"Axis - the Sky is Broken"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Moby is responsible for this jam, and I urge everyone to pick up a copy of 'Play' (especially the writers out there) -- the inspiration points are truly astounding.
Dedication: To Ducks, who has once again gotten me all twisted up with her awesome fic. This time, it's Something Old Book IV. I'm just DYING to know what happens next. Oh, the angst and the woe. D, we've gotta do fluff. Stat! Also, to Margot, who continues to astound me with 'Journey' and her new epic, 'Storming Heaven.' I bow before my Goddesses altars with humble affection in my heart.

"Buff, this is really sweet and all, but you didn't have to fall at my feet to get me to notice you. Gosh, though, I've always wanted a woman willing to bow for me."

"Lost my balance," Buffy said nervously as she quickly stood. She did not like the way Drusilla was looking at her.

"Not all you're going to lose," Angelus promised softly.

"Well. Fun as that sounds, I've gotta go. You know, people waiting for me at home, Giles worries, so I'll just clear out of--"

"You won't leave us so soon," Drusilla murmured, and Buffy jumped, because the psychotic vamp had moved behind her while Buffy had been focused on Angel. Damn it, he always did that to her. She needed strength and focus more than anything now, and he effortlessly stripped her of both.

"No, you won't leave us so soon at all," Angelus murmured, stepping closer to her. His eyes were not the warm, chocolate brown that normally gave her such joyous access to his soul. They were nearly black, and so cold she shivered, even before he brought the back of his hand up to caress her cheek.

Cold, soft marble. That was how she'd always thought of his skin. Like him, the description was a contradiction, but she'd long ago resigned herself to Angel forever remaining unique. He wasn't like anyone else, and every time fate threw them one of these little tests, he proved it.

Now, she too was a contradiction, cold and soft and scarred with the memories of a demon and the soul of a scared young girl: a Slayer. The demon was asserting itself now (or was that the Slayer?), crying out for the touch of its mate, and the woman's desires that lived and howled inside of her were in perfect agreement.

Was she lost? Was fighting him hopeless? He was hypnotizing her with the look in his eyes, his contradictions, his cold soft marble-ness. Would she have to fight forever? Would there never be a time when what she wanted wasn't in direct violation with what was right?

Buffy's entire being was focused on Angelus, for which she was grateful. Had she not been so centered on her mate, she would have sensed Drusilla raising a lead pipe behind her; would have been aware of the cool metal slicing through the air toward the back of her head, and she would have missed out on the first unconscious, thoughtless moments she'd had since the last time she'd lain, unaware, in Angel's arms.

"Pick up the pace, Law Boy."

"Don't know why you brought him, Killer," Spike muttered.

"Stop calling me that," Faith hissed, spinning away from Lindsey to glare at Spike. "I am =not= a killer."

"Killer, Slayer, not much difference where I'm standing."

As they glared at each other, Faith wondered why she hadn't just bashed Lindsey and Spike's heads together and left them to be killed by the Wolfram and Hart security team.

"It's here," Lindsey said, tapping at a hidden panel on the side of the wall. His hands were covered with icky sewer slime, but he withdrew a large stack of documents from inside a small cubbyhole.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why Born Again Boy made the cut.

Spike, on the other hand, she still wasn't sure about.

"We're riskin' our necks -- not to mention a few other pertinent parts -- for a stack of papers?" Spike asked incredulously.

"There's enough information in here to keep Wolfram and Hart from making a move on us, at least for a little while," Lindsey replied. "Not to mention... my research."

"Research," Faith repeated, stopping dead in her tracks. "What kinda research?"

Lindsey almost looked nervous. Anyone else would have, Faith was sure. But he was a cool one, and she nearly respected that about him.

"It might be a way to save Angel's soul."

Faith couldn't help it; she let out a disbelieving bark of laughter.

"You wanna save Angel's soul," she muttered. "That's rich. I bet you got a nice piece of land to sell me, too, right?. Overlooks a wicked cool swamp."

"I say you kill him, pet, then I can eat him, and then we can steal his little briefcase of intel, thus eliminating the need for his annoying arse."

"Intel," Faith snickered.

