A/N: You happy campers out there all owe this one to spring break. If I missed any of my reviewers, thanks. You guys keep me going. I would like to know though about the rating. Do you think it is in the right category? Due to my overwhelming ignorance and desensitization to modern media I don't know what is appropriate. Let me know.

Thanks for reading.

Chapter 12

"What do you mean 'Angel is evil'?" Buffy asked as she looked around the room.

The doctor, despite his cheerful demeanor in this hellish place, had been unwilling to release her despite the fact that she was almost entirely healed and Buffy hadn't wanted to wait to hear what was going on. She also hadn't wanted to admit that there was no way she was ready to be released. The pain had been muted to a dull throb, but it was still there. Being shot in the stomach was not an activity on the approved watchers list of things to befall the slayer.

Her decision prompted the others to decide that the best course of action would be to gather in her hospital room for the meeting. Anne had been called away on an emergency at the shelter so she was surrounded by Willow, Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn, each of which looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there.

Cordelia, the first to give in to the uncomfortable silence, had started the conversation in her usual tactless way and informed her of what they had observed in the dark vampire's actions.

"Are we talking 'Angelus' evil or…"

"Yeah right. He's been so depressed not even Doximall would get him out of that slump," Cordelia commented from the side.

"You're not helping to clarify," Buffy said. "Doximall?"

"Happy drug that lets Angelus out to play."

"Oh." She took a moment to absorb that, "Then I guess it's a good thing he's been so depressed."

"Wait," Willow interrupted from the armchair next to the hospital bed, "An anti-depressant that stimulates happiness is strong enough to bypass an ancient curse inflicted as a punishment and release a demon?" She looked to the others for clarification, "Is anyone else having trouble with this concept?"

"Hello. Lived through it."

"It's only a temporary release," Wesley clarified, "and not a true one. He was back to normal after a few hours."

"Yeah," Cordelia snorted, "A few hours of terror."

"Which is neither here nor now," Wesley stated in a firm voice. "The point is that we are all worried about his erratic behavior-"

Gunn shook his head, "I don't know if I'd call it erratic. Seems to me he's been goin' down hill for a while now. One mention of girl's name and it's like a switch's flipped. Boy lost it."

Buffy swallowed hard and pushed down the rising jealousy that remark had brought on with a surprising swiftness considering the time they had spent apart. She silently told herself that they weren't seeing each other anymore and he had the right to see anyone he wanted to. But even with that rationalization she couldn't stop the question, "Girl? What girl?"

The Cordelia and Wesley exchanged glances. The jealously wasn't lost on either of them and they weren't sure how she would react to what had been going on in LA.

It was Wes who finally stepped forward, "Darla."

It took her a moment to realize the implications behind the name, but only a moment. Her mind flashed to her mother's still body on the floor of her kitchen, two puncture wounds in her neck. She remembered the overwhelming hate she felt for the first time when she thought her trust had been broken. She saw the look on Angel's face as he shoved the end of a crossbow bolt through the chest of the monster that made him. She heard the high-pitched keening sounds he made in grief later when they were alone and he got the chance to explain what it meant in vampire culture to kill one's sire. She remembered finally understanding what it would mean to love that vampire.

And as all these thoughts drifted through her mind she realized with startling clarity exactly what it would mean for him and all the implications behind her being back. "Darla. As in Dusty-Vampire-Sire Darla."

"That'd be the one."

"Okay, how does that work? Please keep in mind that he staked her in front of me. Poof. Dust."

"There's a lot of back story you need to hear to know what's been going on."

"Is there a way to simplify it?"

Glances were exchanged yet again, and when no one stepped forward Cordelia rolled her eyes and began, "It all started when this evil law firm decided to get their slimy paws on him after he totally humiliated them by stopping their second-rate plans to rule the world through really bad law practice."

"Okay. Um, redundancy jokes aside, I'm still not seeing the connection."

"They brought her back, Buffy. Through some ritual I haven't been able to discover the origins of."

"Well that was a nice easy breakdown right there but the question remains. Why doesn't she fit into an ashtray?"

"She came back alive."

Buffy's eyes closed in pain, the murmur of indistinct voices in the distance. Alive. Darla had been returned alive. And suddenly everything clicked into place.

