You Can Never Tell What One Will Do For Love

It was just sunset. 

Angel struggled with his chains, desperate to get out, to be free of this, to leave the memories – torture – the feelings – unable to move, they wouldn’t let him move – behind. He yanked again and again, must get free, had to get free. He was out, he knew he was out and yet he still felt trapped, cornered, confined. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, not here, not…her. He wasn’t supposed to be chained here, not…her. 

She was there, she was here, she was real, she was…all. And she needed him, she needed him; she was crying out for him, help, love, him. Again, with all of his weight he pulled, desperate the longer he couldn’t break free. The bracket bolted into the wall finally pulled loose and he crashed to the floor, landing on his hands and knees with a grunt. Free but chained. Still chained, still not free. 

“Buffy.” 

It was a growl, a word that held no real meaning for him but that meant everything to him. He couldn’t say what it was, this word that torn from his lips, nor could he say what it meant. He knew it, it was the only thing he knew, other than Survival, Life, Her, Her, HER. Was Her Buffy? He didn’t know and didn’t care because she needed him. 

Quickly getting up, Angel pulled the chain free of the bracket and left the mansion, desperate to get out, to get to her. She was in danger, she needed him, she needed his help. Him, her, needed her, needed him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“All the same!” Pete shouted again, punching Buffy as he effortlessly held her with one hand, rage erupting to the point he didn’t bother to contain it. What was the point, because “You’re all the same!” 

He backhanded her for a third time and Buffy fell to the floor, shaking her head to regroup from his attack. She hadn’t expected him to be so strong, not nearly as strong as this. Maybe she should start training again, like Giles wanted her to; now that Angel was back, at least there was a reason to. 

Angel… 

Pete was advancing on her and Buffy knew he was going to try and kill her. She couldn’t allow that, not now that her lover was back. Angel needed her and she so needed him. No, death was no longer an option. Kicking her legs up and out, the slayer used all her strength to force Pete into a stack of crates near the wall. She was just about to get up, attack the monster who was the best friend of her new so-called love interest when behind her, the door opened. 

She knew that feeling, that tingling sensation that raced through her and settled low in her belly. Vampire it said, enemy, it said…Angel, it said that was all that counted. Looking back, she saw Angel. He was magnificent, standing there in his game face, naked chest, leather pants that she’d dressed him in because the sight of his totally nude body was too much for her to bear. The deep roar that sounded from him sent a bolt of lust through Buffy and she swore he knew it. He growled again in response to her reaction and leapt forwards, attacking Pete. 

The man-demon who dared touch his mate, the creature who hadn’t a chance against the enraged vampire. The psycho demon moved forward to meet Angel, but was no match for nearly two hundred and fifty years of incensed and slightly mad vampire. Swinging his chains – God, Buffy thought, I never wanted to do that to you – Angel hit Pete in the face. Swinging them back, Angel got Pete again; Pete lunged for the vampire, hands around his throat and Buffy rose, watching. 

Waiting. 

She knew who’d win this fight, this uneven match, and knew that she wasn’t to involve herself. Angel seemed to know she was in danger; he seemed to know that she needed help, his help. And he seemed to want to take care of the problem himself. Buffy was willing to let him, too stunned at his reappearance to do more, too thrilled at his reappearance to care. 

Throwing Angel off the crate he’d had the vampire pinned to, Pete ignored the man who fell to the floor, who tried to stand in his way, who tried to stand before he and his prey, and advanced on Buffy. He was the stronger here, he was the man. He would win, not the weakling on the floor, not the woman before him. 

“Your little protector wasn’t much help, you whore!” He spat at her. 

Behind him, Angel was already getting up, moving swiftly and silently towards the man-demon who touched Buffy, who called her things – he didn’t know what they meant, didn’t understand in his tortured mind, but knew they were mean, bad, wrong. The chains he hated, the chains she – beloved, lover, MATE – had wrapped around his wrists, now wrapped around the man-demon’s neck. Angel lifted Pete off the ground, swinging him over his back and slamming him onto the unforgiving floor as hard as he could, choking Pete. 