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm on the level," Lindsey said calmly. His gaze never left Faith's. "I'm tired. I'm tired of going home every night, only to scrub my skin so hard I bleed, and I still don't feel clean. I don't know how to change my life, but I sure as hell know I can't live with it another minute."

"I know the feeling," Faith whispered, more to herself than to the two men standing in the sewer with her.

Tuning whatever it was Spike was bitching about out, Faith looked straight into Lindsey's eyes. If there was one thing prison -- hell, her entire life -- had taught her, it was how to read people. She might not have been able to lie worth a damn, but Faith could spot a liar a mile away. The fact that Angel and Buffy had, at one time, been able to deceive her still ticked her off when she thought about it. It also gave her the resolve to never let another living soul make a fool out of her.

Her gut told her that Lindsey McDonald was telling the truth.

As she looked into his pained, soft blue eyes, as she began to compare them to the color of the ocean she'd seen in paintings, but never in real life, her gut started to tell her something else. Something she definitely didn't want to hear.

"Fuck me," Faith muttered.

"If you insist," Spike and Lindsey answered at the same time. They both looked irritated at being caught thinking the same thought. Faith couldn't be bothered to care.

"No, no, no," she chanted, "No way. Uh-uh. The PTB have FUCKED with my life enough, this is SO not gonna happen."

"Have you gone 'round the bleedin' bend?" Spike had that look on his face Angel sometimes got when he could smell trouble.

Faith swallowed deeply. "I'm fine."

Lindsey gave her a concerned look. "Are you--"

"I said," Faith enunciated clearly, trying -- and failing -- to break eye contact with Lindsey, "I'm fine. We've gotta get out of here."

"You're right," Lindsey agreed, taking the lead. Faith marched in step beside him, and Spike brought up the rear, glancing back and forth, trying to spot trouble. "The brains of your little operation are gonna be mighty interested in this, darlin'."

As it turned out, Willow's 'I love chocolate' sounds weren't exclusive to her enjoyment of chocolate.

For the rest of his life, Xander would be haunted by the memory of pale skin. On the rare occasions he'd seen his best bud in a bikini, he'd made a subconscious mental note that Willow was somehow even paler than Angel and Spike put together. No doubt it came from spending too much time indoors. He remembered now, teasing her when they were children, calling her the whitest kid in the world.

That title now belonged to Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. And Xander couldn't get the image of the two palest people on earth (Buffy and Angel notwithstanding, and Xander really wasn't sure which was the worst mental image at this point) naked from the waist up, writhing around in a melted puddle of chocolate ice cream on the kitchen table of the Hyperion Hotel.

"Oh dear." Wesley began donning his clothes with inhuman speed. Willow's hands were shaking so badly her blouse ended up being mis-buttoned.

Xander couldn't feel any of the blood rushing through his body.

Try though he might, Xander couldn't pretend that what he'd just witnessed hadn't happened. There was an even more awkward moment as Wesley realized his fly was halfway down. Willow's cheeks got redder than he'd ever seen them.

"I uh, I imagine you two need to talk, so I'll just--" Wesley's startled gaze flew to Willow's. "That is, unless you'd prefer that I--"

"No," Willow said quickly. "Go." Her eyes widened. "I mean, not 'go, get out, you bastard,' it's just that I need to handle this on my--"

"I understand, of course," Wesley assured her. "I'd just hate for you to think that I was leaving you in the--"

"Of course not," Willow soothed. "I'd never think that you'd just--"

"Never," Wesley declared solemnly.

"Yo, Nutty and Nuttier," Xander interrupted, "you stuttering your way to a point any time soon?"

"Quite," Wesley said. "Bye." Had he been a cartoon character, there would have been a cutout of his body left in the wall when he literally ran right through it. As it was, he simply used the revolving door.

"Xander," Willow began hesitantly.

He made a slashing motion with his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He paced the floor for a moment, then turned, and tried to speak again. The results were the same as before. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"It just happened," Willow said lamely. "Almost happened," she amended.

That did it. Xander exploded. "Will! I thought you were... you know... with the gay!"

"So did I!" Willow cried. "I mean, I =am=... or was... or... I don't know," she finished mournfully.

