August 5
Crime Wave Shuts Down City
Connor took the pile of papers conveniently placed there for his use, and swung them at the vampires encircling him. Three down, two to go. Punching one, the last vamp grabbed his outstretched arm and swung him into a group of high pressure gas cylinders along the side of the alley.
“Connor,” his head jerked up at the voice. Beautiful and welcomed.
“You’re so dead,” he grinned through a bloodied lip at the vamp, ripping off one of the cylinders, and sending a blast of high pressure gas into the faces of his attacker. The vamp screamed in pain and stagger backward.
Right into Buffy’s waiting stake.
“Let me guess,” he said as the two of them worked together to dust the remaining vamps. “Out-of-towners?”
“Yeah,” the final vamp replied. “Tucson.”
“Typical,” Buffy said, staking the last vamp with a grin that looked both perfectly natural on her beautiful face and uncomfortable.
“Welcome to LA,” Connor looked down at the dusty remains and shook his head, sharing Buffy’s grin. “Tourists.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, running a hand over his bruised cheek, his bloody lip.
He relaxed, smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. But thanks for the help there.”
“You’re alone?” she looked around, and he knew she looked for Angel. Jealously speared through him, but he didn’t voice it. He wanted to know so many things about this woman, not just what his father told him, and yet now, when it seemed the perfect time to ask, she wanted to know about Angel.
“Yeah,” he nodded, stiffening. “Angel’s locked in a cage.”
“Cage?” she frowned, looked worried. “Why?”
“Wesley and gang ambushed him. Tore his soul free because they think Angelus knows something Angel doesn’t about the Beast.”
The frown was still there, but she brushed back his hair with such a soft touch and Connor relaxed fractionally. The gesture, natural in its absent touch, told him she cared for him, too. Then he looked up as a gang of five more vampires sauntered down the street, and three more dropped from the rooftop.
“Let’s take care of these,” she said in that same soft voice of hers. “And you can explain.”
It didn’t take them long to dust the now eight vamps, but six of their friends joined them. Taking care of those, Connor made the hardest decision he could. Fight or flee. It wasn’t he assured himself, fleeing so much as it was protecting her. Through limited conversations and interactions, he’d managed to develop feelings for her, and it scared him. He wanted to protect her, make sure nothing happened to her.
He cared for her, not in any kind of romantic way, but in a fiercely protective way. In a family kind of way.
Plus, his dad would kick his ass if anything happened to Buffy.
“Come on,” he tugged her arm, just as another dozen or so vamps appeared at one end of the street. What were they, the only humans left in LA?
She looked at him, curiosity in her dark green eyes. “Follow me,” she said finally, and jumped onto the rooftop without a blink.
“Cool,” he said and followed her lead.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a burnt out building. Buffy carefully picked her way through the debris to the basement, leading him to what seemed to be a back room. It looked like an apartment, or the charred remnants of one.
“Where are we?”
“Angel’s,” she said, looking at him. “This is Angel’s.”
“Dad owns this?” Connor asked in surprise. Just how many buildings did his father own? Then, confused, asked, “Why are you here? Does Angel know you’re here? Is he keeping you here? Why aren’t you at the hotel?”
Buffy looked at him for a moment. Her long white hair was pulled back in a braid, but loose tendrils waved in the slight breeze that came from the hole above the stairs; her eyes, dark in the dimness of the building, watched him intently. Something Angel said to him once came back to Connor. How Wolfram & Hart brought Buffy back from the dead. How she’d sacrificed herself for her sister and the world, and they ripped her out of Heaven.
If she knew Angel, but ran from him, then did she even remember? Did she know who Angel was? Or did she just know the name, the memory of the name?
“Do you know who I am?” he asked cautiously.
“Of course,” she laughed, light and vivid, and the sound filled the room, making the burned remains seem brighter than they actually were. “You’re Connor. You’re his son. I know about you. Lilah,” the happiness and joy instantly fled from her face at the name. “She told me about you.”
