Borsa Romania, 1898

================

A well dressed couple stumbles through the door, laughing. The man has a black silk scarf draped over his eyes.

"Can I take off this blindfold yet?"

"No," his companion warns lightly.

He reaches blindly for her and is lucky. He pulls her into his arms. "Can I take off something else," he begs huskily.

"After I give you your present."

They kiss passionately. "You can never have enough of those," She muses.

Laughing, she takes his hand and leads him over to a roaring fire crackling cozily at the hearth. He follows her without hesitation, because he always follows her lead. She loosens the blindfold and it slips from his eyes.

Bound before him is a young girl, eyes wide with fright. She struggles with the ropes at her wrists to no avail.

"Happy birthday Angelus," the sweet, clear tones of an angel.

"She's a gypsy, " he observes in wonder.

"I looked everywhere."

Impulsively, he reaches for his lover. "What would I do without you?"

"Wither and die," she taunts seductively. "She's not just for you. I get to watch."

He smiles in anticipation and kneels at their captive's feet. One-hand strokes a path up her thigh, sliding her skirt up to expose his newfound toy: a seductive torture that will end tragically. The girl tries to wriggle away from him, but it's useless.

His face changes, shifting planes transform a human visage to that of a nightmare. Canines elongate and he growls as he attacks the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Not savagely, but with a hypnotic sensuality that brings a soft groan of approval from his blonde companion watching them. As always, he does everything for her pleasure.

He raises his torso, glancing over his shoulder coyly for her approval. One hand holds the gypsy's limb in an iron grasp.

The blonde rubs her fingers over her exposed cleavage unconsciously while backing up. Her knees hit the back of a chair and she lowers herself into itslowly, never taking her eyes off of the scene before her.

The man is appreciative. With ease born of repetition, he positions himself behind the gypsy, drawing her back against his chest. Her hips fit easily between his thighs. Raising her skirts higher, he smiles at the blonde's mesmerized attention from across the room. One fist grasps the girl's bodice and tears the material with virtually no effort.

"You, my darling, have exquisite taste." He breathes, running a hand over the gypsy's breast. First the left and then the right; he ends each caress with a brutal squeeze, causing the girl to struggle desperately, but unsuccessfully.

Firelight, the scent of fear, fabric shredding; the room is too small to contain the violence unfolding within, or the horror that would permeate the residence over the next several days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Naked, the gypsy frantically tries to crawl away from the creature she's begun to think of as Satan, because only the Devil could dream up the torments he had visited upon her for nearly a week.

Scrambling on skinned knees, with her own blood running into her eyes, she bumps into someone and looks up in panic. She instantly realizes her mistake.

The devils voice sounds behind her, soon accompanied by his hand twisting painfully in her hair. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted to thank your hostess for her hospitality?" He shoves her head towards the blonde vampire's crotch and that harlot spread her legs in anticipation, raising a wineglass to her lips with a giggle.

In a show of bravery born of futility and hopelessness, the gypsy bites the smooth, white thigh and manages to draw blood. She is beyond caring now, because she knows she will never leave this place alive. Better face her death quickly, and bring this agony to a swift end.

The blonde shrieks in outrage and Angelus shoves the girl harshly to the floor at his companion's feet. The gypsy's face hits the floor and she manages to rise partially before Angelus penetrates her from behind, thrusting viciously. His hand returned to grab a fistful of hair and that is the only thing that kept her upright as he slams his pelvis mercilessly into her. He jerks her head up one last time, sinking his teeth into her throat as he ejaculates into her. As her blood flows down her neck and her life drains with it, he releases her and she slides to the floor. His cock spurts the last few drops of cum and it splatters her corpse, mingling with the other gore that congeals on her.

"Filthy gypsies," he spats, snatching the blonde vampires wineglass and tossing its remains on the body at their feet.

"Ah, I was drinking that," she protests, rubbing her already healing wound.

"I'll pour you a fresh drink my darling."

*******************************

Tatiana, my Ana. What did they do to you? My God, Ana. I feel the tears stinging my eyes as my hands shake. I will them to stop, but they cannot. There is no consolation, no solace, no reprieve; only the taste of bile burning in my throat and the ghosts of a perversions that will never leave me because it is my strength and reminder of my purpose: Vengeance.

(You see the importance of your work here?)

I do. I am the avenger of my people and my sole purpose is to guard their curse, to torment the monster that cast them into sorrow for eternity, to lesson their cries of loss. I have been groomed for this task from childhood and accepted the responsibility at my death. I must bring Kintala, balance. Angel is meant to suffer.

Who is the woman?

(Fiend ..Ghoul..Paramour...Harlot...Whore. *Sire *)

Sire? Meaning comes slowly, but clearly. Angelus'?

(She is called Darla.)

This is the one who spawned the scourge of Europe, the devil with the face of an angel? This is the Bitch who whelped Angelus.

Her features burn into my memory: golden curls upswept in a sophisticated twist, sweet lips curved in a hint of amusement, breasts nearly popping out of the expensive silk costume of a whore and her eyes shining with the demented gleam of bloodlust. I'm seeing her for the first time, but I feel as if I've known her forever. After all, I see her every time I look at Angel. He is what she made him-a killer.

(She spawned him in a filthy alleyway in the gutters of Galway and he never looked back for 145 years.)

He never looked back as he left a trail of blood through Europe. Never blinked an eye as he violated our Tatiana, because that was what he loved. That was what he was conceived for. Death.

How is it that she escaped the curse?

(She didn't kill me, she only chose me. It was his face that lingered, his face that the elder woman saw when she was scrying. He was the one she cursed.)

He was your murderer, she just watched.

(Yes, watched and encouraged. You must avenge me. She has escaped punishment for too long, I cannot rest.)

I will do as you ask. You know that. Tell me what I must do, how do I find her?

(She has been called to this world and I won't see her living here without penalty. You must kill her and send her back to the hell she escaped.)

She is manifested physically? I am not strong enough to harm her.

(You will get Angel to do it. After all, he was the one who sent her to the hell she burned in. He will do it again, with your persuasion.)

Angel: the protector of innocents. My heart does a strange flip when I think of him now, even though I know it's wrong. I've tried to hide these feelings from my Ana.

(You think he is a good man.)

Angel helps others; he will help us.

(I don't argue. But that doesn't wipe out his debt. I don't trade one thing for another with him, like commerce. He has altered time eternally and nothing he does can ever restore it. Do you not remember that he murdered you as well?)

No Ana, I know that Angelus was my killer. I haven't forgotten my duty.

(No, I know that you have not. But I will show you . . .to assure that you do not. . .)

************

"Oh God! I'm not going to make it; this is the end. Oh please, just take me quickly; I can't stand it anymore. "

"Jenny, you're doing great, so brave. Just a little bit more, my love." Rupert grasps my hand and kisses my sweat-slicked forehead tenderly. "Be a good girl and look at me."

I do. His eyes are so gentle. I really do love him.

"Fffuuuccckkkk. OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD! It hurts so much."

"Jenny."

That voice is so irritatingly patient. Why haven't I noticed that before? If I punch him, it'll wipe that condescending smugness right off of his face. My fist balls up with just that intention.

"Look at me, focus. I love you so much my darling."

Oh, it's starting again. I hump my shoulders over, the tendons of my thighs flex in and out.

"Don't leave me Rupert, I need you," I wail in panic.

"I'm right here Jenny, I'm not going to leave you. We can do this-together." He squeezes my hands in support.

My neck turns towards the ceiling, toward the heavens, toward the stars. Water rushes from me, spattering my ankles.

I become

The Power

Of The Universe.

"It's a boy."

Cheers sound from the room's occupants: nurses, Buffy, Willow, even Xander-looking kind of green.

"It's a boy, is he okay?" I ask weakly. I don't care if I die; just let me see him once.

Rupert has him now, covered in blood and a thick white - something, I don't know what. My husband places our child on my chest and I can't describe the feeling that courses through me. I exist in every cell of this new being and in every atom of the universe at the same time. I am unaware of the tears that come to my eyes.

"He looks like you," Rupert smiles. I see the moisture in his eyes; he is unashamed, making no move to wipe it away. He is a part of this child too. We are forever united in this life we have created together.

"I love you Jenny." His lips touch mine, sharing the salt, the sweat and the tears.

"I love you too Rupert."

**************************

Ahhhaa. My breath escapes in a sob. A son. Rupert and I would have had a child. The realization rocks through me like a fire that burns everything; leaving only the cold ache in my soul for the love of a son I will never know. A life and a husband and a child I was robbed of.

(What will you take in payback for that, Janna, what can he do that will buy your forgiveness for that?)

Nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drip, drip.

(hurt me hurt me hurt me hurt me hurt me hurt me).

Muffled clang.

I don't know what this place is, basement, dungeon, hell? I don't care, because she is here. I can't see her, but I can smell her, can *feel * her. She is scared and confused: good, Ana would approve.

Every surface is cement. Walls, ceiling, floor, the perfect acoustics to carry the shiver of limbs and every soft sob coming from-a big cage? Large. Steel. Imposing and impenetrable, this was a prison made to contain creatures that should never see the light of day.

