Author's Notes: This isnít Angel bashing, this is the end of his life!
And a Disclaimer . . . I Own Nothing! Okay, this is set right after Killed by Death. (I know, this is when Angel was evil, hence an okay character, but this is how it goes...) Xanderís decided enough is enough, and heís gonna teach Angel just why he can call him a White Knight. (Written in first person, Xanderís POV)
That was it. The last straw was incinerated in moments.
That bastard was going down. He has the nerve to come to the hospital, insult me and Buffy, and think Iím not going to do anything!? Heís got another thing coming, dammit. Iíll show him a White Knight. Which means . . . sorry Buffy, but I have to do this, without you. Iíve understood her wanting to kill him, that way sheíd be over him for good . . . but things have gone too far. Hit hard and fast . . . .
It was so simple of a plan, I thought maybe thatís why no one had thought of it before. Or, perhaps, it being so simple meant it wouldnít work. Oh hell, I had to try. Whatever the outcome, Angel was gonna get burned. In several senses, mind you.
After faking sick from school, and emptying my Dadís truck (Small price to pay...) I started to the mansion. At eight in the morning, they were either asleep there, or somewhere else. Well, Iím assuming there. I left the stuff down at the street, and pulled out some simple supplies from my duffel bag. Super Soaker and stakes. Time to take out the guards.
God, it was easier than I thought it would be. Soak, and stake. Iíd have to remember this on next patrol. Either that, or these vamps were too tired to do much else. They didnít seem very awake, actually. Tsk, tsk Angel . . . getting slack in the defense. Guess he didnít think weíd-or I-would be taking the offensive. His mistake.
Going back to the street, I quickly grabbed the rather heavy can of gas, and started back to the mansion. I took the Soaker with me just in case, but I didnít run into anyone else. Maybe this really would go off without a hitch. I could only hope . . .
I started to pour the gas all through the rooms, but sparingly. Hey there were a lot of rooms. I was silent as I could be, I didnít know how light of a sleeper these vampires were, and I didnít want to wake them up.
I silently crept into one room, and offhandedly looked up at the bed. The anger inside me started to smolder, and boil. There was Angel . . . .with Drusilla. Ack, gross! That slimy bastard . . . with the psycho?! Oh . . . well, I guess it made some sense. But I couldnít help feeling sorry for Buffy. She didnít deserve this. And I almost pitied Spike as I poured the gasoline around the bed. Any idiot could see he loved her, and she pulled this on him . . . yeah, I could actually pity the guy. Even as I splashed gasoline around his room.
I struck the match in the upstairs hallway, and slid down to the first floor, and dashed into the living room. I made sure it would be the last place to burn. That way I could hopefully make sure they didnít escape. Besides, what would they escape to? The morning sun?
I couldnít help but cringe as the sounds of screams echoed down the stairwell, and to me. It didnít matter that it was vampires, the screams sounded so terrifyingly helpless. And then, they were quickly cut off. I breathed a sigh of relief, cause the flames were starting to seep into the room. I had to get out of there, fast.
And I had almost gotten to the door, when I heard something thump down the stairs, and hit the landing with a groan. Dammit, one of them got away . . .
I turned around, and saw Angel climbing to his feet. I felt sick as I saw him. Partly because the one I really wanted to kill was still alive, and partly because charred flesh definitely wouldnít become the new perfume by Calvin Klein.
Angel looked around the living room, and finally spotted me. He looked positively surprised, before a grin spread on his face. A cynical, mad manís grin. Yup, he had had some talks with the Mad Hatter by the looks of it. He stumbled across the room to me, and I quickly pulled out my Soaker. His grin just widened as he came close. I unconscious took a pace back. Definitely not the summer fragrance.
ďI commend the White Knight. You did what the Slayer couldnít,Ē Angel choked out, coughing heavily.
ďI did what I had to do,Ē I replied in an even tone.
ďI hope Buffy can forgive you, for your sake,Ē Angel told me. ďIím sure it would crush you if she didnít.Ē
ďAngel, Buffy will understand. Maybe not for a while, but you had to go down,Ē I said as I pumped up the water gun. ďSo, Goodnight sweetheart.Ē
With that, I shot at his face, no second thoughts in my mind. Angel reeled back, right into the flames now engulfing the mansion. I quickly jerked open the door, and walked out. As I started back to the more populated area of Sunnydale, I dumped the gas can.
I put all of my stuff back where it belonged, and dug myself under the covers, drifting off to sleep. Besides . . . Buffy wouldnít have to forgive me if she didnít know I was the one who torched the place. And who would tell her? The ashes? I think not . . .