She Comes to Me
Once Upon a Dream
Challenge: by Megan at littlemegan77@hotmail.com
Okay this challenge has to do with the season 3 episode where Angel returns from hell.
What would have happened if Buffy had acted differently when Angel came back from hell? What if he had listened and obeyed her, yet still had his animalistic qualities even if only for a while and she didn't chain him up in the mansion?
MUST HAVES:
-Angel knowing Buffy is his true mate, he listens to her
-Angel killing/almost killing Scott Hope
-Buffy trying to get animal Angel into her house without her mother finding out
u decide why
-hopefully Nc-17 but any rating u want....
-u decide whether Buffy tells her friends that Angels back or not
Pick 2 or more:
-Angel feeding off of Buffy
-Buffy reading Angel a children's book (u pick which one)
-Buffy giving Scott a kiss (eww i know)
-if its nc-17: Angel gets jealous and shows her who she belongs to....animal
style ;)
-someone walking in on them in bed together
*`*`*`*`*`*`*`
He looked out from his balcony at the vastness of nothingness below. This
hellish dimension was all his and he reveled in it. The red from the perpetual
sun glowed hotly on hell’s denizens, allowing no break, no relief, no
surcease. Typical and obvious, true, but the fact was that most beings in the
universe expected this from their hell; why not indulge their horrific
imaginings of it?
Leaning his oddly shaped head against one of his
six-fingered hands, he thought about what his day was going to bring. He always
liked to devise new tortures for a creature’s anniversary stay in hell. Made
the time pass a tad more quickly and his daily routine a bit more interesting.
And century marks were something to be celebrated; not many vampires can say
they’ve survived that long, let alone survived it in hell.
Torture was a fascinating subject, so many different ways
to abuse a being, so little time. Sometimes eternity just didn’t seem long
enough. But this one was different: a vampire with a soul. He didn’t see much
of that here – the soul part, not the vampire part. Of course he’d heard of
him, everyone had. Such a great paradox in a universe full of them. And to top
it all off, there was a rumor going around that his own lover, the slayer of all
creatures, had sent him here.
Ah, yes, truly a fascinating subject. But what made him
tick? What drove him? For centuries he had been trying to discover just that.
Guilt, remorse, sorrow, self-loathing, there were just so many emotions to use
that it was almost hard to pick one. So he had used them all, going
painstakingly through each and every victim of the demon Angelus, using their
shouts and recriminations and pain over and over and over again until he thought
for sure that this time was the time Angelus would break.
Angelus never did.
So he had looked further into the psyche of his subject, or
as much as he could. It was difficult to know one’s victim when the victim
refused to corporate. Yes, the demon was all of those things, but there was
more. A soul deep (and the word gagged in his throat) need to atone for his past
sins, a fated love that was so star crossed as to be in two different universes.
Next task: use the lover as the sole means of torture. It
was going to be interesting, indeed.
So he set about doing exactly that. But he had no idea what
consequences this latest game would have.
*******
Angelus dwelled in darkness despite the light from the glowing red sphere above.
He could no longer remember who he was or what had brought him here. He no
longer remembered a time when he wasn’t here.
Buried deeply within him was the primal knowledge that he
was once so much more than what he now was, but it was such a long, long time
ago he didn’t know why he felt this way. He thought (though such a process was
slightly more evolutionized than what he could currently achieve) that he had
once had light in his life. Not the harsh glowing red fire of the world around
him, but golden, soft, warm, and loving.
He knew this in his blood, though he couldn’t remember
who or what or why he should. Names had no meaning, faces blended together as
one and all he knew anymore was pain and agony and the need for release.
It was this release that he avoided. In that same
instinctual way he comprehended that he was once more, he knew that to give up, to quit, to allow them to win, was
something not in his character. Something that someone somewhere wouldn’t want
him to do.
At first Angel had tried to suppress the demon Angelus, but
living with him so close to the surface in the depths of the hell he found
himself; Angel discovered he needed the demon, needed his strength, his cunning,
and his viciousness just to survive. Though the thought was originally anathema
to him, the demon and the soul found a medium, that balance that Angel had been
striving for since the gypsies had first cursed him.
No matter the punishment devised to hurt him, Angel
survived it, allowing the demon more and more control as they used victim after
victim. The burning in his blood after he killed his Sire (The First Rule in the
Vampire Bible), the murder of his family and friends, his whole village, the
torture and pain he inflicted upon Buffy and her friends. Until the fateful day
they had decided to use Buffy against him.
By the time they grew tired of all other torments and
focused solely on her, Angel had lost all sense of Self. All ability to vocalize
his wants and needs in forms other than the grunt of pain, the shout of victory
over another occupant, the growl of anger and hatred; small talk wasn’t really
a fact of his life, so nothing else was required of him. He survived on bare
sustenance; the blood wasn’t fresh or even usually mammalian, but was enough
to just survive – to go on for one more day.
Sleep was overrated here but when he did so, that was when
they had the most fun. It started out small, as though they were testing the
willingness of their subject to receive the images fed to him. A glance, a
touch, a smile: enough to allow him to remember just that much more.
The warmth of her body, the love in her kiss, the feel of
her hands. The images progressed until he thought he’d go mad from the want.
And then they changed. No longer were they memories of their time together, but
twisted facsimiles of what they wanted
him to do and believe and be, for, with, to her.
Angel drinking her dry, turning her, ripping her apart limb
from limb, tearing her heart out with his bare hands. Every method of torture
used by him and subsequently on him they used on her. Sometimes there was
nothing he could do about it but scream in agony, while others it was infinitely
worse: they made him torture her.
They were all about control; they had it and he was helpless to resist.
In this the demon and the soul were irrevocably one: No one
touched his mate. She was his, always, and the anger, the determination, the
conviction that she was the reason he survived all this time, she was what he
was living, well, existing, for was crystallized into a fire that flooded his
veins and beat in his long dead heart.
He would not break. He would not yield. He would not allow
them to win by using the one good thing in his long life.
Demon raged in anger and soul burned with hatred. And they
became one as they never had before, the yin and the yang that every living
being carries within melded perfectly together.
*******
Gently she placed the Claddagh ring on the floor in the exact spot she had
stabbed Angel mere months ago. God she missed him, every second of every minute
of every day. It was as if this big hole had been cut out of her where her heart
used to beat, her soul used to reside.
Vaguely Buffy wondered how she had survived these past
months. Or maybe survived was too strong a word; lived, existed, moved blindly
through her life were more accurate descriptors. She knew that Giles and Willow
noticed, Oz maybe, as well. But they said nothing, either hoping that she would
eventually come to terms with what she had done or hoping that she accepted what
she now had to become without Angel.
“Goodbye,” she said her voice subdued and full of the
love she still felt for Angel.
Slowly she stood back up, took one last look around the
place. Though her actual time here was short, memories assaulted her, her last
one with Angel.
~~~~~~
“Buffy?” It was his voice that stopped her just as she was about to make the
final blow that would kill the man who was once her lover. His eyes glowed,
first golden, then with light and love for her and she ceased her downward
swing. And in those first few seconds, while she was trying to process
everything, her only thought was; Angel,
I’ll never let you go again.
Slowly he stumbled to his feet, looking around at the
foreign surroundings, clearly confused. “What’s going on?”
He looked at his hands, covered with blood, more confusion.
“Where are we? I-I don’t remember…” He tried to say more, but he was
totally perplexed and his motor and oratory functions weren’t working as well
as they might have been otherwise.
The sword wavered then slowly dropped, but Buffy never took
her eyes off him. Angel? Was this her Angel? She looked him up and down in total
disbelief, “Angel?” And the way she said it, hesitantly, hopefully, was
reminiscent of when they had first met.
A step, then another one. He was breathing heavily, trying
to will away the pain he was so obviously in. “You’re hurt.” He said, his
first thought for her. He reached out a hand to touch the scrape he, himself,
had given her though he didn’t yet remember that.
She looked, too, having forgotten such a little thing in
the face of…all this. And suddenly she was pulled into his arms, his strong
chest felt so right, his loving, gentle arms wrapped around her. The tears that
she had kept at bay since the night she had caused Angel to change were suddenly
there waiting to be let free and she smiled. Please, she thought to any god still listening to her, Please
let this last.
“Oh, Buffy…God…I feel like I haven’t seen you in
months. Everything’s so muddled, ahh,” He couldn’t form complete sentences
yet, he still had no idea what was going on. But Buffy was in his arms, and
nothing else seemed to matter.
Still holding her he dropped his head and placed a kiss on
her shoulder, “Oh, Buffy.”
He was here and in her arms…she leaned closer, wanting to hold onto him forever, and was just about to lean back in his comforting embrace and kiss him hello, when she opened her eyes in horror. She had forgotten…Acathla had awakened. And he was about to suck the world into Hell.
And in that moment Buffy knew. Knew what she had to do,
knew that she would never be whole again, knew that for her, for them…this was
the end. And her heart, so newly healed, shattered and crumbled once more, the
ashes floating away.
Stiffening, she pulled back. Angel, sensing that something
was wrong, looked at her, “What’s happening?”
“Shh,” she said, her voice ending on a choked sob. How
could she do this? “Don’t worry about it.”
She caressed his face, so beloved, so cherished, memorizing
every angle, every plane. His eyes, so dark and, once upon a time, so
mysterious…before she knew…knew him, knew who he was, what he was. And she
loved him anyway. Leaning forward she captured his mouth with hers, pouring all
her love, all her desire, everything she was and everything that he helped her
to be, into this kiss…their final one. Goodbye.
The mouth to Hell was getting larger, but Buffy didn’t
care. She needed this one last moment with the only person she had ever loved
and ever would love –completely.
~~~~~~~
Giles watched from a distance. He suspected that Buffy would come here, wanting
the contact with whatever was left of Angel’s memory. He knew that she
wasn’t over him contrary to the belief of her mother and friends. Though
Angelus had tortured him, killed the woman he loved, Giles knew the difference.
Knew that the demon that resides…resided in Angel was the
very incarnate of everything evil in Liam, the person. Everything that Liam’s
soul had once filtered the demon took and multiplied tenfold. Giles understood
the difference, true, but he didn’t love: the man, the vampire, the demon.