I walk towards it. Yes this is right. Standing in front of it, I lean over and stretch out a corporeal hand. The cage's physical boundaries offer no resistance to me because I am not governed by their rules; I've mastered that skill at least. My hand passes through and I connect with the form trapped inside. It's her, but different.

Her thoughts are so muddled, racing past my eyelids at a speed that makes me dizzy. There is no cognizant or linear path to her memories; just random images blurred together like a patchy watercolor. Faces and smells, touches and pain, all twine together without any language to tie one to the other.

Her intelligence has not survived her time in hell. It's been beaten and tortured out of her, or at least pushed so far within her, that it may never resurface. It should be easy then to send her back where she belongs.

One image lingers longer than the others do: dark eyes and hair, strong jaw. I know them well because I see them every day, Angel. I can feel her mentally surge towards his image; he is the one thing that she clings to. Well, she'll meet him again soon enough.

She's naked and crouched fearfully at the bottom of the box, eyes darting furtively from side to side, trying to detect any threat. She can't see me, because I don't need her to. I touch her cold skin and draw her dreams from her; I will need to know my opponent well. That is always the first rule of war.

Where's your silk now, you murderous bitch?

The door opens and three enter. These are the ones who have brought her here. What kind of magician would want to summon Angelus' sire? I'm interested.

Human? An older man speaks over his shoulder to another, "The senior partners were very impressed with your sacrifice."

The younger one shoots him a volatile look, while nursing a bandaged arm.

"Trust me, we'll even the score with him," the first one assures his companion.

"Yes we will."

"Beginning with what's in that box."

The third entrant is a woman, dressed in an expensive business suit. She cautiously approaches the box, stooping slightly to peer through the bars. She's trying to get a closer glimpse at the creature huddled within.

Does she have any idea of what they've conjured?

"We're all pleased you're here. I know it's a bit confusing, but it's going be better soon. A lot better: Darla.

Do they know what they've conjured? If they don't, they're stupid. If they do, they're insane. But they are not my concern; my sole interest is the vampire and her death. Any casualties along the way are unfortunate, but they must know that their activities are not without consequence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's alone. I could watch him all day, admiring and hating him simultaneously.

Muscles stretch, then compact; perfection in form and movement. Angel performs the graceful moves of an artist and a killer. Tai chi? Perhaps some other school of Eastern fighting and meditation, I don't know, but it looks as if it were invented just for him. He outstretches both arms in front of him, brings one in to his waist and arcs the other over his head as he turns gracefully to the side.

He stops, startled as he finally notices me. He's the only one I ever appear to.

"You're here," he states the obvious.

"I'm here."

He's nervous. He always has that reaction when I appear-can't imagine why? I guess having your own vengeance spirit will do that to you, plus 140 years or so of bloody death does take its toll I'd imagine. He reaches for a towel lying slung over the back of a chair and wipes the musky layer of sweat from his chest and neck. I've always loved that smell.

This is a new home for him, some old hotel or something. He was here before,in the '50's I think. I don't probe his post soul memories much, I focus mainly on Angelus' atrocities.

They've been running their investigative business out of this new location, since their old office was blown up. Angel probably likes it because it has 'good bones', whatever that means.

In his meticulous way, he has arranged his belongings and the result is stunning. He could probably live in a garage and it would still look like a palace. You can take the man out of decadence, but you can't take the decadence out of the man, or out of the demon it seems.

He hurriedly pulls a shirt over his now dried torso. What, no shower? Is he becoming a prude on me? He tries to avoid me, averting his eyes, but he should know by now that never works. He bends over to retrieve his socks and shoes and sits down on the chair.

Nervously, "Why have you come here?"

I know the reason he fears and longs for. He can't bring himself to say it though. He looks at me with those eyes, contrite, saddened, and guilty. That's our Angel.

Cordelia's voice echoes in the hallway, then the door opens and she peers around.

"Wake up you undead slacker type. Do you think you're going to lie in bed brooding all day when we've got work to do?

She always was pushy; I thought so even when I was alive. She must be here to save him from his nightly castigation. It's funny how she's grown since moving here with Angel, matured. He's been a good influence on her; imagine that.

"Oh, you're up," she greets him in surprise. "Look what I have for you?" She hands him the morning paper.

It remains in her hand for several moments as he looks between her and I several times. She can't see me.

"Hello, has the whole being dead thing affected your hearing as well?"

I watch her in amusement and he watches me uneasily. Like a big brother, he strives to protect her. From me. I laugh at the irony that the Scourge of Europe should feel the need to defend this girl. Who protected mankind from him for over a century? No one, and now he is the righteous defender, that's rich.

Cordelia is wearing some sort of shiny halter-top. The type of thing a young, beautiful girl would wear the type of thing I will never wear.

I reach out to touch it. Not because I'm interested in the fabric, but because it drives his guardian instincts crazy and I love doing that.

"Hey, you know," he says, swinging her around and away from my touch. "I haven't made any coffee yet. Can you do that now? Wesley will be here any minute and I don't want him to try, because you know what a disaster that always is."

She wrinkles her face at him, newspaper still in hand. "You are just so weird." She shrugs her shoulders and heads downstairs, without argument.

He shoots me a look full of warning. I smile patronizingly.

"Now why are you here?"

"I saw a friend of yours today."

No answer.

"Darla."

For a minute he looks blankly at me, then tilts his head suspiciously.

"Been vacationing in hell, thinking up more tortures for me?"

Kind of flippant, I may have to do something about that, but now is not the time.

Instead, I clarify. "She has been summoned here, to L.A."

"Damn, every kid with a ouija board thinks he's James Van Praagh. Who did it? Demon or human?"

"Three humans: an older man, woman in a business suit, younger man with a bandaged arm."

"Wolfram and Heart. Damn them!"

"Okay, that could be arranged."

"Why are you warning me? What do you care if Darla...."

"Would you like me to show you," I snap. The scenes of Tatiana's death are fresh and I would love to share them with him.

He stops speaking. He doesn't need me to remind him, they're stuck in his memory too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel is out trying to gather some information from one of his sources, someone named-Gunn. He doesn't sound very reliable to me, but Angel trusts him and I guess that will have to be good enough.

If anything, Angel seems determined to find out where Wolfram and Hart are keeping his Sire and kill her again. I admire that dedication in him, although when he was Angelus that same determination was what made him such a fiend.

Cordelia is out too; Angel's taking no chances that I'll threaten his little seer friend. As if I would, as long as he behaves himself, I don't particularly care about the girl.

Strangely enough, he left Wesley behind.

Wesley, the Watcher. Oh, I know he's not a Watcher anymore; I've perused all of Angel's memories concerning his LA companions, because I never know when some small piece of information may prove useful against him. Wesley may not work for the counsel anymore, but you can never take the Watcher out of the man, he'll be one until he dies.

Small mannerisms, the faint 'hmn' sound he makes when he's concentrating on a book, a dozen other inconsequential things, all give me a dull feeling in my stomach. I feel drawn to follow him around the space because he reminds me of another, of Rupert.

I stand close to him, wanting to savor the bittersweet feeling he invokes in me. My tie to this world is Angel. I can't go to Rupert. It would be pointless if I did anyway, we can never be together. But at times like this, I just want to remember what he was like.

Wesley stops reading and frowns, looking up to scan the room. The hairs on his arm and neck rise. He exhales slowly.

"You're here aren't you? I can't see you, but I know you're here."

I am.

"I know he's made a terrible mess in the past, but he's a good man now. Can't you leave him alone, he's helping people, trying to make amends."

Rationality. Caring. Sensitivity. All of these qualities are employed in service and devotion to a vampire. Impressive really. His commitment to Angel serves only to strengthen his comparison to Rupert in my mind, Rupert and his tie to the Slayer. Of course Wesley would defend the vampire. I admire him for it, but it doesn't change my purpose here.

"Can I forgive him for my own death. . .my uncle's. . .my ancestor's?"

"That wasn't *him *"

"I'm not here to argue with you. I am here to ensure that my people's curse remains intact, by whatever means necessary. That is my only purpose. You've seen him revert to Angelus, you should be as vigilant as I in preventing it from happening again."

"I am. I mean, I try. I just think he should have something to keep him connected to the human world, something to give his fight meaning, some happiness."

"I guess I'm just not as forgiving as you. I still have a hard time getting over the memory of him chasing me and snapping my neck."

He doesn't have an answer for that.

"He took *everything * from me, everything I had and everything I ever would have had. It's hard to forgive something like that."

"I imagine it is."

"I follow the letter of my people's curse: Angel must suffer. One moment of true happiness and his soul is taken from him."

He takes his glasses off, wiping them on a tissue from the desk. "It just seems such a lonely existence."

"Lonely? You should try being me for a while."

"Yes, to be sure."

The front door opens and Angel strides through, Cordelia is following close on his heels.

"Gunn found the location. It looks pretty well guarded though. Janna, are you here?" Angel glances around the room, even though he knows he won't see me unless I want him to.

"She's here," Wesley confirms.

Angel looks at him strangely, but continues, "Do you think you could go in, scope it out."