“But you don’t remember Angel?” Was this why she ran from them? Was this why Angel had such a hard time finding her night after night? Because she didn’t remember, really remember him? Wow. That’d explain a lot.
“Angel,” the way she said the name, the look that settled into her eyes told Connor enough. She loved Angel, whether or not she remembered him. “I remember Angel. He’s mine. My hero, my knight in shining armor; he’s my mate.”
“Then why do you run from him?” Connor watched Buffy walk to what looked like it used to be a kitchen area, retrieve two bottles of water from a battered cooler, and offer him one. How on earth had she managed to get the cooler and the water? Did she steal it? Or did those she saved help her with the basics? Thanking her, he waited for her answer.
“Everything’s muddled,” she said quietly. “I don’t remember a lot. I know I hunt. I know I kill the vampires and demons that stalk the night.” She looked up at the ceiling as if she could see the sky. “And now in the day, too. I know that’s what I’m here for, my purpose on this planet. I know I had a sister, and she was a part of me. But Angel,” and again with the way she said his name.
“Angel’s looking for you,” he said. “The man I hunt with. That’s Angel.”
It took her a moment, but she nodded. “I know…I know it’s him. But there’s something wrong with him…there’s a voice within me that tells me to kill him. And a voice that says not to, he’s mine. Together they seem to agree on that, but it’s very confusing.”
“Hearing voices usually is,” Connor agreed, but sat next to her. “Angel…he’s my father,” he said in case she missed that. But she nodded, took his hand and waited for him to go on. A rush of feeling surged through him at her touch. Warmth, acceptance, family.
“He told me a little about the slayer. I think the slayer part of you wants to kill him because he’s a vampire.” She didn’t stiffen or jerk away, and he wondered if that was progress or not. “But the woman knows he’s yours.”
Slowly, she nodded. “Why did Wesley put him in a cage?”
“Because Angel let him live.” She frowned at that, and he hated he caused her to do so and so often. He only wanted to see her smile, yet he couldn’t seem to be able to do that. “They don’t understand dad,” Connor continued. “They don’t understand that what they know about him is wrong. That the soul and demon are one now, and that it’s impossible to rip one out without the other coming, too. Killing Angel in the process.”
“Then why is he in the cage?”
“Because he hasn’t escaped yet. Because,” he continued slowly, “He’s not giving them what they want. They expect only certain things from him, they don’t really understand him.”
They were silent for a long while, sipping their water, Buffy holding his hand as if he were a child. Not that he knew what it felt like to have his hand held as a child, but this is what he imagined it to feel like. The warmth and comfort of a mother holding her son’s hand to reassure him in times of trouble.
“I’m going to see him.” she said, and stood.
“Not a good idea,” Connor immediately replied, then wondered why he said it in the first place. Jealously? Possibly, but he knew where he stood in Buffy’s life, even if the relationship he craved wasn’t there as yet. Son to her mother.
“Wes,” he realized. “If Wes sees you, he won’t believe it’s you.” Of course then Angel really would kill Wes when the man tried to do terrible things to Buffy, but that was a death for another time.
“I’ll bring dad here.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Fred, Gunn, and Lorne watched Cordelia hold the glass receptacle with Angel’s soul floating in it as Wesley opened the wall safe.
“Seeing Angel’s soul all floaty like that kinda makes me crazy.” Fred said, then frowned. “Is that what a soul’s supposed to look like?”
“Don’t know,” Lorne admitted. “First time I’ve seen a soul outside the body. I have to say, it’s not what Angel’s soul looked like when I read him. But,” he consoled, “It’s not forever, sugarplum. We’re just borrowing it.”
Angel laughed quietly in their cage as they listened to the exchange going on upstairs. Whatever that dark mystic took from them, it wasn’t the soul. No, that was still firmly intact, all nice and cozy within their body. Just as it should be.
