Brand new story! Set after the whole Faith incident in late season 4 of Buffy, season one of Angel. Everything still happened the same- Faith still slept with Riley, of course, and then Buffy followed her to LA. This is set a week after she returned from LA and in this version, Angel didn't come to Sunnydale to apologise. Hope you enjoy!
Buffy Summers was out on patrol when it happened. It was a regular Thursday night, and for once, she had no coursework, so she had offered to come out to the cemeteries, to give Giles a free night. That was what she told herself; that she was simply doing this for him, an act of kindness. Buffy knew it wasn't true. Even Giles knew that it wasn't true.
How had it come to this? Buffy wondered, walking slowly, her stake limp in her hand as she rolled it rhythmically between her fingers. How had it all ended with things so awkward between her and Riley, that she was choosing extra patrol duties over possibly having to see him?
The answer crept into her head like smoke- Faith. She tried to brush away the thought. It wasn't all Faith's fault. Faith hadn't killed Forrest, had she? And Buffy couldn't deny that that aspect was part of what was pushing her away from Riley.
But she also couldn't deny that, no matter how sorry Faith was, no matter how fast she was zooming down the highway of redemption ( I.e. sat alone in an LA prison) the dark Slayer was to blame for most of this.
Buffy kicked through a pile of recently mowed grass, the smell strong as she inhaled the cold night air. She pulled her jacket closer to her body.
Buffy didn't know what part of this whole situation hurt most. On the one hand, she was angry at Riley, and even angrier, of course, with Faith. Faith, once again, had betrayed her. And Riley…Buffy sighed…Riley had made love to her body, looked in her eyes, and not even seen that there was somebody else there. Tara, somebody she didn't even know, had realised that Faith had taken her over, but not her own boyfriend.
And then, as it had each of the thousand times she had thought about it recently, a question popped into her head, the question; would somebody else have realised that she wasn't herself? Somebody, like, say, Angel?
Buffy gritted her teeth together and walked on through the dark cemeteries, longing for a demon to appear so she could kill it, and satisfy the angry, destructive feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Nothing. Typical!
It had been a week since she had gone to LA, a week since she had spoke to him. His angry words, intended to hurt her, rang out through her ears, through the burning confusion of her thoughts. Buffy's face flushed red, and she bit her lip. He had got what he wanted. His words had hurt, more than he would ever know. But rather than address what he had said, and what she had said too, rather than think it over, Buffy had allowed the anger at him to grow. Inside, deep down, she knew that she should think about what he had meant- meant, not what he had said, but she knew that that would be like pouring acid into healing wounds. All she could think of now, having let it grow, was the fury in his voice, and the image of him holding Faith-
Buffy was angry with Angel. And Faith. And Riley. And, partly, she was angry with herself. She had isolated herself over the last week ( especially from Riley), putting it down to Slayer work, and coursework. She had so much anger inside her, it had to come out sometime, and she didn't want the gang to be the victims when it eventually did.
A rustling sound cut through the reverie of her thoughts and her body immediately whipped round to face the source of the noise. Her fingers tightened around her stake automatically, and her eyes narrowed. Buffy had been waiting for something like this to happen all night, a way to relieve her anger. She slipped into Slayer mode quickly, and felt something that resembled relief at the thought of being able to work some of her anger out of her system.
Buffy approached the rustling bushes quietly. Her feet were sinking ever so slightly into the clay-like ground, moist with the rain from this mornings unexpected storm.
The tension grew and became unbearable, adrenaline flooding through the Slayer's veins. Exhaling deeply, she quickly pushed the branches apart and stepped through the bushes into a clearing, stake at the ready.
It was empty. Buffy frowned. She concentrated as much as possible, waiting to hear any sounds. When she finally did, it was from behind her, and was far too late for her to do anything about it. With a single harsh blow, she crumpled to the ground, and she remembered no more.
When Buffy next gained consciousness, everything felt different. Everything was sharper and clearer. She could taste iron in her mouth, and her head ached. But there was something else, something stronger and more significant. It confused her; it was bizarre. She clenched a fist. Physically, she felt strong. But, in a way, mentally…she swallowed. Mentally, she felt weak. She felt like… like there was something inside of her, something that was getting more powerful. She felt the waves of confusion flood over her, as she strained to remember something, anything. What was going on?