Buffy cringed at what she saw as Angel twisted and broke Pete’s neck. She knew it was necessary, that he had to do it to save her. Pete wasn’t human any more, he was a demon, a demon who killed and more than once and who had to be stopped. But a small part of the slayer wondered; was this really Her Angel? Had Angelus returned from Hell, somehow, to torment her again? 

But no, she knew it was Her Angel, knew that in the way he looked at her, wild though that may be. Buffy could see his soul, shinning brightly back at her.
Could see the shadows clouding that bright and once innocent soul, calling to her to banish them forever. Buffy took a small and hesitant step forward as Angel released Pete’s corpse, dropping it to the floor unheeded. Her eyes followed the body and he looked down at his kill, still uncaring as his face shifting from vampire to human. 

The danger to Mate was no more.

Angel took a deep breath, scenting the night air, and relaxed. No, there was no more danger to her, none in the immediate area that he could scent and so he looked back at her, her, her, herherherherher. He knew her, knew mate, matematemate, MATE. He moved towards her, slowly towards herMate…knew her, knew her, familiar, love, warmth, sunlight. Home. 

She was looking up at him, and he could scent the uncertainty rolling off her, the not-fear, the limited-hope, the…he knew her, he knew her, he knew… “Buffy?” 

Yes, yes, it was Buffy; it was the sunlight in his nightmares, the hope in his world, his world in his heart. His heart and his soul and she was there, real…was she real? Falling to his knees in front of her, Angel wrapped his arms tightly around her middle, breathing in the remembered scent of his love, Mate, allowing whatever he knew, didn’t know, thought, hoped, hated, feared, to wash away in her presence. 

He didn’t know when the tears started, neither of them did, but he cried for things he could not tell her, things he wanted to but didn’t know how to. Holding onto her as tightly as he could, Angel sobbed his love out to the one being who mattered, to Buffy who had brought him back from…who rescued him from…. 

Tighter, tighter, and her arms wrapped around him, hands running through his dark, dirty, hair. He felt her own tears fall onto him, grief, love, hope, yes, yes, yes! Onto him and he accepted them into himself as he would her, as he had her. 

“Buffy...” he said again, still sobbing, still holding her, still being held by her. They were quiet for a long, long while, in each other’s arms, together, together.

Suddenly Angel lifted his head, scenting the night air again and growled low in his throat. Danger. He dropped his hands from Buffy’s waist and crouched low on the floor, ready to attach whoever dared walk through the door. Buffy was his, no one got near her. His, his, only his. He had to protect her, had to save her, had to… 

“Angel,” Buffy whispered, but he didn’t respond. Tilting his face to look at hers, Buffy crouched down in front of him and pressed her lips to his. He responded immediately, though she wasn’t sure if he realized that or not. “Angel,” she said again and knew that at least part of his attention was on her. “It’s okay, don’t worry.” 

He didn’t respond and fresh tears welled in her eyes. My God, what had she done to him? “I love you,” she whispered, doing her best to soothe the vampire, more beast than man. “Don’t worry about it.” 

She didn’t know who was outside the door, suspected it was one of her friends come to check on her. Buffy couldn’t let them find Angel, not like this, maybe not ever. They wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t know it was him, that he needed her, that he helped her, that…she needed him. 

“Angel,” she repeated, wondering if he remembered his own name. Or if hers was the only thing to root itself firmly in his mind for the…another tear splashed down, and Angel caught it with his dirty fingers. He lifted it to his mouth, tasting the pain the tear captured. 

“Buffy,” he grunted, “Love.” 

With renewed strength, Buffy lifted Angel onto his feet, ignoring the voices she now heard clearly from outside the trashed room. They wouldn’t look here, not with everything so quiet. She could take Angel back to the mansion and then explain what happened with Pete to them. Somehow. 

