"Naked - Storybook Love"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: The song is by Willy DeVille, and it's the theme for 'The Princess Bride.'
Thanks: To everyone who's sent me such wonderful feedback on this series! You guys... you're the BEST. And if I haven't replied yet... well, that's 'cause the busy-ness of real life sucks beyond the telling of it. You'd rather me write more than reply, right? *g*
Dedication: To all the poor souls dealt a rotten hand by the St. Patrick's Day Massacre. My prayers are with you and your once glorious sites. Now here's something wacky to ease the pain *g*

Come my love, I'll tell you a tale
of a boy and girl, and their love story,
and how he loved her oh, so much,
and all the charms she did possess.

"I should just eat the food, and have some wine. They're going to look at me funny if I . .  you know..."

"Drink blood from a wine glass?"

"Ha, ha." But she didn't sound amused.

"Spike and I will both be drinking =and= eating some of the food. You won't be the only one."

Buffy sighed and flopped back on the bed dramatically. "Can't I just stay up here?"

"I've been bringing you breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed," Angel chided softly, giving up the battle he was waging with his cufflink to join her on the bed, stretched out on his side. They'd all agreed dressing up a little was appropriate for the evening, and while he'd opted for a dress shirt -- black, as usual -- he was drawing the line at a tie. "You haven't left this room for a week. They come to you, more frequently now, but still you never make the first move."

"What if they don't want to see me?" she asked in a small voice, nervously smoothing the dark green halter Cordelia had bought her over its matching ankle-length satin skirt.

He covered her hand with one of his where it twitched over her stomach, and she wiggled it beneath his until their fingers twined. She held their clasped hands to her belly firmly and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

"They love you," he assured her quietly. "They miss you."

"They miss what I was," Buffy insisted. "They can't . . . they aren't ready to deal with Vamp Buffy. Which, by the way, is why I should =not= drink with dinner tonight."

"Even if you're right -- which I'm not saying you are -- that's exactly why you =should= drink."

"Your logic is making the kind of sense that doesn't. Which is odd for you. Usually all that wisdom you've acquired over your long, long, long, long, long life has at least --" she trailed off, softly giggling as he mock-growled at her and nipped her mostly-naked shoulder playfully.

"They need to get used to you the way you'll be for the rest of their lives," he said seriously after a moment. "Might as well start tonight."

"Can't we just stay up here and pretend there are no riders in our curses?"

"Buffy," he said warningly, withdrawing slightly from her.

"We have to talk about it, Angel," she reminded him seriously. "We've been avoiding it while I was having such fun being messed twenty-four seven, but we have to deal with it."

"I know," he agreed reluctantly. "But do you really want to have the sex talk before dinner with the entire family?"

His raised eyebrow made her want to punch him in the face. Even more so because he was right.

"You're right," she grumbled out loud. Then, she snatched his wrist back and quickly fixed his cufflink. He acquiesced to her, then let her fix its mate.

That simple task completed, she flung herself off the bed, still holding firmly to his hand as they headed out the door.

"After dinner is plenty soon for a sex talk," she added as they crossed the threshold, and she grinned at his groan.

"Would you be careful?! I really doubt Angel, Buffy and Spike want anything but very, =very= rare steak."

"I do recall how to cook, Cordelia," Wesley said tiredly.

"Maybe we shouldn't cook theirs at all," Willow mused aloud. "I mean maybe we could just, you know..."

"Plop a big 'ole slab of raw meat down on the table in front of them?" Cordelia suggested snidely, then sighed. "Tried and failed. It makes Angel all squirmy."

"Learned that on his last birthday," Wesley added sadly.

"Yeah, I guess Buffy would probably be kind of uncomfortable eating raw meat in front of all of us, too," Willow conceded.

"Spike probably wouldn't have a problem with it," Cordelia suggested thoughtfully.

"Oh, who cares about Spike?" Willow made a few emphatic gestures with her arms. "I'm worried about Buffy wigging. Spike doesn't care what people think of him; Buffy does."

"More to the point," Cordelia began subtly -- subtly for =Cordelia= -- "Buffy cares what you, Xander and Giles think of her."

Willow looked hurt. "I'm not going to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable. I was the one who suggested steak tartar, remember? Me! Tartar."

"I don't believe Cordelia's accusing you of anything," Wesley said with a stern glance sent in Cordelia's direction.

"Not at all," Cordelia agreed. "I'm just afraid poor Buffy's gonna pull up a chair, and =you're= gonna be the one wigging. Or Xander. Giles seems to have it together, thank God for small miracles."

