Chapter Forty-Four

The House's Fall






Zack Wright had always considered himself an able father, if nothing else. Someone who was there for his daughter when she needed him at all possible turns. Like many before, work drove him away from the dinner table on numerous occasions, and while he lamented not being with her for every waking minute of her day, he never considered himself negligent or absentee. He knew Rosalie well—Rosalie, with her mother's eyes and her forward insight. He knew her favorite movie was still The Little Mermaid and that she liked pickles with her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He knew that she couldn't sleep unless she had her faithful bedmate—Dr. Haller, the panda bear—snuggled into her side. He knew that she was more adult than most adults. And he knew that he would die protecting her.

He loved his daughter more than life itself. And for the first time in seven years, it occurred to him how thoroughly unfair he had been to her. More than a passing whim. More than a simple acknowledgement that managed to surface its way into his conscious before he banished it once more. Before it could drive him into serious retrospection. Without complaint, she had followed him faithfully for more than half her life, watching as he returned home late covered in demon guts. Getting out of bed earlier than any willing child he had ever seen to make him coffee before he left for the day, just so she could spend some time with him. He had never known a nine year old that made coffee, and certainly not one that made it as well as she did.

Rosie was smart. Frighteningly smart. What little school she did attend, she was often outcast by her peers for her intelligence. They called her a freak and ignored her at recess. They avoided her during the lunch hour and never picked her for classroom games. The tests she took were never blemished with anything outside her handwriting and a sticker at the top to solidify her genius. And true, while life on the move did not allot much time in the mainstream of public education, her reputation seemingly preceded her from any such territory.

And yet, beneath it all, she was still a little girl. A little girl who loved Disney and Barbies and all things of the Muppet-nature. She was a born Star Wars fan with an unhealthy fascination with Jabba the Hutt and a crush on Han Solo. She loved pizza and pasta and fried rice and had, at some point, developed an affinity for Springfield Style Cashew Chicken.

She was a little girl. A little girl whom had been denied a normal life. And though no one aside Nikki directly placed him at any blame, he knew that had he not lost himself to vengeance, he would have seen to his daughter with more care. He would have her in a proper school where she picked up math instead of self-defense.

She had once intervened with a gang of boys on the schoolyard who were getting into a brawl. When their strategy to pretend she didn't exist failed to succeed, the boys turned their attention to her in blatant disregard for the 'don't hit, but if you do, especially don't hit girls' policy that remained the unbroken code among children. The teacher later told Zack that she had never seen anything like it. One minute Rosie was standing there as they advanced, and the next, the ground was littered with them. One child even suffered a broken nose.

He had scolded her, of course. That hadn't been appropriate, especially for school.

Deep down, though, he was proud.

Damn proud. That was his girl. And it served those little bullies right that they got their own. His Rosie had defeated the monsters that lurked in her closet and under the bed, not to mention served as a helpful hand in dark allies. She was too small to attribute her abilities on a level of physicality, but like her father, she had impeccable aim with a crossbow.

And now—now—for the first time since Amber died, they had a home.

For the first time since Amber died, Rosie had someone she could regard as a mother.

For the first time since Amber died, he had solace. He had a home, a job, and friends again. And he had Cordelia.

It was time to dim out some of those darker shadows. They had been following him for too long.

Unlike most children, Rosie similarly lacked the habit of ritualistically marking her territory with an abundance of belongings wherever she went. She kept everything she had—most especially Dr. Haller and her now infamous doll collection—well hidden from forthright view. Now, as he pushed her bedroom door open, a smile warmed his heart. She was sitting cross-legged with her back to him, combing one of her obnoxiously pink Barbie brushes through a smooth tug of bleached hair.

The picture of feigned innocence. His girl was sweet, but she held her own.

And well.

He leaned casually in the doorway, folding his arms athwart his chest. His girl. If nothing else, he was the luckiest bastard in the world.

That was a thought he hadn't felt himself worthy of in years.

"Whatcha doing there, Rosie Posy?"

The girl didn't start at the intrusion of his voice. Rosie was not a child that found herself often taken aback. If he was there, she knew.

It always made a trial of surprises.

"Brushing Natasha's hair."

She had different names for all her dolls. Ever since her first, she had always assumed a moniker far from that which so casually graced so many of the blonde beauties. To her, the term Barbie was synonymous with race. Each addition was another member of the Barbie society—likely from the country Barbitiana. When someone tried to correct her in this manner, she politely refused their input. From where she came from, no one looked alike and bore the same name.

