Riley strolled into the Magic Box, ready to find Buffy and treat her
to an impromptu lunch, just to show her how very comfortable he was
in her affections. The hypnosis was surely finished by now; all they
needed was one little piece of information, and then Angel would have
returned to... wherever it was he was sleeping, probably to prepare
to leave that very night, now that his job was done.
Not that Angel's presence bothered him or anything.
"She's still at Giles'," Anya said, barely looking up from where she
lovingly counted out the day's profits. "They're all at Giles'. I
expect extra pay."
Riley almost felt himself deflate... then he remembered the wild
night he'd passed in Buffy's bed, and felt better. Apart from the
lingering ache of where she'd dug her nails deep into his back,
arching against him, her eyes closed with pleasure. She'd had her
eyes closed most of the time, actually, if he recalled right. Then,
she often did.
"Are you expecting them back soon?" he asked hopefully. "Except for
Angel, of course."
"Where's the of course?" a playful voice said behind him. "Angel's
really good at getting around during the day."
He turned around to see Angel's brunette assistant standing in the
doorway through to the back, holding her hands gingerly so as not to
damage the nail polish she'd just applied - she still held the
bottle - and looking at him with an amused, patronising expression on
her face.
He was irked with the condescending vibes that leaked out of her
whole stance, never mind comment. He knew this girl - Cordelia - had
gone to school with Buffy, so she was younger than he was.
She interrupted his thought with the slow arch of one perfect eyebrow
and mocking, breathy comment: "Angel's very... practised."
Riley bristled.
Cordelia turned back into the other room and smirked to herself.
* * * * *
"Do they *have* to get him off Michael?" Buffy said regretfully. "I
liked Michael."
"Time's a-wastin'," Willow said perkily, coming out into the
courtyard and handing the sitting Buffy a cup of hot coffee.
"I don't see why I couldn't stay in there," Buffy complained half-
heartedly, her lips curving in a secret, satisfied smile. She knew
exactly why.
"You were proving a distraction," Willow remonstrated drolly. "You
can go back when he's in a stable time again."
"Are they going for David?" Buffy said, her smile slipping a notch.
She didn't want to die, and if for that she had to hear an account of
another death of hers, fine... but she didn't particularly want to
hear *Angel's* account, have to hear the anguish she knew
instinctively would colour his tone and his heart.
She didn't want him to wake up and remember that pain, which he might
or might not be experiencing again soon. Even if she did die - which
she wouldn't, because that would just be too careless, after all
this, she told herself strongly - she wasn't sure if he would grieve
that much again. She knew that she would, if he were to die now.
She knew that the love she thought she had pushed firmly to the back
of her mind to be forgotten had simply simmered there to be
acknowledged. She thought he felt the same: but she was unsure of
her ability to predict him now, and even the weight of their lengthy
history - a welcome burden - didn't serve to reassure her.
"I think they were going to try," Willow said, her doubtful tone
making it clear she wasn't positive of the chances of their
success. "I think they'll get side-tracked somewhere, though. His
memories seem to be popping up from whenever they like."
* * * * *
"Peanut butter and chocolate," Angel said, a lusty, contented grin
playing around his lips. "Have you ever tried that? It's great."
His brow furrowed. "It's not so great now. Vampire tastebuds are
more geared to blood products. Well, exclusively geared to blood
products. But a lot of stuff is different when you're a vampire.
When I'm a vampire."
Giles and Wesley shared looks of... what? Giles wasn't certain that
he knew exactly what any of them were feeling. When Angel had
fixated on what he referred to wistfully as 'the lost day', he'd
continued trying to get through to David until Wesley had stopped
him, realising what Angel was talking about was a day from his own
long existence. When Giles had realised what that day was, what it
meant, he'd waited impatiently for Angel's rambling to end, having
spilled enough for him to get an idea, and then begun probing for
details (though not *too* many details, as he had a suspicion he
would find them unsalubrious to say the least), always mindful of
Buffy's presence outside.
He could approximate what he was feeling: shock, not only that this
had happened but that it was possible, amazement and grudging respect
that Angel had given up a chance of human life to take a chance on
Buffy's, sorrow for the vampire and for his own charge, without Angel
or the memories.
He was, however, almost certain in his own mind that Angel had made
the correct choice. Buffy was better off not knowing what she had
lost, what she had had taken from her; he knew full well how she
hated having decisions made for her (unless she'd altered in that in
the long time since he'd dared try, but he doubted that).
And so he would honour Angel's desires and refrain from mentioning
the new information he had learnt, the information he felt sure would
only hurt her. Not even hypnosis could return those memories to
Buffy.
* * * * *
"At least it's let Giles and Wesley have something concrete to argue
about," Buffy said, "I couldn't have taken more of like when Wes was
my Watcher."
