Title: A Crisis of Faith
Author: Becjane
Posted: 01-24-2004
Email:
Rating: NC-17
Category: angst
Content: A/C
Summary: Sequel to Long Time Coming which can be found at JustFic. Even if you haven’t read Long Time Coming, you should be able to understand this fic as long as you read the summary.
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes:
Feedback:
Thanks/Dedication:Part 11
“ANGEL!”
Buffy’s heart lurched to a momentary stop when the stake pierced the vampire’s skin, but her trained eyes swiftly recognised that the wooden implement was wide of the mark, prompting a flood of relief to race like wildfire through her veins.
Cordelia threw herself blindly at the invisible barrier that blocked her entrance to the Gauntlet, salty tears blurring her vision and making her boyfriend’s stricken form eddy like a mirage before her eyes. Firm hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled back, but she struggled violently against their unyielding hold, frantically trying to shake off the unwanted restraints.
“Let me go – I have to go to him! Oh my God – please not my Angel. Please no!””
“Cordelia; calm down. CORDELIA!”
When the seer’s hysteria showed no sign of abating, Buffy roughly jerked the panic-stricken girl around and slapped her hard across the face. “Just listen to me,” she ordered, taking her former classmate by the shoulders and shaking her.
Despite her envy of the anguished brunette, the slayer wasn’t immune to her rival’s distress. “It’s okay – she missed.” she reassured the sobbing young woman, her voice softening in tone. “She missed.”
“Are you sure?” Cordelia clutched at Buffy’s forearms, her tear-filled eyes going impossibly wide as wild hope supplanted the bleak despair that had taken hold of her heart.
“One hundred and ten percent - I’m the slayer, aren’t I?” Buffy replied gently, giving the seer’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “That Mr Pointy is too low; I’m absolutely sure of it.”
Sagging in partial relief, Cordelia whirled around and pressed her fingers up against the transparent magical blockade that prevented more than one person from entering the Gauntlet. In spite of the blonde slayer’s steadfast reassurances, her anxiety had not completely subsided. She needed to see and hear for herself that the man - whom she loved more than life itself - was indeed okay.
“Angel – please talk to me,” she cried out desperately, her voice shaking with suppressed sobs.
The incapacitated vampire was slumped against the stone wall, his head hanging down and one hand wrapped around the stake, which was sticking grotesquely out of his chest. Her heart in her throat, the petrified seer watched as he awkwardly pushed himself upright and tugged the piece of wood from his ribcage with a hoarse cry of pain.
Flipping the stake over in his hand, Angel lurched forward and slammed it through the hollow of the Clone’s throat, effectively nailing her to the wall with the blood-soaked weapon. Then, with his palm over the gaping wound in his torso, he stumbled erratically along the last few feet of the Gauntlet and tumbled forward onto the raised dais, collapsing there in a crumbled heap.
The entrance to the Gauntlet corridor opened up as the vampire crossed the finish line, and Cordelia almost fell flat on her face when the invisible wall dissolved under her fingertips. Quickly righting herself, she bent and grabbed her discarded sword, and then determinedly stepped down into the Gauntlet, her earlier fear all but gone as her attention focused on getting to her injured boyfriend as soon as possible.
As the excruciating agony that was ricocheting through his entire body started to diminish, Angel rolled over onto his back, noting out of the corner of one eye that Cordelia had already entered the Gauntlet. Struggling to a seated position with a low groan, he leaned back against the stone podium to monitor his girlfriend’s progress, his concern for her welfare quashing the additional pain the semi-upright posture caused him.
“Oo – scary demon,” the seer quipped sarcastically when a mustard yellow individual, sporting a set of blue horns, popped up in front of her.
As the ringing clash of metal upon metal filled the air, Angel was thankful to discover that the hearsay about the Gauntlet regulating its skill level wasn’t just a myth. The brightly coloured creature was reasonably competent with his sword, but nowhere near as skilled as the demon that he had fought a short while earlier. Cordelia was easily managing to hold her own against her opponent, the vampire observed with intense relief.
Angel had never stepped back to watch his seer fight before, and found himself extremely impressed with what he saw. Cordelia handled her sword with the poised grace of a ballerina, everything he’d taught her slotting into place like adjacent pieces on a jigsaw puzzle. The elegant movements of her lithe body were utterly bewitching to behold, her polished style a remnant from her years as a cheerleader.
Good girl, he thought approvingly when he saw her adjust her footing, clearly preparing to go on the offensive instead of letting her adversary get the upper hand.
Her sword slicing through the air with effortless proficiency, Cordelia proceeded to execute a slick combination of manoeuvres that permitted her to go safely in for the kill, and the demon stiffened in open-mouthed astonishment as she plunged her weapon deep into his belly.
Withdrawing the sword with a flourish, the seer prudently waited long enough to confirm that the creature was indeed dead, before she continued to march down the corridor, her weapon grasped tightly in her right hand.
