The Mighty Belthazor

Bel was wrestling with guilt. Guilt, unfortunately, currently had the upper hand.

After he'd come back from the Wastelands, he'd made his apologies to Phoebe, Angel, Isabel, Parker, Blair, Cally, Dr. Wilson and Aziraphale -- even Logan. He hadn't run into Cameron or Angela or Marty or Buffy yet at school. Nor had he mustered the courage to go visit Piper and Veronica (mainly because fast healing or not, he wasn't sure if he could handle Piper blowing him up, which seemed a decent assumption considering how he'd been greeted at the Hyperion).

Anders was more complicated. The Source had screwed with him pretty badly, and Bel himself hadn't done a good job of fixing things. And the stupid bond had let him know just how hurt Anders had been the other day. And so . . . guilt. And lots of it. He'd tossed and turned all night. Well, it would help him play dead in Forensics, at least.


[For la girlfriend, or anyone else who wants to drop by.]

Bel didn't have any workshops today but he woke early and couldn't fall back asleep, his mind troubled. Until he had heard about it on the radio last night, he hadn't remembered it was Father's Day yesterday. He had no father to call, of course -- his mother had seen to that years ago. He barely remembered Benjamin Turner; after all, he'd purposely tried to forget him while dealing with the shame of his human side as he grew up in the Underworld.

His father must have loved him. When he discovered what his wife was, he tried to take his son and flee rather than leaving him behind. If he'd left Bel, he might have escaped. But Elizabeth pursued them, and still Benjamin tried to protect his son. And Elizabeth killed him for it.

He couldn't help but wonder what his father would think of him and the sacrifice he'd made now.

After drinking himself into a stupor at Caritas after saying goodbye to Angel, Bel shimmered back to the South Attic. Unfortunately, being exceptionally drunk, he appeared about three inches above the floor and went sprawling to the carpet. He lay there for a long moment, waiting for Phoebe. The noise surely would've awoken her. But the attic was dark and quiet. Phoebe wasn't there.

He staggered to the bedroom, yanking open drawers and tossing the contents on the floor until he found what he was looking for: the snowglobe he'd stolen from Angel months before. He'd been meaning to give it back and didn't know why he was still holding on to it. Too late now.

He raised his arm to throw the snowglobe against the wall but stopped himself just before the orb left his hand. Sinking back down to the floor, his back against the bed, he stared at the snowglobe cradled in his hands. Phoebe wasn't here. His best friend had left. Hell, even Lindsey was gone. Not since he was a child in the Underworld had he ever felt this alone.

After his visit to Veronica, Bel spent the rest of the day avoiding people. It had been hard enough to talk to her, and he knew he couldn't deal with running into anyone else he'd hurt during any of his stupid schemes to bring Angelus back. Not when the guilt was so fresh. So he didn't go to his classes and spent the day in hiding.

He finally shimmered back to the attic late that night. He knew Phoebe would be frantic (more guilt) but he couldn't bear to face her either, and hear her words of trust and love when he didn't deserve any of it.

He found Phoebe asleep on the couch. Carefully picking her up so he didn't wake her, he carried her into the bedroom and tucked her into bed. He settled in a chair next to the bed, watching her sleep, wishing he was the good man she thought he was.

The roof was becoming a common haunt for Bel these days, a place where he could go for privacy and contemplation. He had to make a decision soon. He'd made a promise to Angelus and he wanted his friend back. But if he brought Angelus back, people would die -- and Phoebe, as a witch, would be in danger. So would her sisters, and Kiki, who had always been nice to him, as well -- except for the part about yelling at him about Phoebe. Innocents like Allie, whom he liked, would be at risk, too. He liked to pretend he didn't have a choice, but, as Cameron, Isabel, Lana, and Blair had insisted, he did.

He turned the Dragon Blade over in his gloved hands. This time he wouldn't fail. The power of the Dragon Blade wasn't like some risky spell. If he did this, he had to be fully committed to bringing Angelus back -- and the consequences thereof. Could he take that risk?

( Phoebe and Angel stepped out onto the roof. )


[OOC: Pre-played, no IC interaction is possible, but OOC comments are welcomed.]

Bel sat on top of the roof, looking over the snow-covered landscape. The skies had cleared and the stars were out. Orion climbed the southern skies, the moon and Saturn hung in the east, while Mars burned red in the west, beneath the Pleiades. He never saw the stars in the Underworld, but they had intrigued him during the times he'd spent above ground, so he'd learned quite a bit about them.

And, yes, of course, he was brooding.

He and Phoebe were together, but not together. She wanted him to chose between her and Angelus -- between love and loyalty. He'd already chosen love over loyalty once. He'd been told to find and kill the Charmed Ones, and he had disobeyed. With Angelus it was a promise he made to a friend. It was more personal.

Then Cam had started asking him about family. And Isabel questioned him about his childhood and the Source. The conversations had just further unsettled him.

Why hadn't they tried to kill him like they'd tried with Darla and Dru? Because he had a soul, like Cam had said? Because they thought there was a chance he could chose to do the right thing? He didn't even know what the right thing was anymore. Everything used to be so much simplier before he came here.

Phoebe's roommate seems to think she'll be back tonight. I left her a note telling her I wanted to talk to her. But what do I say? "Hi, I'm a demon. I kill witches for the Source of All Evil. One day I might be told to kill you and your sisters."

Yeah. That'll go over well.

Why am I even trying? I did what I did to push her away from me. And it worked. So why am I trying to come up with ways to win her back?

I care about Phoebe. I think I really love her. I mean, that's the only word I can think of that describes this. I don't want to feel this way, but I do. I hate that I hurt her. I hate that I hurt Piper, too. But I can't undo what I've done. I can't undo anything I've done. Is this what remorse is?

I want to be with her, but I can't. It's just impossible. What am I supposed to do, switch sides? Right. I'm a demon. Besides, the Source and Raynor and the Brotherhood would hunt me down and kill me. Then someone else would be sent to kill Phoebe and her sisters. They barely even know what they are now. They'd be sitting ducks.

I can't keep going like this, though. I can't sleep. I can't concentrate on anything. Raynor's going to figure out something is wrong and he'll know when I'm lying to him. He always does.

Demon and soul aren't meant to be together like this. No wonder the thought of having his soul again bothers Angelus so much. If Drusilla can do whatever it is and rip mine out of me...then this will all stop, right? There's no other way...I just don't know why the Source didn't burn mine out of me long ago. Then all this never would've happened.