"I don't think you would've," Willow said thoughtfully. "He's
changed a lot."
"That's my Angel," Buffy said, leaning back and sifting her hand
through the soil of the centrepiece plants. "Changes everyone he
comes into contact with."
"Yeah," Willow said softly, watching Buffy's actions with
sympathy. "Do you want to talk about it now?"
"What?" Buffy said, feigning perplexity, though she knew perfectly
well what about: the kiss. The tender, mind-blowing, knee-wobbling
kiss that had been bestowed on her with Michael's mind and Angel's
lips with their sure, undimmed knowledge of her own.
"You know," Willow said chidingly. Then she laughed. "We're having
a lot of these conversations lately, aren't we?"
"Well, it saves on therapy," Buffy teased, realising they had.
She'd shared more with her best friend about she and Angel over the
last week than she had about a whole year with Riley.
"Was it nice?" Willow said with charming innocence. She leaned back
with Buffy, preparing for some girl talk.
"It was nice," Buffy confirmed with a shy grin. "Nice doesn't cover
it. The only part that wasn't nice was the bruised ankle." She shot
a wry look at Willow, who shrugged artlessly.
"I thought Giles was about to hyperventilate," she explained. "I
don't think he's seen your tongue in that context before."
"Eeuw," Buffy exclaimed. "I guess I was in the moment."
She lapsed into silence.
"And when you were out of the moment?" Willow prompted, knowing what
was coming.
"I don't screw around on a guy," Buffy declared. "I just don't.
It's in my code. You know the code?"
"Mine says looking is okay, but no touching," Willow offered.
"Yeah," Buffy said, sitting straight and examining her dirty
fingernails pensively. "So I've gone against my code, and I feel..."
"Horrible," Willow said, remembering all too well how she'd felt when
she'd looked at *and* touched Xander and feeling sorry for Buffy,
whose normal worries were, yet again, mixed inextricably with the
supernatural.
"Right."
"You do have some extenuating circumstances," Willow said.
"I have some extenuating circumstances for the circumstances of being
kissed," Buffy corrected glumly. "I have none for having kissed
back."
"Then you have to think about why you kissed back," Willow said,
having a pretty good idea of Buffy's reasons and wondering whether
Buffy would admit them to herself.
"Because it was so great to be kissing Angel again," Buffy said.
"Then you have to talk to Riley," Willow said quietly.
"I know," Buffy said.
* * * * *
"We've contacted David," Wesley announced proudly, opening the door
to Giles' apartment and beckoning the two girls in.
"Any more lives?" Buffy asked over her shoulder, almost throwing
herself towards the door. Wesley stepped aside for her, an amused,
uncomfortable smile playing around his lips.
"No," he said, and only Willow was able to hear his muttered
qualifier of, "no new ones, anyway." She resolved to pull he or
Giles over later and find out what was going on with that.
"... The most beautiful woman I've ever had privilege to see," Angel
was saying, wistfully, his hands gripping and twisting as much of the
soft couch as he could.
"This is going to give Buffy a swelled head," Willow hissed to Wesley.
"Quite possibly," Wesley said, "David appears to be even more -
taken - with Sarah than Angel with Buffy."
"He still loves her, huh?" Willow said. She didn't really need
telling, but she thought Wesley's insights, as someone who actually
lived alongside Angel, could be... not useful, exactly. Interesting.
"He's here, isn't he?" Wesley said quietly.
"Yeah, but that could have been because of... soul saving, right?
That's what Cordy said."
"This constitutes considerably more than soul saving to Angel,"
Wesley said reprovingly.
"So he hasn't had any lady friends?" Willow said, grinning.
The exasperated look Wesley gave her was answer enough.
"You patrol with her?" Giles said across the room, his voice raised
in affected surprise.
"Yes," Angel said defensively. "Why not?"
"You're human," Giles said prosaically, "a danger to her."
"Did he have any trouble getting David to answer his questions?"
Willow hissed at Wesley.
"No," he hissed back. "Woolf seems to have been a singularly
suspicious incarnation of Angel."
"I am *not* a danger to her," Angel said loudly. "I wouldn't do
anything that might hurt her."
Buffy chewed on her lip. She believed him without reservation; none
of Angel's incarnations - unless Angelus was counted as one - would
purposely try to hurt her; do anything other than that which they
thought would safeguard her well-being and protect her. David, in
particular, had come from a time when a strong woman would have been
even stranger, and his feelings were natural. And yet she knew that
David had often proved more a hindrance than a help; knew from
Sarah's memories, and from her own experiences with Riley post-drugs.
"You have fighting skills?" Giles said.