Angel frowned in confusion when a man in his late forties was the next to step into the ring to confront the pretty brunette. The human’s non-descript brown hair was streaked with flecks of grey, and he was dressed in a pressed navy suit, a pale blue open-necked shirt underneath. The middle-aged man was eyeing up Cordelia with unmistakable sexual desire shining in his gaze - and bulging large in his pants.
The vampire’s deep brown eyes flickered to angry yellow as he observed this detail and he growled possessively, despite being aware that non of this was actually real.
Cordelia was visibly taken aback by this turn of events, and Angel’s heart sank in his chest, as her confidence seemed to fold in on itself, her assertive stance faltering. Who the fuck is this bastard?
A triumphant smile spread across the man’s features at the seer’s apparent capitulation, and he moved forward, reprehensible intent shining lustfully in his green eyes.
“Cordelia…” Angel croaked out, his attempt to speak triggering a hacking coughing fit when blood from his damaged lungs rose up into his throat to momentarily choke him.
The vampire’s hoarse warning did the trick however, and Cordelia stiffened, lifting her head, her hazel eyes blazing with an indefinable mix of emotions.
“Eew! Perv much,” she exclaimed in disgust, bringing her knee up into her attacker’s engorged groin and fiercely shoving him away from her. “Sorry bucko, but you know that scared innocent girl that I used to be? Well, she no longer exists and – hello? Not a virgin anymore either. Guess that means I’m not your type, Mr-I-Want-a-Virgin-Bride.”
“And you wanna know something else?” the seer continued threateningly, tossing her sword to one side and reaching down to un-hook her other weapon from her belt. “In my opinion, sicko men like you should be castrated, so it’s lucky that I’ve got just the thing, isn’t it?”
“See – it’s perfect for the job, don’t you think?” she said, brandishing the small, curved - and very sharp - scythe in front of her tormentor’s bulging eyes.
The man flickered and disappeared after that, and Cordelia hesitated in confusion, perplexed because she hadn’t been required to kill him, but also relieved that it wasn’t necessary. She may hate the man, but she still wasn’t comfortable about taking his life, regardless of the fact that he was only a projection of her subconscious fears.
Gathering up her weapons and turning on her heel, the seer ran as fast as she could down the rest of the Gauntlet, leaping onto the dais, and dropping to her knees in front of her wounded boyfriend.
“You put me through something like that again, and I swear I’ll stake you myself,” she cried passionately, peppering his face with frantic kisses and stroking the sides of his face and neck with the soft pads of her fingers.
Angel felt a wave of guilt run through him at her words. “I’m sorry baby,” he said, lifting a hand to rub soothing circles on her back, as she looped her arms around his neck and buried her warm face against his throat. “I should have left you back at Caritas. I was just so afraid of Faith showing up there again.”
“Not that, you dork,” Cordelia replied, sitting back on her heels and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the Gauntlet. “I meant this,” she whispered, pushing up his t-shirt to the reveal the already healing wound in his chest.
“Oh,” Angel said, still mortified that he’d fallen for such an obvious ploy. “Don’t worry, I’m fine – well, I will be in half an hour or so,” he assured off Cordelia’s sceptical look.
“Who was that man?” he asked, deliberately shifting the subject of the conversation onto her.
“Oh – Ryan Lauper – Daddy’s warped idea of the perfect husband for me.”
“Does that still scare you?” the vampire asked worriedly, palming her beautiful face between his big hands.
“Not really, not anymore. I guess I have the odd nightmare about it every once in while, but that’s all. I don’t understand why I didn’t have to kill him though.”
“Defeating the enemy doesn’t always involve bloodshed,” Angel explained. “I think it’s enough that you stood up to him and faced down your fear.”
“Remind me never to piss you off, by the way,” he added with a sly wink.
“I don’t think I really would have done it,” the seer giggled, blushing a rosy red as she recollected her rather outlandish threat.
“Well, I’m not gonna risk finding out, that’s for sure.”
“Wise boy,” Cordelia advised sagely with a cheeky smile, and then her expression turned serious again when it dawned on her what the Gauntlet had inadvertently revealed about Angel’s own inner fears.
“Is that what you have nightmares about?” she asked gravely.
The vampire’s first instinct was to deny it, but he caught himself before the falsehood could escape from his lips. Their recent relationship troubles were due, primarily, to a breakdown of communication between them, and he was determined to be completely honest with her from now on.
“All the time,” he whispered, his voice thick with all the underlying emotions that he’d been bottling up for the past couple of months.
One hand resting flat against his torso, Cordelia reached up with the other to touch his cheek with gentle fingers, her eyes growing suspiciously wet. “But I thought that…”
“You thought what?” the vampire asked in a low voice as she trailed off and leaned in to press her warm lips against his cheek instead.
