Summary: When an unforeseen evil once again threatens to destroy the world,
Buffy and the gang, along with some unexpected help, join together to
release a reluctant champion from the clutches of hell. But will he be the
prophesized savior or will he destroy them all?
Notes: Contains spoilers from BtVS seasons one through three.
Feedback: Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.
Chapter Six
He awoke slowly, a strange lethargy clinging to him relentlessly. He moved carefully, his body tensely awaiting the expected pain that never came. He sat up, a dizziness overtaking him for a moment, forcing him to slow down. He raised his head as soon as he felt steady enough to do so, and was startled to see a small blonde figure draped across a chair beside him.
"Buffy?" He murmured. The figure stirred slightly in her sleep, strands of golden hair falling across her cheek, tickling the long, dark lashes. Is this real? He wondered. He remembered waking, before. People staring down at him, then leaving quietly. He shook his head trying to sort fragments of memory from dream, the effort making his head spin.
He rose to his feet, tenderly testing his body, but still no pain came. Other than the strange fog in his mind and an irritating chafing against his skin he felt perfectly fine.
He smiled, the expression slightly odd across his pale features, there was one thing he could take care of. With a few quick motions he tore away at the bandages wrapped around his body, wincing slightly at the dried blood splattered across everything, mute evidence of near fatal wounds. He rubbed away at the bits clinging to him, brown flakes dropping away to expose unblemished pale skin.
Silently he walked across the room, flexing his stiff muscles, relishing in the feel of a healthy body. A small pile of clothes rested on a chair in a corner of the room, suddenly very aware of his nudity he tied a pair of sweatpants to his waist.
He could feel something pulling at him from outside, calling to him with the sweet voice of memory. Fire crackled in the hearth, emitting a soft inviting glow that beckoned him to stay. He ignored the golden warmth as the pull grew harder, more demanding.
He moved toward the garden, the fog in his mind making all conscious thought impossible. His body led the way surely, although it had been uncountable centuries since he had last walked these halls.
He saw her picking roses in the garden, her pale dress mingling curiously with her skin in the wan moonlight, making her seem sensuously nude. Her dark hair was elaborately made around her face, framing her delicate features with a startling clash of black against white.
For a moment memory mixed with reality. He saw her as she once was; innocent and lovely, fresh and full of life. Then a breeze brought the cloying stench of death to his senses and reality planted itself firmly in his bewildered mind.
"Drusilla..." He murmured, his voice gruff and unsteady.
She turned toward him allowing him to see the true difference between memory and reality; all light of sanity was gone from her eyes. "Angel," she whispered, her little-girl voice grating against his tender nerves. She eyed him appreciatively, taking in his smooth bare chest and the flimsy cloth covering him from waist down. "Not my Angel anymore," she murmured sadly.
"Was I ever?" He asked. The haze in his mind was beyond his control now, and he felt as though he was moving in a dream. The moon's silvery light drew an ethereal quality, painting the world in unrelenting shades of black and white. Her skin seemed to glow in that light, her face a masterpiece of creation spoiled only by the dark light of madness beaming in her eyes.
She giggled sweetly and brought a rose to her lips, sniffing at it coyly. "You were always my Angel. Even when you thought I was yours and made me scream out your name..."
"When you were human?"
She nodded, "and later when your heart reeked of the Slayer," her voice took a hard edge, her fingers callously crushing the delicate rose. "You were such a bad daddy and even then you were mine. Every time you wouldn't kill me, every time you wouldn't let that nasty Slayer kill me." She looked at him sadly, her fingers reaching up to touch him, "but you're not mine anymore. You're hers."
She had cut herself from the rose's thorns. Her fingers were bloody, a disgusting dark contrast against the chalky whiteness of her skin, but he let her touch him anyway. "Whose am I, Dru?" His voice was deceptively patient.
She looked at him as if she could see right through him and giggled, her fingers tracing a bloody signature on his pale chest. "Do you know why the Slayer brought you out of hell?" She asked, completely ignoring his question.
He took a deep, unnecessary breath. A small flame of anger began to smolder in his gut. Inhaling deeply again to control that flame he shook his head.
The dark vampiress glanced around as if afraid of eavesdroppers. He bravely resisted an urge to break her neck. "You're supposed to save the world," she confided. "Or destroy it." Then she laughed, no longer a little girl's laugh, a laugh full of malicious hate. "The moon sings to me. She tells me you don't know who you are. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?"
The small flame in his gut rose to a full-blown inferno, he could feel his face changing even as he took a menacing step toward his insane childe. "What are you talking about, Dru?" He demanded.
"Impotent!" She screeched at him, "all that power, all that rage and still you're impotent!"
He lost control, grabbing her roughly by the waist he pinned her against his body, "am I impotent, Drusilla?" He snarled, pushing against her, forcing her to feel him, to acknowledge him. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, a dark warning to the ease with which he could end her life. She paused only to laugh in his face before sinking her fangs into his lips. Realizing he was fooled he dug his claws into her cool skin, pulling her away from him.
