“You weaken, Old One.”
Truly said. Life drained from her the way blood drained from her wounds. She who had observed or caused the deaths of hundreds of humans was now learning what it felt like.
Perhaps this is what is meant by irony.
“Cease this struggle,” the demon ordered. “Your companions lie dead around you, and this world cares nothing for you. Grant me the honor of killing an Ancient. I shall make it swift.”
Another true saying. Although occupied with her own fighting, Illyria had seen the others fall. Angel had slain the dragon even as its teeth had severed his spine. More than a dozen bodies surrounded the place where Spike had stood, but he had been borne down by the weight of numbers. Gunn had died quietly, attempting to hold his organs inside his body with one hand, while the other swung his sword.
The thought of Wesley was more painful than her wounds, although awareness that she had eased his passage warmed her even against the chill of death.
Why not let go then? What was there to keep her here? Perhaps she could find one or more of them again in whatever afterlife received her.
Despite the sense of her thoughts, Illyria refused to relax her hold. She was an Old One, who had once held the fates of worlds in her grasp. She would not surrender where others had fought to the last.
Still, she had to acknowledge that the difference between surrender or not would be that of seconds. Her sight was dimming, awareness pulling back and spiraling down within her body. She was terribly conscious of the beat of her heart, the flow of her blood, the movement of her lungs. Strange when after hating this form that imprisoned her, she now had no wish to leave.
“Gee, I know what that’s like.”
Death’s nearness must be driving her mad, for she was suddenly standing in the entrance hall of the earthly keep where the Wolf, Ram and Hart held sway and the human whose shell she’d claimed was there as well, arms folded and eyes narrowed.
Illyria frowned. “What is this? You cannot be here. You were driven from this body, your soul destroyed. Only a few memories remained.” Fred shook her head. “Scattered, not destroyed. The bits of me that stayed when you came gave me a kind of anchor, and I used it to pull the rest of my soul back together.” She smiled bitterly. “It took me awhile, since I had to do it slow and quiet to keep you from noticing. I didn’t think you’d be all that sympathetic.”
She felt…awkward? Shamed? How foolish. This human should be honored that her pitiful frame was used to house one such as she.
Illyria dismissed the knowledge that the thought felt somehow hollow and said, “Even if I wished to undo what has been done, it is too late. This body is dying. You cannot save the others or yourself.”
“I know I can’t save them. You can’t either. Not alone.”
Why must humans talk in riddles? “What do you speak of?”
Fred came to the edge of the floor, the click of her shoes loud on the wood, and stared into Illyria’s eyes. “I know how to save them, but I don’t have the power. You have the power but not the know-how.” Her mouth twisted. “Do the math.”
Illyria fought the impulse to back away. “You wish to combine our essences, one with the other freely? That is foolish. You are lesser. Your presence pollutes me. I should strike you down for blasphemy!”
Her face tightened. “This isn’t my most favorite idea of all time either, but it’s all we’ve got. Either we do this, or we die. We are out of time. Decide.”
To give of oneself was to show weakness that would be used by enemies. To sacrifice to save another was idiocy. To corrupt the line was forbidden.
“I…WE can save Wesley,” Fred said softly. “He doesn’t have to die in pain, begging for a lie.”
Forbidden.
“I am Illyria,” she hissed. “I will do as I wish.”
She seized the human’s hands, and their heads snapped back in unison, mouths opening in a silent shriek. There had been memories enough to let her take Fred’s shape and speak in her voice, but they had been matters of distant observation, rather than experience.
Now, she tasted spicy salsa and sweated under the Texas sun. There was pride as the professor picked her for the internship, terror as the portal opened from the library, and awed relief as the handsome man saved her. Attraction, love/lust, and then heartache and anger with Gunn. At last, a sudden understanding of Wesley’s feelings and a cautious return.
A sense of wonder came through their connection as Fred felt the power to lay waste to nations, of watching throngs fall to their knees in worship. Then she knew the pain of defeat, the peace of the Well’s oblivion, and the shock of waking to a world grown entirely alien, where she was at best tolerated, but always second in mind.
Overshadowing everything else, knowledge moved through them (her), of numbers and connections, equations and checks and balances, of hazy concepts that hovered just outside her consciousness. And she knew what she must do. It was a bold move, and a high risk, but it was possible…if the calculations were correct.
I’d feel a lot better if I had about another month to work on this and a mainframe.
However, both she knew there was no time, and Illyria’s eyes snapped open to the alley and the rain beating down in her face. She wrenched at everything she had, every slight she’d ever known, every quantum of frustrated rage resulting from being trapped in a body and in a world that she couldn’t control, and channeled it into her will.