“Never mind – it doesn’t matter now,” the seer replied, shaking her head and reaching down to lace her fingers through his. “I got it all wrong.”
“Cordy…”
“I know – just later okay? When we have more time to ourselves, we’ll talk - about everything, I promise.”
Angel nodded and drew his girlfriend back into his embrace, pressing his face into her sweet-smelling hair, “I love you.”
“I should hope so,” Cordelia murmured against his throat as she nestled closer, her arms rising to encircle his back. “Cus there’s one crazy-in-love girl snuggled in your arms right now.”
Angel smiled and gently kissed the top of her bent head. “Glad to hear it.”
***
“Voila!” Willow placed the frosted cocktail glass in front of Lorne with a dramatic flourish.
Wrapping his fingers around the glass’s delicate stem, the Host carefully lifted the ice-cold alcoholic drink to his lips, expertly inhaling the fruity aroma, before taking a tentative sip of the cloudy pink liquid.
“Mamma mia!” he exclaimed, closing his eyes and shuddering with exaggerated pleasure as the sharp-tasting drink hit the back of his throat. “Now *that’s* a Seabreeze to die for – you’ve sure got the magic touch, baby doll.”
“Mixing cocktails is not that much different from conjuring up witches brews really,” Willow said. “The success of both hinges on getting the right balance of ingredients, although I have to say, blending a magical potion incorrectly has a rather more spectacular effect than a bad cocktail does.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been party to the abuse heaped on my poor intestines, by some of the ghastly concoctions that I’ve been forced to endure,” Lorne replied with a grimace. “If you ever get tired of the white-witch-slayer-sidekick-saving-the-world gig, you can come and work for me - good bartenders are hard to find. I’d even throw Ramone over for you, my sugar plum.”
Willow favoured the green-skinned demon with her wide beaming smile. “Thanks, I’ll remember th…”
The sudden trilling of her cell phone cut off whatever she had been about to say, and she rushed across the room to answer it. “Hello?”
“..”
“Hi Angel – how’d it go?”
“..”
“You did, that’s great!”
“..”
“Yeah, I can do that. How long will you be?”
“..”
“No, no, that’s okay – Lorne can help me.”
“..”
“Of course – see you in a bit then, bye.”
Willow shut off the phone and placed it back on the bar, then purposely moved towards the table where Wesley’s icebox of supplies stood.
“Pray tell me, little one – exactly what is Uncle Lorne going to help you with?” the Host asked the suddenly industrious witch, his red eyes wide with trepidation.
“Making the Orb exorcising potion,” Willow replied, as she flipped open the metal clasps on the blue plastic container and carefully began to unload the small glass specimen tubes. “The others succeeded in getting Faith’s address from Wolfram and Hart, so it’s time to get busy with that saving-the-world stuff.”
“Oh no, amigo – providing accommodation and offering advice is about as far as I go for the PTB cause. The hands-on stuff? Not in my contract, sweet thing.”
“It is now, oh brightly-suited one,” Willow firmly told the reluctant Lorne, mimicking his habit of peppering his speech with syrupy nicknames. “The incantation requires two people and you’re the only person available. So stop being such a wussy girl-demon, and find me something to mix up the potion in.”
“Whoa, scary wicca alert! You weren’t a tad dominatrix-y in a former life, perchance?”
The witch shot him a dark look, “I think one of those cocktail shakers will be perfect for the task – we can whip up several batches all at once with that, and we won’t have to worry about when each will run out.”
Pursing her lips, she surveyed the myriad of glass bottles dotted over the table’s surface. “Wesley measured out enough for ten portions – I think we’ll just make up five to start with, and save the rest for if Plan B is necessary.”
Taking the two-part metal container from the green-skinned demon, Willow consulted Wesley’s notes and tipped in the various contents of the specimen tubes in the specified order. Before adding the last ingredient to the cocktail shaker, she took a plastic stirrer and mixed up the potion with a brisk hand.
“Okay, when I add the Kaylem powder, it should start to react, but the amalgamation won’t be complete until we recite the incantation. We’ll do that just as Angel and the others get here – that way the potion will last as long as possible, giving us the best chance to get the Orb out of Faith.”
The mixture began to spit violently as Willow poured the final item into the container, and Lorne had to resist the desperate urge to duck. Slotting the top half of the shaker into place, the redheaded witch vigorously shook up the magical fusion, increasing the popping sounds coming from the metallic receptacle ten-fold. That done, she placed the vessel back down on the table and removed the top, releasing a cloud of bright purple smoke with an accompanying sulphurous odour.
“Angel said they’d be here in ten minutes.” Willow handed Lorne a slim piece of paper and glanced at her watch, “When I say go, say that with me twice over.”
The Host nodded as they sat down to await their companions’ arrival, “I would just like to point out that a significant pay-rise is definitely in order after this.”
Willow smiled, “I promise I’ll make you another Sea-breeze before I go home.”