And each had a different personality.

Wright nodded appraisingly, indulging a few steps inward. "Big party tonight?"

"Wilma-Jean and Rex are getting married."

Long ago, Zack had consigned himself to the reality that he could not memorize each of her possessions by name, face, and character. Nevertheless he tried and likewise failed admirably. "Big thing, huh?"

"Ginger might be angry. Or Kyrian." She shrugged. "He's a vampire."

The grin faded from his lips just as easily, a cold, gray sensation flooding his veins. Enough to make any man freeze in his tracks. It wasn't an unusual occurrence. Hell, it was hardly that. Rosie lived in a world where monsters weren't monsters—they were a breed apart. But it bothered him. It bothered him that she couldn't even bring herself to forfeit reality in the comfort of her sanctuary. And yet, that was the sort of child she was. She didn't endorse lies to protect herself, nor did she understand the unspoken implication that she should.

One summer, long ago, stopping to buy her an ice-cream cone on one of those rare days when he could devote his time to her. When he wasn't following some inane lead or trifling himself away with the life he had so long ago sold his soul to. "So, Rosie Posy...what do you want to be when you grow up?"

There was nothing for a long, cold minute. She nibbled absently at her cone, catching a dribble of vanilla before it splattered to the sidewalk. And then, as though it was the most accepted thing in the world, she gazed up to him with her mother's eyes and whispered, "Alive."


They never spoke of that day.

For so long, they had lived out of suitcases. They had referred to the Motel 6 as home. She had been enrolled and withdrawn from too many schools. She had no friends to comfort her. And the Powers That Be had encompassed her with the Sight. The Sight that had stolen her innocence.

But it was he whom had robbed her of her childhood.

It was never too late to fix things.

"Rosie," Wright said softly, coming around so that he could sit across from her. "Honey, something's happened."

Her large eyes met his expectantly.

He flashed a loving smile and leaned inward to caress her forehead with his lips. "Do you like it here, Peach-Tree?"

She nodded, smiling in turn. "Yeah. Cordy's nice and likes you a lot." She turned her eyes to the ground. "I like Uncle Spike, too. Is that okay?"

A frown befell his face. "Of course it's...what did you call him?"

"Uncle Spike. He said I should."

Oh, perfect.

"Why did he tell you that? Did he say?"

"He told me uncles were supposed to watch after their nieces and make sure that nothing bad ever happened to them." She shrugged ingenuously again. "And that he would never let anything bad happen to me, so I should call him my Uncle Spike."

Zack's eyes narrowed at her. "When have you had time to talk to Spike?"

"I talked to him when you were with Cordy." Rosie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Is Cordy going to be my new mother?"

His gaze widened in disbelief and he nearly fell back without having the added benefit of losing his balance. "What?"

"You want to stay here with her."

Despite the fact that she had been doing that since birth, it was still a freaky trait.

"And Nikki said that you and she got laid, and that was something mommies and daddies do. So, I thought..."

A coughing fit interrupted whatever it was that she thought.

Nikki was so toast.

Rosie paused thoughtfully. "Since Uncle Spike and Buffy got laid, does that mean that they're gonna have a baby?"

That was it. He had to put an end to this before it got even more out of hand. "Sweetpea, I—"

"Since you and Cordy got laid, does that mean she will have a baby?"

Wright blinked at her. "What has she been telling you?"

"Not much. She told me getting laid was something mommies and daddies do that makes them have babies." Rosie turned her eyes back to her dolls, her innocence too much for him. "Then she said that it was not fair for her to play with the question in a field and to go upstairs. So I did."

Play with a question in... "Honey, did she say 'field this question'?"

"Yeah. That's what she said." She glanced up again. "So what does it mean?"

"I...uhhh...it's not fair for me to field this question, either."

"Should I ask Uncle Spike?"

Oh God. Knowing him, he would give her a straight answer before it occurred to him that such was not his place.

"No! I mean—uhhh—ask me again...in...ten years. I'll tell you then."

Rosie arched a suspicious brow. "You'll be able to field it in ten years?"

Zack paused, exchanged a long, knowing look with her, and shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Make it twenty?"

There was a lengthy moment of consideration, and she cocked her head at him, eyes growing large with misgiving. "It's something only grown-ups know about, right?"

