Author's Note: Hi, buffy fandom! This is a first for me, but I'm excited. Better late than never, right? Let me start by saying, this story starts out heavy on the Angel. Don't hate me, but you gotta trust me. Remember, this is taking place just a few months after the finale of season 2 and Buffy was all in love with and mourning Angel at this point. I promise, Spuffy is on deck. If you think you like where this is going and want more, let me know!
Misspellings
Chapter One
Buffy really didn't want to come back here, to the scene of her greatest tragedy. Super strength aside, each step closer to the mansion felt as if her feet were leaden weights attached to an oversized circus elephant who stubbornly wanted to stay put and eat peanuts.
Yeah, she didn't want to be here, but Willow had insisted. Something about a spell to help erase negative energy and needing to be at the scene of the crime, so to speak.
"If nothing else, Buffy, maybe the mojo will help make it a little easier."
"It?"
"You know-" Willow ducked her head sheepishly, "Life…and everything." She waved a dismissive hand.
Buffy balked. "Is this really necessary?" she asked, her inflection filled with a little more attitude than she'd intended. She was fine. More than fine, all things considered. She was sad, sure. She could admit that. Ok, more like despondent and inconsolable if she was honest, but she was dealing. In her own way, she was learning to live with the pain of spearing Angel in the gut and sending him to hell.
The look of confusion, fear, and betrayal on his face.
The look she put there.
Remembering Angel always hurt, the pain manifesting in a physical way that made it hard to breathe, and she found herself relying on the breathing exercises that had become a part of her daily routine. She counted to ten, sucking in a deep, slow breath of cool night air, and then she released it in the same manner.
Without giving an answer, Willow arched an eyebrow skeptically as if Buffy had just demonstrated the exact reason her intervention was necessary.
Buffy sighed and took another step forward. Maybe Willow was right. Maybe she could use a little help managing things.
Until now, she'd been indulging in her own form of therapy, taking her misery out on the unsuspecting vamp population of Sunnydale with an anger and vengeance she'd never shown before. Gone was the quippage. Gone was the sparring she sometimes teasingly indulged in before a good staking. Now, she was all business. The more vamps she killed, the more she stayed sane. Straight to the point; pun intended.
If she was really picturing her own miserable, bleeding heart as she slammed the stake home, well, what did it matter? No one knew but her.
She was getting her job done. Period. End of story.
Still, somehow, she'd ended up here with Willow, who insisted she needed some mystical help to move on. The Scoobies must have seen something in her she thought she'd been hiding.
Or maybe it wasn't what they had seen but what they hadn't.
Buffy knew she hadn't cracked so much as a smile all summer. There'd been no fun. No laughter. Not even tears. Just numbness and duty.
But they couldn't really complain, could they? She was here, doing her sacred duty, being The Chosen One.
The Hellmouth was secure. The world continued to turn. The vamps continued to die. No more teachers or friends would die on her watch. Not if she could help it.
Yet, apparently, this wasn't good enough. Not for her friends. They wanted the old Buffy back. The pre-devastated Buffy. The one who didn't feel like she was stuck waist deep in quicksand with no way out.
She was starting to see the appeal of living an isolated life, like Kendra had. No friends, no lovers, no family. No one who could be used against you. No one who would need saving when they were supposedly only trying to help. No one who would have to be killed if the worst happened.
Buffy came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the mansion's courtyard, taking in the familiar surroundings. Nothing much had changed. That couldn't be, could it? The world had nearly ended here. Buffy's world basically had. Shouldn't there be something here that marked the momentous event? But there was nothing but stone and vine and, now that she really looked, a circle of salt, a chalked pentagram, and several flickering candles that were already dripping wax.
This wasn't Willow's first visit to the mansion today then. She'd already set up, probably scared Buffy would back out if she had to wait for her to prepare. She wasn't wrong.
"How long is this going to take, Will?"
Willow kneeled inside her hastily prepared circle, relighting a candle that had blown out in the light breeze.
"I don't think it will take very long. Just have to call on the goddess and chant the spell. I have it right here." Willow pulled a book from her bag and opened it to a bookmarked page. "Ready?"
Buffy let out a quavering breath. She really didn't want to do this. It felt like cheating to lessen her pain. Angel was in hell right now, surely suffering more than she could possibly imagine. He didn't have the option to lessen his pain. Why should she?
No, she should have to feel every miniscule, agonizing second of guilt and regret and loss.
But saying no didn't seem to be an option, so she nodded, rolling her shoulders back bravely, and going to stand where Willow indicated.
Maybe it would be a good thing. She could still be sad, but just a little more functional. It would make her mom happy if nothing else. She would be pleased to see her get back into the swing of things. Return to school in the fall, make her grades, and graduate like a normal girl.
Normal. Ha!
No more boys though. No more dating or love. It wasn't worth it. From this point forward, Buffy would be officially celibate. Sex was of the bad.
Inside her clumsily erected sodium chloride circle, ignorant to Buffy's inner turmoil, Willow was in the midst of her own dilemma. She was having not just second, but third and fourth thoughts. She was determined to help Buffy, to wipe away that terrible, vacant look once and for all, but she just wasn't sure if lying to her about what they were really doing was the way to go? Maybe she should come clean.