No matter what anyone thought otherwise, Giles knew that
Buffy’s love didn’t die with Angel’s soul. She loved Angelus, too. And
while she despised the creature that her lover had become, she couldn’t let
go.
He watched as Buffy set down something on the floor, stood
there for a bit lost in thought, and finally turned to leave. She walked slowly
away, never once looking back. But Giles could see how much she wanted too, just
one more moment, one more glance, just one more memory. Just one more that would
never be enough.
The ring sat there, alone yet glowing with the love that
Buffy felt for Angel. Saying a few words, words he had discovered in his hours
of summer research on demon dimensions and Acathla in particular, Giles walked
over to the ring and sprinkled some herbs around it, careful not to let any land
on the ring itself.
“Let this ring be the sign of her devotion. Let their
love be strong once more. Let this act make whole what has been torn asunder.
Let he who was sacrificed be completed. As I will, so mote it be” Then stood
back to watch.
Within moments the air began to crackle and hiss and a
small vortex opened above the now shaking ring, spewing out the being who was
once known as Angel. He landed hard on the floor, leaving scorch marks in a
pattern all around him.
The poor man was naked and obviously confused, but Giles
could do nothing about that. His job was finished. It was all up to Buffy, now.
********
The dreams had been coming every night since she had first…killed Angel. No
matter how little sleep, no matter how exhausted she was at the end of her and
Faith’s patrol, the dreams were always there, haunting her, teasing her.
Showing her what could have been and what she had done to
the only man she had ever loved. Even the ones that created a new life for them
ended horribly, with her killing Angel over and over again.
Lately, however, they had been different. Not of her
killing Angel, not of him accusing her of killing him, but of…just him. Buffy
thought she was losing her mind, thought that she had progressed past the point
of guilt and into such a state of depression that she would surely go mad.
Buffy thought that telling Willow and Giles about what
really happened that horrible day she killed Angel would help. It had, she had
gone to the mansion and said goodbye to him. Well, the intent had been real
enough, and if her heart really wasn’t in it, well, then she had tried. Really
she had.
But now she was dreaming that Angel returned to her. In
fact, the dreams were so vivid, so real, that she was going to swing by the
mansion after her patrol. Faith was watching werewolf Oz, Giles was researching,
and Cordelia, Xander, and Willow were checking out the body in the morgue.
Yes, Buffy
thought, After I make a sweep through the
woods, I’ll take a small detour, just for my own peace of mind. Whatever’s
left of it.
********
Food. Survival. Life. These were the imperatives that drove him. He did not know
where he was, but three things burned brightly inside of him: Blood was life,
sun was death, and the golden vision in his mind’s eye was forever.
He wished that he could remember why the last was so
important. His night terrors involved her, and yet some of the most peaceful
moments of his life were centered around her as well. It was more than he could
handle, so he didn’t.
He was hunting this night, small prey, rabbits, and other
small animals; anything that smelled of blood and was easily caught. Something
deep inside of him shied away from larger beings, whether it was from fear or
from something else, the being that was Angel didn’t understand.
And then his head raised, automatically, as through
scenting some force in the air. Eyes darted around, nostrils flared. She was
here. All he had to do was find her and he was convinced, in whatever was left
of his Self, that she was the Answer. She was the Reason.
The growl that escaped seemed to catch her attention and
for a moment he was afraid. He tried to run, to get away; to escape for he
wasn’t sure that he could go back to that netherworld. But she caught him, and
while his strength easily matched hers, he was weak, physically, mentally, in
ever way imaginable.
Angel knew, in the moment before he lost consciousness,
that She would never hurt him, that She was the reason he had survived, that She
was.
She couldn’t seem to move. Buffy stood there, stunned,
her heart had stopped when she recognized Angel – naked, blood outlining his
mouth, growling at her as if he didn’t recognize her – and her breath
clogged in her throat. Words tumbled around her brain; emotions flooded her
system.
He was back; he was back, hewasbackhewasbackhewasback.
“Oh, my God. Angel.” The sound of her own voice spurned her into activity
and she set about dragging/carrying him back…where? She could take him to the
mansion, it was close enough, but God she hated that place. Once she got him
there what she was going to do with him?
No, better (though that wasn’t really the word to use in
this situation) to get him to her house. He mother was going to kill her if she
found out; Buffy had told Joyce the minimum about her reasons for running away.
Plus, her mother’s irrational fear just wasn’t going to dissipate; it had to
be worked on. Joyce would probably never understand, but Buffy hadn’t a choice
in the matter. This was Angel.
But there really was no other way she could see. The
mansion was too far away, she could keep a better eye on him in her room, er,
house, and…Buffy wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t all some dream.
Running as fast as her legs and the pumping adrenaline
could carry her, Buffy went to the mansion in search of something to contain
him. Dru had left a trunk conveniently filled with chains and other things Buffy
had no time to focus on. Perfect. Grabbing these up, Buffy was almost on her way
out when she spotted the scorch marks on the floor. My God, what had she done to
him?
~~~~~~
It wasn’t easy, but she had managed to chain Angel up before he regained
consciousness. When he did, a growl escaped him, though Buffy felt it wasn’t
totally directed at her. She couldn’t carry him, even with her strength he was
too heavy. Plus he was sure to fight her all the way. Finally she gave up and
tried to talk to him.
She didn’t remember her words, but kept her voice
soothing and calm. Telling him of his life, of how he trusted her (not telling
him of how she betrayed that trust and made him what he currently was), of how
she trusted him (the months of Angelus didn’t count tonight) and how much she
cared for him. Buffy tried to touch him, but Angel shied away from her hands.
Moving slowly backwards, she could only hope that he followed her.
He did. Not because he understood what she was saying, but
because he knew her. Trusted her (What was trust? Why should he feel it? Why
should he feel anything?) to guide him, help him. Knew that she would care for
him (Why are you bandaging my hand? I’m not going to get an infection. It
makes me feel better. I almost lost you and this calms me a small bit.)
He followed her because he’d follow her anywhere. (Where
were they, where was here? Why would he go anywhere? Who was she?) She was…she
was. And that was all the animal that was Angel knew. All he needed to know.
Buffy turned to look at her house, her heart sinking. The
SUV parked in the driveway was a sure sign her mother was home. A quick glance
at the sky indicated that it was later than she thought, only a few hours to
sunlight. Well, she had to get Angel into her room somehow.
The tree? That may have worked with the Angel of before,
but Buffy doubted very much that he’d be able to climb it, especially chained
as he was and naked. Oh, God, he was naked and glorious and…she had to stop
these thoughts before they went any further.
It would have to be the back door, then. What a colossally
stupid idea; she should have just gone to the mansion, at least he’d have room
there, no one to hear him…no help for it now, they were there.
As quietly as she could Buffy opened the door, turning to
make sure Angel was still with her. He was, and strangely quiet, too. The look
on his face was of intense concentration as if he was trying to remember who she
was and why he should go into this dwelling.
Which he couldn’t. Oops. Buffy had completely forgotten
that she had revoked his invitation. What with his sudden return and all, such a
mundane thing never crossed her mind.
Whispering, still in the same gentle voice, and hoping that
the invitation worked when the vampire couldn’t understand you, she said,
“Angel, come in.”
He didn’t move, of course, but he didn’t run, either.
Progress. Moving forward, Buffy hoped that he’d continue to follow her. He
did, though much more cautiously. He followed her through the kitchen, stopping
now and then to sniff the air or look around in fear and alertness. She had made
it up the steps, was thisclose to her room when she heard movement in her
mother’s room.
And so did Angel. Who didn’t understand what it was and
didn’t take it at all well. His growl was low and dangerous, and he seemed
ready to strike out at whatever was lurking behind that door.
Not raising her voice, not slowing her pace or jerking to a
stop, Buffy opened the door and stepped inside, allowing Angel to follow her.
She smiled, hoped that he knew what it meant, and went back into the hall to
call through her mother’s door.
“I’m home, everything’s all right.”
The muffled, “Good night, honey,” was all she heard
before running back to her room to find Angel…gone?
Where on earth could he have gotten to so quickly? Scanning the area, which
wasn’t that big, Buffy found him curled up on the floor by her bed. He was
shivering, arms wrapped about his body, eyes closed, low growls emanating from
deep within his chest.
Cautiously she approached him, not wanting to surprise him
yet needing to touch him, to reassure. He opened his eyes at the contact, but
didn’t move. “Angel, I have to leave for a bit. I’ll be back.”
He didn’t say anything, but Buffy didn’t expect him to.
Locking the door, she exited through the window, keeping it opened just enough
to allow her to push it open when she returned. At the last minute she opened
the blinds wide, so that when the sun rose it would shine into her room, but not
where Angel lay.
She didn’t want to take the chance that he’d leave
while she was gone. Granted, the lock on the door wouldn’t stop Angel, but it
would prevent her mother from entering. It was something, she supposed.
*********
Sunlight poured through the windows giving the whole library a soft, gentle
quality. Giles walked in, looked around to make sure all was in order, unlocked
Oz’s cage, and spotted Buffy. Sipping from the tea cup he picked-up on the way
in that morning – making it himself seemed too great a feat on the few hours
sleep he had actually gotten – he went to see what she was doing there,
surrounded by stacks of books.
“Hey,” Buffy said, as she stretched awake. God, remind
her never to fall asleep in the library chairs, not the most comfortable place.
“Hmm. Hello.” He answered, distractedly, reading some
of the titles around her.
Oops. She really meant to clean it all up before anyone
wandered in this morning. Thinking quickly, she tried to play it off, knowing
that she really couldn’t fool her watcher. “Oh, boy. Faith and her nutty
books.”
“Exploring Demon
Dimensions and Mystery of Acathla.”
No, clearly Giles didn’t believe her.
“Yeah! And she still listens to heavy metal; freaky deaky.”
Must get away, before he realizes…but she stopped only a step or two down the
stairs, knowing that he didn’t buy one word of whatever had babbled out of her
mouth.
“Buffy...” So, he thought, she found him. Good.
Slowly, as if pulling the words from deep within her,
Buffy tried to explain. “What if... I told you that... I had a dream about
Angel... and, um... it brought up some questions?”
“I'd say it was to be expected. Must have been some
dream. I didn't think you knew what a card index was for.” He took another sip
of his tea and waited for her to continue.
“I dreamt that he came back.” There, it was out. Sort
of.