What they couldn’t understand was why Wesley seemed so intent on removing it to begin with. Did he truly think Angelus would know something Angel didn’t? It made no sense, and yet that was precisely the reasoning – if it could be called that – Wes used. Or was there more? Had the uptight Englishman actually switch sides? Was he working for Wolfram & Hart now, even with Lilah’s death? Trying to, for reasons they’d never been able to figure out, resurrect Angelus for their own purposes?
Time to kill the watcher. We let him live too long as it is, thinking She wouldn’t want us to kill him. If She never knew, they reasoned, Then where was the harm? Does it matter we’ll never know the reasons Wesley decided to act the Fool?
“Nope. Doesn’t matter one damn bit.”
They fingered the letter Connor slipped them before their son left to find Her. It was from Tara, or so the scent on the overseas envelope told them, but they hadn’t had time to read it, what with the fishbowl like existence they were forced to endure to find out just what in the nine levels of hell that ridiculous team thought they were doing.
Had this letter something to do with Her? What, they didn’t know. Was it just to tell them how she, Giles, and Anya were doing? That seemed more practical. With Spike? Had they found their grandchilde? Possible, but they knew Spike; if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.
Laughing now, at Spike, at themself, they hoped their son was okay. Reports the gang listened to on the television upstairs didn’t bode well for the city; while they had supreme confidence in Connor’s ability, they still worried. Maybe She found him, yes, they were sure of that. She’d find Connor and protect him. they’d protect each other.
A small smile replaced the mocking laugh. Their family; the family they’d dreamed of for months was so close to becoming a reality they could almost taste it.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Dad,” Connor said quietly as he approached the cage. Ignoring the red line, he walked right up to the cage, knowing the others were watching from above, not bothering to venture down, not since Wesley’s aborted attempt at interrogation. It was pathetic and embarrassing to watch, let alone sit through.
“I found her.”
Angel looked sharply at their son. “Where? When? Where is She?”
“I don’t know where,” he admitted quietly. “She said it was yours. That the place she was staying ‘was Angel’s’. I don’t think she really understood until we talked what she’d been feeling. She’s confused, dad, and I think you’re the only one she really remembers. She said something about a sister, but you never mentioned what happened to her…”
The sadness in Angel’s eyes was conveyed clearly to their son. “Dawn. Her sister was Dawn. She killed herself last summer. Depression over Her…” they swallowed hard, “Death, I think. Dawnie couldn’t cope without Her.”
“She knows me,” Connor whispered. Awed, hopeful.
The smile was quick, so as not to show those watching what was going on. “Yes, of course She would. Did you talk? Is She okay? How is She? Where is She?”
“A burnt out building,” Connor shrugged. “All I know is she said it was yours. She’s fine. Needs a bath,” he wrinkled his nose at that, and they chuckled. “Dad…” again, that awe was back in his voice. “She knows me. She…you were right,” but he’d never doubted it. not when it came to this. “She is nice and kind. She’s great. Can I get to know her more?”
“Of course you can, Connor, you don’t need my permission. I know she’d want to get to know you.” Angel smiled at their son. Wanted to reach through the bars and hug the child close to them. There was a noise on the steps. No one ventured down, there was no accompanying scent, but it spurred them into action.
“I’m leaving, Connor,” they said immediately, hating themself for not thinking of it before. “But I need you to stay here to throw them off the track. I know where She is, but I don’t want them finding Her.”
“Can I…when can I see her again?”
“Give us a day together,” they agreed, smiling again at their son. “Stay off the streets, stay away from the others. Then come to the apartment you saw. We’ll be waiting.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Do you know where Angelus is?” she demanded.
“Nope.” Connor continued to polish his sword, never glancing up.
Fuming, she demanded, “Why not? Why aren’t you out there trying to find him? Why aren’t you trying to kill him? Why are you sitting here polishing your stupid sword when you know Angelus is out there killing?”