She broke away with a soft growl, her demon marring her perfect features, "so powerful, and so impotent," she moaned, his blood dripping from her lips, staining her chin crimson.
"I think you'd better leave now, Dru," A calm, hard voice said from behind them. Buffy stood leaning against the door, subtly toying with a sharp stake, her eyes as hard as flint.
The vampiress backed away with a snarl, fear evident on her demonic face, "sometimes, when the moon would hide from me and the nights were dark," she whispered in a child's voice, her eyes never leaving the Slayer. "I could hear you screaming in hell." Only then she risked a glance at her Sire, "It used to make me want to laugh," She told him as she disappeared into the night.
"Are you all right?" Buffy asked softly. Angel snarled, his lip had already healed, but the blood dripping down his demonic features made him seem like an insane beast in the darkness. She waited as his anger slowly drained and his face reverted back to its human facade.
He watched her leaning against the doorway, her lithe body filled with catlike grace, firelight from inside made her hair blaze like a golden halo. "You're hurt," she said, reaching up delicate fingers to his lips.
For a single moment memory and reality mixed in his tortured brain. He could see his lover's face clearly in the soft moonlight, and just as clearly he could see a demon's face, lovely and perfect, sneering at him with contempt. He instinctively recoiled from her, "don't touch me!" He gasped, the words flying out of his mouth beyond his control, fear shining in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she choked, the words holding more meaning than she could ever explain. "You slept through the entire day, and when I woke up and couldn't find you after you nearly," for the first time she noticed his bare chest, marked only by his childe's blood and her eyes narrowed with confusion, "died," she finished lamely. "Angel, what happened to your wounds?"
You don't know who you are. He brought a trembling hand to his lips, wiping away at the drying blood. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are? "Is it true?" He asked. "Did you bring me back so I could fight some evil?"
She flinched as though he had struck her a blow, "damn Drusilla!" She muttered. "It's not like that," she explained lamely, "it was just this weird coincidence where we had one part of the key and Spike had the other part. I guess we needed some sort of mutual crises to come together and..."
He ran a shaking hand through his soft, dark hair, "I think I need to be alone now, Buffy."
She reached out for him instinctively, "Angel, I..."
"Please, Buffy!"
She nodded weakly, her hand dropping lamely beside her, "I'll come see you later tonight," she promised. He nodded as she disappeared into the night, a distracted gesture of a man with too much on his mind.
Confusion eddied around him when she left, slivers of memory cutting at him with jagged edges of truth. A bullwhip gleefully biting into his skin, implemented by an insanely laughing demon. Can you feel it? Claws tearing across his body with the abandon of a lover. I love you, Angel.
He sank to his knees on callously discarded rose petals, his hands clasped against his ears, his eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out his senses, trying to shut the memories out. Hellfire burning away his skin, the stench of brimstone boring into every crevice and pore in his body, choking him, suffocating him. Hanging on a cross as the early light of dawn gently burned his awareness away. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?
"Stop!" He screamed. The night carried his voice away, accepting his madness as it echoed into nothing. "Please stop," he begged, his hands dropping to the ground to support his trembling body.
The fog slowly seeped out of his mind, illusive memories clearing way to reality as in a sudden moment of absolute clarity he understood what he had to do.
He's all right, he's just in shock, Buffy murmured to herself as she headed towards the library. Don't touch me. The bitter taste that left in her mouth refused to go away. Did he hate her? Was it so bad that he couldn't stand the mere sight of her? She shook her head trying to dispel the distracting thoughts and tried to concentrate on something more immediate. Those wounds should have taken several months to heal at best, yet they were gone as though they had never existed. And he hadn't even answered her question about them. She shook her head again, she was getting nowhere on her own, she definitely needed to talk this over with Giles.
"Where is Giles?" She asked as she stepped into the library. Her friends were lounging around, talking quietly and reading books. Or in Xander's case eating too many donuts.
"He said he was going home to get some sleep," Cordelia replied, looking up from the book she was reading. "All this time I thought he lived here."
"He does," Xander chuckled, wiping powdered sugar off his nose, "but sometimes he needs some 'me' time away from his books." He peered up at Buffy, "what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with hell-boy."
Buffy winced at the term but said nothing, "he had a little visit from Dru and it shook him up. He said he needed some alone time," she said, trying to make it sound casual.
They stared at her.
"What?" She demanded, as the silence in the dimly lit library became too oppressive.
Cordelia glared at her and Buffy steeled herself, the May-Queen's sharp tongue was not a pleasant thing. "I think what we're trying to say is: 'And you let him?!'"
"Well I couldn't very well force myself on him!" The Slayer retorted without thinking.
"No," Oz agreed quietly as Buffy flushed a bright red, "that would definitely be of the bad."
