Definition of Insanity
Part Three
by Karen

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.
Rating: M for adult themes and drugs.
Genres: Angst and eventually romance
Summary: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.
Author's Notes: This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.
Warnings: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.
Feedback: A must.

After I was through, I went back to the television. I sat there, unmoving besides a twitch of my fingers to change the channel, until an enticing aroma came to my nose. I tried to ignore it, but my stomach gave me away, growling loud enough to be heard over the talk show I was watching.

Grumbling, I turned off the TV and stood, following my nose into the kitchen. Angel had his back to me, stirring something on the stove. I took a deep breath through my nose, taking in the delicious smells, and sat at the kitchen table.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I decided on stir fry," he told me, turning to him. "I also made rice with egg and shrimp in it, and I found some egg rolls in the freezer that I'm heating up. I figured everyone likes Chinese food, right?" he looked at me, the sweat on his forehead glistening in the overhead lighting. I wanted to tell him I hated Chinese food, just to get back at him for what happened in the bathroom, but I couldn't.

"That's fine," I told him, noncommittally.

"Good. It'll be ready in a few, but if you want to set the table or something?"

"You're inviting me to set my own table?" I asked.

He turned, looking at me, "I'm sorry. I know that this is awkward, and everything. I remember you not being into cooking much, so I just figured…" he sighed, "I just thought that maybe if you were busy, maybe we could move past everything between us, all the awkward and the anger and hate, and fall into a routine."

I looked at him a moment, before sighing and shaking my head, "Angel, you're human, and we're playing house. Ten years ago, this would have been my dream come true. So I'm sorry if I'm a bit weirded out by you watching me go to the bathroom, and cooking Chinese in my kitchen!"

He moved to crouch in front of me, leaving no escape, "I know we agreed that it was over between us, but seeing you lying there…" he trailed off, looking away, and I couldn't help but wonder what I would see in his eyes if I forced him to look at me, pain, love, pity, or disgust. "You did so much for me, whether you realize it or not. And now, you need me, even if you won't admit it, and I can't turn my back on you. Some part of me, the part that the memory of your smile kept going through the darkest times, that part still loves the sixteen year old that knocked me on my ass when we first met. I know you're not that girl anymore, but if you could ask her, I know this is not how she would have wanted to turn out." By the time he was through, he was looking at me again, and I stared into his eyes, but I couldn't decipher anything from their depths. They were guarded.

What did he mean, some part of him? Did that mean that as a whole, he no longer loved me? Was my smile really the only thing to get him through some days, just as the feel of his arms around me was sometimes the only thing that prevented me from going insane?

Before I could ask, he had averted his gaze, pushing himself to his feet. He moved back to the stove and his back was to me once more. Though I was reeling from his revelation, I pushed myself to my feet as well, sliding by him to get to the cupboard I kept my dishes in.

"Generally, I just use paper," I told him in a false cheerful tone, "Much easier clean up when there's just one. But a real meal deserves real plates. I'll even clean up, since you cooked."

"That's awfully nice of you," he said with a smile, the tense moment forgotten.

After dinner I cleaned up, and though I desperately wanted to take a shower-I just felt unclean- I didn't want an encore, so I settled for going to bed early. I was exhausted, and my body felt heavy. But at the same time, even though I knew I needed sleep, I didn't want to sleep, knowing that if I did, the dreams would come. After mulling over my choices, I forewent sleep, and settled on the opposite end of the couch from Angel. He looked as if he didn't really know what he was watching, and with his permission, I flipped through the channels until I found a movie. It was old, filmed in the 90's, and while I had seen it a dozen or more times, he had never even heard of it. It was a chick flick, and I warned him, but he wanted to watch it anyway.

I had forgotten how much the plot, twisted slightly, matched our own twisted love story. The movie was Ever After, a version of Cinderella where Drew Berrymore plays Danielle De Barbaraque. Though I guess Beauty and the Beast is the fairytale our story is the most like. It's a nice movie, anyway, one that you can get lost in.

After the movie, I decided I put off trying to sleep long enough, even though I was no longer tired. I quickly changed for bed, keeping my back turned to the empty doorway as I changed. Then I climbed into bed, but my back and muscles were aching, so I decided to get up and do some stretches before bed. Usually I patrolled so I was limber when I went to bed, but I didn't think Angel would let me patrol. The stretches only helped a little, but I could hear Angel getting ready for bed in my living room, so I climbed under the covers, turning off my bedside lamp as I lay down.

I tossed and turned for awhile, how long I'm not certain, but I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was the feel of his arms around me, his hands on me, running the length of my naked flesh, his feather light kisses running the length of my neck and chest.

But before it got really good, just as I felt myself adjust to his length, he tore out of me so fast it hurt; I cried out in pain both physical and emotional. Without saying anything he stalked out of the room, slamming the doors behind him. As my body shook, the tears came, as I cried out for him.

But then I was being cradled; I must have fought against the arms around me because when I finally opened my eyes and looked at him he had scratch marks on his face. Tears poured down my face as I sobbed. His hand at the back of my neck pressed my face into his shoulder and I took the comfort he was offering.

