Processional

Around one o’clock, Willow finally came back downstairs. She picked at a small lunch of Mexican take-out, most of which was being gulped down by the strange girl whose babble reflex made Willow look like Oz, then wandered the halls of the Hyperion aimlessly for hours. Angel was nowhere. Wesley, she learned, had taken Cordelia back to her apartment, and he’d gone to his. Willow finally found the penthouse, where she stood watching the sun track across the sky. As it began to set, she went back downstairs.

Cordelia and Wesley were back, both bearing duffel bags, and Wesley was talking to Gunn and the new girl. Angel came down the stairs just as Willow set foot back in the lobby.

"We should only be gone for three days at the most," Wesley was saying. "Take information from any potential clients and we’ll look into it when we get back. Fred," and he was addressing the girl now, "you can use any of the rooms here, and there’s food. Gunn will be here sometimes, too. Will you be all right?"

"Right as rain," Fred said. "Been in worse places for longer."

"What should I do if Wolfram & Hart comes knocking?" Gunn asked.

"Don’t get in their way," Angel answered tiredly. "Watch what they’re doing, though. I don’t know why they want the Hyperion, but it can’t be good."

"You okay, Will?" Cordelia asked.

Willow just shook her head. She wouldn’t be okay, not for a long time.

Wesley scrutinized her for a short while. "Cordelia, why don’t you ride with Willow to Sunnydale? Angel and I will follow."

The sun had just set when the four walked out of the hotel. Willow had borrowed Xander’s car for the trip, and she and Cordelia got in, waited until Angel and Wesley brought the Angelmobile around, then took off.

Willow could see Cordelia casting worried glances her way every so often. "So what was with the harem girl outfit?" the witch finally asked after five minutes of silence.

"Um, really long story."

"Bad story?"

"No, good. Kind of funny, actually."

"Could you tell it to me?" Willow swallowed. "I think I could use a good, funny-type story right now."

Willow even managed a few little laughs at the saga of the Princess of Pylea, and Cordelia blessedly stretched it out to cover nearly the entire two hours needed to reach Sunnydale. As they entered the town, though, she fell silent.

"Awful, isn’t it?" Willow asked, looking around at the destruction. "The news is saying it was an earthquake—denial strikes again. It actually looks worse than it is. Xander’s construction crew has been working around the clock to try and fix things. I think he’s—he’s trying to do anything other than think about . . ."

She trailed off, then started again. "We had some demons brought over from other dimensions, but that actually wasn’t as bad as you’d think. See, a whole bunch of the nastiest ones decided to start a war with some other nasty ones, and they ended up pretty much polishing each other off. We had to get some civilians out of the way of the crossfire, though. And then there were a bunch who just couldn’t live on Earth for whatever reason, and they died. Really stunk up the place, too. There is this dragon-type thing that keeps buzzing the town, and we don’t know how to get rid of it, but it fried a nest of vampires, so that kind of works out. Oh, and Spike got drunk and really angry and went on this all-out demon-killing spree, and he got hurt some, but he must have taken out like fifteen demons that night. Still got a lot left, though."

"Maybe Angel can help," Cordelia suggested.

"Yeah. Is he going to . . ."

Cordelia shook her head. "I don’t know. Sooner or later, he’s gonna break down, and I’m pretty sure that’ll be bad." She looked at Willow. "Wesley and I won’t let him fall, though. We’ll be there for him."

Willow’s brow wrinkled just a little. "You really care for him, don’t you?"

"Of course."

"I was just thinking, it’s kind of interesting, because you and Xander used to be like President and First Lady of the ‘Don’t Like Angel’ club."

"Yeah, well, things change. People change."

Willow looked over at the person who had once been the bane of her existence, whose shoulder she’d recently cried all over. "Yeah. They do."

The Summers house was the designated gathering point for the remaining Scooby Gang. Angel and Wesley pulled up to the curb behind Willow and Cordelia, and all four started up the front walk.

A dark form with a bleached blond head walked out of the shadows and swayed a little. Spike was drunk again.

"Oh, crap," Willow and Cordelia muttered in perfect tandem.

