It hadn't proven very difficult to abduct Dr. Bauer. The previous night, after leaving UC Sunnydale, Angelus had shown Spike to the Initiative complex, then was forced to watch helplessly as Spike experienced all the fun of picking a likely-looking target and knocking him around a bit. Afterwards, they'd brought the doctor home, where Spike had locked him alone in the torture chamber for several hours in an effort to soften him up. Then, he and Angelus had paid the man a little visit. Despite his fear, Bauer had refused to talk, so Angelus began instructing Spike on the most effective torture methods. Unfortunately, he'd soon been forced to leave the room himself. The scent of blood and the lure of easy prey had drawn out his demonic instincts, and also set off the damned chip. It was entirely too sensitive. He'd just wanted to collect some blood, but would the chip let him? Of course not.
So, here he found himself, watching the foolish teen characters of "Passions" when he was meant to be honing his skills on a perfectly good, deserving victim. The program provided decent diversion under ordinary circumstances, but it paled in comparison to the show taking place in the other room. Spike had shifted Bauer to a chamber on the ground floor and insisted that Angelus move the TV into the living room so that he could check in on the events on his favorite soap opera, which he did way too frequently for Angelus' liking. So far, the doctor hadn't divulged any useful information, but Angelus was certain it was only a matter of time. The less, the better. Usually, he preferred to draw out torture scenes to heighten the pleasure, but the sooner Bauer cracked, the closer Angelus would be to regaining his full power.
"Here."
Angelus looked up. Spike was extending a tall glass of blood toward him. Angelus sniffed. The blood smelled warm and human. He hadn't tasted fresh human blood since Rebecca Lowell's fortunate accident. He snatched the glass and gulped the precious liquid down in one long swallow.
Spike threw himself onto the couch. "Got it off of the doctor. It was dripping down him so I figured why waste it on the floor when I could waste it on you."
When Spike made no move to go back to the torture room, Angelus found his gratitude evaporating. "Why aren't you at work? What are you doing out here?"
"Taking a break." Spike fixed his eyes on the TV screen.
"You're letting him up on him."
"Come on, Angelus, let me have a little time off, will you?"
"Spike, you were probably close to breaking him down. Then you left him alone, for the fifth time in half an hour. That's way too often, and you can bet he knows your heart's not in it. Chances are, he'll regain some strength and resolve, and you'll have to work twice as hard to get back to where you were."
"Shhh!" Spike hissed. "Timmy's on."
With a snarl, Angelus turned away from the other vampire. No matter what he said, he probably wouldn't get through to the idiot. For about the hundredth time that day, Angelus wished he could do the honors on Bauer himself. Spike was entirely the wrong vampire for the job. He didn't appreciate the nuances of torture, the joy to be had in snapping bone after bone, the pleasure of selecting precisely the right knife for the organ. If Angelus were in that room, he would be basking in every second of the experience. Spike, though, acted like it was a boring chore.
Angelus started as he heard a rapping at the front door. "Spike, hide!"
"Timmy's on," Spike reminded him.
"Well, you'll have to miss him for a few minutes. We have a visitor, and I do *not* want whoever it is to know you're in town. It could be Willow or Xander, possibly even Giles. Go make sure that doctor doesn't make a sound until I can get rid of whatever parasite is here."
Slowly, Spike pushed himself to his feet. "I don't like missing 'Passions.' If you don't go out and lift a VCR tonight so I can start taping it, I will."
"Fine, whatever." Angelus shooed a reluctant Spike out of sight before he crossed to the front door, where he hesitated. Maybe whoever it was had left? No, that small mercy was too much to hope for, as he heard a louder knocking. Positioning himself so the sun's rays wouldn't strike him, Angelus eased the door open and stood back to get a clear look at his visitor. "Joyce." Angelus was forced to allow Buffy's witch of a mother to enter his residence. She paced inside and then turned to stare down her nose at him with pinched lips and a sour expression. If she tried to smile, he bet her face would shatter. Of course, Angelus doubted she would be doing much smiling at him, and the feeling was mutual.
Joyce was holding a small purse and a white plastic bag. She extended the bag toward Angelus. "Angel, I believe this is yours."
He accepted the bag and peeked inside. Unfortunately, rather than something he could use, it contained the hideous pale-colored shirt Cordelia had given Angel at Christmas in an attempt to spruce up what she termed his drab wardrobe. If it had been either leather or silk, Angelus might have loved it. But it was boring, bland cotton. Worst of all, Angel's name was stitched over the pocket. What the hell had Cordelia been thinking when she bought it? Angelus hated the rag. He'd only accidentally packed it during his rush to leave Los Angeles. Once he'd arrived in Sunnydale and discovered the presence of the ugly item of clothing, he'd banished it from his suitcase.