Cordelia took a deep breath and Buffy winced, the pretty brunette was not through, "what if he goes psycho again?" She demanded, her voice shrilly grating on Buffy's nerves. "What if he starts after you again?" Her soft brown eyes widened as another, more hideous possibility suddenly occurred to her, "what if he starts after me again?" She cried, her voice climbing several octaves.
"Then we kill him," Xander stated coolly, "prophecy or no prophecy."
Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously, "hold on rebel without a clue," she said acidly, her eyes flashing bright anger. "Angel's fine. He's just adjusting, that's all."
"To what," Xander challenged, "life in the fast lane? An all you can eat Sunnydale till the Slayer says stop?"
Willow gasped, "Xander, stop it. We're not going to get anywhere this way."
They were both beyond reason, though, "were you always this jealous of him?" Buffy asked softly as her friend glared at her. "Because you've hated him even before he gave you reason too."
He barked a tense laugh, "yeah, all I ever wanted was my own personalized tombstone."
"That can always be arranged," Spike said smoothly, an amused expression on his face.
"You know," Xander said wearily, "this place has really been loosing its charm as Slayer headquarters lately."
"I'm just glad he didn't bring miss psycho killer along," Buffy muttered.
Spike's eyes flashed with annoyance, "lay off Dru, Slayer. She's more of a woman than you'll ever be," his eyes narrowed at Buffy's audible snort. "She's rad, bad..."
"And completely mad," Buffy added, a malicious grin spreading across her face.
"Really," Xander asked, a grin plastered on his face. "And all this time I thought she was slutty, smutty and totally nutty."
"Ooh, can I play?" Cordelia squealed as everyone but the seething vampire giggled around her, the tension that had engulfed them thankfully broken.
"Lazy, hazy and a whole lot of crazy," Oz contributed. "Well I do write songs, you know," he added depreciatingly as they grinned at him.
"Oh, I got one," Willow squeaked. "A snore, a bore and a total who..."
"Willow!" Buffy gasped, her eyes shocked.
"Well she is," Willow muttered sullenly.
Spike's eyes flashed, "that's right, kiddies," he snarled, his nostrils flaring. "Piss off the bad ass vampire. Think about that next time you walk into a dark alley at night." He turned his back on the giggling teens with disgust and stomped off out of the library, smacking into his sire in the process. "Of course it'd be you," Spike growled, his hand rubbing his cheek where it impacted roughly with Angel's shoulder. "The Slayer's laughing it up over there."
"I came to see you," Angel said softly, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Were you now?" Spike drawled, contempt and curiosity battling for dominance across his features.
Buffy watched the two vampires standing at the library doors. One dark and tall, his expression a heart wrenching mix of pleading and distress. The other paler, shorter, slimmer, his confident smirk enough to make anyone break into a cold sweat. The contrast between them was intoxicating.
"I need you," the dark vampire whispered, his arm leaning on the doorway for support, "to tell me who I am." His voice was almost soundless, his stance filled with despair. Buffy ached to rush over to him, to support him, but he had asked her not to touch him and he had not come here for her.
Spike's eyes narrowed, "what're you talking about..."
With catlike grace the dark vampire lunged at his childe, all semblance of weakness gone. "Blood runs true," Angel hissed as he grabbed the pale vampire by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll. His eyes glimmered golden, but his face kept its human mask, "I need you to tell me who I am!"
With a quick twist Spike freed himself from the older vampire's grasp, "why should I?" He demanded, his face inhuman as he lost himself to rage.
Angel grabbed him again, this time his hold was unbreakable. He dragged his resisting child so close their faces nearly touched. "Because I am your sire," he hissed.
Spike stopped struggling, but managed to laugh in his sire's face, "and here I thought the in thing to do these days was to stake your sire in the back. I'd be happy to do that," he growled just as menacingly as Angel.
Angel pushed his childe away as he grimaced with remembered pain, "then do it because you need me sane." He muttered, all at once reverting back to weakness.
"He's gone nuts," Xander whispered.
Spike seemed to have the same idea, "you're loosing it," he assessed as he looked the older vampire over.
Angel ran a trembling hand through his unkempt hair. He tried to chuckle, but a sob filtered through instead, "tell me I haven't already."
"Your conscience getting to you, Peaches?" Spike asked with false sympathy. "Remembering the merry old time you had as a bad ass and it hurts you down deep? Tell me, what was hell like? Repent much?"
The dark vampire's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips curled as a snarl rolled from deep within his chest, "oh, it was a real divine comedy," acid dripped from his words. Willow gasped, her lips forming a startled O as she seemed to realize something, then thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut. "You are going to do this for me, Spike. One way or another I'll find out what I need to know."
"I'm not afraid of you anymore! I'm not some cripple you can stake in a heartbeat!"
A wicked smile spread across beautiful pale features, "no, but Dru is."
Spike's eyes widened with disbelief, as for a single solitary moment the only sound in the library was the soft purr of neon lights. "The guy still knows how to brighten up a room," Xander noted to no one in particular.