"There you are," the blond vampire called. "Glad to see you, Peaches. Missed the fight again, did you?"

"Spike, this is a bad idea," Willow warned.

"Bad?" Spike laughed. "No, Red, I think some things need saying." He lurched toward Angel with only a hint of his usual feline grace. "The hero here didn’t even bother showing when Buffy needed him most. Off in L of A, playing with his friends, like the cheerleader here, or this wanker," he waved a hand at Wesley, "or that little Irish gink while we were running for our lives. Off brooding over his tortured soul while Buffy was fighting a god. Are you happy?" He was in Angel’s face now, shouting. "Couldn’t even lend a hand! Maybe if you’d been here, Buffy could have saved Little Bit and not had to take a swan dive into oblivion, and we’d all be sitting around with a pint now instead of putting her in the ground!"

Angel took all this without so much as changing expression. He regarded Spike calmly, almost contemplatively. Then he hit him. Backhanded, with a closed fist, so hard that Spike was knocked over and several feet away. Willow gasped.

Angel then stepped over to the fallen vampire . . . and offered him a hand. Spike rolled over, displaying a rapidly-darkening bruise all over one cheekbone, took Angel’s hand, and allowed himself to be helped back to his feet.

"Feel better?" Angel asked.

"A bit," Spike answered.

The others collectively decided it must be a vampire thing.

They finished making their interrupted way up to the front door. Willow opened it. Inside, Xander and Anya stood up from the couch. Giles and Tara were sitting in the kitchen, and they, too, stood. All of them gathered in the entryway.

Cordelia went immediately to Xander and hugged him tight. "How are you?" she asked.

He pulled back and shook his head.

Angel found himself looking at a beautiful girl, all soft curves and huge, liquid eyes. "I’m Angel," he said, and mechanically held out a hand. He noticed too late that her right hand was in a cast.

"I’m Tara. Willow’s Tara." She took his right hand with her left, and her eyes reflected his grief. It passed through Angel’s mind that she was somehow familiar, but he couldn’t think how.

Wesley looked at Giles, compassion in his eyes. "Mr. Giles," he said. "I’m so terribly sorry for your loss."

Something almost like a faint smile crossed Giles’ face, and a flicker of something almost like life flashed in his eyes. "Thank you, Wesley."

They stood there, then, a pain-filled silence descending upon them. It stretched taut as a drum.

"Xander and I are getting married," Anya blurted.

***

The Summers house looked like the family had just left on an outing and would be coming back any minute now. Buffy’s coat was cast over the back of a chair. A pile of letters sat on the dining room table. Some insurance forms were scattered about on a coffee table. Dawn’s tennis shoes laid in the middle of the floor. A few folded kitchen towels sat on the counter. A note for Mom to call Sara Bannick at 555-3472 rested by the telephone.

There was nothing to indicate a happy family had been shattered here except the people sitting around the living room with raw soul-wounds showing through their eyes.

They found things to talk about: the tea Giles served, funeral preparations, the state of Sunnydale. Anya and Xander sat on the floor, as close to each other as they could get. Tara sat in a chair with Willow on the floor in front of her, leaning on her legs. Giles and Wesley stood. Angel and Cordelia had taken the couch.

They talked, voices soft and sad, but sharing no intimacy. They were too locked in their own grief, or hurting too much for another.

Dawn Summers, a little ghost wrapped in her sister’s favorite shawl, entered the room. Xander and Willow both spoke her name, but the girl paid attention to no one but Angel.

Her appearance was shocking. Her skin was dead white, with dark circles under her eyes. She was skeletal, looking like she hadn’t eaten or slept since Buffy’s death. As she stood in front of Angel, she seemed scarcely more human than he.

Angel did nothing but watch her as she came closer.

"Why?" she finally asked. There was no name for the emotion in her voice. "She gave you up. She sent you to Hell. Why not me?"

"There . . ." Angel swallowed, trying to find the words. "There was no other way, with me. She had to do what she did. With you, she had the choice. She couldn’t give you up."

"But why?" Dawn demanded again.

"Because she loved you."

"She shouldn’t have!" Dawn suddenly cried. "I wish she hadn’t!"

