

“What do you mean?”Angel asked, pretending like he was completely unbothered by what had happened.

Gunn looked up from his cell.“Other people telling you how to do things. Bringing back-up.I’maware not even Buffy can stop you if you set your mind on being stupid.”Gunn rested his lower arms on his knees and spun his phone around in his hands. There was clearly something else he wanted to share.“Buffy'sbeen running herself into the ground.She’sbeen patrolling non-stop for weeks.Illyria’sdisappearance. Our subpar performance. The fallout with her Watcher Dad.It’sgetting to her. At this point,everyone’sjust waiting for her to crack.”

Angel had noticed how tired Buffy looked, how weary she sounded, but this was the first timehe’dheard anything about her relationship with Giles being amiss.Still, hewasn'tsurprised hehadn'tbeen givenfull disclosure. If he was honest with himself, hehadn'ttaken all the steps tobe grantedaccess.

Gunn got up from his seat.“She needs a break, Angel. Change of scenery. Even ifit’sjust for a day. Andtruth be told, the Slayers need a break from her, too.”

The King County backroads wound their way lazily through the forest. From above, the midday sun dove through the needles and branches. It cut through the windshield of the Impala, refracting in the glass. A pine tree air freshener dangled from the rearview mirror, smelling nothing like its antetypes. It was to these majestic giants as the vehicle was to its forebears. The car had once been a classic. Nowitresembled a tuna can.

“You sure youdon’twant to drive?”Buffy prodded as she turned right at an intersection.Thiswas the third time she had asked.

“Positive.”

“You seem twitchy.”

“I’mfine,”Angel grumbled, shoving his hands beneath the backs of his thighs.Hewas a terrible passenger, he knew that, but for now, he preferred not to drive in daylight.Itwasn’tthat his eyeshadn’tadjusted, but sudden bursts of brightness still surprised him at times.

Angel leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes and focused on his inner sensations. Buffy continued drivingandhe shut out all outer noise. The hum of the engine. The ticking of the turn signal. Angel called heaviness to his arms and legs. He concentrated on the warmth of his body.Hewilled his heart to beat calm and steady. But the closer he listenedthelouder the beating became. Was a heartbeat supposed to feel like that? Thick, yet hollow?

Angel opened his eyes before the sensation became too much to handle.

Buffy looked him over from the corner of her eye.“You thinksomething’swrong,”she observed without taking her focus off the road.

A ray of light broke through the thicket and blinded him momentarily.

Angel lifted his hand to his forehead.“Obviouslysomething'swrong. The blue substance does not forebode anything good, and neither do the zompires. In 250yearsI’venever heard of anything like it.”

A deep sigh escapedBuffy’smouth.“With you. You thinksomething’swrong with you.That’swhy you wanted to come here in the first place. You want to ask the Powerswhat’swhat.“

Angel stared at her with his mouth agape, thenhequickly looked out the window. His friends,and Buffy in particular, had risked their lives to save him. The last thing he wanted to do was devalue their bravery and sacrifices. Yet, hecouldn’tshake the feeling that something, not necessarily better, butgreatermust have been at work.“I really wanted to help. But yes, I do also want to understand. People like medon’tjust come back from the dead.There’salways a price.”

“Youdon’tthinkwe’vepaid enough?”Buffy’svoice was even,though her grip around the steering wheel had tightened.

They reached an intersection, and asbeforethe GPS announced they had reached their destination in the middle of the road.Unlike during their previous visit, however,a narrow path through the woods lay wide open.

Buffy stopped the car and put the hazard lights on.“How do you feel about this? Huh or uh-oh?”

Angel furrowed his brow.

“Yeah, me, too.”

The roads in every direction were empty. The trees appeared undamaged. There were no markings that justified concern, still, theycouldn'tdeny the magic barrier was gone.

Buffy started the car back up and steered it down the gravel path. They drove through the metal gate, which they found, too, to be ajar. The road continued itsserpentinetrack through the trees, and for the first time, Angel could truly appreciate how beautiful the area was. The trees overgrown with moss, the wild undergrowth, light refracting in dew drops.

