Disclaimer for Story: I don't own anything. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon and Angel is the property of David Greenwalt and Joss Whedon.
Fighting in the rain wasn’t as fun as Spike had thought it might have been. In fact, fighting at ten thousand to one odds wasn’t exactly all it was cracked up to be either.
In a moment of what could be called indulgence under the circumstances, Spike used his left hand to wipe the water, blood, and..other things, off his face. As he did this, he continued to swish the battle-axe he wielded with his right hand in a practiced, circular arch, successfully dropping the three demons nearest him. It didn’t matter though; another thirty were there to take up the “slack”.
Spike’s mind began to slacken as his body’s natural reflexes took over. His demon side nearly howled with delight at being let loose to rampage and rip as much flesh as it could reach, and, unlike Angel’s demon, his didn’t care that it wasn’t human. Duck, slash, jab, jump, spin, kick, punch, and repeat as bloody needed.
The last he had seen of the others, Angel had been making his way up the wall of the darkened alley in an attempt to slay the dragon. Fat chance he had at that. Spike knew it was only a matter of time before he witnessed Angel careening through the sky screaming for Spike to “quit playing around with the little demons and take care of the fire-breathing menace.” Yea, like taking on a thousand demons single-handedly wasn’t enough. Oh well, the poof hadn’t begged for his help yet. Might as well make use of his time on the ground while he had it. Of course, there was always the possibility that Angel was already dust on the stormy breeze, as it were tonight.
But Spike didn’t have the concentration at the moment to fathom what losing Angel would mean to him, so he avoided thinking about it.
He avoided thinking about Charlie as well. The idiot was mortally wounded and still insisted on fighting the good fight. Oh how the Angels would weep tonight! Spike might have been an idealist, but even he knew Gunn was gone, or as good as dead anyway.
Illyria was the only one he could think about without any censoring. She was in her element. Ripping heads off the “pathetic, brittle, excuses for demons,” as she liked to call them. Last he saw of her, she’d been clearing a nice little path through them on her way to the giant, whom Spike had discovered upon second glance that it appeared to be a Cyclops of some sorts. At least, that’s what he’d deduced in the millisecond he’d spent to check where Illyria was. He grinned at the red carpet treatment Illyria was getting. So what if it was a little gooey?
A sudden blow to his shoulder brought his attention painfully back to where it should have been. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hilt of a sword sticking out. He grinned. Now he had two weapons.
After the excruciating experience of ripping the sword out of his chest, Spike hurled himself even further into the thick of the battle.
The trick was to conserve your motions, only go for killing thrusts and to not get trapped. The last was the hardest, but what would any apocalypse be without a good challenge?
A sudden scream made Spike glance up. Sure enough, there flew Angel through the air. The dragon, having unseated Peaches, appeared to be trying to hurry up the after-battle party by cooking up some barbecue.
Spike resigned himself and knocking back his current assailants, flipped over the lot of them. Using the momentary confusion, he sprung onto a nearby fire escape and hurried up to the building rooftop. Seconds later, he was himself sailing through the air- on a direct collision course with the dragon’s scaly black back.
“OOOF!” The dragon was just as sodding hard as it looked. Frantically reaching for anything he could use to keep himself from falling off, Spike began laughing maniacally. This was just like that time he’d been to Australia. The brumby he’d been attempting to show off on had decided that it wanted to pursue a career as a bronc right when he’d been in front of Dru. But that was neither here nor there as Spike found a razor blade of what might be called the dragon’s mane to grip. It hurt like hell and made his bloodied hand even bloodier, but it did the trick. He was really riding a dragon!
His excitement was short-lived however as he realized that he still had the job of slaying the beast. And not to mention making it back to the ground without breaking his spine, a daunting task considering how far down the ground looked from where he was sitting.
Giving his standard who gives a- shrug, Spike raised the heavy demon sword high and brought it down over the scaly beast’s heart girth. What he hoped was a little to the left.
Something struck true as the dragon gave a terrified shriek and began to plummet; it’s wings and legs thrashing wildly about.
Spike steeled himself and about twenty feet from the alley’s concrete floor, jumped ship.