Yeah. In an ideal society. With as clever as she was, he reckoned he was lucky to have eluded the dreaded Talk for even this long. It was his fortune that Rosie preferred films to television, and that he was privileged to censor everything before subjecting it to his daughter's eyes.

He cocked his head in turn. "Is there any way I can get out of this conversation?"

"Well..." With breezing innocence, she turned her attention back to her dolls. "I know that you want to stay with Cordy...I just don't know if we are or not." There was another silence; even though she kept her eyes glued to the plastic in her hands, he could feel the burn of her gaze as thoroughly as any other. "Are we staying here with Cordy?"

There it was. Cards on the table. Sometimes, it killed him that she was the adult in this relationship. She had such freedom and no sense of restraint. She could ask the tough questions without fronting the façade of fearing the answer.

"How do you feel about that?"

Rosie glanced up to him sharply. There must have been something in his voice; her eyes were glowing with radiance that was so raw on her, it stole his breath. "Stay here with Charlie and Wes, and Cordy, too? I want to, Dad. I really, really want to."

Relief flooded through him. He had known, of course, but hearing her say that sweetened the deal all the more.

"Really?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I just wish Uncle Spike and Buffy could stay, too. But they really have to go away?"

Wright clamped his teeth down on the inside of his cheek. He really was going to have to put a stop to this 'Uncle Spike' business.

But then, looking at her shining face, he presumed there was no harm in it. What little he had seen between the vampire and his daughter proved more than enough that he loved the girl. If this was his way to emphasize that, he had no place to put something that gave them both joy to a halt.

"Yeah, sweetie. They do. Buffy has a mom and a sister in a town not too far from here, and she loves them very, very much." He smiled warmly at her heartfelt disappointment, knowing instantly that she coveted what they had, even if she would never say it. And he would do his best to give her more of the same. "And since...Uncle Spike loves Buffy, he's gonna go where she goes."

Rosie nodded slowly. "But...he'll come back to visit...right?"

"Oh, you bet. And if he slacks off and doesn't come around for a while, we'll go see him. Deal?"

That was all it took. She was smiling again. "Deal." With a cheerful hum, she turned her attention back to her dolls, holding up the two he assumed were Wilma-Jean and Rex. "Is Cordy going to be mom?" she asked again. "Since we're staying and you two have gotten laid—" Despite all, he couldn't help from choking at the words escaping the lips of his darling daughter. She tossed him a glance that gave him the horrible notion that she had done it on purpose. "—is she going to be my new mom?"

Now, there was a question. A damn scary one at that. He hated the term 'new mom'; it implied that Amber was easily replaced, and she wasn't. He felt the burn of her loss every day. Everything she had wanted for Rosie. All the plans she had made for the future. The way she lovingly caressed her stomach in anticipation of their second.

The way she hung from the wall in the den, open and bleeding.

Dead.

Amber had been naïve; he had as well.

He wasn't anymore. And Cordelia was the furthest thing from naïve that he could find. And she wasn't like Amber at all. Where Amber had been submissive, Cordelia was bold. Where Amber had been sweet and soft-tempered, Cordelia was radiant and opinionated. Where Amber's touch had set him aflame, Cordelia's left him to sizzle.

He and Amber had been high school sweethearts—on and off through the early years and steady toward the end. He had never known another woman until he met Cordelia.

It was said not to happen twice, and for the longest time, he had believed it. After he lost his wife, there had been nothing for him. It would have been easy to lose himself in women and booze, but he hadn't. Cordelia was the first after Amber, and with her, the impossible had happened.

It hit him then—unprecedented. A flying swoop out of the big blue. Somewhere from the pits of realization, a conjured image to strike him between the eyes. There on the floor of the room both he and his daughter had come to think of as hers. There, surrounded by her toys. There, with her large eyes watching him patiently. The epitome of someone just dying to scream, 'I know something you don't know.'

And she did. But he knew now, too. And it blew him away.

He was in love with Cordelia.

He was absolutely, positively, one-hundred-fucking-percent-in-love with Cordelia. With everything about her. From her attitude to her warmth to the way she could make him squirm simply by reading a magazine. He was in love with her. In love with her in a way that he had never been with Amber. Neither weaker nor stronger: different and beautiful. He loved her completely.

Fucking Christ, how had this happened?

Never had he suspected himself possible for caring for another woman in his lifetime. And furthermore, he had always known that even if some invisible line were crossed, he would never, ever call it love.