Wesley cleared his throat loudly to cease Cordelia's speech without smacking her. He found it utterly fascinating that the longer the residents of Sunnydale stayed at the hotel, and the more time she spent with Xander Harris, the faster her newfound tact seemed to leak from her pores.

"What I believe Cordelia is =trying= to say," Wesley interrupted at last, "is that you may not be as comfortable with the situation as you believe you are."

Willow was prevented from forming an answer by Spike's entry into the kitchen. He made his way to the fridge, where he removed two bottles of blood, fresh from the butcher. Willow looked positively queasy.

"Like that," Cordelia pronounced smugly.

"What's this then?" Spike asked, looking between the three humans.

"I . . . that is . . . I mean . . ."

"Complete sentences, Willow," Wesley encouraged kindly.

"I should be used to it!" she spat out. "I mean, Angel's always drunk blood, and Spike's been around us for so long now . . . why is it so weird?"

"Because you're not used to Buffy on a liquid diet," Cordelia pointed out simply. "It's a different set of rules, and something you're just gonna have to deal with."

"Yeah, and you'll deal fast," Spike added, easily getting what the subject of conversation was. "If you don't want Buffy to hide up in the pouf's bedroom for the rest of her eternal life, you'll keep your eyes forward, and your conversation normal-like when she takes a sip of the red stuff." To illustrate his point, Spike tipped the bottle to his lips and took a swig. "There now, does that give your skin the crawlies?"

"Yeah," Willow admitted, "but that's 'cause it's dribbling down your chin."

"Right." Spike wiped his chin with his fingers, then licked them clean. "All better now, love?"

Willow's answer was a decidedly worried little squeak.

Spike shrugged and left the kitchen. Cordelia put a friendly arm around Willow's shoulders.

"You'll do fine," she assured the redhead. "Because if you don't, you'll have to deal with me in rare bitchy form, 'cause if Buffy goes catatonic, =I= have to deal with Cranky Angel, and I can promise you I've so had enough of that this year."

"Cordelia Chase, humanitarian," Wesley declared dryly.

"Weren't you doing something?" Cordelia said pointedly.

"Bloody hell," Wesley hissed as he liberated a pair of steaks that were most assuredly well done now.

"Those can be for Xander and I," Cordelia offered helpfully.

"Hey, hey, chop-chop, Slayer'll be down in a minute," Spike chastised as he came through the kitchen into the dining room.

"You know, why don't you bite me, Blondie," Faith snapped, then placed a hand over her mouth in mock horror. "Oops, I forgot. You =can't=."

Xander snickered and put the last plate on the table. Seeing he was done, Faith moved to the drawer that held Angel's silver. Angel's =old= silver. It looked like it had been around almost as long as he had.

"Keep yapping," Spike warned ominously as he filled three of the wineglasses on the table with blood. "You'll get yours, kitten."

"You'll get yours sooner than you think you don't stop calling me kitten," Faith warned through a gritted smile.

Spike narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment further. Damned if he wasn't nervous on Buffy's behalf, and he slipped out the back to grab a quick smoke before the festivities began.

"Am I supposed to do a fancy fold with these?" Xander asked, holding up one of the napkins.

"Willow didn't tell us to, and if she'd wanted one, I think she probably would have been explicit," Faith noted wryly.

"Yeah, Will has been kind of 'Sir, yes, sir!' about this dinner," Xander conceded.

Faith moved left at the same time Xander moved right, and they bumped into each other. Her gaze darted away from his quickly as things she'd rather forget ran through her mind. It wasn't the sex, nor any lingering attraction she felt toward him. They'd never been attracted to each other. He'd been there when she was horny, and having been a virginal teenage boy himself, he was always horny.

No, Faith's awkwardness stemmed from something she desperately needed to say to him.

"Sorry I tried to strangle you that time," she said suddenly.

Xander glanced up from the napkin he was busily folding into a paper plan. "No problem," he said sincerely. "Just more bloody water under the burned out bridge."

Now this did happen once upon a time
When things were not so complex,
And how he worshipped the ground she walked.
When he looked in her eyes, he became obsessed.

"Wow, guys . . . this is . . . Wow." Buffy smiled tightly, looking over every inch of the elegantly decorated dining room.

"Wow," Willow agreed, her voice overly cheerful.

Everyone stood behind the chair they would occupy during the meal. Wesley and Willow had already dished out portions onto everyone's plates. The steaks on Buffy's, Angel's, and Spike's plates were bloody, but not raw. While no one had been looking, Cordelia had drizzled some of the blood from Angel's stash over the vampires' steaks. It was something she'd been doing for Angel for quite some time, and he always seemed to enjoy his meal with them more, even if he wasn't quite sure why.