Her voice broke through the argument about the possibility of such a spell existing between Willow and Wes, "I'm assuming, due to the extraordinarily depressing time I've had since I got here, something went wrong. Angel shouldn't have gone into kamikaze mode. He should be on that redemption kick he's been on for the past four years."

When no one spoke yet again Buffy rolled her eyes, "I'm not getting any younger here guys. Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Drucilla came back and turned human Darla and after she rose. They hooked up with the demon law firm and stepped up their psychological torture plan for Angel," Cordelia began. "Like a pro he stepped up to the plate and fell right over the edge. His stumble included locking the top members of Wolfram and Hart in a wine cellar with a hungry Drucilla and Darla, ignoring the importance of his mission, and firing us. Since then he—"

"Okay, I get it," She interrupted.

"Do you Buffy? Do you really get it?" The blonde blinked in dismay at the venom in Cordelia's voice, "He abandoned his mission. He abandoned his friends. Us! He left us to do the job that was his responsibility. We had to fend for ourselves. He left us!"

The others in the room had looked on in silent shock as Cordelia vented her rage and frustration. She even looked surprised at her own words and she sank into the available chair as she ran out of steam.

Buffy looked at the other woman from the bed and softly said, "Cordelia, if you think, for one second, that I've never felt what you are going through right now a thousand fold… but that's not really the point right now."

Her gaze captured them all, "Don't you get it? He thought that by saving her he could save somehow save himself. I know it's twisted logic but when has Angel's quest for 'redemption' ever been logical?"

Wesley's eyes hardened, "His 'quest for redemption' as you put it is—"

"Stupid! What has he done in his life that he is in need of redemption for?"

"The slaughter of millions is not something you think he needs to atone for?"

"Wesley," Buffy said softly, "who slaughtered millions? You're a watcher. You should know the difference between demons and souls." She turned to the rest of them, "Guys this was his chance, and it was stolen from him by Drucilla. And this is the way you react?"

A hesitant throat cleared by the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt," the young nurse said, "but visiting hours are over."

Buffy nodded, "Go on guys, I'll be fine."

"Do you want anyone to—" Gunn began.

"No. I want to be alone."

Willow gave her hand one last gently squeeze in support and followed the others out of the room. Buffy ignored the nurse as she made the usual checks to her wound and stats before leaving her to her thoughts.

xoxox

It hadn't been hard to convince Darla that he needed some time alone. She had wanted to come along and witness the destruction he would wreck but he was adamant and she acquiesced. It was reminiscent of days past. She just attributed it to one of his moods and knew he would be coming back to her.

As Angel silently walked along the corridors his body quickly fell back into the old patterns that it knew so well. He moved unseen, a predator among men. But this night his goal was not the kill, despite the lies he told Darla /she didn't used to be so stupid. She used to be able to smell the lies before they left his tongue/. Tonight he was using his skill to observe.

It was one he hadn't used in quite some time and he had been untested for far too long. He might be paid to observe people and protect them now, but for the most part they were human, and when he did have to cover his tracks from something that had better senses than the average creature they were never any match for her.

It was ironic, but being around Buffy for so long had honed his skills. It had been necessary to stay at her level, and he was ashamed to admit that without her presence in his life he had become lax in his attentiveness. After all, if you don't have the slayer to be weary of all other enemies pale in comparison.

This night he had something planned. Their meeting in the alley had ignited something in him he thought banked long ago. Her very presence brought light and color to his life and like an addict he couldn't stay away. Angel wasn't able to completely believe the lies he told himself, that he only wanted to make sure she was alive, that he was only going to see her once, that after this he would be able to stay away. But he told them nevertheless and they gave him empty comfort as he stood at the door to her room.

He had been there only days earlier but then his way had been barred by an angry brunette. This time nothing blocked his way and he entered the room.

Had Angel been paying attention he would have noticed the walls first. The walls were truly hideous. It was a muted brown-green color that hurt to look at for too long. It was the color people made things when they knew they wouldn't be cleaning them anytime soon and the color would hide the filth. The fact that this room was clean was a small comfort.

After that he might have noticed the empty bed just waiting for the next patient. The crisp white sheets were tucked securely around the mattress. And the pillow gave off the faintest hint of bleach.

