Outta Here
“I could drive you to the bus station,” Dr. Kriegel offered. “You could be with your friends in LA before sunup.”
Dr. Kriegel’s moderately priced sedan slalomed through the eerily silent streets of Sunnydale, sliding through
patches somber green and halogen blue.
He glanced at her, his Sam the Eagle eyebrows creased with concern. Buffy had seen the photos on Dr. Kriegel’s
desk – two yellow-haired boys kneeling proudly beside an impressive fortress in the sand. He was a Dad, and as such,
was looking out for her the best way he knew how: Get her away from danger, and fast.
“Really can’t,” Buffy told him. “There’s someone I won’t leave behind.” Not shouldn’t. Not can’t. Won’t.
Dr. Kriegel white-knuckled the steering wheel. “All right,” he said.
They continued along, the sound of the road’s imperfections punctuating the silence. With accentuated care, he
swung the car into the driveway of 1630 Revello Drive.
“Dr. Kriegel, I just… I wanted to say thanks,” she said. “For everything.” She patted the satiny blue duffel that lay
in her lap. It was the promo type pharmaceutical companies gave to doctors, and it matched his wife’s blue sweater
he had found in his trunk. The clasher in the ensemble was the roomy gray drawstring pants, but she was miles from
complaining. They were cottony, loose-fitting, baby-concealing wonders, even if they could have once belonged to
Kirstie Ally.
His generosity didn’t end with clothing either. He had filled the duffel bag with vitamins – the folic kind – little
samples of Aveeno lotion, and $200 cash that he withdrew from an ATM machine, which he'd just handed to her. No
questions asked.
Now he waited for her next move, hands patiently placed at two and ten on the steering wheel, his foot resting on
the brake. And since she had to put her mind behind the motion to enforce her decision, she sprung from the seat,
propelled by mixed parts of eagerness and fear. Eagerness to leave; fear that she would never make it out.
Halfway across the yard, Dr. Kriegel called out to her: “Ms. Pratt…”
He’d rolled down the car window and leaned partway out of it, “If you need anything, my card’s in the pack.”
Buffy nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks again.”
Dr. Kriegel hesitated, but backed out of the driveway. Feeling that the doctor’s kindness had rallied her flagging
resolve, Buffy crossed the dewy lawn, walked up the front steps and pushed open the front door.
Now she had to hope that Spike’s affection for Dawn would make him see that Buffy’s decision was for the best. And
if she couldn’t persuade him to see it her way, well, the house was full of loose boards just waiting to get pointy.
Inside was hushed, dim and smelled of moldy carpet. She turned immediately right, toward the kitchen, when Spike
slammed into her.
“Who was he?” Spike snarled, game face on, talons hooked into the sweater’s sleeves.
“What-?”
He shoved her against the wall beside the door. Her breath burst from her lungs.
“The man in the bloody car, that’s what. What did you tell him?”
Buffy shook her head. She was wild and frightened - a bird trapped in a cage.
“No, Spike. I-”
He shook her. He was hysterical. “You tell him about Dawn? And why’d he call you that?”
“That what? What are you talking about?”
Spike slammed her against the wall again. This time, an exposed nail ripped through the sleeve and sunk deep into
the meat of her shoulder.
“Enough!” Buffy shouted. She pushed him so hard he crashed into the banister, shattering it to splinters.
Spike rolled. He flew at her again. With astonishing swiftness, he sank his fangs deep into her neck. That was when
nine years of Slayer training packed its bags and left for Burbank. Buffy’s knees folded and she tumbled against the
door.
Spike fell with her. She hit the floor, but he bounded back, wiping her blood from his lips as if it was toxic.
His vamp face melted back to human. “Something…” he stammered, lurching backward. “Something’s very wrong
with your blood.”
Buffy clapped her hand over the left side of her neck.