The impact didn’t really hurt at all. Of course, it helped that there were thousands of demons milling about, waiting for someone to tear to shreds, to break his fall. Fortunately, they were too busy admiring the fallen dragon to pay him much attention. Not one to be ignored, he resumed his earlier task of fighting off the hordes. Behind him, he could hear the moaning wails of the dragon.
This continued for a few minutes until all the mixed demons Spike had been picking off fled in fear.
Confused, but optimistically relieved, Spike panted, “THAT’S RIGHT! RECKON YOU WON’T BE MESSING WITH SPIKE AGAIN MATES!!” Turning around to share the good news with his remaining teammates, assuming some had survived besides the cold Goddess, Spike met the glowing amber eyes of one seriously brassed off dragon.
“Right, guess you’re not dead.” Spike began backpedaling. “Let’s see what we can do abou- AHH!!” The dragon was obviously very pissed at nearly being slain, and it took great pleasure in biting him, right in the leg!
Spike felt its hundreds of razor sharp canines close around his right thigh; the bite went down all the way to his bone. Stars danced behind his eye sockets as he struggled to keep conscious.
He’d always knew he’d go down fighting, but the thing was, he’d never planned to go down. Being dead, or deader than usual anyway -after the amulet incident in Sunnyhell- had made him look at what he really wanted in his unlife. And as much as he wanted Buffy’s love, he wanted something else more. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to fight the good fight, as bloody pathetic as it sounded. Being with Angel, loath as he was to admit it, had given him back a sense of purpose. Being the Slayer’s right hand man, or stalker, depending on the day of the week, he’d forgotten a part of himself. A part he hadn’t known he’d ever been missing. And that part of him wanted to live right now.
His axe still firmly in hand, Spike let loose a blood-choked scream as he blindly swung in the dragon’s direction. Nothing happened at first, but a few seconds later, the dragon released its grip on what was left of his leg and fell back. Without the creature supporting him, Spike too hit the ground. He snapped his head around to see what the beast was up to and there, breathing hard, saturated in blood, (most of which was his own) and demon guts, stood Gunn.
He was hacking away at the dragon using the sword Spike had lodged in its heart. Spike saw the beast raise its head in a final act of violence, and tried to get up to aid the lawyer, but it was too late, the dragon’s last bite hit home and Charlie was severed across his abdomen. The knife wound the Senator’s vamps had inflicted was now truly a gruesome sight.
The dragon shrunk away, too overcome by its own mortal wounds to inflict anymore. Charlie however stumbled over to Spike and fell next to the vampire.
Gunn gave a sluggish grin and nudged the sword over to Spike. In a deathly quiet voice he uttered, “I know you won’t let that go in vain.” He hacked up some blood and gasped for breath. “Give em’ hell for me.”
Spike didn’t really know what to say, so instead, he nodded solemnly and awkwardly patted Gunn on his shoulder, the one that wasn’t mutilated. Using his other bleeding hand, he gripped the sword’s hilt. A tear dropped to the ground and mixed with the rainwater and demon guts.
Gunn died a second later.
Illyria was disappointed. The demons the Wolf, Ram and Hart had sent were extremely brittle. They broke like splinters and annoyed her with their festering numbers. No matter though. She was a God. An Old One. The armies of hell would crumble beneath her wrath.
Never the less, their ignorance forced them to foolishly persist in a vain attempt to stop her. It might have even amused her. But there could be no amusement this night. Wesley had died.
Her guide in this disgusting, unfamiliar new world, was gone. Dead. She begrudgingly acknowledged that his passing brought discomfort to her. The Winifred Burkle memories that existed somewhere in her subconscious told her that it was sorrow she was experiencing. For his passing. A mortal’s passing.
Something was most assuredly wrong. Illyria did not feel sorrow. She did not regret. The enigma of human emotions and their range to overwrought her senses so completely was threatening to madden her. Being in this tiny shell, encompassed in this tiny world, co-existing alongside mere mortals with nothing but tiny, insignificant thoughts was going to be her undoing.
And worst of all, she was beginning to not care that she did feel.
But in the meanwhile, snapping the spinal chords of these half-breed, dim-witted demons was most enjoyable. The violence was far less complicated than the other things.
