Disclaimer: You know the drill, I own nothing, Joss owns it all, I bow before thee oh great Joss...blah blah blah. In other words, please don't sue; I'm off to college soon and need all the money I can get. Also, the song isn't mine either.
It was quiet and still inside the mansion. Unlike times past, however, it no longer looked uninhabited. There were lights with decorative fixtures, a bed, bedclothes, candles, a couch, antique chairs and assorted nick-knacks decorating the place. The night, like the inside of the stone fortress, was quiet and still. At an hour when most seniors were partying in anticipation of the fast-approaching graduation, their parents worrying, their teachers hurriedly correcting mid term exams in time for the closing of grades, these people were asleep.
A vampire was in the bed and the Slayer-well, one of them anyway-was curled up one the couch with a woolen blanket. Just as the vampire tossed and turned in his sleep, tangling the bedclothes into a prison, a cocoon around his sweat-drenched body, so too was the Slayer stirring restlessly where she lay.
But she was used to this, this sharing of dreams. Mostly, they were his dreams, in which she made cameos, often times observing, unseen. She had trained herself to rouse from these dreams, controlling them; they would not control her. They would not violently wake her at ungodly hours, panicked and sweaty, heart beating furiously, adrenaline pumping, emotions swirling.
As a result, she slept less and less.
It was no different this night. At the first sign of trouble, she automatically woke, sighing when she realized where she was and why. Peering over the top of the couch, she saw mortal combat going on in the bed across the room. Softly, she pulled back her blanket and padded across the concrete floor, until she was at his bedside.
Gently, she raised his head and slipped in beside him, pulling the comforter, however novel the title, over both of them. She had gotten quite good at this. Now, she could get in with him without ever waking him. All she had to do was take him in her arms, rock him a little, and smooth his hair until he stopped quivering. Then, she could get a few hours sleep before sneaking back home, crawling in through the window, feigning hate at the dawn as she stumbled past her mother's room into the shower. It was a ritual. She found it ironic that a creature so old who had seen so much would need such mothering, and would have such a need to be comforted. Maybe it was because of the tragedy that had befallen his mother, his entire family.
Maybe it was because of the things he had seen, those nightmares unseen in the daylight, but always present at night. Either way, she was still at her lover's side, tending to him because he needed her. So much for their mutual decision to go their separate ways. It was hard, gut-wrenchingly painful, in fact, each time she took her former lover, her soul mate, her enemy, her reason for being born, in her arms. Each time she did, showing him love and comfort, she was reminded of the thin line they walked, of what they could never have. Each night as she took him in her arms, her heart broken a little more, as she looked at the illusion of life in a dead man's body, as he existed without brooding and without guilt and pain, as his quaking ceased and he returned to peaceful slumber.
But tonight, for some reason, maybe she was rougher, or maybe he was not sleeping as soundly; nevertheless, he woke. She smiled faintly and stiffened, the moment suddenly becoming awkward.
"You're still here," he murmured, his face tired, worn, innocent, yet full of pain. So much pain.
She shrugged enigmatically, "I always am."
"And you never leave." He flung himself out of bed and began pacing the space around his bed. He hugged himself tightly, every so often running a hand though his disheveled hair. "I can't keep doing this to you," he said, stopping abruptly.
"If anything is done to anyone," she said, not actually listening to the coherence of her sentence. "Then we do what is done to each other together. Don't we?" She frowned, analyzing her comprehension of the English language, or lack there of. Shaking her head, she crawled forward across the mattress, taking his hand and pulling him back into bed. "Sleep, Angel," she whispered, easing him down. "You need your strength if you want to be free."