"It really does look quite . . . elegant," Giles stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Very civilized," Wesley agreed.

"The food smells great," Xander declared boisterously.

"Yeah, looks like you did a good job, English," Gunn added.

"Xander folded everyone's napkin into a little paper airplane," Faith said brightly.

The awkwardness and uncertainty spread through the room like a bad smell. Everyone stood at least two feet from everyone else. They were running out of pleasant things to say about the room, or the food without actually tasting it, yet no one seemed willing or able to make a move to sit down.

"Guys," Angel began uncertainly, "maybe this wasn't--"

"Oh no!" Willow held up a hand. "Don't say it wasn't a good idea. Because it was. It's fine, look, everything's fine, we'll just sit down and let things be fine."

"Willow, dinner was a wonderful idea," Angel assured the little witch. "I just mean that maybe eating it in here, with the silver I haven't seen since I moved into the hotel might not have been the best choice."

"What do you suggest, then?" Giles asked curiously.

"One of the rooms upstairs is large enough to accommodate everyone," Angel said easily, "and there's a TV up there."

"Bloody hell, I =knew= you were hiding a telly around here somewhere," Spike burst out. "I been watching Passions on this little portable I swiped from that pawn shop 'round the corner--"

"Yes, as delightful as hearing of your criminal exploits is, I for one am quite starved," Wesley cut in smoothly. "Shall we adjourn to the entertainment room?"

"Everyone grab a plate," Buffy ordered as they all hurried to balance glasses, plates and paper airplane napkins, along with silverware in their arms. Those gifted with supernatural agility were kind enough to help those prone to falling down while attempting to walk and chew gum at the same time, and soon everyone had made the trek up the Hyperion's grand staircase to the room Angel indicated.

The entertainment room was nothing special -- a thirty-two inch TV, VCR, and DVD player Cordelia had talked Angel into buying one night while they were hunting a demon that had gone incognito at a Circuit City. Gunn and Willow left the room briefly in search of soft things to lay out on the floor, and returned quickly with their bounty.

"Since we've got the hook-up -- Dead Boy, you got anything good?" Buffy tensed at Xander's 'nickname' for Angel, but there was a smile on his face as he said it, and Angel didn't look at all offended. The rancor often present in Xander's voice when he spoke to Angel was oddly absent, and she relaxed.

"Cordelia bought some DVDs," Angel answered, "but we've only watched 'The Shawshank Redemption.'"

"We thought it would be good for him," Cordelia added, smirking at Angel. Wesley and Gunn wore much the same expression.

He rolled his eyes at her and went to the cabinet where the DVDs were stored.

"Nothing heavy," Buffy called out. "I've met my quota of angst and woe."

"For the next century, at least," Willow agreed.

"Nothing serious," Faith added. "Some action'd be good."

"I somehow doubt the pouf has any decent T and A," Spike said snidely as he shoveled a large mouthful of steak into his mouth.

"Loser," Faith hissed, smacking the back of his head. "I meant something where somebody's getting beat up."

"I picked up on that," Angel assured her.

"Oh, maybe something romantic, too," Willow requested sweetly.

"Nothing heavy or serious, filled with ass kicking and romance," Xander mused. "You know what that means."

"'The Princess Bride,'" Buffy, Willow, Cordelia and Xander said as one.

"You do have it, right?" Xander asked Angel.

"I believe it was one of the many things I couldn't possibly live another day without owning," Angel answered, and it was clear to everyone in the room he was quoting Cordelia.

They had all scattered around, getting comfortable; having tossed blankets and pillows down on the floor of the mostly bare room. Faith sat furthest to the left, Spike beside her. Willow sat beside Spike, Wesley just in back of them. Xander was next to Willow, and Buffy sat to Xander's right. Angel took his place behind Buffy, letting her balance both their plates on her legs while he hooked his chin over her shoulder to eat. Cordelia and Gunn sat beside them, once again engaged in a rousing game of footsie they thought no one else noticed. Giles sat next to Angel, behind Willow and Xander.

The story opened up on an electronic baseball game, and Angel heaved a sigh.

"The book's better," Angel noted.

"Much more ironic," Giles agreed.

Buffy looked between the two of them with great interest. "You've both read 'The Princess Bride?'"

"Why are you so surprised?" Angel countered.

"Willow did give it to me for Christmas," Giles added.

"Never thought you'd read it, though," Willow said. "It's not really Giles-y, but I figured you needed to be silly more."

"What about you, Mr. Tragic Poetry Boy?" Buffy asked, turning in Angel's arms to get a look at his face.