"Some," Angel said. "Swordsmanship, naturally. Association with
Sarah has taught me hand-to-hand. And a healthy relationship with a
wooden stake."
"Is she usually successful?" Giles asked, trying to lead up to asking
about the Desuin. He was stalling; it had occurred to him when this
venture was proposed that he might (would) find it painful, but he
hadn't realised just how much. In a way, as he was Buffy's Watcher,
so he was Sarah's - ridiculous really, as he had his suspicions where
he'd been in that life of Buffy's and it was as Watcher's companion
rather than the Watcher - but he suspected the grief and horror he
would feel would be no less real, and mixed with no less guilt.
"Oh, yes," Angel said enthusiastically. Willow smiled; he was
bragging about his girlfriend's accomplishments. And to think she
hadn't thought Angel was capable of 'cute'. "To watch her... she's
like an elemental force. She seems to glow, all who see her want to
get close to her... to see her fight, watch her move, is..." his
voice faded off and he ended almost on a whisper, "I never hoped such
a creature existed. And that she loves me... I never even dared to
imagine."
Buffy's eyes filled with tears. Angel, though demonstrative, had
never been so vocal. Her desire to have him in her life again, any
way she could, crystallised.
*She'd* never imagined to have someone like Angel as her love, as
hers; never thought such a smart, mature man, a man who fought harder
than anyone she'd known, fought himself everyday for the chance to
*be* himself, who cheered her though her best moments and loved her
through her worst, even those directed at him - she knew she probably
didn't deserve it. But she did, as long as she loved him back; and
if she hadn't that way, then she could. She would.
Giles cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of
emotion he felt radiating from Angel, and Buffy in deeply felt
response.
"Yes, well," he stumbled, trying to regain control of the
conversation.
"I think now may be the time to take him forward to the... uh, shall
we say pivotal experience," Wesley advised Giles 'helpfully', leaning
over his shoulder. Giles cast an irritated glance at the younger
man, who leaned back with a disgruntled expression. In unwitting
symmetry, they removed their glasses, found cloths in their pockets,
and began to clean the lenses in quick, jerky movements.
Willow watched with an affectionate smile on her lips, wondering
whether she should offer to take over in the face of their obvious
displacement activity. She had been moved by Angel's declaration of
love - as she'd once told Buffy, with a taciturn man you had to look
at their actions, and she couldn't help but feel this openness was a
trait of David's that Angel would do well to adopt. She didn't doubt
he had the potential for it. After all, he read poetry.
"Do you remember fighting a Desuin demon?" Giles asked abruptly.
"A..." Angel said, clearly not recognising the name.
"Blue, armoured, skilled in fight-"
"It killed her," Angel interrupted, and when it cracked, his soft
voice held an anguish Giles prayed he would never know.
"Killed her," he repeated, "and I never... I was a danger to her, but
I didn't realise... she never said..." Giles watched with dismay and
sympathy for his palpable difficulties as a tear squeezed out of
Angel's closed lids and began to track slowly down his cheek.
Buffy hurriedly wiped away her own tears - reacting to his pain as
much as his words - and climbed onto the couch, lifting him up easily
to sit behind him, cradling his head on her lap, buffering and
sheltering his body with her own, smaller frame.
Some part of him recognising her through the certain knowledge of her
death served to calm Angel, or the spirit that inhabited him always
and now controlled him; though the tears kept making a smooth trail
of unbroken damp down his cheeks, his tone became less ragged and his
words less incoherent.
"It had... a sword, bigger than mine... practically bigger than me...
I was wounded in the side, and she... she was trying to protect me
and she..."
His voice ended on a strangled sob. Giles, unwilling to push, for
all their sakes, considered trying to stop. Buffy stroked Angel's
hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and decided for them.
"I could see her lying there, but I'd missed what... she wasn't
moving and... it leaned over her and I tried to get it away but I
wasn't strong enough... even fit, I wasn't strong enough... not to
save her..."
Giles leaned forward, transfixed, just barely noticing Wesley and
Willow unconsciously copy his movements. This was nearly what they
needed; and then they could stop what had to be even more torturous
for Buffy and Angel to relive than it was for them to hear.
"And its tongue... came out... disgusting tongue, long... seemed to
go right into her *head*... and then it went away. It just left...
once it knew it'd killed her... and I crawled over and she was... I
couldn't... she was just breathing, and then I was holding her... she
stopped..."
Fully in his catharsis, Angel cried, Buffy's head so close to his
their tears mingled.
Giles leaned back, his mind half on the heartbreaking scene in front
of him and half on the implications of what Angel had told them.
Some magical or illusory elements; some kind of poison, he assumed,
which the Desuin used an enhanced tongue to deliver, given that the
victims then showed no effects of that invasion (which he would not
allow himself to picture).