He was silent. Freedom. Had he ever known such a concept? First he had been a slave to his parents. For two hundred years, a slave to the demon inside him. Then, for an all too brief period, he had been a slave to the man that struggled with the demon. Now, he was a slave to his grief, his anguish, and his sorrow. Self-pity consumed him and threatened to spit him out if he did not harness it and use it to his advantage. Buffy was helping him, or trying to. He could not bring himself to tell her she was a distraction. He wanted her and loved her so badly that his body ached to be near her. The part of his soul that frightened him was the part that did not care what he did to her, as long as he could have her, as though she was some coveted object to be had. Buffy was always and forever herself, giving herself to no one, surrendering herself to no one-unless she permitted it. He knew he could never hurt her, but the part of him that potentially could frightened him.
"What are you thinking about?" his love asked, smoothing his hair, caressing his face.
He was leery against any such sign of affection; he never knew what would bring him to the contentment he yearned for, one that could bring him and everyone he loved or cared about eternal torment. "I'm sorry," he said, turning from her arms, his back to her. "Leave."
Buffy shook her head vehemently, using the sheer brute force she possessed thanks to her slayer hood to pull him back around to face her. Stand up to me, you coward. Stand up to yourself. Fight, damn you. "Oh no, don't do this. Don't go all "Wham Bam Thank You ma'am" on me. That just isn't fair." He closed his eyes against her words. They might as well have been with a red-hot poker soaked in holy water, because they injured him. He felt a rustle beside him and thought she had gone when he heard her demand, "Look at me, damn you." His eyes flew open and he saw her standing before him, naked, beautiful, and much too tempting for safety.
"What are you doing?" he cried, horrified, both at her bravado and the thoughts that were pounding around inside his mind. She stood there, defiant, seemingly un-noticing of her nudity and vulnerability.
"If you want me so bad, then take me. Take me, make love to me, kill me." Her eyes were set, her jaw clenched, her face stern. She opened her arms to him, prostrating herself to his whims and his self-control, or lack there of.
No, I cannot. I will not.
*Take her. You know you want to. Drink of her and be free.*
No, I mustn't. I could never hurt her.
*You want comfort.*
I need comfort. But I need her alive. She is too important to lose.
"You are too important to lose, Angel," she said, coming around to his side of the bed. "You need to grow strong, otherwise, you will never get rid of this Evil that wants you so badly. You have no idea of the potential you have. You could accomplish so much more good than I could ever dream of. I only kill the bad guys; you could help out the good guys."
Angel sat, his back to her, clenching his fists.
Buffy slowly dressed, sitting beside him on the bed, "See, you are stronger all ready."
"Are you completely crazy?" he asked, almost loud enough to be yelling. "I could have killed you!" He was so enraged he could not completely grasp that he hadn't.
Buffy searched herself ambiguously. "Do you see bite marks? Any broken bones or snapped vertebrae?" She pressed Angel's hand to her heart. "Angel, I am living. I am alive. I'm a senior in high school. I might even go to college, who'da thunk." She paused and laughed with an ironic bitterness. "And things are starting to come around for us." She brushed hair from his face, "Don't you see? I gave you prime opportunity to lose everything you have worked for and kill me, but you resisted."
She got up and walked to the door, her heels resounding on the concrete floor. As she walked away, Buffy knew she was leaving so much unfinished between them. There were times she wished she could just scream and make all the pain and obstacles go away. As a little girl she had believed what the fairy tales told her-that love conquered all. Apparently, They Who Had Written Those Stories did not truly know love, not this kind of love, the kind that ripped out her heart and stomped on it then stuck it back in her chest and expected it to be given freely. She hated that things were so hard. She just wanted to be with Angel, sex or no sex, but she knew that the temptation would always be present, and that was the danger, no matter how well they thought they could resist.
"Buffy," Angel managed, his voice catching.
She whirled around. They had done this dance so many times. Why did she keep repeating the steps? "Yes," she said, monotonly, not expecting an answer of any kind.
"I am alive because of you," Angel said. He held out his hand to her. Something inside him rejoiced when he saw her come back over, albeit hesitantly.
"I killed you. I wanted you to go away," she said, swallowing the tears that choked her.
