Previously: Spike and the bot lured Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion so that Buffy and the others could rescue Cordelia. This immediately follows the last chapter.
Book Two, Chapter 30. Ache of heaven
The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision—whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath.
Richard M. Nixon, Six Crises, 1962.
Crystal tears
battered innocent flesh
ache of heaven
rage of hell
unwanted angel
unspeakable violation
bruised bleeding ripped and torn
lambent eyes clouded with rage
silver shards of ice filled pain
snarling sneering
gasping shame
desecrated angel
bleeding life away
Niamh O’Connor, 1998
Moving her, once she was unconscious, was simple. Unfortunately doing so opened nearly all of the cuts on her skin, and the sheet they wrapped her in was quickly saturated.
Wesley’s call to Dr. Thomas alerted him to their arrival. The Englishman’s description of her external injuries had the doctor directing them to the Emergency Room, and he promised Wesley that he and a select team of emergency personnel would meet them there.
None of them spoke.
There were no words to encompass what they’d seen.
Even Cordelia’s superficial injuries, the cuts and bruises, were horrible. There was no way of knowing what kind of internal damage had been done. It was clear that Angel had raped her repeatedly but none of them said a word.
Buffy was fighting tears and nausea, even as she held Cordelia’s head in her lap. This wasn’t the work of the vampire she’d loved. Couldn’t be. . . . her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that her Angel. . . but he wasn’t hers. Hadn’t ever really ever been hers. This savagery was what the soul caged – the brutality and . . . Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach from spewing its contents all over.
He hadn’t touched her face at all.
What kind of sick fucker destroyed his victim from the neck down and didn’t touch her face? Xander was at a total loss, trying to understand why Cordelia looked so peaceful, her face untouched. The only thought, the only answer his brain could come up with was a frightening prospect. Angel didn’t want to destroy her face because he planned on looking at it for a very, very long time.
Giles couldn’t focus on anything but a silent prayer. He was thanking god – whatever deity – that had protected and watched over them all those years ago – the first time Angelus had raged throughout Sunnydale. He thanked god for the small mercy of finding Cordelia before she’d been turned. He thanked god too, for his rescue from the vicious hands of Angel. There was no way he would have survived the tortures Angelus had planned for him without Spike’s intervention. He had no idea how much damage Cordelia had sustained, her surface injuries were bad enough, the internal and emotional damage would take years to recover from – if she survived. His intuition was telling him that the internal injuries were extensive, more extensive than her body indicated – and he had serious doubts about her recovery.
He wasn’t alone in his worry.
Wesley, like Buffy, was fighting tears and nausea, but like Giles, was masking those feelings in anger and white hot rage. This . . . was done by someone who had professed to be a friend – who’d had feelings for Cordelia. What had been done to the girl was brutal. He wanted to weep, wanted to rage – wanted to grab Angel’s throat between his hands and squeeze until his head separated from his neck and his dust rained down on his skin.
At that moment, there wasn’t a one of them in the car that wasn’t willing to dust Angel.
Spike had felt through the bond the moment they’d gotten Cordelia out and away. Now it was just a matter of eluding the other two and heading toward Sunnydale General, where they’d taken Cordelia. The original plan had them meeting up in one of the cemeteries, confusing the two master vampires with multiple Buffys, but that had changed when Spike altered the plans. He knew, from Buffy’s thoughts, that they’d headed directly toward the hospital and that was where he was going to meet her.
Grabbing the bot’s hand, Spike headed for the sewers, knowing it was the easiest way of hiding their scent and losing the other two. Just like her real counterpart, the bot complained the entire trip through the sewers. Spike ignored it, his concentration on moving forward and listening for any signs of pursuit. After twenty minutes or so, Spike slowed down, heading straight for the hospital.
Dawn was half-asleep on the couch, while Anya paced about, waiting for any word. She’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, had vacuumed the first floor and had straightened up the dining room. There was no way she could sit still while everyone else did all the hero stuff. Not that she was the hero type, but she still couldn’t just sit around like Dawn.
Anya looked over at the sleeping girl, unable to believe she was so calm. Dawn shifted, opened her eyes and Anya took the opportunity to talk. “How can you sleep? Its nerve-wracking. I can’t even sit still and you’re calm enough to sleep. How do you do that? Is there some trick? What do you do? Is it meditation? Did Buffy teach you that?”