On that note, she opened her eyes, panicking. She saw a pale white ceiling. It was unfamiliar. Slowly, Buffy struggled to sit up, and looked around her.
She was in hospital. A beeping monitor was hooked up beside her bed. The simple whiteness of the room, how cold and formal it was alarmed her. An unsure voice, solitary and quiet in the back of her head, whispered that she didn't like hospitals. Buffy blinked, confused. She lifted her hand to the back of her head. She felt bandages, surrounded by matted hair. When she pulled her hand back, there were flecks of dried blood on her pale skin.
Slowly, almost fearfully, Buffy slipped out of the bed. She was wearing a starch cream hospital gown, her feet bare. The floor was cold underneath her skin. She noticed a pang of pain from her ribs, and dark bruises on the flesh of her arms.
Wincing, she walked slowly out of the room, into the corridor. She was alone. Walking along the brightly lit corridor, she could see into other rooms, see other patients, sleeping, each looking as bad as she probably looked and felt.
At the end of the corridor, there was a pair of double doors. Buffy looked through them and saw the bustle of nurses and doctors. She didn't want to go in there.
Something drew her attention to her right, and almost without thinking, she pushed open the door.
It was another corridor, just as white as the last, only this one had large windows on one side. Against the harsh hospital lights and the pale walls and floors, the dark nights sky outside contrasted sharply. Buffy stopped and looked out along the skyline, at the small dotted patches of light. Sighing, she continued. At the end of the short corridor, there was another door, slightly ajar. Buffy, swallowing as her head began to throb fiercely, moved closer, as voices drifted through. Her eyes flickered to the window in the door and she cautiously peered through for a second. It looked like a waiting room, with basic furniture, posters advertising help lines and health advice colouring the walls, with magazines stacked on the coffee table in the centre.
At the far end of the room, there was a group of about five people- a dark haired young man, a redhead girl , holding hands with a nervous looking woman, whilst talking reassuringly to a worried looking older woman. On the corner of the group, there was a sandy haired guy, who was seriously glaring in her direction. Only he wasn't glaring at her; his anger seemed to be focused on one of the men, much closer to her. There were two of them, one older, with glasses, one younger ,dressed in black. They were talking in low voices, probably to hide their words from the group, but as she moved away from the window, Buffy could hear every word of their conversation. She breathed quietly, and listened.
" You should have called me sooner." This seemed to be the voice of the younger, darker man; it alarmed Buffy how angry it was, how filled it was with something she couldn't identify.
There was a pause. " I know. I'm sorry, Angel, but calling you wasn't top on my list of priorities." The older man's voice was a little bitter and sarcastic. Buffy caught the name he had used- Angel. That's a pretty name, she automatically thought dreamily.
The younger man, Angel, exhaled deeply. " I know. I'm sorry, Giles.I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, finding her…"
The older man, Giles ( a surname?) continued. "Thank you. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you either." There was a silence.
"What is it?" Angel asked, keeping his voice low. Buffy heard a rustle of fabric, and movement. She didn't dare to glance through the window again.
The man named Giles sighed again. " I...we…have reason to believe it is the demon Quoloth. " He froze, as did Buffy when she heard the growl of anger that came from the other man. " I see you have heard of her?"
There was silence. Buffy assumed that the man named Angel had nodded, because she heard no verbal reply. "Then you know that she is one of the strongest and most unique possessor demons of all time. She is…evil. She exists, not in corporeal form, but as a presence. She takes her victim over unlike any other demon; there are differences. She becomes them, slowly, so that she doesn't have a mere hold over them, but she is them. Eventually, when the victim cannot fight any more, the demonic version will prevail." Giles trailed off slowly.
"Why her?" Angel asked suddenly and harshly. "Why Buffy?" It was only then that it occurred to Buffy that they were talking about her.
There was an awkward silence. Buffy stopped, and wondered if they had moved away, or realised that somebody was listening. She only learnt that they were still there a minute or so later, when Giles continued tentatively.
"It transpires that the demon feeds on emotions." He stopped. "Specific…emotions. Anger, especially, and pain. In that sense, it makes it all the more deadly. People have been trying to face this demon for centuries but emotions get in the way."
"Buffy went looking for this thing?"