"I could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

================

Two are standing over her. She's down, hit by a tranquilizer dart, but its effects won't last long. That's why there are chains connecting her wrists together and one fastened between her neck and the cement wall behind her. Her captives are not taking any chances on a wild, unpredictable creature like her.

The young man, the one with the bandaged arm speaks to the woman at his side, "She's the one who is supposed to help us kill Angel? Sure. I can see that. Hey Angel, could you go and stand next to your Sire? No, a little closer. What? Chains? Never mind those."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Sarcasm accomplishes nothing."

"I was kind of hoping it was an end to itself."

She shakes her head in exasperation. "Are you part of the problem or part of the solution Lindsey?"

"Both."

The naked blonde stirs, rising partially. She's still groggy, weak, but gaining strength.

The woman continues, unable to take her eyes off of the creature in front of them. "She's shown little progress . . . she remains so animalistic."

The vampire rushes at them, snarling. The chains stop her short of the humans and yank her back as she reaches the end of her restraint. Denied her attack, she paces restlessly back and forth. Occasionally she stops to sniff the air and give them a malevolent glare.

Lindsey gives a short bark of laughter. "Maybe she's retarded."

"No, I don't think so. We just need to work with her a little more. You would act the same way if you'd just spent 5oo years being tortured in hell."

"I don't know, it might be a nice vacation. How did you enjoy it last year Lilah?"

"They gave me your suite." She flashes a plastic smile

When she gestures to two men standing at the door, they drag a man forward, ignoring his cries of protest as his feet scuffle the floor, seeking a foothold. The smooth cement gives him no leverage, or hope.

A long, holy overcoat and unraveling ski hat suggest his origins are on the street. That would make sense. If they wanted to keep Darla's location and existence a secret, they would target a vulnerable and often invisible group of people. Many of the homeless souls on the street would never be missed if they just disappeared and their 'guest' would be well fed.

With a rough shove, the men send the victim careening forward. Darla jumps him, knocking him to the ground and transforms, sinking her teeth into his throat. She feeds with enthusiasm and abandon, making little growls and grunts of satisfaction as she fills her need for blood.

I've seen all that I need to see here. I back away and try to follow the instructions that Angel drilled into my head.

This building is some minor holding of Wolfram and Hart's. Probably used only for 'sensitive' business. Angel wants me to find out exactly what kind of security they have and if it will be possible for him to get in here. From what I see, he has no chance. Cameras, lots of guards demon and otherwise, and locks with codes and key cards really shrivel any hope of success for him to just barge in here with guns blazing, so to speak.

That is why I've decided that I will have to release Darla and bring her to Angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay that's just crazy." Angel has been waiting at the front door of the building, staring out into the night, moping, brooding, whatever it he does best. He doesn't have to wait for me; I'll find him wherever he is.

He doesn't approve of my plan. "What. Are you just going to let loose a vicious killer in a building full of innocent . . .um, full of Wolfram and Hart employees?"

"I think I can guide her out."

He snorts skeptically. "I thought you said she wasn't exactly thinking rationally. How are you going to do that?"

"I'll give her the one thing she can still connect with-you."

A flash of a memory flits across his eyes. It pains him, I can tell.

"Look, I'm going to do it. I suggest that you be waiting to kill her when she makes it outside."

He gets on the elevator; I enter behind him, not because I have to. It's a force of habit mostly, and my need to be near him at all times. It's a service elevator, one of those old fashioned, rattley kinds. Much like the one at his previous apartment. He slides the door behind us shut with a grating squeak. A rumbling, thunderous clank begins our ascension.

He's quiet, big surprise there. I have the suspicion that he's trying to remain polite. Manners for a ghost? Cute. He positions himself in the corner opposite me, his back to the juncture of the walls, each hand gripping a rail tightly. I know it's not the elevator ride that has him so on edge and I suspect that only a small part of it can be the stress of planning his Sire's staking. It's my presence here, my constant reminder of the past he's trying to bury that makes him so tense.

"Why do you come here?" He says it so softly that I can barely hear him; maybe he was talking to himself? No matter, there is nothing he can say or think that I don't sense, especially standing this close to him. The small confines of this elevator make his every thought bounce endlessly until it feels like he will surround me.

My answer is equally soft. "You know why I do."

He does. He drops his head until his chin rests on his chest in defeat. I'm distracted by the spikey peaks of his hair and stifle the urge to run my fingers through them.

I know why it's painful for him to be alone with me. When he looks at my face, he can't help but relive the night he killed me and I've never let him deny it. I've made him feel every emotion that I felt, every ounce of terror and pain he caused me. I've returned it to him and will do so anytime I feel him faltering, becoming complacent. I'm sure it's not even necessary for me to do so, his soul has an enormous capacity for guilt and it makes my job too easy. Sometimes I almost feel sympathy for him.

"I'm so sorry."

He is, but I can't let that sway me, I have to be strong for however many eternities this karma forces us to replay this exact scene. I don't know if either of us will ever be free. It doesn't seem likely to me anymore.

He releases the handrail and touches my hand.

I should dematerialize, but for some perverse reason I don't. His thumb traces my knuckles and I let him because I suddenly realize that I'm just as cursed as he is.

Slowly, cautiously, he slides his hand up my arm, a lover's caress, my lover, but we were never meant to be lovers. We were born to be enemies, ever since a black night in 1898.

I feel my form begin to disperse, slowly becoming more wispy and unformed. I'm not strong enough to do this today. He's fighting the good fight this evening; surely his soul is not in danger for one night? I just need to, get away.

"We can't."

"Please . . ." the pleading in his voice does more to stop me that the insistent hand that tries to grab a limb that no longer exists on this plane. " . . .I need to touch you."

(He killed Enyos . . .)

The fluorescent light overhead flickers momentarily and the glare ripples across his black silk shirt like liquid moonlight.

(. . . He raped and tortured Tatiana . . .)

His lips are pressed tightly, corners turned down in a hopeless frown. I've kissed them before.

(. . . He murdered me . . .)

His eyes shine with the light of desperation and his gaze never leaves my face, afraid that if he looks away I'll be gone. I should be. When I meet his stare, I see past the sadness and the guilt, past the loneliness and isolation, I see something I don't want to see.

(. . .He robbed me of my son . . .)

I don't want to see it because I recognize it too well. His need is as palpable as my own, as fierce as my own.

"I . . ." he begins.

He what? Somehow he's blocking his thoughts; he's never done that before.

My elbow materializes and Angel grabs it. He reaches behind him with the other hand, opens the control panel and stops the elevator.

This is wrong; I know it. Before, I did it to punish him, to break him and I'll admit it-for revenge. This is different and that's why I need to be careful.

"We can't."

"Why not. Your mission is to hurt me and nothing hurts me as much as you do. You gave me this, this desire for you that goes against anything decent or proper. The least you can do is suffer with me."

Suffer? I do suffer, every time I'm near him and if that's what it takes to ensure that he keeps his soul, if that's what the ancestors demand; then I guess I must bear it.

He touches his lips to mine, hesitantly at first because I've never let him touch me before. I've always immobilized him. He was so uneasy with the whole situation; I doubt he would have considered exploration anyway.

His tongue pushes past my teeth and I let him, knowing this could be dangerous, but I don't care. My hand comes up to unbutton his shirt as he becomes more insistent, sucking my tongue into him.

His hands come up to grip either side of my face. At first he is shaking, but only for a second. Soon his unearthly vampire's strength holds me firm as his tongue plunders my mouth.

He bites my lower lip; a sharp, stinging prick and I relish the sensation because I crave any touch he can give me. I don't need to feel pain; I can choose my sensations. Yet, some sense of guilt or censure makes me need this, as a reminder. He licks away the few drops of blood that I allow to form on my skin. His face is still human which is good because I don't think I could stand to see the demon mask that killed me or mutilated my Ana.

"You have broken me Janna, as surely as my time in hell did," he whispers against my lips.

And he's returned the favor.

His hands smooth down my neck, my breasts, my belly and around to cup my ass. I don't need clothes anymore, I give up the pretense as I unzip the front of his pants and tug them down around his hips.

He pulls me close, lifts my hips while wrapping my legs around him. A step forward plants my back against the door of the elevator. He breaks our lip's contact and scowls at me.

"Is this part of your plan too, to make me do this?"

"I don't know. How does it make you feel?"

"How do you think it makes me feel to sell my self esteem a dollar at a time?" He asks huskily, pinning me with his eyes and his hips against this door.

He doesn't have to tell me; he's too preoccupied to guard his thoughts and they're no mystery now anyway. It feels kind of like having some sort of sick love and arousal for the demon that killed you.

He sees it in my eyes and closes his. "God help us," he begs as he thrusts his hips forward. I offer no hesitation, this is what I've longed for and so has he.

He's filling me, invading me physically just as he has mentally and emotionally. There is no other part of me he can possess that he hasn't already, except my vengeance and I hold that so close inside that he'll never be able to take it from me.

He makes a strange sound in his throat as he continues to thrust and I only recognize it because I'm making it too; a low keening wail that echoes eerily in the small space, growing louder in parallel to the increasing rhythm of our fucking.