Buffy took the last turn and decelerated the car.

They exitedontothe wide cobblestone driveway, and she hit the brakes hard.

The Lake House had vanished.

Chapter 14: Troll Toll

Chapter Text

“Are we sure we're in the right place?“ Buffy asked, not really expecting an answer.

Angel wasn’t sure. Maybe they had taken a wrong turn. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But the cobblestone, the trees, the lake, the lawns, the hedges - they all looked familiar enough. Yet the Lake House was no more. All that remained in its stead was a plot of flattened earth.

Buffy exited the car and made a beeline for the site. She kneeled and touched the ground as if she were reading animal tracks.

Angel had never seen anything like it. There was no debris. There were no dents in the soil.

The house was gone.

Buffy circumvented the area where the manor had stood and walked straight onto the main lawn. Angel followed a few feet behind. The last time they were out here, the space had buzzed with party guests, a stage occupied the far end of the garden, and paper lanterns had dangled from the low branches of the trees. Now blades of grass swayed lazily in the breeze, and neither remnants of a human nor a demonic presence were visible.

A woodpecker hammered against the trunk of a fir.

Buffy jogged down the slope of the property and stepped onto the pier.

The boats, too, had vanished.

Angel turned left and right again. Turned around.

They must have overlooked a mark. A house of this size couldn’t just disappear. Unless a force of great power had been at work. Something truly disruptive.

But the scenery looked peaceful.

Too peaceful almost.

A hot flash ran up Angel’s spine. With his dulled senses, he would never know if they were running into a trap. They had to keep their guard up. They could not risk an ambush. As a human, he was of little help. And to his dismay, Buffy wasn't invincible either.

Angel's palms got clammy.

The woodpecker hit the tree again.

Angel quickly strode down to the lakefront, his pace just short of running. His breath picked up. His chest tightened.

Buffy was still observing the water, unaware of anything malicious.

The waves sloshed languidly against the shore.

Angel turned his head in every direction, but between the lake and the sky and the lawn, Buffy remained his focal point. A gust of wind billowed across her white top and beige linen pants, and as the sun irradiated her hair in a golden hue.

He had almost reached her when Buffy suddenly whirled around.

The force of the déjà vu hit Angel unprepared.

She looked radiant against the blue waves. The manifestation of a vision that had taunted him a thousand times yet had never become reality.

Their eyes met, and a small smile curled up the corners of Buffy’s mouth.

For an instant, Angel was acutely aware of his heartbeat.

Buffy tilted her head, took a step forward, and then another one. “Hold that thought,“ she said as she walked past him, and her hand lightly brushed against his upper arm.

A tingle surged through Angel's body and melted the sense of impending doom.

Buffy briskly moved along the shore towards the far end of the embankment. “Excuse me!” she called as she approached a dying shrub.

Angel couldn’t fathom what she wanted.

She knelt on the grass. “Please talk to me. I promise I’m not dangerous," she coaxed.

Naturally, the plant didn’t move.

Buffy must have been hallucinating. Maybe there was something in the water after all. Angel followed her down the shoreline.

“We’re friends with Egret. And Phil? You know Phil?” Buffy opened her purse, dug through its insides, and pulled out three quarters. She put them on the ground next to the plant.

The shrub shivered. One of its branches twitched.

“A small offering in exchange for a small kindness,” Buffy said expectantly.

The shrub released a groan. “How did you know?” it grumbled.

Angel took a step back, but Buffy was undeterred. “One of your cousins lives at the lake near my home in Scotland. Also, you have a fishing rod.” She pointed at a long stick that protruded from the ground.

“Oh, shucks.” The shrub shook itself, and a big nose, two yellow eyes, and a row of glistering teeth appeared. From within its leafy coat, two stick-like arms emerged.

“You’re a Haisul?“ Buffy asked.

“Yes. Shucks. Shucks. And double shucks.“

“Where is the Lake House?“

“Shucks, I don’t know. They moved for the winter.“

“It’s a house.“

The Haisul grimaced. “Yes?“

“Are you telling me it grew legs and walked away?“

“Of course not. They sailed.“ The small demon cowered. “Don’t punch.”

