FRUIT BASKET 2 –

EYELESS IN GAZA

Author: Jo
Feedback : Pretty please, whatever you thought of it. It will feed my muse for the next story – honestly. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. If they were, I’d look after them better. No money will ever be made from this fic.
Distribution: The Angel Texts ; Dark Star’s Blood Roses Forum; The Angel Elders Mansion Scribes of Angel
You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it’s going please.
Spoilers: Post Not Fade Away
Rating: PG

For Dark Star’s Blood Roses Forum, a title chosen from the list celebrating the Forum’s first birthday. They were for Rosebuds. This…isn’t. Again.

Summary: In ‘Fruit Basket’ we found out why Buffy wasn’t there to help Angel with the Apocalypse, and whether Angel survived. This is ‘Fruit Basket’ told again, from Angel’s point of view.



FRUIT BASKET 2 – EYELESS IN GAZA

I’d like to say I’d ridden the dragon, but that wouldn’t be true. The dragon rode me, all the way down to Hell. Metaphorically speaking. It was, of course, a trap carefully laid by the Senior Partners. They knew that I’d been prepared to wear that damned amulet in Sunnydale, to sacrifice myself for Buffy if necessary. They knew that I’d had an unreasoning jealousy of Spike, and his newfound status as a souled champion. They knew damned well that my own amour propre meant I’d have to be the one slaying the dragon. So, they sent one, and while I told myself that I was just doing what heroes do, I guess I lived down to their every expectation. I’ve been doing that all my life. At least I’d gotten under their skin enough to send the damned thing in the first place.

I fought as hard as I could, but dragons have scales like, well, scale armour, and I couldn’t make much of a dent with the sword, so I tried it the old-fashioned way – tooth and claw. That requires very, very close contact. As soon as I was clinging to the beast, it took off and dived back through the dimensions. I remember looking down at the battleground, as it circled before taking that dive. The hordes of hell were disappearing back where they came from, leaving my companions lying on the ground. Gunn and Illyria, that is. Even I wouldn’t be able to see Spike’s remains from that height. And then the beast swooped, and I knew I really was going to Hell.

The dimensions went by too quickly to see, intent as I was on doing whatever damage I could. I’d tried to go to Hell once before, if you recall, to take the battle to the Senior Partners, before Holland Manners had shown me Hell on Earth. This time, it would be real, and I wanted to make my death count for something. I wasn’t looking for a victory. Right now, restoring the status quo would do just fine. I tried not to think of Buffy, that I hadn’t even managed to say goodbye to her. I was sure that I would have a very long time indeed to be tormented with those thoughts.

At last, the dragon started to slow as it reached a dimension of old, eroded rocks and tired, twisted vegetation; a huge red sun weighed down the far horizon, but gave little heat for all its size; and there was dust everywhere in this dying world. No wonder they want Earth back.

I scrambled off the brute, wanting to be ready to face whatever might come, but I was slowed by the wounds taken in the fight, and never saw the dragon’s tail that lashed out behind me and knocked me into unconsciousness.

Now I’m awake, and caged in Hell. I’m in an empty room. Well, I presume it’s a room, because my cage is suspended half way between the ceiling and the floor, but I can’t see any walls. So far as I can tell, I’m alone.

The cage is small – a cube of metal bars, about three feet on each side. I’ve been crammed into here, with my knees tucked under my chin. My ankles are fastened to each of the bottom corners in front of me, and my wrists are shackled to the centre of a metal crosspiece just in front of my crotch. It’s the only crosspiece on the floor of this cage, and already the bars are digging into my flesh in a way that promises some very painful times ahead. Perhaps the worst of it all, though, is that I don’t know whether I’m alive – in my own way – or whether I’m dead. Would I know? I was alive in Acathla’s Hell, and I have to say it feels much the same now. I’m trying not to give way to despair, but it’s hard.

They leave me here for what seems like hours, although may not be so long. It’s difficult to be realistic about time when a metal bar is splitting you apart. The positioning of the cage, suspended in mid-air, is also a worry. Are you getting pictures of little fiends with pitchforks, jabbing their victims in all sorts of painful places? Childish and naïve as that version of Hell may be, I’m getting that picture, too.

That isn’t what happens though. Eventually, a demon strolls out of the shadows and stands by my cage, a satisfied smile on his face. He looks more or less human, with only a slight tendency to scaliness here and there to mark him out, but the power is just rolling off him. I can feel it on my skin. Something else is, too – his scent. I recognise it immediately; sulphur and scales and age. He’s the dragon.