"Wes gave it to me as a 'thank you for paying me to fall down a lot' gift," Angel answered with a smile at the 'rogue demon hunter.'

"Angel," Cordelia scolded, a little surprised, ready to leap to Wesley's defense.

"No, I actually wrote that on the card," Wesley assured them all.

"Well, I think the movie's better," Xander said firmly.

"Me too," Buffy agreed.

"Besides, Robin Wright's a hottie," Xander finished with a grin.

"Hoo boy," Willow agreed.

"Is that all you two think about?" Buffy asked with a smile.

"Yes," Willow and Xander answered as one, causing a ripple of laughter to spread around the room.

"Well I've never read the book, or seen the movie, so can we get on with this?" Gunn asked after a moment.

Everyone was in agreement, and they stopped talking and concentrated on the movie.

Once they were through with dinner, the rest of the evening progressed as they watched -- and interacted with -- 'The Princess Bride':

"'Do you know what that sound is, highness?'" Xander quoted with manic glee. "'Those are the shrieking eels! If you don't believe me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh.'" Before the word feed got out of his mouth, Xander lunged at Cordelia, causing her to screech as he tickled her sides.

"Idiot," she declared around a giggle as she punched his arm.

"I'm still hungry," Buffy said quietly to Angel.

Not quiet enough, however, because everyone in the room was looking at her. Buffy felt like she was under a microscope, and she wanted to curl up and die. Her friends, however, proved to have more class than she'd given them credit for.

"'Inconceivable!'" Xander shouted at her, a smile firmly spread across his face.

"'You keep using that word,'" Willow parried easily, "I do not think it means what you think it means.'"

"I'll get you something," Angel whispered into Buffy's ear, a half smile on his lips. He was gone for barely a minute, and when he returned, he once again slipped in behind her, bracketing her body with his big legs, his arms wrapping around her torso. In his hand was a glass, and for the moment, Buffy pretended it was filled with fruit punch.

"I died that day!" Buttercup declared on the screen. "And you can die too for all I care!"

As Westley went stumbling down the hill, calling out 'As you wish,' before Buttercup could deliver her next line, Cordelia gave Wesley a mighty shove, then leapt after him, saying Buttercup's next line with her: "Oh, my sweet Westley! What have I done?!"

"She had some wine before dinner," Willow explained as they righted themselves. "And with dinner. And a little bit after dinner."

Cordelia giggled.

"Death cannot stop true love," Westley declared as he and Buttercup shared a tender embrace. "All it can do is delay it for awhile."

Buffy couldn't help it. This movie always made her silly and sappy and she brought Angel's arm more firmly around her, held their joined hands tightly against her middle. The firm, moist pressure of his mouth against the side of her neck made her feel as though everything was right with the world.

Willow and Xander took great delight in quoting the entirety of Miracle Max and Valerie's interplay:

"'Liar! Liar! Liiiaaaaarrr!!'"

"'Get back, witch!'"

"'I'm not a witch, I'm your wife! But after what I just heard, I'm not even sure I wanna be that anymore!'"

And when the time came for Westley, Fezzik and Inigo to have their exchange on the bridge, Buffy, Willow and Xander, respectively, delivered their dialogue flawlessly. Willow didn't do a bad Fezzik, and Xander's horrible Spanish accent was pure poetry.

"'Why won't my arms move?'"

"'You've been mostly dead all day.'"

"'We had Miracle Max make a pill to bring you back.'"

"'Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where's Buttercup?'"

"'Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdinck in little less a half a hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, and make our escape. After I kill Count Rugen.'"

"'That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying.'"

"How many times have you watched this movie?" Angel asked, sounding mildly disturbed.

"Will and I watched it for most of our childhood," Xander confessed, sheepish.

"And it was a regular fixture on post-slayage-movie night," Buffy added.

"Sweet Charles," Cordelia slurred, drunkenly leaning her head on Gunn's shoulder.

Wesley obnoxiously mouthed 'Charles' at Gunn, which caused the black man to scowl. His arm wrapped around Cordelia's shoulders, though, and she seemed to snuggle into his side happily.

"Tequila is evil," Wesley declared.

"Too bad she was drinking a whole honkin' lot of red wine," Willow giggled, bumping shoulders with Wesley.

"Yeah, and you're Sober Sally," Spike cut in dryly.

