Chapter 2

Buffy woke an hour or so later. She stretched her arm out, and her brain stopped when she felt an empty bed.

She sat up slowly, blinking. "Angel?" she called softly. She sat all the way up, clutching the sheet around her. "Angel?" She swung her legs over the side of the bed and wrapped the red sheet around her like a toga. "Angel, where are you?"

She searched through the rest of the rooms, calling out his name. No answer. Frantic, she rushed outside. "Angel? Angel!" She circled the mansion, but Angel was nowhere to be seen. Moreover, there was no car anywhere nearby.

He couldn't have just left. He said he wanted to start again, he wanted to make their relationship work.

She was in tears as she rushed back inside to put on her clothes. Great, heaving sobs were punctuated by sniffles as she searched for her other shoe, the sheet wrapped around her.

"Buffy? Oh God, honey, what's wrong?" And then he was there, kneeling beside her in his suit pants. "Buffy?" He pushed her hair out of her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Talk to me."

She was breathing heavy and still crying, but she tried to explain. "I-I woke up and you weren't there. I went to find you and – and you weren't in the other rooms. Then I went outside and your car wasn't there."

His face, taut with concern, softened in understanding. "Ach, caraid, t'aim doiligh." He hugged her tight, maneuvering himself onto the bed next to her. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. I didn't think. You're right, my car wasn't out there. I – I got a ride here; it's a bit of a long story." As she calmed down, he rocked her gently. "I just got up to get you something from my bags and take a bath. I must have come out just as you went outside."

Buffy sniffed and rested her head on his shoulder, her face turned away. "I was so worried. I thought maybe the First had messed with my head or something."

Angel pulled back slightly and grabbed an accordion file from the edge of the bed. "It's the First Evil, right? The power that tried to convince me to kill myself."

"Yeah. It's gotten a little more ambitious since then. It's raising an army."

"Well, it failed once. I'm here to help you make sure it fails again."

"I'm glad you're here," she said adoringly. "You can help me take on this preacher. His army is guarding something at a vineyard. I think they've got a weapon there."

"Sounds like a plan. We can hand these," he pulled out some papers from the file, "off to the gang."

"Yeah. I'll have them see if there's anything new. Reliable source?"

"Not remotely," he assured her.

She took a breath. "Well, any port in an apocalypse."

"I've got a couple of other things, too."

He pulled out a tremendously gaudy amulet and held it out for Buffy, whose eyes widened at the sheer tackiness of it. "I can already tell you, I don't have anything that goes with this."

"It's not for you."

She was surprised. "'Splainy?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't know everything. It's very powerful and probably very dangerous. Has a purifying power … or a cleansing power …" He glanced at it "… or possibly scrubbing bubbles. The translation is … anyway, it bestows strength, worn by the right person."

She pondered that. "And the right person is …?"

"Someone ensouled. But stronger than human. A Champion." A beat. "As in me."

She gestured to herself. "Or me."

"No," he said firmly. "I don't know nearly enough about this to risk you wearing it."

"So you're going to be with me in this."

"Shoulder to shoulder," Angel told her. "I'm yours."

Buffy looked at him warmly. "And I'm yours. Forever."

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd feel that way." He stood and made his way over to his coat. Pulling something from a pocket, he approached the bed and kneeled in front of her.

In his hand, he had a blue tin for Peppermint Altoids. He opened it facing her, and tears sprang to her eyes at the simple, elegant item inside.

A silver band that formed a pair of hands, holding a crowned heart.

Her Claddagh ring.

She smiled through her tears and reached for it. Angel took her right hand and slipped the ring on her finger, heart pointing back towards her wrist.

He kissed her knuckles, then leaned forwards to kiss her lips. She gently slipped her tongue into his mouth and pulled him up on the bed.

He shoved the sheet away from her body and let his hands roam, pulling her on top. She reached down and unzipped his pants. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her eyes and her nose, his fingers tangled in her hair as she moved his pants down.

He slipped his knee between her legs, rubbing his thigh against her. She moaned his name, wrapping her legs around him. He entered her gently, his lips returning to hers.

The fire crackled as the soul mates joined again. Their passion grew to such a violent height, Angel vamped out and bit her just under her chin. He was startled and tried to pull away, but Buffy held his head to her neck.