The demon’s eyes widened as she inexorably bent its hand around to drive the knife into its body. She swept the corpse away impatiently and rose to face the remaining hoard. There were still tens of dozens, but the leader had claimed her, and the others drew back for a moment as he fell.
“If this world knows me not,” she said. “Then I must teach it.”
Again she pulled on her strength, knowing she only had a moment before they found the courage to challenge her. This time other memories came, of friendship and trust and laughter, and the strength they gave her allowed her to gather her waning, weakened powers for one last burst that opened a portal through both time and space.
She collapsed full length in the lab, gasping air harshly into her lungs. Sweat ran down into her eyes, and when Illyria attempted to rise, the room spun and her strength failed her utterly.
Below, she could hear the sounds of battle, no doubt Angel and Hamilton. The building had not yet begun to collapse. Good. Now, if only she could reach the storage area, where Wesley always kept his equipment.
And please, God, he didn’t suddenly get a wild hair and decide to store it somewhere else.
The thought surprised her until she understood what was happening and sighed. Assimilating the new consciousness would be time-consuming, if, of course, she lived to attempt it.
I will not die here.
She dug in her toes and flexed her fingers and pulled herself painfully across the floor, ignoring the bloodtrail that followed her. Wesley and the rest would die if she did not move; therefore, move she would. After traveling what felt like miles in this fashion, her hands struck the door.
Reaching the handle was unthinkable, so instead of wasting thought on the matter, Illyria thrust herself upward with a sound between a groan and a howl and seized hold, opening the door by falling back over on the other side.
Life was much preferable when I had armies of minions desperate to do my bidding.
However, the device used to drain her power was stored neatly against one wall, and the pleasure she felt on seeing it almost made up for the lack of assistance.
She dragged it out of the closet and studied the switches and markings, which were comprehensible, now, instead of gibberish. Unfortunately, she also comprehended that the device would not immediately serve her purposes.
Illyria ignored the unseemly desire to burst into tears, staggered to her feet, and somehow reached the lab bench, scrabbling across its surface until she located the necessary tools. The building began to shake as she sank back down by the device, and she wanted to shriek in frustration, but instead opened the side of the machine.
There’s time. Slow and steady wins this race.
The tale of the tortoise and hare drifted across her mind, and as she slid her fingers into the tangle of wires, she felt mild curiosity that no one had slaughtered the bard Aesop. The lights waved and swung overhead, casting strange shadows across the room. She didn’t flinch when one light shattered against the bench, the cuts from the flying glass negligible among her other injuries.
Cracks were spreading through the floor, but it was of no matter, for the adjustments were completed. Wearily, she turned the device to face her and flipped the switch.
The floor crumbling away beneath her was a trivial matter, for she was suspended in the air, tasting the power that surged through her.
YES
She almost forgotten how it had been when the air had taste and texture and she could hear the songs of the earth, and feel her mastery of time and space.
A pity it could not last, but this wretch…this frame was no more able to contain the power than it had been before, although Fred’s knowledge gave her more control. Illyria understood the way it flowed through her body, and only part of her attention was required to keep it moving in a steady course. Eventually it would overwhelm her, but she would not require it for long.
Deep inside, the initial surprise at the immensity of the forces at her command had given way to resumed attention on the calculation. The necessary splitting of her focus was annoying, but fortunately, she was capable of performing many tasks at…no…she could multitask.
With a negligent gesture, she opened a portal.
The sorcerer took the knife from his hand with a contemptuous smile, and Wesley understood that he had lost the fight. Not only would he die tonight after all, but he would die without performing his share of Angel’s plan.
Despair overwhelmed him. Once again, he had failed, the way he always did…failed as a Watcher, unable to sway Faith from her destructive course or influence Buffy; failed as a friend, losing Gunn and betraying Angel; failed as a lover, both Lilah and Fred dying on his watch, Virginia escaping only by leaving him.
Light glittered off the knife blade as it was drawn back to strike, and Wesley found himself welcoming the anticipated pain. Let it be over with, let his miserable life be ended. Anything was better than this.
The sorcerer’s gaze went past him, eyes widening in horror. He dropped the knife, and his hands came up, fingers beginning to weave in a spell before he froze, caught as securely as his captive. Illyria strode into Wesley’s field of view and looked from one to the other, head cocked in assessment. Then she reached out, and crushed the sorcerer’s throat.
His death broke the spell, and Wesley dropped to the floor, barely managing to keep his feet. He whirled and his jaw dropped at the black hole opened in the center of the room.
“How…” he gasped. “You’ve regained your powers!”
“Yes,” she said calmly, bending to pick up the knife which she tucked into her clothing. Straightening, she inspected him. “You have not yet been mortally injured. Good. Come, we must obliterate my target, assist Charles and Lorne, and return to Angel.”
He caught at her arm. “What’s happening? Is this some part of Angel’s plan?”