Looking up at her with unreadable eyes, Connor said, “He’s still in LA. I know he’ll come back sooner or later. I won’t kill my own father. My sword needs tending and polishing, or it’s no use to me. Angelus isn’t killing. Not yet at least,” he added with a shrug, resuming his work on the weapons pile laid out before him. “He’s hunting.”
That gave her pause. “Hunting what?”
“That’s his concern. Not yours.”
“It is when he comes to kill me! And don’t think that just because you’re Angel’s son he’ll spare you. He’ll kill everything that made Angel feel human, and you’ll be first.”
Connor frowned at that, and looked at her again. “You really believe that, don’t you, Cordelia?”
Defeated, she flopped on the floor next to him. “I don’t know what I believe. I have all these jumbled thoughts, and I know some are memories and some are visions of the future, but I don’t know what, and it’s not helping the situation, and I know badness is out there, and I just have this really bad feeling.”
“Calm down,” Cordy,” he smiled, put the sword in the pile. “It’ll be okay. It’s not all bad.” He moved to her, and she could’ve wept with gratitude. Finally! Something was going her way.
She glanced at the flowers by both his bed and the single chair in his room. Was it enough? Paranoid now, she didn’t know. Was it enough to turn his mind her way? To get her what she needed? Enough – but not too much – to subvert his will just so her way? To complete her damned spell?
There was only one way to find out.
Carefully, gently, she leaned in. “I’m sorry, Connor. There’s so much going on, and I don’t know what’s what anymore. I don’t know what to do, who to trust. And I’m scared.”
She shifted closer, resting her head on his bony shoulder. If she was keeping him, and she hadn’t decided yet, she needed to fatten him up first. But she was digressing. Slowly, Connor put his arm around her shoulder, awkward and uncertain.
“It’s okay,” he said, and the tone of his voice cheered her. Gone was the cockiness of battle, and in its place was an uncertainty and a need to please her.
“I know it will be,” she whispered. “Because I know you’ll do what’s needed. You’re like Angel. You’re a champion.”
Connor looked down at her with a frown. She was so beautiful. Lost and afraid, and she needed him. He could see the fear in her eyes, the neediness. Knew, just knew she was alone, that she had no idea what was going on or who to trust. When she looked up at him, when she pressed her lips to his, he let her.
What he didn’t realize was that he was confusing what he wanted and needed from others – from Angel and Buffy and the family they offered him – with what Cordelia showed him. There was no prior experience, no comparison for him to make. Nothing to sense beneath the surface of her words and actions. He hungered for love and security.
But the magicks Cordelia used on him, coupled with his own lost needs, served Cordelia’s purpose. Not his desperate needs. Buffy was the first one to show him affection, kindness, gentleness; in his misguided need for more, he thought he’d find what he hungered for from Cordelia.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Buffy.”
She didn’t jerk at the sound, merely watched them with steady eyes as they walked closer. The room was much the same as they remembered it, a bit dustier, a bit dirtier, but over all, it was just as they’d left it after the bomb. After salvaging all they could.
“Connor said you’d come,” She said, but still didn’t move. “Where is he?”
“We needed him at home,” they murmured, staring hungrily at Her. “We couldn’t have anyone follow us.”
“Us. We.” Nodding, She rose. “I understand now. I understand why you were different.”
“Soul and demon,” they nodded, arm’s length from Her. And oh, how they wanted to touch Her. Desperately wanted to touch Her. To feel Her skin against theirs, to taste Her. “Buffy,” they said again, relishing the name on their tongue, in the air. “We’ve missed you.”
“And I you,” She nodded, moving then into their arms.
Closing tightly around Her, they sighed. This was it then, what they’d missed all these months. Lowing their head, they gently took Her mouth. Taste. The taste of Her was exotic, spicy and soft, loving and magick. Her hands moved to hold them, so soft and strong.