Buffy put on an encouraging smile, trying her best non-menacing approach. “Do you have any idea how to find it?”

The Haisul shook himself, and its leaves rustled. It stepped closer to the lake and ran a spindly hand through the water.“I’m just here for the fish. Big houses make them greedy.“

Buffy got up from the ground and sighed. She dug into her purse again, pulled another coin from within, and handed it to the Haisul.

The small creature jiggled with joy. “You could also try Ove. Ove knows things.“

“And where do we find him?“

“Where you find his kind.“ The Haisul rose to its full height of approximately three feet and puffed out its chest. “Under the bridge, of course.”

Buffy climbed over the Volkswagen Beetle and onto the troll's hand. It was a dusty creature with one shiny eye, forever frozen in the process of crawling out of the concrete.

Angel stood in the sand at the bottom of the statue and scanned the area for tourists.

They had parked down the road and grabbed a late lunch in a local cafe before heading over to Ove’s. Angel didn't mind. Fremont was a nice artsy neighborhood with a down-home vibe, and even if differed from the places he frequented in LA, but he’d immediately taken to the area. From their window seat inside the cafe, Angel had watched local shoppers and tourists stroll down the busy streets, but now that the sun was setting, Troll Avenue had been deserted, and Buffy and he were the only people beneath Aurora Bridge.

Buffy pulled herself up on the troll’s shoulder and disappeared behind its head without looking back.

Angel watched her go.

They had argued earlier whether it would be better for Angel to stay in the cafe. Of course, they had different opinions on what his place in this reconnaissance mission would be. In the end, they had agreed on Angel staying in the background. It was a solution neither of them liked, which probably made it a good compromise.

Angel was well aware of his limitations, but he had no interest in being mollycoddled every step of the way. His friends had accompanied him on many missions, Buffy’s friends had followed her on countless patrols, and even without supernatural strength, he was certain he could best Xander or a group of Urkels in a street brawl.

In addition, he didn’t want Buffy to go alone. The feeling of unease that had taken hold of him earlier was creeping up his back again.

Buffy’s head poked out from behind the statute. “Angel,” she waved to get his attention. “There’s a trapdoor.”

Angel climbed up the artwork as graceful as he could. By the time he reached the top, dust caked his hands and clothes. To Buffy‘s credit, she didn’t comment on his performance. Just a few months ago, the accent would have been easy. Angel would have leaped onto the statue‘s head with one powerful jump, thinking nothing of it. Now, though, he scrambled through the dirt like a grandpa chasing after his dachshund.

“Do you think it’s guarded?“ Buffy asked as they eyed the entrance in the ground.

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Do you think anyone who lives behind a trapdoor is scaredy-cat?”

Buffy grabbed the ring on the hatch and pulled. The door opened with a creak and exposed a dark, musty passage. Angel coughed as dust floated up his nose.

From below, chinking and clatter resounded.

A worn-down ladder led the way underground. Buffy tested its sturdiness, and they scaled down the construction, only to find themselves in the middle of another dank passage. Old cobble lined the walls and floors, and chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. At the end of the hallway, a door made of coarse wooden furnish stood slightly ajar. They stepped through the entry into a room with tables and chairs carved from the same rustic material. Deer skulls decorated the walls, and rough-spun banners clad the walls. There must have been a lightwell somewhere because the space wasn’t nearly as dark as Angel had anticipated. A burly shape dressed in a leather vest and wide breeches was wiping down the front of the bar.

Buffy cleared her throat.

The creature turned around. He was at least seven feet tall, with green skin and horns. Angel had never met a troll, but based on Buffy’s earlier description, this was the real deal.

“Hi,” Buffy chirped. “We’re looking for Ove.”

“And who’s looking for him?” The troll threw the dirty towel over his shoulder and trudged towards them. The floorboards groaned with every step. Beneath his bushy brows and thick beard, the troll's expression was unreadable.

Buffy continued unimpressed. “I’m Buffy and this is Angel,” she said, pointing at both of them.

At that, the demon perked up. “Angel? The vampire?”