If Angel had looked up he might have seen the window on the far wall and the curtains that covered it. They were thick and had they been closed they would have completely blocked out the sun. The view was horrible though. A brick wall extended up, two feet beyond the window, completely blocking what little view there would have been.

He then might have noticed the thick hospital smell. The bleach from the clean bed, the polish used on the floor, the sickness that was spread throughout the entire building. He might have smelt the lingering scent of death that permeated the room.

She had to be crawling out of her skin to leave the place it was giving off so many bad vibes.

But Angel noticed none of these things. He only noticed her. Buffy.

Her frail form against the white of the sheets. The way her hair was mussed up from the way she was laying on it.

Where are you going?

To kill the skunk on my head.

The way she was curled on her right side. Her tiny hand cradling her soft cheek. Her other arm hugging the spare pillow she most likely had to beg the nurses for.

You're a good substitute for Mr. Gordo you know.

I'm glad I rate the quality of a stuffed pig.

Yeah but don't tell him. You'll hurt his little piggy feelings.

The way one of her legs stuck out from under the thin sheet. The way she managed to push the blanket down to her waist.

Unlike some, I've never exactly been the sleep-like-the-dead kinda girl.

I noticed.

There was nothing he didn't take in as he watched her, easily falling into patterns he thought he had left behind a long time ago. He sank into the chair so conveniently placed at her bedside and rested his head in his hands, his concentration solely on her, letting the steady thrumming of her heartbeat sooth him.

She looked tired. There were faint worry lines around her eyes that hadn't been there before. Angel cringed to think that he was the cause of them but he couldn't lie to himself that much. He left her. His impact on her life had undoubtedly lessened. After all, she had someone new in her life.

And if that thought wasn't enough to get his blood boiling he didn't know what was.

It was then, with thoughts of freshly spilled blood on his hands and a still beating heart clutched in his fist, that he pulled out a pad of sketching paper and pencil.

Angel's eyes followed where the pencil led as he traced the delicate nuances of her face. Her arched brows and sleeping eyes. Her pale cheek and full lips. The soft curve of her ear. The tiny indentions on her nose.

Her neck.

Her delicate, oh so breakable neck.

Her delicate, oh so breakable, unfaithful neck.

The pencil threatened to snap as bloodlust rose up within Angel with a severity he had only experienced once before. Images of him entangled in her arms, ofthat child's sweaty body pressed against hers, her strong, lithe legs wrapped around that boy's waist he rutted againsther, his clumsy human hands grasping at the swell of her breast. Her mouth falling open with a soft sigh as that mortal's tongue traced the ragged edges of his scar.

Encroaching where none but he had the right to go.

snap

Angel didn't even glance down to the ruined pencil in his hands, he just let the splinters fall to the floor.

The anger that coursed through him was surprising, but he pushed the small spark of emotion aside and didn't let himself feel anything but the rage. It rushed through him like a flood, cleansing in its purity and unadulterated hatred.

Buffy didn't stir, thank all that was unholy. If she had opened those innocent green eyes and looked on him in this state, he wouldn't have been able to control himself. Her punishment would be a beautiful thing, but he wanted it on his terms, not influenced by uncontrollable emotions. And this wasn't exactly the most ideal place to teach her the error of her ways. After all, he wouldn't want to take the lesson too far and kill her.

No. She would survive everything he did to her. And she would learn to enjoy it. Oh yes, the cleansing he would give her would take years and at the end of it all she would be his creature to control, to hold in the palm of his hand. His to crush simply by the closing of his fist. He would break her and scatter the pieces to the four winds never to be seen again. He would take what was left and shape her into his image. He wouldn't make the same mistake he made with Drucilla. That hand had been overplayed and he had been left with an insane childe to watch. But babysitting duty was over. Buffy would be his masterpiece. A true work of art. The slayer that fell to the Scourge of Europe.

Angel folded the crisp parchment into thirds and propped it on the side table before standing to leave.

The temptation to take her then was strong but he beat it down ruthlessly. He would control this beast that was his wrath. It took him long moments of stiff control while looking down at her fore he was finally able to step away.

But he hesitated. With a soft sound akin to a sigh, he capitulated and bent over her bed to brush a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, inhaling her scent as he stood and strode to the door.

She would regret allowing that infant to trespass on what was his.

Tbc…