Her face wore an expression he hadn’t seen before, and Wesley realized it was amusement. “No. This is my plan.” Before he could expostulate, Illyria laid her fingers gently across his lips. “Hush. We do not have much time, and I must think.”
Ding, dong, the bitch was dead, and that was all Gunn cared about. The fact that he was now facing 20 or so vamps didn’t bother him. He had the stakes, he had the moves, and if they took him down, well hell, he had expected that might happen. After a couple of weeks of getting his heart cut out on a daily basis, he couldn’t get too upset over a fast kill.
Plus, after he was dead, maybe he’d quit having nightmares about signing papers that were made out of human skin or opening his closet to find a line of thousand-dollar suits that were soaked in Fred’s blood.
No. No more suits.
He flexed his wrists, and the stakes sprang into his hands, ready to be driven into the vampires leaping at him from each side. They fell into dust, and he grinned at the rest.
“This is more like it, y’all. Come on, don’t be shy. I got plenty for everybody.”
He crouched in anticipation and blinked as the air rippled. When he got done with the blink, the floor was covered in dust, and Illyria and Wes were standing in front of him.
“Huh? Wha…?”
“Are you all right, Gunn?” Wes asked, crossing to him quickly.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He straightened, not sure what had just happened and looked from one to the other. Wes wasn’t hurt, but looked somewhere between confused and pissed off. Illyria was staring into space, moving her fingers like she was writing something on the air, and whispering to herself. “When did she get her powers back? And how?”
“That’s unclear at the moment,” Wes said tightly, moving more toward the pissed off end of the spectrum.
“Because I thought the powers would explode out of her and destroy everything,” Gunn continued. “Did that change?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
They both watched her for a moment. She was scowling, and suddenly rubbed at her forehead, squinted, and began writing on the air again. The gesture was familiar, and Wes stiffened.
“So,” Gunn said quietly. “Is this a secret part of Angel’s plan?”
Wes shook his head, studying Illyria with a frown that showed he was back to confused. “We seem to be operating under a new plan.”
Her head snapped around and she looked at them coolly. “In the first plan, Wesley was dead by now, and you died within moments of reaching the alley.”
With that, she opened another portal and went through without looking back.
Gunn shrugged at Wes. “Gotta say I like this plan better so far,” he said as they followed her.
Look, Ma. Your baby’s boy’s killing people. This will be one for the scrapbook.
Not that she would want a picture of this. It wasn’t exactly glorious battlefield carnage against overwhelming odds like you told the grandbabies about. This was a coward’s kill, and she would probably say that it was fitting.
Maybe it was.
Lorne raised the gun, not letting himself think about what he was doing, or about the way Lindsey’s eyes were getting huge with realization, or the way his voice had once rang with anger and ambivalence through the club. Caritas. Mercy. Don’t think about that either.
His finger tightened on the trigger, or would have, except the gun wasn’t there anymore. Instead, Wesley and Gunn were on either side of him, and Lindsey was busy being pinned to the wall by Illyria.
“What the hell were you doing?” Gunn asked in horror. “I thought you were backing him up!”
“Funny, that’s what I thought too,” Lindsey gurgled. “Angel doublecrossed me, the piece of…Oh, Jesus!”
Illyria had one hand around his throat, but her other hand had dropped south, and Lindsey was holding completely still.
Lorne shared a group wince with Gunn and Wesley. He’d been planning to kill Lindsey, but this was different. There were some things a guy just didn’t want to watch be done to another guy.
Not being a guy, Illyria wasn’t having that problem. “Are you listening to me?” she asked calmly.
“Believe me, Ma’am, you have my undivided attention,” Lindsey seemed to be trying to climb higher on the wall.
“I care nothing for you. Is there any reason I should not leave you here, gelded and bleeding to death?”
He tried to smile. “I’d really, really appreciate it?”
“Not good enough.”
Her lower hand moved, and Lindsey screamed.
It was too much. Shooting him was better than this. Lorne ran forward, but Wesley was there first, pulling at the arm she was using to grip Lindsey’s throat. “Illyria! Either kill him or release him!” She didn’t turn, but opened both hands and Lindsey crumpled to the floor.
“Your female is pinned in the rubble of the Wolfram and Hart building,” she said still calmly. “She still lives, and you can free her if you are quick. Look at me.”
Even in his pain, something about her voice got his head up, and Lindsey glared at her.
“You think of revenge,” Illyria said. “Do not. Should you move against Angel or anyone he cares for, anyone I care for, I will know and return.” She smiled, and the color washed out of his face. “And close my fist.”
He made it to his feet, and stumbled to the door. Lorne didn’t need singing to know that he was beaten. He would have been beaten too. It would have been almost better if she’d enjoyed the pain she caused, because that would have been understandable, but this was as cold and distant as a star. And yet, she had spared him.