“Well…,” Angel began. He hadn’t thought much about his story now that he was human.

The demon picked up his pace, grabbed Angel by the lapels, and hoisted him up.

Buffy inhaled sharply.

Angel suppressed every sound. One wrong move could shorten his new life drastically.

The demon lowered his head and sniffed Angel’s chest and neck. A cloud of foul-smelling breath crept into Angel’s nostrils. “Odin’s good eye!” the demon jerked his head back and lifted Angel a little higher. His voice was full of astonishment. “It is true what they say. You have returned from Valhalla.”

“I have?“ Angel choked out.

“You’ve come back from the land of the dead!“

“That. Is. True,” Angel conceded.

“Was it everything you’d hoped for and more? Full bosomed valkyries and noble warriors, streams of mead? Pleasures in abundance?”

Angel glanced at Buffy, who seemed uncertain whether she should intervene. “Uhm.”

“I knew it!” The troll shook Angel with unrestrained excitement, and Angel’s head swung from left to right. “How did you enjoy it?”

“I cannot recall --”

“Ha! The mead must have been exceptional!” The troll’s brow furrowed. He released his hold and dropped Angel on the ground. Angel barely managed to stay afoot. “But why have you returned?”

“I…” Angel looked at Buffy again. “I have a quest to complete. In this life.”

Buffy nodded vigorously. “It’s very questing.”

The demon bent over with raucous laughter. “Brother. I marvel at your self-restraint.” He slapped Angel on the back with force, almost causing him to topple over a second time. “But, you have come to the right place. We do enjoy ourselves here, too. Isn’t that right?”

Only now did Angel notice the demons who sat at a table in the darkest corner of the tavern. Two M'Fashnik, two small ratty things, and a creature that was best described as a blob. Green and slimy - it was an undefined mass straight out of a 50’s B movie. The group was quietly conversing and didn’t look up from their drinks.

The troll ignored their unwillingness to answer, pulled out two chairs, and pushed Angel into one of them. He leaned against the table as Buffy took the second seat. “I’m Ove by the way.” Angel was glad Ove didn’t offer to shake their hands. He would have surely broken them in his exuberance. Instead, the troll hoisted his right foot onto a third chair and leaned closer to Buffy and Angel. The smell of something dead and fishy wafted toward them, and Angel decided to continue breathing through his mouth.

“So tell me, what brings you to our northern shores?” Ove bellowed.

“We’re looking for the Lake House,” Buffy put her hands down on her knees and leaned forward, mimicking the demon‘s body language. “We heard you might know where they went.”

“They moved on to their winter lodgings,” Ove said matter of factly.

“That’s what the Haisul told us. You don’t have an address by chance?” Buffy asked.

From the corner of his eye, Angel saw the slime creature raising its jiggly body. It pushed its tankard away and slithered off the wooden bench it had occupied.

Ove shook his head. “They paddle down the coast and through the Panama Canal as far as I know. They usually head for Louisiana. Sometimes they stay in Mexico.“

The slime creature slithered closer and closer until it had moved right up to Ove, covering his foot with its body. From above, it looked like the boot sat submerged in lime Jell-O. “It’s them, isn’t it?“ the blob whispered loud enough for Angel to hear.

“Steve, stop it!” Ove tried to push Steve away, but his arm slipped into the demon’s gooey flesh. Steve jiggled a little but otherwise didn’t seem to mind.

“They’re not our friends, Ove. They ruined the gateways.”

Ove harrumphed.

“What gateways?” Angel asked. He didn’t know if this was an honest misunderstanding or another thing he had forgotten.

“Oh, don’t play stupid! We know it was you.” The green form shook with anger. “The gateways were stable for years, and now they’ve all collapsed. Kevin saw what your friends did in LA -–”

“It is inconvenient that the bridge to the Land of Trolls is blocked, then again, I can do a season without a visit from my mother-in-law,” he conceded.

“Inconvenient? We might never go home again, Ove!” Steve cried, appalled. “The LA portal was the only passage to --”

“Oh, stop it, Steve! What’s done is done, and your bickering won’t help a bit. Here, have another ale!” Ove signaled the barman to draw another drink. “And hand in your bets for the match. A good fight will clear your mind.”