A strong gust of wind overhead made Illyria’s icy blue eyes glance up. The dragon was terrorizing her half-breed companion. She would endeavor to assist him, providing she disposed of the large one-eyed demon blocking her path to where the reptilian flying lizard had crashed. Just beyond the enormous fifteen-foot hulk of the creature Illyria could glimpse the white haired one writhing in agony before the dragon. She would quicken her assault.
The Cyclops growled as Illyria confidently stomped up to it. Balling her fist, she punched it hard on the patella. The reaction was immediate. The giant kicked her, hard.
Illyria flew back into the wall of one of the alley’s adjourning buildings. Not winded, but slightly infuriated, the former God gathered herself and charged the creature, jumping at the last moment and clocking it soundly in the face with a resounding right hook.
Now it was the Cyclops’s turn to reel. It gave a whimper and held its broken nose. This only made Illyria go in faster. She ducked under its trunk like legs and roundhouse kicked the back of the giant’s knees, one after the other until the creature finally gave and fell to a kneel. Once in this position, Illyria began pummeling anything she could get her leather-clad fists on.
Sensing its end was near, the Cyclops gave a horrendous screech that called what seemed the entire demon army to its aid. Unable to deal with the sheer over-whelming numbers, Illyria was successfully pinned.
The idea of fleeing the scene and getting herself into a better position never occurred to her. She knew herself to be infallible.
It was this that had her being beaten senseless the second time in as many days, and although these creatures were no where near as powerful as Hamilton, they made up for power in sheer numbers.
Just when she thought her fragile shell would finally crack under the blows, the lesser demons shied away. She looked up out of swollen eyes to see that the Cyclops was once again on its feet and seeking retribution.
Illyria slowly got to her feet and wiped the blood from the corner of her blue-stained lips. To never die…
...and bugger all if Spike was going to let Gunn’s noble sacrifice go in vain. Screw that. The Senior Partners just made their biggest mistake yet.
With a rush of vengeance fueled adrenaline, Spike jumped up onto his relatively uninjured left leg and charged back into the fray. His right leg was still on, but it was a mutilated mess, practically unusable.
For two glorious minutes, Spike fought as he had never fought. The demons even gave him a little breathing room he was so ferocious. But the inevitable was well, inevitable. Spike was failing. His vampire body could only take so much. And he hadn’t had blood since before he’d gone to that poetry slam. Course, he’d had lots of alcohol. That didn’t seem to be very effective at the moment however.
In fact, maybe he was still a little drunk, or maybe delirious from exhaustion. Yea, that had to be it, because, even as the demon hordes surrounded him and he prepared to finally meet his fate, arrows began sailing through the air, miraculously hitting all the demons surrounding him.
The blackness enclosing around his mind in a welcoming fog, the last image he saw was that of dark brown hair and a self-righteous smirk.
Faith had to give it to the vamp, he had guts. Course they were everywhere, but points for trying.
After directing her little battalion of eager beaver battle-tested slayers to shoot down all the uglies around Spike, Faith picked up the unconscious vampire and dragged him to the nearest wall where she propped him up. Damn, he looked beat. Still, better than being dead. Which is what she assumed he had been all of five minutes ago.
When her hundred or so slayers had fought through the demon’s line up to the carcass of the dragon, she’d been surprised to see Spike’s familiar bleached head, fighting for what appeared to be his last couple of punches. Well, surprised wasn’t really the right word. Shocked so bad she’d nearly peed in her pants was more like it.
Standing up, she surveyed the scene. Her slayers were doing good. Besides numbers and…fuck, was that a Cyclops? Yea… Well, besides that, the great W&H army didn’t seem too tough. Even ol’ Wood was pickin them off with no prob.
Further on down the alley, Faith could see Buffy and her group of slayers taking care of business just as effectively. Looks like Sir Broodsalot and his trusted Knight, Sir Bleachedbrain had done a good share of the work. She wondered where the rest of the Fang Gang were?
The blue chic givin as good as she got on the one-eyed mega freak looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember at the sec. Wesley was no where to be seen, and Gunn was…no…that couldn’t be him not twenty feet from her.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she battled her way through the demons over to where the slain dragon lay.
“GUNN!!” She fell to her knees and checked for a pulse she knew wouldn’t be there. It looked like he’d died from the massive gash in his stomach, but with all the injuries he was covered in, it was hard to tell. Faith dropped his lifeless wrist and turned around to find something to kill.