He ejaculates and I feel my clitoris climaxing a few seconds into his release. We remain like that, twitching, throbbing, and locked together in sex as well as death. Each of us keeps our face buried in the other's shoulder as if we can block out our actions. As if that could ever happen.

He releases me and mechanically adjusts his clothes. Avoiding me again. My form falters momentarily, and then solidifies.

I turn my back to him, sliding my hand along the handrail of the elevator, absorbed in a meaningless, mundane action. Even at the risk of awkward silence, I'd rather be near him. Focus. Think of the things that matter: vengeance, death, and my son. My son . . . birthing a child that Rupert and I conceived in love and will never exist now thanks to Angelus.

Angel restarts the elevator and as he turns around, his hand brushes my arm. . .

**********************

The baby struggles to lift his head off of my chest and I realize how fragile his life is. I will have to play the fierce mother to ensure that he exists and becomes a part of this world. Rupert and I will have to be vigilant against the things in the dark that we both know are too real.

**********************

. . . Angel gasps and freezes, gazing at me in confusion that rapidly turns to horrified comprehension.

"What is that Janna?"

It's nothing. It's my business. It's too personal to share with you right now. Your life is the one under scrutiny here, not a life I'll never know thanks to you.

"That's what would have happened, isn't it; If I hadn't killed you."

I don't want to talk about it .I don't want to talk about it .I don't want to talk about it .I don't want to talk about it .I don't want to talk about it.

"Isn't it!" His voice rises above the motor of the elevator.

"Yes." I shout, hoping he'll just shut up and leave it alone. I can't take it right now.

His face mirrors an agony that I know too well. "No wonder you hate me."

I don't know what I feel for him anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's strange really. I'm here to free the monster that is ultimately responsible for my eternal unrest. I think that I would be perfectly happy to allow her to rot here forever. If I came back in a century or two, would she still be here, chained and skeletal? Would she look up at me in sorrow, in contrition and beg for her release? No. I can't imagine her ever begging for anything and I doubt she's ever felt remorse. Would she continue to glare in that haughty glare she's perfected in 400 years, or would she be as she is now, animal, wild, uncivilized? It doesn't matter anyway, because I can't leave her here in the hands of Wolfram and Hart.

As I approach her, she backs away, sensing my presence. Her instincts are very acute, more so now that they are all she has to define her environment. I try to sooth her mind, like any frightened animal, because I need her to be able to follow my direction. She doesn't seem to have regained speech yet, so I speak to her mind visually, emotionally, instinctually.

Angel.

She calms slightly, cocking her head at an inquisitive angle.

Angel . . . waiting.

That does it. She strains at her restraints and I'm positive now that my assumptions are correct, she will leave here because she seeks to be reunited with the lover she knew for over a century: Angelus.

*I could show you . . . things you've never seen.*

That's what she promised and that's what she delivered, for a hundred and seven years, long enough to teach Angelus everything he knew. Yes, she was quite a teacher, very different from the creature before me.

Shackled, quivering in a barren, freezing basement, she's quite the toast of society now isn't she? Her hair is matted with blood and sweat and God knows what else. She bears the stench of a creature kept in irons, but she's still beautiful and I still hate her.

I wish that I could kill her myself, but I'm not strong enough for a hand-to-hand physical struggle and I know she'd put up a fight. She's a survivor above all else. She respects strength and power.

I lay my hand on the metal collar around her neck. Metal is an excellent conductor. Within seconds she begins to feel the heat I generate and claws wildly at the collar. It's perverse, I know. It's kind of like pulling the wings off of flies or stepping on ants, but pain is a great motivator. Plus, I just really want to hurt her, especially when I picture her and Angel together.

(I am someone to be obeyed. I can hurt you.)

She seems to understand, because she looks at me with a newfound respect and stops struggling. She's bright.

Click.

I allow the chains to drop noisily from her neck and wrists. Chains are imposing, but impossible-no. everything else is easy really. Electronic locks can be disabled, circuitry destroyed, chaos provides an extremely effective diversion when the situation warrants.

It's surprisingly easy. I've disabled the electricity. I don't need lights and Darla's senses are such that she doesn't either. A few times, someone tries to detain us, but Darla attacks with a ferociousness that is beyond animal instinct, enjoying their blood as it drips down her chin. I look away during these attacks. I don't want to see.

I guess you have to lose a few to win the war.

She looks up from a body. "Kill." She's spoken the word clearly and I realize she's not talking about herself or her actions so far tonight.

"He kill." She's talking about Angel killing her.

"No see! No see! No see! No see! No see!" She chants the litany, louder and louder, rising and checking for an exit. I'm losing her. Shit! What am I going to do? She turns and heads in the opposite direction. Panicked, I leap for her.

Ow. The floor is very hard, because I'm . . . laying . . .on . . .it? Cold, ugly speckled linoleum. And my hands are touching it, but they're not my hands; they're hers. I'm inside of her.

It hurts and makes me dizzy at the same time because the demon in her is trying to push me out, but I'm not going anywhere, this may be the only way to bring her to Angel. Renewing my struggle, I fight my way to her center and try to walk the way we were headed. This body feels so heavy. True, I've never been a vampire before, but I think it's more that I've forgotten how it feels to really physically exist in this world. It doesn't help that I must struggle for control with the demon that already resides here.

I'm able to maneuver Darla's body quite a ways until an older man confronts us: forties, stocky and commanding. He attempts to hold onto our arm, his fingers digging in around the elbow. He's strong.

I can smell him in a way I never have before; warm, salty and . . . moist. His pores just seem to excrete copious amounts of fluid that literally hang in the air. I'm not only smelling him physically, I'm smelling *him* -his feelings and emotions. I'm used to reading people's thoughts, but Darla's senses are *smelling* his thoughts. Is this what Angel experiences? It's overwhelming and disturbing.

I'm still trying to orient myself to this new sensation, when I feel Darla react. Her free arm strikes out brutally, punching this man in the throat. There's a snap and I can feel the shift in the anatomy of his trachea as it is destroyed. His eyes widen in surprise and he makes a terrible gurgling sound in his throat as he falls backward. He's till clutching Darla's arm.

I'm in shock, but have no choice as Darla kneels beside her victim. His heart is beating erratically, racing frantically, then stopping for several seconds at a time and I'm certain that he'll be dead soon. The thumping of his heart fills my head-Darla's head and I swear I see a faint aura of red light that shoots out wildly from the outline of the body lying there. The combination of both of these sensations suddenly combine with an overwhelming urge and I freeze-she's going to bite him.

I don't appear to have any control over the body, or I would stop what I know is going to happen. I'm powerless as I feel the ridges of her eyebrows swell and her jaw elongates to accommodate a set of canines that are transforming into fangs.

His flesh tears so easily, splitting against the sharp edge of her teeth and the blood begins to flow into her mouth. Thick, warm and coppery; I think I'm going to be sick as the hot liquid pours down her throat, gagging me until I want to throw up. It doesn't bother her or this body though, because what else would blood be to a vampire, but delicious? I feel dizzy with disgust but manage to remain in the body as she raises and heads for the exit.

Oh please Angel, be out there waiting and ready.

The door flies open as Darla violently pushes outward and we step into the night air. All I see for a moment are a million stars in the sky and I wish that I could joint them. I wish that I could leave the awful memory of this body, my duty, my mission and the nagging suspicion that I've come too far and can never escape this cycle, even with Darla's death.

Angel is running toward us, stake in hand. He's always prepared isn't he? I release my hold on this body and prepare to exit it's disquieting confines, but can't. The demon is holding onto me, not allowing me to leave. Angel won't know I'm in here. I feel a creeping fear invading my mind.

(He's going to kill me again.)I can't be completely sure if the thought is Darla's or mine.

Legs running. The movement of Darla's body startles me as I realize that she's running. She darts off to the left and we're moving fast, the ground speeds by and the fear that she'll make it and I'll be stuck inside of her forever is frightening.

The impact of a body slamming into Darla's back sends us crashing to the grass. Nimble. She's done this before, because she instinctively rolls and is poised and ready to flee again when the jolting shock of her leg nearly being pulled from it's socket stops her. I would chose not to feel this, but I have no choice now. With a flip, she is turned over onto her back and a solid weight pins us as Angel straddles us. His human face is twisted in hate and rage; at least it's not his vampire face.

How many times has she been here like this, looking up into his eyes? Did the smell of newly mown grass surround them like it does now?

His arm rises, aiming the stake.

If I had been able to take this body from the demon, if my soul had inhabited this body, could Angel and I have spent eternity together? After all, he loved this face once. It sounds simple and implausible at the same time: two souled vampires fighting the forces of evil in the city of Angels. The only things we've ever shared were hate and bitterness, guilt and some kind of sick attraction fueled by our own . . . stupidity is the only word I can think of.

I could never live in this body. It's not just the blood drinking thing-although that is inconceivable gross. I just don't think I could inhabit the vessel that murdered Tatiana.

Not even for Angel?

No, not even for him. I don't know what will happen when he kills this body, will I be released from my purpose? Will I never see him again? It doesn't matter.

