Part Three ~ Man in the Mirror
Her talk with Giles hadn’t offered any clarity for her muddled thoughts. A highly edited version of the Spike dream and a quick flash of the bruise on her neck had sent the watcher into frenzied research mode, muttering about the subconscious manifestations of Slayer dreams. He was in such a tizzy of disjointed phrases and polishing of glasses that she decided to leave off voicing her concerns about Angel for another time.
Tonight she was determined to put aside her disturbing thoughts and be ‘normal’ Buffy. A few phone calls and a quick trip home to change her clothes and she was all set to meet her friends at the Bronze.
Buffy spotted Willow and Xander immediately. She carefully adjusted the mock-turtleneck of the red tank top she wore, thankful that it covered the still prominent mark on her neck perfectly. Sucking in a deep breath, she made her way over to their table.
“Hey, guys! What’s the what?” she called out cheerfully.
Were her eyes playing tricks on her or did the two of them look the tiniest bit guilty as they jumped apart? A quick glance showed her that Cordy and Oz were conspicuously absent from their usual Saturday night gathering. Maybe they were just running late.
“Buffster!” Xander’s eyes were just a little bit too innocently wide and his voice was a little too loud. Willow looked like she’d swallowed a live squid and her lipstick was the exact same shade as the glaringly obvious smudge on Xander’s mouth.
Okay. Maybe Cordy and Oz weren’t running late.
The thought of confronting them with her suspicions made Buffy squirm uncomfortably. Was it even her place? Making a great show out of digging through her purse for her wallet, she gave them the time they needed to get rid of the lipstick smudge and shake off the guilty looks.
“Who’s having what? I’m buying,” she told them with a vapid smile. Xander eagerly offered to go fetch the round and took off like a scalded cat, leaving her alone with Willow.
“I’m looking in to a de-lusting spell,” the redhead offered before Buffy had a chance to voice her thoughts. “It’s okay, Buffy. I know you saw us.”
“What’s going on here, Will? I know you used to have a crush on Xander, but I thought that was over once you met Oz?”
Willow looked ready to burst into tears, struggling bravely with her quivering bottom lip. “I do! Love Oz, I mean. And I know Xander is wild about Cordelia. It’s just a weird attraction thing and once I find the right spell, things will take care of themselves. I hope,” she finished desperately.
“Isn’t a spell kind of drastic, Will? I mean… maybe it’s real.” Says the girl who is having erotic, other-worldly dreams about the vampire she’d sent to hell, Buffy thought caustically.
The other girl shook her head vehemently. “No, it’s not real. I love Oz. I do! I’ll do the spell and everything will be like it was.” She stared longingly at Xander as he made his way back to the table with three drinks. “Just don’t say anything to Xander about the spell. Please?” she begged.
Buffy sighed. “Sure, Will.”
Nearly spilling the drinks as he slammed them down, Xander gawped at Buffy. “You aren’t gonna believe what I just saw! Heck, I don’t believe it and it was right in front of my face.”
“What the heck are you babbling about, Xan?” Buffy shared a look of confusion with Willow, who shrugged.
“I can’t find the words to explain it. Just look at the dance floor.”
Buffy turned on her stool until she faced the dance floor, and froze.
He looked rather yum-worthy in those leather pants and loose silk shirt, but the effect was completely spoiled by the way he was flinging himself about on the dance floor in a way that rivaled Xander at his most goofy.
“Angel?” Willow gasped. “I’ve only ever seen him slow-dance with you, Buffy. Is he possessed or something?”
“Or something, I think.” Buffy groaned and covered her eyes. It was just too embarrassing to watch. When she lifted her head again she wanted to slide through the cracks in the floor. Angel had spotted them and was dancing his way over with a toothy grin.
No, it wasn’t Angelus; but in no way, shape, or form could this be considered normal behavior for the normally taciturn vampire. When he reached the table he smacked Xander in the back of the head, tweaked Willow’s breast, and commenced grinding his dick into Buffy’s ass.
Xander yelped in pain, Willow ‘eeped’, and Buffy whirled around and grabbed him by the throat with murder in her eyes.