"You bloody wanker, you wouldn't," Spike said, the tone of his voice indicating he wasn't entirely sure.
"Not if I didn't have to."
Sire and childe glared into each other's eyes, lost in a battle of wills. Finally the younger vampire turned his head away, "then let's do this already," he muttered. Angel nodded, visibly relaxing as he began to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing?" Spike demanded suspiciously.
"You always were a sloppy eater. I don't plan on letting you destroy what little wardrobe I have left."
Buffy gasped. Sloppy eater? "What's happening?" She demanded, her voice coming out shriller than she intended.
Spike cast an almost amused glance at his sire, "didn't you ever tell her about this?"
Angel shook his head. "Never saw any reason too." His shirt had come off, revealing to the relieved Slayer a pale torso cleansed of all bloodstains.
"Of course you didn't, you old Poof." Spike said contemptuously, his confidence returning, as he seemed to gain some semblance of control. "You were always too busy brooding in the dark, pretending to be something you weren't, to look back at the prettier side of what you were." Angel's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he said nothing.
"And you," Spike turned to the Slayer, humor in his eyes, a sly smirk on his face, "you should really find out as much as you can about who you're so dedicated on destroying. After all, there's more to us then just killing and feeding."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Buffy murmured, her attention clearly elsewhere.
Spike's glance followed the direction of her look, his eyes skimming over his sire's perfect torso with little surprise, "show off," he muttered. "There's a special bond between sire and childe," he lectured, his voice ripping the teenagers' attention away from the walking miracle. "A bond made of blood and trust. Do you trust me, Angel?"
Buffy swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking across her body in reaction to Spike's words. Angel crossed his arms across his chest, his legs firmly braced against the polished hardwood table, a true icon of power, "I trust the world to end if you go too far. I trust that you'll writhe in agony in hell if you kill me. So yes, I trust you."
The pale vampire nodded as if expecting nothing less, "that bond allows for certain things, certain truths," he continued smoothly. "In other words, pet," Buffy shuddered as the pale vampire's eyes bore straight into hers, "he's allowing me to see right into his bloody heart. A true honor," he added cynically.
"Can we get on with this?" Angel demanded impatiently.
"Of course," Spike replied calmly, as in one swift motion he lunged at the dark vampire, his face changing only a moment before sinking his fangs deep into his sire's neck.
Buffy gasped with horror. A slender trickle of blood wound its way slowly down Angel's spine, a startling crimson on pale skin. Spike's hands snaked around Angel's body, pulling him closer into his bloody embrace. She could see the slight caressing motion as a hand entwined itself in the soft, dark hair.
The pair twisted, caught together in a drunken dance, yet somehow still graceful as they crushed against each other. Angel's head lifted, his neck fully exposed, his eyes closed and his lips parted in what could have been either torment or pleasure. Buffy could clearly see his fingers clawing at the material of Spike's shirt, ripping long tracks along the pale vampire's back.
A groan rippled across the hushed room, filled with intense desires and emotions that a singular few could understand. The hand across the dark vampire's back drew harder, clawed at pale skin as it demanded more then what simple contact would allow.
There was only the minute warning of golden eyes, flashing for a moment before fangs sank into a pale neck, dark hair mingling intimately with blond. Their bodies both shuddered a moment, shocked at the unexpected violation then pushed even closer together. Hands tearing at soft flesh, hips grinding together with the full force of masculine passion, they moved as one single, undulating body.
Buffy felt hot sweat form on her face, her breath grew heavier, more strained as she watched the vampires move. In a small corner of her mind she wondered what her friends were thinking, how shocked they must be by the vampires' actions, but she was unable to tear her eyes off the pair. Not even to spare a glance their way.
Spike's shirt was in tatters, hanging on his body seemingly by sheer will, blood slightly staining the pale patches of visible skin. Soft suckling sounds broke the tense silence, betraying any illusion of humanity. Spike's knees buckled suddenly, unable to support him under the strain. For a moment it seemed that Angel could hold them both, his more massive girth built for the challenge. Then they toppled, slowly falling, still intimately joined together.
They landed almost gently on their shoulders, clinging to each other a moment before rolling on the floor in a primal contest for dominance. They seemed almost equal in strength for an instant, but the older, more massive vampire finally gained the advantage.
He sprawled over his slimmer childe, his body denying any means of escape as his hips undulated against Spike's body. A slow steady flush crept across Buffy's face, her mind helplessly envisioning herself in Spike's place, her body at once both repulsed and excited by the notion.
Spike's hands drowned in Angel's thick hair, pushing down in open invitation. His legs wrapped around Angel's hips in an almost feminine gesture. Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as her body began to tremble. I shouldn't want him like this, she thought even as her body reacted involuntarily to the blatant sexual energies, I shouldn't be attracted to the demon in him.
They held still for a moment, a sudden contrast to their frenzied motions, then as one they broke apart, rolling away from each other to gasp for unneeded breath on the floor.