"I want this, Angel," she breathed as she moved beneath him. "I'm making my choice. Stake your claim."

He drank deeply from her as she climaxed, and stilled his movements. She moaned, her thigh caressing his bare hip. "Angel," she begged him to stop. He grunted, and finally pulled himself away.

He took a candle from the nightstand and scrambled over to his bag for his first aid kit. He grabbed all the bandages he saw and a small cooler.

He handed her the bandages, which she pressed to her neck. She laid on her other side, so gravity would help pull the blood on the surface away from her wound.

When the blood flow receded and the cut began to clot, Angel taped a fresh bandage to her neck. He kissed her forehead and gently pushed her onto her back. She smiled weakly at him.

He picked up the cooler and opened it, revealing two packs of blood and a transfusion kit. Buffy frowned in confusion as he brought it over. "Emergency kit," he explained. "In case Wes or Cordy … you know."

"Smart," she whispered.

"Pump your fist," he ordered, taking out the tubes and setting up the bag end.

She obeyed, allowing him to find the vein he needed and stick the transfusion needle into her elbow joint. He squeezed the bag to start the blood flow.

She whimpered as the cold liquid hit her bloodstream. Angel held the bag at his shoulder and caressed her forehead.

After he switched bags, she drowsily closed her eyes.

"Hey," he poked her in the stomach, "stay with me here."

She blinked a few times and smiled at him. "So after this, we head for the vineyard?"

"As soon as you're rested."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't rest, Angel, the Potentials could be dying."

"As soon as I'm sure you won't topple over in a fight, then."

She grinned sleepily at him. "I did it for Graduation," she teased.

He leaned over, holding the nearly empty blood bag in the air, and kissed her sweetly.

A fist connected with his temple that sent him rolling over the bed and onto the floor.

Buffy lifted her head, confused. "What the-"

"Buffy, are you alright?" Spike loomed over her, shaking her shoulders.

"Spike, what the hell are you thinking?"

He didn't have a chance to answer; Angel's fist slammed into his jaw.

"Stay away from my mate, Captain Peroxide," Angel ground out from under his game face.

"You bloody wanker, what the hell'd you do to her?"

"Claimed what was mine."

"Claimed!" Spike stared at Angel, then looked at Buffy. He saw the bandage, the transfusion kit, realized neither of them was wearing any clothes, and it clicked. "You stupid whore, are you crazy!"

Angel punched him. "Watch your language, that's my girlfriend you're talking to."

Buffy wrapped the sheet around her, pulled the tube out of her arm, and got off the bed. Her knees buckled, so she crawled over to Angel's bag in search of a stake. She loaded up his crossbow and fired a bolt in between the combatants. She quickly reloaded as they looked around, bewildered.

Angel rushed over to her in concern, but she lifted her crossbow slightly. He stopped in his tracks. "Buffy, you need to rest."

"I'll rest when the two of you call a truce."

Spike scoffed, and Angel's shoulders sagged.

"Buffy," he began.

"You don't have to become best friends, but you do have to agree not to kill each other."

Angel rolled his eyes and went over to pull on his clothes.

"Why the hell do you want him?" Spike asked. "He's just gonna leave you."

"Not this time," she said, her hand steady. She smiled up at Angel as he dropped her clothes next to her.

He leaned in close and placed a kiss behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll be right outside."

"Thanks."

After Angel left, Buffy put the crossbow on the bed and started to get dressed.

"Look, Spike," she said wearily. "I know that you mean well."

"Buffy, I love you."

"No, Spike, you don't. You think you know me, but you don't. I had to become different when Angel left. I thought there was something wrong with me. So, I tried to fix it. But, there wasn't anything wrong with either one of us. We just had to figure out who we were, away from each other."

"So it's goodbye to the people who helped you?"

Her face fell, and she closed her eyes. "It's not like that. I can never love you the way you want me to, the way you deserve to be loved. But Angel …" She looked in Angel's direction, and a dreamy smile appeared on her face. "I'm sorry, Spike, but I love him. Angel makes me happy. It's not being with him that makes me miserable."

"I used you to feel closer to him, and for that I'm sorry. I'd like to be your friend. I'd like to help you get used to your soul. Angel's offered to help with that, too."

Spike scoffed, his face displaying his hurt.

