Touched … by an Angel
Disclaimer: (n) a denial of legal responsibility; a written statement embodying this.
I do not own these characters. The evil little acid-tripping troll – er, Joss Whedon – does. I did not write the material in Chosen, the novelization of the seventh season. That book is published by Simon Pulse, and much of the text in this fanfic is quoted from it.
Summary: (n) a brief account of the main points of something.
This fanfic simply brings Angel to town a little sooner, and cements the reunion between him and Buffy
Spoiler(s): (n) a projecting structure on an aircraft wing that increases drag - what the...? I'd better use 'to spoil:' (v) to damage as to make useless, etc; to impair the enjoyment of. Or spoilsport: (n) a person who spoils the fun of others.
Spoilers of Buffy season 6 & 7, and Angel season 3 &4. BIG spoilers for the last three episodes of each season
Rating: (n) an assessment, an evaluation, an appraisal.
Rated 'PG: Parental Guidance suggested' .
Feedback: (n) information about a product, service, etc returned to the supplier for purposes of evaluation.
Send all flames, compliments, questions, etc to Be sure to put "Re: Touched" as your subject title or my dad will delete it (waves magic wand and watches all spam disappear).
Author's note: performs a spell that moves Angel's season 4 finale to Monday May 7, 2003 instead of Wednesday May 9 Okay, I've changed nothing on "Home," Angel's season finale. He takes the limo to the cabin, then from there heads straight to Sunnydale. This is a rewrite of "Touched," Buffy's third-to-last episode (I'm sick of all the Spike action, as fun as it was to watch last year). Now seriously, why would Buffy break into someone's home when there's a perfectly good, vacated mansion within walking distance of home and school?
Buffy walked away from her house, crying. It hurt so much, that they didn't trust her anymore. She pushed her thoughts away and headed down a side street. Her feet knew where to go, a place that demons avoided. It could offer her sanctuary, at least for tonight.
She approached it from the hilltop, entering a small garden. She dug in the flower bed of the night-blooming jasmine, rooting around near the corner of the planting box. She brushed dirt away from a small tin for Altoids mints. There were, of course, no mints in the box.
Buffy grabbed the old, ornate key, replaced the box, and unlocked the outer gate door leading to the mansion. The lock on the inner oak door had been long broken, ever since Angelus, Drusilla and Spike had moved to the mansion from the factory.
The Slayer walked inside slowly, letting her eyes adjust. She hadn't been here since Angel left, so she didn't know the condition of everything inside.
Except for the layer of dust covering everything, nothing had changed. The kindling was still in the fireplace, items needed to start a fire were on one side of the hearth.
There. That was the spot, where Angel had sat so many nights reading, or brooding. She'd sat there, too, reading Call of the Wild just after Angel had come back from Hell.
The couch was still in the same spot, where she'd once tried to read his thoughts about Faith. And the table –
Oh, dear God, the table was still broken. Buffy unconsciously rubbed her neck, for a scar that was no longer there. That hadn't been there ever since she had to punch her way out of a coffin and crawl out of her own grave. Not since Willow's spell of resurrection had healed her decaying corpse and the scars it had borne. She kind of wanted to keep that one, but it was too late now.
She stepped around the remains of the table and drew back the heavy drapes hanging in the archway. She leaned away from the dust that action dislodged and stepped into the bedroom. Slipping off her shoes, she crawled onto the bed, up toward the pillow.
Buffy flipped one over, to use the dust-free side, and stretched out. She let the thoughts whirl through her head, and tried to get some sleep.
The black stretch limo pulled to a stop in front of the big mansion on Crawford Street. Angel stepped out before the driver could open his door for him. Grabbing his bag from the seat, he stepped back and glanced at the mansion. Nothing looked out of place, so he should be able to stay here for a few days while helping everybody.
The driver, Anthony Simpson, shut the open door. Angel slipped a bill into his hand. "Get yourself to someplace safe, Simpson. I'll call you when all this is over."
"Yes, sir. Do be careful, Mr. Angel."
Angel smirked and shook his head, bemused. He'd never get used to that. "I'll try."
Simpson got back in the car, and drove off. Angel watched him go, and looked around at the deserted town. For once, Sunnydale residents had wised up to the fact that they lived on a Hellmouth. The mass exodus must have resembled the flight of the Hebrews from Ancient Egypt.