The room was quiet, filled only with the artificial sound of purring neon lights. "Man," Xander muttered, his voice slightly shaking, "I will never look at necking the same way again."
Notes: Contains spoilers from BtVS seasons one through three.
Feedback: Any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.
Chapter Six
He awoke slowly, a strange lethargy clinging to him relentlessly. He moved carefully, his body tensely awaiting the expected pain that never came. He sat up, a dizziness overtaking him for a moment, forcing him to slow down. He raised his head as soon as he felt steady enough to do so, and was startled to see a small blonde figure draped across a chair beside him.
"Buffy?" He murmured. The figure stirred slightly in her sleep, strands of golden hair falling across her cheek, tickling the long, dark lashes. Is this real? He wondered. He remembered waking, before. People staring down at him, then leaving quietly. He shook his head trying to sort fragments of memory from dream, the effort making his head spin.
He rose to his feet, tenderly testing his body, but still no pain came. Other than the strange fog in his mind and an irritating chafing against his skin he felt perfectly fine.
He smiled, the expression slightly odd across his pale features, there was one thing he could take care of. With a few quick motions he tore away at the bandages wrapped around his body, wincing slightly at the dried blood splattered across everything, mute evidence of near fatal wounds. He rubbed away at the bits clinging to him, brown flakes dropping away to expose unblemished pale skin.
Silently he walked across the room, flexing his stiff muscles, relishing in the feel of a healthy body. A small pile of clothes rested on a chair in a corner of the room, suddenly very aware of his nudity he tied a pair of sweatpants to his waist.
He could feel something pulling at him from outside, calling to him with the sweet voice of memory. Fire crackled in the hearth, emitting a soft inviting glow that beckoned him to stay. He ignored the golden warmth as the pull grew harder, more demanding.
He moved toward the garden, the fog in his mind making all conscious thought impossible. His body led the way surely, although it had been uncountable centuries since he had last walked these halls.
He saw her picking roses in the garden, her pale dress mingling curiously with her skin in the wan moonlight, making her seem sensuously nude. Her dark hair was elaborately made around her face, framing her delicate features with a startling clash of black against white.
For a moment memory mixed with reality. He saw her as she once was; innocent and lovely, fresh and full of life. Then a breeze brought the cloying stench of death to his senses and reality planted itself firmly in his bewildered mind.
"Drusilla..." He murmured, his voice gruff and unsteady.
She turned toward him allowing him to see the true difference between memory and reality; all light of sanity was gone from her eyes. "Angel," she whispered, her little-girl voice grating against his tender nerves. She eyed him appreciatively, taking in his smooth bare chest and the flimsy cloth covering him from waist down. "Not my Angel anymore," she murmured sadly.
"Was I ever?" He asked. The haze in his mind was beyond his control now, and he felt as though he was moving in a dream. The moon's silvery light drew an ethereal quality, painting the world in unrelenting shades of black and white. Her skin seemed to glow in that light, her face a masterpiece of creation spoiled only by the dark light of madness beaming in her eyes.
She giggled sweetly and brought a rose to her lips, sniffing at it coyly. "You were always my Angel. Even when you thought I was yours and made me scream out your name..."
"When you were human?"
She nodded, "and later when your heart reeked of the Slayer," her voice took a hard edge, her fingers callously crushing the delicate rose. "You were such a bad daddy and even then you were mine. Every time you wouldn't kill me, every time you wouldn't let that nasty Slayer kill me." She looked at him sadly, her fingers reaching up to touch him, "but you're not mine anymore. You're hers."
She had cut herself from the rose's thorns. Her fingers were bloody, a disgusting dark contrast against the chalky whiteness of her skin, but he let her touch him anyway. "Whose am I, Dru?" His voice was deceptively patient.
She looked at him as if she could see right through him and giggled, her fingers tracing a bloody signature on his pale chest. "Do you know why the Slayer brought you out of hell?" She asked, completely ignoring his question.
He took a deep, unnecessary breath. A small flame of anger began to smolder in his gut. Inhaling deeply again to control that flame he shook his head.
The dark vampiress glanced around as if afraid of eavesdroppers. He bravely resisted an urge to break her neck. "You're supposed to save the world," she confided. "Or destroy it." Then she laughed, no longer a little girl's laugh, a laugh full of malicious hate. "The moon sings to me. She tells me you don't know who you are. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?"
The small flame in his gut rose to a full-blown inferno, he could feel his face changing even as he took a menacing step toward his insane childe. "What are you talking about, Dru?" He demanded.
"Impotent!" She screeched at him, "all that power, all that rage and still you're impotent!"
He lost control, grabbing her roughly by the waist he pinned her against his body, "am I impotent, Drusilla?" He snarled, pushing against her, forcing her to feel him, to acknowledge him. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, a dark warning to the ease with which he could end her life. She paused only to laugh in his face before sinking her fangs into his lips. Realizing he was fooled he dug his claws into her cool skin, pulling her away from him.