Buffy stood, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans to straighten the insides out.

"You were right, by the way," he said suddenly.

"About what?"

"Caleb is protecting something from you. And I think you were spot on all the way. I think it's at the vineyard." He turned, following her out of the bedroom.

"That's where we're headed, then," Angel said, having heard the tail end of their conversation. "Right?" he asked Buffy, somehow sensing she needed to be deferred to by the two vampires.

"Yes, indeed," she replied. He held out his hand, expecting to take her arm, but she laced her fingers through his. Pleasantly surprised, he gave her one of his Buffy smiles – a soft smile reserved just for her. "You gonna come with us, Spike?"

Angel was careful to keep his expression blank. He didn't want the blond to think he was completely unwelcome, and in a fight of this importance, three were better than two.

But Spike said no. "I'd better not."

Angel gave him an understanding look. Having a soul had changed him, Angel could see that. He offered Spike his right hand and said quietly, "You need help, come see me. I'm still your Sire in every way that counts."

"Piss off, you ponce." He shook Angel's hand anyway, who was grinning, and warned him: "You break her heart, I'll bloody rip yours out."

"I know." He followed Buffy out of the mansion.

Angel attacked the Bringers with the sword he's stashed in his bag. He'd be the diversion while Buffy went looking for whatever it was that belonged to her.

He used the blade of his sword to parry one attack from his right, and stopped a knife on his left with a hard chop to his assailant's wrist. He planted his foot in the stomach of the Bringer on his right, pivoting and moving the sword to bear on his left. He stabbed the attacker in the chest, removed the knife from its now-limp hand, and pulled his sword back.

He turned halfway, hurling the knife into the eye of his other opponent. Rushing over, Angel left the knife in his eye but took the one from his hand and moved on. He stopped near his bag and grabbed his crossbow. Taking careful but quick aim with his vampire senses, he felled three more Bringers with the bolts.

Angel dropped the extinguished weapon back on top of his bag, and picked up his borrowed knife. With a huge leap, he barreled into a group of demons, hacking and slashing.

He got several in their vulnerable spots: face and neck, and beheaded a few with his sword. Then he faltered, earning a stab to the ribs for his distraction. He quickly turned and disemboweled the Bringer with both knife and sword, then turned back to the vision that demanded his attention:

Doyle.

Or more specifically, The First, wearing his old partner's face.

It opened Its mouth, and Angel stared hard at the entity, ignoring the soft brogue. The vampire refused to answer or acknowledge it until it stopped pretending to be the dead Irishman.

Finally, It resorted to Jenny, a semblance that had worked once before. "Do you really think you'll be able to help?"

Angel smirked. "You've entirely missed the point. You're not going to win. What these pitiful Scoobies don't realize yet is that it doesn't matter whether you kill us all. We could all die, but you still lose."

"I notice you joined Evil, Inc. pretty quick, Angelus."

"Yeah. And what do you think my friends will do to Wolfram & Hart if I die?" He shook his head. "I thought, after five years, you'd be smarter than this. You may not want to admit it, but I've changed. Your old arguments aren't going to work on me."

"No?" The First asked, changing into Buffy. "So sure about that?"

Angel's smirk widened to a grin. "Spike wouldn't have noticed it, but you don't smell anything like her."

It frowned. "He's a vampire, just like you."

"Yeah. But he doesn't know his own scent when it's on a woman. I do, and you smell like rot. If you were really Buffy, that bite" he pointed "would smell like me." He turned and ignored her then, tossing a knife with lazy accuracy deep into the heart of another Bringer. Behind him, The First disappeared.

Angel visibly relaxed, once his gut instinct told him The First was gone. He slid easily from one defensive pose to the next, his daily Tai Chi exercises of years past coming back as he focused on his movements.

His leather duster swirled as it caught the air, its owner spinning to fend off attackers on all sides. He parried with his sword, using it almost like a shield. The knives he stole were his primary weapons, and for every knife he embedded into the neck or forehead or ear of a Bringer, he replaced it in his arsenal with the one in their hands.

He fought through his many flesh wounds, knowing one: that they would heal soon enough, and two: that Buffy needed this distraction for as long as it took.