"I don't know what to say, Will," Xander said wearily. "I mean, this whole situation is beyond weird. Far be it for me to tell you how long you're supposed to mourn, but... I mean, it's only been a couple of months since Tara died." He didn't mention that Willow was standing in roughly the exact spot Buffy had drained Tara in. Even in his frenzied state, he didn't think either of them needed to contemplate that.

"You're right," Willow said quietly. "You don't get to tell me how to mourn. I loved her..." Her lower lip trembled, and she tried to regain control. "I loved her more than anything. And I miss her every day. You know how that feels."

"I do," Xander agreed. "And I also know that I'm nowhere near ready to start something with someone else. And I'm definitely not going to switch teams!"

"I'm not... okay, so maybe I am." Willow made a frustrated gesture with her arms. "I'm confused, Xander. I'm confused about everything. And Wes...well, he's nice. And he listens, and he likes me. And I really like him. And this whole thing just sort of... happened. I don't even know how, but it did, and... you really are taking this way too hard."

"What do you expect?! My best friend tells me she might be straight?! Of course I'm gonna feel like the world is spinning off its axis!"

They stared at each other for nearly a minute before the absurdity of it all fully weighed down on them. Xander lost it first, his lips curving up into a grin he would have given, had the senior class elected him 'Class Clown' instead of that prop-hack-wanna-be-funny Jack Mayhew. Willow began giggling quietly, and she clutched Xander's forearm for support.

"I know how hard it would be for you to accept that I might not be gay," Willow said gravely. "It would be a hard thing for any friend to deal with."

"I can still picture you with girls, right?" Xander said, mischief dancing behind his eyes.

"You're not allowed to picture me with girls now," Willow groused.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to picture you with girls, because I have to do something to get the image of you and," he adopted a stiff, mocking British tone, "his royal highness, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce out of my mind, dear girl."

Willow smacked his arm lightly. "Don't. He's not... he's not like that anymore."

"So both Angel and Cordy have told me," Xander agreed. "But I still need to get rid of the bad pictures."

"Come on," Willow decided, taking Xander's arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Entertainment room. Princess Bride. Stat."

As Buffy opened her eyes, the first thought that ran through her mind was 'déjà vu.'

Directly in her line of sight was Drusilla, chained to the opposing wall of the warehouse. Buffy tried to move her arms, only to find herself equally confined. Half-heartedly looking around for Spike, Buffy was unsurprised to locate Angel, lounging on an old conveyer belt in the center of the room.

"Well, well, look who's finally rejoined the land of the not-knocked-unconscious," he drawled, springing to his feet.

"Why's Natasha here tied up?" Buffy asked, blinking her eyes in an attempt to become fully conscious again.

"Dru and I had a mild disagreement on how to handle you," Angel explained smoothly.

"I wanted to cut you open and play with your insides until you turned to dust," Drusilla murmured.

"Yes, and I thought keeping you alive would be ever so much more fun," Angel said, slanting what almost looked to Buffy like an uneasy glance at Dru.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad you got your way," Buffy said to Angel.

A predatory smile spread across his face. "You won't be," he promised her silkily.

"I won't let you have him again," Drusilla said suddenly.

"Chill, Elvira," Buffy suggested. "If you haven't noticed in your loon-bird state, I'm not exactly in the position to do any 'having'."

"You'll try to take him from me," Drusilla whimpered. "I'll use your little bones to sharpen my teeth."

"That's enough, Dru," Angel said sharply.

"Already playing favorites," Drusilla moaned pitifully. "You already love her best."

"I don't love either of you," Angel snapped.

"Liar," Buffy taunted quietly.

"You," he said pointing at Buffy, "shut up, before I let you," he jerked his head toward Drusilla, "have your way."

"Not gonna happen," Buffy declared firmly.

"Oh?" Angel stalked toward her until, had he possessed breath, it would have been fanning against her face. "And tell me, my love, why is that, exactly?"

"Because you couldn't live without me," she said boldly.

"Guess again, lover," he snarled.

"Stop touching her," Drusilla said shrilly. "I won't abide it, you touching something so filthy. First my Spike, now my Angel... she's stolen everything from me, everything."

"Oh, good God, shut up," Buffy snapped. Angling her foot just so, she kicked out and sent her one of the eighty dollar pumps Angel had bought to make her feel better flying across the room. The heel hit Drusilla in the head, effectively knocking her out.