I see that he must do this. Darla must die and he must do it. I can't beg him to alter a destiny that I see now was meant to be. Her death, my death will bring all of our existences full circle and free Angel and I from this karmic tragedy we are trapped in. Freedom. Am I ready for it-is he?

His face will be the last thing I see-again. I imagine that the ancestor's will be disappointed in yet another failure on my part. If only they knew the extent of my mistake, Angel's and my mistake.

Who would have ever known that Darla and I would have so much in common: the same love, the same death?

"Angel." The demon doesn't stop my farewell. I *know* that it's the same sentiment that left Darla when he killed her.

Angel freezes, eyes widening in disbelief as he somehow realizes. "Janna?"

A car pulls over the curb, screeching to a halt ten feet from us. The lawyers from Wolfram and Hart scramble out as sirens herald the arrival of the police. Lack of time is breeding desperation.

"Do it!" I tell him.

He shakes his head in denial, disbelief. He never thought he would face the same dilemma that Buffy did, to kill your love to save the world. Corny, but tragic.

"No! I can't kill you again Janna, I won't. I will do anything for you, but I can't do that, don't ask me."

"Are you going to let Darla loose upon this city? You know that you of all people could never do that." I pray that this is the right decision and grab his hand.

"It doesn't matter what we want or what we need. Whatever we had was foolish compared to the necessity of stopping Darla. I was wrong to ever have started this."

I pull at his hand. There isn't much time left.

His hand is shaking and he looks stricken, unable to decide, unable to make a decision that could change everything. His sense of duty wars with his desire and one wins-at great cost.

"I swear to God Janna, I will find you no matter what I have to do." His voice quavers as he brings the stake down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

================

I'm on a spiral staircase leading down, how appropriate. I follow the curve of the steps knowing in my heart that I've got my wish; I no longer inhabit Darla's body. I now face a more terrifying circumstance-the ancestors' council.

At the bottom, I contemplate a heavy wooden door-so very traditional. The ancestors' essence, their thought forms have created this dimension and it reflects their code of ethics, sense of duty and thirst for vengeance and retribution. One word-depressing.

I never would have thought that before I screwed everything up, before I fell in love with Angel. Not love . . . lust . . . I don't know. I was happy before, carrying out the wishes of the ancestors'. Now I want to scream, shriek my pity and loss at the top of my lungs, but anyone who would hear me here would tell me it's my own fault. My instructions were clear: make sure Angel suffers, and I did, but I never bargained on the pain I would bring not only to him, but also to myself.

With a sigh, I push at the door. It's heavy and foreboding. Huh, typical. This is not going to be pleasant, that's one thing I'm sure of.

There they are, lined up like a firing squad. If only that were the case, that would be a hell of a lot prettier that this is going to be. The door slams behind me and I sigh loudly again, waiting for the lecture to start.

So many eyes are staring at me. There is Nana Maria, her eyes are soft and gently reproving. Enyos is glaring at me and I can feel his anger penetrating me, he's the one who honed my skill in projecting anger. He was always the expert at that.

Then I see Tatiana and oh, my sense of dishonor washes over me, consuming me and I want to cry. Oh Ana, I've let you down, but she already knows that, she knows my shame and so do they all. I've disgraced my people.

No one speaks and I wonder momentarily if this is to be my punishment, if I will stand here for eternity, knowing only their disapproval and disappointment. I deserve it.

"Janna!" Enyos barks. Even now, dead, I still jump.

"You have heard of this thing called loyalty . . ."he begins, voice booming through the room.

"Uncle . . ." I say, thinking to plead my case.

He pins me with a hard stare, the one from my childhood that always made my stomach flip. I never could stand up to that look and now, like then, I lower my gaze.

" . . . loyalty to your family, to your blood is everything to us . . . it is an ideal that demands our undying devotion. I must ask myself the question: Who would betray us, who would stab at the heart of her family by lying with the filthy creature who murdered our heart's fairest daughter, like a common whor . . ."

"Enyos." It was one word, sharp in the otherwise silent room.Tatiana.

I should be glad she's defending me, but instead, I feel worse. She's the one that I betrayed the most. She should be shouting at me, cursing me, not looking at me with that sad disillusionment.

"At least I helped send Darla back to hell," I offered weakly. That's something-right? I wish it were enough to lift this awful blame. Ana doesn't say anything and it's in that instant that I know I'm missing something. "What's happened?"

Tatiana shows me:

******************

Darla's form crumples as Angel shoves the stake into her chest; pieces of dust float up in the air, covering his hair, his face, his eyelashes. He throws the stake with a frightening vehemence and Lindsey was to side step quickly to avoid it. Angel doesn't notice.

A scream commands everyone's attention and all eyes are drawn to Cordelia who sinks to her knees as she grabs her head, caught in the throes of a vision.

Angel immediately gets to his feet and comes over to her, hand resting reassuringly on her arm. "What is it Cordelia, what do you see?"

She's silent for a moment, then looks up at him with a corrupt grin. "Nothing now darling boy."

"Cordy?" He doesn't sound very convinced.

She laughs," Your seer can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message."

Wesley , standing behind Angel's right shoulder, is the first to breathe the idea. "Darla?"

She mimics his voice perfectly, "Darla?"

"Get the hell out of her you bitch," Angel snarls, gripping Cordy's shoulders.

"Not likely. It doesn't matter anyway; you'll soon be roasting in hell with that fucking gypsy." Darla gleefully says.

Angel dares to whisper, voice a mixture of hope and fear, "Where's Janna?"

Darla begins to laugh and can't stop . . .

****************

This is just too horrible to contemplate. Darla has taken over Cordelia's body and the human has no chance against a demon that powerful.

"What do I do?"

Silence.

"I must go back, I've got to help them" Don't they understand that?

"Why are you so eager to help him, this Gadjie, this outsider? Your family should be your first priority," Enyos accuses.

I look to Tatiana for support. She just shakes her head. "There is no going back, it's beyond us now. The Elders have decided that you should remain here."

I won't be going back, I won't be seeing Angel again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel cut a line through the middle of the room, pacing back and forth in a repetition that bordered on obsession. He'd been doing it for so long, he'd lost track of the number of times and Wesley looked like the last thing he would do was draw the vampire's attention.

"Damn it!" Angel finally screamed, picking up a small clock from the table and throwing it against the wall in rage. "Everything's so fucked up."

Wesley sighed in agreement, his mouth showing a rueful twist. "I'm sure that I can find a spell to drive the demon from Cordelia, if we can find her that is."

There was no answer from Angel.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" Wesley asked.

"Of course I am." Angel didn't halt his movement. "Cordelia is no match for Darla."

Wesley leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded the restless vampire in front of him. "I wasn't talking about Darla . . . I was talking about Jenny."

That got a reaction. It earned Wesley an intense glare from Angel for about five seconds before the pacing continued. Five more trips the vampire executed across the floor . . .ten more.

"I don't know what you mean Wes." The lie was given no credibility by the fact that Angel refused to make eye contact with his companion.

Wesley picked up on the obvious body language. "The fact that her 'presence' just disappeared that night, that she hasn't contacted you since is no cause for concern? Are you trying to tell me that you are not consumed with worry about her?" Wesley gave him no chance to argue," I know that you haven't 'slept' in days and-when was the last time you had anything to 'eat'?

Angel hated that tone Wesley sometimes took with him: half mother, half college professor, like at anytime he would begin lecturing. It grated on someone who was two hundred and forty some years. With everything going on right now, it half made him want to punch the 'rogue demon slayer', but that wasn't going to help Cordelia or bring Janna back.

"At least she won't be plaguing you anymore with your past," Wesley offered with a tone of gentle bullying. He must have felt the need to take over Cordy's motherly duties.

Angel reconsidered his earlier decision not to punch the man before asking, 'Where is she Wesley, where did she go?" Yearning was clearly audible in his quiet voice.

"I don't have an answer to give you Angel," Wesley admitted seriously. "She may have been transported to the hell Darla came from, or perhaps she completed her familial obligation and was sent back to her people."

"She's not coming back?" It was a question and a statement.

Wesley's hand came up to absently rub his jaw. "We could find out. I may have to consult . . . someone."

"Who?"

Wesley regarded Angel's face carefully as he spoke his next words. "Giles."

Angel shook his head negatively. "I can't talk to Giles." The images that Janna had unwittingly shown him invaded his mind and filled him with dread. Not only did he not want to tell Giles that Jenny had been visiting him or about the * relationship* they'd developed, but the knowledge that Giles and Jenny would have had a future together, would have loved each other sent a bolt of jealousy slamming through him. His own imagination supplied pictures of Janna and Giles that caused his jaw to tighten in anger.

"I'll call him. You won't have to see him or explain *anything* ," Wesley promised.

Wesley was too perceptive; he just seemed to sense the awkwardness Angel would have discussing Jenny with Giles. Or maybe he was trying to spare the Englishman the pain of knowing about Jenny's return and the feeling she and Angel denied for each other.