“So, did Lorne die in the first plan too?” Gunn asked. “There’s a new plan,” he added unnecessarily.
Lorne held still as she walked up to him, almost surprised that he wasn’t afraid of her after what he’d just seen.
“No, but he was ruined.” Illyria said. “The killing broke something inside of him.”
“And you wished to prevent that?” Wes asked almost gently.
“Yes.”
Her crystal eyes were the most alien things he’d ever seen, but then she began to hum.
The stars at night
Are shining bright
Deep in the heart…
“PEANUT!” Lorne shouted and threw his arms around her.
He could hear the others shouting, but their voices were a distant hum, because Fred was THERE, with her gentleness and warmth and that bright, shining mind that wasn’t entirely paying attention to him because it was working really hard on something, but it didn’t matter because he could still feel her soul although it wasn’t….
He pulled back.
“Fred?” Gunn’s face was wreathed in smiles. “You’re back? Damn, girl! This is excellent news!” The smile dropped. “Oh, Jesus, Fred, I am so sorry about what happened. If I’d known, if I’d even thought…”
…exactly…
“Fred? Is it you?”
Wesley’s voice was tentative, but his eyes were starting to blaze, and Lorne could feel his hope and struggle to believe…
…alone…
“Illyria,” Lorne said gently, feeling the anger and resentment, and most of all the sadness. “Honey, listen…”
“Illyria?” Wes asked.
“What’s going on here?” Gunn demanded. “You just called her Fred!”
“It does not matter,” she said in a quiet voice that he could still hear loud and clear over the men. She turned away and raised her hand to open another portal.
It was good to be at the Hyperion again, even if it was just in the alley outside. The building held almost all of his good memories - time with his friends, the growing affection for Cordelia, Connor as a baby.
It was also the place where he’d made and finally rectified one of his greatest mistakes which made it doubly fitting for tonight.
Angel lifted his face to the rain, ignoring his surroundings, including Spike. This entire year had been one of his greatest mistakes, but he was putting it right tonight. No more servitude to Wolfram and Hart or being anyone’s puppet. No more imprisonment behind enchanted glass or signing away his soul one invoice at the time.
No more.
“You reckon any of the rest of them made it?” Spike asked, peering up the alley.
He opened his eyes slowly. “They’ll come if they can.”
Except for Lorne. He shouldn’t have done that to Lorne, but there had been no one else, because none of the others would have understood the necessity of not leaving…
A hole opened in the alley and Wes, Gunn, Lorne, and Illyria stepped out of it.
“Reckon they did,” Spike said mildly. “Hey, Blue, didn’t we suck the power out of you?”
Angel squinted through the rain at Illyria as she moved directly in front of him. There was something different about her, a calmness where before anger at her situation had boiled out of her.
“You must go from here.”
He shook his head. “No more running. Not now.”
Faster than even he could track, she caught his collar and yanked his head down until their eyes were level. “They will descend upon you like legion. You cannot fight them all. You will die even though you now have all of your fighters.”
“Then we die,” Angel snapped. He pulled away, hard enough to rip his shirt collar. “We knew this would probably happen going in, right guys?”
And it hadn’t mattered to any of them. That was why he’d known it was the right plan. They all paused as the noise came to them over the rain, hundreds, no thousands, of feet tramping across wet concrete. He understood the truth of her words and welcomed them.
“The demons will remain.”
It was as if she’d stopped time.
“What?” Wes asked.
“I have seen this before, wars between human and demonkind. I have participated in them. This town is lost ground, so the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart will not bid their minions return. They will stay and they will lay waste.”
The black depression that had gripped him for so long abruptly lifted, and Angel saw what he had done and began to shake. It had seemed so clear before. Deal a blow to the enemy, and pay the expected price. Only he and his group wouldn’t be the only ones paying.
“We started a war?” Gunn whispered. He stared toward the mouth of the alley. “Anne…. Oh, my God, Anne and the kids…”
And the homeless, and people inside their houses and offices…anyone who got in the way. Angel felt the deaths of each of them.
The Slayers would come as soon as they heard about the situation. Buffy would be on the next plane. Young girls like those who had confronted him would fight and die.
There was no way Connor would stay out in this fight.
“Yeah, but you’ve got your powers,” Spike was saying. “So, freeze them and let us deal with it.”
She shook her head. “I must hoard my power now. There is none to spare.”
Wes was beside them, staring at her. “What are you going to do?”
“You were thinking about something, or Fred was.” Lorne shrugged at Angel’s questioning look. “Yeah, Fred’s sort of in there too.”
The first demons turned the corner and Spike threw his head back and squared his shoulders. “Well, all right then! Looks like a bit of a match!”