He sees that I’ve recognised him.

“Yes, Angel, thank you for accepting my invitation. The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart are a little pissed at what you’ve been up to, and we need to settle this once and for all.”

Oh? Not one of the Senior Partners, then? Something tells me that this might be the Managing Partner. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?

“We could just keep you here, you know. A few centuries in this cage might well effect a change in your attitude, hmm?”

He wanders around the cage, as if musing on my fate. I’m damned sure he’s already made his mind up how this is going to go down, and so I stay quiet. It takes him a while to fill the silence.

“But there’s the Apocalypse, you see. My Apocalypse is the one that matters, not all those other half-hearted ones that I’ve permitted to happen, just to weaken humanity. You’ve seen the state of this dimension, this prison to which we were exiled? It’s dying, and my people need somewhere to go. We want the Earth back.

“Now, I hadn’t planned to unleash the Apocalypse just yet. There’s no problem with getting enough cannon fodder, of course – I can have billions of those at the drop of a hat, so to speak. But the generals? Ah, now that’s another matter. I haven’t got enough of those yet, and you and your friends have managed to kill quite a large proportion of the ones I did have. So, it would be my preference to put back the Apocalypse a bit, but you had to rile up my children, who have yet to learn the value of patience. You had to provoke them into starting things very much earlier than I had planned. You! A vampire, who should know which side his bread is buttered. I’m most disappointed in you.

“I’ve spoken to my children – quite severely, you’ll be pleased to hear – and now, what do you think I should do with you?”

He pauses again, and paces around the cage, his eyes fixed on the floor as if in deep thought.

“You have caused me more trouble than any other champion of humanity since we lost the war for the Earth.” He shudders a little at what must be an unpleasant recollection. “I do believe that I want some payback for that.”

I bet.

“You will give yourself to me, body, demon and soul, to do with as I please. To be my toy. Forever – or for as long as it pleases me, and I don’t tire of my toys quickly.”

“Never.”

If he said ‘body, demon and soul’, I must still be alive then. That’s a start. But I’ll never give in to him.

“Oh, I think you’ll agree to my demands. I want to revenge myself on you, and you’ll let me. I guarantee it.”

I remain silent. What is there to say?

“And, Angel, you will give up everything you have, and everything that you love. Everything.”

“Already have.”

I say that with some defiance, but Dinza’s words come back to me. ‘You have so much more to lose.’

“We shall see about that.”

He stalks off back into the shadows, leaving me alone in my cage, with only his words for company.

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

It’s a while before he comes back, although probably nowhere near as long as it seemed. I can’t move, and my coccyx is screaming from the pressure of the metal bar. My wounds are starting to heal, although there are some major gashes that will take a while, and I’m getting really hungry. Healing does that to a vampire. I tell myself that it’s just one more discomfort, and probably the least of what I can expect to go through.

He’s alone again.

“Well, Angel, have you thought about what I’ve said?”

I remain silent, and after a few moments, when it’s clear that I’m not going to speak, he shakes his head in mock disapproval.

“You’ve no doubt been asking yourself just why you should give yourself up to me. You think I’ll inflict unspeakable pain on you, whichever way it goes. You’d rather be defiant to the end. Well, all that may be true, but the thing is…” He pauses, and looks me directly in the eye. He has a smirk on his face that I recognise all too well, even though I’ve never actually seen it in the mirror. “…the thing is, if you agree to my terms, there are things I might not do.”

I still say nothing, but my nails are now digging deep into the palms of my hands, and I can feel the blood dripping from the wounds. He can smell it, and his smile broadens. He stoops quickly and touches something on the floor. When he straightens, he has a smear of my blood on the tip of his finger.

“Blood given freely…hmm. That might have been a mistake, Angel, but I’ll give you another chance.”

I’m terrified, now, because I don’t know the meaning of what he’s just said.

“I said that I was minded to put the Apocalypse back – I did, after all, pull my demons out of Los Angeles, instead of destroying the place. First, Los Angeles, then the world, hmm? You see, I’d rather we get the Earth without too much damage. We rather like it as it is. But, time heals all things, they say, even the ruination that I could bring. I like California, but I could drop most of it into the sea. How many millions would that kill?”

“You wouldn’t do that just to get back at me…” My voice is hoarse with urgency and fear.

“Wouldn’t I?”

He pauses again, with his fist pressed theatrically to his forehead.