“What?” She was losing a lot of it. It spurted a warm torrent against her palm. She slid, her vision loose and
unfocused, and as the ground swiveled upward, she slunk to meet it. Darkness slipped around her like a curtain, and
as it fell, she watched his form waver and elongate in the funhouse mirror of her waning consciousness. In the last
dizzy moments, she smelled the mildewed carpet and thought how disappointed her mother would be that Buffy let it
come to this.
“Buffy. Pet. Wake up.”
She felt William’s mouth against her ear, warm and welcome as a candle’s flame. William’s hand curled in hers, their
fingers laced. The place where their foreheads met burned. Every place their bodies touched burned in her.
“I don’t wanna,” she pouted.
“You have to, luv.” His voice, all silk and smoke. “They need you.”
She was ready to tell them where they could all go when she heard he hushed excited hiss of whispers close at hand.
Witches.
It was instinct that did the waking. Buffy scrambled to her knees – too fast – and the enclosed space of the
entryway doubled and trebled in her wavering sight.
“Oh! Hello, lass” one voice said, her tone bordering on reverent. “We found you. I told you we’d find her. Didn’t I
tell you?”
“It was the Kali Yantra that did it. I knew it would work. I knew it,” the other cheerfully sang.
“Yes, yes, Ariadne. It does seem to have done the trick.”
Buffy managed to raise her fists. “Did. What. Trick?”
Two pairs of legs came into view, followed presently by faces as two women knelt in front of her and leaned in way
too close for Buffy’s personal boundaries. Unfortunately, she was far from mobile and had to endure the invasion.
“We found you. That was the trick,” the one called Ariadne said. “It was no easy pickle, I’ll tell you that.”
The older, stockier woman jabbed a thumb at Ariadne. “It was my partner’s idea, actually. Rather ingenious.”
“It was nothing,” the younger insisted, blushing.
“Only if nothing is brilliant,” the old woman said, but her tone was stern, like a dour headmistress.
“I invoked the Kali Yantra to summon us if your blood was shed…” Ariadne said.
Buffy leaned against the wall to steady herself, but rather quickly her vision cleared and she could see her
surroundings. The two women – both dressed in odd mismatched garments of tweed and cable knit – crowded into
the entry hall between her and the prone body of Spike.
“What’d you do to him?” Buffy asked, her words slurred. She massaged the bite on her neck and found it bandaged.
“Nothing,” Ariadne said.
“We stunned him,” the older woman amended.
“We figured you’d want to finish him.”
“It is your duty, after all.”
Buffy shook her head, slowly. “Wait. I’m not getting this. Who are you? And how do you know me?”
“I’m Margot,” the older one said.
“And I’m Ariadne.”
“We’re Witches,” they said in unison. Then both laughed, as if they expected Buffy to join in on the joke.
Recalling what Spike had shown her in the town square, Buffy scrabbled away from them and got quickly to her feet,
ready to slay.
“What do you want with us?” Buffy snapped.
Margot took a daring step forward. She didn’t flinch when Buffy brought her fists up. “We’re not those witches,”
Margot said.
“We’re the ones that called you,” Ariadne said brightly.
Buffy dropped her hands an inch. “Explainy?”
Ariadne stepped forward to stand beside Margot. “We needed a Slayer,” she said.
“We already had a Slayer, but the one called Faith has diverged from the path of the Chosen One,” Margot said.
“Seeing as she’s Slayer till she dies, we had to call our own.” As they continued the telling, they began to leapfrog
one another in their conversation.
“We invoked the ancient rites of Kali Yantra…” Ariadne said.
“…To call a Slayer.”
“The others in Devon said it couldn’t be done…”
“But we found the Rites.”
“Performed the invocation.”
“And the Seer at the Coven,” Margot said.
“That’s me,” interjected Ariadne.
“Yes. She said that the Slayer would arise where she was most needed,” Margot said.
“Here,” Buffy finished for them. “In Sunnydale.”
“Aye,” Ariadne went on. “And we were beginning to think we’d completely Federlined in our endeavor. It has taken
wicked long to find you. Of course, I see why… now.”
