Buffy:
Chaos is erupting around me. Cordelia loudly argues with
several of the soldiers, backed-up by Wesley. Two of the commandoes lift her up
by the elbows and march her into the lounge to the tune of her deafening shrieks.
Riley is in rapid conversation with a guy I vaguely recognise from last year's
trouble with the Initiative, whilst the three remaining soldiers stand around
uneasily with their guns pointed at Angel. Xander chases after the commandoes
who apprehended Cordelia, trying desperately to ignore Anya who is flitting
around alternating between insisting how absolutely human she is and telling
Xander that Cordelia is nowhere near worth risking his life over. Willow and
Tara are calling in vain for everyone to be quiet and calm down.
Meanwhile, Mom chooses this exact moment to return home
and join the fray. In between her shrieks of "Buffy Anne Summers, what is going
on here?" and "Everyone out of my house now!" I hear Dawn remark "Cool! House party",
and suddenly it is all too much for me. My head spins and I feel unsteady on my
feet. Instead of managing to march authoritatively across the room to order the
soldiers to leave, I sway precariously and my knees buckle underneath me. Just
as I think I am going to fall to the floor, Angel's strong arms catch me, and
he holds me still.
"QUIET!" He bellows, managing to successfully drown out
the rest of the din and restoring peace once more. Everyone stops mid-activity
and directs their gaze towards Angel, unable to miss as they do so, the sight
of me pressed up closely against him. I see jealousy flash brightly in Riley's
eyes and pull away from Angel guiltily. He is reluctant to let me go, however,
until he is sure I'm okay. Wordlessly, he sets me down on the stairs then catches
my eye in a questioning gaze. I open my mouth to reassure him I am okay, but
before I can speak a telltale high-pitched electronic squeal catches the
attention of both of us.
Immediately recognising the noise as a soldier powering
up his tazer-gun, Angel twists around rapidly switching automatically into game
face and moving in front of me, an obvious protective instinct. There is a
moment of indecision from the soldier as he glances around to see his
colleagues automatically raise their weapons in support and catches the openly
hostile glare on Riley's face. Hearing another squeal of a gun being powered up
he makes up his mind to fire on Angel, depressing the trigger of the weapon at
exactly the moment Cordelia kicks him in the shin.
The commando utters a yelp of pain (Cordelia's
pointy-toed, high heels for once proving to be functional as well as
fashionable) and twists his body around so that the bolt of electricity is
discharged in another direction, away from Angel and directly into Riley's chest.
Before I can fully realise what has happened, Riley falls, unconscious, to the
ground and there follows a stunned silence.
A small, thin giggle breaks the shocked tension of the
room, Dawn's laughter quickly being joined by Cordelia and Xander's.
"Hey, guys this isn't funny, you know," I try to scold
them, whilst repressing a grin of my own. "Is he going to be okay?" I nod
towards the fallen Riley.
Head-commando-guy reaches down to check Riley's pulse and
breathing. After a couple of seconds he nods curtly. "He'll be fine – it'll
just knock him out for a couple of hours, that's all."
I try not to feel relieved by the news. I wasn't looking
forward to sorting things out with Riley this afternoon, so any excuse not to
is a rather welcome one. But still the hostile atmosphere hasn't eased any. The
soldier who unfortunately managed to shoot his former commanding officer has
dropped his gun out of embarrassment and repentance, but the others still tout
their weapons defiantly. Surprisingly, it is Mom who remedies this situation,
raising her voice to shout at them.
"I will not have guns fired in my house, thank
you! You can leave Angel be – he's not going to hurt anyone – or you can all
get out now."
Angel switches back to his human features and the
commandoes reluctantly lower their weapons. Glancing around at the situation,
the guy in charge motions for them all to leave. As they march in formation out
the door, he offers a finally apology to my mother for all the inconvenience
caused then agrees to report back tomorrow (without the reinforcements) when
Riley has had a chance to recover somewhat.
Mom offers a weak smile, looking more stunned than angry.
"I think I ought to go and lie down."
Four hours later the house is back to its usual peaceful
state. All our visitors have left, including Riley who eventually woke up
claiming to have a pounding headache and was driven home by Willow and Tara.
Wesley and Cordelia decided they would go back to LA for the night and next day
in order to see Gunn's friends and inform them about his death. They are to
return the day after tomorrow for our scheduled attack on the demons, whatever
that will turn out to be. Xander left with Anya too, because apparently she has
been much deprived of sex since his injury and wants to make up for lost time.
The only person who remains here is Angel, kept inside by the daylight. But I
have hardly said a word to him all afternoon, I've been too busy fussing over
Mom in repentance over our argument this morning (I was right, but since she's
sick I shouldn't have yelled at her) and fielding questions from Dawn.
Now Dawn has gone over to a friend's (with a strict
promise not to walk home alone in the dark – amidst all this upheaval I still
haven't forgotten the threat Glory poses to my sister) and Mom, claiming to
feel much better, is happily preparing dinner. So, I have no further
distractions or procrastinations, I have to face Angel. I walk into the lounge,
just as he is rising from his chair.