"If we had had more time to talk about it," he said softly. "I would have made you do what you did." he paused, "When I was in Hell, I would see you, imagine you talking to me, walking with me. I knew, somewhere deep down, that you loved me."
"But it's so hard," she said, blinking furiously.
Angel cupped her face, "I know. And I'm sorry." He pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead and they laid back down on the bed. "Stay," he whispered.
"School," she began.
"Today's Saturday," he told her.
"We can't." There it was again.
"And we won't. All you have to do is sleep." He felt her body tense. "I love you so much, let me do this one small thing. It will be my gift."
"Gift?"
"Sleep," he answered. "I can see how tired you are. I can't be strong without you and you can't be strong without sleep."
"My Mom..."
"Is in LA." He squeezed her shoulders, "I still hate myself for everything I ever did and I know I can never get repentance for my sins, but I see a chance to start doing good. Right here, right now." He pulled off her sneakers and yanked the blanket up over her. "I kept you awake, now let me give you rest." He was prepared for another battle of wills when he found her fast asleep, curled up in the fetal position, slightly snoring. He brushed her blonde hair from obscuring her face and hugged himself against her warmth, enveloping her with his arms and his body, trying to protect her, if not from the demons of reality, than the demons that haunted her dreams.
"Sleep, my love," he whispered before himself drifting off into an uneventful slumber.
And the two lovers, bitter enemies and even more bitter allies, slept with a sense of peace, at least for a while. In each other's arms they found momentary contentment and protection from the demons, both literal and otherwise, that haunted their lives.
Two spirits, destined to be together, forced to be apart, bound to each other for eternity and beyond, and ravaged by love and war and duty, managed to help each other fight, grow stronger, and live another day.
DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO~~~~Sarah McLachlan
What ravages of spirit
Conjured this temptuous rage
Created you a monster
Broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
Every moment marked
With apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving
Trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go
Glowing ember
Burning hot
Burning slow
Deep within I'm shaken
By the violence of existing for only you
I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go
It was quiet and still inside the mansion. Unlike times past, however, it no longer looked uninhabited. There were lights with decorative fixtures, a bed, bedclothes, candles, a couch, antique chairs and assorted nick-knacks decorating the place. The night, like the inside of the stone fortress, was quiet and still. At an hour when most seniors were partying in anticipation of the fast-approaching graduation, their parents worrying, their teachers hurriedly correcting mid term exams in time for the closing of grades, these people were asleep.
A vampire was in the bed and the Slayer-well, one of them anyway-was curled up one the couch with a woolen blanket. Just as the vampire tossed and turned in his sleep, tangling the bedclothes into a prison, a cocoon around his sweat-drenched body, so too was the Slayer stirring restlessly where she lay.
But she was used to this, this sharing of dreams. Mostly, they were his dreams, in which she made cameos, often times observing, unseen. She had trained herself to rouse from these dreams, controlling them; they would not control her. They would not violently wake her at ungodly hours, panicked and sweaty, heart beating furiously, adrenaline pumping, emotions swirling.
As a result, she slept less and less.
It was no different this night. At the first sign of trouble, she automatically woke, sighing when she realized where she was and why. Peering over the top of the couch, she saw mortal combat going on in the bed across the room. Softly, she pulled back her blanket and padded across the concrete floor, until she was at his bedside.
Gently, she raised his head and slipped in beside him, pulling the comforter, however novel the title, over both of them. She had gotten quite good at this. Now, she could get in with him without ever waking him. All she had to do was take him in her arms, rock him a little, and smooth his hair until he stopped quivering. Then, she could get a few hours sleep before sneaking back home, crawling in through the window, feigning hate at the dawn as she stumbled past her mother's room into the shower. It was a ritual. She found it ironic that a creature so old who had seen so much would need such mothering, and would have such a need to be comforted. Maybe it was because of the tragedy that had befallen his mother, his entire family.