They were quiet for a time, enjoying the movie without comment. Angel was running the tips of his fingers lightly across the tiny patch of skin Buffy's halter top left bare, just above the waist of her skirt. Cordelia was beginning to snore on Gunn's shoulder, and he didn't look too unhappy with it. Willow was giggling, seemingly taking over for Cordelia in the lush department for the evening. Faith and Spike were bickering about what they should watch when the 'lightweights' passed out. So far, they had it narrowed down to 'Fight Club' or 'Die Hard.'

Wesley was trying to coax the glass from Willow's hand, though whether it was to prevent her from further intoxication, or because he'd finished his own and didn't want to get up for more, no one was certain. Xander was completely enthralled with the movie, and Giles watched them all with a look of contentment on his face.

No one had quoted a line in some time, so when it happened, everyone was a little startled.

"Hello!" Xander shouted exuberantly, causing everyone to jump slightly. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

"You prepare to die," Cordelia muttered, having been woken. Gunn slipped an arm around her waist to keep her from physically attacking Xander.

When the movie was at an end, Willow, Cordelia and Buffy sighed as the title song played over the credits.

"This is my favorite movie," Buffy declared happily. "Well, this or 'Return of the Dragon.'"

"I'm gonna drive Cordy home," Gunn announced, sweeping the semi-conscious girl up in his arms.

"Mmm," she mumbled against his shoulder, winding her arms around his neck.

Everyone said goodnight then, until it was just Buffy, Angel, Giles, Faith and Spike in the entertainment room.

"I suppose we ought to carry this mess back down to the kitchen," Giles mused.

"Yeah, that's my cue to go have a smoke," Spike decided aloud, disappearing.

Faith cackled a little. "While Blondie's out, I'm puttin' on 'Die Hard' before he can start whining."

Buffy shook her head at the antics of her fellow slayer, and followed Angel and Giles out to the kitchen. Between the three of them, they would only have to make two or three trips.

Everyone else being drunk made Buffy happier than it should have. It meant they weren't scared of her. At least, that was the theory she was going to stick to. Because scared people didn't get intoxicated around the very thing that scared them. They also didn't get knock down drunk with someone they were, say, still mad at.

Denial, Buffy decided, was sometimes a lot more fun than reality.

My love is like a storybook story
but it's as real as the feelings I feel
My love is like a storybook story
but it's as real as the feelings I feel
it's as real as the feelings I feel

"I did it, didn't I? I was good, right?"

Wesley frowned slightly as he helped Willow into her room. The little witch was swaying unsteadily and he was half-afraid she'd go tumbling down the stairs without his support. He was a bit buzzed himself, but at least he hadn't yet started to see two of everything.

"You were perfect this evening," he assured her, hoping that was the right thing to say.

"I didn't start crying when I was in the kitchen," Willow continued. "I almost did. I saw the spot where she died. Angel cleaned it up before we got back, but I can still see it."

Heart clenching, Wesley gently shut Willow's door behind her and helped her to her bed. Once she was seated on the end, he knelt before her and began removing her shoes, one at a time.

"Willow," he began hesitantly, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"It's like there's this echo of her still there," she continued, her voice far away. "I can feel her inside me, and it gets stronger when I'm in the kitchen. Like she's still there." Her eyes were filled with tears. "I don't know whether that makes me want to run away from the kitchen, or set up a little cot in there."

"It's always hard, living without someone we love," Wesley said lamely. What comfort could he give her? What were you supposed to say when someone's heart was broken?

"Tonight was fun," Willow declared, switching tracks again. The tears seemed to dry in her eyes, and she smiled, though it was a wobbly smile at best. "It was fun, right?"

"Very," Wesley agreed, helping her out of the little sweater thing she had on, leaving her clad in a pair of loose slacks and a tank top. "And now it's time for all little witches to be in bed."

"Do you think Tara forgives me?" she asked, her voice quiet and scared, as he pulled the covers over her.

Now it was his heart that was broken.

"I believe that Tara would think it ridiculous that you felt there was anything to be forgiven for," Wesley answered her quietly.

"You saw her last, before . . . " Willow swallowed, and looked up at him through bleary eyes. "She seemed happy. She always seemed happy with me. Was she . . . was she happy? Because if it wasn't for me, for my life, she wouldn't . . . she'd still . . ."

"She seemed quite happy," Wesley said honestly. He sat on the edge of Willow's bed, a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't exactly proper, but then, 'propriety' wasn't a big concern at Angel Investigations. "Tara seemed to belong with you all. You've told me a bit about her over the last week. About what her family was like. Despite how her life ended, I don't believe Tara would wish to change a day of how she lived it."

Willow graced him with another of her wobbly smiles. "Thank you, Wesley."

Leaning over her, Wesley pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, she was already snoring. He smiled. Whether she remembered the details of this conversation later, he hoped she held onto the emotion behind it.