“Run!” Illyria snapped. “Go over the fence!”
A portal began to open, and Angel could feel the evil pulsing out of it. He was in demon face before he realized it, and Angelus was battling against the restraints of the soul with new strength. “What the hell are you…”
She looked at him with blazing eyes, and he knew.
Then, she was gone. With a shout, Angel leaped after her.
Fear was, unfortunately, not a new sensation. Not that she would ever admit it, but Illyria had been frightened since she’d awoken. Fear of ridicule, of abandonment, of loneliness and exile. Since the joining, she knew the fear Fred had felt in Pylea and in her death throes.
None of those fears had been like this, as she stood in the blackness of the cavern and gazed upward.
Both she and Fred knew that the shapes were only constructs that gave the beings the ability to manifest in this dimension, but she still saw them as Wolf and Ram and Hart. Thirty feet and higher, they stood, comprised of smoke and darkness. Sickly green light glowed from their eyes and glinted from the edges of fang and horn and antler.
There was movement from behind her, and she knew that one could fear for others more than for oneself.
“I instructed you to leave,” she whispered without turning.
“Trust me,” Gunn murmured, “I wish I’d listened to you.”
“No more running,” Angel stepped forward.
Even in her angry exasperation, she had to admire him. He could be obliterated with a thought, but he continued to grip his sword as if it might have some sort of effect. The others moved up as well, and she wanted to tear at her hair from the sheer idiocy of it all.
This is how humans ended up driving the demons out in the first place all those years ago. They screw up, but they don’t give up.
Fred’s thought was amused, and Illyria realized that the calculation was complete. She also realized that the glowing eyes were fixed on Angel.
The Wolf’s fangs bared:
IT HAS COME TO OUR REALM. WE CAN TOUCH IT.
The Hart tossed its antlers:
HE HAS DESTROYED THE BALANCE. WE ARE DUE RETRIBUTION.
Everyone braced, and Spike, she could see, was considering attack.
The Ram shook its horns but its voice was soft.
NO. IF THE BLACK THORN COULD NOT STAND, IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN OBLITERATED. BEHOLD, OUR NEW CIRCLE STANDS BEFORE US.
“Sorry, but we didn’t destroy the circle as an audition,” Angel snapped.
TRULY, ANGELUS? DO YOU NOT WISH THE POWER TO PUT THINGS AS YOU WISH THEM? AS OUR REPRESENTATIVE, YOU COULD GUIDE THE WEAK HUMANS IN THEIR PATH.
“It sounds great, but I don’t see myself as Jasmine,” Angel said. “The long, flowy dresses aren’t really my look.”
DO YOU SPEAK FOR YOUR COMPANIONS? WHAT OF YOU, WESLEY WYNDHAM-PRYCE? YOU WOULD BE WORTHY…”
“Oh, blah, blah, blah.” Spike sauntered forward. “No offense, but this is duller than listening to Percy and Blue drone about the meaning of it all.” His lighter flickered and he drew on his cigarette. “I hate to tell you petting zoo rejects this, but no one’s swapping sides. Angel’s been evil so often, he’s bored with it. Gunn wants to feed the hungry these days, and between you and me, I suspect there a woman involved. Thinking about evil makes Lorne cry. The only time you have to worry about Percy is when he gets snockered and plays in the armory. Blue’s got her own agenda that I can’t wait to hear about, and if I turn evil again, the Scoobies will say “I told you so’, and Buffy will kick my ass. So.” He flexed his shoulders and rotated his head. “Let’s fight already.”
CRUSH THE INSECT. PERHAPS THE OTHERS WILL BE AMENABLE.
The Hart raised its hoof.
CEASE.
The glowing eyes moved to her, but she was no longer afraid.
“YOUR TIME IS GONE, OLD ONE.”
She relaxed her hold on the power. Like a freed dragon it surged through her, pressing painfully against the confines of her body, shining from her eyes.
I REMEMBER Illyria said WHEN YOU WERE SUMMONED BY NAKED PRIESTS TO PROVIDE GOOD HUNTING AND WOOL FOR WINTER.
The three heads lowered in combat, and the Hart and Ram pawed the floor.
YOUR POWER IS GREAT BUT IT CANNOT PREVAIL AGAINST ALL OF US.
“She doesn’t have to win,” Angel said. He was at her side. “All she has to do is let go.”
It would be swift. Her skin was already cracking. Now, for the control. She brought the image of the calculation forward in her mind and focused all of her will into it.
“The unleashed power of an Old One was enough to destroy a large portion of our world,” Wesley said. He was on her other side, his shoulder touching hers. “It will destroy this space as well, and the three of you with it.”
SHE WILL ALSO DIE. AS WILL YOU.
“Works for me.” Gunn was close enough behind her that his voice stirred her hair.