Maybe it was because of the things he had seen, those nightmares unseen in the daylight, but always present at night. Either way, she was still at her lover's side, tending to him because he needed her. So much for their mutual decision to go their separate ways. It was hard, gut-wrenchingly painful, in fact, each time she took her former lover, her soul mate, her enemy, her reason for being born, in her arms. Each time she did, showing him love and comfort, she was reminded of the thin line they walked, of what they could never have. Each night as she took him in her arms, her heart broken a little more, as she looked at the illusion of life in a dead man's body, as he existed without brooding and without guilt and pain, as his quaking ceased and he returned to peaceful slumber.
But tonight, for some reason, maybe she was rougher, or maybe he was not sleeping as soundly; nevertheless, he woke. She smiled faintly and stiffened, the moment suddenly becoming awkward.
"You're still here," he murmured, his face tired, worn, innocent, yet full of pain. So much pain.
She shrugged enigmatically, "I always am."
"And you never leave." He flung himself out of bed and began pacing the space around his bed. He hugged himself tightly, every so often running a hand though his disheveled hair. "I can't keep doing this to you," he said, stopping abruptly.
"If anything is done to anyone," she said, not actually listening to the coherence of her sentence. "Then we do what is done to each other together. Don't we?" She frowned, analyzing her comprehension of the English language, or lack there of. Shaking her head, she crawled forward across the mattress, taking his hand and pulling him back into bed. "Sleep, Angel," she whispered, easing him down. "You need your strength if you want to be free."
He was silent. Freedom. Had he ever known such a concept? First he had been a slave to his parents. For two hundred years, a slave to the demon inside him. Then, for an all too brief period, he had been a slave to the man that struggled with the demon. Now, he was a slave to his grief, his anguish, and his sorrow. Self-pity consumed him and threatened to spit him out if he did not harness it and use it to his advantage. Buffy was helping him, or trying to. He could not bring himself to tell her she was a distraction. He wanted her and loved her so badly that his body ached to be near her. The part of his soul that frightened him was the part that did not care what he did to her, as long as he could have her, as though she was some coveted object to be had. Buffy was always and forever herself, giving herself to no one, surrendering herself to no one-unless she permitted it. He knew he could never hurt her, but the part of him that potentially could frightened him.
"What are you thinking about?" his love asked, smoothing his hair, caressing his face.
He was leery against any such sign of affection; he never knew what would bring him to the contentment he yearned for, one that could bring him and everyone he loved or cared about eternal torment. "I'm sorry," he said, turning from her arms, his back to her. "Leave."
Buffy shook her head vehemently, using the sheer brute force she possessed thanks to her slayer hood to pull him back around to face her. Stand up to me, you coward. Stand up to yourself. Fight, damn you. "Oh no, don't do this. Don't go all "Wham Bam Thank You ma'am" on me. That just isn't fair." He closed his eyes against her words. They might as well have been with a red-hot poker soaked in holy water, because they injured him. He felt a rustle beside him and thought she had gone when he heard her demand, "Look at me, damn you." His eyes flew open and he saw her standing before him, naked, beautiful, and much too tempting for safety.
"What are you doing?" he cried, horrified, both at her bravado and the thoughts that were pounding around inside his mind. She stood there, defiant, seemingly un-noticing of her nudity and vulnerability.
"If you want me so bad, then take me. Take me, make love to me, kill me." Her eyes were set, her jaw clenched, her face stern. She opened her arms to him, prostrating herself to his whims and his self-control, or lack there of.
No, I cannot. I will not.
*Take her. You know you want to. Drink of her and be free.*
No, I mustn't. I could never hurt her.
*You want comfort.*
I need comfort. But I need her alive. She is too important to lose.
"You are too important to lose, Angel," she said, coming around to his side of the bed. "You need to grow strong, otherwise, you will never get rid of this Evil that wants you so badly. You have no idea of the potential you have. You could accomplish so much more good than I could ever dream of. I only kill the bad guys; you could help out the good guys."
