Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Season 2, episode 18
Saved By Death
A/N: Joss, Mutant Enemy, Joss, not me, Joss.
A/N 2:This scene is just how I, in all my hopeless-romantic-fangirliness, fantasized how the opening scene of 'Killed By Death' might have gone. Enjoy!
A/N 3: Special thanks to the lovely N-Sarrova for providing much-needed critiques :)
Buffy's feet dragged uncharacteristically slowly as she made her way through Sunnydale's main cemetery. Usually, one of the perks of being a Slayer meant illness was all but nonexistent. Tonight, however, this stupid flu was making the gravestones swirl unhelpfully around her.
But she would just have to endure it, she needed to concentrate. He was out tonight. She could feel it.
Buffy's habitual resigned sigh at this turned into a hacking cough- so deep and severe that she had to stop and grip the nearest bit of statuary to keep from falling. "Sorry," she finally wheezed, glancing at whatever stone tribute had kept her upright. Her eyes widened and she wrenched her hand away as if the rock was scorching instead of cool to the touch. Buffy turned a little unsteadily on her heel and walked resolutely away from the winged angel.
*/*/*
The scent picked up. She was getting closer. Behind the large mausoleum where he waited patiently, Angelus tensed with excitement. Finally. Perhaps a few idiot fledglings had ignored his order to stay away from this place tonight, because she usually got to the east sector much sooner. Damn hard to find good minions these days. He trained his eyes on the concrete wall he knew she always vaulted to search this area. "Come on, lover" he called under his breath, "come out and play."
There would be no death for the Slayer tonight, of that he was sure. Taunting enough to rattle her and wind her with a fight -just enough to push her one step closer to the edge- then melt back into the shadows. Not rushing in fangs first the way Spike kept nagging for. These things took time and subtly. He could wait. After all, he had not had near long enough to induce the mental anguish he wanted that little blond to feel. For where was the fun in merely killing? There was no grace or glory in just mindlessly sucking the life out of a body (although, taking her blood would be an overwhelming pleasure.) When she was dead, there could be no more torture, no more games. When it was over, he would be deprived of the musical resonance of her screaming, the innocent strain of her sobs, the exquisite sight of her flowing blood. He intended all of it to last as long as possible.
Killing the gypsy woman had been decent sport, and elicited satisfying grief, but Buffy refused to break down completely, still pointlessly determined to fight to him. To fight them. As if she didn't know she was her own greatest weakness. She loved him, and it was going to kill her. It had been nearly two and a half centuries since a victim had loved him so thoroughly. But with little Kathy, he had been but a blunt novice, unrefined in his craft of inflicting the utmost agony on his hapless victims. Now, after a century of being caged behind that bastard soul, his next masterpiece was at hand. By the time he applied the final stroke to this, his magnum opus, Buffy Summers would be a broken empty shell. Bereft of friends, family, and he very much hoped, sanity. Death would be a blessing in comparison. Of course, Dru might like a playmate.
Her footsteps were at hand now. Angelus rolled his neck side to side and flexed his knuckles like a prizefighter ready to enter the ring. Ladies and Gentlemen, enter our heroine.
*/*/*
In no condition to leap deftly over the eight-foot wall as she normally would have done, Buffy manually hiked herself up over the barrier. It took her an unprecedented three whole minutes and two failed attempts to reach the top, then drop to the ground in a heap on the other side. Sniffling, she got sluggishly to her feet and pulled out her stake. As desperate as she was to fight Angelus, especially after Miss Calendar, a not-so-small part of her Slayer instincts were informing her in no-uncertain-terms that now may not be the best time. She didn't have much time to dwell on this as the other part was busy with her vampire sensor that had just got haywire. Too late now.
"Listen," Buffy addressed the night at large, her hoarse voice diminishing the effect of her cold tone, "I'm having a really crappy night here, so let's just skip over the creepy stalker portion of the evening. Show yourself."
"Well since you asked nicely."
Buffy spun around at the sound of the achingly familiar voice behind her. For a moment, adrenaline pumped through her body, clearing her head and steadying her hand in which her stake was poised. Angelus stood there, no hideous vampire visage tonight, just the beautiful features that had first starred in her dreams- then her nightmares. He was wearing her favorite half-smile, but his eyes were completely devoid of the warmth she knew, instead dancing with malicious promises. It's not him, it's not him. The mantra pounded inside her head. Except that the pounding grew stronger and stronger, causing her responding right hook to lose most of its momentum. Angelus recovered quickly and retaliated with a swift kick to her chest sending her sprawling several feet away.
"Feeling a little off our game tonight, sweetheart?" He said, advancing. He could tell now that she was. This close, he could smell the heady scent of a fever raging inside her, distorting her otherwise enticing signature scent. An advantage to be sure, but not much for sport. He wanted to wear her down on his own terms. Still, this had potential...
Buffy landed hard, thoroughly disoriented. She scrambled clumsily to her feet, trying to force air back into her winded lungs. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She couldn't think. Was she fighting? But it was Angel, he wouldn't- black spots were rapidly popping up in front of her eyes even as she tried desperately to think of something, some...why was the graveyard disappearing...? Only one thought registered with her now, and she heard herself speak aloud the one thing she was able to cling to:
"Angel."
The last thing she saw was his dark figure towering over her as she sank to the ground.
Angelus surveyed the prone Slayer at his feet. He had certainly not expected this. He allowed himself a moment to study her. Even ill and lifeless she was still an extraordinary creature to behold; amazing how such a tiny thing held so much power. And now, she lay helplessly before him, utterly at his mercy. Well, staying here certainly wasn't going to do. He knelt down and scooped her in his arms. At his touch she stirred, but did not wake fully. Suddenly she started to struggle deliriously, head tossing and arms flailing weakly. He knew what he had to do, and it both disgusted and intrigued him.
"Shh, Buffy," he breathed gently, "It's me. It's Angel."
Her movements faltered. "Angel?" Buffy mewed, eyes still closed.
"I'm here," he replied, mimicking that sappy tone he knew his soulful counterpart used with her, "I'm here and you're safe."
"Knew you...wouldn't...leave me" she murmured into his jacket sleeve.
"No, no I'll never leave you alone." He stood up and walked into the night, the Vampire Slayer hanging limply in his arms.
*/*/*
The ones loitering outside the building watched in shock as Angelus carried his prize towards the entrance, several hurrying forward to get a closer look. The doors slid open to admit him as usual. Inside, his arrival caused a flurry of motion, questions and exclamations. At his word, a cot was procured and he lay Buffy on it, watching as they ruthlessly bound her to it. "Take care of her," he chided mockingly as they swarmed around her. He backed away, towards the doors. He needed a few things, but he would be back. Let them have their fun for a while. Let Buffy wake up to find herself the last place in hell she expected to be. He wondered if she would cry.
Angelus walked back through the airlock doors and out into the night. For a few steps he was bathed in the florescent glow emanating from the sign atop the building he had left his enemy in.
Sunnydale Hospital.