Part Four

Hanging in that precarious balance between sleep and wakefulness, Buffy found herself wondering if what she was experiencing physically could be compared to a nasty hangover. Her mind was sluggish, slow to respond, and, even though it felt as if days had passed since she last got out of bed, she was entirely unaware of any particular event. All she could recall was a hazy sense of soreness and exhaustion, both of which had yet to fade despite the fact that she knew she would be awake soon. Her limbs felt lethargic, heavy and uncooperative, and there was a decided pinch of pain in the general area of her stomach. The only thing the slayer knew for sure was that, if what she was experiencing was indeed the aftereffects of too much alcohol, then she would certainly bypass that particular avenue of teenage rebellion.

Going to push herself up in bed, she froze when she heard an unexpected voice. "Try not to move around too much, Buffy. You're not nearly healed enough to get out of bed yet."

Willow. Willow was in her room with her. Willow was sitting vigil at her bedside. What the hell had happened? However, that thought was quickly replaced by a more pressing concern. Blindly reaching to pull the covers to her chin, the slayer hastily attempted to cover herself more completely. After all, one never knew what shape they would be in after a particularly brutal night of patrolling. If she had been especially injured, she would have been lucky to strip off her bloody clothes and crawl into bed. While Willow might have been her best friend, they certainly weren't friendly enough to see each other naked.

"Oh, don't worry," the other teen assured her. "You're covered." Peeking through her tired eyes, Buffy watched as the redhead shuddered in apparent horror. "That would have just been wrong on so many levels."

"Thanks, Will. You really know how to boost a girl's self-image."

"Oh, no, Buffy, that's not what I meant." Sounding apologetic, Willow clarified, "not that I would ever want to see you naked, because I don't, but I'm sure…" Blushing profusely, her best friend allowed her sentence to fall short before continuing on with her explanation. "It's just that Giles has been in the room with you, and Xander, and Oz, too. We've all been worried about you, Buffy."

Rolling her eyes, the slayer protested, "oh, come on. It can't be that bad." However, Willow was still stuck upon their former topic, her cute, innocent face scrunched up with aversion.

"Do you really sometimes sleep… naked?" The teen had a boyfriend now, and, yet, she still visibly fidgeted while saying the word. "I mean, that's really brave of you. The idea has always given me the wiggins. What if your house caught on fire, and a fireman had to carry you outside without even your underwear on? Your parents would see you, your neighbors, and all those strangers. It'd be worse than that nightmare where you wake up on the stage at school without your clothes on, because, at least, then, you're in front of kids your own age, not adults."

She truly had no idea what to say in response to the ramble. "Uh…"

"Oh, yeah," Willow brightened considerably, something Buffy would have been offended by if she wasn't so thankful for the change in subject. "Your injuries," Willow exclaimed. "You'd probably like to know about them, right?"

"That would be helpful." Attempting to move, despite the earlier warnings against doing so, Buffy gave up and sighed. It simply hurt too much. "I feel like I was hit by a Mack truck."

"Close," Willow sympathized, "but not quite. Try a bullet and then a flight of brick steps. Well, actually," the redhead started to muse, "it was more like you hit the steps and not the other way around." Noticing the slayer's perturbed expression, she quickly waved her hand in dismissal. "Mere semantics, sorry."

"Let's tackle the gunshot wound first." Accessing the various aches and pains attacking her petite frame, Buffy attempted to pinpoint that particular injury. "I got shot in the stomach, right?"

"Generally speaking, but I'm not exactly sure where. By the time we found you, the wound was already closing, and we weren't very well going to reopen you to…"

"Thanks, Will," the slayer gulped slightly, interrupting her best friend. "I get the picture." And she did. Normally, blood and guts didn't bother her. Such a revulsion would have been pretty laughable if not just plain ridiculous considering her gig in life. However, it was one thing to dust a vamp and an entirely different story to contemplate the idea of a bullet swimming around in her intestines. Dismissing her own thoughts and plastering a fake smile upon her face, Buffy attempted to look at the bright side. "But, hey, let's hear it for slayer healing. I didn't even know I was that resilient."