She broke away with a soft growl, her demon marring her perfect features, "so powerful, and so impotent," she moaned, his blood dripping from her lips, staining her chin crimson.
"I think you'd better leave now, Dru," A calm, hard voice said from behind them. Buffy stood leaning against the door, subtly toying with a sharp stake, her eyes as hard as flint.
The vampiress backed away with a snarl, fear evident on her demonic face, "sometimes, when the moon would hide from me and the nights were dark," she whispered in a child's voice, her eyes never leaving the Slayer. "I could hear you screaming in hell." Only then she risked a glance at her Sire, "It used to make me want to laugh," She told him as she disappeared into the night.
"Are you all right?" Buffy asked softly. Angel snarled, his lip had already healed, but the blood dripping down his demonic features made him seem like an insane beast in the darkness. She waited as his anger slowly drained and his face reverted back to its human facade.
He watched her leaning against the doorway, her lithe body filled with catlike grace, firelight from inside made her hair blaze like a golden halo. "You're hurt," she said, reaching up delicate fingers to his lips.
For a single moment memory and reality mixed in his tortured brain. He could see his lover's face clearly in the soft moonlight, and just as clearly he could see a demon's face, lovely and perfect, sneering at him with contempt. He instinctively recoiled from her, "don't touch me!" He gasped, the words flying out of his mouth beyond his control, fear shining in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she choked, the words holding more meaning than she could ever explain. "You slept through the entire day, and when I woke up and couldn't find you after you nearly," for the first time she noticed his bare chest, marked only by his childe's blood and her eyes narrowed with confusion, "died," she finished lamely. "Angel, what happened to your wounds?"
You don't know who you are. He brought a trembling hand to his lips, wiping away at the drying blood. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are? "Is it true?" He asked. "Did you bring me back so I could fight some evil?"
She flinched as though he had struck her a blow, "damn Drusilla!" She muttered. "It's not like that," she explained lamely, "it was just this weird coincidence where we had one part of the key and Spike had the other part. I guess we needed some sort of mutual crises to come together and..."
He ran a shaking hand through his soft, dark hair, "I think I need to be alone now, Buffy."
She reached out for him instinctively, "Angel, I..."
"Please, Buffy!"
She nodded weakly, her hand dropping lamely beside her, "I'll come see you later tonight," she promised. He nodded as she disappeared into the night, a distracted gesture of a man with too much on his mind.
Confusion eddied around him when she left, slivers of memory cutting at him with jagged edges of truth. A bullwhip gleefully biting into his skin, implemented by an insanely laughing demon. Can you feel it? Claws tearing across his body with the abandon of a lover. I love you, Angel.
He sank to his knees on callously discarded rose petals, his hands clasped against his ears, his eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out his senses, trying to shut the memories out. Hellfire burning away his skin, the stench of brimstone boring into every crevice and pore in his body, choking him, suffocating him. Hanging on a cross as the early light of dawn gently burned his awareness away. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?
"Stop!" He screamed. The night carried his voice away, accepting his madness as it echoed into nothing. "Please stop," he begged, his hands dropping to the ground to support his trembling body.
The fog slowly seeped out of his mind, illusive memories clearing way to reality as in a sudden moment of absolute clarity he understood what he had to do.
He's all right, he's just in shock, Buffy murmured to herself as she headed towards the library. Don't touch me. The bitter taste that left in her mouth refused to go away. Did he hate her? Was it so bad that he couldn't stand the mere sight of her? She shook her head trying to dispel the distracting thoughts and tried to concentrate on something more immediate. Those wounds should have taken several months to heal at best, yet they were gone as though they had never existed. And he hadn't even answered her question about them. She shook her head again, she was getting nowhere on her own, she definitely needed to talk this over with Giles.
"Where is Giles?" She asked as she stepped into the library. Her friends were lounging around, talking quietly and reading books. Or in Xander's case eating too many donuts.
"He said he was going home to get some sleep," Cordelia replied, looking up from the book she was reading. "All this time I thought he lived here."
"He does," Xander chuckled, wiping powdered sugar off his nose, "but sometimes he needs some 'me' time away from his books." He peered up at Buffy, "what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with hell-boy."
Buffy winced at the term but said nothing, "he had a little visit from Dru and it shook him up. He said he needed some alone time," she said, trying to make it sound casual.
They stared at her.
"What?" She demanded, as the silence in the dimly lit library became too oppressive.
Cordelia glared at her and Buffy steeled herself, the May-Queen's sharp tongue was not a pleasant thing. "I think what we're trying to say is: 'And you let him?!'"
"Well I couldn't very well force myself on him!" The Slayer retorted without thinking.
"No," Oz agreed quietly as Buffy flushed a bright red, "that would definitely be of the bad."
Cordelia took a deep breath and Buffy winced, the pretty brunette was not through, "what if he goes psycho again?" She demanded, her voice shrilly grating on Buffy's nerves. "What if he starts after you again?" Her soft brown eyes widened as another, more hideous possibility suddenly occurred to her, "what if he starts after me again?" She cried, her voice climbing several octaves.