They could talk later. After Angel assured themself She was real and alive and in their arms. They could talk until they were satisfied She wasn’t going anywhere. That She was staying with them for as long as forever would allow. They’d tell Her about Connor, watch as She and their son bonded. And, eventually, tell her about Dawn, Faith, and Willow.
Kissing along Her neck, they lifted Her into their arms, groaned Her name when her legs wrapped around their hips, Her heat – real and vivid – ground into his cock.
“We love you,” they whispered, walking to the bed She’d slept in all these nights they’d tried to find Her. “Have you been here all this time?”
“Yes,” She gasped, tilting Her head to the side to allow them access to Her shoulders, to slip off the shirt, to taste Her silky skin. Connor was right, She needed to bathe, and they’d take care of that, but the only scent they detected was Hers. Love, Warrior, Power, Fallen Angel. “It’s yours, yes? I thought…I thought you’d be here.”
“We’re sorry, Love,” they apologized. “We didn’t know.” Had never suspected. This apartment was the last place She’d been, so long ago. It was the last place She remembered them being. Had they ever told Her they’d moved? Yes, yes, they had, had given Her the new number, had wanted Her to stay with them. But things hadn’t worked out like that, things never worked the way they wanted them too it seemed, and She’d never come.
“You looked for me.” It was a statement as Her fingers undid their shirt, nimble and warm on their chest. “I felt you. Knew it was you.”
“Every night we looked for You. Lilah-” they stopped when She stiffened in their arms. “She’ll never hurt you again,” they promised tenderly, hand cupping her face, lips grazing hers. “We killed her.”
“Good,” Buffy whispered, nodded at them, and they relaxed with Her blessing. Resuming the trail Her mouth blazed down their chest, She repeated, “Good.”
Then there was no more talk. They promised to tell Her everything, but now they just wanted Her. Wanted to feel Her clench around them, wanted Her heat to warm their coldness, wanted to hear their name as She screamed it when Her orgasm overtook Her and all She knew was them.
They carefully undressed Her, the filthy clothes they weren’t going to let touch Her body one second longer tossed to the side. The soft skin underneath that smelled of hours spent hunting those who plagued the unsuspecting humans. The unique scent that was Her. Buffy. They wanted to remember all of that; to rediscover Her, to taste and touch and smell and be Her.
They slipped into Her, into Her warmth and wetness, felt Her hands on their back, nails digging in, drawing blood. “Angel.” The word was said against their neck, hot breath on cool skin, warming them straight through to the soul that idiot team of theirs thought was gone.
“I need you,” She breathed, moved against them. Unable to resist such a plea, such an enticement, they did just that. Thrusting hard against Her, feeling Her respond in kind, they moved together. Across the bed where they once spent a beautiful day together. Dust floated around the room, but not here, not on their bed. Here She’d taken care to keep the bed clean. Keep it theirs.
“Buffy!” They cried, mouth against Her throat; She tightened around them, breath caught in Her throat in a silent cry. But they did not drink. Did not bite no matter how the instinct called on them to do just that. To make Her theirs once again.
“Do it, Angel.” Her voice was soft, insistent against their ear. Her hand moved to their head, pulling them tight against Her throat. “I remember what it felt like…I remember why you did it. Drink. Make me yours again.”
Slipping their fangs into Her smooth throat, they tasted Her blood, warm and rich. Marked again. Theirs again. She screamed their name, arching high off them bed, pressed tight against them, clenching around them on a high keen of completion before dropping back to the mattress, exhausted. She curled around them, Her body pliable and theirs; Her head rested on their chest, lips brushing their skin.
“We’re taking you home. Connor’s there.”
“Your family,” She smiled. “He’s your family.”
“Both of you are our family,” he corrected.
“We have to stop the Beast, first. Bring back the day.” Raising Her head, She caressed their cheek. “We have to stop it and its master.”
“We know, but we don’t know who the master is. Something that big and rumbling is more into slash and burn than plotting how to destroy the world.”