Her hand came up and locked across her mouth, as if she’d never wanted to let that slip, and a harsh keen forced its way out of her throat.

Wesley recognized the speed at which Angel moved: the same speed he caught Cordelia with when she was struck by one of her visions. His arms flashed out, grabbing Dawn and pulling her down beside him on the sofa before she could fall. Then his arms wrapped around her as she broke down completely.

And his eyes blazed raw pain as he held the child.

For a long time, there was no sound but that of Dawn’s sobs. Angel’s eyes found Wesley’s and plead silently for help. Wesley just nodded reassuringly, throat tight. Cordelia sniffled softly and laid her hand on Angel’s shoulder, comforting him. The remaining Scoobies all struggled with their own tears. Spike abruptly turned and walked out, leaving the door open while he smoked a cigarette on the step.

Finally, Dawn moved, curling up in Angel’s embrace. He cradled her in his lap and gently rubbed her temple with one thumb. Soon, her eyes glazed over, then shut.

"She’s asleep," Angel whispered.

"Thank God," Giles said. His glasses had come off.

"How long . . ?" Angel trailed off.

"A few days." Giles polished his glasses distractedly. "She hasn’t spoken or cried until now. I only hope . . ."

Angel nodded. He scooped up Dawn’s slight form in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. After he’d tucked her in, he re-emerged into the hallway.

The pull was too strong. He turned away from his planned course back down the stairs and walked slowly, painfully, to Buffy’s room. His hand reached out, seemingly unattached to his mind, and opened the door.

He just stood there, looking in, one hand on the doorframe, one held in front of him as if the doorknob was still in his hand. His vampire senses took in the whole room: the bed, slightly rumpled; a sweater thrown over a chair; one of her dresser drawers hanging open; a pair of shoes casually cast off in the middle of the floor; her scent, all over everything.

A cracking sound startled him, and he jumped back. Somehow, the molding around the doorframe had splintered. A sharp piece of wood was lodged in his hand. He pulled it out and started back downstairs, stopping to check whether the sound had disturbed Dawn. It hadn’t.

Cordelia was there as he hit the landing, embracing him. He held on to her like she was his lifeline. In the living room, Willow was crying again. This time, it wasn’t the wrenching sobs that had torn her apart in L.A.; it was a soft, exhausted weeping she was just too tired to stop.

"Baby, let me take you home," Tara murmured in her ear.

"I can’t," Willow gasped, near hysterics. "Someone’s got to be here, s-stay here for Dawnie. I can’t just leave!"

Cordelia detached herself from Angel. "Will, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. All of you do. Have any of you gotten more than three hours of sleep since . . . it happened?"

"Xander hasn’t," said Anya, looking at her fiancé with worried eyes. "He hasn’t slept at all."

Angel felt one step short of coming apart. He could smell Dawn’s grief and pain all over his shirt. "Giles, is there . . ."

"Scotch, above the sink."

"Thank you." The vampire went and poured himself two fingers, which were quickly downed. It didn’t quite take the edge off, but he put the alcohol back where he’d found it before he could pour more.

"You should all go home," said Wesley, voice soft with compassion. "We can take care of things tonight. Cordelia can stay here with Dawn."

"I’ll do a patrol," Angel volunteered.

"That’s a good idea," said Wesley. "Do you want help?"

Angel shook his head. "I’ll be back before sunrise. If not here, the mansion." He pulled on his coat and left.

Willow stood to her feet, helped by Tara. "You guys—you’re sure you don’t want somebody else here? ‘Cause I could stay, you know."

"Will, go home," Cordelia insisted. "Let us take care of things here. We’re just getting started on our sleepless-and-strung-out look."

"Whereas I’ve had mine for three days now," put in Xander. "I think maybe . . . maybe . . ." He slumped. "I don’t know what I was trying to say there."

"Let’s go home," pleaded Anya.

She and Xander helped each other to their feet, Anya moving stiffly from her injuries. Xander gave Cordelia one last hug and left. Willow, still crying, also hugged her and Wesley before going.

Wesley walked over to Giles. "You should go, too. Try and sleep."

"You say that as if it’s a desirable thing," said Giles, but he, too, left.