But Buffy wasn’t letting them know her lover was back. She’d just had him return to her; she wasn’t letting anyone or anything take him away again.
~~~~~~~~~~
She told them of Pete, but Buffy hadn’t told anyone her Angel was back. 

It was just as well for a variety of reasons, though all Buffy cared about was that he was back, he was with her again, and there was no reason to tell anyone else about it. After all, what was the point in telling Giles that the vampire – sans soul – who tortured him for hours was back from the Hell you were forced to send him to? No reason. What was the point in telling her mother that the vampire – sans soul – who told her of how he’d deflowered her daughter was back? No reason. 

Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia, they wouldn’t understand. Faith…Buffy wanted to tell the new slayer, wanted to have someone to confide in who hadn’t been there, who hadn’t really known what it was like to have a soulless, murderous boyfriend torment you and your friends for months on end. But Buffy didn’t think the other slayer would understand. She was definitely an us vs. them kind of girl. 

Angel fell into the ‘them’ category and Buffy would, too, she knew, if Faith found out Angel was back. No, Faith wouldn’t understand. 

But Angel…her sweet Angel was back again and Buffy didn’t care who did or didn’t understand, who did or didn’t accept and who did or didn’t know. Because she did and that was enough. 

Angel growled in his sleep and Buffy moved closer, wanting to soothe him, wanting to ease his pain. 

The chains still hung from his wrists and she flinched every time she saw them. She hadn’t wanted to chain him up like an animal, but…he’d come back so quickly, so unexpectedly, and Buffy wasn’t prepared. She didn’t know what to do, he had his soul, or had the last time she’d seen him. Three months, eighteen days and twelve hours ago. When she killed him. When she sent him to hell. When she lost whatever will she had to live in her own life. 

But when he looked at her. When he spoke her name. Buffy knew he had a soul, knew the brightness that so drew her was there, shinning for her and her alone. 

Placing her hand on his shoulder, Buffy rubbed the cool flesh gently, soothingly, trying to ease the nightmares Angel obviously had. He quieted at once; shifting under the blanket she placed over his shaking body and moved closer to her. His face turned towards her and he sniffed her hand as an animal might, before placing his lips against her palm, falling into sleep once more. 

Buffy froze, staring at him in awed silence. She hadn’t expected that reaction, hadn’t really known what to expect, actually. But this…this was something that welled within her, that made her feel more than she had since…since she’d taken Angel into her body and given him everything he already had. Given him her body, soul, heart. Life. 

“Angel,” she whispered into the still night. “Baby, can you hear me?” 

Her only answer was a soft grunt and Angel moving closer to her warmth. Buffy’s heart broke, shattering into pieces at his feet, and she couldn’t help herself. She was tired, so very tired and there was nothing else she could do and still retain her sanity. Laying on her side, using Angel’s arm as a pillow as she had so many times before – or were those just dreams? – Buffy slept on the cold hard floor of the mansion where she both lost and regained her lover. 

Half asleep, she felt Angel curl around her body, holding her, protecting her in his sleep. Smiling, Buffy let herself relax completely, fully, for the first time in…months. 

And in the arms of Her Angel, finally found a dreamless sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
 Creeping into the library the next morning, Buffy looked at her friends. 

So much had changed in the past day and yet they didn’t realize it. Angel was back, Angel returned to her from Hell. Angel knew her. Saved her. Somehow he knew that she was in danger, that Pete…and he saved her. Buffy smiled at the tingling feeling she got when she thought of Angel, how it was so nice to be able to again despite the difficulties they now faced. At least they’d face them together and that was all Buffy cared about. 

Willow took her smile differently, but then the redhead would, she didn’t know about Angel. Willow thought the smile was about Buffy and Scott. 

“Hey, Buffy,” her redheaded friend called, then sobered. “How’s Scott taking all this?” 