Wouldn’t be difficult, it was a busy night.
A few minutes later, Vi dropped in and put her back to Faith so the two could talk as they fought.
“Buffy wanted to know how your group was fairing? Ours is just about done. Willow’s on damage control.”
“We’re cool Vi. Just about finished here. The only serious nasty left is that big one wailing on the blue-uh, whatever she is.” Faith twisted a demons neck and not breaking stride, moved to the next. “Tell Buffy to get her group over here so we can take care of Mr. Summers.”
“Buffy’s married?!” Vi screeched as she wielded her sword.
“Wha-Oh! No, I was uh,” Faith ducked under the swing of a Shirago demon, “referring to that x-men dude. You know, the one they called Cyclops?”
Vi didn’t say anything for a second. Faith worried she might have bitten it, so she turned around. Vi was still fighting away, but she was laughing!
“What the hell is so funny?”
“You’re starting to sound like Andrew!” Before Faith could retaliate, the English slayer wisely retreated and said, “You all going to be alright? I’m going to go back and report to Buffy.”
“Five by Five. But breathe one word of this conversation and you’ll regret it.”
“Yea right!” Vi gleefully threw over her shoulder as she dashed off down the alley to where the blonde slayer’s crew was fighting.
Faith shook her head. Oh, Vi was going down for sure. No way she ratted on Faith and got away with it.
A shout from Rona brought Faith running. “What’s wrong!?” Faith asked, frantically looking around for the cause of the girl’s yell.
Her eyes settled on Wood, who was ok. She gave a sigh of relief and tried to focus on what Rona was saying. As far as she could tell, something about ‘gone’.
Seeing that Faith couldn’t hear her over the din of the battle, Rona pointed to the wall. Faith understood then, Spike was gone.
When Spike came to, he saw a truly wonderful sight. Hundreds of young women, slayers, his hazy mind corrected him, were fighting back the demon army. They appeared to be winning!
Struggling to a standing position, using the wall for support, Spike’s eyes sought out the Old One. She was being pummeled be the Cyclops. About done too.
Making up his mind, Spike grabbed the sword his unconscious fingers had clung to, and limped off toward Blue. Couldn’t just let the lil Shiva bite the bullet now. Not after losing Charlie and Wes.
His limp was severe, but he found the pain had lessened since everything had become numb. He even picked off a few stray demons enroute to Illyria, although, killing them hadn’t been near as effortless as he would have liked.
Almost to them, a hand clasped around his shoulder, yanking him back. He would have gutted the creature, but as his bleary vision focused, he found himself looking into familiar Doe eyes he’d never thought he’d see again.
“Thanks for the rescue luv, but I need to save the blue bint, she’s part of the team and not fairing so well at the moment. Care to help? Maybe call over a few of your little charges and see if they could lend a sword as well?”
Faith nodded. She put her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. A few dozen pimply-faced slayers came running over like loyal pups.
“Take down the Cyclops!” They stood there for a second, as if trying to process her words. Faith glared. “NOW!” That got their attention. They scattered and sprinted toward the hulking figure as if the flames of hell licked at their heels.
Spike spared a moment to arch an eyebrow at her. “Nice to see you haven’t let the power get to you.”
Faith grinned. “Wait till you see corrupted Buffy.”
Spike gulped. That wasn’t exactly the most comforting thing she could have said at the moment. Ignoring the thoughts of Buffy that immediately began running rampant through his mind, he headed towards his destination once again, new resolve making his movements come smoother as he saw the destruction the giant had inflicted.
Illyria was a barely conscious bloody pulp. Even her nifty little leather suit was ripped, and blood was leaking out of where glimpses of pale white skin could be seen.
The Slayers were doing a right good number on the Cyclops though. Their tag team effect seemed to be working. Spike and Faith sealed the deal on the giant when they managed to each take out a leg and bring the mammoth down. Once down, Faith used her battle sword to stab it in the eye. Spike breathed a sigh. That, was that.
He hobbled over to Illyria and crumbled down beside her. She made no movement, but Spike could see through her swollen eyelids that she was aware of his presence.
“You alright Blue?” Spike said. He would have tried to comfort her, but she was a little touchy about being touched. Go figure.