“Put that thing near me again and it’s coming off!” she bit out through clenched teeth. “And I don’t mean in an oozy, yummy, sexy way.”
From the smell that was wafting off of him, Angel was well and truly soused. He blinked at her myopically and tried to peel her fingers from his neck. ‘C’mon, baby. Don’t be mad. Come and dance with me?”
Without waiting for her reply, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her out into the middle of the floor.
Not wanting to make a scene, Buffy allowed herself to be pulled along behind him and then wrapped in suffocating arms, her face squashed into his chest. Thankfully, it was a slow song. Maybe she could talk some sense into him.
“Angel, what’s gotten into you?” she hissed as she fought to extricate herself from his overbearing hold. He held her tighter in response to her struggles and began to grind against her.
“Oh, come on, Buff. You’re my girl. You’re supposed to be making me happy, right? SO, make me happy!” he demanded, trying to slide his hand under her top.
She jerked away and slapped at his chest. “Are you crazy? You know we can’t do anything like that!”
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry. I forget how innocent you still are. After all, we only screwed once, didn’t we?” His fingers dug into her hips as he yanked her back.
Buffy shuddered as he leaned down and licked her ear. Surely he didn’t seriously think his behavior was turning her on? Most of the people that cluttered the dance floor were blatantly staring at them. She was completely mortified.
Mistaking her stillness for acquiescence, Angel bent to whisper in her ear. “C’mon, Buffy. Come back to my place and I’ll lick that pretty little pussy of yours ‘til you scream my name.”
Slamming both of her hands into his chest, she shoved hard and sent him sprawling across the floor. Not bothering to hide her disgust, she moved to stand over him.
“I can’t believe,” she spat, “that you would even suggest something like that to me after everything that has happened.”
“Still mourning your dead hero, huh?” Angel snarled as he struggled to his feet. “Well, I hate to tell you, sweetheart, but your perfect Spike would do the same thing; he’d fuck you ‘til you bled- right before he ripped your throat out.”
Buffy shot him a look of disdain. “You’re a pathetic drunk, Angel. Consider this a warning; you come near me or any of my friends in this condition again and I won’t hesitate to drive a stake through your heart.”
He watched, dumbfounded, as she stalked back to her table and gathered up her friends.
“Buffy!”
“I mean it, Angel. Stay away.” She didn’t even bother to turn back, just tossed the words over her shoulder as she followed Xander and Willow out the door.
Willow was in complete agreement with Buffy’s theory that Angel had come back wrong and vowed to research the restoration spell more extensively.
She walked them both home before deciding on a quick patrol before she found her own bed for the night. Unfortunately everything seemed to sense her bad mood and steered clear of her, so she was still cranky as she climbed the short flight of steps to her front door.
The figure that detached itself from the shadows beside the porch seemed vaguely familiar. Buffy leapt back and dropped into her fighting stance.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing skulking around my front door?” she snarled.
“Ease off, dollface. You really gotta work on those anger issues of yours.”
She relaxed with a groan. Unfortunately she knew that voice. “Whistler?”
“In the flesh. Well… sorta,” the demon quipped.
“Every time you pop up like this, you risk getting beat down. You know that, right?”
Whistler sobered at her steely tone. “So, you figured it out yet?” he asked.
Buffy rested her weight on one hip and crossed her arms across her chest, a wary expression on her face.
“Figured out what? Do you mean Angel suddenly acting like an ass or the freaked out dreams I’m having where he goes all ‘grrr’ and bites me?”
“You forgot to mention the dreams you’ve been having about another vampire. Blinding white hair? Black leather? Ringing any bells yet, Slayer?”
A rush of embarrassment heated her face. “God! Is nothing sacred with you people? What-- are the Powers making me have these dreams for some twisted reason?”
He shook his head. “The dreams are your own. They’re slayer dreams, but that’s all I can tell you until the bosses upstairs see fit to inform me different. No. I’m here to talk to you about Angel.”