Suddenly her weight seemed too much for her legs and she
sank to the step. Watching as Giles sat next to her, Buffy’s stomach sank with
dread. That it’s impossible, that it really was all a dream. That she had
finally broken down completely and was hallucinating.
Where to begin, where to begin, “Of course. After Jenny
was killed, I had dreams that she was s-still alive, that I saved her.”
He wasn’t accepting it, wasn’t going to accept that the
man she loved, the one who had tortured him and killed Ms. Calendar was back.
She tried one more time; “This was vivid. Really vivid. Three-dimensional,
sensurround, the hills are alive...” Damn, probably not the best metaphor to
use.
“Do you believe it was a prophecy?” The question held
something that Buffy couldn’t place, something that said maybe, just maybe, if
she told him the truth, he’d understand.
“No.” Ugh, that came out too quickly; no prophecy
there, just some visuals. “I-I don't know. I…I guess it just...it made me
wonder.”
He didn’t answer, and Buffy decided to take the chance.
“Is there a chance even? Could it happen?”
“Well, there's no record of anyone returning from a demon
dimension once the... gate was closed. I-I-I can't imagine how it could happen
or-or why.”
“Let's just pretend for a second that... Angel somehow
found his way back to Sunnydale. What would he be like?”
Wondering why she just didn’t come right out and say it,
but knowing all too well the probable reasons, Giles answered instead, “I
really can't say. From what is known about that dimension, i-it would suggest a
world of... brutal torment. And time moves quite differently there, so...”
“I remember.” A part of her, when she was dropped into
Ken’s version of hell several weeks back, hoped that this was where Angel was,
that somehow, she had been lucky enough to find him again. When she hadn’t,
when she hadn’t sensed his presence, hadn’t heard his voice or growl or
actually seen him, was when she had known that wherever it was she had found
herself in, it wasn’t hell. “So he would've been down there for hundreds of
years.”
“Yes.”
“Of torture,” she finished, her voice breaking.
Obviously she wasn’t going to tell him, maybe if he gave
her some hope? “It would take someone of extraordinary... will and character
to survive that and, uh, retain any semblance of self.” Okay, so he couldn’t
lie to her, though, “Most likely, he'd be, be a monster.”
“A lost cause.” Her voice was devoid of all emotion
when she said that.
“Maybe. Maybe not. In my experience, there are... two
types of monster. The first, uh, can be redeemed, or more importantly, wants to
be redeemed.” Much like Angel was attempting after he came to Sunnydale.
“And the second type?” She didn’t want to know, she
really didn’t, but she had to.
“The second is void of humanity, cannot respond to
reason... or love.” He hated saying that, but he felt he needed to.
And then something came over her, something that she had no
control over, and she just had to tell someone. She had to say the words, let
someone other than herself know that what she saw was real. “Angel’s really
back. I, uh, found him last night in the woods as I was patrolling.”
To her surprise, Giles looked less than surprised and said
calmly, “Really?”
“Um, yeah.” Okay, now she was confused. She had just
told her watcher that the man who had tortured him for hours was back from the
hell she had sent him too, and that was his only reaction? “Giles…what’s
going on. Why do you seem to already know this?”
“Have you ever heard of The Powers That Be, Buffy?” At
her negative headshake, he continued, “They are the ultimate force for good,
they are the ones whom recruit the warriors for our cause. They helped create
the Watcher’s Council untold millennia ago.”
She still had a glazed shocked look on her face and Giles
didn’t know if it was from his limited explanation or the fact that he knew
about Angel or the whole thing in general. “They um, they contacted me while
you were…away, and informed me that there was a way to bring Angel back, that
he had a purpose to fulfill here and he couldn’t very well do so while trapped
in another dimension.”
“So he really is back?” Her voice was so small, so hopeful, that Giles had to physically resist the urge to take her in his arms and hold her tightly.
“You thought otherwise?”
The eyes that met his were bright with tears and hope. “I
thought I was losing my mind.”
Now he did move closer, resting a hand on her arm in
whatever comfort he could give her. “No, Buffy. He’s back. I found the
correct spell weeks before you came home, but I needed an anchor to bind it. Do
you remember when you went to the mansion to say goodbye?”
At her dazed nod he continued, “The ring you left glowed
with the love you felt for each other, it was an almost palpable sign of what
you meant to each other, a few words, the right herbs…that was the night he
came back.” She stared at him in shock, unable to blink or look away.
Words refused to be formed and all Buffy could do was grab
Giles in a tight hug and repeat, over and over again, “Thank you, thank you,
thank you…”
She pulled back, looked into his eyes. “Why? After
everything he did to you, why?” She had to know.
Giles looked away from her hopeful eyes, so full of love
and joy that his heart healed just a bit. “One doesn’t ignore a command from
the powers, Buffy.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No. I knew you ran-away for more than just the fight
with your mother. When we found Acathla dormant, you and Angle gone, I realized
that you had to kill him, sent him to Hell; when Willow said that she was almost
positive the spell worked, I realized that you had to do so after
his…restoration. I didn’t tell anyone, wasn’t my place to.”
“So all the probing about locations, about how I…killed
Angel, that was for…?” She trailed off, clearly at a loss.
“You needed to talk about it, needed to get it out. Plus
I needed a tangible piece of your love for him. And I got it that night.” He
paused, organizing his thoughts, then, “I’m not sure that I forgive Angelus
for what he did to me, Jenny, you…But I do know that we all carry our demons
within us. With Angel it’s just a bit more pronounced, the evil within him. I
think that it’s up to you to help him to understand the difference between
that. Help him accept the good and the bad.”
Buffy threw her arms around him again, “Thank you, Giles,
you have no idea what this means…thank you.”
They broke apart when Willow walked in, cheerily babbling
in a terribly frightened way. And back to the crisis of the moment it was for
them.
She hadn’t asked Giles to say anything, but Buffy knew
that he wouldn’t. Not unless she asked him to. And she didn’t know how she
felt about that just yet. It all seemed so surreal at the moment.
********
A growl escaped him as he fought with the chains binding his wrists. How could
his vision chain him up like this? He had enough of chains and refused to be
bound any longer. So he fought, struggled to release himself and finally, just
as he was loosening them, he felt something.
Looking around, crouching in a corner not filled with boxes
and shelves Buffy had shoved to the side to make room for him, ready to strike
out at whatever was hunting him, he tried to ascertain from where the danger was
coming. Nothing was there. The room, the house, was deserted but for a moment he
thought he saw others, the vision fighting – him? – someone else pounding on
him with a stick or poker of some kind.
Shaking these things off, he lifted his head, using all his
senses and…found her. He didn’t know where she was, but he knew that she was
in trouble. He could smell her adrenaline pumping; hear her heart beating, feel
her in his very core. Knew that she needed him.
The chains, still attached to his wrists, were forgotten in
the face of this new development. She needed him and he was not about to let her
down. He turned in the direction his instincts, honed by the predator and
sharpened by his time…there, told him to go. He leapt out the window as if he
had done so a thousand times before and raced quickly through the back roads.
He had no idea (though things looked familiar but he
couldn’t figure out why) where he was or why he knew that this street was
faster than that one, this alley was a dead end but that one opened up the main
road. He kept going, eyes darting back and forth, nostrils flaring for the scent
of her or lurking danger. Ears pricked with every little sound.
Finally he found her, something was tearing into her and he
couldn’t hold back the demon, nor did he want to. She was in trouble and
needed his help. So he attacked, using the hated chains to still his opponent.
He felt the change come over him, growling with hatred and want and need, though
he had no idea why he should feel those things.
Finally the beast stopped moving, his ears no longer picked
up the beat of the attacker’s heart. And he looked over at the vision. And he
remembered. Just her, only her. She was the Reason he had fought so long and
hard, she was everything. His mouth worked for a few moments before sound
finally emerged.
“Buffy?” He said and to his own ears his voice sounded
odd, hopeful (what was hope?), loving (what was love?), joyful (what was joy?).
Something in him shifted back into place, something that he had known, in some
deeply buried part of himself, was missing. It filled him, completed him.
What was it? How did he know it was gone? And how did he
know that it was suddenly back?
And then he went to her, for to do anything else was not an
option. Went to her because she was the vision he had carried with him and he
knew she would never leave him now that he had her in the flesh.
~~~~~~~
He was back. She couldn’t believe it. Angel, her love, her life…was back and
in her arms. Sure, there was the previous night and Giles’ explanation, but a
part of her hadn’t really believed…
Shadow and light swayed with the bare light bulb hanging
from the ceiling of the hellish science lab casting them in an eerie glow. Why,
thought Buffy as she wrapped her arms around Angel’s head as he sobbed into
her chest, How?
Thank you, Giles, thank you. Angel was back. And all the
questions, all the inherent problems that could possibly arise because of his
sudden return…didn’t matter. And the tears running down his cheeks, the sobs
wrenched from his heart, were all echoed by her.
Everything she had tried to tell her friends and family
about how she was okay, about how she was over Angel, how she, if not forgave
herself, then accepted what she had to do…it was all a lie. And the truth, the
one truth that Buffy knew in her very cells, was that she couldn’t ever let
him go, again.
If she did, it would destroy her.
The only speech he seemed capable of was reciting her name
over and over again, and frankly that was just fine with Buffy. She wrapped her
arms tight about his shoulder, holding him that much closer to her as her own
tears mixed with his. And murmured his name like a prayer, “Angel.”
She didn’t remember how they had made it back to her
house or snuck back into her room, but somehow they did. And shortly thereafter
Angel had fallen onto the floor into a fitful sleep, obviously still haunted by
whatever nightmares he had endured in the hell she had sent him.
She left him for only a little while, reassuring her mother
that everything was just fine she was just a little tired, and to stock up on
his supply of blood. Went to him finally, in the predawn hour, and held him,
unable to resist the pull of him any longer. Instinctually he wrapped his arms
about her, hugging her close.
And she was suddenly filled with such conviction that it
almost overwhelmed her. Whatever horrors had been done to his mind could be
repaired. However his soul was tortured and perverted she would make it right
again. As long as he was with her then that was all that mattered, she could fix
anything, everything.
The spasms stopped and he seemed to relax with her there. He had yet to say
anything other than her name, but Buffy was confident that she could bring him
back. After all, he had come back to her from the dead and that was the hard
part. The rest, whatever it was, they could deal with. They had to; she
couldn’t live without him again.