“Agreed,” She nodded. She sat up, all business now and wrapped the sheet around Her beautiful body. They growled, tugged the flimsy covering and Her back into their arms. “We should get Connor.” She frowned now, looked across the burned out room to the door. “I don’t want to leave him.”
“We told him we were coming for You,” they soothed, but sat up, still holding Her. Reluctant as they were, their son was important, very much so, to them. “He’s waiting for us.”
“Let’s go, then,” She nodded, kissed him briefly. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
They made their way back to the hotel, fighting along the streets as they went. “It’s bad out here,” Buffy said when they slipped into their room.
“They’re coming from all over,” Angel agreed, “Too many to fight now. We’d need a more concentrated force.”
“Agreed,” She said, looking around the room. It was dark, but She’d expected that. The curtains weren’t drawn, not anymore, but there was no light to seep into the corners anyway.
She shivered, edged nearer the balcony. Buffy didn’t like it here, the sense of the place was off. Even though she’d just spent hours with Angel, with the one person she truly remembered, she wasn’t comfortable here. Scared. Scared and edgy, and she wanted to bolt. Take Connor and leave.
Wanted to remember more than Angel, wanted to remember what their lives were like, wanted to remember why she couldn’t remember. Buffy wanted to start a life, not that she really understood that desire, but she wanted it anyway. She wanted it because both Slayer and Woman within her wanted it, and her heart listened, even if the feeling made little sense to her mind.
Taking a deep breath, wondering what the scent she breathed in was, she let Angel take her into his – their – arms, and hold her. How they knew she needed that comfort, Buffy didn’t understand, but accepted it. She didn’t understand how he found her, how he’d tracked her, how he knew it was her all this time when she didn’t.
But he had, and that was really all that mattered. He had, they had, and now, standing with his strong arms tight around her, Buffy let go of her final fears, and accepted Angel, soul and demon, into her life. Fully into her heart.
With a smile up at them, she leaned in and kissed him before pulling out of the embrace. Wandering around the room, she continued her assessment. Baby things piled one corner, clothes, toys, blankets. A teddy bear with a bow, a hockey stick, jersey and mini-pads.
A stuffed vampire with a small t-shirt that said ‘grrr-argh, my daddy’s a vamp, what’s yours?’ a stake with the words ‘Chosen 2’ engraved on it.
“Faith,” She whispered, holding the stake close to her heart. “We’re the Chosen 2.”
Angel nodded, coming up behind Her. They hadn’t wanted to tell her so soon, or this way. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry about Faith.”
“What happened?”
“We’ll tell you later,” they promised, and wondered if She’d already known about Faith, or their words told her.
“Where’s Connor?” She asked, felt them stiffen at Her question. “What?” Looking up, She frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” they assured Her.
“Are you jealous?”
“No,” they said, but She continued to frown. “Worried.”
“About Connor?”
“About being back here. About,” they qualified, “Being back here with you. We only came back to gather weapons and get Connor.”
“What about…” She frowned. “Wes? Yes, Wesley. And the rest of your team?”
“Wesley,” they growled, “Is going to rot in hell. The rest…” they shrugged. “Can go with him for all we care.”
“Angel,” Buffy sighed, moved back to his arms. Yes, there was safety there, safety and solace. “What happened that changed everything?”
They were silent for long minutes, knew She worried, but didn’t know how to tell Her what triggered everything to change. Leading Her to the bed, they pulled Her onto their lap. Kissed Her, letting the Buffy-warmth spread through them, the only time they’d ever truly felt warm.
“You died,” they whispered, forehead against Hers. “You died and everything fell apart.”
Her hand cupped their cheek, brought their lips back to Hers. “It’s okay,” She whispered. “Don’t think about it.” She didn’t remember Her death, not really, and they were glad of that. They didn’t want Her carrying that burden. “I’m here now, and everything’s okay. We’re a family.”
