From Hell To Texas
Fred sat sideways on the couch, her feet resting on the seat, her knees drawn up against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“They’re all dead,” she said. “All of them. I’m the only one left.”
Her father laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Baby…”
Fred took her hands away from her legs, reached up, and placed a hand on his. “It hurts so much, Dad,” she said. “Why does it hurt so much?”
Trish fought to control the tremble in her lip. “They’re dead? Angel? Wesley? Charles?”
Fred nodded. “All of them. Wesley, Angel, Charles, Cordelia, Spike…”
“I knew it was dangerous but… but… they seemed so… good at what they did,” Trish said.
“They had that nice new office,” Roger said, “and a whole load of people working for them, and you had that lab.”
“It was a trap,” Fred said. “It sucked us in and it killed them. If we’d stayed in the Hyperion we… they… wouldn’t have died.”
“Oh, my poor girl,” Trish said.
“I liked Angel,” Roger said. “You’re sure he…?” He didn’t finish the question. The look on Fred’s face was answer enough.
“I couldn’t save them,” Fred lamented. “I fought with everything I had, and I made it through, but I couldn’t save them.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, honey,” Trish said.
“I don’t,” Fred agreed. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, tilted her head, and clenched her fists. “I blame Rupert Giles.”