That smell, it was like incense, wood smoke, herbs, a hint of cherry and something he couldn't quite put his finger on . . . something exotic. It stirred something in him, something ancient that he tried everyday to suppress.

It conjured memories of racing through shadowed woods in cadence to a frightened human's heartbeat, of death and ale and dancing under the moonlight until the stolen blood in his veins pounded a rhythm that threatened to burst an artery in his brain. These were memories of Romania . . . and he knew he'd found Janna.

Angel turned and saw the room filled with the faces of a bloodline he'd tried to exterminate over a hundred years ago. He saw each face, saw each one's death at his own hand and felt their revulsion at having to face such a monster again.

They were so vivid: there was the uncle who the last time Angel saw him was supplying his own blood as the ink for a message to Buffy, the Elderwoman who performed the curse to restore his soul whose eyes he'd gouged out while she still lived and then there was the gypsy girl, the one Darla had given him as a gift, the one whose death had twined them all together for eternity. He'd never known her name while she lived.

He'd been insane to come here, these people weren't going to help him, why should they? Then he saw her, their eyes met and he knew it had been right to come. Janna was here and he was determined to do anything, pay any price to bring her back.

"I never thought I would see the day when my people would be subjected to such an insult," Enyos hissed between his teeth. "How do you dare to come *here* ? Have you not visited every foul and heinous crime upon my people, is that not enough for you?"

Angel did not break eye contact with Janna. He was afraid to look at her uncle for fear that all he would see were the bodies of gypsy children strewn broken and drained under an autumn moon.

"I have done all of these things," Angel agreed.

"And are you so proud that you must come to view that which you have created?" Enyos' voice cracked as he fought to get the words out.

Angel swallowed. None of Wesley's instructions could have prepared him for this. "I've come to talk to Janna." There, he'd said it. And he realized how insane it sounded.

Tatiana moved forward to stand next to Enyos. "Janna does not talk to you. She is here where she belongs, with her family."

Angel took a step towards Janna, thinking to go around the two in front of him. The gypsy girl reached out to put a hand against his chest and an intense cold shot through him, stopping him and nearly sending him to his knees as her hand gripped his spinal column. He felt every bone turn as brittle as a winter twig.

"I did not think that you were foolish as well as a murderer," she said.

Angel didn't like to think that she could shatter his spine in an instant, but couldn't help but wonder why she didn't. "I want Janna to come back with me."

Enyos gasped in outrage and Tatiana stared at the vampire as if he'd just grown another head. Was that hope in Janna's eyes? Angel repeated his last words to her directly, "I want you to come back with me."

"That will never happen," Enyos bristled.

Angel turned his head to the man. "Then you'll have to kill me, because I'm not leaving here without her." It was a challenge that was undeniable.

Tatiana's hand left Angel's body. "By God I would if the powers that be did not forbid it," she spat.

Angel shuddered as the chill dissipated and his body resumed its normal state. "I need her. Darla has possessed an innocent girl and is loose in Los Angeles, doing God know what."

"You can find her yourself.

"No I can't. I need someone who is connected to her, someone who can find her before anyone is killed. I need Janna. The powers that be sent me back for a reason, to fight. I need Janna to be able to do that. If I have to go to them, I will."

"You would go over our heads?"

"If I have to.

~*~

{Janna}

I never thought that I would see this, Angel here among the elders. I don't know how he was able to come here, but some small part of me is grateful. I quickly memorize every line of his face, sure that he will be dispatched, banished, struck by lightening, something.

I want to shout to him, talk with him, but my Ana is right, I am unable to speak or move. Is this another punishment, to be this close to him and unable to touch him, communicate with him? It would almost be worth it, if I could just look at him forever, just smell him, just know that he is *this* close.

His ultimatum hangs in the shocked silence of the room. No one here ever thought that Angelus would stand before them, demanding that they surrender one of their own to fight the forces of darkness. It's not really the Angelus that did all of those awful deeds, but some won't care. Many have a hard time separating the two personalities, sure that some part of each lingers in the other.

I don't know the truth of that belief; it disturbs me too much to consider it. It's easier to believe that there is a sharp division between the two, a line drawn in black and white that makes explanation simple and allows me be this close without wanting to kill him myself for the wrongs he's done to me, to my people. If I divide the two in my heart, I can accept the logic of wanting to return with him and help him in his battles.

I know that the Elders do not want to go against the wishes of the powers that be. That would be a war they are not prepared to face and will never win. The idea that he would even invoke that threat never occurred to them and they are seething, but careful to control the situation. They must always be in control, even when being blackmailed, but they will not let him go unscathed.

Tatiana addressed Angel coldly, "You prove your corrupt nature by blackmailing us and ripping one of our most precious daughters from the heart of her people. We will bend to your threats, but with our own conditions: Janna is not your servant, she comes and goes as she pleases, if there should come a time when she chooses to leave, you will let her go without argument and there will be no talk of love . . ." Tatiana swings her gaze to me, including me in her warning. "If either of you mentions it, we will bring Janna back here. No coming back. Janna's purpose is to ensure that you retain your cursed soul, that is all."

"I swear to it," Angel agrees, meeting my gaze.

Tatiana laughs bitterly, "You'll forgive me if your word carries little weight with me, but I guess that it must be enough." Looking at me, she asks," Can you agree to this Janna?"

She knows too much. She could always look into my soul and see everything spread before her with no barriers. The last condition was for my benefit. She wants me to be focused on why I'm there. She wants me to remember who Angel was and what he did. And I will if it means that I can go with him.

"I can."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He talks into the cell phone that constantly baffles and annoys him. "We're back." There's a few seconds of silence on his part as he listens to a reply. "Strange, but I'll tell you about it later. Is Gunn ready? Hmn. Then we'll see what we get." He turns off the phone.

It's awkward; I don't know what to say to him. I mean, what does a ghost say to a vampire that just hunted her down in the after life? "How did you know that the powers that be wouldn't allow them to just kill you on sight?"

"I didn't."

Where does that perpetual confidence come from? Like he didn't just risk his life by walking into an unknown realm and demanding that everyone bow to his wishes. "That was kind of foolish of you wasn't it?"

"Well, I'm a fool."

Yeah, and sometimes he's too damn taciturn for his own good. I reach into his mind and find that he's blocking me, but I can still sense the essence of doubt.

"Do you think this was a bad idea?" I ask, knowing that sometime in the future one or both of us will look back at this decision and question our sanity.

"Yes . . ." he says, coming behind me and lifting the hair from the back of my neck. I allow my form to remain solid and feel gooseflesh rise at my nape as his fingers brush the sensitive skin there. He holds my hair out of the way and brushes my neck with his lips. "but I would have done anything to have you here with me."

Oh, and I'm glad he did as his arms encircle me in a grip that would injure me if I were human, but I'm not. I'm a traitor to my people, but also their only champion against him. I'm a ghost who is in love with her killer, but I can never speak of it or I'll never see him again. How fucked up is that?

I bring his hand to my face brushing a kiss lightly across his palm because there is so much farther this dysfunction can go, we haven't even begun to scratch the surface yet. If we're doomed, we might as well enjoy the fires of our own hell.

"Your people certainly have suffering down to an art," he groans at my intimate touch.

I'm beginning to see the truth to that. I turn to face him and wrap his arm around my waist. He needs no further encouragement, pulling me to him and kissing me. One hand comes up, winding in my hair and holding my head steady. As if I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Angel pivots me, shuffling us both in the direction of his bed. He unbuttons his shirt and I try to help, but I think I only get in the way. I don't mind though, because watching the muscles ripple in his chest as he struggles out of it are definitely worth a five second delay.

Just as his lips seek to reconnect with mine, I think to ask, "Aren't we supposed to be finding Darla?"

"Uh huh, " he mutters, nibbling at my chin and trying to catch my lips as I shake my head in protest. "Gunn and Wesley are getting everything ready. We're supposed to be honing in on Darla's location . . . well, you are," he admits. "Are you feeling anything, any clue to where she is?"

"You've got to be kidding. I'm a little distracted at the moment."

"Hmn, I see your point. We'll have to get this distraction out of the way first before we can concentrate on the business at hand."

And suddenly he's naked and so am I, because-of course I would be. There is no talk of love, no pretense of happiness, just need and the swollen head of his cock pushing into me in an effort to claim what he traveled so far to retrieve. I bring my knees up, opening to accept him inside of me. We both know better than to dare utter the tender feelings that lie repressed in our hearts, it would spell the end of this forever. Instead he shows me and I mirror his lead, but we can't fully extinguish the anguish of our circumstances, it hangs unspoken in the air and leaves us shrouded in a bittersweet ache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

================

This car is speeding towards a destination, much like Angel himself.

I don't know addresses, I just tell him to turn left or right when I feel it's appropriate. I stifle a sarcastic laugh when I consider the fact of that idea applied to our overall situation. I don't know where Angel is destined to end up; I don't think he does either. We both have some vague idea, some 'direction' that he strives to keep in sight and I tell him when he's veered off that path.