Of course, just weeks before, he had told Spike that they would never be friends. And now his daughter was calling him uncle.

He, Zack Wright, was in love with Cordelia. And he was not the sort of man to take that lightly.

Slowly, he brought himself to awares and turned his attention back to his expectant child. With a thin, nearly timid smile, he took Wilma-Jean, Rex, and Natasha from her grasp and set them before him.

"I'm gonna try to explain this, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He held up Rex. "Pretend this is me."

Rosie beamed and waved at the doll. "Hi, Daddy!"

A grin tickled his lips. He reached for Natasha. "Pretend this is your mother...sans the hair and the figure and the every-man's-fantasy."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Not that your mom wasn't perfect," he corrected. "But Barbie—"

"That's Natasha."

"Sorry. Natasha...no real woman looks like Natasha, okay? These are impossible self-esteem-blowing standards that Mattel oughta be sued for. Unless women have had work or throw-up every day, they don't look like this. Believe me, I know." When her bewilderment didn't diminish, he sighed, cursed himself for opening his mouth and inserting his foot, and continued. "Anyway, pretend Natasha is your mom."

She nodded solemnly.

He reached for Wilma-Jean. "This is Cordy, okay?"

"Cordy has brown hair."

"So did your mom."

"And it's short."

He nodded patiently. "Yeah, it is."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, pondering studiously. "Cordy looks more like the doll than Mom did. Does that mean she's had work or throws-up?"

Wright pondered scouring the room for a hole to crawl into. In the Hyperion, such a thing might be easy to find. "Can I pay you never to mention this conversation to anyone?"

"So I shouldn't ask Cordy—"

"I swear, I will hang you upside down from your toes for a week if you do."

She giggled playfully, encouraging a smile of his own. "You wouldn't."

"You're right. You caught me. Just don't ask Cordy."

A shrug. "Okay."

Wright held out for a moment, considering. "Also, don't tell her that I used a doll you named 'Wilma-Jean' to represent her in this little charade."

Another shrug, though she was smiling this time. "Okay."

"Okay." He let out a deep breath before returning his attention to his demonstration. "Okay, so this is me. And this is your mom. Your mom and I had you, and we both love you very much."

"Mom, too?"

"Wherever she is, pumpkin, she loves you." Zack felt his eyes misting and a lump rising in his throat. The years hadn't been kind to him, and he had never felt the urge to sit down and discuss his late wife with Rosie. There were things she wanted to know; things she deserved to know. Things he couldn't mention without losing himself. And yes, while it still hurt, the wound was finally nearing completion in the healing process, even if he suspected the skin over it would forever remain red and tender. "But then your mom went away," he continued, placing Natasha to the side. "And it hurt Dad for a long time. Dad took you and Nikki—" He nastily fumbled until he found a Stacy and Skipper doll to maintain the enactment's livelihood. "—and he was never the same. He did things he's not proud of, and eventually became someone that wasn't even...he became someone else. Someone even your mom wouldn't approve of. The day that Mom went away, Dad went away, too. He just couldn't do it the way she had."

It wasn't until he felt Rosie's small hand covering his own that he realized he was trembling, and that the mist in his eyes had transformed into tears.

But for the life of him, he didn't know whom he was crying for.

It took a minute to locate his voice, and when he did, it was hoarse and full with emotion he hadn't thought himself possible of feeling anymore. "Since Dad couldn't go away with your mom," he continued, "he tried to run away from everything else. He went and killed demons, taught you and Nikki to do the same. And while he still loved you more than anything in the whole wide world, he was very lost. He kept trying to run away, but every time he found some place new, what he was running from would catch him. Then, one day, he met a vampire named Spike."

Rosie obediently handed him Kyrian.

"And though Dad and Spike didn't get along at first..." He did a poor imitation of the two dolls trying to kill each other. "...eventually, they decided that they should try to put their differences aside. And then, something strange happened. Spike introduced Dad to Cordelia. And then something stranger happened. That part of Dad that had been lost for so long? ...well, she found it. She found it and gave it back to him. She and Spike and all their friends...they reminded Dad what he had been missing out on. And while Dad still misses Mom very much...Cordelia...she...she makes it...she makes him Dad again. She makes Dad feel...well...she makes him feel. She and her stupid little magazines and her stupid cappuccino with two percent, whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and her stupid vamp-sponsorship, and her stupid—"

"Stop."