"You're not."

"Huh?" Screwing up her face in confusion, Buffy waited for Willow to give it to her straight.

"Oh, boy," Willow sighed. "I think I better start at the beginning." With prompting from her friend's curious gaze, she asked, "how much do you remember about that night… the night you went to the school to ghost-buster it?"

"I take it, then, that we're talking about yesterday?" The redhead silently nodded negatively. "Well, I remember… Angelus, I think."

"Yeah, he showed up, and the two of you acted out James' past. He was James, you were his human gun target, and, after you were shot, you fell off the balcony backwards to land on the stairs below."

"Ouch and ouch again!"

"I think you're entitled to a third and fourth ouch, Buffy."

"Yeah, but that would just be redundant." Waving for her best friend to continue, she pressed, "so, how'd I get here, feeling halfway human?"

"Angelus, actually," Willow offered in way of enlightenment. Expanding upon the cryptic statement, she added, "before we could find you, he took you to get help from, of all people, Ethan Rayne."

"Giles' old crony back from when he was trouble with a capital 'T'?"

"That would be the one. Anyway, he made this salve for you. Most of the ingredients were pretty basic, mainly natural herbs… well, all accept the vampire blood." Seeing the panicked look upon the slayer's face, Willow was quick to reassure her, "but don't worry. Your teeth are still regulation size, and your forehead does not resemble a wavy potato chip. Basically, the blood was just to increase your healing abilities."

Buffy had questions; she had a lot of questions – questions about whose blood was used, how it would affect her in the future, and, if she wasn't mistaken, her best friend was clearly keeping something from her, and, from the guilty expression upon Willow's face, she knew it was a big something. However, before she had a chance to get a word or squeak of objection in edgewise, Willow was already talking once again.

"From the fall, you broke several bones. Your right leg was practically shattered from the knee down – ankle, tibia, fibula, they were all fractured in several places. Your left femur was cracked, you broke several ribs, and you might have a hairline fracture in your hip, but we're not sure, because we never took you for x-rays. Figured, after what Ethan did to you, there might be some questions asked that we weren't really ready to answer."

Mumbling to herself, Buffy complained, "well, if that's all…"

Her best friend tittered uncomfortably. "So, yeah, it'll be a few days before you're back on your feet, slayer healing or no slayer healing. Don't worry about school, though. I have that all under control for you, and Xander already promised to handle your entertainment for the next couple of weeks. He's currently planning an extensive movie marathon, and he's already mapped out the best takeout options according to their response times. Oz offered to burn you some new CD's, and Cordelia promised to give you a pedicure. In her words, even if you can't move your feet, they still need to look good."

"How sweet," the slayer fairly groused.

On and on, Willow rambled, telling her about all of the thing she had missed while stuck in bed. She told her about the high school's poltergeist and about how he seemed to have stopped his unfriendly ways. According to her best friend, Giles believed the spirit to be contrite for his actions against the slayer. Someday, they'd have to concern themselves about James again, but, for now, at least until Buffy was back on top of her game, they'd exist peacefully with him for as long as possible. She told her about how they had glossed over her injuries when explaining her necessary bed rest to Joyce, giving her just the bare minimum of knowledge, and Willow even told her about Sunnydale's impressive swim team, not that either of them had ever had even a vague interest in school spirit before.

Finally, when Willow was forced to pause in order to take a breath, the slayer found her opportunity to interject. "Thanks for everything, Will, but it sounds like you have a lot on your plate right now."

"Oh, that's okay, Buffy. I don't mind. In fact, I thought I'd just do my homework over here tonight, you know, keep you company while I start studying for finals." In response, Buffy feigned a yawn. "But that's a bad idea, because, obviously, you're tired, and you need your rest to heal and get better."

"Plus, I should probably go for a patrol later tonight. I know I'm not in the best shape ever, but a broken Buffy is better than no Buffy at all, right?"

"Actually, Giles said you're supposed to stay in bed until he gives you the all clear sign. He and Oz are handling your patrols for now," Willow shared, failing to prevent the note of pride that entered her voice when she admitted that her boyfriend was going after the town's baddies.