Who? “Scott?” Buffy looked at Willow, then at all the expectant faces around Willow and forced a smile. “He’s…dealing.” She shrugged, “He doesn’t understand, and I didn’t tell him anything that, that happened, so he’s dealing with what the police report said.” 

“Sunnydale police,” Xander shook his head. “They are good for something, I’m impressed. So, murder suicide with strange marks on his neck,” the boy cocked his head as he flipped through a random book on whatever was on the table. “The mortician must have the best makeup to cover-up those kinds of marks.” 

“Xander,” Giles scolded, “Do stop.” 

Buffy didn’t hear what Xander and Giles argued about, but wasn’t surprised that they were. The stoic librarian/watcher and the class clown jokester was not the best combination to have in a group, but Buffy was grateful to both of them for their individual assets to her life. Oz was looking at her strangely, Buffy saw as her eyes moved around the table, but she ignored him. Werewolves had a strong sense of smell, Buffy knew that and cursed it. Maybe she’d talk to him later. Maybe she’d avoid him for the rest of…however long this whole thing lasted. 

Willow was talking with Cordelia about something the brunette read in the Cosmo she had before her and Buffy never felt so left out in her life. She stood there, on the edge of the dynamic, listening to her friends talk about everyday stuff; school intermixed with demons, intermixed with plans for the Bronze for the night. And Buffy had never felt so alone.

Alone with her thoughts of Angel and how he was doing alone in the mansion, trapped by the sunlight. Oh, did he realize it could kill him? Yes, Buffy relaxed with a sigh of relief, yes he did. Since returning to her only a day ago, Buffy realized that whatever happened to Angel in…Hell, in the Hell she sent him, his primal side had surfaced. And she wasn’t sure it could be suppressed again. 

With the way he acted around her last night, the way he charged into the secret room and saved her, Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to suppress those urges again. Because if she did, then Angel might remember that he was supposed to hate her, that it was she who killed him, sent him to hell, caused his torture for hundreds of years. 

It was selfish and self-interested this was true. But Buffy didn’t really mind that. She had her Angel back and he obviously still cared for her, loved her even. So if this primal side of him was bent on keeping her safe, then Buffy would let him, as much as she could without putting him in danger. And if he never remembered that it was she who sent him to that hell dimension, then that was okay, too. 

Yes, Buffy could live with that.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angel growled at the scent coming off her but otherwise said nothing. 

Buffy looked at him askance, placing the container of blood on the coffee table and moving to the couch where he sat. Her hand raised up, smoothing the lines of his vampire, easing the ridges of his brow. He looked at her as if he saw only her, nothing else in the room, in the world. His golden eyes bore into her moss green ones, fierce, captivating, all consuming. 

He bent down, his face resting on her shoulder and he growled again, sniffing at the artery pounding against her neck. His tongue flicked out to taste the skin there, his lips pressing against the beat; Buffy’s breath caught at the touch. It was not the first intimate touch since his return days ago, but it affected her the same every time; arousal spiked through her, her heart pounded, her blood raced, and all she wanted was to feel Angel atop her, inside her, as she had that one beautiful night too long ago. 

Angel pulled back, desire shining out of his golden eyes, rumbling through him and his large cool hands, colder than normal, gripped her waist, tugging her onto his lap. Buffy gasped his name, hands falling to his shoulders to steady herself. Her eyes closed and her head fell backwards at the feel of his hardness nestled perfectly in her moist heat. Oh, God, she’d missed this. Missed touching him, feeling him against her. 

How had she survived all these months without it? 

Her eyes opened as his hand tangled in her hair, drawing her mouth to his. Angel crushed her lips, possessing her in a fiery kiss that melted any resistance she had, little though it was. Buffy felt his hands slip under her shirt, his coolness a stark contrast to her heat, igniting that heat to a fever pitch. 

