COME BACK TO ME
CHAPTER 31

A/N - before you read on, I'd just like to apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. Life's been a little crazy and due to numerous intrusions it's taken an age to get this done and sent to beta. So, if you're still interested in what havoc Angel is wreaking, please enjoy, and if you're sticking with me - thank you.

To recap - Buffy's down and bleeding on the floor in Fred's lab, Spike's off being tested in his final challenge and Willow and the gang have no idea what is happening.


Xander raced down the corridors of the Wolfram and Hart building, fully expecting to feel the hounds of hell snapping at his heels, to hear cries and feet pounding in pursuit. But there was nothing. He giggled in disbelief. It was wild how he’d just walked out of the lab – the way they’d all stood frozen, dumb as mules. If he’d planned the whole thing instead of it being an impulsive act, it couldn’t have been any easier. Once he’d gripped the knife and felt the rush of empowerment flood him, there was only ever going to be one outcome. He glanced down, almost stumbling, as he noted the sticky, red blood – Buffy’s blood – that coated his fingers and his right hand, fingers still clenched around the knife, his knuckles startlingly white amidst the gore. A wave of nausea washed over him as he caught a whiff of the coppery blood and he missed his footing, falling against the grey wall with his empty hand splayed out. He took a few gasping breaths and swallowed to quell the sickness, sweat standing out on his forehead even though he felt icy cold.




He recovered enough to move, backing away from the red handprint he’d left on the wall.




Buffy’s blood…



Typically for him now, the remorse he felt at the horror of his actions, that he’d harmed one of his best friends, was warped into accusations against others. This was all Spike’s fault; the evil undead had managed to seduce Buffy into his perverted schemes and now she’d turned against her friends. It was obvious to Xander as he made his way to Travers’ lair; that had to be the explanation for the crap she’d been spouting earlier.




And now she was dying…




…or dead.




Xander stifled a sob, the enormity of the situation only now hitting him. He had actually taken a knife and stabbed his friend in the gut, enjoyed how she clutched her hands to the wound and collapsed, the red viscous fluid seeping through her fingers and onto the floor. And then he’d run, like the coward he knew he’d always been.




He stopped, the knife dropping from numb fingers as he brought his hands up, finally bowing his head and letting the tears fall in salty rivulets through the red that streaked his fingers. If only, he muttered, if only Spike had never come back, if only Andrew had been the one to die in the school, if only Anya hadn’t been so brave, if only Buffy hadn’t been the Slayer and had never come to Sunnydale. All things he’d thought and said over and over again.




But ‘if only’ wasn’t going to cut it now. He’d made his choice back when Angel had revealed how he could use the resources of Wolfram and Hart to restore Anya to the life she deserved with him. He’d sealed that choice today when he stabbed the Slayer. Tough -- but the outcome would be worth any cost – and it wasn’t like Buffy had worried about sticking a sword through Anya for her precious greater good. Well now he got to decide what the good was – and it was time to claim his resurrected girl and get the hell out of there, put all this behind him and start anew somewhere where demons and vampires and dumb, self-obsessed blondes could go bump in the night happily without his knowledge.




He walked on, his mind firmly closed to the repercussions of his act and the images of a blonde girl he’d once called friend lying in a spreading pool of blood. Anya might be waiting for him. Having left the knife where it fell, his hands and now his face smeared with gore, he reached the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the lower basement.




+ + + + +




“So did the doc say how soon before…” Faith stopped mid-sentence, her dark eyes widening in shock and pain as she got to her feet, momentarily shaken. Shit! What was that? She looked down to her stomach, expecting to see a spreading stain, reminiscent of the one she’d received a lifetime ago from Buffy’s – no, her own knife, her first real gift – but there was nothing. She lifted her top, just to be sure, as the pain had been all too real, but there was just a jagged pink scar, all that remained after Slayer healing of the injuries that would have killed a normal girl.




“Faith? What’s wrong?” Robin murmured, still weak but improving by the hour since the sedatives had been withdrawn.




She turned to look at him, spots of colour high on her cheeks. “There’s something seriously bad,” she stated baldly. “Somebody’s hurt – some mojo working to make me feel the pain. Guess I’m not everyone’s sweetheart after all, huh?” She smiled nervously to hide the insecurity behind her flippant words. She still felt very much the outsider, the bad egg, the black sheep, tolerated for her usefulness by the ‘good guys’ despite her remorse and her commitment to the good. Robin shifted on the bed, leaning awkwardly to reach for her despite the pain that creased his brow.




Faith gripped his hand, lacing her fingers with his and perched on the edge of the bed. “Gotta go, see what’s the sitch. You’ll be alright?” Her eyes bored into his, still wary of the feelings Robin Wood had awakened in her and the vulnerability he seemed to bring forth. Her mind knew that the doctors had told her he was going to be fine, that all he needed now was rest, but her heart was beating up a storm every time she looked at the bruises and wounds that peppered his body. Her mouth went dry as she remembered holding him on the school bus as it left Sunnydale; his still form slumped in her arms. Part of her had wanted to run far away right then before he got any closer; but it was already too late. She cared for him, he was hers and she’d protect him with her life if necessary. If there was one thing Faith Lehane was big on, it was loyalty.