To his credit, Angel hadn't liked the thing, either. However, he'd worn it a couple of times to avoid hurting Cordelia's feelings. Angelus had no such scruples. If he'd been able to, he would have strangled the silly twit with her so-called "gift."
"Where did you find this?" he asked Joyce.
"In the corner of my bedroom, on the floor. I understand Buffy invited you to stay in my house while I was away on business. I must say, I'm not pleased that you took her up on that offer. You're older than Buffy, and you should have better judgement. In this case, you obviously didn't display it. You didn't show respect for my daughter, and you certainly didn't show it for me in going behind my back when you knew my wishes in this matter. Have you already forgotten the conversation we had not long before you moved to Los Angeles?"
Actually, Angelus recalled it very clearly. That little talk with Joyce had played an instrumental part in convincing the guilt-stricken soul to run away. It was the stupidest thing he could have done, but Angel hadn't listened to the demon's advice, which basically was to rip out the throat of the nosy bitch who dared try to intimidate him. Instead, he'd left supposedly the only person he'd ever loved and moved to another city. Pathetic.
Joyce was still blathering away, glaring stakes at Angelus all the while. She was probably annoyed that he hadn't invited her to sit down, but some things, a demon shouldn't be expected to do. "I think you wanted me to know you were in my house," Joyce complained. "Aside from this shirt, I also found traces of blood in my best crystal pitcher and several mugs. However, that isn't really the point." She paused to stare at him in blatant disapproval. At that moment, a muffled scream sounded from the torture chamber where Spike was hiding with Dr. Bauer. "What was that?" Joyce attempted to look around Angelus.
"The television set," he lied, glad he had left the thing on. "If you're finished, maybe you could leave? Now?"
Joyce stood her ground. "Angel, I have a few more things to say to you, and I want you to remain quiet while I'm speaking. I saw you peeking in the windows of my house last night. You're behaving like a stalker, and it's very disturbing. Do you really think that's what is best for Buffy? If you truly care for her, you'll leave her alone and let her move on with her life. She was doing exactly that before you came back. Now, I don't know how long it will take her to recover. I know she's asked you to return to Los Angeles, yet you haven't done it and I don't see any packed suitcases lying around."
Would the biddy *never* leave? Angelus decided to give her a big hint that should help send her on her way. Pumping the refrain of, 'I'm not going to kill her; this is just for show,' into his brain to satisfy the chip, he morphed into demon face. "I'm feeling a little hungry, Joyce. Like I said, maybe you could hurry this along?"
As he'd hoped, the witch was frightened by his altered appearance. Her heart began to pound with intoxicating speed and the scent of fear filled the air. Angelus automatically licked his fangs, wishing he could have just a little taste of that tangy blood.
Joyce promptly shrieked, turned, and bolted out the door. Probably hadn't moved that fast in years.
With a shrug, Angelus allowed his face to smooth out and his fangs to retract. He'd been assured many times by other vampires that he possessed an extremely evil-looking demon form, but it was certainly gratifying to have proof.
He crossed to the front door, locked it, and went back to the torture room. "Spike?" He tapped on the door. "The bat is gone. Open up."
A few seconds later, the door slid open and Spike sidled out. "Think we're about done here."
"What?" Angelus looked past him, into the room. "Did he give in? Did he tell how to fix me?"
"Not exactly," Spike hedged, eyes downcast.
A terrible fear seized Angelus. "What happened? What did you do to him?"
"I kinda broke him. You might have heard the scream when it happened."
"He's dead? Spike, you were supposed to mangle him, not kill him." Angelus shoved open the door and looked in upon the dead body hanging against the wall. "This is all wrong."
"He did say something before he died," Spike offered. "Could be useful."
"Well, what was it?"
"He was begging me to stop, said he'd talk, then he said the name 'Maggie Walsh' and that was it. Mean anything to you?"
Angelus considered. "Not yet, but it will."
Spike began to clean off the torture equipment, muttering, "I still don't see why we can't have any minions around. They're supposed to be the ones taking care of shit like this."
Angelus impassively watched as Spike went about the task. "At least we obtained some information. Now we figure out who Maggie Walsh is and see if she can be of any assistance."
"I guess. So, who was at the door?"
"Oh, that's right, you were too busy killing Dr. Bauer to catch any of the fun," Angelus recalled. "It was Buffy's mother."
"Joyce? For a human, she isn't too bad. I respect her." Spike smiled in reminiscence. "She hit me over the head with an ax once."
"Evidently either too hard, or not hard enough. Anyway, she was poking her nose in where it doesn't belong. She had the nerve to try to pressure me into leaving town so I had to scare her away."