Both Buffy and Margot turned toward her.
“Huh?” Buffy said.
Ariadne inched backward under their collective scrutiny. “Her blood, of course.”
Something… very wrong with your blood, Spike had said. Buffy’s fingers ghosted over the bandage on her neck.
“You have protection,” Ariadne said. “Keep you safe from those who might harm you. It comes with the child you
carry.”
“Child? Oh… dear,” Margot gasped, sounding ridiculously like Giles.
Buffy turned from them. She put her hands over her face. When she turned back, the witches had gathered
together, arms linked and hands clasped like reverent children at prayer.
“You called me,” Buffy said.
“That’s right, lass,” Margot said solemnly. “You’re the Slayer.”
“You called me? Were there no other Slayers in your book?”
“No,” Ariadne said softly. “You’re the One.”
“The only One.”
“Would you stop doing that?” Buffy yelled at them. “The Fred and George finishing-each-other’s-sentences thing:
Really creeping me out.”
“Right,” Margot said.
“Sorry,” Ariadne finished.
“I can’t be your Slayer,” Buffy said. “You’ve totally got the wrong girl.”
“The Kali Yantra doesn’t lie,” Margot said.
Buffy felt feverish. It all made sense now. The sleepwalking. The dimension shift. All of it. The reason behind it was
standing right in front of her. Buffy wanted to smash them both to pulp, and then, she wanted to smash the pulp.
Then, she’d take the pulp and with a thick, fat paint brush she’d write in big letters across the wall: Fuck off,
Powers That Be!
“Here’s a little bulletin you might enjoy: I had a life. The beginnings of a career. A family,” Buffy yelled, pointing at
them. “I was daring to be chipper for once and... you took it all away!”
Ariadne paled, but Margot merely looked grave.
Buffy took their stoniness for a lack of sympathy. She said, very calmly, “You’ve put my baby in a world of danger.
And since you’re the witches responsible, I say you send me back before I’ll do my Slayer duty and tear you limb
from tweedy limb.”
Margot seemed to consider these words carefully before responding. “We need you, lass,” she said. “We would not
have called if it wasn’t important.”
“Oh, well, since you said it was important,” Buffy said.
Margot leveled her eyes on Buffy’s. “It is, child.”
“Lemme guess,” Buffy said. “End of the world.”
“Worlds,” Ariadne said, her mouth stretching wide over the word for emphasis.
This stopped Buffy in her borrowed shoes. “Worlds?”
“Aye,” Margot said. “Yours and ours and countless others. I’m afraid the danger is inescapable.”
On the floor beyond the Witches, Spike grunted and stretched his left arm forward. Ariadne squealed.
Margot glanced at the waking vampire. “The spell is wearing off,” she said. “He’s got quite a lot of stamina.”
“You have no idea,” Buffy agreed.
Margot glanced backward, and then, in a brisk manner, said, “Not to rush things, but we really must have your
answer, dear. Ariadne’s spastic around the undead.”
Ariadne nodded, eyes bulging to underscore Margot’s point.
“Are you kidding me?”
Spike groaned.
They said nothing, but Buffy could tell a ‘no’ answer when she saw one. She knew that witches took on such magics
at great risk to themselves and others. She had seen for herself the atrocities of which this Coven was capable. And
maybe, if she helped these Witches, they would be more open to finding ways to get her back to where she
belonged. But then, there was the peril, and she wasn’t getting less pregnant, and there was Dawn to consider, and
dammit, she was just about to be quit of this place on her own. She had bus money in her pack, for pity’s sake.
“Look,” Buffy said. “I can help you. But, there are some things I have to take care of first.”
“Things?” Margot said.
Buffy nodded. “And then once I take these witches down, you’re going to help me. Clear?”
“As crystal,” Ariadne said. “Clearer, even. What things need taking care of?”
Buffy looked down at Spike’s lifeless body. “Him. For starters. And we’ll go from there.”