********
Scott. She had forgotten all about Scott. He was a nice normal boy who genuinely
seemed to like and enjoy her company and what on earth was she going to do now?
She had told him that the reason for her sudden spaceyness was due to problems
at home. It wasn’t exactly a lie; Angel wasn’t really a problem, but he was
at home.
Her friends didn’t know about Angel’s return, only
Giles. If she broke up with Scott, then they’d know. If she continued seeing
him, it would be an affront to Angel and everything they once shared. But why
should she care about her friend’s opinions? And did she want that so called
normal life and could she even have it…?
These thoughts ran round and round in her head as she tried
to concentrate on the conversation flowing around her. Scott, Angel, friends,
Giles, Giles, Angel, Angel, Angel. Everything always came back to him.
He was getting better, she could tell. Words, sentences
were slow in forming, but they were coming along. The days were the worse,
though. Whatever he endured…there, whatever she had forced him to endure, it
haunted him worse when he was asleep.
Buffy tired to be there for him as much as she could, but
school took up so much of her time. And now that her mother knew about the
slaying, it was harder to sneak around her. And she was worried about Angel
alone in her room for such long periods though he seemed to recognize his
surrounding now and knew when her mother was home. She tried, really, but she
was so scared.
“What are you afraid of?” Giles had asked on night when
Buffy could no longer hold everything in and inadvertently let that slip.
“Of my feelings. I mean I loved him so much, I still do, but
it’s hard to see him like this, hard to know that the reason he’s like this
is because of me. Because I sent him there. I’m afraid that when he’s better
he’ll resent me, that he’ll blame me for the torture he’s had to endure.
I’m afraid that everything Angelus said was true and that Angel never really
wanted me. I’m afraid that he’ll never get better.” By the end of this she
was sobbing uncontrollably.
Giles could do nothing but take he in his arms and hold her
as she babbled and sobbed. He tried to reassure her, but doubted she heard much
of what he said. Tried to comfort her, but what were words in the face of
everything that now stood before them?
Now, as Xander and Cordelia continued their verbal
sparring, Buffy’s thoughts turned to the previous night. The conversation was
way worse than the one the night before when she had blurted out that she had a
boyfriend and he made her laugh and what on earth had possessed her to say those
things to him? But last night…was worse.
She had brought his daily supply of blood, knowing that he didn’t yet feel comfortable going in public. Buffy could see how much he wanted, craved the smell, the taste. And wondered yet again what they had done to him in hell. “Go ahead, it’s okay.”
He did so, but turned away from her not wanting her to see
this other side of him. “I remember.” The words had been spoken
hesitatingly, as if they physically hurt him to say them.
And Buffy stopped her haphazard cleaning, breath catching, heart pounding. “Remember?”
Angel’s head tilted to the side as though he could hear
the unspoken feelings in her words. “Why are you suddenly nervous?” The
question was blunt and real, where the Angel of before would have known the
reason; reaffirming her belief that his time in hell had destroyed – changed?
– something in him, that she had been the cause.
“Because of your next words. Because I think I was
fooling myself that this could be like it used to be. Because I can’t ever be
what you want me to be and because we can’t ever be together…like we used to
be.”
“I…” Angel stopped, not knowing what to say to that.
He didn’t yet know how to tell her everything. “Um, why you did it. I
remember what I did, you, Giles. I know why you stopped me. I was going to
destroy the world.” He stopped, gathering his thoughts. But it wasn’t like
he used to, like he was carefully avoiding those words/thoughts/feelings that
might hurt her, instead it was as if he was trying to remember how to put
thoughts and feelings into words.
It had only been a few weeks; Buffy couldn’t really
expect anything else though this was the most he had spoken since his return. In
fact, she was amazed at the progress he had made; it was nothing short of
astounding and added another layer to her love for him.
“I don’t blame you.”
Those may have been the last words she had expected to hear
from him. Second only to ‘I still love you’ and right above ‘My time in
Hell turned me human.’ So it was perfectly natural that she stuttered,
“U-um, w-w-what? You don’t? Why
not?” She blamed herself.
The smile he sent her was full of understanding and love
and uncertainty and Buffy’s heart broke all over again. “I remembered…what
I was, the look on your face…what it cost you. The way you move now…you keep
a part of yourself away from me.” And again, his words were halting and
uneven.
“I-I thanks. No, I mean, don’t. I don’t deserve your
forgiveness.” She saw that he was about to object and did what she did best in
these circumstances. She fled. But not far enough or fast enough to hear the
animalistic cry of pain and fear and loss emanating from her lover.
So here she was, sitting in the school library with her friends…all alone. And
belatedly thanking whatever god listened to the prayers of a slayer for her
vampire lover that her mother had still been at the gallery during that horrible
conversation.
A piece of herself was still with Angel; a piece was
trapped in the pits of hell. And she didn’t know how to get either back;
didn’t know if she wanted Angel to give back the piece he still held.
~~~~~~~
Scott saw her and decided that now was as good a time as any. After her weird
no-show at the Homecoming Dance, (He: Where have you been? In a fight? Buffy:
Um, no, the limo… Cordelia: It took a wrong turn. Buffy: And then broke down.
They went on to explain some very twisted and long explanation for their
tardiness, and while their friends seemed to accept this, Scott wasn’t so
sure.)
So now, as he saw her walking towards him with such a far
off look in her eyes that he knew she didn’t see him, Scott decided that now
was the time to end it.
“Buffy, hi.”
“Scott!” And the word was infused with surprise, relief
and guilt. She had been, once again, wrapped up in thoughts of Angel. It
wasn’t fair to Scott, it certainly wasn’t fair to herself. As for
Angel…Buffy had no idea where that whole situation stood.
And then Scott was saying something to her, something about
not seeing each other anymore. About how before they had started dating that she
had seemed so alive and full of energy and vigor. About how he didn’t seem to
know her any longer.
Buffy had to restrain herself from agreeing with that last
point. No one knew her, only Angel and she wasn’t so sure of that any longer.
So she stood there, stunned and speechless. And did nothing to stop him as he
walked away. But she was none too surprised to feel relief at his departure.
What a small dent he had made in her life.
~~~~~~~~~
And what was the first thing she had done? Run straight to Angel, only to open
her bedroom door to find him…exercising? That was a new and big step forward
and Buffy didn’t know what to make of it. God he was beautiful, graceful, each
motion fluid, flowing into the next movement without a break, without a pause.
His muscles rippled with each stretch and arch and
Buffy’s throat was suddenly dry. God she wanted him. Maybe they shouldn’t
have made love, for reasons other than the obvious. If she hadn’t known what
she was missing, maybe she wouldn’t want him so badly now.
Soon he would no longer need her, would he even want her?
Did he ever even want her? Angelus’
words rang through her mind, but she forcibly tuned them out. Angel had never
lied to her about how much he loved her, wanted her. Angelus…well, who know
what went on in that twisted mind; maybe he wanted her, too, but refused to
admit that he could love a human.
Buffy mentally laughed at that thought; not bloody likely. And it seemed that Angel had heard her mental laugh, for he raised his head to see her standing there; watching him with a look of longing in her eyes.
“Buffy.” He was surprised that he hadn’t felt her
presence, but then realized that he had, only chosen to ignore it. Being with
her, even for a few minutes brought too much pain. He was in enough; more was
inconceivable.
She looked down briefly; disconcerted at being caught
watching him but then smiled, looked back at him. “I didn’t know you could
do that.” Her hand fluttered, indicating his Tai Chi.
It was the briefest glimpse of a small smile as he
straightened up from his hunched stance. “I-I’m feeling better.” He said,
trying to ease her obvious fears for his health and not knowing what else to
say. But the weakness in his limbs was too much and he bent back over trying to
support himself with his hands on his knees.
Buffy, of course, rushed right to his aid, never able to stand to see him in pain. “Angel...” She trailed off as she helped him stand up. “Why don’t you sit down.”
The room was warm, the blinds were drawn and Buffy tried to
keep the portable heater she had bought when Angel returned on all the time, but
still he shivered. Worried, Buffy picked up a small paper bag as they passed the
nightstand, hoping that feeding would help.
“It’s late. Where were you?” He was sitting now, and
couldn’t be more grateful, though he cursed the weakness still plaguing him.
She waved it off, “Latest big bad. It’s always something in this town, you know.”
Confused, Angel merely looked at her, unsure what to say to that, “Oh,” and leaned against her headboard.
“How are you feeling?” She moved closer just as he leaned forward to adjust his position against the pillows. They both realize at the same time what a colossally bad idea that was, and Buffy leaned back with a sigh.
Angel watched her as she moved away, and asked, “How is,
uh... Scott?” The name stuck in his throat, causing the demon within to howl
in rage and jealously.
“Scott?” Who? Oh, right. “Oh, um... boyfriend Scott. Uh...a-actually, he’s...” She had forgotten, in the few moments she had been with Angel, that there was an outside world. “No Scott. He…isn’t in my life anymore.”
Angel nodded, and leaned forward again, capturing her chin in his hand. He didn’t say anything, merely looked in her eyes for a long moment. Satisfied that she was perfectly all right with that, he let go and leaned back again.
Indicating the bag she left next to him, she changed the
subject. “Uh, that’s for you.”
As Angel reached for it, Buffy added, “Uh... I-it’s
fresh from the butcher.”
“Thanks.” And took the container out, opening the lid. The smell was overpowering and he almost couldn’t control the change as he took that first sip. He still felt odd, feeding in front of Buffy, but she didn’t seem to mind and he was so hungry. “You’re being careful, right?”
The question was so abrupt that Buffy was caught completely
off guard. “Careful?”
“With the slaying.” He clarified as he walked across
the hall to brush his teeth. She may not have minded, but he did for her.
“Oh.” And was that relief or embarrassment in her
voice? “Uh... Yeah. Of course.” Her head didn’t seem to be attached to the
rest of her body any more, for it was bouncing up and down like a simpleton.
“Full of carefulness.” She clarified as he walked back into her room,
shutting the door behind him.
“I worry about you.” It was as close as either of them had come to saying how much they still cared.
“I worry about you.”
She countered, accepting his words as much as the feeling behind them.
And because of that feeling, because he still cared for her
above all others, the next words out of his mouth hurt. “I'm getting
stronger.”