Whimpering, Buffy lost herself in the kiss, knowing only Angel; only Angel’s touch, Angel’s hands, Angel’s mouth, Angel’s fangs scraping her tongue and drawing small drops of her blood into his mouth, Angel’s hard cock against her. Her hips pressed against his, rocking together in a rhythm he’d taught her. Angel’s mouth slipped from hers, and Buffy moaned at the loss, as he tasted her cheek, neck, sucking briefly on the artery he’d noted before. 

“NO!” She cried, stumbling off his lap and falling in a graceless heap onto the floor. “Angel, no, we can’t.”

“No,” he said but looked at her with the same fire and heat as he had a moment ago. Reaching for her, Angel growled in anger and denied lust when Buffy scooted backwards out of his reach. 

“No,” Buffy nodded but then realized he was simply repeating her words, he didn’t really understand them. “Angel,” she said softer, lifting herself off the floor with her hands, squeaking in surprise when he lifted her effortlessly onto his lap again. Why had she wanted to leave? Oh. Right.

“Angel,” Buffy said softly, her hands framing his face, smoothing his vampire ridges. “Baby, listen to me.” She waited, still cooing softly to him until the growl stopped and a soft purr echoed around them instead. 

The faint glow from the fire she’d started when she raced here after school popped behind her, the only light and heat in the house. Angel was so cold, still, he shivered under her hands, but Buffy didn’t know if it was from her touch or the chill the non-hellish air gave off. The couch wasn’t the softest she’d ever sat on, but was comfortable and Angel seemed to like it; Buffy had tossed some throw pillows onto it, convincing her mom that Joyce needed new ones on their couch. 

The night sounds outside were faint in the great room, those few remaining birds calling to their mates, the crickets and other night animals a dull sound to the two lovers inside. Buffy kissed Angel’s cheek, his eyelids, her hands always a soft gentle touch on him, her body still against his. 

“We can’t, baby,” Buffy whispered over and over again, her words a direct contrast to her touch. “I’m sorry, Angel, I’m sorry. But we can’t.” 

“Can’t,” he repeated but this time Buffy thought he really wanted to know what she meant.

“No, baby,” she said, tears and regret in her voice. “No, I’m sorry.” 

“Can’t,” he repeated and pressed her down hard against his still prominent erection. “Can’t?” 

“No, Angel,” Buffy repeated and reluctantly but quickly disentangled herself from his embrace. She stood, stopping him with a hand against his shoulder when he went to pull her back against him. “We can’t. We…we’re not allowed to.” 

A tear slipped free of her rigid control and made its way down her cheek. Angel reached up, catching the moisture drop with his fingertips. He was still dirty, slightly sooty, so thin, too thin, but Buffy wasn’t sure how else to help him. Again he took the tear into his mouth, tasting it as if it would help him understand the situation, understand himself. 

“Sad,” he said, “Buffy sad.” 

“Yes,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “Buffy’s very sad.” 

“Want Buffy,” he insisted but made no move to take her back in his arms.

“God, Angel,” she cried, “I want you too! But we…we can’t have each other, love.” 

With that, she turned and ran out of the mansion, hoping he remembered the container of blood on the table, hoping he didn’t follow her, hoping he did. She wanted him with a passion that hadn’t abated in the months since they’d first made love. Angelus couldn’t stop the desire she felt for Angel, killing him hadn’t, the months in LA during her self-imposed isolation certainly hadn’t. 

Her friends’ rejection of her reasons for leaving, her mother’s censor, nothing had. Scott, the poor innocent boy she flirted with, the innocent high school relationship she had with him hadn’t decreased anything she felt for Angel. Oh, Buffy thought and stopped short in her frantic race away from the only man she wanted to run too. Was that what brought this all on? 

Had Angel realized that she and Scott…? He had that whole supersensitive vampire nose going on; had he somehow known that she was with Scott, despite the limited contact they’d shared? 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered; Buffy thought as she slowed to a walk, heading towards the Bronze so that her friends wouldn’t think something was wrong. None of it mattered because… 