“I could drive you to the bus station,” Dr. Kriegel offered. “You could be with your friends in LA before sunup.”
Dr. Kriegel’s moderately priced sedan slalomed through the eerily silent streets of Sunnydale, sliding through
patches somber green and halogen blue.
He glanced at her, his Sam the Eagle eyebrows creased with concern. Buffy had seen the photos on Dr. Kriegel’s
desk – two yellow-haired boys kneeling proudly beside an impressive fortress in the sand. He was a Dad, and as such,
was looking out for her the best way he knew how: Get her away from danger, and fast.
“Really can’t,” Buffy told him. “There’s someone I won’t leave behind.” Not shouldn’t. Not can’t. Won’t.
Dr. Kriegel white-knuckled the steering wheel. “All right,” he said.
They continued along, the sound of the road’s imperfections punctuating the silence. With accentuated care, he
swung the car into the driveway of 1630 Revello Drive.
“Dr. Kriegel, I just… I wanted to say thanks,” she said. “For everything.” She patted the satiny blue duffel that lay
in her lap. It was the promo type pharmaceutical companies gave to doctors, and it matched his wife’s blue sweater
he had found in his trunk. The clasher in the ensemble was the roomy gray drawstring pants, but she was miles from
complaining. They were cottony, loose-fitting, baby-concealing wonders, even if they could have once belonged to
Kirstie Ally.
His generosity didn’t end with clothing either. He had filled the duffel bag with vitamins – the folic kind – little
samples of Aveeno lotion, and $200 cash that he withdrew from an ATM machine, which he'd just handed to her. No
questions asked.
Now he waited for her next move, hands patiently placed at two and ten on the steering wheel, his foot resting on
the brake. And since she had to put her mind behind the motion to enforce her decision, she sprung from the seat,
propelled by mixed parts of eagerness and fear. Eagerness to leave; fear that she would never make it out.
Halfway across the yard, Dr. Kriegel called out to her: “Ms. Pratt…”
He’d rolled down the car window and leaned partway out of it, “If you need anything, my card’s in the pack.”
Buffy nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks again.”
Dr. Kriegel hesitated, but backed out of the driveway. Feeling that the doctor’s kindness had rallied her flagging
resolve, Buffy crossed the dewy lawn, walked up the front steps and pushed open the front door.
Now she had to hope that Spike’s affection for Dawn would make him see that Buffy’s decision was for the best. And
if she couldn’t persuade him to see it her way, well, the house was full of loose boards just waiting to get pointy.
Inside was hushed, dim and smelled of moldy carpet. She turned immediately right, toward the kitchen, when Spike
slammed into her.
“Who was he?” Spike snarled, game face on, talons hooked into the sweater’s sleeves.
“What-?”
He shoved her against the wall beside the door. Her breath burst from her lungs.
“The man in the bloody car, that’s what. What did you tell him?”
Buffy shook her head. She was wild and frightened - a bird trapped in a cage.
“No, Spike. I-”
He shook her. He was hysterical. “You tell him about Dawn? And why’d he call you that?”
“That what? What are you talking about?”
Spike slammed her against the wall again. This time, an exposed nail ripped through the sleeve and sunk deep into
the meat of her shoulder.
“Enough!” Buffy shouted. She pushed him so hard he crashed into the banister, shattering it to splinters.
Spike rolled. He flew at her again. With astonishing swiftness, he sank his fangs deep into her neck. That was when
nine years of Slayer training packed its bags and left for Burbank. Buffy’s knees folded and she tumbled against the
door.
Spike fell with her. She hit the floor, but he bounded back, wiping her blood from his lips as if it was toxic.
His vamp face melted back to human. “Something…” he stammered, lurching backward. “Something’s very wrong
with your blood.”
Buffy clapped her hand over the left side of her neck.
