Descent - 6/16

Descent - 6/16

"Kate..."

Something was stroking her cheek.

"Wake up, Kate, it's almost dawn."

She moved slightly and pain hopped up her spine, from one vertebra to the next, settling in the joint of her neck.

"Ow..."

Her hands flew instinctively to the site of the discomfort, fingers meeting under her hair, at the base of her skull. When she opened her eyes, Angel was kneeling at her feet, looking concerned. She let her head fall forward slightly, and then slowly brought it up again, simultaneously stretching her back, pushing her pelvis forward and straightening her legs until her body was almost on a line. She had simply been curled in one position for too long, and as she unfurled, her muscles flexed and ached gratefully.

"You shouldn't have slept in the chair. Why didn't you wake me?"

She sat forward, and a cushion she'd placed behind her head fell to the floor. Catching it with one hand, she left the other in place over the scar. So that he wouldn't notice.

He reached up and firmly drew the hand away.

"I saw. Does it hurt?"

The very directness of his question took her breath away. How long had he been looking at it while she was asleep? She turned her face to one side to avoid seeing him, but this only served to expose the thin beaded line of crumpled, pale tissue to his gaze. A heated flush of mortification and fear spread over her skin.

She couldn't look at him, so when his cool hands touched her it came as a shock. He smoothed her hair back from her temples, and caressed her face, quenching the inner fires, before placing one hand one her chest to steady her, and running a single finger along the length of the scar. It was as though someone had touched her sexually without an invitation, against her wishes; intrusive, harrowing, prostrating. Then, before she could decide whether to scream or escape, or both, he took his hands away and she found that worse.

"I'm so sorry."

He was at the other end of the room before she knew he'd moved.

"Sorry?"

"For marking you like that... you must hate me."

"I don't hate you. You saved me. Twice. I'm grateful. But..."

"Funny how there's always a 'But'."

"Did you have to... I mean, was it avoidable?"

His back was turned towards her and in the half-light she caught a glimpse of his muscles tensing from some internal struggle. Or perhaps he was stiff too, after his night on the sofa. "Perhaps. It wasn't intentional. I was just... panicking. I thought they were going to kill you."

"Did you get a kick out of drinking my blood?"

He turned and looked at her. "A kick?"

It occurred to Kate that she was still in her chair, still frozen where he'd left her. Immobilised, cowed, the perfect picture of a victim. She willed herself to stand and straighten her clothes, and took a deep breath, before saying, "I mean, we weren't exactly friendly at the time."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

He came at her again, and she forced herself not to back away. Lifting her hair from where it lay, he studied the scar again without touching it, and whispered. "I won't lie to you. I loved drinking your blood."

Again, she felt herself responding to the tone of her voice, his words resonating inside her.

"But not because you hated me. Because..."

"What?"

He stepped back slowly, receding from her with each word, until his back rested against the far wall. "Because it's what I'm made for. Not just the blood - the violence of it, the power and the submission. It's a craving."

"Even now? I mean, post-epiphany?"

"Even now. Always. It won't ever go away."

"I suppose I knew that." She sighed. "I've been trained to recognise an addict when I see one."

"Then why are you helping me? Aren't you frightened it will happen again?"

"Yes. I am."

"Then you don't know me well enough for this." He waved his hand at the room. "You shouldn't be falling asleep in the same room as me. Maybe you shouldn't be helping me at all. I should go."

"You won't get far. It's morning." Kate moved across to the windows and closed the blinds. "I also know that you couldn't have committed those murders. Why would you? It's not your style of violence. And... I don't think you're going to do it again. I'm just afraid of it. They're two different things."

She fished the piece of paper from her pocket, and offered it to him. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Angel took the message and read it thoroughly, frowning all the time. Finally, he handed it back, and shook his head.

"It was sent by a company called Familiarity to Shawna Copeland a few days before she arrived in LA - do you recognise the name?"

Another shake of the head.

"I think they're the link. They're something to do with genealogy research."

Both his frown and his silence got deeper.

"I've asked Gunn to get Cordelia and Wesley here this morning. I thought maybe we could use some research muscle."

No response. "I'm going to take a shower. Are you..."

She was going to say "Are you going to be here when I get out?" He had taken on the look of a suspect about to bolt.

"Angel? Are you OK?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. She heard Wesley's cautious English tones. "Kate? Angel? It's just us."

Before going to open it, she slapped his arm. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm tough. I'll get over it."