Wright frowned. "Why?"

"Because Cordy's right behind me."

He froze before timidly raising his eyes, knowing she spoke the truth and damning himself for not noticing her in the first place.

His gaze hit home and he couldn't help suppress the moan that rose to his lips.

"Oh, fuck."

The Seer beamed at him. "That's exactly what you're not getting, buster." Her countenance darkened. "And don't use that language in front of her!"

"It's okay," Rosie recited. "I've heard it before."

Her eyes narrowed. "How many times a day do you say that, hon?"

"Four or five."

"Right!" In an instant, Zack had bolted to his feet, plastering a forced smile to his face and moving heatedly for the door. "I'm going downstairs now. You two have fun."

Grinning deviously, Cordelia winked at his daughter before entwining her arm with his. "I'll walk you. Tara's done with the curse. We're all just sort've waiting now."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You better believe it."

He had no idea the depth of aforementioned trouble, but she didn't leave him guessing for long. They barely made it halfway down the corridor before she abruptly stopped and shoved him against the wall, covering his mouth with hers with such ardent frenzy that it made him weak in the knees. They dueled for long seconds until the breathing thing got in the way, forcing them apart for a few still beats. Then their eyes met and before they knew it, they were going in for seconds.

"Mmm," Wright murmured against her. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"Rosie didn't tell you how long I was in the doorway." Cordelia pulled back with a warm smile, brushing a kiss over his cheek. "You're really the sweetest man I've ever met."

"Hey—"

"Well..." She paused thoughtfully. "Maybe except for Spike."

"HEY!"

She merely grinned, thoroughly unrepentant. "So, Rosie's okay with you're staying?"

Wright nodded. "She'd rather Spike and Buffy stay, too, but we know the chances of that are..."

"Nonexistent?"

"Yeah."

She clasped his hand, fingers entwining as she led him down the hall. "Well, who knows?" she said softly. "Buffy loves Spike, and Spike loves it here. Maybe—"

"She has a life elsewhere."

"Yeah, like an hour away."

"It's the Hellmouth, Cordy. She can't just leave."

The Seer's eyes widened. "Oh, so she's supposed to spend every waking minute for the rest of forever watching over it? Hell-o! It's called a life, pal. Besides, there's a Hellmouth in Cleveland, too. And guess what's on their Christmas list, right next to pony or something else you want but never get. Begins with S, ends with...well you get the point." A sigh rolled off her shoulders. "Okay, okay. Big fault. I'm not wild about being without them, either, but it wouldn't work out. Angel's coming back...most likely...and I really don't think that Spike could stand to—"

"Angel has to work here? He can't...I dunno...take the nightshift at Wal-Mart?"

Cordelia scowled. "He's a great guy once you get to know him."

"Yeah. He only tortured the living crap out of my best friend's girlfriend. What a fucking saint."

They froze simultaneously when they realized what he had said.

"Did you just—"

Wright's eyes widened comically. "No. I did not just anything. In fact—"

"You just called Spike your best friend!"

"I did not!"

"Ohhhh..." Cordelia smirked scandalously. "I am so telling!" And before he could offer a word of objection, she had torn from his side and bounded down the hallway, screaming that she had a secret at the top of her lungs.

He watched her disappear in horror. Yelling verbosely down the stairwell. Giddy and obnoxious and absurdly childish. And strangely, he hadn't seen anything in a long time that brought him greater joy, even if she managed to effectively shatter his reputation.

Oh yeah. This was love.

Now he just had to find a way to tell her.

*~*~*


"A thousand plus channels, and I still can't find anything worth watching."

Lindsey arched a brow and entered the room, nearing the sofa with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "You don't have cable," he observed. "You only have four channels to begin with."

"That's seven, thank you very much." Lockley shrugged and reached out to take the coffee, offering a thankful grin in turn. "Is this black?"

"I swear, I actually put the sugar and cream in the cupboard while I made yours. Just in case they decided to fling off the counter."

"Thanks." With a long, leisure sip of approval, she leaned back and indicated the television once more. "I only complain about what I'm watching because I don't care."

"I know."

"Before this...before everything happened, sitting down to fry my brain really wasn't on the top ten of my to-do list."

"I can imagine that. My recent unemployment has me memorizing the weekly line-up, as well."

She scoffed, as though offended at the notion. With a subconscious tug at her blonde ponytail, she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her sweatshirt and took another sip of her coffee. "I'm memorizing nothing."