"Nice shot," Angel said, genuinely impressed.

Then, he hit Buffy over the head.

"And yet," he murmured, "somehow a better shot."

Another hour, another dusty tome.

With a weary sigh, Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he rose from behind Wesley's desk and trudged to the bookcase that housed Angel's many assorted volumes. Picking one that he vaguely remembered possessing several different bits of vampire lore, he retook his seat and began the process anew.

If someone had told him two years ago that he would be exhausting himself to find a way to restore Angel's soul to him again, Giles would have pinned that person to a wall and asked what demon was impersonating a human being.

As things stood, Giles felt a responsibility, not only to his Slayer, but to Angel as well, to find the answers for them. He regretted not taking Buffy's pain more seriously all those years ago, when Angel originally lost his soul. He had, for all intents and purposes, told Buffy to 'suck it up', to 'ignore Angel until you can kill him' until his own pain eclipsed hers.

Jenny's death had completely robbed him of the air of detachment he had managed to retain until then. A Watcher watched; a Watcher advised; a Watcher did not, otherwise, become personally or emotionally involved in the life of his charge.

If his loyalty to Buffy were the only thing driving him, Giles would certainly be expending all his energy to find a cure for Angel. However, surprising as it was to him, Giles found himself genuinely wishing to help Angel for the vampire's sake alone.

Angel had, originally, been a source of consternation for Giles. He had not trusted this vampire that took far too personal an interest in his Slayer, and later, when he had trusted him, Angel had turned on them all. He had killed the woman Giles loved, and left her as a party favor in his bed. It had taken a long while before Giles had been comfortable enough around Angel to trust him again, as an ally, and even longer before he could once again consider the souled vampire a friend.

That day had arrived, though. It might have been when Angel came to Buffy's prom, because he knew what it meant to her, despite the state of their romantic relationship. It might have been when Angel came back to Sunnydale, knowing how unwelcome he would be, simply because Buffy needed him. He had hidden from her then, because he thought it would make her burden lighter somehow. Certainly, this healing had already been in motion when their entire rank had shown up on Angel's doorstep, tired, weary, and frightened, begging him to help them with Buffy.

Whenever it occurred, Giles was comfortable with Angel, comfortable with the fact that Buffy loved him madly, that he loved her in return. He could trust this man with his daughter's heart, and while Giles knew he would never be completely at peace with Angel, he no longer hated him, was willing to accept him in their lives, and that was better than he'd thought himself capable of. Angel was good for Buffy, Buffy was good for Angel, and hating a good man took energy best spent on other tasks.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of voices coming from the lobby.

"Would you please, for the love of all things unholy, shut your bleedin' trap?"

"Make me, Fang."

"Never bloody thought I'd be wishing Angelus were here."

"What good would Angel do you?"

"He'd snap your pretty neck before you had time to blink."

"Excuse me," Wesley's voice interrupted as Giles left the office, "but would you both please kindly shut the hell up and tell me what this bloodsucking lawyer is doing here?"

"Well, which is it?" Spike said snottily.

"Yeah," Faith added, "shut the hell up or tell you what the bloodsucking lawyer is doing here?"

"What's going on?" Giles inquired.

"The long lost Duke of Hazard here has a story to tell you," Spike said. "One he felt was too important to share with me and the bitch on the way."

"Yeah, he was so quiet, you'd think he was under arrest or something," Faith said. "And hey!" she added, almost offhand, as she smacked Spike upside the head.

"Would you quit doing that?" Spike snapped.

"What sort of story do you have to tell, Mr. McDonald?" Wesley asked coldly.

"A way for you to save Angel," Lindsey answered quietly.

"I assure you, if you're toying with us, we will be forced to take rather unpleasant action," Wesley warned.

"What's Born-Again-No-Wait-I-Am-Evil boy doing here?" Cordelia asked as she descended the stairs, Gunn, Xander, and Willow at her heels.

"Huh?" Willow whispered to Gunn.

"One of the evil dudes that tried to drive Angel off the deep end," Gunn answered.

"What way?" Giles asked. He knew the abbreviated version of what that law firm, Wolfram and Hart, had done to Angel over the past year. Frankly, he didn't care what they'd done. If the man before them had a cure, he would accept it gratefully.