“Yes,” they nodded, wondered what She did remember of her time in Heaven. Away from them. “Let’s get Connor. We’ll figure out this Beast thing so we can leave.”
Buffy nodded, but instead of standing, she lay her head against their chest. “In a minute. I just want to stay here for a bit.”
She yawned, burrowed closer to him. “Are you tired?” Panicked, they demanded, “Are you injured? Did something happen?”
“Not injured,” She laughed. “Just tired. This is the first time…” She trailed off, frowned again before shrugging. “Connor said something to me before. He said that I’d remembered who you were but nothing else. He’s wrong, you know. I do remember things. Not everything, I know that. It haunts me, what I don’t know. But I do remember.”
“What do you remember, Love?” Laying on the bed, Angel brought Her with them, soothing a hand through Her hair.
Kicking off their shoes, Angel left Her for only a moment to take Hers off, too, slowly stripping the both of them. They needed to feel Her, even if it wasn’t the satiation of sex, they needed to feel Her against them. Skin to skin. Bath. She needed a bath. With a sigh, they stood.
“What are you doing?” She giggled.
“Bath. We need to get you a bath.” Carrying Her into the bathroom, they ran the water, climbed in but never let Her go. Holding Buffy tightly against them, mouth grazing Her shoulder, they washed Her.
“Tell me what you remember,” they asked, slowly running the washcloth over her shoulders, breasts, belly.
“I remember…” leaning Her head against their chest, eyes closed, She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now. I don’t want to remember now.”
“Buffy…” but they weren’t going to push Her. Couldn’t. When She talked, they’d listen, but for the moment, holding Her was all that mattered.
“I remember loving you, Angel. I remember that,” She whispered. “There’s more, isn’t there.”
“Yes, Love. But don’t worry about it. Not now.”
Washing Her hair, Angel let it drop. They watched the silky white strands slip through their fingers, marveled at the color. What had happened to Her that caused this change to Her hair? Had it something to do with Lilah bringing Her back? The trauma of being ripped from heaven and back to the mortal world?
Those questions could wait. They had forever…stilling only briefly at that thought, they quickly resumed before She noticed anything.
We don’t have forever. We only have until Her death.
Buffy was human, and even though She was the slayer, She was going to die, and there was nothing they could do to stop that. This time, when She left them, it would be far, far in the future. And they’d die with Her.
“Make love to me, Angel.” Her words drifted over them, warm, inviting. She turned to look at them, Her eyes dark now, not the same green of their memories, but darker.
“Always, Buffy.” Taking the showerhead and rinsing the shampoo from Her hair, Angel stood with Her once more in their arms. “We love you.”
“I know.” And then She was kissing them, Her water-slicked body wrapped around theirs, Her mouth hungry on theirs.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m not surprised,” Wesley ground out, anger clear for all to see. “We left him alone; it’s not surprising Angelus found a way to escape.”
“No?” Gunn mocked. “Because I’m surprised.”
“How’d he get out?” Fred asked. “I mean you made sure the locks were secure, the bars were extra thick, right?”
“Not thick enough, sweetpea,” Lorne shook his head, the opened cage laughing at them. “Maybe we should’ve had another vamp check it out first.”
“Like who?” Wes shook his head. “Never mind. Angelus is gone, we’re still alive, which means he’s either left town, or planning something.”
“Has anyone seen Connor?” Gunn demanded.
“Not in a while.” Fred said and looked scared at that thought. “Do you think Angelus killed Angel’s son?”
“Don’t know, but I’m thinking we should start searching.”
“Yes,” Wes smirked. “You do that. Let’s search the entire city for one vampire.”
“It’s the one vampire that has a serious vendetta against you, Mr. I’m-sure-of-this.” Gunn hefted his battle-axe and headed for the stairs. “You can sit here in the one place he knows where to find you, researching the Beast to your heart’s content. Or you can come with. Me?” His voice floated from the stairs. “I’m not sticking around to be Angelus’ favorite meal.”
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