Because she still couldn’t be with Angel.

Because she still was denied her love, her lover, the other half of her. 

Because no one ever understood and no one ever would and Buffy knew that. 

Wiping the tears off her cheeks, taking a deep breath, Buffy prepared to enter the Bronze. She licked her lips and tasted Angel there. Renewed lust shot through her and it almost doubled her over. Swallowing against it, controlling her breathing once more, Buffy opened the doors and entered the establishment. 

The noise from the band blasted around her, so different from the silence she’d shared with Angel not thirty minutes ago. Her eyes adjusted to the smoky interior, her body still remembering the warmth of the fire, the cool-heat of Angel’s body against her. Willow was waving enthusiastically at her from their usual table and Buffy plastered on a smile. 

She was used to it by now, the smile, the lines, the facial expressions. She was the world’s best actress. No one suspected a thing, they hadn’t since a week after she turned seventeen and her world crashed around her, every hope, every fear, everything she’d ever wanted. 

“Buffy, hey, you made it!” Willow said over the blare of the mediocre band on stage. “Oz went to go get some drinks, but if you catch him, I’m sure he’ll get you something, too.” 

Buffy froze at the mention of Oz. Werewolf, scent, he’d be able to smell Angel all over her, and that could only spell disaster. Forcing her head to shake no, Buffy plastered that smile back on her face, hoping Willow didn’t notice it slip. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“I haven’t seen Scott here tonight,” Willow said apologetically. “But Xander and Cordelia are on the dance floor.” 

Shrugging, Buffy obligatorily switched her gaze to the dance floor. “I hadn’t really made plans to meet him tonight,” had she? Buffy hoped not. “Been patrolling, showing Faith the routes and such.”

“How is the new slayer doing?” Willow asked as Oz returned. The happy smile she shot him wasn’t lost on Buffy and she felt a bolt of jealously. It wasn’t fair that her friends got to experience that perfection with their loved one while she got heartache, torment, and anguish. 

“Hey, Oz,” Buffy said and tried not to fidget. 

“Buffy,” the werewolf nodded, and Buffy swore his nostrils flared. “Want something to drink?” 

“Nah,” she shook her head. “I’m beat. Just stopped in to say hi so you all didn’t think a vamp had got me.” She wanted one to, but didn’t think it appropriate to say that. They wouldn’t understand. 

“Okay,” he said but kept an eye on her.

Feeling uncomfortable, Buffy stood and gathered her jacket, mechanically checking that her stakes were all there. It was done by route, her slayerness wanting to always be prepared. Giving Willow a one armed hug, Buffy waved to Oz and left, walking as normally as she could, hoping that she wasn’t drawing attention to herself. She felt like it, but chalked it up to paranoia. 

He’s back, Oz thought but kept his own council. Angel was back and Buffy wasn’t letting anyone know about it. The vampire’s scent was all over the slayer, unmistakable and strong, intimate but not…intimate. She was keeping it from them, keeping his mysterious – and probably miraculous – return from them. He couldn’t blame her, but did. 

Angel/Angelus had terrorized them for the better part of the end of last school year, and now she wasn’t telling anyone he’d returned. 

For now Oz decided to keep quiet about it, let Buffy figure out whatever she had to figure out. But he vowed to keep an eye on both her and Angel. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but Oz, better than anyone, knew that when it came to the one you loved, everything was colored differently.

“Do you think that everything’s okay with Buffy and Scott?” Willow asked as she scooted closer to Oz. By tactic agreement, the four of them – she, Oz, Cordelia, and Xander – weren’t too couply around Buffy. 

“Couldn’t say,” her boyfriend said honestly and took her hand in his, kissing the back of it. The band exited the stage, much to the relief of many of the patrons. The DJ waited barely a beat before switching on a CD. 

“Dance with me?” He led Willow to the dance floor, one eye straying to the door Buffy recently exited and felt a pang of regret for his blonde friend. 

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