"Oh really? Then what comes on at eight? You've been watching the clock like a hawk the past half hour."

There was a second and a guilty pause. Kate glanced down and murmured under her breath, "Survivor."

He froze, staring at her for a long unblinking moment before he cracked a smile and ducked his head at her shyness. As though admitting that much was akin to signing one's name to a death warrant. "Ahhh," he said, nodding. "So, the detective has a guilty secret."

Lockley's eyes widened. "It's not my fault. I'm stuck here watching whatever's on. And that show just happens to be..."

"Sinfully addictive?"

"More apropos than my other choices."

Another grin curled his lips, bidding voice before a sharp knock drew the room to an infinite standstill. Kate drew to a firm standstill and met his gaze with shades of worry she had not allowed herself to portray since leaving the hospital. Through the past two days, both had been more than aware that Wolfram and Hart was liable to trace and eradicate Lindsey from the mortal coil, given everything that he was and knew. Especially with what he had related with the plans to reensoul Angel. Something neither could fully grasp.

Immediately, she reached up and flicked the television off before tossing the remote to the other end of the sofa, placing her drink on the coffee table and moving to stand. She didn't get very far; Lindsey placed his hand on her shoulder to hold her where she was, a finger at his lips.

"Stay put."

Her eyes widened even further in protest. "I—"

"If they're here, it's for me and not you."

"And that's supposed to make me not help, how?"

All sense of forewarning vanished the next instant. There was a rasping at the door, as though someone was drawing her nails across the surface. Then a small voice touched the air, and McDonald's blood ran cold.

"Lindsey..."

Lockley glanced up. "It's a woman."

No, it was more than that.

"It's Darla."

"Darla? How did she find you here? How—"

A sigh ran through his body. "Wolfram and Hart, Lilah, following my scent, and of the above." He turned to her, studying her face for a long minute before nodding to the bedroom. "You remember the other night when I told you I was putting some stuff in your nightstand?"

She nodded.

"I need you to go in there and get my insurance policy. You'll know what I'm talking about once you see it." Lindsey looked up again. "I need to know what she wants."

"Other than—oh say—a dead us?"

He shook his head. "It's something else...this is...just go get it."

"Whatever it is, it won't hold a vampire, Lindsey. Especially one as old and strong as—"

He tossed her a wry glance with a thin smile. "Trust me, Kate," he said. "If needed, they will do the trick."

They exchanged a long look of understanding. There wasn't much they could say without giving themselves away; despite the door between them, vampires had exceptional hearing. If Darla even began to suspect something other than the very best of intentions, they wouldn't get anything from her. Thus with a nod, Lockley cast her quilt aside and fought to her feet.

Lindsey made sure she was well out of sight before approaching the doorway.

What he found on the other side would have at one time rendered his heart worn and seeking vengeance. Not since her resurrection had Darla appeared so lost and confused. She was wearing a light pink shawl, her hair was tangled and her eyes shaken. For everything, she looked to be genuinely distraught, but he knew better than to fall for the same old. The vampire was, if nothing else, an exceptional actress.

She flashed him a weak smile after a few agonizingly long seconds. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"It's not my apartment." And that raised an interesting question. "How did you find me, Darla?"

There was a pause. She was trembling hard; so hard that he had to force himself not to cross the threshold and comfort her. Despite everything that had occurred, there was some tug that she held over him. Some small calling that demanded attention. While his feelings for her had suffered a drastic undertaking, she was still so influential. Just in her presence, her thoughts, her singular being.

Dangerous.

"Lilah," she managed after a long minute. "A-after it...a-after it happened, L-Lilah told me where to go."

He frowned. "'It?'"

Darla's head turned up and her eyes found clarity, swimming with indecision. "It's Angel, Lindsey. H-he...we were in Lilah office...there was fighting and...a-and he..." Her hand crawled down the expanse of her body to cover her stomach. "My boy left me. He left me again. He started yelling and sobbing, and he was hurting, and then he ran into the hall. I-I tried to go after him, but he was yammering like he had in Romania, looking at me with such...horror." She shuddered visibly, reaching to clutch at her throat. "He tried to kill me, Lindsey. My Angel. He tried to kill me all over again. He looked at me and then...realized who I was and... Funny, the first time this happened, he begged me to take him home."

Ah. So that explained it.

The curse had worked. Of course. What else would have brought her to him?