Giles coughed. "I rather think that this…creature went after her. It feeds on anger, and pain…given recent events, I'd say she was a perfect victim."
Angel didn't reply to this; even Buffy had heard the bite in the older mans voice.
"So, " Angel says abruptly, " This isn't going to be fixed by her working through her emotions, is it?"
"No. " Giles confirmed. "God forbid, that would make proceedings simple. We need to find a cure, a resolution and fast. Given how…perfect she was for this creature, I would say she has…a few months before it takes her over entirely.
There was a loud bang, and Buffy heard the other people stop talking immediately. She risked a glance through the window and saw Giles looking concerned. She wondered what the man had done, in his anger.
He spoke right after her last thought, his voice startling her with the strength behind his words.
"Tell me what to do." This struck her as odd, asking the older man for instructions. Giles sighed again.
"Whilst she is...in her current condition, she is going to become a demonic target…creatures seeking to kill her, recruit her, even…" He paused. "I have spoken to her mother, and suggested that you take her back to LA-"
"No." Angel spoke almost immediately, his voice low, and firm. "I can't."
"Angel-"
"I can't. No."
Giles sighed. "I understand this is hard for you, Angel, but you need to listen. We can't keep her here. We can't protect her like you can."
"And while she is gone, who will protect you?"
"We will manage. It would make no difference, if she was here, or not. She cannot fight."
"Giles-" Angel began slowly. " I can't do it. Because it's not her."
Buffy paused, confused. She found her eyes flickering over the large windows, back to those small lights.
"For now, Angel, it is her. She's innocent to all of this. The demon has taken her, but as of yet, it does not control her. It has not won. We need to keep her safe, so we can get rid of it."
"And if you can't?"
The words hung thick in the air. Buffy longed to see what the men were doing.
"That isn't an option." Giles replied sharply.
"Giles, listen to me-" Angel said. "I can't take her. If anything, you should keep her away from evil-"
"You aren't evil Angel-"
"But I have evil in me. And I can't be with her, and watch the thing take her over. I've seen this thing, Giles. I've heard about it. It's impossible to get rid of. Buffy was dead as soon as it took her over, and you're asking me to protect the demon that is using her body as a shell?"
"She isn't dead!" Giles raised his voice. "She is Buffy. She will soon remember more of who she is, who we are, and when that happens, you need to take her Angel." There was a deliberate pause, and Buffy sensed that Giles wanted to add something onto the end of the sentence. He resisted.
" So I take her. Then what?"
"Then…then we find a cure, knowing that she is safe. We're trying to protect her from evil, and a Hellmouth isn't an ideal place to do that. I admit there are aspects which are…" Giles stopped talking.
"What?" Angel asked quickly.
" She needs to avoid anger, Angel. We can't be sure, but we have some reason to believe that the emotion that triggered this may, in excess, be the one that would allow the demon to take her over. And if that were to happen…" Giles stopped. She heard him swallowing. "Then there were would be no way to get her back."
"Giles. I love her. I can't watch her, what looks like her, being paraded around whilst some demon hollows her out. It won't be her. It will look like her, talk her her, but she won't be in there."
"Does that sound familiar to you?" Giles asked quietly. "Seeing the person you love, but knowing that they aren't that person? She…she's like the daughter I never had. I know what she went though two years ago. But still, she didn't give up hope. She never fully gave up on you. Ever."
There was another agonising silence. Buffy pressed her ear up against the waiting room door.
" It isn't her." Angel whispered. His words were thick with pain. When the older man next spoke, there was sympathy in his voice.
"I know you won't accept this, but you're wrong. She is still Buffy. Whether you agree with me or not, shouldn't you help? Don't you owe her that much?"
Three days later, Joyce Summers hugged her daughter tightly. It was the early evening, the sun had just gone down, and she was leaving. Buffy still didn't remember much, except for mainly things the others had told her. Slowly, it was coming back to her. She knew about Angel, and why she was going away, but she didn't like it. She knew he didn't either.
When she had hugged her friends, friends that she only just remembered, and finally, her mom, one last time, she stood on the sidewalk whilst Angel loaded her suitcase into the back of his car. He didn't look at her, or talk to her. With one last shy wave, she climbed into his car, and waited for him to do so. Without even glancing in her direction, he pulled away from the kerb and they set off.