“Me too. I think I’m done with this town.”
Spike cast his cigarette away and backed to stand with Gunn and Lorne. “Hell, I didn’t think I’d live this long.”
Even with her concentration borne upon the construct she was creating, she could feel the others surrounding her, comforting, encouraging. If she had time she would feel grateful. She stared into the thought-structure she had created and knew the math was right.
Push. Now.
She thrust the power into the form, and the calculation took shape outside her body, forming a creation almost crystalline in structure. Wolf, Ram, and Hart moved restively, unsure. If they attacked, the power would unleash and fall upon them like a tidal wave. They could have escaped, but this was their realm. Where would they go?
It was a feeling she understood.
The power poured from her faster now, strengthening the lattice. Illyria swayed, and Angel and Wesley caught her arms.
“We’re not dying,” she heard Gunn said nervously. “I thought we’d be dying by now.”
“This is what Peanut was working on, but I can’t quite figure it out.”
“It’s her power,” Wesley breathed. “She’s setting up some kind of…prison?”
The last of the power left Illyria and she sagged in their grasp. It was done. The chamber encircled by the structure except for a small portal behind her.
“No one need die tonight.” she gasped. “As long as you do not move against us or the ones we care for, the power will remain ready. Should you attempt to strike, it will fall upon you.”
The Wolf growled.
THERE IS NO REASON NOT TO END ALL TONIGHT. BETTER TO BE NOTHING THAN TO BE LESS.
She understood that feeling too.
“You will still have some influence on the world,” she said wearily, ignoring Angel’s start. “It is the way of things. You can send forth minions or summon creatures to you…if any will come. But there will be no war, and there will be no attacks upon us. Should you wish to be nothing, then do as you will. I care not.”
Consciousness was leaving her, and Wesley’s arm went around her waist.
“Take me out of here,” she whispered, and slid into darkness.
From the shadows of the alley, Spike watched her strap the pack closed, check the buckles, and fasten both bags into place. Each movement was snapped off and precise with neither Illyria’s jerkiness nor Fred’s delicate grace.
And that was the rub, now wasn’t it?
When she took hold of the handles to push the bike toward the street, he checked the sky and stepped from the doorway.
“Travelling light, are we?”
She halted and looked at him with no more expression than she’d shown for the past week, although Spike knew he’d gotten more from her than anyone else had. She would talk to him at least a little. The rest had been frozen out.
And where have we had this situation before? All that’s needed is a demon with a singing spell.
“Are you going to try and stop me?”
“Not me, pet.” He said and shivered exaggeratedly. “I’m still sore from our last bout.”
She had asked him, with cold courtesy, to spar with her and test what remained of her strength. Together, they had discovered that she was still somewhat enhanced, about to the level of a Slayer, which wasn’t bad, but a long way from what she had been.
“Good.” She nodded to him and pushed the bike toward the mouth of the alley.
He waited quietly and after a few steps, she paused and turned back.
“I wish you well, William the Bloody.”
Her expression and voice were composed, but he was all too aware of what hid under well-constructed facades and he went to her, drawing a finger lightly down one of the two streaks of blue that remained in her tightly-braided hair. “Take care, Little Girl Blue.”
Her face twisted, eyes flickering from brown to shiny blue to and back again, and before either of them could think about it, Spike put an arm around her and hugged her to him. For a moment, she pressed her face into his shoulder, and he felt her shudder deeply, once. Then, she pulled back, brushing at her face angrily.
“I take it you haven’t made any other goodbyes,” he said, not mentioning her tears.
“No,” she answered shortly. After a moment, she sighed, “I weary of them seeking signs of Fred when they look at me and being disappointed when they are not there.”
“It’s only been a week, pet,” he reminded her. “And we’ve all had a bit of upheaval. It’s not so difficult to understand them looking for what comfort they can.”
Knowing they had come damned close to starting a demon war had thrown Team Angel for a loop, but it had gone better than Spike would have expected. They’d returned to the Hyperion to recover, but Gunn had left almost immediately to check on Anne and her charges. He’d then started spending increasing amounts of time at the shelter, and no one, except possibly Gunn himself, had been surprised when he took up the night watchmen post, especially since every other word out of his mouth was now “Anne”.
Angel had locked himself into his old room for two days, refusing to speak, until Connor showed up and kicked the door in. After half an hour of occasionally shouted conversation, Angel was on an overseas line, talking to Nina, and the kid was downstairs making googly eyes at Illyria/Fred.
Frellyria? Illred?
In this, he was joined by Wesley and Lorne who kept trying to determine exactly how much of Fred was back, asking what she was feeling or sensing at any given time, and basically putting on a spectacular display ‘insert foot into mouth and chew gustily’. Spike, veteran of dealing with wounded, powerful women, could only cringe.