“Do you know, I rather believe I would. In fact, there are a couple of neat little nuclear devices being prepared as we speak. Just a group of lunatics, but the Black Thorn gave them what they needed. Before you did away with them, that is. It’ll make a mess of course, all that nasty radiation. But, this dimension isn’t on its last legs yet. We have time. It will clear.”

All this time, he has been pacing around my cage, but suddenly he’s there, at the side of it, glaring at me. He isn’t quite the same, either. He seems to be…growing…and he seems to have the shadow of the dragon around him.

“What do you say, Angel? Want to see what I can do when I’m angry?”

Desperation helps me here, makes my brain work quicker.

“I don’t believe you. You’re the Father of Lies, after all. Aren’t you?”

The shadow around him solidifies just a little.

“You want a demonstration?”

“How would I know what was real and what was illusion? You want me to sell myself to you for a nightmare?”

He backs away, and he really is deep in thought this time. Suddenly, he gestures into the surrounding darkness, and two figures, shackled and chained, shuffle towards us. As they approach from a distance, he tells me, “This isn’t their dimension, of course – we’re all strictly alive here, one way or another. But these are still…in my care. Within my purview. Perhaps you’ll believe them if you don’t believe me.”

The first one is Lindsey. Another one of my failures. The other one is further behind, and it takes a moment or two for him to approach near enough for me to see who it is.

Wesley.

“No! That’s not him!” I can hear the desperation in my own voice. Wesley was a champion, for god’s sake. A champion. He died to save the world. Has that meant nothing? The figure looks at me, and I can see that it is, indeed, Wesley. Like Lindsey, he is sporting a range of painful injuries, but he isn’t corporeal. I would scent him if he were. He isn’t a demon pretending to be Wesley, either.

My tormentor looks amused.

“You think he shouldn’t be here? That he’s too good to be here? Too well-intentioned? Oh, dear, what a lot you have to learn. Because of his pride and arrogance, Wesley stole your son. If he hadn’t done that, things would have been very different. You would never have taken the deal with my children, you would never have learned enough to challenge me, the Apocalypse would never have begun, and a lot more people would have been alive. I wouldn’t have to give you a demonstration, like I’m going to do now. All Wesley’s fault.”

It isn’t true, of course, not in the way this being has suggested. But I can see, in my deepest heart, that it might be enough to condemn Wesley.

“I’m sending you back to see what I’m prepared to do. Just a small demonstration, remember.”

Before I can argue, I find myself shackled to Lindsey on one side and Wesley on the other, and we are back in the world that I know. Almost. I’m a ghost. I can touch nothing. I can see and I can hear, but I cannot touch. I’m like Spike was, when he first returned. So are Lindsey and Wesley. We aren’t in Los Angeles. We are on a cliff, overlooking Sunnydale. In the last year, people have returned here, and are rebuilding their lives. There are hundreds of houses being rebuilt, and hundreds of temporary homes for the dispossessed. Suddenly, there is a bone-deep groan from the earth below us, and everything that was Sunnydale, everything from the outermost edge of the town to the edge of the continent, sinks in one gigantic, shattering upheaval. The waves rush in, and it is all gone. The new Atlantis.

All that is left is a new bight on the coastline, and debris on the surface of the sea.

My companions have remained silent and unyielding all this time, my shouts of denial falling on deaf ears, my struggles to break the shackles utterly in vain. Then we are back in Los Angeles, standing in a seedy communal area, unnoticed by any of the living. There is a television, and a report of breaking news. Sunnydale, which suffered a catastrophic earthquake a year ago, has now slipped beneath the sea.

And then I am back in my cage.

That smug voice asks, “Satisfied?”

Numbness is setting in. Numbness of the heart; numbness of the soul, but I know what it feels like to have been out of my body, and that is what has happened. Lindsey and Wesley are gone, but I have no real doubts of what I have been shown. I can’t afford to take the chance that he might not be speaking the truth.

“I want you, and I want you to give to me everything on Earth that you hold dear. Your son is already mine. Believe me on that. You made a deal with the devil to give him a life, and you should know from your experience, if not from your reading, that such a deal never ends well. Now, I want you, and I want your Slayer. You will give her into my hand.”

I don’t speak, because I cannot. Everything that I have tried to do has brought nothing but pain and death and despair to all those whom my life has touched. Having a soul has only made things worse, has allowed me to bring greater destruction, albeit of a different kind. Angelus, if he weren’t certifiably insane, ought to be proud of me.

This one misinterprets my silence.

“You should be flattered. The pair of you are worth millions of lives. That’s a good price for a vampire and a single slayer.”