Mostly, he hoped she found some peace.

This love was stronger than the powers so dark,
A prince could have within his keeping;
His spells to weave and steal a heart
Within her breast, but only sleeping.

Lindsey glanced around the crowded boardroom. Normally, he was asked to meet with one or two shadowy Wolfram and Hart partners, and that was the end of it. There must have been twenty in the room now, but only one of them, the guy who looked as much like a gothic vampire as any Lindsey had ever seen, was staring at him with an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Good of you to join us, Mr. McDonald," he said blithely.

"There was an unavoidable delay," Lindsey lied smoothly. In reality, he'd been sitting in his office, reading the copy of the soul restoration they'd used on Buffy. Sure enough, an old friend of his had come through -- a practicing wizard in Tibet. The spell was an ancient Chinese blessing, unused in ages, but Lindsey's intelligence reports assured him it had worked.

If only he could do something about the feeling that had been gnawing him for days, the one that reminded him suspiciously of guilt.

"The shamans Wolfram & Hart keep on staff all agree," Gothic Vampire in a suit said. "The next apocalypse is coming, within the year. The scrolls all agree that Angel's going to be front and center. We cannot afford to have him playing against us."

"We've stepped up our plans for Angel," another, one of the short weasels in suits Lindsey despised nearly as much as he despised himself, piped up.

Lindsey sat up straighter in his seat. "I was under the impression the board had taken my recommendation on this matter."

Slow and relentless, that was the only way to drive Angel mad. The son of a bitch was too strong for anything else. Try to take his soul away by force, and his little friends would only zap it right back. It'd start to resemble a Ping-Pong match if they weren't careful.

A sinister grin crossed Lindsey's face. He was willing to bet Angel was positive the gypsy curse was the same as the one used on Buffy. And really, he had no reason to think otherwise. As far as they knew, the Romany were the only wielders of such ancient, vengeful magic. Nothing could be crueler -- or more fitting a punishment -- than to make a creature feel true remorse for the horrors it had committed.

It was the bedrock principal behind rehabilitation, and something not likely to be found in any correctional facility. Most of the people who changed behind bars were capable of it without a tiny cell. To force remorse into the mind of something that had existed without a shred of conscience . . . a perfect punishment, indeed.

Lindsey found true, ironic beauty in the fact that they'd be so consumed with the unfairness of it all, that they'd never guess the truth about Buffy's soul.

The Chinese magicians who'd first cast the restoration a few hundred years before were uninterested in vengeance. At the time, they'd worked hand in hand with the Watcher's Council. Their intent was to save the world. To locate all the vampires walking the earth and to determine whether they were worth the effort. Those deemed unworthy were staked on sight.

In time, the Watcher's Council grew uneasy with the Chinese magicians. Slayers were fighting hand in hand with souled vampires. Demons were waging war on demons. That had been the day the black ops section of the Council had been activated.

With extreme prejudice, they had exterminated the souled vampires, run the Chinese magicians off the Continent, and destroyed the Soul Blessing that had been created.

At least, they believed they had.

From there, the story got even more interesting. Lindsey wondered if Buffy knew that the entire time she'd been mooning over Angel, their entire desperate, close-but-not-too-close affair, that the very Council whom she'd trusted had had the answer to her every problem.

Buffy. Beautiful Buffy with her long blonde hair and vicious nature. His intelligence file told him that she was the strongest slayer the world had seen in centuries. The mere idea of that much power being harnessed and used for evil purposes . . . it was enough to send a chill through Lindsey, and he worked side by side with some of the evilest creatures that currently lived every single day.

He wished he could say he was falling in love with her. But he'd always sworn he'd be honest with himself, even when he lied to the face of the world. She reminded him of Darla, and she belonged to Angel. That was enough incentive to want to take her from him. Not that he thought for a moment he could. Take her, that is. At least, not while Angel was still =Angel=.

His inner monologue -- which was beginning to uncomfortably remind him of a Snidely Whiplashesque trip into cartoon cutout evil -- was interrupted by that gothic fucking vampire.

"Your findings were taken under consideration, but given Angel's ability to cope in the past, the senior partners have decided to take more drastic measures."

"To what end?" Lindsey asked, surprised he cared.

"A new player has entered Angel's life, as you well know. Buffy Summers being turned couldn't have happened at a more opportune moment. An apocalypse is coming, and Angel is primed and ready to fight it. Long term planning is unacceptable."

"You're going to use Buffy against Angel. I get that. What I want to know, is how?"