It was enough. It had to be enough, because he wouldn't put Angel or
Buffy through that again, even if he thought he could hear it; but
now, there were other repercussions to be dealt with.
He stood up quietly and beckoned to Wesley and Willow. They walked
obediently to the door, moods subdued and eyes reddened, waiting for
him while he rested a hand on Buffy's shoulder. She looked up, and
Giles spoke the words that would release Angel from David's grip.
Then he kissed Buffy's cheek gently, a promise of understanding and
support (for both of them), and the pair were left alone.
* * * * *
Neither of them registered time passing, and it could have been ten
minutes or ten hours before their tears dried and they detached from
each other with muttered apologies and mumbles, awkward with the
knowledge of everything they had been and couldn't be now.
Only when they sat, carefully at opposite ends of the couch, did they
begin to speak, still raw from the experience.
"Well," Buffy said, quiet. She didn't look at him.
"Well?" he said in disbelief, running a weary hand through his
hair. "I wasn't banking on anything like... *that*, Buffy. Were
you?"
"Expecting it?" she questioned gently, almost fearfully; she had,
mostly. But she hadn't foreseen it would be so involving; leave her
feeling so close to him. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Those lives," he said, "they were real." He meant it as a question;
feeling the truth made it a statement.
"We think so," Buffy said, shrugging. "And of course, my life may
depend on it being accurate, so we hope so."
"*I* hope so," he said. "After all that."
"I don't know," she murmured, staring fixedly at her hands. "Even if
it wasn't... I remember being happy. Like, really happy. And
that... kind of new territory for me, so..."
"You're not happy?" he said quietly, feeling a wash of misery; he
hadn't left her so she could be unhappy. She could have been unhappy
with him - well, he didn't mean that, exactly, but he knew that
during the worst times he and Buffy had had, there had been some
measure of comfort in it being *them*. Together.
She exhaled hard. "I didn't mean it like that." 'Freudian slip.'
"Do you think it was real?" he said, "I thought... I don't know where
it came from, Buffy. I thought it was."
She looked at him finally: studied the planes of his face, the strong
cheekbones and jawline, the lips that knew her own so well, the shock
of dark hair that was standing up more untidily than he'd ever let it
if he knew. The eyes, swollen from tears (how often had she seen
Angel cry? Not as often as he'd let her cry on him, anyway) but
holding the familiar kindliness, protectiveness. Love.
He loved her. And he deserved to know how long he'd done so.
Buffy reached over the side of the couch, scrabbling for her bag.
While she did so, she talked.
"When this whole thing was starting, Willow and Tara did a spell to
try and find my lifeline, or karmic record, or something like that,
and... they used photos of everyone so they could see who I was tied
to, and they had one of yours in it, and..."
She sat up and handed him the photo of him, fused to the one of her.
He flipped it over curiously, examined it, and though she tried, she
couldn't read his purposely blank expression as he ran his fingers
over the join, and then trailed his fingertips softly across her
face. She felt his phantom touch keenly when he did so.
"She said it means..." Buffy's voice wavered, "Willow said it
means... soulmates. Us. Are. I mean, we are. That."
He glanced at her, and his eyes were wet again.
"Yeah. Yeah, it does."
Gaze locked on his, she slowly slid across the couch. He raised his
arm to accommodate her, and when she was nestled securely at his
side, in the curve of his body, he dropped it again to rest on her
shoulders, hugging her close to him.
Which was when the door banged open and Riley entered.
"Buffy? Willow said you were done and found out what you..."
He faltered in speech and movement, stopping halfway into the room
and staring at the sight of Buffy and Angel snuggling. Part of him
wondered what else he'd expected from this thing. A smaller part
taunted him about it.
"Wanted to know," he finished softly, then nodded, with bitterness
and not a little self-loathing. "Yeah, I guess you really did."
He looked at the vampire, and he hated him more for the look of
sorrow and sympathy - warring as they were with dislike - in Angel's
eyes than he did for Angel's body against Buffy's. Childish as it
was, he'd almost felt superior to Angel because he was taller; seeing
them together, it just made him think that the two of them fit better
than he and Buffy did. Had.
He turned around and walked out, fighting to not break into a run.
When he was outside, and no longer had to try and salvage what
dignity he could, he did run, letting the wind dry the resented tears
as they came to his eyes.
"Riley!" Buffy yelled. She turned helplessly between the door he'd
gone out of to Angel. The latter closed his eyes - in pain? In
understanding? She wasn't sure - and nodded; tiny, barely
noticeable, but giving her the permission she felt she needed. She
gave him a tiny, regretful smile, and ran straight out the door.
Angel wondered abstractly, through the renewed tears, how that felt
like a bigger rejection than being sent to hell.