McDonald nodded. "And Dru? Where's she?"

Darla shook her head, looking down again. "I didn't see. Angel threw me into the hall and tried to kill me, but he couldn't. Then...then Lilah said something and he was gone. I told her I needed you, so I came." She smiled weakly. "Here I am. And I do need you, Lindsey. You're the only one...you're the only one I have left."

He pursed his lips, considering, and finally crossed the threshold to take her into his arms. When she clutched at him, he felt his heart warming with something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in weeks. And yet, he knew it was over. Somewhere deep rang the realization of self-discovery. Brushing a kiss to her temple, he whirled her so that her back was to the doorway.

"Angel tried to kill you?"

She nodded pitifully. "He had his hand at my throat. After the pain was over, he shoved me against the wall and had his hand at my throat. I don't know...I guess Lilah reminded him...about the cheerleader." She cracked a weak, unfeeling smile. "It's such a shame, too. We were having so much fun. Why do they always take him away from me when we're having such fun?" There was no sense waiting for a response. She nuzzled his throat, offering a patch of alabaster a long, mournful lick. Then there was a pause and she tightened her grip at his shoulders. "Lindsey...why is the mortal trying to sneak up on me?"

McDonald froze, eyes darting to Lockley. "It's her apartment."

"Let me kill her. We'll make it our apartment."

A lump rose in his throat. "I'm sorry, Darla..." His hands skimmed the length of her arms before grasping her wrists, using that leverage to pull her prostate against him. That was all the incentive Kate required; she hurried forward and clamped the aforementioned insurance policy to hold her still. "Today just hasn't been your day."

Darla roared and shimmied free, tugging at the cuffs that now held her arms bound behind her back. She flashed around, gracing Lockley with a murderous look that would have rightly scared anyone else into stunning submission. "You idiot," she snapped. "Handcuffs? Please. I—"

"They're not handcuffs," Lindsey returned, coaxing her to turn her attention back to him. "I didn't leave Wolfram and Hart without taking some of the benefits along with me. I'm willing to bet you can appreciate that."

Her eyes blazed with fury, every mark of her screaming her condemnation of him as a traitor. In the next instant, her bumpies had emerged and she looked to ready to gnaw through his throat until his head fell from his body, only to fall with the impact of Lockley's backhanded blow. She met the floor with such bluntness that even took the lawyer by surprise.

She didn't move to get up. She was out cold.

McDonald glanced up, eyes wide.

The blonde shrugged, unbothered. "Police officer, remember?"

"Yeah, and she's a vampire. Not to mention, you're sick."

Another shrug. "It's all in the application of strength. And I'm not that sick."

He gazed at her for another long, incredulous beat. Then slowly, he smiled.

"You're a hell of a woman, Lockley."

"This is what I'm saying." Her blue eyes dropped to the ground, staring callously at the vampire crowding the hallway. "Shouldn't we stake her while she's out?"

There was a long pause.

"No."

She blinked, not bothering to disguise her surprise. "No?"

"No." Without meeting her inquiring gaze, Lindsey kneeled forward and gathered Darla in his arms. His heart was hammering, and every string that was still tied to Wolfram and Hart screamed in protest. But there was a sense of duty, and he knew that some ties to vengeance could not be broken. "Stay here, Kate. I won't be long."

There was no want of objection, but she frowned her confusion anyway. "Where are you going?"

A shiver ran through his body. "Special delivery."

*~*~*


"You think it was a mistake inviting her in here?"

Spike tossed Gunn an incredulous glance. "'S not like she's goin' anywhere."

"Lindsey didn't offer us any proof that those were Gregori's cuffs, though. He just plopped her by and decided that we should just take it on a word of faith."

The vampire's gaze narrowed and he reached for the material in question before summoning all of his strength to give it the tug of conviction. When absolutely nothing more than his grunt of exertion resulted from the display, the other man was effectively silenced.

Spike snickered and gave a weary glance over his shoulder where Wright was sitting on the back of the sofa, eyes intent on the unconscious blonde. A stake was ready in his grip and he occasionally thought to toss it between his hands to better the feel. "So, Zangy," the peroxide Cockney drawled. "This 's it. The big one. What you've been waitin' to do for seven long bloody years."

The demon hunter nodded. "So it would seem."

Gunn grinned. "Never figured she'd be handed to you like this, did you?"