“What?” She was losing a lot of it. It spurted a warm torrent against her palm. She slid, her vision loose and
unfocused, and as the ground swiveled upward, she slunk to meet it. Darkness slipped around her like a curtain, and
as it fell, she watched his form waver and elongate in the funhouse mirror of her waning consciousness. In the last
dizzy moments, she smelled the mildewed carpet and thought how disappointed her mother would be that Buffy let it
come to this.
“Buffy. Pet. Wake up.”
She felt William’s mouth against her ear, warm and welcome as a candle’s flame. William’s hand curled in hers, their
fingers laced. The place where their foreheads met burned. Every place their bodies touched burned in her.
“I don’t wanna,” she pouted.
“You have to, luv.” His voice, all silk and smoke. “They need you.”
She was ready to tell them where they could all go when she heard he hushed excited hiss of whispers close at hand.
Witches.
It was instinct that did the waking. Buffy scrambled to her knees – too fast – and the enclosed space of the
entryway doubled and trebled in her wavering sight.
“Oh! Hello, lass” one voice said, her tone bordering on reverent. “We found you. I told you we’d find her. Didn’t I
tell you?”
“It was the Kali Yantra that did it. I knew it would work. I knew it,” the other cheerfully sang.
“Yes, yes, Ariadne. It does seem to have done the trick.”
Buffy managed to raise her fists. “Did. What. Trick?”
Two pairs of legs came into view, followed presently by faces as two women knelt in front of her and leaned in way
too close for Buffy’s personal boundaries. Unfortunately, she was far from mobile and had to endure the invasion.
“We found you. That was the trick,” the one called Ariadne said. “It was no easy pickle, I’ll tell you that.”
The older, stockier woman jabbed a thumb at Ariadne. “It was my partner’s idea, actually. Rather ingenious.”
“It was nothing,” the younger insisted, blushing.
“Only if nothing is brilliant,” the old woman said, but her tone was stern, like a dour headmistress.
“I invoked the Kali Yantra to summon us if your blood was shed…” Ariadne said.
Buffy leaned against the wall to steady herself, but rather quickly her vision cleared and she could see her
surroundings. The two women – both dressed in odd mismatched garments of tweed and cable knit – crowded into
the entry hall between her and the prone body of Spike.
“What’d you do to him?” Buffy asked, her words slurred. She massaged the bite on her neck and found it bandaged.
“Nothing,” Ariadne said.
“We stunned him,” the older woman amended.
“We figured you’d want to finish him.”
“It is your duty, after all.”
Buffy shook her head, slowly. “Wait. I’m not getting this. Who are you? And how do you know me?”
“I’m Margot,” the older one said.
“And I’m Ariadne.”
“We’re Witches,” they said in unison. Then both laughed, as if they expected Buffy to join in on the joke.
Recalling what Spike had shown her in the town square, Buffy scrabbled away from them and got quickly to her feet,
ready to slay.
“What do you want with us?” Buffy snapped.
Margot took a daring step forward. She didn’t flinch when Buffy brought her fists up. “We’re not those witches,”
Margot said.
“We’re the ones that called you,” Ariadne said brightly.
Buffy dropped her hands an inch. “Explainy?”
Ariadne stepped forward to stand beside Margot. “We needed a Slayer,” she said.
“We already had a Slayer, but the one called Faith has diverged from the path of the Chosen One,” Margot said.
“Seeing as she’s Slayer till she dies, we had to call our own.” As they continued the telling, they began to leapfrog
one another in their conversation.
“We invoked the ancient rites of Kali Yantra…” Ariadne said.
“…To call a Slayer.”
“The others in Devon said it couldn’t be done…”
“But we found the Rites.”
“Performed the invocation.”
“And the Seer at the Coven,” Margot said.
“That’s me,” interjected Ariadne.
“Yes. She said that the Slayer would arise where she was most needed,” Margot said.
“Here,” Buffy finished for them. “In Sunnydale.”
“Aye,” Ariadne went on. “And we were beginning to think we’d completely Federlined in our endeavor. It has taken
wicked long to find you. Of course, I see why… now.”