He headed around to the back of the mansion, to the garden. He walked toward the flower bed closest to the door but stopped when he saw the plant. Jasmine. Night-blooming, just like his – no. Jasmine was not his granddaughter. Mainly because Connor was no longer his son. Angel sighed, reached out and ripped the plant from its roots. Tossing it aside, he dug in the dirt near the ledge.
He found one tin, the red-and-gold cinnamon Altoid mints container he used for the key. He shook the box and frowned at the lack of noise. He dug through the dirt, finding the blue tin he'd been looking for, and the green one he'd completely forgotten about, but no key. He slipped the blue tin into his pocket and the oversized green one into his bag, and got to his feet.
Heading towards the door, he saw the metal gate swing briefly. The oak door was shut tight. He approached it cautiously, sniffing for trouble. One particular scent caught his attention. Why should he smell that one here?
Angel opened the door and stepped in softly. Sniffing, he caught that scent again, but it was stronger in the dusty, uncirculated air of the mansion.
Only one person had been here since he left, four years ago. One who was still here, maybe even sleeping in his bed like Goldilocks?
He set his bag just inside the door and walked over to the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, hoping to use the action to calm his nerves, he slipped behind the drapes.
A corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Somebody's been sleeping in my bed, indeed. And she's still here," he whispered.
He walked over, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Buffy?" He shook her, just a bit. "Buffy, wake up."
She moaned. "Go away, Spike."
Angel grinned. "If Spike's been visiting you in your sleep again, I'll definitely have to kill him."
An eye opened, then she rolled slightly and opened both of them. "Angel?" She could scarcely believe that he was here.
"Hi. You look good. Well, better than last I saw you."
"You look good, too."
"You could tell me you're glad to see me."
She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. He leaned into it, then bent down to kiss her lips. Tenderly, at first, but then it built, a long kiss that spoke of years of yearning, and not having, and this solid moment laced with the wait before the fall. Buffy pulled him down to the bed and he followed, stretched out alongside her. Champions share passions others can only dream of, and their kiss could easily have moved a mountain … or sent the world straight to hell.
"Well," he said, as they finally ended the kiss, "I guess that qualified as 'happy to see me.'"
Her eyes shone with the joy of his presence. "Angel, what are you doing … no. Don't even. I just want to bask."
They looked at each other, warm and giddy. The smile was still on Buffy's lips as Angel wrapped his arms around her, burying the one underneath her in her hair and keeping her close with the other. Her arms snaked around his shoulders, her left leg moving up on his thigh, her ankle hooking around his knee.
He groaned into her mouth, his right leg slipping between hers, his left hand cupping her head and his right traveling down her back, over her hip, then back over, reaching down to grab her butt.
She whimpered, grinding against his thigh, rolling onto her back and pulling him with her.
Angel shifted himself on top of her, and started pulling Buffy's shirt out of her pants. When his cool skin touched her flesh, she pushed his hands away and broke off the kiss. "Angel, stop. We shouldn't be doing this."
He rested his forehead on her temple, then began feathering light kisses along her jaw. He traced it back to her ear and kissed the soft flesh behind it. "You're right," he whispered, "we shouldn't. We have too much to talk about." He rolled over, propping his head up on his elbow. "But we could, if you wanted to," he added.
"Wait, do you mean we could…" She widened her eyes and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
He grinned lopsidedly. "Willow left us a copy of the spell she used to restore my soul – since I let this shaman rip it out of me – and Wesley finished translating it the other day. He said there's no loophole, that my soul is permanent. So if you want to… But we do have to talk."
A wild look crossed her face, and she pushed him onto his back. Sliding on top of him, she pulled his shirt over his head, then removed her own. "Talk later. Kiss me now."
He grinned and pulled her head down to his waiting lips.
((AN: Come on, why should Xander & Anya, Willow & Kennedy, and Faith & Robin have all the fun:) ))
Buffy woke with a start some time later. Realizations flashed through her head.
She was naked.
She was sprawled across a cold body, also naked.
Judging by the point at which she was still joined to the cold body, it was a man.
She couldn't see who it was because her head was pillowed on his shoulder, her face turned away.
Please, please, please, don't let this be another nightmare. Not like the dreams she used to have, where she made love to a cold body, fooling herself into thinking that it was her Angel, only to wake up next to Spike.