Another searing pain across her abdomen had her leaning down and kissing Robin, promising to be right back, watching him all the time she left the room. As the door closed behind her she keyed in Wes’s phone number and scowled when there was no answer. She broke into a jog, then a sprint, as number after number she dialled failed to connect. Something was desperately wrong.




She barrelled along the corridors of Wolfram and Hart, heedless of the people who plastered themselves to the walls as she raced past. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she took the stairs up to Fred’s lab three at a time. The door to the lab was open and she could hear panicked voices and sobbing as she rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. Somebody was down, motionless on the floor, Willow and Wesley bending to obscure her view until she hurried round them only to slip on… blood.




Faith gasped as she recognised the still form: Buffy. Her gut twisted again as she noted the amount of blood her fallen comrade had lost. Despite all their problems, at some point over the years, Buffy and Faith’s shared destiny had cemented a bond that they never talked about, rarely acknowledged, and sometimes even fought against – but it was there, nonetheless. Faith watched as Willow worked to staunch the flow, her face streaked with tears and her eyes black. Everything seemed to be detached, far away, sound muted and slow. Dazedly, Faith sank to her knees, reaching out to touch Buffy’s throat, searching for a pulse. It was still there – weak, but there.




“Come on, B,” she whispered urgently. “No time for napping, it’s just a flesh wound, kiddo, hardly a scratch. Shift your ass.” Buffy didn’t move, her face ashen and lips pale. Faith swept her eyes over Buffy’s torso, noting that the wound was in almost the identical spot as the one she bore on her own body. Maybe that was why she’d felt the pain; maybe it was more than that. It didn’t matter now.




“Willow, what the fuck happened here? Who did this?”




The black-eyed witch spat the name at the slayer. “Xander.”




“Where is he?”




“Gone,” Willow whispered, “and it’s my fault, Faith. I should have known he was going to do something, he was so bitter… and the look in his eyes…but it was Xander! How could he do this?”




Faith rubbed Willow’s shoulders, made her meet her eyes and held them. “Hey, it’s not your fault. It happened, yeah, and it’s bad – but we can fix it. Right, Wes?”




Wesley was pale with shock, his hands trembling. What should he do? He was out of his depth, Giles would know.




“Giles must be told immediately. We don’t know if…” Wesley’s words tapered off but everybody else finished the sentence in their head. ‘…we don’t know if she’s going to survive.’




“I’ll go get him,” Faith offered, eager to be of some help and needing to get away from Buffy’s side before she completely lost it. It was too reminiscent of the time she'd been the one to take a blade in the guts, waking up alone in a cold, echoing room, ripping out the tubes that had kept her alive whilst in her coma. Hard to see, harder to endure. And despite the fact that it was Buffy that had put her there, Faith didn’t want to see B go through the same. Not now.




“Fix her, Willow -- whatever it takes.” she growled as she got to her feet and raced to the door. “Please.” The fact that Faith had asked nicely only made it all the scarier for the rest of them.




Willow floundered, battling herself. She’d successfully managed to subdue the darkness that had threatened to engulf her over the years and was confident that she wouldn’t break as she had when Tara had been taken from her, no matter the provocation. She had learned control during the time spent in the healing embrace of the coven, but this fury and hunger for revenge that pulsed through her veins, darkened her eyes – it was hard to resist the call to murder. It would be so easy, part of her whispered. She wouldn’t even have to touch him to finish it. Only fair, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. But 4-year-old Willow remembered the yellow crayon and her best friend making it all right and eventually her eyes returned to their normal green, the real danger of scary veiny Willow narrowly averted.




Instead she closed her eyes and concentrated on Buffy’s life force, drawing power from the earth as she’d been taught, channelling the healing nature to Buffy’s lacerated body and suffusing the flesh beneath her splayed hand with warmth and earth magic. She sighed with relief when the bleeding slowed and stopped somewhat, the wound still seeping but no longer gushing. Buffy was breathing in shallow, laboured gasps, her pulse thready – but it was there. There was still hope.







+ + + + +







Giles glanced up from his books when Faith appeared in the doorway; one look at her face told him it was bad. Thankfully Angel was sleeping, so he moved soundlessly to her side and she whispered in his ear, “Get to the lab now, Buffy’s hurt.” He was gone in a second.




“Did I hear you say Buffy’s hurt?” Angel sounded worried. “Tell me what happened, Faith. I need to know.”




She stared at him, a spark of hope in her heart. Just woken, he looked and sounded more like Angel than he had in days.




“She’ll be okay? Don’t know what I’d do if…” he muttered brokenly.




“I….”




“Just tell me it’s nothing trivial.”




When his words registered, she flinched. Angel grinned, “Gotcha! Jeez, Faith, you’re just too easy!! It’s good to know you’re still a sucker for the truly pathetic.”




Faith gritted her teeth and turned to follow Giles, Angel’s cackling laughter ringing in her ears.