* * * * *
to an impromptu lunch, just to show her how very comfortable he was
in her affections. The hypnosis was surely finished by now; all they
needed was one little piece of information, and then Angel would have
returned to... wherever it was he was sleeping, probably to prepare
to leave that very night, now that his job was done.
Not that Angel's presence bothered him or anything.
"She's still at Giles'," Anya said, barely looking up from where she
lovingly counted out the day's profits. "They're all at Giles'. I
expect extra pay."
Riley almost felt himself deflate... then he remembered the wild
night he'd passed in Buffy's bed, and felt better. Apart from the
lingering ache of where she'd dug her nails deep into his back,
arching against him, her eyes closed with pleasure. She'd had her
eyes closed most of the time, actually, if he recalled right. Then,
she often did.
"Are you expecting them back soon?" he asked hopefully. "Except for
Angel, of course."
"Where's the of course?" a playful voice said behind him. "Angel's
really good at getting around during the day."
He turned around to see Angel's brunette assistant standing in the
doorway through to the back, holding her hands gingerly so as not to
damage the nail polish she'd just applied - she still held the
bottle - and looking at him with an amused, patronising expression on
her face.
He was irked with the condescending vibes that leaked out of her
whole stance, never mind comment. He knew this girl - Cordelia - had
gone to school with Buffy, so she was younger than he was.
She interrupted his thought with the slow arch of one perfect eyebrow
and mocking, breathy comment: "Angel's very... practised."
Riley bristled.
Cordelia turned back into the other room and smirked to herself.
* * * * *
"Do they *have* to get him off Michael?" Buffy said regretfully. "I
liked Michael."
"Time's a-wastin'," Willow said perkily, coming out into the
courtyard and handing the sitting Buffy a cup of hot coffee.
"I don't see why I couldn't stay in there," Buffy complained half-
heartedly, her lips curving in a secret, satisfied smile. She knew
exactly why.
"You were proving a distraction," Willow remonstrated drolly. "You
can go back when he's in a stable time again."
"Are they going for David?" Buffy said, her smile slipping a notch.
She didn't want to die, and if for that she had to hear an account of
another death of hers, fine... but she didn't particularly want to
hear *Angel's* account, have to hear the anguish she knew
instinctively would colour his tone and his heart.
She didn't want him to wake up and remember that pain, which he might
or might not be experiencing again soon. Even if she did die - which
she wouldn't, because that would just be too careless, after all
this, she told herself strongly - she wasn't sure if he would grieve
that much again. She knew that she would, if he were to die now.
She knew that the love she thought she had pushed firmly to the back
of her mind to be forgotten had simply simmered there to be
acknowledged. She thought he felt the same: but she was unsure of
her ability to predict him now, and even the weight of their lengthy
history - a welcome burden - didn't serve to reassure her.
"I think they were going to try," Willow said, her doubtful tone
making it clear she wasn't positive of the chances of their
success. "I think they'll get side-tracked somewhere, though. His
memories seem to be popping up from whenever they like."
* * * * *
"Peanut butter and chocolate," Angel said, a lusty, contented grin
playing around his lips. "Have you ever tried that? It's great."
His brow furrowed. "It's not so great now. Vampire tastebuds are
more geared to blood products. Well, exclusively geared to blood
products. But a lot of stuff is different when you're a vampire.
When I'm a vampire."
Giles and Wesley shared looks of... what? Giles wasn't certain that
he knew exactly what any of them were feeling. When Angel had
fixated on what he referred to wistfully as 'the lost day', he'd
continued trying to get through to David until Wesley had stopped
him, realising what Angel was talking about was a day from his own
long existence. When Giles had realised what that day was, what it
meant, he'd waited impatiently for Angel's rambling to end, having
spilled enough for him to get an idea, and then begun probing for
details (though not *too* many details, as he had a suspicion he
would find them unsalubrious to say the least), always mindful of
Buffy's presence outside.
He could approximate what he was feeling: shock, not only that this
had happened but that it was possible, amazement and grudging respect
that Angel had given up a chance of human life to take a chance on
Buffy's, sorrow for the vampire and for his own charge, without Angel
or the memories.
He was, however, almost certain in his own mind that Angel had made
the correct choice. Buffy was better off not knowing what she had
lost, what she had had taken from her; he knew full well how she
hated having decisions made for her (unless she'd altered in that in
the long time since he'd dared try, but he doubted that).
And so he would honour Angel's desires and refrain from mentioning
the new information he had learnt, the information he felt sure would
only hurt her. Not even hypnosis could return those memories to
Buffy.
* * * * *
"At least it's let Giles and Wesley have something concrete to argue
about," Buffy said, "I couldn't have taken more of like when Wes was
my Watcher."