“Mmm - now I’m in heaven, floating on a big white fluffy cloud of blissfulness.”
***
“Watch out for that dark green car,” Angel said, indicating a vehicle that was at least a hundred metres away.
“Hey - back-seat driver much.”
“You’re not used to driving through heavy city traffic, Buffy,” he told her pedantically. “You live in Sunnydale remember?”
“So? And what heavy traffic?” Buffy snapped back, gesturing wildly with one hand at the handful of cars that had ventured out on the LA roads in the middle of the night.
“Will you *please* keep both hands on the wheel?” the tense vampire remonstrated, oblivious to the murderous look that the irritated slayer threw in his direction.
Riley and Buffy had both made it through the Gauntlet intact, though the soldier had sustained a deep laceration to his left arm in the process. Cordelia was currently doing her best Florence Nightingale impression and swathing his injured limb in a crisp white bandage that she’d taken from the first aid kit, which Angel kept in the Plymouth for emergencies.
The vampire’s stab wound was healing at a rapid pace, but the seer had insisted that he rest up on the journey back to the Karaoke Club. She had sensibly pointed out that he would be facing Faith in less than an hour’s time and so needed to recover his fighting strength as quickly as possible. Thus, with Angel relegated to the passenger seat, the driving had fallen to Buffy, who was beginning to regret offering to do it - playing nurse to Riley seemed a much better option right now.
“Take a left at the next set of lights,” Angel instructed, “Caritas is down the fourth street on the right.”
“There you go – almost as good as new,” Cordelia said cheerily, sticking the final piece of medical tape over the bandage on Riley’s arm.
Packing up her supplies, the pretty seer graced the soldier with her beautiful sunny smile, and he couldn’t help grinning back.
“You’re very professional with the first-aid stuff,” he complimented her.
“Yeah well, I’ve had enough practice - Angel forever needs to be patched up. Sometimes I think he deliberately gets hurt just so I have to act as his nursemaid.”
“Hey – you don’t do you?” she asked then, poking the vampire hard between the shoulder blades with her forefinger.
“Of course not,” Angel lied smoothly, keeping his eyes facing front to prevent his too-smart-for-her-own-good girlfriend from seeing straight through his carefully orchestrated subterfuge.
Okay, so he *occasionally* dragged out his battles with various demons a little longer than was strictly necessary, *and* allowed himself to incur minor injuries, all for the enjoyment of having Cordelia fuss over him. He never took unacceptable risks though, so where was the real harm in it? There wasn’t any as far as he was concerned.
“It’s the next on the right,” he piped up, effectively ending the dangerous line of conversation. “Willow said she’d have the exorcising potion ready for when we arrived. We’ll discuss the plan of action on the way over to Henshot Avenue.”
Buffy pulled up in the alleyway outside of Caritas and they all piled out of the car and into the basement club, where they found Willow carefully pouring a thick orange liquid into several small screw-top plastic bottles.
“Is that it?” Angel asked her.
“Yeah – we made five batches, with any luck that will be enough. If we do require a second attempt - Wesley weighed out ingredients for five more.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. How do we administer it?”
“You’ve somehow got to get her to drink it – I don’t think it’s the pleasantest tasting concoction in the world.”
The vampire nodded and picked up three of the tiny bottles; he tucked two in his jacket’s inner pockets, and then handed the third to Buffy. “We’ll keep the other two in reserve – Cordy can you look after them please?”
“Sure,” the seer agreed, stepping forward and scooping up the last two containers.
“Have you got everything you need for the binding spell?” Angel queried of Willow.
“Yeah – all present and correct.”
“Okay then – About time we got this show on the road.”
***
The Orb/Faith sat on the ledge of the open window, looking out into the darkness and breathing deeply of the cool night air. The shard of glass that, until a few minutes ago, had been used to torture Wesley was still clutched between their bloodstained fingers.
Faith couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, so broke her silent pact with her watcher and briefly wrested control of her body’s movements from the Orb. Forcing her fingers open, she let the hated weapon fall.
“Ah well,” the Orb commented blandly as the glass shattered on the ground below. “I was getting bored with that game anyway. How about we try something new?”
Swinging her long legs around and hopping down onto the panelled wood floor, the possessed slayer crossed the room towards a barely conscious Wesley. “That was refreshing, but I'm feeling a little cold now. What do you say we warm the place up?”
The ex-watcher was startled into lucidity when he suddenly felt a scalding heat up close. Forcing his eyes open, he looked up to see his tormentor standing over him with a spray can and lighter in her hands. With a slow smile of triumph, the Orb depressed the spray can top and held it near the lighter, so that a bright orange flame shot forth with a crackling hiss.
“Pretty, isn’t it? I bet you’d appreciate a closer look, wouldn’t you watcher-boy?”
The Orb/Faith deliberately moved the highly flammable objects until they were about six inches from Wesley’s face, preparing to ignite them again. She was prevented from doing so however, when the door burst in on its hinges, flying halfway across the room.