Her head slowly turned to him. Her blood caked blue lips cracked open and she whispered, “I require no assistance. Leave me be.” Even beaten, she remained as snobby as ever.
Spike did what he always did though, he ignored her. “Sorry Blue, not getting off that easy.” He struggled up to his feet and with a grunt, hefted her up into his arms. She drew a quick breath, either in surprise or to argue, he couldn’t tell and then lay still against his chest. He could tell the pain she was feeling was immense. She probably had a few broken ribs in conjunction with a concussion or two. Not to mention, there was no way she’s let him touch her, much less carry her unless she was near dying.
Spike slowly limped off the scene, leaving the Slayers and Faith to finish off the last couple hundred demons. Hovering up above the alley, he could see Red casting her mojo on any demons crazy enough to come into her vision. The apocalypse was as good as over. Mission bloody accomplished.
It felt as though he were running a marathon. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been more tired or sore, but still, he kept limping onward, carrying the prone figure of Illyria. His destination was the Hyperion. It wasn’t even that far away, considering most of the battle had been to the alley just a bit north of the old hotel, but the process of safely weaving in and out of demons and the slayers fighting them had been tedious. But, Angel had told them before the big mission assignments that that was where survivors would meet, assuming it was still there.
Finally walking through the doors of the dilapidated hotel, Spike found a couch and without much ceremony, he deposited Blue. She remained motionless. He looked at her worriedly for a few seconds before glancing around the rest of the old lobby.
To his shock, there was Angel, sitting collapsed on an old red armchair. He appeared to be almost as out of it as Illyria.
Spike limped over to his grandsire and dropped heavily into the chair opposite Angel’s. He let loose a ragged sigh of relief. It felt sooo good to sit.
For a second though, he felt a twinge of remorse at leaving the young slayers, not to mention Faith, Willow and of course Buffy, to deal with the last of the battle, but as he was right now, he would only get in their way.
Angel’s head slowly came up when he noticed Spike’s presence. He was covered in cuts and had several gashes on his chest and legs. His nastiest injury however, appeared to be his right arm. It had a deep cut that went almost the whole way through halfway up his forearm. It reminded Spike that his right leg wasn’t much better off. He gave a grimace as he couldn’t help but look down at it. Yep, buggered good.
“Gunn dead?” Angel’s voice was as tired as they both felt.
“Yea. But he died doing what neither of us could. He up and slayed the dragon. The crazy git.”
Angel gave a choked sob and swallowed back the tears. He’d be more damned than he already was if he was going to cry in front of Spike. “Everyone’s dead. Because of me. I never should have let them join me in this. It was suicide.” He couldn’t help it now, a tear slipped down his cheek. He turned his head away from his grandchilde and continued in an unsteady voice, “Cordelia, Fred, Wesley, Gunn, and who knows how many of those young slayers out there tonight.”
“You’re right.” Spike said simply. Angel’s brooding tirade came to a grinding halt as his head shot up and he glared.
Spike continued though. “In a way, you did kill all those people, but you also gave them hope. You gave them something to believe in. And I think that’s more valuable than wasting a hundred lives away doing something you don’t. If they all were suddenly back from the grave this instant, I guarantee you that not one of them would have regretted their sacrifices. They were Warriors all.”
Angel looked at Spike and thought it over. Finally, he gave a sigh and breathed, “Yea.”
“Broodings not going to help.”
“Shut up Spike.”
“There’s my favorite little blood-sucking fiend.” Spike paused. A thought just occurred to him. “Or not. After the big battle, wasn’t one of us supposed to Shunshu up or some rubbish?”
“I signed it away to gain the Black Thorn’s trust. If you didn’t become human, then perhaps the prophecy was fake to begin with, or maybe it was only meant for me.”
“Not being arrogant there, are we?”
“Look Spike, I’m just telling you what could have happened. It’s been a long night, a long week, a long year. So just lay off, will you?” Angel let his head drop back against the chair.
Spike swallowed his remarks and lay back as well. Finally, after several minutes of complete silence, Spike blurted, “You really gave up the Shanshu, just like that?”
“What happened to you back there anyway?”
With a sigh, Angel muttered, “I killed some demons, got thrown from a dragon, busted some internal organs, killed some more demons, got my arm almost bitten off and got rescued by Buffy and about two hundred other Slayers. What about you?”
