thanks for reading and reviewing so far. Here's the next part and there's more angst ahead. Hope you'll like it. There have been several requests to update the other stories I'm currently writing ("Almost Home" and "Blissful Encounter"), but I'm going to concentrate on this story for now. There aren't many more parts left, and I want to finish it first, before continuing the other stories. Hope you understand. And now, enjoy!
Love's Gift – Part 12By Jill
Giles was on his way to his kitchenette when the door bell rang. He'd fallen asleep three hours ago, and was angry with himself for wasting three hours of precious time.
After what Xander and Willow had told him in the library, he was more determined than ever to find a solution for the problem with Angel's curse. He'd given the situation a lot of thought since then and was more convinced than ever that the dark-haired vampire was of the utmost importance for his Slayer. It hurt him to admit it, and he wished it was different, that he, her watcher, was the one she'd rely on, but fortunately he wasn't arrogant enough to let his wishes blind him.
Buffy relied on Angel. There had been understandable mistrust for a while, and Giles would be concerned if it had been different. She was the Slayer after all, and a vampire, soul or no, was her sworn enemy. But after overcoming the initial problems she relied on him. Completely and unquestioningly. She trusted him.
She'd gone through Hell, while his soul was gone. Only sheer determination had let her make it through the weeks alone, seeing her lover's face, laughing at her, hearing his voice, taunting her. Giles was incredibly proud of her, but he had also seen her resolve weakening, had seen the despair behind the bravado, the urge to give up, to give in.
Angel's return had been like a present, but it had come with a twist, making it not less precious, yet incredibly fragile, straining Slayer's and vampire's nerves to the limit. It was only reasonable that Angel thought about leaving, and under different circumstances Giles wouldn't have given it a second thought. But the way things were, he had to. He had to find a way to solve the problem with Angel's soul. He was her bloody watcher, dammit. He'd been nothing but useless so far, it was time to show he could more than just research stupid prophecies and demons.
Shaking his head over himself, he walked towards the door. Stupid prophecies? The Watcher's council would have a fit could they hear his thoughts.
He had a small smile on his face that turned into a frown when he saw Miss Calender standing in front of his apartment. "Jenny?"
"Oh." She seemed startled for a moment. "Good evening, Rupert." He saw her biting her lower lip, fidgeting with the coat she was wearing, "I … uh … I know it is late, and … and I'm … I don't want to disturb you, but … maybe I've found something … helpful."
He watched her for a moment, feeling a stab of guilt for her nervous behaviour, knowing he was at least partially responsible for it, having treated her like an intruder this morning in the library. She'd been so comfortable with him in the morning and he'd destroyed it with his thoughtlessness and harsh words.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, "It's not even ten o'clock. Besides, I was about to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?"
He stepped back, making room for her to step inside, then closed the door behind her.
*****
"I still think we should have told Giles what we're going to do." Willow walked between Oz and Xander, her eyes nervously darting around, her ears trying to pick any noise. It wasn't that she was a coward, not really, but walking into a dangerous vampire's lair wasn't something she did every day. Sure, Buffy was with them, but Slayer or no, with Spike and Drusilla you could still end up a midnight snack quite easily.
"There was no time," Buffy bit out, her gaze directed straight ahead, her strides long and determined. "It would've been too long to get him. We would've lost too much precious time."
"He's probably asleep anyway," Xander muttered, ignoring Willow's glare. "And besides, this is fun, right? I mean, we're going to fight dangerous vampires, become famous and … no, wait. We're not going to be famous. Because nobody even knows we're doing what we're doing. We're probably going to end up dead. Extremely dead."
"Buffy, we all know how important this is for you. It's about Angel after all," the redhead said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with the Slayer. "But wouldn't it been wiser if we would be prepared. Giles would research the whole-"
"We don't even know what's going on," the blond replied, her voice showing impatience. "If you don't know what's going on, there's nothing to research."
"Girl's got a point here," Oz threw in, giving the Slayer a slight smile she ignored. He didn't mind. She was somewhere else, already focussed on an upcoming battle with Spike and Drusilla. His eyes darted to Willow at his right side. He understood. If anyone was about to hurt his girl, he'd do the same.
"I'm all for it, Buff. As long as we don't end up dead." Xander smiled nervously at the Slayer.
She stopped all of a sudden, took a deep breath, then turned to her friends, her eyes serious, her mouth firm. "You can go. Just turn around and go. All of you. As you already pointed out, this is about Angel. He's my boyfriend. Nothing concerns any of you. So if you want to leave, I can understand. I won't blame you. But if you're coming with me, there will be no more complaining. I cannot listen to it. Not now." She took another deep breath, distress clearly visible on her face, but her eyes didn't lose their focus, "So what is it going to be?"