***

In the alley beside the Bronze, a vampire slammed into a wall with a brutal crunch.

"Hi, Joey," hissed Angel. "Miss me?"

"A-Angel?" the vampire whimpered. "Oh, good, you’re back."

"Still working Fry’s old gang, Joey?"

"Hey, man, you know I’m not really in it. I just . . ."

"Play snitch for every demon in town. Yeah, I know, Joey."

"Guy’s gotta have an unlife, you know."

Angel thought it over. "No, actually, you don’t."

Angel whipped him around. A stake appeared in the elder vampire’s hand and slammed toward Joey’s heart. Joey’s scream cut off as he realized he wasn’t dust. The stake had pierced his skin, but stopped short of his heart.

"I need you to do me a favor, Joey," Angel said conversationally.

"Sure, man, whatever you need from me, I’m there . . ."

"I want you to deliver a message to every vampire you can find, Joey. The Slayer’s funeral is tomorrow night. I hear some vamps are planning to party. Here’s the message: there is no party, Joey. Not one of the mourners dies. Understood?"

Joey nodded hastily. "No killing mourners. Got it."

"Good. Because Joey—if even one buys it, I will personally hunt down every bloodsucker in town, starting with you—although you won’t necessarily be the first to actually die. Get it?"

The young vampire turned a whiter shade of pale. "Got it."

"Good." Angel patted his cheek and released him. "Run along, Joey. Be a good boy."

Joey retreated as fast as his legs could carry him. Angel watched him go, something dark and implacable in his eyes.

"That looked like fun," said a voice from the mouth of the alley.

Angel breathed a sigh of annoyance. "Spike. I thought I smelled you."

Spike took a drag from his cigarette. "I take it I shouldn’t dust Joey while I’m out for my nightly spot o’ violence, then."

"Why are you here, Spike?"

"Like I said, spot of violence. About like you."

In another moment, Spike, like Joey before him, was pinned to the wall by Angel’s hands and arms. "No, Spike. Why are you here?"

"Because I was invited." Spike looked steadily into Angel’s eyes. "Because Buffy wanted me to watch over Dawn."

"Don’t speak her name," Angel growled.

"Why not? I loved her. Just like you."

Angel slammed him against the wall again. "No. Not just like me, Spike. I don’t know what your game is, but you have no idea what I feel."

"That makes two of us," Spike shot back. "You’re out here putting the fear of Angelus into a bunch of demons rather than facing what’s inside."

He was abruptly released. Angel took a step back, breathing heavily. "You don’t know me at all, William."

Spike rubbed his throat. "And you don’t know me, either. There is no game, you great poof. I was in love with Buffy, and I’m right fond of Little Bit. I tried my best to save both of them. Hell, if you’d been there, I’d have fought alongside you for them. I just . . ." He shook his head. "I wasn’t good enough. And if you don’t know all this, why’d you hit me earlier on?" The bruise was still dark against his cheekbone.

"You wanted it."

"Damn right I did. Took my mind off the look in Dawn’s eyes when she knew I wasn’t going to be able to rescue her, if only for a second."

Angel shook his head. "Since when have you developed a conscience?"

"Since when have I been able to lie to your face?"

For a moment, the vampires just looked at each other. Angel took a step forward, his eyes probing Spike’s.

"What is it you want, William?"

"For tonight, I’d like to tag along. Looks like there’s real fun to be had where you’re headed." Spike’s blue eyes didn’t waver even a little under Angel’s intense stare. "For tomorrow night, I want to be one of the mourners—without you questioning me on it. She may not have loved me, but she let me be her friend. That meant more to me. A whole hell of a lot more."

Angel took this in. "Not that you wouldn’t have settled for her only being in love with you."

"What, I look stupid?" Spike scoffed.

The slightest shadow of dark humor wafted across Angel’s face. "All right, then. Truce. Understand, though, that if you ever hurt any one of Buffy’s friends, if you let Dawn down in any way . . ."

"You’ll yank out my tripes and feed them to me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can we please find something to kill?"

Angel wheeled, his coat flowing around him. "Come along. There’ll be plenty of death where I’m going."