"That's the beauty of it, Mr. McDonald," he said calmly. "We merely have to light the match. Angel will let it burn until it consumes them both."

He said, "Don't you know I love you oh, so much,
And lay my heart at the foot of your dress?"
She said, "Don't you know that storybook loves
Always have a happy ending?"

"Thank you for making me do the scariest thing I could think of tonight."

Angel smiled gently, shut their bedroom door behind him. "No regrets, then?"

"Not today," she said, her voice subdued.

"Hey," he chastised gently, "remember your place. I'm the brooding half of this duo."

His comment garnered the smile he'd been hoping it would, and she sat gently on the end of the bed, looking up at him. It was time for The Talk. As much as he'd like to crawl into bed with her and wrap her around his body for the next century or so . . . come to think of it, that was exactly why they needed to have this talk.

"So," Buffy said quietly, staring down at the bed.

"Maybe we could try--" he said at the same time she said, "You slept with Darla--"

"What does Darla have to do with--" "What could we try--"

Angel held up a hand before either of them could speak again. When he was relatively sure Buffy would remain silent, he ran that same hand through his hair.

"You go first," Angel decided at last.

Buffy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

"Honestly?"

"I doubt we're going to survive the next -- oh, I don't know, ETERNITY -- if we don't make a pact, here and now, to be nothing but honest with each other."

"=Honestly=," he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "I don't think I've worked up the nerve to say what I was going to say yet."

"I know how that feels," Buffy muttered. Then, she sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll go first. Darla."

"Darla," Angel repeated, wary as he leaned against the doorframe opposite the bed. He hadn't had the glass replaced yet.

"You slept with her," Buffy continued. "I mentioned, in an evil, possessive sort of way that I could smell her on you, but I wasn't exactly interested in a major let's-share-our-feelings talk about it."

"And now you are."

"I wouldn't go that far," she mumbled under her metaphorical breath. Then, fortified, she met his gaze head on. "But we need to. Talk."

"There isn't much to say," Angel hedged.

"Considering you =screwed= her, I kinda think there is," Buffy snapped. "Cordelia told me a little bit about it the other day. But all she'd say is you weren't . . . you weren't 'okay' for awhile there."

"I was . . . lost that night. Lost, and cold, and about as far from 'okay' as you can get. I hadn't been 'okay' in months." Angel shut his eyes tightly and tried to block the pain that came from remembering the last time he'd seen Darla.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice quiet and sincere. He remembered all the talks they'd had so long ago, all the times he'd listened to her talk about school and homework and her mother, simply because he'd loved the sound of her voice. She'd accused him of humoring her, and he hadn't known how to tell her that all the trivial things in her life sustained his soul.

"I was depressed," he said simply. "And that night . . . it got worse. I'd been trying to make amends, and it had all crashed down on me that I never would. I couldn't save Darla, and when that happened, I thought that I couldn't save myself, either." A hollow laugh escaped his throat. "I told you once that loneliness was just about the scariest thing there is. It's not. Hopelessness is. Without hope, there's nothing. You're just waiting around for it to end. Without hope, all you can feel is the cold."

Buffy stood and moved toward him until she could place her hands on his chest. Slowly, she slid them up to his neck, then let her palm run up the side of his face, running her fingers through his hair. Her thumb traced over his cheekbone.

"But you found hope again," she half asked, half commanded.

"I did," he confirmed. "Sex with Darla was . . . enlightening."

"So you became Epiphany Boy, hooked back up with Cordy and Wes and Gunn, got yourself back on the right path, and then I came along and screwed everything up for you again."

"Buffy." She tried to pull away from him, but he captured her face between his palms, forced her to look him in the eye. "I won't pretend that everything you did without a soul didn't hurt. You know it did. It hurt me, and everyone else that loves you."

"Great pep talk," she snapped.

"But I don't regret for a second that you're in my life now," he said firmly, ignoring her outburst. "And I don't regret for a second that you'll be staying in it. The only thing I regret is everything you'll never have, and always want." He released her then, and stalked over to the table, angrily shoving a pile of her CD's off the end of it.

Her hand was a barely there pressure against his back, but he stiffened nonetheless. Her other hand moved to his shoulder, and without exerting even half the strength she had, she forced his body to turn toward her. There were tears in her eyes, and he hated himself all over again for making her cry.

Then, her tiny hands were on his face, her fingers pressing against his skin, almost as though she were memorizing the feel of him. The look in her eyes was half crazed as she pulled him closer, until their faces were a mere inch apart.