“Anya? I’m tired. I get up early for school and its just nothing more than me being really tired.” She paused a moment, gauging Anya’s expression. “Its also that, you know, I’ve been doing this for years. Since Buffy was fifteen.”
“So this is just another night. Just another rescue mission.” Anya perched on the armchair, looking expectantly at the younger girl.
“Well, its different, because its Cordelia. And its someone . . . Cordy used to be one of us. A scoobie.”
Dawn wasn’t prepared for Anya’s reaction. The ex-demon smiled widely. “One of us? You mean I’m one of the scoobies?”
“Yeah. Of course you are.” A wide yawn stretched across her features and Dawn asked, “have we heard anything?”
“No.” Checking her watch, Anya said, “its only a little bit after two. We should hear from them soon.”
And, in the way of all things on the hellmouth, that had to be the signal, because both cell phones went off.
Dr. Thomas, with a trauma team in tow, met them at the doors of the Emergency Room, his face grim. Wesley had tersely relayed Cordelia’s condition, so they were prepared for the worst.
Maureen Osborne was there too, and at the first opportunity she pulled Buffy aside, asking her how her nephew was and also what cover story they had concocted for the authorities. When Buffy had looked at her somewhat blankly, Maureen had bustled her into a side corridor, chattering softly. “The police will believe something, as long as its plausible. Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”
When Buffy didn’t answer, instead seemed to crumple under the strain, Maureen pulled her into a private waiting area and handed her a tissue. “Its okay sweetie, your friend is in bad shape. You can cry.”
Buffy sniffled then said, “I’m okay. Cordy’s safe now. I just wish Spike was here.”
“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.” Waiting for a moment to see if Buffy needed anything else, Oz’ aunt patted her arm and said, “if you need me, I’ll be doing the paperwork.”
She left Buffy alone, staring at the walls of the waiting room.
Giles and Wesley stood outside the doorway to the trauma room, waiting anxiously for any word of Cordelia’s condition. Xander was pacing around, muttering to himself, his hands tucked under his arms, tears dripping down his cheeks.
Wesley said something that Giles didn’t hear and when he repeated himself, the older man snapped his head around to look at him. Giles stepped away from the door to find Buffy and to call the girls to let them know they’d been successful.
He walked outside the hospital doors, knowing that once Angelus and Drusilla discovered Cordelia had been rescued, there would be hell to pay. Angelus did not like his plans thwarted or interrupted in any way – and it had been obvious to Giles that he’d planned to turn Cordelia. His reluctance to mar her features was a dead giveaway. Added to the fact that he hadn’t bled her to death before they’d discovered her – Giles was fairly certain of it.
Sending out the all clear code on the cell phones, Giles was surprised when he heard the tell-tale chirp of another phone seconds later.
“Figured you lot were here. Everyone all right?” Spike’s voice sounded in the dark and Giles barely turned around when the bot was standing next to him staring up into his face.
“We’re fine. Cordelia’s inside.” Giles looked away, fighting tears again. “It was. . . worse than expected.”
“Thought so.” Spike was quiet for a moment, knowing nothing he could say would be enough for any of them. He’d never been like Angel, carving up his victims, destroying their entire lives, torturing them mentally and physically. No, he’d been more direct – bash and crash – all sound and fury. But that wouldn’t serve as anything other than cold comfort. And lip service on his part. He respected Rupert too much to give him that. “Where’s Buffy?”
“She’s inside.”
Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike said, “‘m goin’ in. You comin’?” At Giles’ negative shake, Spike said, “keep the bot with you. Jus’ in case.”
Giles nodded, “I’ll be in shortly.”
Spike nodded once, then headed inside.
Buffy was still sitting in the private waiting area, watching the hallways of the emergency room, at the activity in and around the trauma room Cordelia was in, ears attuned to any hint of commotion in the hallways.
Twice she’d almost gone to find Oz’ aunt, more for the comfort of the older mom-type woman that she represented than for a need of company, although that wouldn’t be bad either. The last two times she’d been in this building she’d nearly lost the two most important people in her life.
Her mom.
Spike.