"Then we kill him," Xander stated coolly, "prophecy or no prophecy."
Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously, "hold on rebel without a clue," she said acidly, her eyes flashing bright anger. "Angel's fine. He's just adjusting, that's all."
"To what," Xander challenged, "life in the fast lane? An all you can eat Sunnydale till the Slayer says stop?"
Willow gasped, "Xander, stop it. We're not going to get anywhere this way."
They were both beyond reason, though, "were you always this jealous of him?" Buffy asked softly as her friend glared at her. "Because you've hated him even before he gave you reason too."
He barked a tense laugh, "yeah, all I ever wanted was my own personalized tombstone."
"That can always be arranged," Spike said smoothly, an amused expression on his face.
"You know," Xander said wearily, "this place has really been loosing its charm as Slayer headquarters lately."
"I'm just glad he didn't bring miss psycho killer along," Buffy muttered.
Spike's eyes flashed with annoyance, "lay off Dru, Slayer. She's more of a woman than you'll ever be," his eyes narrowed at Buffy's audible snort. "She's rad, bad..."
"And completely mad," Buffy added, a malicious grin spreading across her face.
"Really," Xander asked, a grin plastered on his face. "And all this time I thought she was slutty, smutty and totally nutty."
"Ooh, can I play?" Cordelia squealed as everyone but the seething vampire giggled around her, the tension that had engulfed them thankfully broken.
"Lazy, hazy and a whole lot of crazy," Oz contributed. "Well I do write songs, you know," he added depreciatingly as they grinned at him.
"Oh, I got one," Willow squeaked. "A snore, a bore and a total who..."
"Willow!" Buffy gasped, her eyes shocked.
"Well she is," Willow muttered sullenly.
Spike's eyes flashed, "that's right, kiddies," he snarled, his nostrils flaring. "Piss off the bad ass vampire. Think about that next time you walk into a dark alley at night." He turned his back on the giggling teens with disgust and stomped off out of the library, smacking into his sire in the process. "Of course it'd be you," Spike growled, his hand rubbing his cheek where it impacted roughly with Angel's shoulder. "The Slayer's laughing it up over there."
"I came to see you," Angel said softly, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Were you now?" Spike drawled, contempt and curiosity battling for dominance across his features.
Buffy watched the two vampires standing at the library doors. One dark and tall, his expression a heart wrenching mix of pleading and distress. The other paler, shorter, slimmer, his confident smirk enough to make anyone break into a cold sweat. The contrast between them was intoxicating.
"I need you," the dark vampire whispered, his arm leaning on the doorway for support, "to tell me who I am." His voice was almost soundless, his stance filled with despair. Buffy ached to rush over to him, to support him, but he had asked her not to touch him and he had not come here for her.
Spike's eyes narrowed, "what're you talking about..."
With catlike grace the dark vampire lunged at his childe, all semblance of weakness gone. "Blood runs true," Angel hissed as he grabbed the pale vampire by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll. His eyes glimmered golden, but his face kept its human mask, "I need you to tell me who I am!"
With a quick twist Spike freed himself from the older vampire's grasp, "why should I?" He demanded, his face inhuman as he lost himself to rage.
Angel grabbed him again, this time his hold was unbreakable. He dragged his resisting child so close their faces nearly touched. "Because I am your sire," he hissed.
Spike stopped struggling, but managed to laugh in his sire's face, "and here I thought the in thing to do these days was to stake your sire in the back. I'd be happy to do that," he growled just as menacingly as Angel.
Angel pushed his childe away as he grimaced with remembered pain, "then do it because you need me sane." He muttered, all at once reverting back to weakness.
"He's gone nuts," Xander whispered.
Spike seemed to have the same idea, "you're loosing it," he assessed as he looked the older vampire over.
Angel ran a trembling hand through his unkempt hair. He tried to chuckle, but a sob filtered through instead, "tell me I haven't already."
"Your conscience getting to you, Peaches?" Spike asked with false sympathy. "Remembering the merry old time you had as a bad ass and it hurts you down deep? Tell me, what was hell like? Repent much?"
The dark vampire's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips curled as a snarl rolled from deep within his chest, "oh, it was a real divine comedy," acid dripped from his words. Willow gasped, her lips forming a startled O as she seemed to realize something, then thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut. "You are going to do this for me, Spike. One way or another I'll find out what I need to know."
"I'm not afraid of you anymore! I'm not some cripple you can stake in a heartbeat!"
A wicked smile spread across beautiful pale features, "no, but Dru is."
Spike's eyes widened with disbelief, as for a single solitary moment the only sound in the library was the soft purr of neon lights. "The guy still knows how to brighten up a room," Xander noted to no one in particular.
"You bloody wanker, you wouldn't," Spike said, the tone of his voice indicating he wasn't entirely sure.
"Not if I didn't have to."