She opened her mouth to do just that, but then the doubt came again. Too many things could go wrong. She wasn't an expert or anything. This kind of magic was dark and complicated, and she was so new to it all. And Willow just couldn't stand to get Buffy's hopes up just to have everything fall apart in the end.
So, she clamped her mouth shut and raised the book. She was lucky she'd gotten Buffy to agree to be here at all, lucky she'd stumbled across this spell to begin with. Maybe her luck would hold. Maybe it would work. Maybe, just maybe, before daybreak Angel would be back from the dead, whole and souled and making Buffy smile again.
One could only hope.
And pray. And cross those fingers. And…. Oh, geez. Please let this work.
Willow began to chant. The spell was in Latin and it had taken her quite some time to translate it on the sly, not wanting Xander or Giles to find out what she was up to. She really could have used Giles's help with the long-dead language, but she was proud of herself for persevering. And now that she had it all worked out, she was certain if done right, the spell would do what she intended, barriers like hell and death be damned.
As she murmured the words that would be unintelligible to Buffy, the air started to stir around her and Willow began to feel a pressure in her chest and behind her eyes. The feeling was familiar. The same thing had happened when she had worked from her hospital bed to re-ensoul Angel. Her body became not her own as she joined with the elements to become their vessel.
Perfectly pronounced, perfectly accented words began spilling out of her lips unbidden, and the physical world dropped away.
Vacillating between horrified and entranced, Buffy watched as Willow became possessed. Should she stop this? She took a step closer to Willow, hand raised to reach across the salt barrier, when a tingle twitched down the back of her neck.
Vampire.
Buffy spun just before the sound of breaking glass resounded through the courtyard. Not hesitating, she pulled her stake and stepped forward purposefully. She'd already killed the most important vamp in her life in this place; one more would be a cake walk.
Hmm, cake. Maybe after Mr. Dusty she could swing by the cafe and buy a slice. Chocolate sounded good.
Weird. She hadn't thought about luxuries like cake since Angelus. Maybe Willow's spell was already starting to work?
When the vamp appeared, it was without preamble, and Buffy nearly dropped her stake in surprise.
"Spike! What are you doing here?"
He snarled, eyes yellow, game face to the fore. "I came to –"
But whatever he was going to say was drowned out by a sudden gust of wind and Willow's voice as it raised several octaves. Buffy turned in time to see Willow, eyes completely black and hair standing on end, pass out beside the now extinguished candles.
"Willow!"
She turned back to threaten Spike, intending to order him to stay put before going to her friend, but when she faced him, he was gone. The man standing in his place took the air from her lungs, and she forgot about Spike and Willow and the spell and the mansion and all the bad things that had happened since. She forgot everything but him.
"Angel," she breathed.
The long-gone vampire gave her a tentative smile. "Yeah, Buffy, it's me." He took a step forward, and Buffy unconsciously took a step back. This couldn't be real. He wasn't real. He was in hell somewhere hating her for what she had done to him. Not here. Not smiling at her as if he loved her and missed her and wanted to hold her.
But it was him, and it was definitely an emotion that looked suspiciously like hurt that flashed across his face the minute her trajectory moved in the opposite direction.
"It's ok, Buffy. Willow brought me back."
Buffy's eyes widened at that as she again looked at her unconscious friend lying fetal-position on the stone floor. "H-h-how?"
Angel shrugged. "Does it matter?" Then, taking another step her way and stretching out his arms, "Buffy?" he pleaded.
And then she was in his arms, hugging him, touching him, memorizing him; needing to know this wasn't just some elaborate dream. When she was sure he was real, she crashed her lips upon his unheedingly, forgetting about why she shouldn't, forgetting all about Angelus and his torment and the milestone event that had led them through her version of hell to begin with.
She melted into his arms, feeling whole for the first time in months.
He returned her kiss with fervor, pulling her against him and overwhelming her with every impassioned flick of his tongue. Buffy let out a surprised gasp. This wasn't the reaction she was used to from him. None of the careful hesitancy. None of the overthinking.
No. This Angel was like a drowning man who had been thrown a life preserver at the last moment. A starving man in the desert finding an oasis over the next dune right before he gave into the sun and heat. A man brought from the bowels of hell into the arms of his beloved.
Oh, right.
She hungrily returned his kisses, devouring in kind. Her arms ran up and down his back and into his hair as her tongue explored his mouth. She was surprised when she found the little indentations where his fangs must hide, and she couldn't help her curiosity. She'd never been allowed this sort of freedom before, and she intended to take advantage. She probed and caressed them with her tongue until Angel growled deep in his throat and vamped out.
She startled and jumped back, only now, when faced with the visceral picture in front of her, did she realize her mistake, realize why they shouldn't be letting themselves go like this. Mutual apologies spilled from their lips, although possibly for different reasons.
Yes, she was glad he was back and whole. Yes, she still loved him and wanted to be with him no matter what. But no, she wouldn't risk the world again. Celibate Buffy was still going to be a thing. And just to prove a point to herself, she took another step backward.