I know what he wants. He wants Angelus to turn her. If I allow that, there are many slayers now, and they can perhaps stake us both. And Buffy’s soul will have flown free. She’s been to heaven, and she was happy there. Even though my soul will be in torment, even though I will become the thing I fear above all, and even though the body of my love will become like me, it isn’t all without hope. Perhaps we will be killed before too much more harm is done. Her soul will be safe. Better this than the death of millions. Her soul will forgive me. Perhaps.

He leans closer and shows me that he still has my blood on his finger.

“You and the slayer for millions of lives. It’s a good trade.”

Millions of people would think that it was. I wish I could cheerfully consign them all to Hell, but I can’t. In absolute misery, I nod.

“What’s that, Angel? Speak up? Do you accept the deal? You and the slayer are mine, to do with as I choose, and I’ll call off California’s Apocalypse. The Earth’s Apocalypse will go back to the original schedule.”

It will only be her body. I don’t own her soul. I might have thought that possible once, but not any more.

“Deal.” The voice isn’t mine. Mine is the voice screaming in my head.

He sucks the blood from his finger.

“I can taste her in you, even after all this time. Deal.”

He gestures into the shadows again. The figure that comes forward surprises me even more than seeing Wesley here. It’s Illyria. She comes to stand next to him, still looking exactly like Fred, although I know that Fred’s body was dead in that alley. She links her arm though his and gazes at me as though I were an insect, interesting for a moment of time, but no more than that.

“Illyria wants her powers back. Here, she has a chance to do that. She already has one or two useful ones. If she does this right, she’ll get more. Go ahead, my dear.”

She reaches her hands up through the bars.

“Place your head between my hands, vampire.”

I do, the pain of the bar that is splitting me in two as nothing to the agony in my heart. And then the agony is in my head, and everything goes black. When I recover my senses, I fully expect to be separate from my body, and my soul to be consigned to whatever torments he thinks fit. I should have asked for the small print. I’m still in my body. I’m different, though. Just as my body is chained and caged here, the essential me is chained and caged within my flesh. I’m here, but I’m not the one in charge any more. The demon is. Illyria looks towards my tormentor.

“It is complete,” she says, her attitude one of studied indifference. She’s bored with me now. He smiles the smile of a satisfied predator.

“I know you can hear me, Angel. Your soul is bound now, and the gipsies’ curse is gone. Only final death will free you, and then you’ll come back to me. I’ll look forward to it, but you have some work to do for me first. You’ll deliver the slayer, body and soul, to me. You should have asked for the detail, Angel. Her soul is, indeed, yours to give me. It’s still a good deal – two souls for millions.”

I can feel my lips curl up in pleasure as Angelus savours the meaning of that. I thrash against the chains of magic that bind me inside him; I beat against the cage as hard as I can. Useless. What have I done?

They release Angelus from his cage and Illyria tosses him an Orb of Thesulah. It’s already occupied, but not by a soul. The spirit in there is dark, sparkling with the colours of oil on sunlight. I know what it is. Darla. Not Darla’s soul. It’s the demon that made me. I was the most vicious creature the Earth had ever known, but behind every successful man is a woman. This was the one that made me into everything that I became. Now, it seems, I’m going to make her again, and all my crying and struggles are in vain.

“You know the spell?”

My head nods, but not of my volition.

“The magic that Illyria has worked will bind the slayer’s soul even as you implant that demon into her. You’ll have Darla back, and I will have two souls in the blackest hell. Good day’s work. Oh, and I shall be watching. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Illyria looks back over her shoulder as they head back into the shadows, and I think I see her incline her head to me.

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

Buffy’s in the hospital, and that’s why she never came to help me. She was on her way, though. We’re sitting here with Andrew, me and this thing in charge of my flesh. Andrew thinks it’s me. Angelus is a good actor when he wants to be. I have tried and tried to free myself, but I cannot. I have begged and prayed to any deity who will listen, but there are none.

Angelus has been sending her riddles every day for the last five days, riddles and fruit, for her fruit basket. She has enough information in the riddles to get as far as ‘Angel’ now. She’ll think it’s me.

Andrew has told us what happened, how she was running for a flight to Los Angeles when a truck ploughed into her, and Angelus is not pleased. He wants to hurt her, but he wants to be the one making her hurt, and so we are paying this visit. When we leave, Andrew is a drained corpse on the floor.