Angel strode into the apartment, his purposeful movements the embodiment of absolute power and determination.
The Orb tossed the spray can and lighter aside, and quickly drew Faith’s knife, setting the blade against her captive’s throat.
“About time, soul-boy. Ready to play now?”
The resolute vampire turned to face his archenemy before calmly answering the question.
“I’m ready.”
Part 12
Wesley was confused – something was wrong with this picture. Angel was remarkably composed for a man who had just lost the love of his life, especially considering the fact that he was standing directly in front of her killer.
The vampire’s eyes shifted towards him then, and the puzzled Englishman was witness to the gamut of emotions swarming in those deep brown orbs. Steady resolve was the dominant trait, with implacable anger running a close second, but Wesley saw no grief in that unwavering gaze and that completely mystified him.
“Cordelia?” he forced the name past his split lips, his voice thin and reedy in quality.
“She’s fine,” Angel quickly assured his friend.
“Angelus! You’ve gone and spoiled mine an’ Wesley’s little joke now. How very unsporting of you,” the Orb-possessed slayer pouted, and then began to laugh.
“What joke?” the vampire demanded, his tone hardening as he turned his attention back to his adversary.
“Me an’ watcher-boy have been having so much fun while we’ve been waiting for you to show, haven’t we darlin’?”
The Orb bent down and deliberately pushed the blade of her knife into the ex-watcher’s throat, puncturing the skin and drawing fresh blood to emphasise her point.
“You didn’t kill her,” Wesley stated the obvious, white-hot anger boiling up inside of him.
“No, I didn’t – not yet anyway. Your pathetic reaction to the news of her demise was highly amusing though. You ought to keep an eye on this one, Angelus – I think he has the hots for your mate.”
Angel ignored the Orb’s taunting, and instead got ready to strike at their enemy, his dark eyes darting about the apartment as he assessed the battleground. Wesley was currently being used as a human shield, so the vampire slowly began to walk across the room, forcing the Orb to move round to the side of the chair to keep him within her line of sight.
“What’s the matter, vampire? Cat got your tongue?”
“No – just waiting for you to say something that’s actually worth responding to.”
Having cottoned on to Angel’s tactics, Wesley chose that moment to throw himself backwards, tipping his chair over with a loud crash. The vampire reacted instantly, kicking the slayer hard in the midriff to knock her away from her fallen hostage. The Orb/Faith landed heavily on her backside and slid a short way across the polished wooden floor, before rolling over and springing agilely to her feet. Seizing a makeshift stake from the kitchen counter, she rushed at Angel with her weapon held aloft, a low battle cry erupting from the back of her throat.
The momentum of her charge drove him backwards into a supporting pillar, but the vampire caught her up-raised arm and wrestled the stake from her tightly clenched fingers. The grappling pair crashed into the structure with such force that the plaster cracked and came loose, raining down over them in a shower of dust and white hailstones.
As the apartment shook with the power of the vampire and slayer’s violent skirmish, Wesley ceased his desperate efforts to get loose of his bindings and, using his hands against the floor, painfully levered his chair around to call out to his friend.
“Angel – Faith, she…”
Unfortunately, the rest of the ex-watcher’s words were drowned out by the vampire’s hoarse yell of pain as the Orb drove her knee up into his torso, hitting his stab injury dead-on and opening up the healing wound again. Clutching at his chest, Angel doubled-over, and the Orb took the opportunity to stalk back towards Wesley, determined to shut him up before he gave too much away.
Sensing the Orb’s murderous intent, Faith tensed in preparation to do everything in her – albeit limited - power to save her watcher’s life. Her planned intervention wasn’t necessary though - the Powers That Be’s Champion was not so easily beaten.
Sucking in an un-needed breath, Angel straightened and moved with super-human speed to grab hold of the slayer’s upper arms. Effortlessly lifting the struggling woman off her feet, he tossed her to the other side of the room as if she was nothing more than a rag-doll. She ended up sprawled facedown on the plush sofa, where she lay dazed, stunned into momentary inaction by her crash landing.
“Faith – she’s awake in there. She doesn’t have much control, but she can help you. You just have to tell her when,” Wesley gasped out in a rush, as Angel bent down and ripped the rope bindings away, freeing his friend in one fell swoop.
The vampire nodded in understanding, and then helped him to his feet, “Go – get out of here.”
“But…”
“Wes, don’t argue, just go!” Angel ordered, pushing the ex-watcher towards the door as he turned back to confront the Orb.
Brushing the messy tangles of long hair out of her red glowing eyes, the enraged brunette rolled onto her back as the vampire cautiously approached.
“Is that all you got, Angelus?” she goaded, hooking her booted feet under the rim of the glass-topped coffee table that stood in front of the couch. “Time to get in the game, vampire.”