“Yeah, pretty soon, you won't even need me.” She tried
to cover the hurt beneath her joy at his wellness but wasn’t so sure she
succeeded.
Angel wanted to agree, almost did, was so close to saying something stupid along those lines, but, as he sat back down on the bed next to her, found that he couldn’t. “I’ll always need you.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked with hope and joy. Clearing her throat, she tried again, “Um, I mean, good, I-I need you, too. Always.”
She leaned forward, not really sure how she had gotten so
close to Angel, but he was there and she was there and they just had to
touch…now. The pull between them was overwhelming and Buffy could no longer
ignore it.
The first touch of their lips was electric. Nothing had
changed between them; the passion that was always an undercurrent in their
relationship sparked to life and before long Buffy’s tongue was tracing his
lips, his perfect, sweet lips.
Hands moved slowly upwards, tracing bone and sinew, before
wrapping around his neck, keeping him close. He pulled her even closer, almost
roughly, in the intense need to feel all of her, now. Buffy straddled him,
leaning backwards a little and allowing Angel more access to her body.
One hand left her waist to travel the familiar yet new path
over her stomach and up to her breast. Long fingers massaged the straining
nipple through her sweater before sliding under the material to touch the flesh.
The whimper she gave at this contact was swallowed by his
mouth as his other hand moved to divest her of the top. Buttons and clasps were
swiftly undone and soon she was bare before him. Trailing his mouth from hers
downwards, Buffy leaned back in his embrace as Angel reacquainted himself with
the taste and feel of his lover’s skin.
As his mouth closed over the peak, Buffy cried out his
name, and suddenly pulled away. “Stop, we, we have to…stop.” She said it
in a gasp, her eyes, her body betraying her.
Angel pulled away instantly, his unnecessary breath coming
hard and fast. His hands clenched in denial before releasing her and she
scrambled off the bed.
“I’m sorry.” They both stammered out simultaneously,
now regarding each other from across the room.
Finally Angel stood, moving towards the window as if to
leave. “I should go.”
“No!” Though the thought of him leaving seemed best,
Buffy couldn’t let him. She wanted him too much, needed him, and if they were
to have any kind of relationship of any kind, then they needed to sort these
things out. “It’s late and, um, and you’re still not at full strength. I,
we, it, hmm, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Buffy…” But what could he say? He wasn’t at full strength and didn’t know where to go anyway. He could still smell her arousal and it clawed at him with a fierceness that was all too familiar. Flashes of their one perfect (in more ways than one) night together stopped whatever he was about to say.
At length Angel nodded. “All right.” And then, in a
drastic change of subject, “Does, um, does anyone else know I’m back?”
Buffy visibly relaxed. For a moment she was afraid that if
she let him leave then he’d walk out of her life and never return. The thought
filled her with a bone depth fear and sorrow. She lost him once, she wasn’t
sure what a second time would do to her.
“Giles. Actually, it’s a funny story. Let me get
changed and I’ll tell you all about it.”
~~~~~~~
Angel lay on the floor looking up at her as she leaned over the bed, relating
the events that brought him to this point; the curse Jenny had found, Willow
recasting it, the fight at the mansion, her time in LA, bringing him back from
Hell. He was silent for a while, digesting everything. He could tell Buffy was
getting worried when too much time had passed and he still hadn’t figure out
what to say.
“Oh.” Seemed good, but she looked at him expectantly
and he felt he should try for something more. “Um, so it was your claddagh
ring that brought me back?” For some reason that was the detail that Angel
kept returning to: the ring he had given her in love and commitment and had been
the ultimate symbol of what they shared…had released him from the pits of Hell
and returned him to her. The irony was not lost on him.
“Yeah. Giles said that it shone with the love we
shared.” Her voice was quiet, some of that love seeping through despite her
best efforts. Then, more brightly, “Some herbs, some words, and poof, you’re
back.” And the crushing guilt had in no way dissipated with that wonderful
miracle. “And, um, I don’t know why I forced you to stay here, you probably
hate me now, knowing that I’m the one to send you there…to Hell in the first
place and never even tried to find a way to bring you back.”
She drew breath to say more, but Angel stopped her by
pulling her down onto the floor with him and wrapping his arms tightly around
her. The first sob broke free of her tight hold and she was soon crying
uncontrollably. “It was all my fault. I should have tried harder, I should
have gotten there sooner. If only I had known…I’m sorry, Angel, I’m sorry,
I don’t know how you can ever forgive me, I killed the only person in the
world I ever loved and I never tried to find a way to bring you back. I’m
sorry, I’m sorry…”
“Shh, love, shh, it’s okay, it’ll all be all right. I
don’t hate you, I never could. You did what you had to do; you did the only
thing that you could do. I saw the look on your face, remember. You were
heartbroken. It looked like you had died…at first I didn’t understand, but
as soon as I did, I knew that you had no choice. It was either my life or the
world’s. Not really a choice at all.”
He continued to stroke her hair, whispering soothing words
in a language she didn’t consciously understand, but knew were words of love
and forgiveness. Eventually her tears stopped and she lay there, ensconced in
her lover’s arms, safe, loved, home. “But how could you not hate me? I could
barely stand myself.”
Placing a tender kiss on her forehead, Angel smiled at her.
“Because I love you. You didn’t have a choice. I understand that. What I
can’t understand is why you took me back in after everything I’ve done to
you…” He trailed off, the pain and guilt from those months weighing heavily
upon his shoulders.
Buffy caught his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her
eyes. There was pain there, but love as well and she felt a small piece of her
heart begin to mend. “Because I love you. Because even after everything, even
then, I couldn’t stop loving you. The hardest thing I ever had to do was
thrust that sword into you. The easiest thing I ever did was love you.”
And this time, when their lips met, it was in healing. Soft
and cleansing, it mended rifts and started the process that would restore what
they had once had. Angel felt his soul, burdened with pain and grief and guilt,
lighten just a little.
Later, still safely wrapped in each other’s arms but now
in Buffy’s bed (maybe not the smartest thing they could have done but much
more comfortable than the floor), Angel said, “I think I should talk with
Giles. Seems only right, thank him and such for bringing me back even after
everything I’ve done to him…after everything he’s done for he, for you,
for us.”
“Are you sure?” Buffy turned in his arms, to look at
him.
“It’s the least I can do. Plus, I should probably
reassure him that what happened last year, with the two of us, won’t happen
again.” It hurt to say, knowing that they would never again be intimate. But
Angel would gladly give up those precious, wonderful memories if it meant the
horror he had inflicted on those he loved and the torment (though that seemed
only just for what he had done) he had survived in Hell never existed.
The glow of the crescent moon watched over them as they
fell asleep in each other’s arms, content for the first time in months.
Knowing that the other was safe and here and they were together. The rising sun
shone brightly around them, never penetrating their haven, promising a bright
new day.
Promising them a future.
~~~~~~~~
To say Angel was nervous was like saying a blue whale was just another mammal.
It was amazing, he thought to himself as he approached the apartment that held
the man he had so much to thank for…and so much to make up to. Here he was,
over two centuries old, (plus all that time in hell) and he was as nervous as if
he were approaching his first day of school.
Or the Spanish Inquisition.
Vaguely he wondered if writing it on a note and slipping it
under the door qualified as a ‘talk.’ And he wondered how much conversation
they could have with him on one side of the door and Giles, most likely holding
a sword to his neck, on the other. Literally.
Taking a deep unnecessary breath, he knocked.
It opened almost immediately and Angel would have thought that Buffy had
warned Giles of his visit except for the utter shock on the other man’s face.
“Erm, Angel.”
No welcome there, no ‘please come in.’ And didn’t it
just figure, he was holding a fencing rapier. Well, he hadn’t really expected
a happy welcome, so he started on his semi-prepared but nonetheless heartfelt,
speech.
“Giles…I, um, just wanted to say that I’m sorrier than you can ever know for what I did last year, to you, to Buffy, to Jenny. I’d say that it wasn’t me, but we’d both know that’s not entirely true.”
The other man said nothing, staring at Angel as if he’d
grown three heads. And, considering this was the Hellmouth, it wasn’t entirely
inconceivable. Resigned, Angel finished, “And I wanted to thank you. For
watching over Buffy afterwards, for helping her after I was…gone. For bringing
me back though you have the least reason to want me here.”
Still Giles said nothing, just continued to stare at Angel
as if he were an annoying door-to-door salesman. Nodding his head as if this
were exactly what he expected, and it was, Angel turned to walk away.
“Angel. Would you like to come in?”
~~~~~~
Dazed and confused, Angel walked out of Giles’ apartment not really sure of
where he was going. Okay, that conversation went nothing
like Angel expected. For one, he wasn’t a big pile of dust. And for another,
it seemed as if Giles…not forgiven Angel, but they were making progress
towards it. Angel hoped that they could find what they once had, the friendship
they had once shared.
It was weird and Angel’s one thought was to find Buffy
and tell her what had just happened. As he wandered the streets of Sunnydale, he
replayed the parts of the conversation.
‘There are two parts to every person, good and evil;
Angelus was the embodiment of everything evil that your soul, the good portion
of you, keeps in check. With no counter balance, the evil overpowered you
and…not won, but existed fully, with no checks and balances.’
‘Hell was nothing like you read about in the books,
it’s a thousand, thousand times worse.’
‘Buffy and I…what happened before won’t happen again.
Now that we know the consequences.’ And of course those consequences
couldn’t include something simple like pregnancy, could they? Oh, no, it
involved him losing his soul and killing everyone around him.
‘Er, okay,’ Giles said gamely then paused when Angel
said nothing more, ‘Why not?’ And he seemed honestly perplexed.
Startled, more than a little baffled at that question,
Angel said slowly just in case he had tortured Giles a bit too much and the
other man now suffered from select amnesia. ‘Curse, one moment of true
happiness…Giles are you okay?’
‘Didn’t Buffy tell you? Um, no, wait…’ He was quiet
then, apparently searching his memory. ‘Um, oh, dear, that may be completely
my fault. I had thought to tell her, but I guess it slipped my mind. What with
all the explanations on how you came back and why and…I’m really sorry for
that, Angel.’
Which helped Angel none at all. ‘Oh, okay. Good,
good…what?’