The other man's brows arched appraisingly. True, the last thing he had ever expected was to be allowed such a break. In the fifteen minutes that she had been here, he was still trying to grasp the concept that once over, all ties to his former life would be effectively severed, and at the start of the day, he would have snickered at the man who suggested things ever happened this easily.

Some men would be angry that she had been gift-wrapped and handed to him.

He wasn't. As long as she died, and as long as he was the ultimate cause, all was fine by him.

He just couldn't grasp that it was today. Today of all days. What made today unique?

"So we're countin' on getting a visit from Angel soon?"

Spike shrugged easily. "Depends on whether or not the wanker has a death wish. 'F he comes near me or Buffy while we're here, 's gonna take hell's legions to keep me from tearin' him apart."

Wright frowned. "I thought you wanted him to suffer. 'Poetic justice' and all that."

A brow arched as the peroxide vampire regarded him. "Yeh, I did. 'S been, what? Two hours? I'd wager the git's suffered enough."

There was a chortle of interest. "Cordy would so kick your ass."

"Yeh, well, Cordy would have to catch me firs'."

Zack laughed genuinely at that. Of course, Spike would run before he hurt someone he cared about. That was simply an understanding he had come to grasp over the past few days. One that brought him peace whereas before it would have only served to up his suspicion.

"You think you oughta do it now?" Gunn asked nervously, bringing their attention back to the unconscious blonde. "Just get it over with?"

"No. I want her to look me in the eye. I want her to know it was me that did it."

Spike leered with patronizing assessment. "Tha's my boy."

Wright rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"Oi! 'S that the way to talk to your best friend?"

"I swear, I'm gonna stake you, then Darla."

The vampire shrugged, clearly unthreatened. "Y'see, that'd brass off my lady. An' yours too, I might add."

"Yeah. Our ladies have notoriously bad taste, don't they?"

Gunn shook his head. "I can't believe you're doing this," he told the hunter. "I mean, you're minutes away from sealin' your life's conquest, and you're using the time to bicker about your women? Isn't this usually used for self-reflection and thinkin' about how after this, nothin' will ever be the same?"

Spike and Zack glanced to each other wryly, and shrugged with casual negligence.

"Been there," the Cockney said.

"Done that," the hunter agreed.

"Come on," Gunn complained. "This is it, dawg. The big it. You're entire life's gonna change."

"My life has already changed." His gaze settled darkly on the unconscious vampire. "This is just unfinished business."

"So, you're not at all nervous?"

Wright paused meaningfully, pursing his lips. "I wouldn't say that."

"Yeh," Spike concurred with a nod. "'E's right, mate. Think about it. The whole of your former life's over after this one. You gotta be feelin' it."

Gunn nodded enthusiastically. "He's only been waiting for this for seven years."

"Dreamin' about it—"

"Planning it—"

"Practicin' technique on my relatives—"

"Imagining how good it'll feel to finally—"

There was a sudden moan and everything drew to a standstill. Gunn and Spike's grip on Darla tightened without thought, holding her against the wall and within clear aim of Wright's stake, should he decide to do it from a distance. However, when the moment finally arrived with its entire expected climax, there was really nothing to it.

Darla's eyes fluttered open. It took a minute to gauge her surroundings, to realize that she was bound and held.

Her eyes first traveled to Spike.

"You."

He grinned, thoroughly unbothered. "Grandmum. There's someone I think you oughta meet...though I'd wager introducin' you would be pointless."

There was a pause of confusion. Then she looked up.

And gasped when she saw him.

"Zack..."

That was all it took. The next instant, Wright's heated footsteps covered the floor of the lobby, his stake upping and burying itself in her chest. When she gasped again, her pleading eyes going wide, he blew her a mock kiss and pulled away.

"I would say something here," he observed. "But it's all so clichéd."

Watching her dissolve was one of the most fulfilling endeavors of his existence. Strange. It was nothing overly climactic. Trumpets didn't sound, he didn't hear a heavenly choir, and the moment didn't draw out longer than it was supposed to. One minute she was there, and just like that, it was over.

All was over.

The weight of seven years over.

"Hmmm..." Zack said, pivoting to Gunn. "Turns out, I was fine." He tossed the dazed man his stake before whirling around and heading up the corridor, wondering if Cordelia would like to take in a movie.

After all, they deserved it.

It had been a hell of a day.










To be continued in Chapter Forty-Five: Tell Me Something Good...





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