It's much easier to tell him where Darla is, because I can sense her, she's a tangible presence that I can feel. By tuning in to her, I can tell him when to turn right or left. . .no I mean that . . . "Turn left," I shout, pointing excitedly. My arm goes through his chest and he shudders momentarily, then works hard to crank the steering wheel. The car obeys, but not before the tires squeal in protest at the sudden change in direction. He handles a car very well.

"Um, a little warning would be nice Janna. Unlike you, I can't read minds." He says petulantly.

"Oh yeah? I bet you could, what am I thinking right now," I raise an eyebrow and fry him with a look that used to send blind dates staggering back to the rock they crawled from.

He laughs, and for a minute my heart does a flip like the mushiest schoolgirl. I try to remember that he was a vicious killer, heinous murderer, undead fiend. I look back at him. No, still that grin that almost looks out of place. Is that what he looked like when he was Liam, before he became' Superhero to the masses'?

"Don't tell me. It has something to do with poisonous snakes and a large pike." He teases.

No, more like spending a century with someone you love, but can never tell. "Close." I turn my head and try to concentrate on locating Darla. I don't want to look at him anymore.

"Janna, you okay?"

Why does his voice have to carry that tone of concern? This would be so much easier if he were more . . . well, more like Angelus. Then I would gladly make him miserable. That would be so much easier. "Just trying to tell if we're going in the right direction." But are we? I don't mean this car, I mean Angel and I. Are we going in the right direction, are we mindless pawns being led to our own doom?

I can't help but wonder: Did The Powers That Be mean for Angel to be a champion to their cause all along? Was it predestined that a drunken, whoring disappointment to his parents would become a killer that terrorized mankind for 145 years? Did they know that Angel would emerge from the ashes of both of those wretches? Or did they just get lucky?

Maybe his turning point was just the half drunk whim of a lusting Darla. Maybe it was his cursing that was guided by the ironic sense of humor of The Powers That Be? Were they drawn to Angelus? Did they guide Darla to Ana as the vehicle for their plans? I don't know. I can barely comprehend my part in this sordid little drama without trying to contemplate motivation for The Powers That Be.

The Scroll of Aberjian says that sometime in the future, Angel will become human, that he will have repaid his debt to my people, to the world, to the Powers That Be. And then he will live happily ever after? Is that even possible for Angel?

He could go to Buffy, live with her, love her. My service to him, to my people would be complete and I would return to them and not see Angel again. He'd be happy-finally?

Here. She's here, in this building. I can *feel * her. "Stop. This is the place."

"Here." He says it matter of factly, no skepticism, no questioning, just acceptance as he takes out his cell phone and punches the numbers. Scanning the side of the building for the address, he repeats it into the phone and hangs up. "They're on their way."

Just like that, the push of a few buttons and the cavalry's on their way? The cavalry, that's funny. Angel's helpers are possibly the most rag tag bunch I've ever seen. To think that the world's safety may depend upon them is laughable really, but somehow they manage to come through in the end. It must be a testament to their fierce loyalty to him. I'm beginning to understand that sentiment.

What do they get out of helping him? Are they working off some karmic debt or do the PTB even consider them? Are they inconsequential to everyone but Angel?

" Can you tell if Cordelia is okay, has Darla hurt her?"

"I don't think so. She won't want to abuse Cordelia's body, or kill her, because . . .why? What would that gain?"

A terrible suspicion clouds over his brown eyes. He's thought of something and why should I be surprised? It takes a killer to think like a killer. If anyone could predict Darla's actions, it would be him.

He turns off the engine and yanks the keys from the ignition. He's halfway out of the car before I can even get the word out. "What?"

"If I were Darla, why would I want to be stuck in a mortal body? The first thing I would do is . . . "

"Get yourself turned." The words themselves are hard to say, especially when I see their effect on him. His face falls and he instantly bristles into protector mode.

"I can't wait for them. I've got to go in now, before . . ."

See, he can't even bring himself to say it. .

With a slam of the car door, he races to the building and I follow him. There's a set of stairs just inside the doorway to the left and he attacks four flights of stairs like a madman, legs pumping in a furious effort to save another damsel in distress, but more than that- to save Cordelia who is the closest thing to a friend he's known in a long time. I pray he will, because I'd hate to think of what he'll do if he loses her.

At the landing of the fourth floor, he stops. "Where Jannna, where?" His eyes scan the corridor desperately.

I've got to help him; I can't bear to see that panic. I close my eyes and reach out with my mind. Where the hell is she. If she hurts Cordelia, I think I might kill Darla myself. Wow, I never thought I'd feel that way about a human again. I don't want Cordelia to die. Is that only because of what it would do to Angel?

"There, there, there!" I yell excitedly and begin to lead him. "Fifth door on the right."

Angel doesn't need any further instruction. He charges to the door and kicks it in with one solid stomp. A glance confirms the worst, Cordelia is locked in an embrace with a large male, already fanged and sporting his game face.

And it doesn't get any clearer than that does it? Black hat, tie 'em to the railroad tracks evil is something you can fight, an enemy you can distinguish and conquer. No ambiguity of souls possessing others, no deeds done while cursed by demons, no- I'm sorry, no- I didn't mean to, just bad man-kill bad man-life is good again. No gray area. No discussions of what if, or who really is responsible. Pure. Simple. Clear. Unlike anything we've come to resemble.

Cordelia's body looks to us and for a moment confusion and fear play across her features. She's fighting the demon inside of her. Good girl. "Get in here and help me Angel!"

Immediately, her face twists and Darla lets out a howl that should curl the paint off of the walls. Angel doesn't need a second invitation, he storms into the room and grabs the vampire by the hair, spinning him around and punching his face so hard I can hear the bones crack all the way out in the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley's here, I can sense him downstairs. I go to him and see him standing in the doorway downstairs. How can I tell him where Angel is? I've never been able to materialize to Wesley. I look around frantically, what am I going to do, what am I going to do, what am I gong to . . .

Then it hits me-mailbox. I reach into the row of boxes and disengage the lock for 405. The little door swings open. Wesley looks in momentary surprise, then he nods and calls over his shoulder, "In here. Apartment 405." I return to Angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the injured vampire recoils in pain, Angel grabs a side table and smashes it against the wall, splintering it into pieces. One leg makes an excellent and effective stake that Angel drives into the other vampire's chest.

Can it really be that simple? Another job well done?

No. Darla moves Cordelia's body to the door.

"Now do you really think I'm going to let that happen?" Angel asks as he grabs Cordelia's arm.

Darla takes a swing and Angel laughs as he easily catches her punch. "That might have been good before, but you forget, Cordelia isn't exactly American Gladiators material. She's a skinny , La actress-human. Still. No thanks to you."

"She's got potential," Darla hissed. "Which I still have control of I'll remind you. There's no way you'll get me out of her, unless you want to try cutting me out? "She looked up at him seductively from under her lashes. "You feel up to it lover?"

"I have a different idea." He says.

"Angel?" We hear Wesley's voice in the hallway and then he's standing in the doorway. "Angel," he says again as his eyes come to his boss. "Thank God."

"Nice of you to show up Wes," Angel comments and there's that grin again. "You guys ready?"

"Why the hell wouldn't we be ready," Gunn snorts as he walks into the apartment after Wesley. "You think we're just waiting around for you to call fool?"

"I would never think that," Angel answers him in mock seriousness.

The third figure to enter is a total shock and surprise to me. I would notice that it is to Angel as well if I could look at his face, but all of my attention is focused on Rupert Giles. Oh God, Rupert.

Rupert Giles-here.

Have I failed in some way that I'm not aware of? Am I to be punished for some transgression that will remain hidden to me? Was all of my time here with Angel just a prelude, a build up to the true pain that is delivered now in the form of the man I used to love?

Rupert.

I walk slowly to him, each agonizing inch stretching until it seems like miles. I know that he cannot see me-only Angel can and even he is forgotten as the last vestige of my life stands before me, unaware of my presence.

I used to be free.

I used to think about trivial things.

I used to sleep at night and dream of love. Of a future with a librarian who made me smile, whose ears turned red in embarrassment when I teased him. His soft eyes always spoke volumes about admiration and respect and desire without ever opening his mouth. I used to sleep at night and dream of love, and it was the closest I ever got to 'normal' love.

It's a time I should put out of my mind, but I'm so close to him. I reach out and tentatively touch his shoulder. Is that sweater wool? I run my hand over cream-colored strands of yarn, dragging my attention down the muscled length of his arm.

Inhale.

He smells so warm, with a hint of something sweet-Brandy? Yes, this is just as I remember him. I close my eyes and lean closer, inhaling the familiar memory again. He smells like sunlight and life, things I've all but forgotten. I wonder what memories he harbors when he thinks of me, or does he think of me at all anymore? Perhaps he's moved on-found another. It would be so easy to find out. Is it so wrong to wonder, am I just asking for heartbreak? Maybe so, but that's something I've learned to expect now.

What does he feel: Concern for Cordelia, exasperation towards Wesley for letting the situation go this far, but that's not all. Go deeper- there's a lingering resentment of Angel that's dusty from lack of attention, but still exists under the surface. I can't say that I blame him.