"Of course we're coming with you," Willow said instantly, her chin coming up. "Right?" She looked around, daring the others to say otherwise.
"Sure." Oz agreed, shrugged. His girlfriend went, he went.
"It was never a question," Xander's face was serious. "Not that I actually think the prospect of dying for Dead-Boy is really promising, but that doesn't mean I'm going to bail."
Buffy studied their faces for a moment, then obviously content with what she was seeing, she nodded. "Fine. Let's go." She turned and without another comment her friends followed.
*****
Jenny wrung her hands in her lap, licking her dry lips nervously, while she watched Giles preparing tea in his kitchenette. He hadn't said another word ever since she'd stepped over his threshold, just taken her coat, then busied himself by making tea. He wasn't unfriendly or hostile, but he hadn't given any indication that he was glad to see her either.
She glanced at the sheets of paper she'd placed on the table, not sure anymore that it had been the best idea to come here without giving him a call before. But she'd been so excited when she'd found the pages on the net and knew she couldn't wait until tomorrow to show him. Plus, she had no idea how he'd react if she just called him. The way he was would make it more difficult for him to brush her off face to face.
"… hungry?"
Her head snapped up, and with startled eyes she looked at him. "Excuse me? What?"
A smile crept across his face, and Jenny felt her heart-rate increase. "I wanted to know if you're hungry?"
"Oh," she laughed nervously. "No. No, I'm fine. There's no need to-"
"It's not a problem. I could make you a sandwich," he offered.
"No. Really, I'm fine." She hadn't eaten since breakfast, her face glued to the screen, everything else forgotten. But the last she wanted was to cause him any more trouble.
"Okay. Tea is ready," he announced then walked over to her, placing a steaming mug in front of her. "There we go."
"Thanks." She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry and her tongue heavy like lead. Still, she managed, "I'm glad you … had time to see me."
"Jenny-"
"No, I mean, really. It's late," she babbled, stumbling over the words, "And it's not as if I'm a close friend. So, I'm really grateful." Suddenly not sure what to do with her hands, she reached for her tea, took a sip and burnt the tip of her tongue. She stifled a groan, put the mug back down, cursing her fingers for trembling.
"Jenny." His voice was gentle, firm.
"Rupert, really-"
"Jenny," he repeated, reaching out for her hand, catching it before she could pull it away. "Don't," he pleaded, remorse in his voice. "Please."
His palm enveloping her hand was warm, and Jenny felt his strength, his gentleness, and warmth spread through her, her stomach fluttering. Licking her lips, she looked up. "Yes?"
"I think I need to apologize."
"No-"
"Oh, yes," he insisted. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you this morning. I was … feeling useless and in general sorry for myself." He chuckled slightly, "I was reading all through the night and I didn't find anything helpful. Not a single thing. I was tired and cranky. With the situation, with your clan, and then…," he trailed off, shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding.
"And then I was there," she said, managing a slight smile, turning her hand in his and squeezing it. "I understand. You needed a vessel for your anger."
"Yes," he confirmed, squeezing her hand back. "And I'm sorry for it. More than you can know. Am I forgiven?"
She stared at him for a moment, not sure she'd gotten this right, then suddenly laughed, "Of course. Oh, Rupert," she felt tears in her eyes, but didn't care. "I thought you wanted to let me know that … "
"No," he shook his head. "Jenny, I already told you that … I was ready to start over. I just … Sometimes I'm obviously more human than I want to. I behaved like an idiot. But it also tells me that I still need time. I thought I'd forgiven you, and I think I have, but maybe there's still that tiny bit of resentment that comes out at certain times."
"I understand. And it's okay," she replied quickly. "I've been hurt, too. By my people. It's maybe harder to forgive them, because they don't want to listen and they don't want to learn, but …," she smiled through her tears, took a shaky breath, "You really want to start over?"
"That's what I said." Giles smiled, and the smile made his face younger, even more handsome if it was possible. "But it has to wait. At least until we find a solution, something, anything, to make the situation more bearable for Buffy and Angel. It seems they had a fight last night, and Angel indicated he was thinking about leaving Sunnydale."
"Oh, no."
"Yes. And Buffy was acting very strange this morning. I'm afraid you were right all along. You remember telling me you weren't sure she was able to go on without him?"
"Yes." Jenny nodded gravely, then suddenly remembered why she'd come in the first place. Pulling her hand from Giles's grasp, she reached for the printouts. "Here," she told him, "I found this today on the net. It's in Russian. I'm not very good at it, but as far as I can read it, it might be of help."