"How?" Angelus demonstrated, and Spike nodded. "Effective little trick. You realize, of course, that she probably thinks you've gone bad again. Bet she'll run and tell the Slayer about it right off. You might have blown your cover."
"No worries, Spike. First of all, Buffy won't find out about the situation immediately. She's in class most of the afternoon. If her mother tries to talk to her, she'll have to wait quite some time. For another thing, Buffy won't just blindly believe Joyce. She'll want to hear my version of events...." Angelus trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He tested it, repeating, "Buffy will want to hear my version of events."
Spike dismissively waved a gory scalpel. "Yeah, you already said that. So what?"
"I think I've figured out a plan to get to Buffy. We just have to be ready for her."
***
Late that afternoon, Buffy trailed back to her dorm room after her last class of the day to find an anxious Willow awaiting her.
"Buffy, your mom called and she was pretty upset. Something happened today that bothered her and she wants you to go home to see her. She specifically said to go there instead of phoning and to do it before you patrol."
Buffy threw her books on her bed and turned back to the door. "I'd better leave now. I don't like the sounds of this."
Willow fell into step beside her. "Come on. I talked to Tara and she can give you a ride."
***
Not long afterwards, Tara stopped her car in front of the Summers' house.
"You want me to go in with you?" Willow asked Buffy.
"No, that's okay. It's probably a family thing." As they looked at the house, Joyce opened the front door and peered outside. "Mom seems worried. I'd better get going. Thanks for the ride, and I'll let you two know how things turn out."
"Buffy! Hurry and get inside! It's almost sunset." Joyce cast nervous glances around the yard.
"Bye, guys." Buffy jumped out of the car and joined her mother in the house. Joyce instantly slammed and locked the front door, then grabbed a wooden chair and wedged it under the knob. "What is going on, Mom? You're scaring me. Is someone after you? Is it a vampire?"
Joyce turned to face her daughter. "Yes, it is. It's Angel."
"What? That doesn't make any sense."
"It's true," Joyce insisted, her voice rising. "I went to see him this afternoon, and he turned into a hideous monster right before my eyes, *and* he threatened me. He said he was hungry. Coming from a vampire, I'd say that was a threat."
"You must have misunderstood. Angel would never even think about harming you."
Not seeming to hear, Joyce rambled on, "His face was so ugly. It had ridges on it and his eyes were yellow and his teeth were like an animal's. How could you ever stand to kiss something like that?"
"Calm down." Buffy led her mother to the couch and waited until they were both seated before she continued. "Now, you said you went to see Angel this afternoon. Why?"
Joyce looked away and then back at Buffy. "I brought him the shirt he left in my room."
"The shirt wasn't that important that you needed to take time off from work to bring it to him," Buffy pointed out. "I could have taken it sometime or you could have waited until after work."
"To be honest, I thought it shouldn't wait any longer. I wanted to see if he had left town, like you requested. Obviously, he hasn't."
"So, you found Angel at home and you gave him the shirt back? Then what?"
"I expressed my surprise at the fact that he was still in Sunnydale when you had asked him to go away." Joyce took a deep breath. "That was when he went crazy. One minute, he looked like an ordinary human, and the next, he was a bloodthirsty vampire trying to kill me."
"Did he actually attack you or act like he was going to?"
"He said he was hungry, and he was looking straight at me! That was a very clear sign. I didn't give him a chance to do anything else because I ran away into the sunlight." Joyce lowered her voice and gazed into her daughter's eyes. "Buffy, you can't trust Angel. Last night he was creeping around the house, peering in the windows. I'm sure he's dangerous."
The situation was now officially weird, Buffy decided. She couldn't picture Angel purposely scaring her mom unless he had turned evil again, and that couldn't have happened. Angel definitely hadn't experienced a moment of happiness for quite a while. However, Buffy could think of one easy way to straighten out matters. "Mom, you stay here," she instructed as she stood up.
Joyce grabbed at her sleeve. "Where are you going?"
"To see Angel and find out what he has to say. There's got to be a logical explanation."
"You can't go! He'll kill you!"
"No, he won't. Even when he was Angelus, he didn't. But if it makes you feel any better, I always carry a stake." Buffy displayed Mr. Pointy. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm the Slayer--I can take care of myself."
It took some convincing, but eventually Buffy managed to talk her way out of the house without Joyce throwing too much of a fit. Keeping a wary lookout for vampires or any other dangers, Buffy set off for the mansion and wondered what had really happened between her mother and Angel. Joyce must have left out some of the details. For instance, her explanation of why she had decided to visit Angel seemed suspicious. Well, Angel should be able to fill in the blanks with his side of the story.