"It's a spell. A Blessing. It's . . ." Lindsey sighed, looked around him ruefully. "It's what we did to Buffy."

Several pairs of eyes narrowed at him.

"Why are we supposed to believe you want to help Angel?" Cordelia asked.

"Because the only thing I've wanted in this world for the past two years, is to destroy him," Lindsey said quietly.

"Not exactly the survey's number one answer on the 'why should we believe you don't want to kill Angel' poll," Xander pointed out wryly.

"I don't want to be the man I have been for the past two years," Lindsey continued. "Hell, the past five years. I don't like him. And far as I can figure, the best way to go about changing that is to sacrifice the one goal I've held close all this time."

"I believe him," Willow said quietly.

"And didn't that Host guy send you to find the bloodsucker?" Xander added.

"What are you, nuts?" Faith snapped. "We're talking about some seriously invasive hocus pocus, and we're just supposed to =trust= him?!"

"We're trusting you," Willow pointed out.

"Not with Angel's life," Faith insisted.

"But we would," Wesley said quietly. That statement seemed to take all the wind out of Faith's sails.

"Not that this isn't a beautiful moment, but could we get bloody on with it?" Spike asked.

"A Blessing," Giles repeated, trying to get them back on track.

"A Chinese Blessing," Lindsey confirmed. "It's all here." He handed his stack of papers to Giles.

"Willow, Wesley, would you mind . . .?" Giles asked offhandedly.

"Not having sex?" Xander whispered near Willow's ear.

She flushed, and inconspicuously smacked him. Xander felt she was doing that too much lately.

The witch and the former Watcher sat down with Giles and began looking through the research Lindsey handed them, Willow paying special attention to the incantation.

"This looks like it will only work if the person being blessed is in the same place as the person doing the casting," Willow said at last.

"That's right," Lindsey confirmed.

"But when Buffy..."

"We were there," Lindsey said sheepishly. "Hiding in the shadows. That's what Wolfram and Hart does best."

All those familiar with the firm had to agree.

"This is incredibly punctilious," Giles noted, scanning Lindsey's research.

"I've always believed in leaving no stone unturned, sir," Lindsey replied.

Giles raised an eyebrow at the 'sir', but otherwise refrained from commenting.

Cordelia was not so reserved.

"So what, we're just supposed to believe you've decided to turn over a new leaf? Am I the only one having a been there, done that moment?"

Giles prevented Lindsey from answering Cordelia. "The Watcher's Council is mentioned in most of this text," he said, looking up at Lindsey.

Smiling, Lindsey looped his only remaining thumb in his belt. "Like I said. It's a helluva read."

Xander tapped Giles on the shoulder. "Should we wake the Buff for this?"

Giles frowned, then shook his head. "No, let her sleep. We can fill her in later. She certainly deserves to rest while she can."

"Rise and shine, lover."

The words sent a chill up and down Buffy's spine. It was beginning again. The torture, the mind games. A fan of irony, she reminded herself, and there was nothing more ironic than this, Buffy decided as she pulled at the restraints holding her arms captive above her head. They weren't chains; instead, he'd bound her with strips of black cloth. He was no doubt counting on her being too disoriented to fight him properly.

At least she was lying on a cot now. That had to be an improvement over being chained to a wall, staring at Drusilla.

"Okay, once was payback. Twice is just mean," she quipped as she opened her eyes.

He was leaning against the wall, regarding her through hooded lids, dressed all in black -- bottom half leather, top half silk. Her mouth watered a little and she tried to suppress any desire she felt. He was Angel, though, no matter the details, and her attempt proved futile.

"We're going to play a little game, love," he said lightly, moving toward her.

"Like Monopoly?" she asked hopefully.

As she expected, he ignored her quip. His hand wandered up to the top of the sheet that covered her body, and he pulled it away, baring her to his gaze. Admittedly, she should have realized it sooner, but once she was no longer covered, it occurred to Buffy that she was naked.

"I think I'd like to tarnish every happy memory you have of your boyfriend," he said at last, his palm tracing slow, gentle circles over her stomach.

Buffy was more than a little distressed to realize she'd remained unconscious while he removed the shirt she'd only worn that night because it smelled like him.