She turned her head, and sighed in relief at the sight of that spiky brown hair she loved. She was going to buy him enough hair gel to keep his hair spiky for the rest of … well, for a couple of decades.
She moved to the side, propping her head on her elbow. She studied Angel's profile as he slept peacefully, a goofy grin on his face.
Doubts ran through her head. What if Wesley was wrong? What if she'd woken before he lost his soul? What if, loophole aside, she hadn't made him happy enough for the curse to even be an issue?
She crawled out of bed and gathered the kindling together in the fireplace. She struck a match against the mantel and lit a fire. She took a flint and lit some candles, then returned to the bed to watch Angel, bathed in the firelight.
As much as she loved seeing him like this, she kind of wished he'd wake up.
As if on cue, Angel started taking air through his nose and stretched. He opened his eyes a crack, then blinked a few times. A soft smile crossed his face when he saw Buffy watching him. "Good morning," he said quietly.
"Morning," she replied, a little self-conscious.
He caressed the forearm of the arm she was leaning on. "Wow. You certainly haven't lost your touch. Don't ever tell me who helped you keep in practice."
She ducked her head and blushed, a delighted smile flickering over her face. He rolled over on his side to face her, leaning close for a kiss.
She sighed happily and kissed him softly. His lips lingered on hers for a moment more before pulling back.
"Mmm," she moaned scooting closer. She cuddled up to him, her head pillowing on his shoulder. Angel wrapped his arms around her, his left hand caressing her back, and his right stroking the forearm draped over his chest.
"Mmm," she started again. "This is heaven," she murmured softly, her breath tickling the fine hairs on his chest.
"Really. Basing that on previous experience?"
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You know what? You're right. This does feel like Heaven."
He craned his neck to look down at her. "Seriously?"
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "This is the only place I've ever felt safe. It's in your arms, Angel."
He closed his eyes, his lips brushing the top of her head. "That's where I've always felt home, caraid."
"I love you."
"I love you, Buffy."
She braced herself. Feeling the tension in her shoulders, Angel made no attempt to move. He maintained his slow, languid stroking of her back.
"There's something I have to tell you. And you're not gonna like it."
Ah, they were going to swap their dark secrets now. "I have something for you, too. Well, a couple of things. I really do have a present for you, and something to help you out with this fight, but I also want you to know some things.
"But, you start first," he continued. "I want to hear your news before you kill me over mine."
She snorted, and tried to find the best place to start. "When I … After I … came back, I needed – that is, I felt… And Spike was-"
"Oh, that. Would it help to tell you I already know most of it?"
She jerked her head up off his chest. "No, that does not help. How do you know?"
"You should tell Dawn she should be a little less informative about her life with people she only knows over the Internet. The 'Liam248' she's chatting with just might be her sister's ex-boyfriend."
Gulp. "Sh-she told you?"
"KeyGirl15," he replied, his cryptic way of affirming. KeyGirl15 was Dawn's IM screen name.
"H-how much?"
"I knew about her kleptomania before you did."
"Did she tell you…" Buffy swallowed.
"About Spike? Yes." There was nothing in his tone of voice to reveal his feelings on the matter.
She gulped again.
"She wasn't the one who told me he tried to rape you, though. That was Xander." Again his voice was even, unemotional.
"Xander told you? When?"
"I hopped on, accidentally using Cordy's account. Xander was saying hi to her, and when he realized it was me, he spilled. He said you were still in the hospital, resting. He was looking for something that might help him find Willow."
"Do you know why I did it?"
"I've heard Dawn's theories. I was hoping you could give me your expert analysis, though."
"I needed to feel. I needed to feel anything but the emptiness."
Angel nodded. "I know how that works. Just before your mother died, I tried to make the pain go away. I didn't want to feel anything."
"What kind of pain?" She shifted to look at him, her head propped on her elbow, and her left hand caressing his chest. Her left leg slipped between his knees, and her foot teased his calves.
"Darla was brought back, by a spell. She was human. She plagued my dreams, hovered at the edge of my vision, drove me insane with obsession. Then she found out she was dying. Syphilis, or tuberculosis, I forget which. I went through this trial to get her a second chance, but after I won they said she was already on her second chance.
"We went back to her apartment, and I offered to make her a vampire. It had been what she wanted, and I thought maybe with a soul, she'd get one too, but during the trial she decided she wanted to live her life the way she should have."
"And then?" she prodded, off the tone of his voice.