His face intent, Giles reached behind him, produced the sheets Willow had given him in the morning, "Willow found this," he explained, handing it to Jenny, picking hers up in the process. "It's French. It gives a lot of hints. Maybe those together…," his voice trailed off, his concentration already on the words in Cyrillic.
Jenny looked at his profile, suddenly feeling almost giddy. He wanted to start over. Maybe they would have a chance together after all. She could hardly believe it. With a smile on her face she began to read.
*****
With a kick of her leg, Buffy slammed the door of the factory open, storming inside like a bullet, her eyes frantically searching for Angel. Before she could find him, several of Spike's minions charged the small group, attacking with furious growls.
As if they were only annoying distractions, she staked them left and right, kicking them, punching them, she sent another flying into a wooden chair, the furniture breaking in the process, one leg impaling the demon straight through the heart. When there were only three minions left, she left them with her friends, already focussed on a small group in the opposite corner, a peroxide blond in a wheelchair, a black-haired woman in a read gown, and a tall, dark stranger, who was talking in a strange voice, using an unknown language, holding a book in his hands.
She saw Spike whirling around, shouting at his remaining minions to get down and take care of the Slayer. She only heard parts of it, her eyes resting on a figure, chained to the wall, huddled in the corner, a figure who, without any doubt, was Angel.
"Angel!," she shouted, staking another charging vampire, that was coming down the stairs.
She saw Angel's eyes snap open. They seemed darker than usual, almost black, and they held something she'd rarely seen in them before. Fear. Angel was afraid, and in realising that, she also understood what was happening. The dark, tall stranger wasn't just talking, he was chanting. And it didn't take a genius to know what all the chanting was about. He was trying to take Angel's soul away.
"NOOOOOO," she yelled, whirling around, kicking another vampire, staking a second one, without even looking, behind her back. Willow, Xander, and Oz were joining her now, obviously having gotten rid of the vampires at the entrance. The odds seemed better for a moment, but then Drusilla was there, throwing Xander against a pillar with a single blow. But Buffy didn't care, couldn't care, hearing the constant chanting of the stranger, she left her friends, and with two strides was behind him, kicking him in the back, sending him into the wall, the book flying in the opposite direction.
Ignoring Spike in his wheelchair, she knelt down, her hand cupping Angel's cheek, her voice urgent, "Are you alright?"
"Fine," he managed, but she could see he was already weakened by the parts of the spell the stranger had performed.
"It'll be okay," she said, but before she could open his chains, Angel shouted urgently, "Willow."
Buffy turned around, just in time to see Drusilla bending Willow's neck to in an unnatural angle, clearly in order to break it any moment. "I'll be back," she told Angel, then sprinted through the factory, attacking the insane vampire before she could finish what she had started. Willow sank to the ground, but Buffy saw she was reaching for her neck, rubbing it, and released a breath of relief. She punched Drusilla again, the vampire staggering backwards, when Spike joined the battle, a long wooden bar in his hands aiming at Oz.
"Look out," Buffy cried, glad when the bar missed Oz' head by a mere inch. The same moment, she heard a noise from the other end of the factory. From the corner of her eye Buffy saw the stranger stir, then crawling towards an object that was lying a few feet away. His hand reached out for the book, she saw it grabbing it, and a never known panic seized her.
Forgetting everything around her, she started towards the stranger, determined to stop what she knew he was about to finish. The stranger's body was contorted with pain, his eyes half-closed, but even through the slits Buffy could see the evil shining from them, making her stomach churn.
She blocked it out, tried to push everything away, concentrating only to reach him in time, the factory seeming huge all of a sudden.
She heard him start to chant, saw Angel's eyes behind him locking into hers, a quiet apology in them, a silent goodbye. No, she wanted to shout but her voice didn't obey, her legs feeling like lead, moving too slow, even though she was steadily coming closer. But would it be in time? Could it be?
She was close now, the stranger almost in her reach, when a body came flying from the side, tackling into her, the momentum of the impact carrying both bodies into the side wall with a loud crack, a shrill voice screeching, "NOOOOO! You're not taking my Daddy away," and Drusilla's sharp claws reaching for the Slayer's throat.
Buffy felt dizzy for a moment, but managed to shake the insane vampire off of her, Drusilla slamming against some trash stacked in a corner, her whimper like that of a sick child. "Daddy, daddy, daddy." The Slayer heard Spike growl at the other end of the factory, but ignored it, hoping Willow, Xander and Oz would hold him in check with crosses and Holy Water for another while. He was still in a wheelchair, after all, and not as dangerous as usual.
Her eyes were searching Angel but the moment they found him, she felt her stomach fall through the bottom. His eyes were closed, he seemed far away. The stranger was lying nearby, an eerie smile on his lips, when he whispered, "It's done."
… to be continued
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