CHAPTER 30: LIVING NIGHTMARES
"The Council has ordered the kill."
"Rumor has it that they restored its soul before it even rose."
"Weatherby, that's none of our concern. Soul or no soul, the Council can't have a failure such as a turned slayer roaming the world, especially not with Angelus as its mate. We already know that she never did obey orders and she doesn't like the Council. Imagine what she and Angelus could do if they decided to… try and harm it."
"You're right. As soon as possible, we will take them both out. What about the human allies?"
"Those people, among them two ex watchers, have perverted everything the Council stands for. We have no orders to aim at them, but if need be we take them all out and destroy the evidence."
Angel studied Buffy in her sleep. She lay curled up, just a few inches away from him. Usually, lying this close to her, he would feel the warmth from her body. When things were as they were supposed to. Now there was nothing. She was breathing, but simply because her body was used to it, not because she needed to. Even in her sleep, which was sound and calm for once, she had a slight worried scowl on her face. She was troubled.
Of course she was.
That night three days ago, her first night… he had told her about the day that never happened. She had taken it well considering. Angel suspected that maybe her brain had been shocked and jolted too many times during the last few weeks – the fact that he had been briefly human and they had been happy together, it just couldn't surprise her anymore.
The gang downstairs was still researching. Angel wasn't sure if they had discovered anything groundbreaking since he honestly hadn't participated much during the last few days, but he hoped that they would inform him if they did. The sooner they could move on, the better. He could see Buffy's hope slowly fading for each day that passed.
She had pointed out to him that if catching a Mohra and using its blood as a part of a salvage mission for those who had gotten themselves turned – her phrasing, not his, it would have been used before. And there was no record of it ever happening, except for him of course. Angel knew she was right. Maybe it was farfetched. But he had to try. He could see a part of her slowly dying all over again when she realized that maybe; just maybe she would remain like she was. Forever.
A vampire, almost 20 years of age for all eternity. That she would watch all her friends grow old and die… that she would never get to go out in the sunlight again, or brush her hair in front of the mirror, or feel the taste of Cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip ice cream. It was hard to imagine it.
At the same time she had to battle her inner demon – which wasn't non-existent just because she had her soul, come to terms with facing her friend who she had avoided pretty much the whole time since she rose, and deal with her conflicted feelings towards Angel.
He hadn't said a word about anything concerning their relationship. Say they did clear this up… and she was turned human again. What would he do, leap into his Angel-mobile and breeze back to LA? And… if they didn't clear it up? Now there wasn't just one curse to consider, but two. Not that Buffy could even imagine feeling close to perfectly happy. Ever.
Buffy had asked Angel, if they managed to get blood from a Mohra – would he turn himself human as well? He had no answer to that question. He wanted more than anything to spend a human life with Buffy, but things hadn't changed since Thanksgiving last year.
If they were both turned human, he would still be the ordinary guy – well, as ordinary as a 247 year old ex vampire would ever be – and she would be the Slayer. He would still be the burden.
Buffy had argued that her friends were "just" ordinary humans. They didn't get her killed. That might be true, but apart from them, Angel would never accept having to give up the fighting to stay behind and be the bookworm or the doughnut getting guy.
He had a horrible vision of himself and Xander driving to the supermarket to shop for "chocolatey goodness" – again, not his expression, while Buffy and Spike went to avert the apocalypse.
Angel stretched out a hand and tucked a few stray blonde hairs behind her ear. She was so beautiful. Usually, lying close to her, just studying her, taking in her presence like this would make him happy – well, at least so happy he would let himself be. Now, he could only think about the fact that he should be listening to her steady heartbeat, and her cheeks should be rosy – healthy and alive. At least the danger of perfect happiness wouldn't be a problem for a long time. How could he ever feel truly happy, knowing that he had done this to the woman he loved?
He let his fingers run softly over her face, feeling guilt overwhelm him again when he discovered the tear tracks on her cheeks. She had been crying herself to sleep, and cried while she slept. She rarely cried when she knew that he saw it. Angel felt his soul practically scream out, asking him how he could do this to her. Would her torment never get to end?
She opened her eyes slowly, waking up. She smiled faintly at the sight of him, trying to focus on his face instead of everything else. She had been dreaming again. Having been the Slayer, she was used to strange dreams – but these were something else.
She was having killing dreams. She saw herself and Angel, together, killing. There was so much pain and violence and brutality that she spontaneously wiped her hands against her clothes when she woke up to remove imaginary blood.
She was a monster. Maybe she had her soul to keep her from acting it out, but she was a beast. The fact that she had a beast inside her that would love to make her dreams reality was the only reason she was alive at all.
"Morning," Angel said, smiling, trying to cover his sad expression. It didn't work. Buffy could see that his smile never quite reached his eyes. He felt so bad, so sad and disgusted with himself. At least they were a perfectly matched couple, what with the ongoing synchronized depressions and all.