"I don't think you would've," Willow said thoughtfully. "He's
changed a lot."
"That's my Angel," Buffy said, leaning back and sifting her hand
through the soil of the centrepiece plants. "Changes everyone he
comes into contact with."
"Yeah," Willow said softly, watching Buffy's actions with
sympathy. "Do you want to talk about it now?"
"What?" Buffy said, feigning perplexity, though she knew perfectly
well what about: the kiss. The tender, mind-blowing, knee-wobbling
kiss that had been bestowed on her with Michael's mind and Angel's
lips with their sure, undimmed knowledge of her own.
"You know," Willow said chidingly. Then she laughed. "We're having
a lot of these conversations lately, aren't we?"
"Well, it saves on therapy," Buffy teased, realising they had.
She'd shared more with her best friend about she and Angel over the
last week than she had about a whole year with Riley.
"Was it nice?" Willow said with charming innocence. She leaned back
with Buffy, preparing for some girl talk.
"It was nice," Buffy confirmed with a shy grin. "Nice doesn't cover
it. The only part that wasn't nice was the bruised ankle." She shot
a wry look at Willow, who shrugged artlessly.
"I thought Giles was about to hyperventilate," she explained. "I
don't think he's seen your tongue in that context before."
"Eeuw," Buffy exclaimed. "I guess I was in the moment."
She lapsed into silence.
"And when you were out of the moment?" Willow prompted, knowing what
was coming.
"I don't screw around on a guy," Buffy declared. "I just don't.
It's in my code. You know the code?"
"Mine says looking is okay, but no touching," Willow offered.
"Yeah," Buffy said, sitting straight and examining her dirty
fingernails pensively. "So I've gone against my code, and I feel..."
"Horrible," Willow said, remembering all too well how she'd felt when
she'd looked at *and* touched Xander and feeling sorry for Buffy,
whose normal worries were, yet again, mixed inextricably with the
supernatural.
"Right."
"You do have some extenuating circumstances," Willow said.
"I have some extenuating circumstances for the circumstances of being
kissed," Buffy corrected glumly. "I have none for having kissed
back."
"Then you have to think about why you kissed back," Willow said,
having a pretty good idea of Buffy's reasons and wondering whether
Buffy would admit them to herself.
"Because it was so great to be kissing Angel again," Buffy said.
"Then you have to talk to Riley," Willow said quietly.
"I know," Buffy said.
* * * * *
"We've contacted David," Wesley announced proudly, opening the door
to Giles' apartment and beckoning the two girls in.
"Any more lives?" Buffy asked over her shoulder, almost throwing
herself towards the door. Wesley stepped aside for her, an amused,
uncomfortable smile playing around his lips.
"No," he said, and only Willow was able to hear his muttered
qualifier of, "no new ones, anyway." She resolved to pull he or
Giles over later and find out what was going on with that.
"... The most beautiful woman I've ever had privilege to see," Angel
was saying, wistfully, his hands gripping and twisting as much of the
soft couch as he could.
"This is going to give Buffy a swelled head," Willow hissed to Wesley.
"Quite possibly," Wesley said, "David appears to be even more -
taken - with Sarah than Angel with Buffy."
"He still loves her, huh?" Willow said. She didn't really need
telling, but she thought Wesley's insights, as someone who actually
lived alongside Angel, could be... not useful, exactly. Interesting.
"He's here, isn't he?" Wesley said quietly.
"Yeah, but that could have been because of... soul saving, right?
That's what Cordy said."
"This constitutes considerably more than soul saving to Angel,"
Wesley said reprovingly.
"So he hasn't had any lady friends?" Willow said, grinning.
The exasperated look Wesley gave her was answer enough.
"You patrol with her?" Giles said across the room, his voice raised
in affected surprise.
"Yes," Angel said defensively. "Why not?"
"You're human," Giles said prosaically, "a danger to her."
"Did he have any trouble getting David to answer his questions?"
Willow hissed at Wesley.
"No," he hissed back. "Woolf seems to have been a singularly
suspicious incarnation of Angel."
"I am *not* a danger to her," Angel said loudly. "I wouldn't do
anything that might hurt her."
Buffy chewed on her lip. She believed him without reservation; none
of Angel's incarnations - unless Angelus was counted as one - would
purposely try to hurt her; do anything other than that which they
thought would safeguard her well-being and protect her. David, in
particular, had come from a time when a strong woman would have been
even stranger, and his feelings were natural. And yet she knew that
David had often proved more a hindrance than a help; knew from
Sarah's memories, and from her own experiences with Riley post-drugs.
"You have fighting skills?" Giles said.
"Some," Angel said. "Swordsmanship, naturally. Association with
Sarah has taught me hand-to-hand. And a healthy relationship with a
wooden stake."