‘The curse, Angel. The Powers That Be thought that such a
flimsy shackle should be strengthened. Seems rather preposterous for your curse
to have such a loophole; those gypsies really should have thought it out a tad
better. Plus they, the Powers, didn’t want one of their greatest warriors to
be lost to them again. You have no idea how much trouble it was to find you,
find the spell to bring you back, and alter it to fit your circumstances.’
‘Oh.’ And that was the last thing that Angel had said.
Giles had gone on to explain the details, the preparation, the ritual that took
place before he had followed Buffy to the mansion, but Angel only heard parts of
it.
His mind was filled to overflowing with the knowledge that
he was worthy of being a warrior to such a noble cause, that he was needed,
and that Buffy and he could be together in every way imaginable. And the images
that flashed through his mind were pretty imaginable.
Then, of course, came the obligatory lecture from Giles
about safety and responsibility. Buffy was still so young and that Angel should
have been the one capable of saying ‘no’ to her. And, yes, he understood the
situation and what not, (though he obviously preferred not to dwell on it) but
the simple fact remained that…and on and on.
Angel appreciated it, really, and to an extent he agreed
with the other man. But his simple
fact, simple truth, was that Buffy was everything to him. She was his destiny.
So he reassured Giles that he would be more careful in the future (though how
Giles could possibly think that now that his soul was firmly encased in his
body, was beyond Angel.)
But as he walked out the door, still more than slightly
dazed, Angel heard the Watcher say, ‘Right, Rupert. And everything you just
said to him didn’t even make a dent. Well, at least high school pregnancy is
out of the question.’
‘Angel!’ When the vampire turned, Giles smiled. ‘I
should have just saved my breath, shouldn’t I?’ Angel said nothing, for what
was there to say? But Giles seemed to understand and nodded. ‘Just…be
careful. She’s still very young; I don’t want her hurt.’
So now he walked aimlessly, following the bond that they
had always shared to her, only to find himself in front of her house. Assuming
that Buffy was inside, Angel slipped into the shadows and began walking around
to the tree that led to her room. Suddenly he stopped, because he knew, through
feeling and hearing, that she wasn’t inside, but standing on her porch.
And she was talking with someone, a boy that Angel didn’t
recognize. Laughing, nodding, she looked to be having a good time. And the flash
of jealously that swept through him shook Angel to the core. Rage, anger,
jealously, possessiveness, lust, love all swept through him and the demon howled
along with the soul.
But then she was looking around, frowning. The boy said
something else, but Buffy shook her head, and responded though Angel couldn’t
make anything out over the roar of his stolen blood, and leaned over and kissed
him.
And that was when Angel lost it. Only years of
semi-remembered training and mediation kept him from flying through the yard,
forcing the boy off of her (the boy who was standing at least 18 inches away
from Buffy) and beating him to a bloody, unrecognizable – dead – pulp. As it
were, he growled, deep in his throat, and leapt over to where they were
standing.
He grabbed the boy (for he couldn’t have been older than
17), and threw him (though he was still no where near touching her) off his
mate. Stalking the few paces to where the boy had landed, Angel leaned down,
grabbed him by the scruff of his scrawny little neck, resisted the urge to snap
it, and growled, “Stay away from her. If I ever see you near her again, you
had better run.”
He released the boy’s collar, watching him fall back onto
the soft springy grass, clutching his broken wrist, blood flowing from his nose,
whimpering like a child, and whirled to face Buffy. She was staring at him wide
eyed and opened mouthed. Her mouth worked for a few seconds as if she were
trying to say something, but nothing came out. She was still standing there,
dumbfounded, when Angel disappeared into the shadows.
Buffy, snapping out of her shock (did Angel just throw
Scott against the tree?) and raced inside, (did Angel get all jealous and attack
Scott?) and up to her room. When she slammed into her house, glad that her
mother, once again, was busy at the gallery, and raced upstairs, she didn’t
expect to find Angel packing what little belongings he had there.
“What are you doing?” Shock made this the first thing
out of her mouth despite her intense need to know what in hell he thought he was
doing to Scott, playing shadow of the night avenger.
“I’d forgotten you’d moved on. I had foolishly
assumed…” He stopped. If the boy (that puny whelp) was whom she wanted, then
Angel wouldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t stay and watch, but he wouldn’t stop
her.
“Moved on? What? Scott?” She was making no sense to
herself and could only imagine what it sounded like to him.
Angel turned to face her. “Oh, so that was Scott? The one
you were no longer seeing?” His tone was snide, almost rude, but the emotions
still seethed through him and he couldn’t stop himself.
And then something snapped inside of him. Fuck that. If
Buffy wanted to move on then she’d have to tell him to his face. He wasn’t
running. She was his and he’d be damned (again and again) if he’d let her go
that easily.
He stood toe to toe with her in one stride, yanking her
flush against him. The boiling anger, the jealously, all directed towards that
pathetic boy, clawed in Angel’s gut and he felt the change come over him. He
couldn’t stop it; in this the demon and the soul were one: Buffy was his and no
one touched her.
“You’re mine, do you hear me? No one else touches
you.” His lips were mere inches from hers, his eyes bore into her.
Memorized, Buffy could do nothing for a moment, then his words penetrated the haze – the shocked, startled, and definite sexual haze – that clouded her brain and she jerked back. “Don’t you tell me that! I’m my own person; I belong to no one. And if I want to talk with Scott, then I’ll damn well talk to him.” Although at the moment, she couldn’t remember one word she said to him. “And don’t go all macho one me, telling me that. Who do you think you are?”
She would never admit it to anyone, but his words sparked
something deep and primal within her, arousing her like nothing else had before.
Anger, not at Angel’s words but at his actions with Scott, warred with the
desire for him that always ran just beneath the surface. And multiplied
exponentially at his caveman display.
She vaguely wondered at herself, never figuring on going
for that whole possessive routine. But then she didn’t care because the
feelings roiling through her were too intense to ignore, allowing no other
thought in but, Angel. Nothing else
mattered, her world had shrunk to include only him. And he was all hers.
Buffy could tell that he was about to say something,
positive it was along the lines of more macho crap, she grabbed his face in her
hands and kissed him, vampire change aside. God, it had been so long. Elongated
teeth or not, Angel’s kiss tasted like no other.
Had she really thought that she could enjoy Scott’s kiss?
Had he really thought that she’d be satisfied with another? Foolish, the both
of them were just plain foolish when it came to the other.
It was hard and passionate, and her tongue didn’t slip
into his mouth so much as thrust in, scrapping against his jagged teeth and she
tasted her own blood. The taste didn’t make her stop, but pushed her farther,
and Buffy ran it purposely over and over his irregular canines, until Angel
pulled away.
“What are you doing?” But he was breathless (funny that
he didn’t need to breath yet found he couldn’t catch it) and the question
didn’t come out as a demand but as a gasp for more,
to please not stop.
“Um, I-I-I don’t know. What are you doing?” God it
had felt wonderful. And then Buffy remembered how they had gotten into this
place to begin with and demanded, “And what do you think you were doing with
Scott?”
And that was all the reminder Angel needed. He grabbed her
again, pulling her off her feet and crushed his mouth to hers. He didn’t give
her room to maneuver, breath to protest, or time to think. Not that she was
fighting him in any way, if the shredding of his shirt was any indication, her
hands gripping and bruising his cool flesh, her legs wrapping tight around his
waist as she ground into his erection.
Buffy heard her sweater tear, felt the cool air caress her
flushed skin a moment before Angel’s equally cool hands touched her, inflaming
her all over again. Her thoughts were muddled; all she knew was him, the taste,
the feel, the scent. All she wanted was him. She felt him change, felt the rigid
bumps of his forehead smooth out into his human visage as his mouth closed over
her nipple, sucking on the engorged point.
A whimper was all she could manage and even that became a breathless gasp when his cool tongue moved over her flesh, to the valley between her breasts, and circled the other nipple. Hands fisted in his hair and she rocked against him, urging him to continue.
They crashed backwards onto the bed, bounced once but never
broke apart before Angel flipped them over so he could continue his feast upon
her heated flesh. He fumbled for only a moment at the snap of her pants, but
regained momentum as he pushed them down. He paused for an instant, breathed in
the scent of her arousal, the sound of his name on her lips before resuming his
journey.
His hands smoothed up her stomach as his mouth found the
opening of her desire, and he tasted her. Memories of their last – their only
– time together assaulted him but he pushed them back. This was new; this was
different. This was his, all his. And if there was a small lingering doubt in
the back of his mind as to the prudence of this despite Giles’ words, then he
ignored it.
Around the outside of her soft pink flesh, he flicked his
tongue, teasing, her, before entering her. She bucked against him, winding her
legs tightly against his head to keep him from moving; calling out his name as
her hands clutched the bed sheets so hard her knuckles turned white.
She whimpered in protest as he left her center, pushing her
legs into the mattress, moving lips over hip and belly. Suddenly he leaned
forward, his body draped over hers, “Buffy, look at me.” And his voice was
not soft and gentle as it had been that first night, but demanding; ragged with
desire, need, want, and love.
She couldn’t resist, her eyes wild, glazed with love and
desire, desperate for more, for all, locked on his.
“You are mine, do you hear me?” And his mouth descended
on her again, bruising and possessive.
“Angel, please…” Her body hummed from his touch,
begged him for more. He wasn’t abusive, never hurting her. But he refused to
give over control, refused her the release she craved. The release she wanted
only with him.
Her hands moved up his chest; nails scrapped down his back
leaving long welts along the way to clutch his ass, pulling his against her.
Finding the fly of his pants, she quickly undid them, shoved them down as far as
she could reach, before grasping the cool flesh underneath. His erection sprang
free of the confines allowing Buffy to caress him as her mouth trailed down his
neck relishing the taste and feel of his smooth, cool skin.
She flipped them over for better access before attacking
him with her hands and mouth. Her lips latched onto the artery throbbing in his
neck, worrying it between her teeth before moving slowly downwards. As her lips
closed over his penis, she felt his hands convulse in her hair, her name fall
from his lips.
Suddenly it was too much for Angel to handle; it had been
an eternity since he had last held his love in his arms, last tasted her passion
scented skin. Anger still beat in his veins, jealously still clouded his mind,
and he did the only thing he could do.