+ + + + +




Willow was so engrossed that she failed to notice Giles as he rushed to Buffy’s side and gripped the pale hand that lay across the fallen slayer’s abdomen. His stiff upper lip was holding, just barely, but his voice was gruff with emotion as he asked Willow exactly what the situation was. She told him, about Xander, hinted at her battle to keep the magic in check, the earth healing, that she still didn’t know if it was enough.




“We have to get medical help,” Giles said, taking charge. “Has anybody even thought to ring for an ambulance?” Everybody looked at everybody else, horrified that the thought hadn’t even entered their heads. Fred volunteered that it was only a couple of floors down to the Wolfram and Hart hospital wing.




“I think not.” Giles snarled. “No – we need an ambulance. I don’t trust her being here. Could you…?” The question wasn’t finished, but Fred nodded, finally moving from the spot she’d been frozen to and dialling 911. Faith came in and stood over the three on the floor, her arms crossed, lips hard as she frowned. Giles looked up, met her eyes wordlessly and smiled tightly as Faith nodded and turned on her heel. For once, the watcher had the slayer’s obedience.




“Rupert?” Wesley questioned, but swallowed down any further query as Ripper’s eyes burned him with a glance. He shivered slightly, pulling his jacket around him before asking, “what do you wish us to do?”




“Nothing,” Giles barked. “Do nothing. I’ll deal with this. She’s my…” what was Buffy exactly? Slayer, friend, almost daughter? “…mine to take care of. Just…look to Angel, make sure he doesn’t take advantage. And Xander…if for any reason he…if Faith doesn’t…” Giles’ voice faltered and died, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his effort to control his emotions.




“I’ll take care of it,” Wesley confirmed and the two watchers nodded at each other in understanding. Xander had made his choice.




Andrew clearing his throat drew everybody’s attention, Harmony clinging to him, her face hiding behind his shoulder to peep out every now and then before returning to safety.




“Yes. What is it?” Giles barked, not wanting to deal with the boy’s idiocy at this moment.




“Erm…I know it’s super scary and stuff right now, and yeah, so maybe Buffy’s gonna do a Spock anyways and jump up any minute…any minute…now…erm, maybe not, but have you guys forgotten about Spike? He’s gonna go totally V for Vendetta when he gets back. Maybe less Luke Skywalker, deprived of his family, searching the universe for somewhere to fit in and more like Michael Myer’s Halloween slaughterfest. He is coming back, right?” Having finished his speech, Andrew whispered to Harmony, shrugging his shoulders as she did the same.




Giles hadn’t given Spike a moment’s thought and he flushed, guiltily, as he realised that the vampire, once back from the trial that he’d no doubt have passed, would not be dissuaded from revenge. None would be safe from his anger. It would be better to have Buffy away from the scene before that occurred, for everyone’s protection. While Spike had morphed, somehow, into a valuable member of the Scoobies, Giles was under no illusion that if it came down to a choice between Buffy and everybody else, there would be no contest. The fallout if Buffy died didn’t bear thinking about. So he’d better make sure that didn’t happen.




+ + + + +




Lorne paced edgily, glancing at Angel who lounged with a smug smile curling his lips.




“Aww, poor Buffy. Serves the slut right. Swore to love me forever then spreads her legs to bang my worthless dregs. She’d be better off dead. Hey, but if she’s hanging on in there, the least I can do is offer to finish her off. Only fair after all, to return the favour - I owe her one for the banishment to hell.” The sound of Angel gloating had Lorne’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t stand it for longer than five minutes and told Angel to shut up.




“Oooh, don’t tell me you’ve grown some balls after all. With the sassy suits and the girly drinks, I never thought you had it in you. Doesn’t suit you, by the way – ruins the line of your trousers when you try to walk like a man.”




Lorne tried to ignore him as he continued in that vein, but he was only a demon after all. All self-control gone, he rushed at Angel side, his hand raised to slap the gloat right off his face. It was all that Angel needed. With a flourish, he pulled apart his wrists to show that the manacles, and the magic that enhanced them, were no more. Before Lorne could react, Angel seized him by the throat and was bringing his newly descended fangs uncomfortably close to his neck. Lorne whimpered with terror as he steeled himself for the bite, but it never came. Instead, Angel rested his lips on Lorne’s ear and whispered, chillingly.




“No. I don’t think I want to eat you. I’ve got my standards and you fall way below them. Not worth blunting the fangs on. So…what shall I do with you? Been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of sodomizing a demon; that might be fun. But you’re not much of a male, are you, Lorne? And really, if I don’t want to sink my teeth into you, why would I wanna stick anything else in your stink?”




Lorne shivered, held fast in the vampire’s meaty hand. His legs were beginning to give way, his eyes clouded as oxygen deprivation started to hit. Angel was still smirking and taunting when the green demon’s body grew limp. With a growl of displeasure as his sport was cut short, Angel tossed Lorne away from him, the demon bouncing off the wall with a sickening crack to land in a twisted heap that Angel stepped over. He turned to look at the huddled form of the demon, giving it a kick for good measure before stalking to the door and out.




He’d had enough of the game, high time he took control and made sure that Spike and Buffy and their whole interfering crew, the allies he’d lost to them since they’d arrived in LA, and all the incompetent fools who’d let him be captured and held, never saw another sunrise.




TBC