"Is she usually successful?" Giles asked, trying to lead up to asking
about the Desuin. He was stalling; it had occurred to him when this
venture was proposed that he might (would) find it painful, but he
hadn't realised just how much. In a way, as he was Buffy's Watcher,
so he was Sarah's - ridiculous really, as he had his suspicions where
he'd been in that life of Buffy's and it was as Watcher's companion
rather than the Watcher - but he suspected the grief and horror he
would feel would be no less real, and mixed with no less guilt.
"Oh, yes," Angel said enthusiastically. Willow smiled; he was
bragging about his girlfriend's accomplishments. And to think she
hadn't thought Angel was capable of 'cute'. "To watch her... she's
like an elemental force. She seems to glow, all who see her want to
get close to her... to see her fight, watch her move, is..." his
voice faded off and he ended almost on a whisper, "I never hoped such
a creature existed. And that she loves me... I never even dared to
imagine."
Buffy's eyes filled with tears. Angel, though demonstrative, had
never been so vocal. Her desire to have him in her life again, any
way she could, crystallised.
*She'd* never imagined to have someone like Angel as her love, as
hers; never thought such a smart, mature man, a man who fought harder
than anyone she'd known, fought himself everyday for the chance to
*be* himself, who cheered her though her best moments and loved her
through her worst, even those directed at him - she knew she probably
didn't deserve it. But she did, as long as she loved him back; and
if she hadn't that way, then she could. She would.
Giles cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of
emotion he felt radiating from Angel, and Buffy in deeply felt
response.
"Yes, well," he stumbled, trying to regain control of the
conversation.
"I think now may be the time to take him forward to the... uh, shall
we say pivotal experience," Wesley advised Giles 'helpfully', leaning
over his shoulder. Giles cast an irritated glance at the younger
man, who leaned back with a disgruntled expression. In unwitting
symmetry, they removed their glasses, found cloths in their pockets,
and began to clean the lenses in quick, jerky movements.
Willow watched with an affectionate smile on her lips, wondering
whether she should offer to take over in the face of their obvious
displacement activity. She had been moved by Angel's declaration of
love - as she'd once told Buffy, with a taciturn man you had to look
at their actions, and she couldn't help but feel this openness was a
trait of David's that Angel would do well to adopt. She didn't doubt
he had the potential for it. After all, he read poetry.
"Do you remember fighting a Desuin demon?" Giles asked abruptly.
"A..." Angel said, clearly not recognising the name.
"Blue, armoured, skilled in fight-"
"It killed her," Angel interrupted, and when it cracked, his soft
voice held an anguish Giles prayed he would never know.
"Killed her," he repeated, "and I never... I was a danger to her, but
I didn't realise... she never said..." Giles watched with dismay and
sympathy for his palpable difficulties as a tear squeezed out of
Angel's closed lids and began to track slowly down his cheek.
Buffy hurriedly wiped away her own tears - reacting to his pain as
much as his words - and climbed onto the couch, lifting him up easily
to sit behind him, cradling his head on her lap, buffering and
sheltering his body with her own, smaller frame.
Some part of him recognising her through the certain knowledge of her
death served to calm Angel, or the spirit that inhabited him always
and now controlled him; though the tears kept making a smooth trail
of unbroken damp down his cheeks, his tone became less ragged and his
words less incoherent.
"It had... a sword, bigger than mine... practically bigger than me...
I was wounded in the side, and she... she was trying to protect me
and she..."
His voice ended on a strangled sob. Giles, unwilling to push, for
all their sakes, considered trying to stop. Buffy stroked Angel's
hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and decided for them.
"I could see her lying there, but I'd missed what... she wasn't
moving and... it leaned over her and I tried to get it away but I
wasn't strong enough... even fit, I wasn't strong enough... not to
save her..."
Giles leaned forward, transfixed, just barely noticing Wesley and
Willow unconsciously copy his movements. This was nearly what they
needed; and then they could stop what had to be even more torturous
for Buffy and Angel to relive than it was for them to hear.
"And its tongue... came out... disgusting tongue, long... seemed to
go right into her *head*... and then it went away. It just left...
once it knew it'd killed her... and I crawled over and she was... I
couldn't... she was just breathing, and then I was holding her... she
stopped..."
Fully in his catharsis, Angel cried, Buffy's head so close to his
their tears mingled.
Giles leaned back, his mind half on the heartbreaking scene in front
of him and half on the implications of what Angel had told them.
Some magical or illusory elements; some kind of poison, he assumed,
which the Desuin used an enhanced tongue to deliver, given that the
victims then showed no effects of that invasion (which he would not
allow himself to picture).