With that, the possessed slayer kicked the table up into Angel’s face, shattering the glass-top and sending shards of broken glass flying in all directions. As he lifted his hands to protect his eyes from the sharp missiles, she launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and slamming him into the opposite wall.
Grunting as her strong thighs tightened painfully around his ribs, Angel immediately reversed their positions so that it was her back, and not his, that was now against the wall. Vamping out with a low growl, he grabbed her chin between his fingers and deliberately head-butted her in the centre of her forehead. The force of the blow caused the back of the slayer’s skull to strike the solid brick behind her, and her grip on him loosened a little, enabling him to rip himself free from her vice-like hold.
While she regained her footing, the vampire strategically backed away, his stance still poised to counter anything that she might throw at him. The Orb blew a stray strand of Faith’s dark wavy hair off her face as the two circled each other, each waiting for the other to pounce, their predatory eyes locked together in a silent battle of wills.
“You won’t kill me – you can’t,” the Orb stated with an air of supreme confidence.
“And what makes you think that?”
“If you kill me, then it’ll mean ending your precious slayer’s life too. Your soul won’t let you do that.”
“You *really* don’t know me at all, do you? I’ll do what must be done – just like Faith did when she tricked your sorry ass into infecting her seven months ago.”
“You’re bluffing!”
“Just try me, Ravaclesh,” Angel deliberately taunted.
“Come on – I’m waiting,” he added in a condescending tone, crooking his fingers at her in an arrogant come-hither gesture.
Whoa! Way to push those buttons, Angel! Faith observed as a red mist of pure unadulterated rage descended over her and the Orb’s combined mind.
“You can't take me! No one can take me!”
Screeching like a banshee, the Orb threw a clumsy punch at Angel’s jaw, which he easily dodged before expertly kicking her legs out from under her, toppling her over onto her back. As he reached down to haul her upright, the possessed slayer tucked her knees into her chest, and thrust out hard with her feet, catapulting the vampire over the top of her head and into the glass display cabinet behind her.
Shaking broken glass from his clothing, Angel scrambled to his feet, but stumbled back when the Orb swung a wooden chair at him. The piece of furniture splintered apart as it connected with the solid muscle of his chest, and the vampire roared as the throbbing pain from his stake wound flared up again.
Breathing heavily with the exertion of their fight, the Orb bent and picked up a shattered chair leg from the floor, breaking it in half over her knee. Having created a new weapon for herself, she advanced on Angel, the impromptu stake clutched tightly in her right hand.
“You're gonna die!” she spat out in fury, her eyes burning hot with the Orb’s red fire.
The vampire quickly grabbed a standard lamp that stood near by and fended off her attack, shoving the circular base into her abdomen. Knocking the stake out of her hand with a well-aimed kick, he finished off the combination of moves with a spinning kick, which projected her up over the sofa so that she landed, with a dull thud, in front of the double window.
Angel immediately vaulted over the couch after her, determined to keep the upper hand now that he had finally manoeuvred the Orb/Faith into the position that he wanted them in. Oblivious to the vampire’s plans, the possessed slayer flipped her body upright using the heel of her hands, landing lightly on her feet with the nimbleness of a cat.
“Come on!” she encouraged, a hint of psychotic madness creeping into her shrill voice.
“Okay honey – seeing as you asked so nicely,” Angel replied, barrelling into her, his broad shoulders leading the way.
Banding an arm about her waist, he lifted her off the floor, keeping their forward momentum going until they burst out through the window, and plummeted headfirst to the street two storeys below…
A short while earlier…
After Angel had left them to go and confront the Orb, Buffy paced in tight circles in the alleyway outside, her body tense and her slayer senses on high alert. Although she could see the logic in her ex-boyfriend’s two-phased plan of attack, sitting on the sidelines and waiting for something to happen just wasn’t part of her genetic make-up.
As the crash, bang, and wallop sounds of Angel and the Orb’s ferocious duel drifted down from the apartment above, the instinctive need to be in the thick of things niggled constantly at the slayer, and she literally had to force herself to remain where she was.
“Maybe I should go and…”
“No!” Cordelia stepped in front of the on-edge Buffy, barring her path. “Angel said to stay here. If you go charging in there, all guns blazing, you might knock him off balance. That could get both him, and Faith, killed.”
“Cordy’s right, Buffy,” Willow chipped in, placing a calming hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Angel’s plan makes sense. The binding spell will open up a crack in the ground, so we have to force the Orb out of the apartment. We need to end this out here - unless we want that building to cave in on top of us, and everyone inside, of course.”
“I know Will, I know. I just can’t stand this enforced inactivity - it’s driving me crazy. Angel should have let me go up there; he’s still injured from the Gauntlet for god’s sake.”
“Pfft! Like a measly little stab wound has ever stopped him before,” Cordelia commented scathingly, “And, besides, the Orb wants him, not you. Funny – why do I get the impression that’s what’s really bothering you, Little Miss I’m-the-Slayer-so-everyone-must worship-me?”