The blob said nothing for a minute. Then, without turning, he slithered back towards his table. As he passed the bar an appendage like a gummy worm extended from his body and grabbed the new tankard from the counter.

Ove sighed, emphasizing the topic was finished. “Speaking of which, you must be so excited that the Cudgels are moving to LA! Are you into sports?”

Buffy didn’t miss a beat. Angel had only half-listened. “Angel is. Total sports guy. Waiting all week for a Sunday night, am I right?”

“Actually I don’t…”

Buffy glared at him.

“...ever miss a match. Love sports. Football. Baseball. Hockey. Hockey in particular. What league are you talking about? Cudgels doesn’t sound familiar.”

Ove looked aghast. “You haven’t heard of the California Cudgels? Six-time champion of the Death Derby league? Tabryn Boke? The league’s all-time top scorer? The demon is a legend.”

Buffy and Angel shook their heads in unison.

Collapsing portals, Death Derby, Cudgels. It didn’t sound like anything Angel wanted to get involved in, and he hoped Buffy wouldn’t have to face any of them either.

Ove pushed himself up and the table cracked. He trudged back to the bar and pulled a note from a beam above the counter. “You’re in for a treat,” he grinned, “They’re building a new arena in LA and their first match in town is next month!” He pressed the crumpled leaflet into Angel’s hand. The design was predominantly black and featured a smashed skull.

Buffy looked at him questioningly, and Angel read the content out loud:

Washington Widowmakers VS California Cudgels
Saturday, October 1st 2007
Staples Center

Heads will roll!

Chapter 15: Under The Bridge

Chapter Text

The troll threw an opulent shadow onto the sand. Its good eye twinkled in the confused light of a forlorn street lamp.

Angel skidded down the shoulder of the statue and came to a wobbly stance at the bottom. A cloud of beige dust rose from under his feet.

Buffy watched the maneuver, none too pleased.

“I know. I know,” Angel said, slightly embarrassed, “I’m still getting used to –-”

Her expression puckered into a glower. “This is such a man-thing.” She turned on her heel and stomped towards their car without waiting for him. “You’re human for two weeks and already you get all the back slaps for coming back from the dead. Not to be petty, but I did it first and I did it properly. I decomposed and recomposed, while you took an extended nap this side of the rainbow bridge.”

Dumbfounded at the sudden outburst, Angel remained where he stood. “Next time a seven-foot troll locks me in a chokehold, I’ll make sure to point out all the ways he is wrong,” he called after her.

“That wasn’t even a chokehold. You were barely manhandled,” Buffy shouted. Her voice ricocheted off the bridge and disappeared into the night. Her gaze awkwardly followed the echo, her shoulders slumped. “I am being petty.”

Angel caught up and gave her a humoring smile. “Maybe a little bit.” He was well aware there was a point to her frustration. While people had coddled him after coming back from the dead, they had expected Buffy to perform. And while they asked him regularly how he'd adjusted, they had expected Buffy to simply rejoice and move on. Angel had observed firsthand how little recognition the Slayers’ sacrifices garnered. First with Buffy, then with Faith, and later on with every Slayer who passed through LA. Even though the Slayer Organization had evolved from the original Council, it still didn’t offer a completely different worldview. But pointing out structural flaws in the organization Buffy had built, wouldn’t brighten her mood. And neither would emphasizing that he, too, had died properly once upon a time. “There are still not a lot of perks and accolades to being chosen, huh?” he asked instead.

Buffy shrugged. “I’m pretty sure nobody’s gonna build me a statue any time soon.” She kicked at imaginary pebbles, not willing to meet Angel’s eye. “And in case you were wondering, there are no damsels with heaving bosoms waiting in the afterlife.” Her nose scrunched up like it always did when she was consternated.

“I really wasn’t.” Angel winked at her. “You know, damsels always leave me distressed.”

That at least earned him an annoyed eye roll and a change of topic. “So what have we got? No Lake House. Broken portals. Angry dessert demon. You think we’re to blame?”