Lorne had finally gotten a slight clue and gone out to find a site for a new club, but Wesley was on one of his obsessive joyrides, furiously researching the joining, trying to find out where he’d gone wrong in his original studies, and so on.
“I know,” she said. “I also know that what the Wolf, Ram, and Hart said was true. It is better to be not than to be lesser.”
“True enough.” He smiled down at her. “Where will you go?”
“Away from here. Other than that, I know not. I will manage.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Spike noticed that the faint traces of blue at her hairline were becoming more noticeable with the increasing light and realized he’d have to get under cover soon. “Watch yourself, then.”
“And you? Will you stay with Angel?”
The question rocked him. A notion had been kicking around in the back of his mind, but…
“I’m going to Rome,” he blurted unintentionally.
Her eyebrow lifted. “That didn’t work out so well the last time, did it?”
“Well, this time I won’t have Peaches cramping my style. I don’t know what I was thinking before anyway. I mean, taking Andrew’s word for something?”
Suddenly, she grinned. “Truly. I couldn’t understand why you listened to someone who spends most of their time in Middle Earth.”
He caught the changes in conversational style as she relaxed, caught the smile that was sheer Fred, and felt something between joy and pain. It would be all right; she would be all right; and if Wesley got his head out of his arse, he stood a chance of being all right too.
Spike began to turn away, calmness settling over him as he faced his decision. Whatever happened, he would talk to Buffy. Now, he just had to figure out a way to get to…
“Perhaps this will help.”
She had undone the buckles of one of her packs and tossed him a bundle that rustled interestingly.
He looked down at the pack of hundreds and back at her. She straddled the bike and rocked down on the starter.
“Wolfram and Hart has a great deal of money in their accounts still, and I can hack their ATM codes.”
“Nice,” Spike said admiringly. “That how you afforded the new duds?”
She looked down at her jeans, white t-shirt, and denim jacket. “I thought of remaining in the black leather, but did not wish to be taken for Angel.” She looked back up, and there was a glint in her eye. “I could have purchased the motorcycle as well, but Wesley wasn’t using this one.”
The roar of the bike mingled with his laughter as she sped away.
Illyria sat on a grassy bank overlooking the bay, and watched a duck lead her offspring to the water. She didn’t squeal and giggle as some had done, but when a large young male moved past her, aiming for the animals with a predatory grin, she reached up, grabbed his hand and twisted it back, halting just short of permanent damage.
He stared from her to his purpling hand and made a sound of pain in his throat. “If I release you, you will leave,” she said tranquilly. She shook her head to let the sunglasses slide down her nose and spun her eyes to blue. His own eyes bulged, and when she let go, he didn’t even try to speak before fleeing with the speed of desperation. Before she could return to her contemplation, there was soft clapping from behind her.
“Illyria, the powerful and terrible. Destroyer of nations. Protector of baby animals. How the mighty art fallen.”
She turned cold inside and wished for the time when she wouldn’t have known what the sudden ache in her chest meant. However, by the time she rose and turned to face Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, her glasses were pushed back up, and her face was expressionless.
He looked…well…she saw with surprise. His expression was tight, but he was clean-shaven and clear-eyed, and his dark blue sweater and tan slacks were neat and well-pressed. He looked better than he had since she had awakened.
I should speak. I should say…something.
But the gamut of Fred’s emotions regarding Wesley, from exasperation to love, raged through her, much stronger than the remnants Illyria had retained upon her original possession of the human’s body. Mingled with the barely understood and heavily resented attachment she had formed on her own, they were enough to render her mute.
“I did figure it out, you know,” he continued, descending the bank with easy grace until he reached her side. His eyes flicked over her coolly. “That you aren’t Fred, that what occurred was a blending of your two essences. I even realized that as the dominant personality, Illyria must have granted permission for the blending to occur, which meant that I should rethink certain assumptions.”
Anger overrode the other emotions and freed her tongue. “So I am worthy now and no longer a substitute for the other? How fortunate.”
“You never were and never will be a substitute for Fred,” he said icily.
Pain worse than Hamilton’s beating shot through her. “Would that I had left you to die on the sorcerer’s floor,” she snarled and whirled away, determined to gouge out her eyes before she let him see the tears that filled them.
“Illyria!”
She didn’t break her stride.
“You are your own person,” he called, and as his words sank in, she stopped and turned.
Wesley crossed to her. “That’s what I understand,” he said quietly. “I don’t apologize for loving Fred or for wishing she was back after she was taken from me, or for it taking me longer than a week to put together what happened. But I know that you, that Illyria, didn’t leave me to die, that you had to agree to join with Fred to gain the knowledge to save us, and that you gave up your power, freely, to save everyone.”