"I should be going," he says quietly.
"But it's not even properly dark yet," I protest,
gesturing out the window to where the sky is now a dusky blue colour, streaked
with pink. Having made up my mind to confront him about what happened this
morning I am now reluctant to let the opportunity go to waste.
"The sun's set," he points out. "I'll be fine."
"But where will you go?"
He shrugs. "I was thinking about heading back to the
mansion, seeing what state it's in. That or a motel. I think it's pretty clear
I can't stay here another night, though, don't you?"
"Don't worry about Mom," I reassure him. "She'll be fine
– she's practically come round to it already, actually…"
He fixes me with his trademark piercing gaze, with those
eyes that seem to see straight into my soul. "It's not your Mom I'm worried
about, Buffy."
I swallow deeply, catching his meaning precisely. This
morning we let our feelings run right out of control and he's afraid it might
happen again. I'm not – afraid that is. I never have been. I've always been so
utterly sure when it came to Angel, that whatever happens just feels right to
me. And there hasn't been a single incidence that I haven't wanted to happen
with every fibre of my being.
But it's more complicated than wants and desires, even
though I wish it weren't. I wish the world would just leave us alone to be
together, that we were two different people in other space and time without
barriers between us or commitments to other people. But it won't and we're not,
so I guess the only thing left to do is to try and salvage something out of
what we do have and for that to happen we need to talk.
"Okay," I answer slowly. "Why don't we drive over to the
mansion together and see if it's liveable."
He nods briefly, sensing this is the only concession I'm
going to give. I yell to Mom that I'm going out for a bit and Angel and I head
out the door.
Neither of us speaks the entire car journey across town.
The silence between us is not quite awkward, but not entirely comfortable
either. It's not that we don't have anything to say to one another – it's
completely the opposite, we have too much to say and don't know where to start.
The mansion appears much how Angel left it, still dark,
large and foreboding. It occurs to me that in the past year and a half I have
barely ever even walked past it. Consciously or not, I have been avoiding this
particular street, so I would have to stare up at the empty windows and see all
my memories of this place reflected in them. There is a heavy padlock on the
front door, which Angel produces the key for. The door opens with a
stereotypical, haunted house creak that makes me jump. I am actually nervous
about going in here. Collecting myself I follow Angel into the darkness and the
first thing that strikes me is the musty, dust-filled air.
"You can't stay here," I exclaim, my voice echoing
through the empty hallway.
"It'll be fine," Angel insists. "Just wait and see."
Sceptically, I follow him though to what used to be the
main room. At first the sight of several large, ghostly white shapes looming in
the darkness worries me a little. Then I advance further into the room and
realise the shapes are pieces of furniture, covered in dustsheets. Angel walks
across the room and kneels at the grate, swiftly lighting the fire there. Then,
as the flames begin to take hold, he goes around lighting the many wall-mounted
candles, in order to produce and dim and flickering, but nevertheless warm,
illumination.
With the added light I can now see the room properly. It
is appears much as it was when Angel used to live here, only with the few
personal items he possessed then (like the books and the various pencil
sketches that were scattered about) now removed.
I cough slightly as Angel pulls the sheet of a nearby
sofa, wafting a cloud of dust up into the air. "Wow. You really don't believe
in furniture-removers, do you?"
He smiles slightly, turning away before I can be totally
sure of the expression. "I wanted everything to still be here in case I had to
come back for some reason."
"And what reason might that be?" I ask as lightly as I
can manage.
He ignores my question, sitting heavily down on the sofa
instead. "Did you want to have that talk you came for now, Buffy?"
I perch myself next to him, scooting as far away as the
confines of the small seat will allow.
"About this morning…" I begin.
Angel nods, deliberately avoiding my gaze. "This
morning," he repeats neutrally.
I take a deep breath, steeling my courage. "I'm not sorry
it happened."
Angel twists around to look at me, his expression hard.
"I am."
I recoil as if I've been slapped, angry tears springing
to my eyes. "How can you say that?" I yell at him. "You said you still loved
me!"
His face suddenly seems to crumple, all his attempts at
stoic impassivity failing. He looks so utterly miserable that some of my rage
slips away. "I do," he insists.
"Just not enough," I interrupt bitterly.
He shakes his head vehemently. "God, Buffy, please don't
ever even think that. I love you so much it makes me ache not to be with
you. I love you…" he appears to be about to pick another poetic metaphor out of
the air, but trails off as his own uncharacteristic enthusiasm and candour
strikes him. "I love you a lot," he finishes with a shy mumble.
My anger melted totally by his speech, I reach out and
lightly touch his hand. "I know how you feel." Scooting up closer to him, I
look deep into his eyes. "I missed you," I whisper.
His hand trembles slightly as he brings it up to brush a
few stray hairs out of my face. "I missed you too," he says painfully.