When we arrive at the hospital, it’s late and she is asleep. He places his latest gift, rich golden-yellow plums, into the fruit basket, although she will never eat them. Then he eases down gently onto the bed beside her and puts his left arm over her waist. She has fallen asleep on her back, with her head turned towards the fruit basket. Well, she doesn’t have much choice of position, with all the injuries she has, and the casts that she is wearing – they’ll be a bitch to get off later tonight. She won’t need those any more.

The weight of him on her bed awakens her. She takes a moment to focus, and we can see her smile as she sees the new fruit. I can feel her pain as she tries to turn her head towards us, but he stops her and nuzzles his face into her neck, taking in the overwhelming scent of her. He keeps his voice quiet, reverent, just as I would have done.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought I should never see you again.”

She doesn’t say anything – I don’t think she can. She just threads the fingers of her left hand into his. A tiny sob escapes from her. He presses his face closer to her neck, not sucking or biting, simply enjoying the throbbing feel of her life force through the sensitive tissues of his mouth. My mouth. I can feel her on his tongue, and under his lips. I want to scream.

Then he draws back a little and pulls out some things from his pocket. He places them on the bed where she can see them clearly, then lets his arm fall over her breasts. There are three more riddle cards, and I know what those will do to her when she reads the end of his name. And there’s an apple, the colour of old blood. An apple for temptation. She is Eve, to his serpent, except she has no choice in this at all.

She understands, now. She tries to move, but the weight of him, and of the casts, hold her down. She smells of sorrow and fear.

“You bastard! What have you done with Angel?”

“Why, nothing. He’s still here. In fact, the Soul is completely bound now.”

“Angel…? Is that you?”

Do souls have hearts to break? Because mine just did, all over again.

He scrapes a fang over the pulsing artery.

“No, babe, but you won’t miss him, I promise. He’s here. He’s just not the one in charge any more. He’s caged. In fact, he’s in Hell, his own private version, with a ringside view of everything I’m going to do. The Senior Partners got pissed off with him, and made me a deal.”

His fangs scrape a little deeper, and I know that she is looking around for anything within reach that would serve as a stake. There’s nothing. She tries to struggle against him, but I’m just too strong. Hamilton’s blood has seen to that.

I try to help her. I redouble my efforts, thinking that I might distract him. I try every thing I’ve learned in the last century about controlling this demon, and just as her struggles cease, I feel the cage burst open, and he sinks, wrapped in his malevolence, back into the depths of me. As I feel the change, I wonder whether Illyria has done this deliberately, has tried to save me. I’m free. I’m free and I can… Then I remember with shattering clarity.

‘I shall be watching. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

‘Two souls for millions.’

I want to howl my grief to the heavens, to rage and storm, but I cannot. Two souls for millions.

When I’m sure that she can’t fight me, I move my hand so that I can wipe away a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb, and I shift so that I can look at her beloved face one last time. I shall never, ever, see her like this again.

I think that I can smell the stench of Hell surrounding me, mixed with my uttermost despair. I must become the thing I hate most in all this world. I must be Angelus. I swallow down the lump in my throat. Two souls for millions.

“It’s going down tonight, Buff. You’ll join me, forever. The Senior Partners and I have a *special* demon picked out for you.”

I reach into my pocket again and pull out the Orb of Thesulah. It lies dark and accusing in my hand. I think of the one listening, and I swallow back that lump again.

“Oh, and they’ve agreed to a request of mine. Just to make it all a bit more amusing, your soul won’t go free. You get to be caged the same way that he is. You’ll be in Hell, too, and what fun we’ll all have…” That’s what he would have said.

I smile at her terror, and she tries again and again to scream for help, to shake me off, anything. But I’m too strong. I don’t know how in hell I’m going to swallow her lifeblood when my throat is closed against my tears, but I sink my fangs into her neck and trust to instinct to take over. It does. I start to suck her life into myself, to set in train the actions that will turn her into something hateful, something that will have her innocent soul trapped helpless and damned. I thought that I’d known the blackest hell before I walked into this room, but I was wrong. This is worse. One day, her soul may understand why I did this, but she will never be able to forgive me, just as I will never forgive myself. I am lost, beyond any possibility of absolution.

Like Samson, I am eyeless in Gaza; blinded and helpless amongst my enemies. Like him, in my agony, I have pulled the roof of the temple down on top of me, and I have taken the innocent with me into the shadow of death. And my reward for this is that I have, as my eternal companion, this corruption and damnation of my soul’s beloved, to walk with me into that bitter darkness.


THE END
23 October 2004

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