My body didn't stop shaking when the tears did. Even though his arms were warm around my thin frame, I shook with cold. My skin prickled at the thin hairs on my skin rose to try and trap warm air close to my skin. His hands never stopped rubbing my back as he whispered in my ear, "Symptoms of withdrawal," he told me, his voice soothing. Carefully, he scooted me over, sliding under my comforter as he laid me down, still wrapped in his arms. He held me close to his chest as I shook, and he didn't flinch as the muscle in my thigh contracted and kicked my foot out.

Even though the symptoms of withdrawal made me want to cry- my bones hurt!- I somehow knew that the reason for my crying previously would not plague me again that night. Even as I lay there, waiting for my body to become my own again, the long nights of sleeplessness caught up with me. I yawned, before my eyes slid closed on their own and I was asleep.

I woke the next morning, still wrapped in his arms. I realized that for the first time in years, I was rested. Though I didn't want to, I gently disentangled myself from his grasp- he was the same sound sleeper, alive or dead- and decided I would take the chance to take a shower without him watching me. A part of me wanted to check and see which stashes he might have missed- I didn't think he would want to hold me every night, and eventually he was going to have to leave, and then where would I be?

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me before turning towards the door. Just as I thought, he stood there. I was glad for the thick towel covering me from chest to mid thigh, though I wish I had more on.

He looked at me a moment and I had to force myself to meet his gaze, to not stare at something else because it made me more comfortable. Finally, he averted his gaze, "I was wondering what you wanted for breakfast," he said.

"I'm not hungry," I said softly.

"What do you want?" he asked again.

I bit my lip to hide a smile, he was still protective of me, "Scrambled eggs," I said at last. He nodded and left. I stared after him a moment, before I went into my room to get dressed.

Five minutes later I entered the kitchen; his back was to me, his focus on the pan. "Why'd you leave me by myself?" I asked, "Not that I'm complaining." I sat at the table, folding my hands in my lap, unsure of what else to do with them.

He bowed his head, "I feel really bad about that incident in the bathroom yesterday," he said quietly. "I was just so mad and scared that you could do something like that to yourself…" he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," I found myself saying, though I didn't know where the words were coming from, "But if you knew why…" I trailed off shaking my head.

"But I want to. I want to understand why you could defile yourself like that…"

"It's not like I haven't done it before…" I said harshly, "I'm sure you've heard about my little affair with Spike. How was that any different than this?"

He turned red, "That wasn't-"

I interrupted him, "Wasn't what? Degrading? Painful? Physically and emotionally draining? Out of character?" I shook my head, "But what was is? Numbing. Blessfully numbing. It stopped the pain, it stopped the dreams, it stopped the flood of images that shouldn't be in my head!" I cried.

He was in front of me in an instant, "What dreams? What images? Did you have a nightmare last night? Is that what you're talking about?" he asked softly, pulling my hands away from my face, I'm not quite sure how they got there.

I stared at him, shaking my head. I couldn't tell him. If I told him, then he'd know that I still loved him, and he'd feel guilty because he no longer loved me. Maybe he would even stay with me, because he didn't want to see me hurt, but it would all be a lie, because he no longer loved me.

I was shaking again, and I really, really wanted to shoot up. But I couldn't, so I did the next best thing, I pushed away the hovering tears, and asked about the eggs. He rushed to the stove, obviously having forgotten them, and it gave me enough time to collect myself. The shaking was bothering me, though.

I had gotten myself under control by the time he slid a plate of food in front of me, a plate of food I had no interest in eating. But one look at his face, and the expression he wore, and I took a bite. It was this odd mix of pride and uncertainty, smugness and shyness. He seemed to be confident in his cooking skills, but as I ate, he kept hovering, asking if I wanted anything, or if they were all right. Finally I told him they were perfect, and they were close, just so he would eat his own food and leave me to pick at mine.

After he was through, and I had forced about half of the scrambled egg into myself, I pushed my plate away, "So, what's the plan for today? I'm guessing you're not going to let me go to work."

"You could if you would always be in my sight," he said.

"Some of the meetings I have with the slayers are confidential," I told him.

"Willow gave you the next two weeks off. I told her that withdrawal usually only lasts for a week, but she wouldn't listen." I looked at him, my gaze questioning, and he sighed, "We had some issues with drugs awhile back, demons using them to control people…I did my own research for once, when we were trying to figure out which drug they were using. It wasn't heroin, but a mystical drug called Dragon's Breath, but I did enough research to know…" he picked up his own plate but left mine in front of me, heading towards the trashcan to throw away the paper plate.

When he turned back to me, he was smiling, "I was thinking we could do touristy things today. Willow told me that when you moved here, you kind of jumped right in with both feet, not really giving yourself time to do any sight seeing."

"I've done plenty of sightseeing!" I cried, "I usually patrol every single night!"

"But that's at night," he said softly, "Finish your egg, and we'll go," he told me, sitting back down across from me to finish his cup of coffee.

"I'm done, I'm not really hungry."

"Eat," he ordered me. I sighed and picked up my fork.

After my slave driver let me leave the table, I decided to change into a sundress. As I passed the bathroom after I had changed, I noticed Angel's back out of the corner of my eye. I had kind of been lost in my thoughts-thinking about work and who was doing my job, and how would the girls manage without me-, so when I turned to him, sound came back to me. It was then that I realized that we were in the same boat. He had sacrificed his own privacy to make sure I didn't have any. For some reason, that made me feel better about the whole thing. I slipped down the hall and sat on the couch, waiting for him to be ready, giving him some of the privacy he gave up.