Our faces are only inches apart and I move my fingers to
the nape of his neck, caressing the soft skin there. I close my eyes,
concentrating on just feeling – his cool breath on my cheek, his palm cupping
the side of my face, his strong, muscular body just there, all I have to
do is lean forward slightly and I will be pressed hard up against it. "It's
been so lonely without you," I murmur.
"Buffy," he moans, as our lips touch ever so gently. The
kiss deepens gradually until our tongues are wrestling in each other's mouths
and my heart is pounding nineteen to the dozen. I am totally lost in the
sensation, my hand tangled in his hair and my breasts crushed up against his
chest.
Then all of a sudden, he pulls roughly away from me, twisting
his head around so that I cannot see his face. I get a sudden flashback to the
very first time we kissed when he did the exact same thing. When he turns back
I almost expect to see his demon visage instead of his human one, only now it
wouldn't bother me. As long as he still has his soul, Angel is still Angel –
the man I love – whatever face he shows to the world.
What I do see, however, scares me a lot more. Angel's
expression is one of absolute guilt and horror. He stands up and crosses to the
other side of the room, away from me.
"We can't do this, Buffy," he says.
"Why not?" I ask desperately, advancing a few steps
towards him. "We love each other – we'll make it work."
He shakes his head. "It's not that simple."
"I'll never have a normal life, Angel. I'll never be just
an ordinary girl with an ordinary girlfriend. I don't even want to be that
anymore." Tears brim in my eyes as I try to make him understand things I am
only just beginning to realise about myself. "I want…I want…" I fail twice to
complete the sentence, my gaze locked with Angel's as I walk towards him and he
lets me slowly approach. "I-I want…you…" I lay my palms flat on his chest and
let my voice grow husky with lust. "I need you."
His expression is confused and closed-off, as he seems to
be fighting some internal battle. Eventually, his focus snaps back to my face
and his prises my hands away from him, slipping determinedly out of my embrace
once more. "Please stop," he chokes out in a tortured voice. "The curse…"
I step away from him abruptly, snatching my hands back to
myself. Taking a few deep breaths I realise he is right. We mustn't let things
get too hot and heavy between us. I make a mental note to try to keep my libido
in check in the future and smile apologetically at Angel.
"I'm sorry." I reach up to trace the edge of his jaw with
my index finger. "I promise to control myself a bit better next time."
"You don't understand," he says firmly, brushing my hand
away. "There won't be a next time. That's twice in twelve hours we've come
close to risking my soul. Who says we'll be able to stop if we reached this
point another time. I certainly couldn't have stopped this morning – could
you?"
I am struck dumb by the question and the heated manner in
which Angel phrases it. I am not used to him losing his temper and yelling at
me, when we were together he always backed down in an argument. And if he
couldn't give up his side completely he would just walk away without explanation.
He seems to have changed, however, something I first realised when I came to LA
after Faith. But I tried to ignore it, pretend that nothing had changed between
us, that we were still the same Angel and Buffy that met in a dark, narrow
alley outside the Bronze.
I flinch under Angel's intense, angry stare and the
realisation hits me properly for the first time. We're not the same as we were
then, or as we were on my seventeenth birthday, or as we were when we broke up.
And those differences only serve to widen the gap between us right now.
"I can't be in a relationship with you, Buffy." Angel
continues in a calmer tone of voice. "Because, I can't settle for just part of
you. I want all of you. I want to make love to you."
Five minutes ago I had been so sure that I had him back,
that our feelings were too strong to be denied anymore. Now our second (third,
fourth, fifth?) chance seems to be slipping away from us, because of the
strength of these feelings. Angel has withdrawn from me not only physically but
also emotionally, and I am desperate to remedy this. "We'll think of something.
We'll come up with some way to be together," I say frantically, tears welling
up in my eyes.
Angel just looks at me sadly. "There is no way to fix the
curse. And I can't risk Angelus making a repeat appearance – there would just
be too many lives at stake. Yours, Cordelia's, Wesley's, all your friends', not
to mention all the innocent people it would put in danger and," his voice
falters a little. "And me."
His meaning is startlingly clear, essentially sex with me
would be suicide for him. My mouth drops open and tears that were threatening
spill down my cheeks in hot, salty rivulets. "But I love you," I protest in no
more than a whisper.
"It's not always about you, or what you want, Buffy."
Angel says, the gentle tone of his voice not quite managing to take the sting
out of his words. "I'm sorry," he reaches out a comforting hand towards me,
which I immediately recoil from.
"Don't touch me!" I yell, backing rapidly away. "Just
stay the hell away from me. I never want to see you again!" I turn and run out
of the mansion, heavy sobs hitching in my throat.
Blindly I head into the nearest cemetery, doubling up in
agony as a sharp pain streaks through my belly. I collapse against the nearest
headstone, struggling to catch my breath, nausea building in my stomach.
Broken-hearted and alone, I retch into the grass, wondering idly if the pain
ever ends.
A/N ~ Sorry for the excessive angst, but I was feeling in
a particularly cruel mood *g*. However, I do have a happy ending
planned…eventually. B/A forever!!