He reached out and very lightly brushed at one of the few tears that had escaped, startling her, for he had never before touched her without need. Illyria jerked her head back suspiciously, and something that might have been sadness crossed his face, and he dropped his hand to his side.
“I like your hair,” he said after a moment.
Automatically, she patted at the short strands that curled under her ears, still not used to the lightness. “Raindrop seems very skilled.”
“Raindrop?” His mouth quirked. “I suppose this is San Francisco, after all.”
The neutral territory was a relief. “I met her shortly after I arrived. She and her partner, T’Zia, run a salon for both human and demonkind. Between a human empath who never escaped the Summer of Love and an exiled half-mer, a dethroned and mostly powerless Old One is barely worth noting.”
“You’ve made friends,” he said. “And a life for yourself. I’m…glad, Illyria.”
But there was something sad in his tone, and she could almost feel him drawing away from her.
“And what have you done, these three months, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?” she asked. “What of the others?”
“Ah. There’s a tale worth telling.” He nodded to a bench. “Will you sit?” Once seated, he looked away from her and across the water, “I was angry when you left,” he said abruptly. “I felt you cheated me in some way, I don’t know why. I continued like that for a bit, until Spike and Lorne shouted at me in tandem for several hours, in what they called an intervention. They were actually responsible for some of the insights I mentioned earlier, although I agree with them.”
“Spike did not go to Rome?” she asked, disappointed.
Wesley sighed. “He didn’t have to. Rome, in the guise of Buffy, Giles, Willow, and Dawn arrived at the Hyperion, weapons at the ready, and a small army of Slayers at the rear. Apparently, our adventure in the alley triggered quite the psychic alarm. They had spent the week pinpointing the source, and dealing with some difficulties from the Italian branch of Wolfram and Hart, then chartered a plane and arrived on our doorstep.” He rubbed at his eyes. “There was a great deal of shouting.”
“No doubt.” She considered. “Did Andrew inform Buffy that Spike was alive?”
“During boarding which gave her six hours to stew about it. Connor was at the Hyperion when they arrived, which was how Buffy found out that Angel had a son. It’s also how Buffy found out Angel was seeing someone since Connor asked if she was Nina.”
“Oh, my,” Illyria said, impressed.
“Indeed. Confronting the Black Thorn was enjoyable in comparison. No one was actually killed although it was questionable several times, particularly when Angel’s plan was explained.” He shuddered. “Giles can be quite poetic in his sarcasm when he’s inspired. However, Spike returned with them, and the rest are well enough. Angel will remain in LA and work with Connor. I believe he and Nina will come to an arrangement of some kind.”
“Good,” she smiled. “I wish them to be content.”
“Yes.” He looked at his hands then at her, gave a forced smile, and stood. “You may not believe me, Illyria, but I am glad you are content as well. I hope you enjoy….”
“Wait,” she came to her feet. “What of you, Wesley? Why did you come here?”
“Oh.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, suddenly awkward in the way that she knew meant he was nervous. “We parted badly, and I wanted to be sure you were well before I left.”
Panic touched her. “Where are you going?”
They both looked at her fist which was fastened in his sweater sleeve, and she sternly required her fingers to unclench.
“England,” he said briefly. “Giles is having difficulty with the remaining members of the Council, including my…my….” He coughed and slipped a little on the grass. “Including Father. He has asked me to come in and shore up his side.”
…his face, set and empty, as he emptied the clip into what he thought was his father then bent double in sickened agony…
She pulled her glasses off and stared at him in concern. “Wesley, will you be all right with this?”
“Of course,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m an adult, after all. These foolish father – son things can’t be allowed to interfere with…”
“Do you wish me to strangle him with his own entrails? It is easily done.”
“Would you? I mean, Good God, no!” Some of the tension went out of him as he laughed.
She had never seen him laugh. Even Fred had not seen it often. Illyria’s chest hurt again, but it was a different kind of ache, more of a fullness, perhaps.
From that fullness, she moved closer and asked again. “Why did you come here?” \
“I told you,” he said with brittle cheer. “To make sure you were well and to say goodbye.”
“For three months,” she said mildly. “You sought me out to bid me farewell.”
He looked away. “I thought…if you…but you’re doing well here.”
She touched his sleeve again, more gently this time. “I am not Fred, nor even Illyria as you first met her. You do not know me, Wesley, and I am not in need of your rescue or tutelage.”
It would have been a fight he had with Fred, at some point, for he persisted in seeing women as being in need of his aid.
“No.” He looked at her again, eyes bright. “And I won’t wallow in drink and despair if I’m alone.” His hand covered hers. “But I would welcome a friend if she wanted to come.”
He didn’t flinch when her eyes turned blue, and when she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his in the lightest of kisses, he returned the slight pressure.
“Let us go then,” Illyria said.
Side by side they walked from the park.