Angel winced, or, well, he made a face that might have been a wince. It was hard to tell with all the bumpies. "It's ok, Buffy. The curse is gone."
"What?" That's all she could manage, too shocked to think further thinky thoughts.
"There's no more curse."
Finally, after long moments of silence, long enough for Angel to revert to his human face, Buffy was able to make her neurons fire again. "How - How do you know? How can you be sure?"
"I don't know how to explain it. I just know. Angelus is never coming back. My soul is permanent."
Buffy gasped. Could it be true? At night, when she couldn't sleep because of the nightmares, she would indulge in flights of fancy, imagining just such a scenario. Angel, miraculously back. Angel, permanently ensouled. Angel, hers for all time! Sometimes, these fantasies were worse than the nightmares. Because reality would always come crashing back in. Who was she kidding anyway? Her life had become the nightmare.
"Buffy, it's real. I promise. Please, I need to touch you." He reached for her again, but Buffy flinched away. There was only one way to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that what he said was the truth, and that was to test his assertion. And that was something she just couldn't risk. If he ended up being wrong, the price was too great.
Angel held up a hand in supplication, and, as if reading her thoughts, said, "You can stake me if I'm wrong. But I'm not wrong, Buffy. It's true." He reached for her again, and this time she couldn't resist his plea. She knew it would kill her to have to stake him all over again, and having to do so was a very real possibility. She also knew that if she were to lose him again, she wouldn't be able to go on. Not after this. She would find the nearest vamp nest and let them have her.
Or, wasn't Spike around here somewhere? Buffy paused for just a second at that thought. He had been, right? Before Angel showed up. And he'd be happy to rip her throat out for her. But the thought quickly vanished at the feel of Angel's soft lips pressed against her own.
The kissing quickly grew into something more as the passion and need ratcheted. Angel rained kisses along her jaw and down her neckline, and his hands grazed her ribcage just below her breasts. Buffy, barely coherent, managed to spare a glance toward Willow. Angel noticed her diverted attention and rushed to reassure her, "She's fine. I can hear her breathing. Her heart rate's normal, too." As Buffy nodded with relief, Angel took her hand and pulled her into an adjoining room. "More private. In case she wakes up," he murmured against her skin as he began lavishing her with kisses once more.
With the assurance of Willow's safety out of the way, the last vestiges of hesitation were gone, and in just moments, they were both naked, both over eager to prove how much they had missed each other.
This time, their love-making was completely different than it had been the first time around. That had been about first love and newness, tenderness even. But this...it was raw, unadulterated need. Angel worshipped her with his hands and mouth, sang praises to her with each caress of his tongue; told her he loved her with every taste and touch.
A little worm in the back of her brain told her that the difference was more than just the circumstances of his miraculous and unexpected return, but she was too far gone with sensation and joy to pay attention to it.
This could also explain why, when she was quaking with her nearing release and his cock was buried deep inside of her, touching places it never had before, she didn't so much as cringe when Angel vamped and sunk his fangs into her neck. The orgasm ripped through her, blanking her mind for what felt like long moments but, really, could only have been seconds.
Her brain was still foggy when Angel retracted his fangs and muttered, "Mine," against her skin.
She should be scared. Hell, she should be freaking out. Angel had bitten her! And wasn't that the recurring theme during the time of Angelus that would wake her in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, heart beating out of her chest in fear? In those dreams, however, the thing that stayed with her after hadn't been the image of her lost love gleefully ripping out her throat or even watching him revel in her demise over her drained, lifeless body. No, the lingering memory had been the pain, a pain so deep and intense she'd beg for unconsciousness. But the reality had been far different. Pleasure assaulted every sensitized nerve, and a sensation of pure ecstasy drowned out any possibility of trepidation or reproach.
"Yes, yes!" She agreed enthusiastically as he continued to move inside her, bringing her closer and closer to falling over the edge once more. "I'm yours."
"Bite me back, Buffy. I want you to make me yours, too."
Buffy didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but she got symbolic gestures. She figured this would mean a lot to a vampire, and this vampire was hers, after all. Would always be hers. What could it hurt to do this for him?
Buffy didn't hesitate. She leaned forward and bit down hard, not releasing the skin between her teeth until she tasted blood on her tongue. "Mine," she all but snarled as Angel's thrusts became more erratic.
"Yours," he groaned out as he sputtered his release inside of her. She came again, hard, full of him and the knowledge of how much what she'd just done had meant to him.
"I'm yours, Buffy. Always and forever." Angel nuzzled at the fresh wounds on her neck as he continued to pump lazily inside her, the little licks he gave to close the puncture marks sending shock waves through her, making her shiver.
She gently entwined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back as she opened her eyes, wanting to look at him and marvel in his presence some more as they enjoyed the afterglow.
But where she expected to see Angel's beautiful face watching her with eyes full of love, what she saw had her gasping in shock. Because it wasn't Angel that she saw. It wasn't even Angelus.
There, centimeters from her face, mouth still dripping with remnants of her blood and eyes mirroring her shock, was not Angel, but , was not Angel, but Spike.