Pulling her up and flipping them over, he pressed Buffy
into the mattress, pinning her to the bed with one hand as the other trailed
down her back causing her to arch, purring his name in sweet pleasure. Growling
into her ear, “Mine, you are mine, always,” Angel slid his hand under her,
lifting her rear into the air.
Thrusting into her as deep as he could go, desperate to go
deeper, to somehow merge with her and never leave. Relishing her gasp of
pleasure, the tightening of her inner muscles around him. In and out he moved as
his long fingers found her flash point of desire. She met him thrust for thrust,
as he set the pace, hard and fast.
He was too far gone, seeped completely into her. All he
knew was her, all he could hear, smell, taste, touch. Watching as she reared up
on her arms, head flipped back, hair trailing down her long curved spine, Angel
couldn’t control himself. Faster and harder and she met him with every beat.
He pulled her up, her back to his front, never letting up the pace.
Pulling his head around to hers, she kissed him, long and
hard. Allowing him access to her neck, as if she instinctively knew that that
was what he wanted. She never thought to protest, never thought to deny him
this. His face changed, and the growl that emerged from him sent Buffy flying
over the first edge of bliss.
“Mine,” he growled as his teeth sank, slowly and
gently, in direct contrast to his thrusting, into the soft flesh of her neck.
“Yes, always.” She finally gasped. And her entire body
convulsed around him, her climax shuddering through her in never ending pounding
waves.
Angel’s own release burst from him, and he howled her
name before finally collapsing onto her.
Long, long minutes later, using what remaining energy he
had, Angel rolled off of her, gathering her close in his arms, and heard her
content whisper, “And you are mine, my Angel –always.”
Buffy was on the verge of falling asleep when their actions
suddenly registered with her. Jerking awake from her pleasant position in
Angel’s arms, she cried out, “Oh, my God, Angel! What have we done?”
“Hmm, what?” What was she talking about? Oh, right, he
hadn’t bothered to tell her Giles story in his rush to claim her as his. Sane
thought never entered the equation. “Giles fixed everything, baby. It’s
okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Satisfied that everything was okay, that her newly returned
lover wasn’t leaving her again, and that tomorrow was soon enough for
explanations, Buffy fell asleep in Angel’s arms. The only place she ever
wanted to be.
~~~~~~
The sun was shining brightly against the window, but the inhabitants inside felt
none of it. Sometime during the night Angel had grabbed the bedspread off the
floor, from where they had shoved it in the haste of their mating, and wrapped
them in its warmth. Now he lay on his side, watching Buffy sleep.
Gently he removed a stray hair from her cheek, caressing
the skin as he did so. So soft, so smooth. He worried that he had hurt her,
worried that he had drank too much from her. But she smiled at him now,
reassuring him that she was okay.
“Now this is a sight I could get used to.” Buffy said
as she stretched awake. Leaning over to kiss Angel, she sighed and lay her head
against his smooth chest. “Good morning, Angel.”
“Morning.” He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and
asked the question that had been plaguing him since he awoke, “Did I hurt you
last night? I’m so sorry. I never should have let things get that out of
control, let myself lose control like that.”
Buffy raised her head and, seeing the tears in her
lover’s eyes, gently took his beloved face in her hands and kissed him quiet.
“Angel, honey, you’re babbling. Something I never thought to say to you.”
The smile she sent him was short lived.
“You didn’t hurt me, I know that you really
couldn’t.” He, Angel, could never hurt her. Angelus, the embodiment of
everything evil, had tried but did so only indirectly. Maybe someday, if Angel
was willing, Buffy would ask him why that was. But for now she needed to
reassure him that she was just fine, that they were fine, and that now, nothing
could stand in their way. “It was…oddly exciting. Not just the sex part,
though that was absolutely amazing, mind blowingly so, but the…other, too.”
She was reluctant to put voice to what had transpired
between them, unsure how Angel would react. The first time they had made love,
it was slow and thoughtful, with Angel taking his time careful not to hurt her.
This time was completely different. Not that Angel was out to hurt her, but that
he wasn’t as careful not to hurt
her. He was natural, she supposed, he was Angel.
“Buffy, what I did to you was inexcusable. I used you
like some…and I drank from you.” The words were stuck in his throat and he
didn’t know how to force them out, the shame was so great. His fingers –
long and hesitant – found their way to the mark on her neck, newly closed.
“Angel, listen to me.” She waited until his eyes once
again met hers. “I love you. You love me. And you could never do anything that
would purposely hurt me. I know this for a fact. You didn’t use me; I was a
willing participant, remember. The drinking part? I…” She blushed at this
and closed her hand over the fingers still caressing her neck, “I really enjoyed. Maybe, sometime…but that’s not the point, must
stay on topic here.”
But Angel’s eyes widened. He could smell her arousal just
as she was thinking of the previous night, see the darkening of her eyes, hear
her heart pick up its beat. And it amazed him. And aroused him as well.
“However, that little display of jealous macho man?
Don’t try it again.” Then she kissed him, softly and gently, as if to erase
the months (years, centuries, eons) they were apart, the hurt and pain they had
endured.
He smiled as she pulled back, but grabbed the back of her
neck to stop her when she was only inches away. “Jealously or no, I don’t
like the thought of other men touching you. And you kissed him.” His voice had
lowered to a growl by the end.
“Kissed him?” Exasperated, Buffy blew out a breath.
“My lips touched his for a moment less than a second. Somehow I don’t think
that warrants throwing him halfway across the street, causing him bodily
harm.”
“It does in my book.” And he captured her lips again,
running a hand possessively down her back to cup her bottom as he did so.
“What can I say, I’m old fashioned. I don’t want my lover touching anyone
else.”
Buffy was about to say something to that when Angel smiled
and kissed her again, effectively cutting her off. He knew that they’d
eventually talk about that, among a few other hundred things, but for now he
just wanted to revel in the feel of her. Much like he had wanted to do the
morning after the first time they had made love. “What time do you have to be
to school?”
Buffy broke away, breathless. “Too soon. Plus I told the
guys I’d talk to them before hand. I think it’s time to explain about your
return. And now, about you and me.” She smiled again, and this time the kiss
lasted longer and it was harder to pull away.
They probably wouldn’t have if not for the frantic
pounding on the door followed a moment later by the crashing opening of it
(hadn’t they locked it the night before? Oops, no, not in all
the…excitement.) Jumping apart, still covered by the quilt, they lay there,
frozen.
In the doorway stood Willow and Xander, Oz and Cordelia
just behind them and her mother behind them. They all had equal looks of shock
and bewilderment on their faces, followed quickly by betrayal and fear.
Oh, dear.
~~~~~~~~~
Several hours, one missed school day, a visit from Giles and a loooong
explanation later, Buffy and Angel walked hand in hand down the darkened street.
Okay, so her friends had jumped to conclusions when they heard about Scott’s
explanation and description as to how he came to be in this condition.
Years of fighting the forces of hell, including her lover,
did that to a person. So the ‘Angel was back and obviously evil’ verdict
wasn’t too far fetched, despite the certainty (by Willow) that the restoration
spell had worked.
And if they didn’t happily accept everything, then Buffy
was confidant that they would. Eventually. They just needed some time. A lot of
it.
“Are you worried?”
“No. Yes. No, not really. I mean, truthfully, it’s not
really their business what I do or whom I do it with. Yeah, I would love for
them to accept you, but I know that’s not going to happen over night. They
don’t love you. It’s not as easy for them.”
She pulled him over to a low stone wall, sitting astride
his lap as she continued. “Xander only wants what’s best for me, he
doesn’t think anyone is good enough and you being, well, you, that’s just
more against you. He’ll come around. And if not, then that’s too bad. I love
you and I want you in my life. It’s not Xander’s choice. Willow wants me
happy. You make me happy, ergo, Willow will be happy for me. Oz is a pretty
easygoing guy and I think he understood and accepted Giles’ explanation of the
curse and whatnot. As for Cordeila…she’s Cordy. What more can I say?”
But Angel wasn’t fooled. He knew her, knew how upset her
friend’s accusations made her, what their love and support meant. And her
mother…Joyce hadn’t taken the whole thing too well. It hadn’t helped that
they needed to provide some serious back-story that no one had bothered to fill
her in on before.
But there was no staking, no holy water, no throwing into
the sunlight, and no Buffy being thrown out of her house or committed to an
asylum. All in all, not a terribly horrible day. But now that everyone knew
where Angel was staying, he had decided to move back into the mansion, despite
the memories there.
It was really the only place for him to go. Some light, a
good dusting, a new bed, the place would be livable for the both of them. And
that was where they were headed now, in fact, they were only about a hundred
yards from the garden.
“And your mother?”
Damn the man, how was it that with three little words he
could cut right to the heart of the problem. “She’ll come around. She, too,
wants what’s best for me. After she has time to adjust, to accept everything
that I’ve kept from her, then maybe…she won’t ground me for a hundred
years.”
“She loves you, Buffy. You’re her little girl. She’ll
always accept and forgive you. I’m not so sure about me, though.” His hands
had been running slowly up and down her back, part nervous, part needing to feel
her. To make sure that everything wasn’t a dream, some new form of torture they
had designed for him.
“I know. But accepting of you or not, I love you and
I’m not letting you leave me ever again.”
And she sealed this vow with a kiss, making sure that Angel
knew and understood that she meant it, that never again would they be separated.
“Angel,” she said, her breath coming hard and fast, “Let’s get to the
mansion. Dusty and memory ridden as it is, I think it’s better than me
accosting you out in the open.”
He picked her up, locking her ankles around his waist,
“Yeah, good idea.”
Their lips fused together and they stumbled through the
garden opening mere moments later, lucky not to have broken their necks. They
never did make it to the bed the rest of the night.
*********
His tongue was cool on her heated flesh, but nonetheless arousing for its lack
of heat. Blunt teeth worried her nipple as roaming hands found her heated core,
teasing the soft folds of flesh before slipping inside. Trailing down, his cool
mouth tasted every inch of her exposed skin.
Moving back up, his tongue was drawn again and again to the
scar that marked the right side of her neck, that marked her as his. Even as
lips reluctantly left the toughened flesh and found hers again, he remembered
giving her that scar not quite a year ago. Hungry for the feel of her, he
released his one handed grip on her wrists, reveling in her touch on him.