Buffy continued on through the dark and reached the mansion with no trouble along the way. She pounded on the front door. "Angel?" No answer. He could be in a distant part of the house, so she turned the knob to find that the door was unlocked. Slowly, Buffy pushed it open, with a feeling of foreboding she couldn't explain. "Angel?"
When she entered the place, she found an explanation for her strange feeling. The mansion was a mess. Blood was splattered on the walls, chunks of plaster from a shattered statue decorated the floor, an oil landscape hung askew, the sofa was overturned, and the coffee table was smashed. In the midst of the wreckage lay Angel, coated with blood and not moving a muscle.
"Angel!" Buffy dashed through the disaster area of a room and dropped to her knees at his side.
From a distance, he had looked badly injured. Up close, the situation was even worse. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash on his forehead and soaked his shirt--the one Joyce had returned to him that very day. One leg was twisted unnaturally, and worst of all, his face was ivory white, leached of all but the faintest color. Besides which, he doubtlessly had suffered many other injuries that weren't visible. The only positive aspect was that Angel wasn't dust, so Buffy could still try to save him.
She thought desperately. Should she attempt to rouse him? Shake him by the shoulder? No--any movement could cause greater damage. What could she do to help?
Blood! Of course! Casting one last anxious glance at Angel, Buffy jumped up and tore into the kitchen, where she flung open the refrigerator door expecting to see a shelf full of blood bags, only to find...nothing. Except for a jar of hot sauce in the door, the refrigerator was empty. So was the freezer, and not even a cooler was in sight. A drained plastic bag lying in the trash can constituted the only evidence that Angel had ever had any animal blood in the place.
But she had to feed him soon, or he might not survive. Buffy grabbed the kitchen telephone and began to dial Giles' number. Then she stopped--the phone didn't have a dial tone. She rushed back to the living room, only to find the same situation there. Angel must not have seen any need to have the phone lines hooked up, apparently never having considered the possibility that an emergency might arise.
Buffy looked at him again. He lay still, his position unchanged. If anything, his pallor had increased. He needed blood, he had none in the house, and if he had to wait for Buffy to go out and fetch him some, he might not make it.
She really had no choice.
Once she had made the decision, Buffy sprang into action. She darted back into the kitchen, selected a large, polished carving knife from the silverware drawer, and yet again proceeded back into the living room. She crouched down beside Angel and lay the knife to the side on the floor. She didn't want to have to use it, but just in case, it was best to have it nearby.
Potent Slayer blood might save Angel. It certainly had a better chance than the animal blood he had been feeding on lately. Buffy firmly pressed her wrist to his lips, hoping instinct would take over and he would somehow find the energy to bite down.
Nothing happened.
Buffy waited another few seconds, then remembered the time she had practically forced Angel to feed from her. She had hit him until he'd vamped out. Only, that time he had at least been conscious and aware of his surroundings. If she hit him now, she might only succeed in causing him greater injury. No. She wouldn't take that risk.
Desperately, Buffy looked at the knife. She had no other options left. Slowly, she picked it up and poised it over her left wrist. Then, taking a deep breath, she made a shallow incision. Blood welled up along the length of the cut. Again, Buffy held her arm to Angel's mouth, praying he would smell or taste the blood and come around. As she waited, she made all sorts of promises to herself. If Angel pulled through, she wouldn't take him for granted anymore. She would do more to help him get the chip out of his head. She would look into resuming their relationship like he wanted. She would promise anything, if only Angel would live.
But by the end of her frantic prayers, he still hadn't stirred. "Come on, Angel," Buffy urged. "I love you. You can't die!"
As if in response, he twitched in the first movement she had yet seen.
"You can do it," Buffy encouraged, squeezing several droplets directly onto his lips.
Slowly, Angel's demonic ridges formed and he began to lap at her wound. Then his fangs latched on and he sucked steadily, pulling in mouthfuls of blood.
Buffy steadied herself with her free arm as Angel continued to drink. He hadn't opened his eyes, but surely the fact that he was feeding so strongly was a good sign. Only, maybe he was feeding a little *too* strongly. After a few minutes, Buffy began to feel faint, like she was about to pass out. Angel couldn't need that much blood, could he? Already the gash on his head was almost healed and his other visible wounds had disappeared.
"Angel." She gently touched his face. He ignored her and continued to drink. Buffy pushed at his head with a little more force. "Angel! Can you hear me? Stop!" He merely pulled harder. With the last of her waning strength, Buffy wrenched her arm from Angel's mouth and threw herself away from him.
He emitted a low growl, and the amber eyes of Angelus flickered open to stare up at her.
TBC