"Is it morning?" She tried to see her clock radio, but Angel was lying in the way.
"It's noon," he provided. "But still." She nodded.
"Yeah."
"How… um. How are you?" It was hard for him to ask the question. It seemed so ridiculous. Buffy understood. It was hard to answer it, too. Whatever she said seemed silly.
"I'm… I'm not sure," she managed finally, distracted by a very vivid vision of herself smacking Willow until she bled, drinking happily from her savaged throat.
She had started to learn it now. It was the demon, and the brutal visions were getting worse when it was hungry. Or was it when she was hungry? When she was, she could barely be close to a person without going insane.
Their heartbeat would be like a drum in her ears. She could barely carry on a conversation because of it. The smell of their skin, of their blood… Angel had gone out for a few minutes without thinking about letting her feed from him first yesterday, and during that time she had tried to talk to Giles. Her first one-on-one conversation.
It had ended with her having to run outside, taking out her feral aggressions on a tree outside her house. She had been so violent and blinded that she hadn't even noticed that she had slammed and ripped large chunks from it.
When she saw what she had done she had been so terrified by herself – by the fact that her demon wanted that to be Giles she ripped apart, not a tree, that she had escaped upstairs and locked herself in her room. Angel had found her there, lying on the bed in fetal position, shaking and crying.
And he had made it all better. He had cleaned off her bloody knuckles, and he had let her feed. That was the point where she understood that she would have to learn to drink animal blood straightly from a glass like Angel. He was with her most of the time, but sometimes he had to go away, and she was too much of a danger to have around if she couldn't soothe her raging demon by herself.
"I'm… I guess I'm…"
"Hungry?" he filled in. Buffy nodded silently. Her cheeks would have flushed – if they could have. He knew it. Of course he did. He had been through it all – becoming a vampire, getting a soul. Trying to adjust to living as a man with a demon inside. Or was it the other way around?
"Do you want to…" he made a move to let her drink from him, but she stopped him.
"No… I mean, I must learn to drink… you know, straight from…. Like you do. Sooner or later, right?" Angel looked at her. No, he wanted to tell her. He didn't want her to have to learn that. He wanted to clear this up, not ever having to put her through adjusting to the life as a vampire. But she was right of course. Sensible. It would be simpler if she learned to feed that way. Even though he was pretty sure both of them would miss the intimacy of her drinking from him.
"Okay," he whispered, getting up from the bed. Silently hoping that they wouldn't run into the whole gang as soon as they came downstairs, he took point out of the bedroom.
As soon as Giles, who was in the living room, heard steps coming town the stairs, he got up from his seat and quickly closed the shutters, banishing the blistering sunlight from the room.
"It's all right, you can come down!" he assured them, hoping that Buffy would be with Angel. Usually he came down himself to get blood, but at least there had been a tiny step forward yesterday, when she made the move to carry a conversation with him. He just hoped that she wouldn't feel embarrassed for running outside when she felt the demon taking over.
He didn't know what do to – what to say and how to act, to ensure her that he wasn't feeling uncomfortable in her presence. He wasn't used to what she was, but he wasn't uncomfortable and disgusted. Those were her own feelings towards herself. He saw them enter the room. Yes, she was with him.
"So where is everybody?" Angel asked, just to have something to say. He held Buffy's hand. She seemed to physically press herself against him for comfort, like she was afraid to move around by herself, in her own home. It was heartbreaking to watch.
"Oh, ah. Wesley, and, uh, Cordelia and Gunn are in the dining room. Willow took her books outside, and, um, Anya and, er, Xander are working. Spike took off just recently. Last I saw, he was sprinting down the street with a blanket over his head," Giles said, never taking his gaze off Buffy.
"What about Lorne?" Angel asked. Giles frowned slightly.
"Ah, yes. He went back to Los Angeles yesterday."
"Oh." Angel felt a small pang of guilt when he realized that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings at all. He hadn't had the least idea that Lorne had left.
"Spike really should give up those morning jogs," Buffy commented silently, not looking at Giles as she spoke – but still, at least she was talking. "One of these days he's gonna find himself fitting in an ashtray." Giles studied her. She seemed so much and so little like herself, all at once. Dreadfully awkward.
A visible change was that she was even more bound to Angel than usual, which wasn't at all surprising since he now wasn't only her loved one but also her sire. Their proximity was of course not at all less worrying than usual, Giles thought bitterly. Now it wasn't just Angel's curse to worry about, but also Buffy's. He could only hope that they were both sensible and careful enough not to... risk anything. Of course the curses might not be an issue right now. Giles honestly didn't think that there was any danger of either of them experiencing a moment of true happiness right now. But still…
Giles tried to push away the feelings of loathing and disgust he had for Angel. For her sake, if nothing else. Perhaps for his own as well. He realized that no matter what happened, Angel would be around for a while. He might as well accept it, even though it was hard to ignore everything that he had done. Especially now, when Buffy was a living manifestation of Angelus work.