"Geez, what kind of a predator am I?" she muttered quietly.

"Honestly, I had the same thought," he admitted, his voice mocking. "I suppose you were only so wonderfully submissive because you thought your love was here with you. What can I say, Buff? That gets me." He beat his chest, once, over his heart. "Right here."

"My love =is= here with me," she said flatly.

That had perhaps not been the wisest thing to say. His arm shot up and his hand wrapped around her throat so tightly, she found herself gasping for air she didn't need. How ridiculous, she thought dazedly.

"You think that now, and really, Buff, it's kinda cute how you've learned NOTHING since the last time we danced. I'll show you, though.

"I'll show you all the things you've never been smart enough to fear."

So here it was. Her worst nightmare in blaring Technicolor and Dolby Digital Surround Sound, hovering over her, with the nerve to glare down at her with her lover's chocolate brown eyes.

This was a monster. Angel had this inside of him; everyone did. Vampires were the manifestation of humanity's darkest, most insidious natures. His intent was to pervert everything she and Angel had been to each other. He had chosen well, too. Of all the mind games he had played, of all the things he'd threatened to do, of all of the things he'd done, somehow he'd managed to avoid crossing this line.

At first, she had been sure it was because he found it distasteful. The demon had made his feelings about the night that she and Angel had made love together perfectly clear. Later, though, when her own insecurity had finally gotten out of the way, Buffy had begun to see it for what it was. Angelus didn't attempt to seduce her, as she knew he had done to his victim's in the past, because he didn't want to risk feeling anything more for her than he already did.

Death was what he'd been after. Satisfying, fulfilling death that came only after he'd destroyed her entire world from the inside out. Now, his goal was slightly different. Her death no longer figured into it. Only her surrender, and to accomplish that, he had to taint everything she had shared with his soul. The longer she remained close to him, the easier it became to understand everything he was thinking.

He wanted to leave a scar, one that would remain with her forever, so that whenever she thought of Angel, she would think of this moment, of this violation.

And that, she could not allow.

"I won't let you rape me," Buffy declared quietly.

He laughed harshly against the side of her face. "Ah, Buff, so stupidly brave. I really don't see how you're gonna stop me."

"I won't let you do this to us," she continued. "I won't let you do this to him. I won't let there be something this ugly between us after I get him back." Her gaze locked with his, Buffy drew her leg up to wrap around his hip, tugging his leather-clad body closer to hers.

A growl escaped his mouth. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I want you," she said clearly. "I want you to take me."

"Are you crazy?!" He tried to move away from her, but she'd brought her other leg around; both now held his hips in a vise like grip. "This is real nice," he hissed. "Cheating on your boyfriend."

"It's not cheating," she insisted. "You are him. You're a part of him. And when I get him back, he'll remember that he didn't have to force me tonight."

"You're loonier than Dru," he muttered.

"No. I just love you more than anything."

"Stop saying that!" he snapped, fisting a handful of her hair so tightly she cried out softly.

"What's the matter? Can't take the truth? We're mated, lover, bound by love and blood and souls. You've taken care of the 'souls' part, but you can still feel the rest, can't you?"

"I hate you." Buffy almost felt sorry for him. He hadn't said it with any confidence -- instead, it had sounded almost like a mantra; something he was desperately trying to make true.

"Thin line, my love," she whispered kindly. Her hands were bound, but she was able to gain some leverage. She raised her upper body and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. He seemed too stunned to move for a moment.

Then, snarling, he attacked her mouth, spreading violent, bruising kisses to her lips. His fangs nicked her, and he moaned as her blood hit his senses. Sucking her lower lip into his mouth, his tongue ran over the tiny wound, drawing on it hard enough to make her cry out again.

"I'm going to hurt you," he declared. "You're never getting your boy back, and I'm going to show you exactly how much I'm =not= him."

"You can't hurt me, Angel."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? Angelus is only the Latinate for Angel. If you're so sure you two are different people, what do you care what I call you?"

He growled again, and she felt him test the strength of her legs around his waist. They were engaged in a game of wills. Neither was willing to give an inch. Angel was playing for his identity, and Buffy was playing for him. Her hold on him held as firm as the black satin around her wrists.

She felt only slightly disadvantaged at being naked, while he at least had leather and silk for armor.