She couldn't help it; she pouted.

"So, yeah, I guess I'll see you later. Good night," her best friend offered as she stood up and quickly gathered her things to leave, obviously in tune with the slayer's rapidly deteriorating mood. Within seconds, she was gone, leaving an injured Buffy alone.

No school, no slaying, and she couldn't even get out of bed. Buffy hated inactivity. It made her feel useless, futile, edgy, and those were not good sentiments for her. Four months ago, the idea of spending a couple weeks in bed would have definitely appealed to her more, but, now, she didn't have the prospect of Angel keeping her company to buoy her mood. Rather, he was just another one of those baddies she was supposed to be tracking and killing but that were now in the not-so-capable hands of her watcher and a guitarist for a rock band. What exactly did Oz think he was going to do, hit a bad note until a vamp's head exploded?

On and on, her thoughts circled, rebelled, protested. The late afternoon sunlight tapered to the point where the only illumination in her otherwise dark room came from the overhanging moon outside. The house was silent, her mother obviously working late, and she was glad that she wouldn't have to deal with either her mom's concerned stares or questioning glances. As sad as it was to admit, sometimes their relationship worked better if they didn't really spend much time with each other.

"What's this, you're not sulking are you, lover?"

She should have been startled, and she should have been annoyed with his gall to climb up to her window and sit there, criticizing her behavior, but, at that point, the slayer was just thankful for the mental reprieve, despite the fact that she was probably just going to be forced to endure a whole different kind of psychological torture. "What do you care?"

"Well, it's just not very attractive, Buff. I thought you were above feeling sorry for yourself," Angelus taunted her. "Care to invite me in?"

"I think I'll pass, but thanks for the offer. I'll keep it in mind for next time… not." He chuckled at her cheekiness, apparently appreciating her attitude. "How about you," she returned, curious. "Care to tell me why you're here?"

"I'll help you out if you help me," Angelus attempted to bargain.

"Sorry, but I don't make deals with the devil."

"Better people than you have in the past. I wouldn't dismiss such an option yet. You're still so young."

"Too bad you can't say the same."

"Taunting me about my age is pretty irrelevant, Buffy, when you consider the fact that I'm going to live forever."

Grinning smugly, she argued, "not if I kill you first."

"Yes, there's always that, and I'm shuddering at the very sight of you - in bed, incapacitated." After a pointed glare, Angelus re-infused some levity into his voice. "Come on, slayer," he cajoled. "Show little ol' evil me just exactly what it means to be good and polite. Invite me in. I promise I won't bite… for now."

"And then what," Buffy posed sarcastically. "We'll make friendship bracelets together and eat cupcakes? Sorry, but I don't have much of an appetite these days, and I'm more of a ring and necklace girl."

"I remember, quite fondly." As he ran his gaze across where her body was under the covers, the slayer knew exactly what the master vampire was thinking of – her one night of intimacy with Angel, and she was forced to look away.

"Yeah, well, my memory is perfectly intact as well, so you'll be staying outside."

"Suit yourself," the demon finally gave up. "However, I must say that I don't understand your sudden shyness towards me. After all, I willingly gave you my blood a few nights ago, and we shared a bed, too."

"Yeah, I know, but that was months ago."

"No, you and soulboy shared a bed months ago; you and I shared one the night you were shot and I saved your life." As shock washed across her pale face, he laughed. "Ah, so I take it the little redhead didn't share that piece of information with you, huh? That makes me wonder what else your friends and watcher are keeping from you."

"How do you know that Willow was here? She left before sundown."

"I always know about everything that concerns me. You should know that about me by now, Buff, and you concern me. My ways are rather immaterial."

He was right; they really were. After all, she wasn't naïve enough to think that she'd be able to stop him from watching her, from spying on her, from studying her for every crack of weakness, especially not in her present, less than top form condition, and, secretively, she got a certain thrill knowing that she was on his mind just as much as he was on hers, not that she would ever tell him that or anyone else, for that matter, especially Giles. Although he wasn't Angel, he was the closest thing she currently had to the man she loved, and, despite all the terrible, awful things Angelus had done so far, she wasn't yet ready to part with the only visible reminder she had of his souled counterpart.