Angel called upon all his experience to aid him. The Bringers were supernatural creatures, but they were also less than sturdy. They had the same mortality as most humans, and their weapons were more than adequate to kill them. The vampire, meanwhile, had his super strength, his fast healing, was killable only by stake, sunlight, and beheading (he was thankful none of his opponents had a sword), and, most important:

He was running on the energy of a Slayer's blood.

Like the fight during Graduation, Angel felt every drop of his immortality. He was in prime fighting condition. His senses were heightened by the added impact of the Slayer's essence, and Buffy's blood combined with the lingering amount Angelus had taken from Faith. He'd never taken blood from two Slayers in such a short time, and he felt as though it made him stronger than ever.

He only hoped he hadn't weakened Buffy too much.

But then he heard her, and knew she was going to be okay. "Angel, let's get out of here!"

Angel dropped his secret weapon – the vessel that Wesley had magicked to hold the naphtha Fred had designed – and disappeared in the resulting cloud of smoke.

A minute after he was out of the area, the naphtha exploded, a wall of fire going through the compound.

The lovers finally slowed to a trot a mile away. Buffy gave Angel the scythe, smiling happily. A half-smile was on his face, too – she hadn't shut up since they fled the vineyard. He knew, now, she was feeling much better.

When she was happy, she babbled.

"… and it came out so easily – just like King Arthur and the sword in the stone. It was calling me, Angel, and I felt like I was coming home…"

He examined the weapon, listening to her with half an ear. Its blade was round and circular, like the moon … like the shape of a pregnant woman. The blade was welded into the hilt, which was red metal down to a point two-thirds along the length of the weapon. From there, it sprouted a foot-and-a-half-long stake, sharpened to a proper point. A scythe, the ultimate symbol of woman, and womanhood. Of the power only a woman could wield.

The Power of the Slayer.

Passing it back to her, he said, "I don't feel anything, just a little hum, but I think that's 'cause you're the Slayer and I'm a vampire."

"We need to get back to the rest of the gang," she said, heading towards Revello Drive.

"You're the leader."

She shook her head, melancholy setting in. "I don't feel like a leader," she confessed. "They blame me for stuff, and honestly? I can't say they're wrong."

"So who says you have to go back and take charge of everything again? You're the leader of me, Buffy, was what I meant. But, maybe, give them a chance to see how Giles and Faith do. Give Faith a chance to lead," he suggested. "You know it's what she wants – a second chance."

"They kicked me out of my own home, Angel." They stopped in the street.

He raised a hand, stopping her further tirade. "I'm trying to say this nicely, but hear me out anyway. Do you admit you've made mistakes as The Slayer?"

"Yes, but that's-"

He cut her off with his hand again. "Now, did you give it honest consideration, letting Faith take the lead? 'cause she's the true Slayer, you know. And you may not like the history that you two have, but she is a good fighter."

His words hit Buffy hard. He knew Faith better than anyone, now. She wasn't the same transient from Boston who'd wanted everything Buffy had had. She was a strong woman who wanted to fight the good fight.

Angel was right, and in a way so were her friends. Buffy had been unwilling to be a follower, and that had gotten her kicked out of the house. She covered her eyes with her hand, ashamed of her own pig-headedness.

Angel took her in his arms. "I know. It's hard."

"It's hard because I was right, Angel." She swung the scythe upright. "It was there, at the vineyard."

"Shh." He cupped her teary, splotchy face in his hands. "I know," he stressed. "I fired my friends because if they had stayed, Darla might have succeeded and I might have killed them. Do they still hate me for it? Yes. Did I feel like an idiot going back to them and saying, 'I want to help you guys?' Yes. But I let Wesley lead. I was proved right by my actions and my decision, and I got the lead back when he betrayed me, but I let them decide, and gave him the chance."

He moved his hands to her shoulders. "Now, I know it hurts. If they don't want our help, we'll figure something else out." He smirked. "Why don't you just be happy that I'm here for a while. We'll deal with them when it's time."

She smiled, a small one. "Careful, your alpha male is showing."

"Only for you." He kissed her hard, almost possessively, making her feel as though she was the Goddess of Love who'd finally chosen a suitor – and it was him, and he was never letting go of the precious gift in his arms. His kisses always had that quality, it seemed, except when he was Angelus, and they always made her feel better.

They walked back to Checkpoint Revello.