There was also the slight problem of her not entirely believing everything she was saying. A very large part of her was desperately afraid she wouldn't be able to make good on her promise. That part of her, the Slayer that somehow still breathed and fought against evil inside her skin, the girl who'd finally decided to kill him all those years ago, who'd fought him with an ancient blade... that girl hated him. She hated him every bit as much as his soul had hated the evil that controlled her after she was turned.

Yet, she was still powerless to resist him. How was it possible, she wondered for the thousandth time, to love someone so desperately, that =nothing= they did could ever be enough to make you stop? He had killed; killed friends, people she knew. He'd stalked her, tortured her, beat her, tried to kill her. Most of all, he'd left her. And through it all, no matter how much she tried, she couldn't make it stop. This well of love she had that insisted on bubbling up and over for him, no matter how angry, hurt, confused, or sad she was because of him.

Her love was a double-edged sword that had been lodged securely in her gut long before she ever ran him through. It was a constant ache, one she carried most of the time with joy, because it was such a small price to pay for knowing his love. It was the times they had been separated, the times she had been forbidden the ability to press her lips to his, to draw heat from his cold, dead body... that was when the ache had grown until it was an unending pain that spread through her body like a virus.

Now, that love was piercing her breast anew, showing her new depths of sorrow. There was nothing she wanted less than to let this demon touch her, save never being allowed to touch Angel again at all.

With that thought driving her, Buffy met him violent kiss for violent kiss, her face changing as she scented her blood against his fangs. Soon, their blood mixed against their torn lips, and she heard him snarl.

"You think you know everything about me," he growled, pushing away from her as far as he could.

"I do," Buffy said quietly. And she did. Just as she knew what he was about to do to her. She only hoped she would be able to retain her composure. It would be hard to convince him later, when she had =her= Angel back, that she was unharmed by the experience if he had memory of her screaming for him to stop.

Savagely, he raised his arm and backhanded her. Her lip split in new places, and she held back a cry. Her eyes shut tightly, because she thought she might be able to get through this, but not if she had to look at his face.

He knew this, of course, and his hand smoothed over her face, becoming gentle. His lips were on her eyelids, coaxing them gently open. Slowly, his mouth moved to her ear, his hands smoothing up and down her sides.

"If you try to pretend it isn't me, I'll kill you," he whispered.

Inner reserve of strength, inner reserve of strength. It became a silent mantra. This was something she had to do for him, for all the things Angel had always done for her. She needed something to cling to, something to give her the strength to see this game through to the end.

His fingers ran along her arms gently, then abruptly tightened, his nails digging into her skin, making her bleed again. She gritted her teeth to stop the cry this time < inner reserve, inner reserve, think, think > and she forced her eyes to remain open.

Then, like the epiphany he'd told her overcame him what seemed like so long ago, she had it. Like Giles taught her to, Buffy went inside herself until she reached her center. There, she imagined nothing but pure white light, and at the center of that light, she saw a small cottage in the woods. Inside that cottage was a fireplace, and she sat in front of the roaring fire, calm and complete, holding an antique lace rose.

The roses Angel brought her were the only reason she'd survived those first weeks, Buffy knew. They had reminded her of life, and of death, the natural cycle she was no longer a part of. Soft petals and sweet scent had given her the strength to stay amongst the living when all she'd wanted to do was greet the sunrise.

And, she was convinced, the memory of those roses would save her now.

"I could never pretend," she said out loud, meeting his gaze steadily.

His eyes narrowed, and he hit her again, the Claddagh ring he'd never removed slicing into her flesh. She wished, fleetingly, that she still had hers.

"I still don't think you quite get what's happening here, Buff," he spat.

"I get," she assured him. "I know."

"You know, your mouth just gets you into more trouble," he growled.

"Here's what I know, =baby=," she sneered. "I know that you set out to destroy me, and instead, I'm going to rock your world off its axis. I'm going to take you someplace you've never been without possession of a soul. And when I'm done, you're going to beg me to do it again." She smiled. "Don't you get it, Angel? You don't get to win. No matter what you do, only I get to win."

With a snarl more animal than any she'd heard from him yet, his mouth descended on her neck and he began feeding gluttonously from her jugular.