So, instead, the slayer changed the subject. "So, why didn't you just let me die?"

"It would have been too easy."

"What, a gunshot wound and enough broken bones to keep an orthopedic surgeon giddy for days wasn't painful enough for you?"

Quite simple, he answered, "no."

"Oh."

"When you die, Buff, you won't be unconscious. You'll be begging for mercy, completely shattered and irreparable. You'll be black and blue, beaten to within an inch of your life, bloodied and maimed. You're going to be my masterpiece. Together, we're going to rewrite the Angelus history books. If they thought I was bad before, they haven't seen anything yet."

"Stop it," she ordered, sounding, for all the world, completely impervious and apathetic. "You could make a girl blush. If this is how you woe all your obsessions, it's no wonder you have to resort to violence and torture to get off."

"Keep that up, lover, and your tongue will be the first thing to go." Banishing his threatening tone, Angelus turned his back upon the slayer and leaned against the outside of her house before continuing. "Anyway, back to your question, I also couldn't let you die because of some ghost temporarily inhabiting my body. When I murder you, I'll be perfectly conscious and in control. It just wouldn't be as enjoyable if I wasn't."

"You do realize that you're always controlled by a spirit, don't you? While you might have memories, your thoughts aren't your own. They're your demon's."

"Exactly," he countered. "My demon's."

"Yeah, but you share that demon with thousands of other vamps. You're not special, and your wants and desires aren't any different than any other bloodsucker's. Well, except for Angel, for he was truly the only unique vampire. No, you're just feared because you've managed to not get dusted… yet. Anything else that managed to live as long as you have, they'd be feared just as much as well. Spike is. Drusilla is. Darla and the Master were before they were killed. So, really, what's the difference between a poltergeist and the ghost of your own kind of demon? At least, with James, you weren't sharing the spirit with all your fellow evil kin."

"Little girl, you talk way too much."

"And you wear too much leather, but you don't see me putting you down for your flaws, do you?"

Abruptly, Angelus stood up. "Well, this has been fun, Buff; it really has."

Although she'd never admit it to him, she had enjoyed their… whatever the past twenty minutes together was. She really wouldn't call it a conversation, for conversation implied friendship or, at least, affability, but it hadn't been a fight either, and, unlike with her best friend, the master vampire had been honest with her. The fact that she really didn't want him to leave was both shocking and frightening. Maybe she had hurt her head, too, from the fall.

"However," he yawned, stretched, and then smirked, "I really must be going. Humans to stalk; humans to eat. You know the drill."

"Thankfully, not personally," Buffy quipped.

Disregarding her, the dark haired monster confessed, "you know, I think I'm in the mood for blonde tonight, blonde and petite. If she has green eyes, too, that'll just be the cherry on top of my lover-lookalike sundae. You know, I'm starting to think I'm a creature of habit when it comes to my meals. These last few months, I've only been hungry for, well, you."

Rolling her eyes, she feigned disinterest. "And again with the sweet nothings."

It took all her patience and reserve to not attack him, but she knew such action would have been in vain. Despite her earlier insistence that she needed to patrol, the slayer could feel how broken her body was, and she knew walking, at that point, would have been nearly impossible if not downright suicidal. So, instead of confronting Angelus, instead of making him eat his own words with a stake to the mouth, she bit her lip and kept her cool. It wasn't fair that someone was going to die that evening simply because they kind of looked like her, but she also knew that there was nothing she could do that night to prevent the said death. Rather, she'd have to bide her time and heal properly to fight another day. While she wouldn't be able to save every blonde haired, petite teenager from the vampire before her, she'd soon be able to save some, and that was better than nothing. It was also all the reassurance she was going to get for the time being.

"Pleasant dreams, lover."

"As long as they're not about you, I think I'll enjoy them."

With one last snicker, her companion, her tormentor, her physical reminder of every painful and pleasurable moment from the last year and a half of her life disappeared.