"Then the people who brought her back brought Drusilla in to Turn her. I tried to kill her, but I failed."
"And I'm betting she unleashed some unholy havoc."
"Yeah. And while I tried to stop them, I pushed my friends away. I fired them, turned away from my duty. I finally just gave up, and tried to lose my soul. I knew that my friends would stake me if they thought I was evil. Fortunately, Darla didn't bring me anything but despair."
"I was using Spike," she finally said. "He made me feel something, even if it was only disgust at myself and a good orgasm."
"Do you love him? Now that he's got a soul?"
Her silence made him nervous. Did she have to think that hard about her answer? Or was she trying to find an easy way to tell him a truth he didn't want to hear?
"I don't know. I care about him." She rolled onto her back, shifted into a sitting position, and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. "He's different now. He can make a difference in the world. In many ways, he already has."
Angel didn't look at her as he asked, "Is he your boyfriend?"
Buffy glared down at him. "Is that your business?"
He chuckled shortly and stared up at her. "Hey, I just came to Sunnydale to help. You're the one who jumped in my bed. If that means you've cheated on your boyfriend, it's very much my business."
"He's not my boyfriend. We haven't – we've barely touched since he came back. But," she thought about it, "he is in my heart."
Angel frowned, then sat up, turning to face her. "I don't like competing. If he thinks he's in love with you, he's not gonna get a fair fight."
"What, are you pissed?"
"Yes." She blinked at that. He continued, "I didn't like Riley personally, but he seemed like the perfect guy for you: nice, normal, demon-fighting human. But that bite on your neck was supposed to keep vampires away from you, on penalty of a very painful torture before being killed. And Spike's a vampire. I've seen how evil he can be, mostly because I helped create him.
"Now, I understand the confusion that comes with having your soul restored better than anyone." He took a deep breath, looking at his hands. "And if he wants my help with that, he'll get it." He looked back up at her. "But I am not letting him have you. Not without a fight."
"So you're making me choose?"
He flinched and looked away. "I hate saying it," he finally forced out, "but I think I am. What I'm really trying to say is that I'm finally ready to fight for us, Buffy." He stared at her intently. "I'd like to try and make us work, if you'll give me another chance."
His plea was met with silence and much swallowing over the lump in Buffy's throat.
"Is … is there still an us to hope for?"
"I used to think that far ahead. And then, everything changed. I stopped hoping. But…" She swallowed down some big emotion. "Sometimes, I do think that far ahead. And if I had to choose," she reached out to caress his cheek, "I'd give my heart to the man who's always had it."
He sighed in relief, then turned his face and kissed her palm. "I've always loved you best. There was a time when I thought different. You didn't need my help, because you were always too strong to ask. I convinced myself that you didn't need me, so I…" He swallowed. "I tried to move on."
Her lip quivered. She dreaded the question she knew she had to ask. "With who?"
"Cordelia."
A beat. Then, "Okay. Trying to stay calm, but not liking the visual."
"Having the visions changed her. Just like knowing you changed Giles, and so many others. I thought she was a champion. But she was just a young woman, with so many weaknesses. She said she loved me, but that I had done too much as Angelus. She saw my entire lifetime, and it was just too hard for her to look at me the same way."
"Cordy fell in love with you?"
"Hey, I was flattered with that part. Why, you jealous?" He grinned, reaching a hand over to caress her inner thigh.
She slapped his hand away. "Yes, I'm jealous. You always said you were a one-woman vamp."
"Ah, but I only thought I loved her."
"And she only loved your good looks. You think of yourself as a package deal, Angel, but you're not. There's a fine line between soul and demon. A girl's got to be able to see that in order to love you."
He plopped back down on the bed. "You always could see it, mo chroi."
Her brow furrowed cutely. "Did you just call me a mockery?"
He chuckled. "No. I said, 'Mo kree,'" he enunciated the words carefully. "It's Gaelic for 'my heart.' And before, I wasn't saying 'car ride;' 'caraid' means darling."
She melted, smiling softly. "I love you, Deadboy." She toppled over and scooted close to kiss him.
"See, when you call me that," he said against her lips, "I don't mind it so much. Can you get Xander to stop?"
"He'll explode if he doesn't have somebody to pick on."
"So? That's what Captain Peroxide is for."
Her giggle turned into a delighted shriek as he attacked her with kisses. They burrowed under the covers and made love again.