Buffy couldn't contain the moan that escaped her. The demon inside her was experiencing pure bliss. The bond she'd established with Angel was almost that of a Sire, given the lack of potential her actual Sire had shown. Buffy knew, for the first time, as Angel drew deeply from her, that her real intent upon seeking him out had been because she'd wanted him for her Sire.

It made sense. He was the strongest vampire she personally knew, and her soul had loved him deeply. The demon mimicked that emotion, wanted him to take her, to dominate her, to be dominated by her. The demon inside her wanted him to own her, to possess her completely, and Buffy realized that a part of her, a part of the purely human her, wanted the very same thing.

Except she needed it to be the purely human part of him taking possession. Otherwise, the whole thing meant nothing.

Ripping his mouth from her neck finally, he began to roam over her body. He bit at her flesh, her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. Harsh bites, more violent than the ones they'd exchanged the last time they'd gone at one another, sans souls. Then, the violence had been in the interest of their mutual pleasure. Now, he just wanted her anguish. He would have it. She couldn't keep it from him, no matter how hard she tried. But he would not break her. He wouldn't break =them=.

< antique lace roses and his voice in my ear reciting poetry from memory >

She was weakened by the blood loss, and so it was laughably easy for him to pry her legs from around his hips. He pulled the silk shirt he wore over his head, and bent to her chest. He nipped at her already abused nipples, slid them into his mouth, worried them against his fangs until they were raw and she couldn't hold the soft whimpers of pain back any longer.

< I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off >

Again, he moved down her body, his fangs leaving red tear-tracks over her stomach, along her hips, all the way to her thighs. He opened the vein on the inside of her thigh and took a moment to drain her just that little bit more. Soon, he apparently became hungry for more, because he abandoned her leg and moved his face between her thighs.

If everything else in this twisted scenario had failed to shame her, the fact that she was dripping wet for him would do all by its lonesome.

< I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. >

His mouth explored every inch of her wet, intimate flesh. Here, too, he made her bleed, but this time, he soothed the hurts with the cool perfection of his tongue. There was pleasure to be found here, along with the pain, perhaps because of the pain, and he wrenched another sound from her throat, a scream at last, though not the kind she knew he longed to hear.

He sat back from her and she watched as he stripped the leather pants from his body, leaving him as naked as she. He moved over her, and she hissed quietly at the searing pain the skin to skin contact caused her abused body. The gesture a mockery of the way she'd taunted him earlier, he pulled her legs around his hips and drove into her with a single, violent thrust.

< I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body >

He pounded into her so hard, she thought she would die from how much it hurt. Knowing how much more it would pain her, he had purposely made her come before this so that his invasion would cause her more humiliation. His grip on her hips was punishing, and she was sure, vamp healing abilities or not, she would be bruised for days to come.

What was worse than how much it hurt, worse than the sharp, stabbing pain tearing through her as he tried to split her in two... was the part of her that enjoyed it. While the woman in her was dying, the soul inside her screaming, the demon was in ecstasy. It pleaded with him for more pain, more anger, more of whatever he deigned to give.

Buffy couldn't decide which part of her she hated more at the moment.

< I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way >

Her body was weak, as was her spirit. He had taken from her, emotionally, physically, and she was close to passing out from the strain. As if he sensed this (and knowing him, he probably had), Angel tore open a vein on his wrist and pressed the bleeding appendage to her mouth. She could no more resist his offer than she could push him off her and leave this room.

She drank from him hungrily, and this sensation was clearly what he'd been waiting for. Somehow, he drilled her into the mattress harder than he had been before. Her legs were now hanging listlessly open, and only his brutal pounding kept them spread.

When he came, he roared in satisfaction, and he once again buried his fangs in her neck, tearing more the flesh he'd already ripped asunder earlier. As he calmed, she felt his nonexistent breath against her ear.

"Was that how you rocked my world off its axis?" he mocked. "'Cause if it is, gotta tell you, you really need some training, Buff."

< that this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep >

Using the last of her will, Buffy met his gaze. Her body felt broken, filthy, and used. But she managed to smile at him. It was a sickly, bruised thing, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

"It was good for me," she croaked through her tired, abused lungs.

Not even his inhuman howl of rage kept her conscious a moment longer.

The End

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