I don't seem to be here at all, I go deeper still- here I am. He keeps me close. A thin layer of resolve that is occasionally breeched protects his memories of me, and that protection is needed less as each day goes by. I'm glad he's not stuck as I am, he should go on.

***********************

Giggling.

Brown hair , dark eyes and chubby fingers that grab a stump of crayon-committing bold red lines to a blank sheet of white paper. Small white teeth bite a pink lower lip as wrinkles form between his eyes in concentration. He's engrossed in his design.

"Daddy, what's the best thing in the world?" he asks, without looking up from his endeavor.

Rupert is stretched out on the floor next to the child, absently blending colors together on his own paper in front of him. Mainly his attention is focused on the child. "You are." He smiles.

Giggling again and the boy looks to his father. "You're silly . . . what's the second best thing?"

Rupert looks at me. "Your mother."

"I'm second?" I protest in mock anger, putting my hands on my hips threateningly.

"Well, it's a really close second," he laughs as he tosses a crayon in my direction.

I catch it in mid air and throw it back at him. Rupert twists his body on the floor to dodge it. Like any toddler, our egocentric son chooses another color and returns to his project.

"A really, really close second," Rupert mouths, winking- and then, "I love you."

"I love you too," I whisper.

***************************

Yes, it is wrong to wonder. I draw back my hand sharply and at that moment, I catch Angel looking at me. As I stare at his features, I can't help but remember another time, a time when his face was altered-rigid brows, yellow eyes and sharpened canines. He put his finger to my lips and said, "Shh." Then he broke my neck.

==============

{Angel}

==============

She hated him; Angel could see that. He'd put that sadness in her eyes. It was the only emotion he ever put there, except occasionally desire, which wasn't enough to make up for the misery he caused her, not nearly enough.

*"You won't have to talk to him, you won't have to explain anything to him."*

Isn't that what Wesley had said? Angel reminded himself to never listen to Wesley again as he nodded at something Giles had been saying. Damn. He's better start paying attention or . . .

Luckily, Wesley was doing most of the explaining, because Angel was finding it hard to be this close to Giles, and seeing Janna looking at the former watcher and seeing the pain that he himself had put in her eyes was too much.

"So these lawyers conjured Darla?" Giles questioned.

**********

. . . The sharp snap of her cervical spine echoed in the stairway as he twisted it. "Shh" he'd whispered reassuringly just before he killed her- and her body slumped to the floor with a soft rustle , then a muffled thump as her torso and skull connected with the linoleum . . .

**********

"To what purpose?" Giles wondered aloud.

**********

. . . carrying her body up the stairs to the librarian's bedroom. She'd been so light, an empty vessel -soon to turn to dust as mortal bodies always did-eventually . . .

**********

"And her demon spirit has inhabited Cordelia's body?"

**********

. . . arranging her body so carefully, scattering rose petals whimsically on each stair step, over her reclining form, covering her sightless eyes . . .

**********

"Well, we've got our work cut out for us . . ."

**********

. . . cold drops of liquid slithering down the side of the bottle as it chilled in a bucket of shaved ice. The small details are what elevate a masterpiece from obscurity, they bring the artist closer to perfection . . .

**********

"We have to bind her, then cast a circle . . ."

**********

. . . The wild eyed insanity of the watcher as he struck the vampire who had taken so much from him.

**********

And Angel knew at last exactly what that place was, that mindless rage and panic and desolation, because she had been taken from him as well and he'd visited his own personal hell to bring her back. He had taken that option away from the former watcher and he didn't blame the man for hating him.

Giles never showed his hatred now. He had at first, but now he was clipped, civil. Giles had never exacted revenge for the killing of Jenny, except the one time he came to the warehouse and beat him. Angelus could have killed the man that night. Everyday, Angel was thankful that he hadn't, that he didn't have to live with that on his conscience as well.

He respected the man, was truly sorry for everything he'd done to him. But seeing Janna next to Giles made him realize just what Angelus had taken from her, how undeniably he'd altered everything. And with that came the realization that there was nothing he could ever do to make that up to her. Nothing.

And now, he'd tied her here, forcing her to work alongside the creature that had killed her, making her exist in that pain everyday.At first, he'd only been concerned with her revenge against him, how she tortured him, not how ~she~ felt. She never said anything, sometimes she looked-contented-less sad? But it had to be hard for her. Would it have been better to leave her with her people? That spark in her eye at the time had made him think it could work out, but were they fooling themselves?

Sometimes the simplest kindness was letting go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

================

{Janna}

I want Rupert to walk away, to grow old. It's too late for me, that part of me doesn't exist anymore- but he deserves to live and to love again.

Rupert places a leather bag on the table, opening it up to display the contents. He extracts a clear glass bottle-corked, filled with a white powder, or sand-it's hard to tell and frankly my interest is more focused on the gray at his temples. Perhaps there is a little more than I remember?

Tossing the bottle to Wesley, he instructs, "Outline a circle and move that furniture, we'll need the center of this room clear."

"Shit! You know who's gonna end up as furniture mover don't' you?" Gunn grumbles.

Rupert glares at him. "Am I mistaken in assuming you are here to help- so either choose to help and move that furniture or get out. I just ask that you make the decision quickly and act accordingly."

Gunn rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. Occasionally, I hear snatches of a muttered". . . the hell I agree to shit like this . . . motherfucker . . ." but he has soon cleared a space.

Rupert tosses a coil of rope to Angel, who catches it with one hand "Bind her and put her in the center of the circle." It's easily done, because the vampire has been clutching Cordelia's arm in a vise-like grip this entire time.

Soon the arc of the circle is clear against the dark wood of the floor. The four of them:Rupert, Angel, Wesley and Gunn, stand at cardinal points of the circle, an unlikely grouping- but his is an unlikely situation. Rupert begins chanting something, "Cum saxum saxorum In duersum montum oparum da, In aetibulum . . ."

I see Darla's spirit rising from Cordelia, fighting to remain in its host-but failing. The words are pulling her, tearing her out into the circle where a small vortex of energy is forming. She is being drawn towards that energy and tries to struggle free of its pull, stretching towards . . . Rupert. No! I race to get in front of him, to block him from her. Rupert- this is the only thing I can give you. I shove Darla back into the spiraling center of the portal and she disappears. I turn around in relief to check on Rupert who is staring at me in disbelief- he can see me. I glance around. Wesley is also staring, jaw dropped in amazement. Gunn's eyes are wide-"Who the hell is that?"

" Jenny," Rupert whispers in hopeful delight. I try to tell myself that those are not tears I see in his eyes, because I don't have any tears left to return.

I see understanding settle over his features. "You were the spirit they were trying to locate?" He looks at Wesley as if his former replacement had betrayed him. Wesley has the grace to look sheepish.

Rupert takes a step towards me and I sense Angel behind me, moving towards us swiftly-possessively? Rupert notices Angel and looks between us several times. He must notice something in Angel's face-or mine, because his breath catches and he says uncertainly, "You-two?"

I know he must be having trouble accepting this. Hell, even I do and I'm right here on the front line of this insanity that is Angel and I.

Giles stares at me in disbelief and betrayal. I 'm growing used to that, since these are the only emotions I seem to be inspiring lately. "You're not the Jenny I knew."

No, I'm not. I've been changed forever. I can hear his unspoken plea-why? Why indeed? Why would Angel and I cultivate this madness: because I had nothing else, because two enemies were forced together and began to understand each other's point of view, because two broken people joined and decided to burn together, because we're both insane.

Rupert shakes his head and backs away and this time I can't deny the moisture forming in his eyes as he backs away and disappears out the door. Wesley and Gunn help Cordelia out of her ropes and for once, she chooses to remain silent as they follow Rupert.

Well that was exciting. There's nothing like being shown what a piece of shit you are. No. Nothing like knowing what a beautiful life you could have had and realizing that you're stuck here. Nothing like breaking your heart open everyday over something that you know is wrong, but that you just can't resist. And worst of all, It's something that you can never claim-because that would end it and you're too fucked up to ever give it up. What could be worse than that?

"It was selfish of me to ask you to come back here," I hear Angel say just behind me.

Oh wait, there is something worse.

"You should go back to your people."

I can't believe it. "You're trying to get rid of me? What- are you jealous of Rupert? Do I have to remind *you* that it was over long ago?"

"No and you don't have to point out the fact that I murdered you and everyday I kill you just a little bit more," he says with self loathing.

Do I hate him-at times.

Do I hate myself? Hah, that's funny.

"You should be with your people . . ."

I cut him off because I'm tired of the bullshit. I don't want to play a game of he said-she said. I want to hear him say it. "Do you want me to go?"

Silence, then a quiet- "No, do you want to?"

"No." I know this is wrong-it has always been wrong. I don't know if we could ever have a future together and it scares me to think that we could, because look at our beautiful track record so far. All I know is that the thought of being without Angel causes me a pain that is obscene considering . . .

"Janna, please don't go, I lo-"

"Don't say it!"

"No, I won't," his voice is strained. We both know better than to say it.

I turn and reach out to him, willing my fingers to solidify as I twine them with his. The ancestors should be proud, I'm fulfilling my duty-Angel suffers and so do I.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~