Buffy’s anger flared at that, but Cordelia pushed past her before a hot-tempered retort could escape her lips.
“Oh my God, Wesley!”
As he staggered drunkenly out of the apartment block’s side entrance, the seer crossed to her friend’s side with a small cry of alarm. Every inch of Wesley’s exposed skin appeared to be either cut or bruised, and his torn shirt was soaked through with so much blood that its original pale blue colour was barely evident amidst the patches of red.
“Oh God! What did she do to you?” Cordelia whispered, touching his swollen and lacerated face with gentle fingers.
“I’m fine,” the ex-watcher reassured her, leaning heavily against the wall to stop his weak, jelly-like, legs from buckling under him. “The potion, did you…?”
“Yes, Willow and Lorne made five bottles worth – Angel’s got two, Buffy’s got one, and the rest are in here for safe keeping,” the seer answered, holding up her shoulder bag to indicate the location of the final two bottles of potion.
“Good, good,” Wesley said, nodding in approval. “What about Willow? The spell?”
“All up here, don’t worry,” Willow said, tapping her temple with two curled fingers.
“Everyone get back!”
Buffy shouted out a quick warning, just as the window above shattered and blew outwards, sending a shower of glass cascading down over them.
Angel and Faith hit a dumpster with a deafening crash, and then rolled off the dented metal in unison, both of them coming to their feet in one continuous motion.
“Oo! Now it’s a party! Cool!” the possessed slayer commented sarcastically, casting a quick glance about her before she jumped for a length of drainage pipe, which was sticking out of the wall a metre or so above her head.
Using the metallic pipe as a parallel bar, she circled it once and drove the balls of her feet into Angel’s sternum, sending the vampire flying across the alleyway to smash into the opposite wall. Dismounting her improvised gymnastic apparatus with a perfect somersault, she then twisted around to confront an advancing Buffy.
“You wanna take me on then, slayer-girl? Come on, sweetheart – make my day.”
The petite slayer took the bait and swung a clenched fist at her fellow slayer’s face. The Orb easily blocked the blow with her left forearm, and countered with a punch of her own. That blow glanced off Buffy’s left cheekbone as she twisted her face away to avoid the strike. Pivoting around on one foot, the blonde slayer kicked her opponent in the ribs, causing the Orb to double-over as the air rushed from Faith’s lungs with a whoosh.
While the two slayers continued to trade kicks, punches, and insults; Angel pulled himself to his feet and beckoned Willow over towards him.
“You ready?” he asked her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” the redheaded witch replied, her eyes wide and apprehensive.
“Okay then – let’s get this done,” the vampire declared, reaching into his inner pocket to retrieve a bottle of the orange-coloured exorcising potion.
Twisting off the cap, he placed his thumb over the neck of the plastic container, and moved into position behind the fiercely battling slayers.
“Buffy,” he called out, holding up and showing her the item in his hand.
The blonde slayer acknowledged him with a slight nod and danced back a few steps, forcing the Orb to close the gap between them. Her blue eyes carefully judging the correct distance, she waited until the possessed slayer came back within range, and then launched herself high into the air, folding her knees up into her chest in a tucked position. Whipping her legs out straight as she back-flipped out of the move, Buffy skilfully kicked the Orb/Faith directly into Angel’s waiting embrace.
The vampire immediately slammed his captive face-first into the side of the building, digging his knee against the small of her back and holding her immobile against the wall with the heavy weight of his muscular body.
“Faith – you have to drink,” he said urgently in the slayer’s ear, as he brought the bottle of orange liquid to the hissing woman’s lips.
You are so going down, bitch! Faith vowed vehemently to her hated body-jacker, once more wresting control of her mental and physical faculties away from the evil stone.
The slayer coughed and spluttered a little as the thick bitter liquid hit the back of her throat, but she determinedly swallowed it all down, ignoring the howls of rage that reverberated around inside her head, as the Orb sensed its grasp on her mind slipping away.
Welcome warmth spread through Faith’s veins as the exorcising potion latched onto the Orb’s nefarious presence in her bloodstream and removed its chilling influence, allowing her body temperature to return to its normal 37 °C. The magical concoction began to react violently with the stone’s liquid essence, sending electrical bolts of energy sizzling through every nerve ending in her body.
Luckily, she didn’t have to endure the shooting pains for very long, because her vision quickly turned to grey and she slipped into unconsciousness, becoming blissfully unaware of what was happening to her.
Angel hurriedly stepped back as Faith began to convulse, her limbs flailing about, and her head jerking on her neck like a puppet on a string. Catching her in his arms as she toppled backwards, he sank to the ground, cradling her head in his lap to prevent her from splitting it open on the hard cobblestones. He gasped as deep lesions suddenly appeared on the slayer’s face and neck, her flesh cracking open in order to expel the unwanted parasite that was infecting her body.
