Part Twenty-Six: Shelter

“So it’s true,” said Giles, rubbing his forehead. “You’re alive.”

“Not quite,” said Wesley. “Although I can see where you’d make that mistake.”

The team had taken shelter in what appeared to be an immense temple, the walls adorned with seemingly millions of diamonds, each one glistening despite the relative lack of light.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” whispered Oz, as memories came back to him. Oz thought of the time he first met the ex-Watcher, about how he was willing to sacrifice Willow to stop the Mayor’s Ascension. “So you’re the mysterious mastermind?”

“Yes,” said Wesley, who seemed to be absently looking at the glistening walls. “And since you’re too polite to ask: no, I don’t intend to throw any of us to the wolves this time. Pardon the expression.”

“No offense taken,” said Oz. “Glad to be clear. But why us? Why me?”

“We don’t have time for that now,” said Giles, cracking a kink out of his neck. “We need to worry about …”

“No,” interrupted Wesley. “We have a moment. I needed you, Oz, because I needed somebody trust worthy with the team, and who’d be able to resist Doc’s power.”

“How’d you know?”

“About the training you undertook in Tibet? The training that allows you to control your transformations? I knew that would allow you to circumvent the spell. You alone, out of everyone here, are in complete control of yourself.”

“So how do we get Willow and Justine back?” asked Oz.

“We don’t,” said Wesley. “I knew I could drive the possession away from Amy, and catching Giles was just pure luck. If we’d been a bit quicker, we might have been able to save Xander, also. But that was all my planning, right there. We won’t get another shot.”

“But I thought you said … ” started Giles.

“We’re not leaving any of them behind,” said Wesley, testily. He was all too aware of how little trust he’d engendered with these people. “What we need to do is interrupt Doc’s drain on Illyria’s ambient power.”

“And how do we do that?” said Amy.

“You, myself, Ethan and Rupert are mystics,” said Wesley. “Do you know where we are?”

No one answered.

“This entire planet is one structure,” said Wesley, “A house of many mansions, if you will. One giant temple to Illyria, carved in a small sliver of time thinner than a pinpoint. In a very real sense, we’re also standing in downtown Los Angeles right now. But this particular mansion has a special purpose. In each of these diamonds is a sliver of every god or ancient one who touched the Earth. From here, we can reach the fold in time where Angel and the others are trapped.”

“We can rescue them,” said Giles.

“Yes,” said Wesley. “But we four need to stay here to work the magic.”

Wesley turned and looked Oz in the eyes.

“You need to go in and bring them out.”

“Alone” asked Oz. “This is doing my head in. You want me to go in and bring them out by myself? And what about Dawn and Connor?”

“You won’t be alone,” said Wesley. “And as for our young friends … That’s taken care of.”

Part Twenty-Seven: Out of place

There was a piece of Justine that observed herself from a distance—the feral stance, the wild, side-to-side nervous glance. She was wound like a spring, ready to fight, but something was missing.

Faith fascinated her, she watched the power in her stride, the way her every movement sent small ripples through the air. There was something about her power that was … familiar. There was something there she wanted, but couldn’t articulate.

The two children tied to the stone were barely conscious. The girl was unfamiliar. The boy … yes. She had seen the boy somewhere, but couldn’t place him. And she hated him. That much she knew. If she were able, she’d slit the boy’s throat right now. Why did she feel that?

Not for the first time, she thought of Holtz, and clenched her hand so her nails cut her skin. She wanted to run away from all this, these people. But she was compelled to stay—she didn’t know how or why, just that it was important. That Holtz wanted it.

The strange man, Doc, was looking at his watch and watching the sky. She tried hard not to think about time—it seemed wrong here. The other two, Xander and Willow, had been gone for what seemed like hours, searching for Wesley. Outside her own head, she could see herself slitting the man’s throat like it was minutes ago, but it had to be longer than that. He looked so different. So pale. Someone said he was dead. Maybe he was a ghost. She didn’t know.

The boy, Connor, was stirring, looking up at her now.

“Justine,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“No.”

“No,” said Connor. “Didn’t think so.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah,” said Connor. “You should. I’m Angel’s son.”

“Angel … has a son?”

“Yeah. You helped kidnap me. I got trapped in another dimension. There was a spell. Everyone forgot.”

“I didn’t … “

“Heh. You’re confused right,” said a sing-song voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “Poor little lost girl, her memory is gone. All gone.”

“Who’s there?” said Justine. “Who the fuck…”

“You’re out of synch,” said Connor. “I get that. Not only has the spell screwed up your memory, you’ve also been moved through time. Things have changed, Justine.”

“Nobody loves you here,” said the voice. “Nobody loves Justine.”

“I don’t know what …” started Justine, but she was haunted by a giggle that came from nowhere. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Justine is losing her miiii-nnnd,” sang the voice. “Justine is losing her …”

“STOP IT!!! STOP … ”

Justine couldn’t see the gun being held to her head, but she could feel it.

“Don’t move,” said Connor. “The voices in your head are about to get tetchy.”

Justine froze, and looked at Connor. His manacles were undone, as were Dawn’s. The two of them were rising shakily.

“Like I said,” said Connor. “I know two things. You’re head’s not all there….” An invisible pistol smacked against he back of Justine’s head. “And you’re not a slayer right now, are you?”

Justine fell. Connor fell beside her to make sure she was all right.

“That’s gonna bruise,” said Dawn.

“Yeah,” said a voice. “So is this.”

A fist was slammed into Dawn’s jaw, and she fell on impact. Connor turned to face Faith.

“Well, kid,” said Faith. “Looks like it’s you and me.”

Bloody hell, this is good.

Bloody hell, this is good.

Thank you!

I am greatly enjoying this, Victor. I love how everything that happens makes perfect sense in light of what's happened before but is still surprising.

wrod. Now that I've rented some "Manchild" I appreciate that fic even more, btw.

This is so good Victor. It just keeps getting better.

I think I'm going to want to go back to the beginning and reread it once it's all done.

This is so good Victor. It just keeps getting better.

Thanks. Closing in on the end, but still a little more mileage to go...

This week's Open on Sunday drabble topic is "Time".

But Not For Love

She touches him.

She's older than she was before she died, either time she died. There are things she understands, things she can look at, see, acknowledge.

And here he is, world without end, except that oh, as usual, dear, the world's about to end, again. And she takes down Caleb, and Angel's still here. Damn, he says, I've missed this.

She touches his cheek for a moment. If he misses her dance of power, she misses something else: age, and death, the indignities of the grave, every imprint of mortality that can't touch him, but will someday take her.

Another one:

Regret (Darla)

She can't keep him.

It doesn't matter that she loves him. It doesn't matter that she believes he still loves her.

The sins that led them to this pass, two hundred years of murder, death, sadism, torture, Angelus' teeth deep in the flesh of so many, so very many, uncounted and unregretted, don't matter.

Until he got his soul back.

The soul matters.

And now she can walk in sunlight, and he accepts his soul, but she can't accept hers, it burns and nothing in all the years and nothing in all of time everlasting can bring them together again