Both Buffy and Margot turned toward her.
“Huh?” Buffy said.
Ariadne inched backward under their collective scrutiny. “Her blood, of course.”
Something… very wrong with your blood, Spike had said. Buffy’s fingers ghosted over the bandage on her neck.
“You have protection,” Ariadne said. “Keep you safe from those who might harm you. It comes with the child you
carry.”
“Child? Oh… dear,” Margot gasped, sounding ridiculously like Giles.
Buffy turned from them. She put her hands over her face. When she turned back, the witches had gathered
together, arms linked and hands clasped like reverent children at prayer.
“You called me,” Buffy said.
“That’s right, lass,” Margot said solemnly. “You’re the Slayer.”
“You called me? Were there no other Slayers in your book?”
“No,” Ariadne said softly. “You’re the One.”
“The only One.”
“Would you stop doing that?” Buffy yelled at them. “The Fred and George finishing-each-other’s-sentences thing:
Really creeping me out.”
“Right,” Margot said.
“Sorry,” Ariadne finished.
“I can’t be your Slayer,” Buffy said. “You’ve totally got the wrong girl.”
“The Kali Yantra doesn’t lie,” Margot said.
Buffy felt feverish. It all made sense now. The sleepwalking. The dimension shift. All of it. The reason behind it was
standing right in front of her. Buffy wanted to smash them both to pulp, and then, she wanted to smash the pulp.
Then, she’d take the pulp and with a thick, fat paint brush she’d write in big letters across the wall: Fuck off,
Powers That Be!
“Here’s a little bulletin you might enjoy: I had a life. The beginnings of a career. A family,” Buffy yelled, pointing at
them. “I was daring to be chipper for once and... you took it all away!”
Ariadne paled, but Margot merely looked grave.
Buffy took their stoniness for a lack of sympathy. She said, very calmly, “You’ve put my baby in a world of danger.
And since you’re the witches responsible, I say you send me back before I’ll do my Slayer duty and tear you limb
from tweedy limb.”
Margot seemed to consider these words carefully before responding. “We need you, lass,” she said. “We would not
have called if it wasn’t important.”
“Oh, well, since you said it was important,” Buffy said.
Margot leveled her eyes on Buffy’s. “It is, child.”
“Lemme guess,” Buffy said. “End of the world.”
“Worlds,” Ariadne said, her mouth stretching wide over the word for emphasis.
This stopped Buffy in her borrowed shoes. “Worlds?”
“Aye,” Margot said. “Yours and ours and countless others. I’m afraid the danger is inescapable.”
On the floor beyond the Witches, Spike grunted and stretched his left arm forward. Ariadne squealed.
Margot glanced at the waking vampire. “The spell is wearing off,” she said. “He’s got quite a lot of stamina.”
“You have no idea,” Buffy agreed.
Margot glanced backward, and then, in a brisk manner, said, “Not to rush things, but we really must have your
answer, dear. Ariadne’s spastic around the undead.”
Ariadne nodded, eyes bulging to underscore Margot’s point.
“Are you kidding me?”
Spike groaned.
They said nothing, but Buffy could tell a ‘no’ answer when she saw one. She knew that witches took on such magics
at great risk to themselves and others. She had seen for herself the atrocities of which this Coven was capable. And
maybe, if she helped these Witches, they would be more open to finding ways to get her back to where she
belonged. But then, there was the peril, and she wasn’t getting less pregnant, and there was Dawn to consider, and
dammit, she was just about to be quit of this place on her own. She had bus money in her pack, for pity’s sake.
“Look,” Buffy said. “I can help you. But, there are some things I have to take care of first.”
“Things?” Margot said.
Buffy nodded. “And then once I take these witches down, you’re going to help me. Clear?”
“As crystal,” Ariadne said. “Clearer, even. What things need taking care of?”
Buffy looked down at Spike’s lifeless body. “Him. For starters. And we’ll go from there.”
 |
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
 |
.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call