Not releasing his mouth, she rolled them over and leaned
forward until she could taste his neck, down to his chest, running her soft
little hands over muscle and bone taunt with want and need. Hear his breath
catch, a gasp of her name. For her, all for her.
Mouth closed over his erection, tongue swirling the top
again and again. She took him deep into her mouth, drawing him into her throat,
and rolled his testicles tenderly, before releasing him and moving back up.
Rising upward, she impaled herself onto him, gasping out
his name as he filled her, completed her. The pace was not slow and sweet, but
rather fast and hard, flesh slapping flesh as hands clasped in a vain attempt to
anchor themselves against the pounding waves of pleasure.
There was no other sensation in the universe like this:
feeling his lover’s skin slide against his, knowing that her breathy moans,
her sighs, were all for him, only for him. She fit perfectly against him, every
curve and valley of her body molding to his as though they could indeed become
one. She was his warmth, his sun. She was his…and he was irrevocably hers.
Suddenly rearing up, he grasped her hips, pumping into her
faster as his mouth fused with hers. Breaking apart on a gasp, he sank his
elongated teeth into her neck, piercing the skin and drinking her magical blood
as his climax shuddered through him. She came the moment his teeth broke the
skin of her neck, inner muscles clutching at him as she threw her head back,
screaming his name.
~~~~~~~
Long, long minutes later, when motor control finally returned, Angel opened an
eye and looked at his beloved. Her hair, long and silken, was tangled around
them adding to the intimacy of their joining, but her eyes were open and looking
into his. The smile she sent him was soft and loving; as if she were trying to
convey everything she was thinking and feeling by the simple movement of her
lips.
“Better now?” He asked, slightly amazed that he had
found the strength to talk at all. The seemingly bottomless well of desire he
had for her was sometimes overwhelming. Again he thanked Giles and the Powers
(whoever they were) for securing his soul. Perfect happiness was a risk every
time they were together anymore, let alone intimate.
“Yeah, much. But I wouldn’t mind if you could…remind
me, say, every night.” She rolled off him and curled into his side, her head
propped up on one hand as she traced random patterns on his chest.
“Every night, huh? I might be able to manage that. Or,
maybe, every other.” He stilled her hand, bringing it to his lips as he said
that.
Buffy sent him a pout, but didn’t say anything. And a
minute later she nodded her understanding and smiled at him instead. They had
agreed, or rather, Angel had insisted and Buffy had reluctantly accepted his
decision, that Angel needed to find his own way towards redemption.
Helping her out in Sunnydale was all well and good, but
truthfully she was doing fine on her own, and while she loved his help, was a
much better fighter for it, she technically didn’t really need it. But he
needed to find his own way. Needed to discover why The Powers That Be had
brought him back, what his mission was now.
And leaving her was the only way that could happen.
“I’m not leaving you, Buffy. I’m just leaving
Sunnydale.” Angel shifted on their bed and smoothed away a tangle of hair from
her face. Her eyes were understanding, but he could also see the pain in them.
He was probably the only one who could.
“I know.” She said, amazed that once again he had
managed to read her so well. It was as if the closer they became, the more their
thoughts and feelings were manifest in each other.
Then more firmly, “I do know this. It’s just that I’m
going to miss you. I love you so much, and I don’t want you to leave. I like
seeing you every day, like making love to you whenever we’re together, not
just when one of us can see the other. I feel as if every hour we’re apart is
just wasted time. And I’m whining now, so I’ll stop.”
“Buffy, I love you. I could never leave you. I’m just
not going to be in the same town as you. We talked about this; you know my
reasons. I have to do this, I have to know why I was brought back, why I’m so
important to these Powers that they brought me back from the pits of Hell.”
Sniffing back tears she refused to cry, Buffy sent him a
smile, and agreed. “I know. I do; and I understand, truly. It’s just the
‘in fact’ part of the scenario is much harder than the ‘in theory’ part
of it.” Shaking off her fears: that once Angel was away from her he’d
realize that he didn’t really need her, she leaned over and kissed him.
“We still have a little time before I have to get up,
want to help make it go by faster?”
Angel smiled, but stilled her roaming hands. “Buffy,
I’m not going to forget you. I’m just going to Los Angeles for a while. You
know that’s where the Powers want me to meet this mysterious guide. And two
hours isn’t far; though I’m with you one the wasted time part. Now tell me
what’s really bothering you.”
“Damn it! How did…Fine.” She sighed, again not
surprised that he had seen through her to the source of her fears. In the past
months they had grown – together and individually. Their relationship was now more,
more stable, more secure, more open, more mature. And while she had occasional
fits of insecurity, Angel always managed to calm her fears. She knew that he’d
never leave her; she just wished that the together part was in the same town.
She fully intended on transferring to UCLA in the spring.
She could still be the Slayer in LA. The Hellmouth could be patrolled without
her; and if something really important came up, it was only a two-hour drive.
Assuming that she survived her first day of college.
“It’s this whole college thing. Willow’s all into it,
excited and fitting in, Oz is, Oz, so he’s fine, Xander’s not even back from
his summer road trip, but he’s not going to college and I’m…” How could
she put this in a way that didn’t sound stupid and selfish? She couldn’t;
there was just no good way.
“I feel like everyone is moving on except me. I’m still
the slayer, I still have the same responsibilities, nothing’s going to change
there. Everyone is going to find this wonderful new path to walk and I’m stuck
on the same old one.”
Smoothing a hand down her cheek, Angel asked, “Do you
really think that? Do you really think that you’re in some kind of rut? That
you can’t have what you want: being the Slayer, college…me?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just that everything’s
different now, and I don’t know where I fit in anymore.”
Scooting up against the headboard, Angel gathered her into
his strong embrace, running his hands down her arms, her back, soothing her as
best he could. “You’ve survived Giles getting fired, quitting the Council,
high school, Faith going rogue, the mayor ascending, blowing up the high school,
and this summer. I don’t see what you can’t survive now.”
“But I had you. And I know you’re going to tell me that
I can survive college without you here all the time, and I’m fairly sure I
can, too, but it’s like this huge step and it scares me more than all the
demons I’ve killed put together. And so help me if Faith ever comes out of
that coma, she better run far and fast. Because if I find her, she’ll regret
it.”
“She’s a lost soul, Buffy. I wish I had more time to
help her.” The remorse in his voice was palatable. He understood where Faith
was coming from and where her path was leading her. He regretted not being able
to help her more. If only…but it was pointless to think like that.
“She didn’t have the support system you do. Her first
watcher was murdered before her eyes, Giles tried to help, by her second watcher
was a psycho with delusions of power. Wesley certainly didn’t make a good
impression. And I think she felt left out of your friendship circle. She always
felt she had to compete with you when all she really had to do was be herself. I
think, in the end, she understood that. Or she wouldn’t have helped you in
your dream.”
“And the fact that she tried to kill you?” That was the
pain she harbored most against Faith. She could almost forgive her (almost) for
turning to the mayor, the one person who treated her like family, she could
almost forgive her for losing her way, for turning from everything that being
the Slayer stood for. But to shoot Angel, the one person who tried to help her,
with a poisoned arrow? That was something Buffy could never forgive.
“She was lost, Buffy.”
Sighing, wrapping her arms tighter around him, Buffy said
nothing. She knew how he felt, the guilt over one more person he couldn’t
help. Her lover was noble and strong, but the pain, regret, guilt,
responsibility he felt to the world he had once terrorized weighed heavily on
his shoulder.
And that was the final reason. She wasn’t letting him go, he would always be a
part of her, he wasn’t leaving her, he was just finding his own path. And
while it hurt that he couldn’t do it with her, Buffy understood that their
paths were always together. Nothing could separate them.
“So, LA. When do you leave?” And this time her voice
held only love, for it was stronger than anything else in the world.
“End of the week. I wouldn’t leave you on your first
day of school.” He smiled at her, happy that she accepted his choice, at peace
with his new role in the world, overjoyed to have her by his side and in his
life.
“Good, then you can help me work off some of this nervous
energy.”
“Gladly.” His
lips met hers, soft and gentle. They had all the time they needed. And if fate
intervened, then it was something they’d deal with then. They were together
and nothing could separate them.
~~~~~~~~
Buffy walked into the mansion, dumping her huge pile of books on the side table
as she did so. Her first day of classes and she was beat. Four years of this?
How on earth was she going to survive? And her roommate was a freak; no one
listened to that much Cher and stayed sane.
Why hadn’t she roomed with Willow? Oh, right. They were
trying the meet new friends thing. Trying to prove that they could do so and
that their intimate little group wasn’t all they had. So far it wasn’t going
well.
Angel wandered out of the bedroom where he was packing the
last of his things. He fully intended on visiting Sunnydale, or rather, Buffy,
but, on a weekend trip together, they had found an apartment in LA he planned on
moving into. Hopefully not alone, if Buffy did indeed transfer to UCLA as she
planned. And she was pretty adamant about it.
“Hey, how was your first day of classes?” He leaned
down to kiss her, noting the stress and tiredness in her eyes.
“Long.” She said, responding to his kiss. “Hmm, but I
feel better already. Where do I begin? I got lost, that place is huge when
you’re not trying to kill demons; in the bookstore I dropped a pile of books
on some dorky TA which, as it turns out, is the TA for my psychology professor.
And the library is so big I think even Giles would be impressed. Although he did
work at The British Museum, so I’m not so sure.”
“Sounds interesting. Is that why you dragged all your
stuff here instead of leaving them in your dorm room?” He cast an eye to the
table that now held every book Buffy had been forced to buy.
Startled, she followed his gaze. “Oh. Um, probably. Plus
my roommate’s a freak. I think she might be a demon.” The more Buffy thought
that, the more it made sense.
“Want to give me the tour…later?” His lips had
wandered down her neck and were caressing his mark. It was his favorite place,
well, one of them, and he never missed an opportunity to nuzzle it.
Buffy shivered in his arms. The slightest touch, hell, his
gaze, sent her nerves tingling. “Yeah, later. Much later.” She agreed,
winding her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as his tongue flicked
out to taste the roughened skin, to feel the throb of her artery.
Angel picked her up and carried her into their bedroom.
Same town or not, she was still his and he fully intended to show her as often
as possible.
The sun had long since set by the time they even thought about going back to campus. They never did make it. But there was always tomorrow night.
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