Joyce’s first brush with death had been in the halls upstairs and had devastated both her and Dawn. Yeah, her mother had survived a few weeks, nearly a few months, but the end had still started here. Tears rose in Buffy’s eyes as she thought about her mother. Oh, Mommy. . . I’m so. . . I miss you so much. I wish you were here. A sob escaped from her throat and Buffy put her head in her hands and let the tears fall. Oh Mom. . . . being here is so hard. . . Everything about this life is . . . . But you were right about him. . . . about Spike. He’s been. . . . god, Mom, I love him so much. Without him, I’d have been really lost.
Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks and Buffy shredded the tissue between her slim fingers. A tingle of awareness shot through her and Buffy lifted her head, looking out for Spike.
He was standing just in her line of sight, talking to Wesley, while Xander hovered nearby. Despite her tears and worry about Cordelia, just the sight of him was enough to bring a steadying breath and an almost smile to her face. There was something so solid, so real about him and if you didn’t know he was a vampire, there was a strength to his carriage that said here was a guy you could lean on and let be the strong one. Hell, maybe being a vampire just made that more evident. For the first time, Buffy tried sending a complete thought, a phrase through the bond, just to grab his attention. Concentrating hard, Buffy thought of him and focused on the words in her head.
She watched as his body straightened, his head tilting sideways as he listened to something only he could hear, motioning Wesley to quiet with an upraised hand. A smile bloomed across his features and he slowly turned to look in her direction. His eyes bored into hers as he left the two men, moving toward her. Tucking his thumbs into his waistband, Spike prowled forward like the slinky predator he was, his eyes never leaving hers.
Spike came to a stop just in front of her, a grin on his face. Buffy tilted her head up to look at him and a shy smile crept across her wide mouth as she took in the expression on his face. His deep voice wafted over her. “Love you too kitten.”
One by one they had all drifted into the private waiting area, Wesley first to join them. He sat opposite Spike, his long limbs folded into an uncomfortable looking shape, his head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, but none of them were fooled into believing he was asleep. With the presence of the two younger Englishmen, Buffy’s over-stretched nerves were calmed and she leaned further into Spike’s arms.
Xander came in next, bringing coffee and hot chocolate as a peace offering, which was silently accepted. He sat down in a chair next to Wesley, leaning forward, elbows on knees and more composed than he’d been earlier. Giles and the bot wandered in last, the bot trailing behind the older man, her eyes darting about and taking in the surroundings. The coffee cups were lined up on the table between the anxious group and Giles leaned over to grab one of them. With a gesture to the bot, Giles sat down next to Spike. Glancing round at their faces, Giles asked, “no word yet?”
Negative head shakes were his only answer.
Buffy yawned, leaning more heavily against Spike’s chest. A tiny shiver snaked its way through her and Spike stood up to slip the duster off and around her. “Wanna lay down pet?”
She shrugged, looking up at him with very tired doe eyes and a minute quiver to her lips. Without a word he scooped her up, saying to the others, “‘m takin’ her home. Give us a ring when you get word, yeah?”
The others just nodded, but it was Buffy herself who started to protest. “We should stay, at least until we know. . . Spike?”
He was shaking his head in refusal when Maureen Osborne approached. “Buffy?” She was looking from the bot to the girl in Spike’s arms, confusion clearly written on her features.
“Here.” She waved a bit from her spot in Spike’s arms, then asked, “is there any word on Cordelia?”
“Yes.” She paused while the rest of the men got to their feet. “They managed to stop the internal bleeding, but her spleen was ruptured and her liver’s been bruised. She just left surgery and she’s in recovery. They’re going to put her in a private ICU room. And she’s going to have an armed guard outside her door.”
Relieved looks were exchanged, although Giles exchanged a look with Spike that spoke volumes. “Did they remove her spleen?”
“Yes. She’s being transfused also. She’d lost an enormous amount of blood and, I’m not going to lie to you, it was very close. But they managed to stop all the hemorrhaging.”
Xander asked, “when can we see her?”
Maureen was shaking her head, “not for hours. Go home. Get some rest, come back around three. She might be awake then.”
But both Wesley and Xander were shaking their heads, and Wesley’s voice sounded first. “I’d like to stay.”
Spike raised an eyebrow and Wesley answered his unspoken question by gesturing toward his jacket pocket. Turning toward Xander, Wesley said, “you go home, I’ll stay now and you can relieve me later.”