Sire and childe glared into each other's eyes, lost in a battle of wills. Finally the younger vampire turned his head away, "then let's do this already," he muttered. Angel nodded, visibly relaxing as he began to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing?" Spike demanded suspiciously.
"You always were a sloppy eater. I don't plan on letting you destroy what little wardrobe I have left."
Buffy gasped. Sloppy eater? "What's happening?" She demanded, her voice coming out shriller than she intended.
Spike cast an almost amused glance at his sire, "didn't you ever tell her about this?"
Angel shook his head. "Never saw any reason too." His shirt had come off, revealing to the relieved Slayer a pale torso cleansed of all bloodstains.
"Of course you didn't, you old Poof." Spike said contemptuously, his confidence returning, as he seemed to gain some semblance of control. "You were always too busy brooding in the dark, pretending to be something you weren't, to look back at the prettier side of what you were." Angel's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he said nothing.
"And you," Spike turned to the Slayer, humor in his eyes, a sly smirk on his face, "you should really find out as much as you can about who you're so dedicated on destroying. After all, there's more to us then just killing and feeding."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Buffy murmured, her attention clearly elsewhere.
Spike's glance followed the direction of her look, his eyes skimming over his sire's perfect torso with little surprise, "show off," he muttered. "There's a special bond between sire and childe," he lectured, his voice ripping the teenagers' attention away from the walking miracle. "A bond made of blood and trust. Do you trust me, Angel?"
Buffy swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking across her body in reaction to Spike's words. Angel crossed his arms across his chest, his legs firmly braced against the polished hardwood table, a true icon of power, "I trust the world to end if you go too far. I trust that you'll writhe in agony in hell if you kill me. So yes, I trust you."
The pale vampire nodded as if expecting nothing less, "that bond allows for certain things, certain truths," he continued smoothly. "In other words, pet," Buffy shuddered as the pale vampire's eyes bore straight into hers, "he's allowing me to see right into his bloody heart. A true honor," he added cynically.
"Can we get on with this?" Angel demanded impatiently.
"Of course," Spike replied calmly, as in one swift motion he lunged at the dark vampire, his face changing only a moment before sinking his fangs deep into his sire's neck.
Buffy gasped with horror. A slender trickle of blood wound its way slowly down Angel's spine, a startling crimson on pale skin. Spike's hands snaked around Angel's body, pulling him closer into his bloody embrace. She could see the slight caressing motion as a hand entwined itself in the soft, dark hair.
The pair twisted, caught together in a drunken dance, yet somehow still graceful as they crushed against each other. Angel's head lifted, his neck fully exposed, his eyes closed and his lips parted in what could have been either torment or pleasure. Buffy could clearly see his fingers clawing at the material of Spike's shirt, ripping long tracks along the pale vampire's back.
A groan rippled across the hushed room, filled with intense desires and emotions that a singular few could understand. The hand across the dark vampire's back drew harder, clawed at pale skin as it demanded more then what simple contact would allow.
There was only the minute warning of golden eyes, flashing for a moment before fangs sank into a pale neck, dark hair mingling intimately with blond. Their bodies both shuddered a moment, shocked at the unexpected violation then pushed even closer together. Hands tearing at soft flesh, hips grinding together with the full force of masculine passion, they moved as one single, undulating body.
Buffy felt hot sweat form on her face, her breath grew heavier, more strained as she watched the vampires move. In a small corner of her mind she wondered what her friends were thinking, how shocked they must be by the vampires' actions, but she was unable to tear her eyes off the pair. Not even to spare a glance their way.
Spike's shirt was in tatters, hanging on his body seemingly by sheer will, blood slightly staining the pale patches of visible skin. Soft suckling sounds broke the tense silence, betraying any illusion of humanity. Spike's knees buckled suddenly, unable to support him under the strain. For a moment it seemed that Angel could hold them both, his more massive girth built for the challenge. Then they toppled, slowly falling, still intimately joined together.
They landed almost gently on their shoulders, clinging to each other a moment before rolling on the floor in a primal contest for dominance. They seemed almost equal in strength for an instant, but the older, more massive vampire finally gained the advantage.
He sprawled over his slimmer childe, his body denying any means of escape as his hips undulated against Spike's body. A slow steady flush crept across Buffy's face, her mind helplessly envisioning herself in Spike's place, her body at once both repulsed and excited by the notion.
Spike's hands drowned in Angel's thick hair, pushing down in open invitation. His legs wrapped around Angel's hips in an almost feminine gesture. Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as her body began to tremble. I shouldn't want him like this, she thought even as her body reacted involuntarily to the blatant sexual energies, I shouldn't be attracted to the demon in him.
They held still for a moment, a sudden contrast to their frenzied motions, then as one they broke apart, rolling away from each other to gasp for unneeded breath on the floor.
The room was quiet, filled only with the artificial sound of purring neon lights. "Man," Xander muttered, his voice slightly shaking, "I will never look at necking the same way again."