It was enough. It had to be enough, because he wouldn't put Angel or
Buffy through that again, even if he thought he could hear it; but
now, there were other repercussions to be dealt with.
He stood up quietly and beckoned to Wesley and Willow. They walked
obediently to the door, moods subdued and eyes reddened, waiting for
him while he rested a hand on Buffy's shoulder. She looked up, and
Giles spoke the words that would release Angel from David's grip.
Then he kissed Buffy's cheek gently, a promise of understanding and
support (for both of them), and the pair were left alone.
* * * * *
Neither of them registered time passing, and it could have been ten
minutes or ten hours before their tears dried and they detached from
each other with muttered apologies and mumbles, awkward with the
knowledge of everything they had been and couldn't be now.
Only when they sat, carefully at opposite ends of the couch, did they
begin to speak, still raw from the experience.
"Well," Buffy said, quiet. She didn't look at him.
"Well?" he said in disbelief, running a weary hand through his
hair. "I wasn't banking on anything like... *that*, Buffy. Were
you?"
"Expecting it?" she questioned gently, almost fearfully; she had,
mostly. But she hadn't foreseen it would be so involving; leave her
feeling so close to him. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Those lives," he said, "they were real." He meant it as a question;
feeling the truth made it a statement.
"We think so," Buffy said, shrugging. "And of course, my life may
depend on it being accurate, so we hope so."
"*I* hope so," he said. "After all that."
"I don't know," she murmured, staring fixedly at her hands. "Even if
it wasn't... I remember being happy. Like, really happy. And
that... kind of new territory for me, so..."
"You're not happy?" he said quietly, feeling a wash of misery; he
hadn't left her so she could be unhappy. She could have been unhappy
with him - well, he didn't mean that, exactly, but he knew that
during the worst times he and Buffy had had, there had been some
measure of comfort in it being *them*. Together.
She exhaled hard. "I didn't mean it like that." 'Freudian slip.'
"Do you think it was real?" he said, "I thought... I don't know where
it came from, Buffy. I thought it was."
She looked at him finally: studied the planes of his face, the strong
cheekbones and jawline, the lips that knew her own so well, the shock
of dark hair that was standing up more untidily than he'd ever let it
if he knew. The eyes, swollen from tears (how often had she seen
Angel cry? Not as often as he'd let her cry on him, anyway) but
holding the familiar kindliness, protectiveness. Love.
He loved her. And he deserved to know how long he'd done so.
Buffy reached over the side of the couch, scrabbling for her bag.
While she did so, she talked.
"When this whole thing was starting, Willow and Tara did a spell to
try and find my lifeline, or karmic record, or something like that,
and... they used photos of everyone so they could see who I was tied
to, and they had one of yours in it, and..."
She sat up and handed him the photo of him, fused to the one of her.
He flipped it over curiously, examined it, and though she tried, she
couldn't read his purposely blank expression as he ran his fingers
over the join, and then trailed his fingertips softly across her
face. She felt his phantom touch keenly when he did so.
"She said it means..." Buffy's voice wavered, "Willow said it
means... soulmates. Us. Are. I mean, we are. That."
He glanced at her, and his eyes were wet again.
"Yeah. Yeah, it does."
Gaze locked on his, she slowly slid across the couch. He raised his
arm to accommodate her, and when she was nestled securely at his
side, in the curve of his body, he dropped it again to rest on her
shoulders, hugging her close to him.
Which was when the door banged open and Riley entered.
"Buffy? Willow said you were done and found out what you..."
He faltered in speech and movement, stopping halfway into the room
and staring at the sight of Buffy and Angel snuggling. Part of him
wondered what else he'd expected from this thing. A smaller part
taunted him about it.
"Wanted to know," he finished softly, then nodded, with bitterness
and not a little self-loathing. "Yeah, I guess you really did."
He looked at the vampire, and he hated him more for the look of
sorrow and sympathy - warring as they were with dislike - in Angel's
eyes than he did for Angel's body against Buffy's. Childish as it
was, he'd almost felt superior to Angel because he was taller; seeing
them together, it just made him think that the two of them fit better
than he and Buffy did. Had.
He turned around and walked out, fighting to not break into a run.
When he was outside, and no longer had to try and salvage what
dignity he could, he did run, letting the wind dry the resented tears
as they came to his eyes.
"Riley!" Buffy yelled. She turned helplessly between the door he'd
gone out of to Angel. The latter closed his eyes - in pain? In
understanding? She wasn't sure - and nodded; tiny, barely
noticeable, but giving her the permission she felt she needed. She
gave him a tiny, regretful smile, and ran straight out the door.
Angel wondered abstractly, through the renewed tears, how that felt
like a bigger rejection than being sent to hell.
* * * * *