Angel sat, his back to her, clenching his fists.
Buffy slowly dressed, sitting beside him on the bed, "See, you are stronger all ready."
"Are you completely crazy?" he asked, almost loud enough to be yelling. "I could have killed you!" He was so enraged he could not completely grasp that he hadn't.
Buffy searched herself ambiguously. "Do you see bite marks? Any broken bones or snapped vertebrae?" She pressed Angel's hand to her heart. "Angel, I am living. I am alive. I'm a senior in high school. I might even go to college, who'da thunk." She paused and laughed with an ironic bitterness. "And things are starting to come around for us." She brushed hair from his face, "Don't you see? I gave you prime opportunity to lose everything you have worked for and kill me, but you resisted."
She got up and walked to the door, her heels resounding on the concrete floor. As she walked away, Buffy knew she was leaving so much unfinished between them. There were times she wished she could just scream and make all the pain and obstacles go away. As a little girl she had believed what the fairy tales told her-that love conquered all. Apparently, They Who Had Written Those Stories did not truly know love, not this kind of love, the kind that ripped out her heart and stomped on it then stuck it back in her chest and expected it to be given freely. She hated that things were so hard. She just wanted to be with Angel, sex or no sex, but she knew that the temptation would always be present, and that was the danger, no matter how well they thought they could resist.
"Buffy," Angel managed, his voice catching.
She whirled around. They had done this dance so many times. Why did she keep repeating the steps? "Yes," she said, monotonly, not expecting an answer of any kind.
"I am alive because of you," Angel said. He held out his hand to her. Something inside him rejoiced when he saw her come back over, albeit hesitantly.
"I killed you. I wanted you to go away," she said, swallowing the tears that choked her.
"If we had had more time to talk about it," he said softly. "I would have made you do what you did." he paused, "When I was in Hell, I would see you, imagine you talking to me, walking with me. I knew, somewhere deep down, that you loved me."
"But it's so hard," she said, blinking furiously.
Angel cupped her face, "I know. And I'm sorry." He pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead and they laid back down on the bed. "Stay," he whispered.
"School," she began.
"Today's Saturday," he told her.
"We can't." There it was again.
"And we won't. All you have to do is sleep." He felt her body tense. "I love you so much, let me do this one small thing. It will be my gift."
"Gift?"
"Sleep," he answered. "I can see how tired you are. I can't be strong without you and you can't be strong without sleep."
"My Mom..."
"Is in LA." He squeezed her shoulders, "I still hate myself for everything I ever did and I know I can never get repentance for my sins, but I see a chance to start doing good. Right here, right now." He pulled off her sneakers and yanked the blanket up over her. "I kept you awake, now let me give you rest." He was prepared for another battle of wills when he found her fast asleep, curled up in the fetal position, slightly snoring. He brushed her blonde hair from obscuring her face and hugged himself against her warmth, enveloping her with his arms and his body, trying to protect her, if not from the demons of reality, than the demons that haunted her dreams.
"Sleep, my love," he whispered before himself drifting off into an uneventful slumber.
And the two lovers, bitter enemies and even more bitter allies, slept with a sense of peace, at least for a while. In each other's arms they found momentary contentment and protection from the demons, both literal and otherwise, that haunted their lives.
Two spirits, destined to be together, forced to be apart, bound to each other for eternity and beyond, and ravaged by love and war and duty, managed to help each other fight, grow stronger, and live another day.
DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO~~~~Sarah McLachlan
What ravages of spirit
Conjured this temptuous rage
Created you a monster
Broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
Every moment marked
With apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving
Trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go
Glowing ember
Burning hot
Burning slow
Deep within I'm shaken
By the violence of existing for only you
I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can't be with you
I do what I have to do
And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go
I don't know how to let you go