”Oh, good, you’re back. Angel, I...” Lorne, who had been waiting patiently outside the office, stopped when he noticed the vampire’s troubled expression. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a small... incident at the meeting,” Angel explained with a grimace, casting a look over his shoulder before he pushed the door open and stepped inside, Lorne followed.
“What kind of incident?” the green demon asked. Angel was just about to respond when Buffy stormed into the room, covered from head to toe in some blue sticky substance. Lorne’s red eyes widened. “What in the world happened to you, cupcake?”
Buffy was fuming. Ignoring Lorne’s question, she stalked over to Angel. “Just so we’re clear, I’m never doing you any favors again.” She furiously wiped at her face, letting out a sound of disgust.
“Um...” Angel awkwardly pointed towards the floor. “You’re dripping on the carpet...” His voice trailed off when Buffy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Then she strode over to the desk and pointedly sat down in the expensive office chair, looking him straight into the eyes as she wiped her hands on the leather. “Dammit, Buffy!” he cried out in exasperation.
“Oh, just shut up, Angel!” Buffy glared at him. “I’m the one who’s all covered in demon goo. It’s gross, smelly, and for your information, it burns! So forgive me for not giving a damn about your stupid carpet!”
Lorne waved his hands in the air to get their attention. “Excuse me? Hello? Would someone please take pity on the poor, confused demon over here and fill him in on what just happened?”
“I was attacked, that’s what happened!” Buffy jumped up from the chair. “I’m telling you, Angel, I don’t care if you’ve made a treaty with those Gracca demons. As far as I’m concerned, they’re evil little monsters who should be taken out slowly and painfully.”
“Actually,” Angel glanced at Lorne, “it was really just a misunderstanding. The demons thought Buffy was threatening them, so they got a little... defensive.”
“But I wasn’t threatening anyone!” Buffy exclaimed, daring Angel to object. “Talk about jumping to conclusions. I just happened to sneeze!”
Angel nodded. “That’s the Gracca’s way of attacking their enemies. To them sneezing is a hostile act.”
Lorne’s eyebrows went up. “So, that blue stuff is...?”
“Gracca mucus,” Angel finished with a nod.
“Oh.” The green demon made a face. “Sorry, honey, but that’s disgusting.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Lorne. I don’t suppose one of you happens to have a towel or something lying around?”
“If you want, you can use the shower down in the lab,” Angel offered.
“If I want? Gee, let me think about it... No, I prefer to walk around smelling like this. But thanks for asking.” The slayer scowled at him.
Angel let out a nervous laugh. “I take it from the sarcasm that you’re still a little upset.”
Buffy opened her mouth, but Lorne beat her to it. “Maybe a Sea Breeze...” he pondered out loud.
“I think she’d rather have a shower than a drink right now, Lorne,” Angel mumbled.
“What?” Lorne gave him a puzzled look before the vampire’s words registered. “Oh, no, I meant for me. That smell is overwhelming.”
“Okay!” Angel could see how Buffy’s eyes darkened and hurried to change the subject. “Did you want something, Lorne?”
The demon slapped his forehead and gave Angel an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind with all the drama. Fred called when you were at the meeting. She said to tell you that Rowan left his room and went to talk to Spike.”
Angel stared at him in disbelief. “And you waited until now to tell me this, because...?”
“I told you; it slipped my mind.” Lorne got a somewhat defensive note in his voice. Then he cast a look at Buffy. “Okay, sweetheart, before you freak out, remember that Rowan sang to me the other day. He’s clean. I’m sure he just wants to apologize.”
Buffy sighed. “Actually, I already knew about this. Rowan showed up at my doorstep just before I left. I wanted to stay, but Spike told me it was okay. He wanted to hear what Rowan had to say.”
“Really?” Angel was quiet for a moment. “Buffy, are you sure that was a good idea? I mean, Rowan locked himself up in his room for a reason – so he wouldn’t be able to go back to the house.”
Looking slightly alarmed, Buffy walked up to Angel and held out her hand expectantly. “Give me your phone, please.” The vampire frowned, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone, which she practically ripped out of his hand, quickly dialing a number. As the signals went through, she started to become more and more agitated.
Finally there was a clicking sound at the other end, and she let out a relieved sigh when she heard Spike’s voice. “Spike, are you okay? What took you so long?” She listened for a moment. “Oh. Sorry, I thought I left the phone by the bed. Is Rowan still around?”
Waiting impatiently for Buffy to finish talking to Spike, Angel walked over to the desk and absently started looking through a pile of papers, not wanting it to seem like he was listening in on her conversation. However, the moment she hung up and held out the phone towards him, he dropped the papers and gave her a questioning look. “Well?” he demanded.
“Spike said Rowan left about ten minutes ago,” Buffy explained, seeing how the vampire’s expression darkened. She bit her lip. “Apparently he had another seizure, but he was okay when he left.”
“He left?” Angel echoed, his face a mixture of concern and irritation. “Where did he go?”
Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know. Look, I’m still in a desperate need of a shower, and I really want to get back to Spike. If you’re so worried about Rowan, just give him a call. I’m sure he’s still at the hotel. I mean, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back to the house by himself. Right?”
Angel let out a sigh. “Seeing how confronting Morou before we’ve figured out a way to keep him out of Rowan’s head would be suicide, I hope for his sake that you’re right.”
~ ~ ~
Rowan held his breath as he hurried down the stairs towards the basement, coming to a halt outside the stone door. Thankfully, the pain had yet to return, but he still felt ill at ease about being back. When the door slid open without warning, he almost stumbled into the room.
Suddenly fearing that he would end up trapped like Spike, Rowan instinctively stopped in the doorway, thinking quickly. After a brief moment’s hesitation, he put down the large bag he was carrying, and placed it across the threshold against the door frame to keep the door from closing behind him. Then he finally stepped inside.
Although he had expected to find the room empty as usual, he was still relieved that his assumption had been correct. Then again, seeing how the door had opened, he didn’t doubt that Morou was somewhere close by. Rowan could feel the demon’s presence, and suddenly found himself wondering if maybe he had made a huge mistake by not telling anyone what he was planning.
Knowing that he had to act quickly, Rowan reached into the bag – which contained two different objects – and pulled out the half full can of gasoline he used to keep in the garage. Carefully removing the lid so he wouldn’t get any of the flammable liquid on his hands, he then reached for the other object – a box of matches.
So far, everything was going according to his plan. Of course, he knew deep down that his decision to come here by himself may have been both rash and reckless, but he wouldn’t allow himself to back out now. He just wanted it all to be over. Preferably without getting himself killed in the process.
While Morou clearly possessed the ability to get inside Rowan’s head and cause a great amount of pain whenever he wanted some attention, he had shown no signs of being able to read thoughts. With any luck, the demon wouldn’t know what hit him until it was already too late.
Rowan cast a look over his shoulder, knowing Morou had a tendency to appear behind him when he least expected it. But the beast was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment, Rowan didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. A few minutes passed in silence.
Suddenly there was a creaking sound, and Rowan spun around with his heart beating wildly in his chest. His eyes widened as he saw the heavy door closing by itself, as if being pushed – or pulled – by an invisible hand. Holding his breath, he watched in relief how the bag kept the door from shutting completely. In that moment, he knew he was no longer alone in the room.
“Showtime...” he mumbled to himself, his fingers closing tightly around the gas can.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm still struggling with the dreaded writers block but I have half of the next chapter finished so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Betad by Mabel Marsters. Thanks to PhotographyNut, closetgeek2000, guest, IamGhost, Sandy, cordykitten and shelly for reviewing the last chapter.