Breathing a huffy sigh of relief that she was to be spared the humiliation of revealing any details of her dream of Spike, Buffy turned her attention to unlocking her front door and leading the smelly demon inside. Tossing her keys on the hall table, she allowed him to precede her into the living room.
“So, what can you tell me about Angel? Why is he acting this way? At first I was afraid that the spell didn’t take and he was still Angelus.”
She perched on the cushions of the sofa and watched him carefully as he made a circuit of the tastefully decorated room. When his nosiness was satisfied, Whistler joined her on the sofa.
“No worries there. The spell took. Angel is all souled back up. Only problem is this- your little redheaded witch didn’t just curse him with a soul. She cursed him with the original soul.”
Buffy’s mouth fell open. “Huh? Say that again.”
Whistler had to stifle a smile at her dazed expression. He’d seen the extensive damage that this petite girl could do. No way was he gonna laugh at her. He might be immortal but he could still feel massive amounts of pain if administered by a pissed off Slayer.
“Okay, I’m gonna skim thru the cliff-notes version. Any questions, you just ask. Ya with me? Good. Angelus was sired by Darla in 1753. Before that he was known as Liam, the wastrel son of a prominent Galway family. By wastrel, I mean that he was a disgrace to his father. He gambled, he drank, he whored. Basically a completely worthless pile of shite. Ol’ Liam Senior had to bail him out of many a scrape; mostly situations where he forced himself on the young daughters of the local farmers. Not a nice guy, our Liam, nor one to ‘fess up even when he knew he’d been caught red-handed.
That’s what your boy was like with his soul. Before Darla got her fangs into him. Hell, the night she nailed him, his father had thrown him into the streets ‘for the last time’. Liam became Angelus, one of the most vicious and bloodthirsty vampires in history.”
Buffy sat quietly contemplating his words. “So what you’re saying is that the soul of the person who is turned determines the kind of vampire they’ll be?” she asked. A skip in her heartbeat had her cautioning herself to stay calm. If that were the case she had a lot more questions for Mr. Whistler that didn’t concern this particular vampire.
“Always knew you were a smart little trick. Exactly. Now, when that band of vengeful gypsies cursed Angelus, they weren’t at all picky. Any random soul was good enough to do the job. Your little friend, being the over-achiever she is, got specific and cursed him with the original soul when she did her mojo. Liam’s soul; which wasn’t any great prize to begin with, ya know?”
“So the stupid, rude behavior is what he was like as a human?” Buffy shook her head with a short, bitter laugh. “Great. Just when you think you know a guy…”
Whistler sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “This whole sitch has thrown a monkey-wrench into all those plans the Powers had for Angel,” he commented. His seemingly random remark irritated the slayer.
“Well, don’t whine to me. I tried to get them to change how things went down, but noooooo! The all powerful Powers know best, don’t they?” she said scathingly.
He glared at her. “Why you got to bring up old shi- err stuff, Slayer?”
“It’s my right as a female. And quit trying to talk hip. Quite frankly it’s scary and I feel like I’m on Springer.”
Holding out his hands in a placating gesture, Whistler sought to appeal to her better nature. If such a thing exists, he thought sourly.
“No one is throwing around any blame, here. Trust me, they’ll figure out something to make it right. It’s kinda what they do,” he assured her.
Buffy shot out of her seat, eyeing him warily. “Why does that not make me feel any better? Oh yeah! It’s because I’m usually the one that gets the fuzzy end of the lollipop when the Powers start sticking their noses in.”
She had a point.
Whistler sucked in his cheeks with an annoying smacking sound. “All they’re asking of you right now is to cultivate a little patience when you’re dealing with Angel. And whatever you do, no more smoochies!”
Her glare could have burned the slime off a Chaos demon. Before Whistler knew what was happening, Buffy had him by the scruff of the neck and high-stepping it to the front door. She bounced him deliberately off of the door frame, breaking his nose. He was still squealing in pain as she tossed him out into the front yard and slammed the door shut.
“I’ll call you, Slayer. Maybe we can do lunch,” he quipped nasally as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding.
Damn, but she was so touchy!