“The same. More of less. How the hell did she know to come?”
A voice from the entranceway cheerfully said, “She probably got a tip off about a possible end-of-the-world, and seeing as how that’s her favorite kind of party, she probably decided to bring some friends and bail you boys out just like she normally does.”
At the sound of Buffy’s voice, both vampires immediately sat up. They would have sprung to their feet, but both were too exhausted.
There in the doorway of the Hyperion stood Buffy Summers in all her Slayer gloryness. She sported a few fashionable nicks and bruises, but nothing near as serious as Angel’s arm or Spike’s leg. Spike thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
But of course, he was panicked inside even as a wide grin erupted painfully across his swollen face.
Buffy was here! He was here! He and Buffy were here!
Ok, so maybe panic was an understatement. But ever since coming back from the amulet, Spike had dreamed of this moment. Every time he slept, and even sometimes when he didn’t, he fanaticized about how their reunion would go. He’d of course sweep her off her feet and kiss her soundly right in front of Angel, and she’d look deeply into his eyes with love and cry about how much she’d missed him. And she’d tell him how she just couldn’t move on and that he was the one. The one she wanted. The one that she loved.
But, this wasn’t a dream. This was the cold, harsh world of reality. A world where kittens were gambled in demon poker.
Finally breaking the silence, Angel softly greeted, “Hey.”
Buffy walked toward them and sat down on the worn out magenta couch parallel to the chairs. She looked at Angel and gave a small smile. “Hey yourself.” Her features darkened as she went on. “I’m not too thrilled about you throwing this apocalypse and not calling me. I had to hear it from Giles who got a vague account of what was coming from a phone call from Wesley of all people.” Both vampires flinched at the utterance of their lost comrade. Angel interrupted.
Buffy looked surprised at this. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry Angel. I know he’s changed a lot.” Buffy looked sympathetically at the Broodster for a second before turning to Spike. A flame Spike knew all too well suddenly materialized in her hazel eyes. He was in for it now.
“How dare you not tell me you were back!” The passion in her face spoke volumes of the anger and hurt she was feeling. “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to know?” Her steely edge softened a little. “That I might care?”
Spike could barely look her in the eye as he mumbled, “I was a little tied up.” When she didn’t say anything, he rolled his eyes and gave a growl of frustration as he continued, “I came back incorporeal, and when I finally did have my body back, I almost got on a boat to see you, but I… just couldn’t.” He leaned back against the big chair once more. “I wanted you to have a life. And I wanted your last memory of me to be from *that* day.”
She got up from the couch and perched herself on the arm of his chair. His exhausted senses came back to life as he inhaled her special scent and lost himself in the green of her eyes.
Then she slapped him.
“THAT WASN’T BLOODY CALLED FOR!” He yelled as he put his hand to his throbbing cheek.
“Yea. Well neither was being a dummy.” Then she did a complete 180 and gave him a hug. It scared him so bad that he nearly fell off the chair. Buffy and he had never hugged before. It was a strange sensation. But by the time she pulled away, he decided that he liked it.
Buffy held him at arm’s length and with a watery smile whispered, “I’m glad you’re ok though. Just promise me you’ll never do something so stupid again.”
Angel decided now was a good time to break up their quiet moment. “You shouldn’t ask the impossible Buffy.”
“Don’t worry Angel, I haven’t forgotten about you.” She put her hand to Spike’s cheek for a second and then went over to Angel’s chair. Spike sighed. Angel was such a jealous ponce.
Buffy gave Angel a hug as well and then pulled away and asked, “So, you gonna fill me in on what’s been happening?”
“Er-herm.” Angel cast Spike an annoyed look.
“*I* joined Wolfram&Hart. I knew we had to be on the inside to have any kind of chance to take them out. Finally, we were presented with access to their constituents on Earth, the Circle of the Black Thorn. What’s I guess by now yesterday, we assassinated them. Wesley died on his mission. I guess he called Giles right before he left on it. He probably wanted a second front to have some idea of what was going on when the inevitable happened.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed at that. “Inevitable?! Wait, don’t tell me. You all die in some heroic senseless fashion.” By now, Buffy was close to screaming. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this earlier? We could have gotten here yesterday and none of your people would have had to die!”
“It wasn’t your fight to fight.”