He started to splutter his disagreement, when Giles voiced his own quietly worded statement, “I’m sure Anya is worried and you should probably take her home and reassure her that everything is well.”
That stopped Xander’s protests.
Wesley handed the Jeep’s keys to Spike and after thanking Maureen Osborne for everything, those going home headed quietly for the door. Thinking quickly, Spike backtracked a bit, then motioned to Wesley with his chin. “Keep the bot here, jus’ in case. Better safe than sorry, right?”
Sighing deeply, Wesley eyed the robot with amused distaste, but knowing the value of Spike’s experience and trusting he wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was necessary, Wesley nodded his agreement.
Angel sniffed the air one more time, trying to gain a sense of the direction Spike and Buffy had headed, but the trail was long cold and diffused with the sewer scents. His growl of frustrated anger echoed off the cement walls surrounding the two master vampires and Drusilla clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds. It did nothing to help the reverberations that pulsed in her as an answer to her Sire’s distress, however, only making the situation worse by adding her temper to his.
He’d lost the two not long after they had descended into the sewers and although he could try and backtrack to the point of entry, Angel knew it was a lost cause. Traces of Spike’s signature were all over these tunnels, and there was no way of knowing which ones were more recent than the others, due to the other, less pleasant odors wafting from the sludge beneath their feet. Once more growling his disgust and anger, Angel motioned Drusilla to his side. “Let’s go. We’re not going to be able to track them.”
He grabbed Drusilla by the arm, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the nearest entrance. It had been years since he’d been down in these sewers and his memory of them was hazy at best. It would be easy above ground to get a location and make their way back to the mansion from there. Spying one of the sewer entrances not more than twenty paces behind him, Angel climbed up the ladder and emerged into the pre-dawn darkness. The night still held sway, though it was hours before the inky midnight sky gave way to early morning, Angel could feel the sun making its way eastward. Standing over the entrance, his eyes scanning about, as he waited for Drusilla to make the climb into the night, Angel’s gaze landed on a very familiar area.
They were just outside of Restfield.
No more than a handful of blocks from Revello Drive.
Grinning down into the darkness, Angel said, “come now Dru, we’re not far from family. Maybe we should pay a visit.”
Spike glanced at the clock in the Jeep, his eyes disbelieving the device. It was just after five in the morning. No wonder everyone was punchy and tired, well, except for him. Buffy was more than half asleep in the seat next to him, curled up underneath his duster, her head dropping forward every couple of seconds. Giles and Xander were very quiet in the back and Spike glanced once in the rearview mirror to check if they too had fallen asleep. But they hadn’t. Both males were still awake, just not inclined to filling the silence.
He couldn’t blame them. What they’d witnessed tonight had to affect all of them. He’d be surprised if they didn’t have nightmares for a long time to come about this. Though Giles never admitted it out loud, he knew there were some sleepless nights for the watcher that blame for could be laid solely on Angel’s shoulders. He and Giles had spent too many sleepless nights together, both when he was captive and tied up, and later, just this past summer. Spike could tell when someone was haunted by memories they’d rather not have experienced – hard not to know when sometimes it was what he himself shied away from. There were plenty of memories he’d rather not have to relive. More than enough. Buffy too, was often affected by nightmares, although that was easing somewhat.
Kind of hard not to have monsters invading your sleep when that was what you faced every single day. The trick for the humans was not to let the nightmares, which highlighted unconscious fears, become reality. Xander shifted, breaking his train of thought, and Spike glanced back in the rearview mirror again. He couldn’t meet any of them in the eye that way, but he knew Harris could sense he’d gained Spike’s attention.
“You all right?” For once, Spike wasn’t going to goad the boy into a fight. There had been too much bloodshed in the last few hours, Spike had no desire to get into anything. All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed with his woman, affirming that they were both safe and sound.
Xander was just as subdued as Spike, perhaps even more so. He knew what kind of evilness a vampire was – he just had forgotten how truly brutal they could be. And he was beginning to realize something else that he just wasn’t quite ready to face, something that each of the others had gone through in the past few months. A re-assessment of the difference between Spike and other vampires. “I guess.”
Spike let it go, knowing any more talk could lead to a brangle and at the moment, he just wasn’t in the mood. The Jeep cruised along the quiet streets of Sunnydale, encountering no traffic, when Giles said softly, “I think I just saw Drusilla and Angel.”
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