On some level, he knew that Angel and Angelus were very different. No one needed to tell him that, but it was hard to view them as two completely different entities. They weren't, after all, not even Angel himself had ever claimed that. His demon was inside of him at all times, soul or no soul.
But his feelings didn't matter now. If he wanted what was best for Buffy, and by God, how he wanted that, he would have to set his own feelings aside. Buffy was very fragile right now, and she needed Angel at her side. Giles knew that if Buffy was forced to choose right now, she would certainly choose in Angel's favor.
And Angel… he knew were he stood, and he accepted it.
He cared for them all as friends – more or less, Giles thought, considering the evil glares he and Xander exchanged even when Angel had his soul intact. Buffy was the only one he loved deeply and therefore she was the only one who needed to love him back. She did, and he wasn't the one to stand in her way.
"So, how are you… feeling?" Giles asked Buffy, cursing inwards for not being able to come up with a better question. She shrugged, still not quite meeting his gaze. She looked at his hands, his shoes, at Angel, at the empty teacup on the table and the potted plant in which Spike apparently had left one or two cigarette butts, but not in his eyes.
"I'm… um. You know. Okay. Weird." Giles nodded understandingly, even though he knew that he could never understand, and that she certainly was everything but okay. She wasn't ready to talk about it, and that was alright.
"I mean…" she began, straining with every word. She wanted to get away, get out, hide. She desperately tried to imagine nice things; cute little bunnies in a warm field, puppies, flowers and cotton candy, everything to stop the demon's furious struggle inside her. As soon as she let her concentration drop the puppies turned into bloodthirsty wolves that ripped the bunnies to threads, and the cotton candy became dark clouds that smothered the sun and made the flowers wither and die.
"I guess I know... recognize... some things," she attempted. "I guess the slayer powers and vampire strength is pretty similar." Apart from the fact that the Slayer strength rarely tells you to kill everyone horribly and dine on their blood, the added in thought.
Giles nodded. "Yes, I should expect so."
"Think the biggest difference is that drinking blood doesn't gross me out anymore," she went on, concentrating on forming words to keep the visions away. It seemed to work for the moment. "But, you know, I figure I might as well put this vampire thing to use as long as I have it. I'm 98 percent more invincible than before… and hey, big ixnay on the hangovers."
Giles frowned. He could tell that Buffy wasn't keeping her rant up because she suddenly felt so much like making small talk. She looked slightly queasy. When he raised his hand to scratch himself on the side of the neck, she stiffened suddenly, staring at him almost pleadingly.
Ah. Of course.
"Willow… ah, Willow went to the butcher's shop earlier this morning," Giles said slowly, taking his hand down again, making no sudden movements. "There should be fresh animal blood in the refrigerator."
"Good, that's… good." Angel nudged Buffy in the side a little jolting her out of her trance like state. Looking ashamed and disgusted, again, she followed him silently into the kitchen.
Angel pulled out a chair for Buffy, encouraging her to sit down while he prepared the blood. Fetching two cups he got the large plastic container or blood from the fridge. He glanced quickly at Buffy. She looked painfully depressed again.
She stared down at a napkin that she was working on ripping to little pieces, arranging the leftovers in a small pile. Angel knew the frustration. The demon wanted to destroy, to take what it wanted and drink deeply to fulfill its bloodlust, and even though Buffy's good soul kept it back, it was hard.
Angel had slipped and let the demon win just a little too much ground as late as more than 70 years after he got his soul back the first time. The demon never stopped trying, the fight against it never ended, but he wasn't going to tell Buffy that. She didn't need to know it, after all, since her demon wasn't supposed to get an eternity to torment her.
Filling the cups to the brim he put them in the microwave. As soon as the blood started to warm up, the scent caught Buffy's attention. To her the smell was intoxicating. It was blood, and by now her demon was prepared to settle for any kind of blood it could get.
To Angel, the smell was repulsive. His demon on the other hand, was still suffering from withdrawal symptoms from drinking human blood… from drinking Slayer blood. But it didn't matter. He was used to forcing his inner demon down; to ignore its furious screams after the kind of nourishment it wanted.
Buffy got up from her chair, studying the mugs in the microwave.
"What kind of blood is it?" she asked.
"Pig," he replied.
"How do you know?"
"The smell... it's… greasy," he practically choked out, turning off the microwave. The blood had reached normal body temperature, which was where it had the most taste. And smell. The stench of the crap was really horrible when compared with human blood.
He held out a cup for her, and she grabbed it, seeming fascinated by its content. Her demon was too hungry to allow her to even think about what she was doing. Feeling like he should set a good example, Angel forced himself to take a sip and keep his cool. Buffy followed his example.