They started walking together. “Let’s ask Willow when we get back," Angel suggested. "Maybe they closed additional portals for good measure.”

Buffy pulled the leaflet from her back pocket and read its contents again. Then she handed it to Angel. “How about this? Mighty big coincidence demonic stuff occurs as soon as the demon league moves into town.”

“Yeah, this is definitely something...” He skimmed over the meager bits of information, but they revealed nothing new.

Grains of sand drizzled onto their shoulders.

“...we did not expect.” He gave the paper back to Buffy, and their eyes met.

Her demeanor was calm, her expression inconspicuous, but in an instant Angel knew what she was thinking. He knew what she was going to do.

The realization stunned him.

Not because they would be attacked, but because Buffy, who had felt so distant recently, was suddenly incredibly close again. Her presence went beyond the physical, as an old thread of quiet understanding wove between them.

They didn’t need words.

Buffy took a step to the side and spun around.

Angel moved in the opposite direction.

From above a slender shape dropped down to where they had just stood. More shapes scurried from their hiding spots in the shadows.

Angel had yet to make sense of the whole situation when an arm-like appendage jolted forward and punched him in the stomach. He fell back and hit the ground hard. A cloud of dust swelled around him. He gasped for air and a burning sensation flared from the middle of his body into his limbs. The pain seared his nerves and muscles.

Buffy shouted his name, but demonic grunts drowned out any further communication.

Curled up on the ground, Angel counted their attackers. He saw the two M’Fashnik demons, one of the ratty critters he couldn’t identify, and the blob.

Buffy didn’t waste any time. She rushed forward and engaged with the two M’Fashniks, trying to get a hold of their makeshift weapons.

The blob jiggled on the sideline not engaging just yet. “Finish them! Finish them!” he clamored. Every syllable was underlined with a sticky smack.

Angel grappled to get back up, but before he had found his footing, the slender rat demon rushed towards him. While Angel had forgotten many things, his muscle memory suddenly seemed to work again. As the demon flung itself forward, Angel grabbed the creature by the hairy chest and head-butted it as hard as he could. It was by far not his smoothest move, but it was enough to knock out his attacker. Angel put a boot on the demon’s back and finished him with a snap of its neck.

A few yards to the side Buffy had already disarmed and killed the first M’Fashnik and was now dueling with the second fish creature. She swung a pipe at him, while he was wielding a broken baseball bat.

Angel looked for a weapon of his own, but the surroundings were barren. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blob shift in his direction. With surprising speed, the demon pushed another appendage toward Angel, but the latter parried the blow. It was easier than he’d anticipated.

The blob protruded a second arm from its body, and the gooey tentacle wrapped around Angel’s wrists. Angel tried to pull away, but the demon only slithered closer.

“You will pay for what you did to me! ” the blob shouted.

“We only just met,” Angel yelled with exasperation, which considering how many demons he had made his enemies in the last ten years, was probably a useless argument. As he had expected, the blob didn’t care for the length of their freud and only pulled him closer.

Angel struggled against the appendage, but it tightened around his flesh until his fingers felt numb.

The demon and Angel were soon side by side, and Angel fought against toppling over. A third arm slithered across Angel's boots and was creeping towards his ankles when a pipe struck down next to Angel’s face and hit the wobbly green mass. Though the weapon hit the creature with force, it only left a small dent, and a few seconds later the blob had already reverted to its original shape.

A hoarse cackle erupted from the demon and its green body shuddered with delight.

“God I hate when they do that,” Buffy muttered and tossed the pipe to the side. She grabbed the tentacle with her bare hands and pulled, but that maneuver, too, was unsuccessful. The demon just pulled Angel forward and before long his hands and lower arms slid into the demon’s body. His skin prickled and Angel wondered if he was already being digested. He turned his face as far away from the demon as he could, digging his heels into the ground.

“This will be your end!” the blob called.

“You’re not the first to claim that,” Angel grunted.

“But I will be the last.”