The vampire watched in horrified fascination as a stream of minute red particles burst forth from the openings in the slayer’s skin, and began to swirl in a mini-whirlwind above their heads. The rotating dust-cloud emitted a high-pitched whine as the grains coagulated together and reconstituted themselves into the solid form of the Orb of Ravaclesh.
Risking taking his eyes off the hovering stone for a moment, Angel glanced down into Faith’s pale face, and saw that the open and weeping wounds on her body had vanished. The slayer’s eyelids flickered and opened, and she stared up at him, her brown eyes dazed and confused.
“It’s okay – you’re alright,” he whispered reassuringly, brushing her hair out of her eyes and lightly stroking her cheek.
The ruddy glow from the Orb, illuminated the dark alleyway with its dirty red light, and even Angel shivered as the temperature plummeted several degrees in direct response to the evil presence in the air. The stone hung like a miniature fireball above them for a few moments, and then began to float with purpose towards the small group huddled together in the building’s entranceway, obviously searching for another warm body to inhabit.
“Willow!” Angel called out sharply.
“Stop!” the witch demanded, as she leapt out in front of the Orb, her titian hair all aglow with the stone’s crimson fire.
The Orb came to an abrupt standstill in response to Willow’s command and she raised her hands towards it, her palms facing outwards. The air around the stone shimmered with a bluish light and a snarl of rage emanated from the Orb as it fought against the magical restraints that she had imposed upon it.
While the convoluted Latin phrases of the binding spell began to trip off the young witch’s tongue, the rock’s light flickered and waned and a shrill shrieking began to echo around the alleyway, forcing them all to cover their ears to block out the awful sound.
Willow’s slender shoulders heaved with the effort of having to hold the Orb in check behind her hastily erected force field, as she struggled to concentrate on the difficult incantation that she was reciting. However, her confidence grew with every word, and the witch’s voice slowly increased in volume. When her spell finally reached its climax, she raised her face to the night sky and cried out loudly - in English this time - to the heavens above:
“Let the earth be torn asunder, and that which was unlawfully rent from its grasp, be once again returned to its rightful resting place.”
A deep groaning rumble started from somewhere far below, and the ground began to shudder and shake as the resonant sound spiralled to a deafening crescendo. Hooking both arms under Faith’s shoulders, Angel scrambled backwards, as the earth began to crack and buckle upwards, near to where the two of them sat. The jagged fissure widened and extended lengthways until it ran from one side of the backstreet to the other.
In order to prevent the violent earthquake from unbalancing her and breaking her vital concentration, Willow levitated her slim form half a metre off the ground. With her arms held up in supplication towards the angry stone above her head, she blinked and her eyes turned white as the powerful magic flowed through every cell in her body.
Bringing her outstretched arms down to her sides with a swift cutting gesture, the young witch finally let her force-field drop, and the bluish light surrounding the Orb disappeared into the ether. Before the stone had the chance to react however, Willow’s voice rang out loudly, bringing the binding spell to its conclusion.
“I command thee to return from whence thou came. Begone, I command thee. Begone!”
A column of brilliant white light shot up from the fissure in the ground, encapsulating the Orb within its bright radiance, before it retracted back into the earth as rapidly as it had emerged. The crack in street snapped shut with a thunderous boom, and then absolute silence descended like thick woollen blanket over the darkened alleyway.
Her iris’s returning to their natural hue, Willow sank wearily to her knees as she let go of the iron self-control that had been required to keep the potent white magic in check. Hanging her head so that her red hair curtained her face, she drew in deep calming breaths attempting to instil peace back into her drained mind and body.
Angel could feel Faith shaking like a leaf in his arms, so he ran his fingers gently through her hair trying to calm her down. “Ssh – it’s all right, you’re safe now.”
“Oh God!” the slayer suddenly lurched upright, tearing herself out of the concerned vampire’s embrace. Doubling-over on her hands and knees, she vomited the contents of her stomach onto the ground, and then began to sob, wrapping her arms around her head and curling up into a tight ball of anguish.
“Is everyone okay?” Angel called out, as he knelt next to the weeping Faith, softly rubbing her back with long soothing strokes.
The others gathered around as, one by one, they answered in the affirmative.
“Is that it? Is it all over?” Cordelia asked Willow, her hazel eyes questioning.
The exhausted witch gave the anxious seer a faint smile and then gasped out in horror, when Wesley suddenly slumped heavily against her. Buffy and Riley rushed forward to help support the ex-watcher, and together they carefully lowered him to the ground.
Wesley was unconscious, his eyes closed and his face a pasty white colour. Cordelia dropped to her knees beside her friend and took his hand in hers, shocked to find his skin cold and clammy to the touch.
“Wake up Wesley,” she whispered urgently to him, shaking him gently with her free hand. “Come on Wesley. Please – you have to wake up!”
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