Buffy groaned. "Well, if he doesn't eat us alive, his puns will do us in." She wrapped her arms around Angel and pressed her body flush against his, trying to halt the forward movement.

It was nice having her this close, Angel noted, before he mentally chastised himself for getting sidetracked in such a dire situation. He looked down at Buffy, she looked up at him and they almost hit their foreheads together. “Sorry about that,” Buffy said and grabbed his shoulders.

"Don't worry about it." As before, Angel knew what was coming.

With one hard push, Buffy shoved him to the ground.

The speed of the movement overextended the demon's tentacle. Buffy kicked the arm at just the right time, and the gooey appendage ripped.

The demon screeched.

Angel fell, but before he hit the ground, two more tentacles shot out from the demon's body and pulled Angel forward with force. Half his body submerged into the blob.

“f*ck!” Buffy shouted. She looked left and right.

Angel did the same. They had to do something. He couldn't go down like this. There had to be weak...and then he saw it.

Shimmering and shining in a mountain of goo. An iridescent sphere.

“Grab the pipe, Buffy!” Angel stopped fighting against the mass and instead pushed his arm further inside.

“What are you doing?” Buffy yelled.

“Trying to get at the crystal.”

“We don’t have time for shiny things!”

“It’s always the crystal!”

Buffy seemed unconvinced but picked up the pipe nonetheless.

“There,” Angel tried to show her the direction with his head. Then the rest of him was absorbed by the Jell-O body.

The last thing Angel heard was Buffy shouting his name. That wasn't so bad, he thought. Hearing her voice, before he went down.

As far as deaths went, however, being suffocated by angry goo lacked a certain sense of glory. Angel had lived too long for this to be the end. His eyes stung. He couldn’t breathe, but he kicked and punched, crawling deeper into the demon.

The crystal was right in front of his face now. It hung in the endless green space like a lonely star in the night sky.

Angel reached his arm above his head in awkward slow motion.

His lungs burned. His head was getting dizzy.

He opened his fingers, wrapped them around the sphere, and pressed his fist together.

He was out of air, but the gem didn’t budge. Angel focused on his strength. In the past he had purposefully called up his demon this way, now he asked a different kind of force for help.

Angel's field of vision shrunk.

He crunched his hand with all the rage and desperation he could muster.

And from deep inside there came an answer.

A hot flash surged from Angel's center into his arms and legs. It woke every fiber of his body, a stream of liquid light. Angel heard his heartbeat, he heard the rush of blood to his head. His fingers curled tighter and the crystal shattered in his palm.

The blob exploded instantaneously.

Goo splattered onto the pavement, the bridge pillars, and even the Fremont troll.

Angel dropped the remains of the gem unceremoniously onto the ground, where they disappeared between the sand and dirt. He sunk to his knees, covered in green slime. Running his hands over his face, he scraped off the sticky substance. “Again?”

“You okay?” Buffy whispered, she had rushed to his side, her voice ripe with concern.

He looked up at her face. The light of the street lamp enshrouded her in a golden halo. Dust particles danced around her on the arc of a glowing half-moon. “Angel?” His name on her lips was a soft touch, gentle like being held. It was better, he decided, for it not to be the last thing he heard, but rather something he could listen to every day.

Buffy stared at him with a mix of awe and uncertainty. She wasn't sure what to make of him, but neither was he. “Is there a problem?” he asked, suddenly aware of his appearance.

“Are those technically entrails?” Her concerned expression was pushed aside by a mischievous smile.

“Let’s not investigate,” Angel mumbled.

“At least green suits you.” She dropped her weapon and shook the gooey substance off her sword arm. Except for a few splatters Buffy had been spared the slimey shower. “You seriously okay? The others would never forgive me if you got hurt on my watch again.“

Angel shook his head and slowly got up. To his surprise his movements were steady. He did feel okay. Not at all like he had almost been suffocated. Quite the opposite. His whole body hummed. Ready. Stronger. More Alive. “Except for my pride, nothing's been hurt.”

“You did hold your own,” Buffy said as she began walking toward the car, this time making sure Angel would keep pace.

Angel shook himself, to get rid of more goo. “I did okay. For a man.”