"No matter how bad things get . . . when you were walking around soulless, threatening to kill me . . . after you came back from hell, when I told you I couldn't see you anymore, when you fed off me, when you =left= me . . . Angel, you have always kept hope alive in my heart." Her little hand pawed at his chest ineffectually. "You give me hope when I don't think I have any left. You give me hope now, in a situation that would be utterly and completely bleak if it didn't have you in it."

Angel swallowed, and tried to form a coherent sentence. To say she'd left him speechless was an understatement. He'd never believed he'd brought her anything but misery. Their desperate, forbidden love had been a source of agony for her. Hearing her say that he'd been a strength for her, when all he'd ever seemed to bring her was pain . . .

Well, it was a good thing this knowledge was tempered by the fact that he couldn't make love to her. Otherwise, his curse would be busting at the seams with the sense of perfect joy bubbling up inside him.

"Eternity, huh," he murmured quietly when he could speak again. "You sure you wanna spend it with a skulking reticent guy with a penchant for noble acts that cause the woman he loves more than her fair share of angst?"

"Only if he stops being afraid to touch me."

"I'm not--" he began to deny automatically, but she covered his mouth with two of her fingers.

"Put a CD on," she instructed gently. "Something soft."

Something soft, Angel thought as he did as he was told. He bent to the floor and picked through the CDs he'd taken his rage out on earlier. There, in the corner, he found one that made him smile. The soundtrack to 'The Princess Bride.' A quick check to the back of it confirmed that it was mostly instrumental, and he popped it in. It made him feel good to see the smile that crossed her face when she recognized it, though neither of them commented.

"What were you going to say earlier?" she asked finally, moving toward him again. "Before I interrupted you."

"That uh . . ." Bite the bullet, Angel. You're not a wimp. Stop acting like it. "That maybe we could try testing the bounds of the curse more."

"You used to freak when I took my sweater off," Buffy reminded him.

He winced. "It was . . . I was too raw, back in Sunnydale. Everything had . . . I hadn't even really made peace with Giles yet, and . . ."

"You don't have to explain," she assured him quietly. "I get it. Better than I ever wanted to."

"I don't know how far we can go," Angel said softly, choosing to ignore her guilt for now. The only thing that would really ease it would be the passage of time. "And I know I'm not ready to try . . . anything too intensive."

"But?" she asked, obviously sensing there was a but.

"But," he agreed, nodding his head a little, "we've been sleeping side by side for the last two weeks. And I want to hold you. Really hold you. Without wondering if I'm crossing some imaginary line. I can't... I can't do all the things I really want to do, but at least . . ."

"You'll never leave me," she said, steel in her voice. "No matter how hard things get, no matter what happens, we never leave each other. We kill each other first. Swear it, Angel."

One of his hands cupped her cheek, the other pressed itself against her collar bone. He stared straight into her eyes and saw their souls, nestled behind her hazel warmth, so totally immersed in her that he couldn't distinguish between his and hers. Leave? It had taken the last ounce of strength he had where she was concerned to turn that perfect, beautiful day back . . .

"I swear," he vowed softly, pulling her closer. A tear escaped her left eye and he kissed it away on his way to her mouth.

His promise seemed to let her make a decision, and he felt her hand at his wrist, undoing the cufflink she'd fastened for him earlier. His left wrist followed, and then her tiny, delicate fingers were slipping every button down the front of his shirt from their holes.

He swallowed, half of him protesting this, scared to death of where it would lead, and another part wishing she'd go a little faster.

The rest of him was content to feel her cool little hands against his chest, to revel in the sensation of her mouth pressing fleeting kisses over his upper torso. He felt a moment of sorrow, tucked securely inside the small measure of peace he was beginning to feel.

It was the greatest irony of an existence that had been nothing but ironic from its conception. He could fuck anyone but the one girl he'd be making love to.

Obviously, she sensed the direction of his thoughts, because she placed her hands over his once she'd removed his shirt, slipped them around her waist and led his fingers to the tie on the back of her top. With only a moment's hesitation, he began to slip the knot free.

"We'll start slow," Buffy whispered, her mouth pressed to his jaw as his fingers divested her of her top. "No barriers, and we can hold each other . . ."

He pressed his mouth to her temple in silent agreement, and felt her hands at his belt. It took her a moment, because she was shaking, but she finally was able to slip the belt off his waist, then turn her attention to the loose black pants he was wearing. A button and the loud hiss of a zipper later, and she was kneeling before him, pushing his pants down to his ankles.

She motioned for him to sit in the chair, and he did, and she removed each of his shoes, his socks, then pulled his pants the rest of the way off.

As she stood again, he moved to his feet, honestly stunned by how beautiful she was. Her breasts were firm and pale, not at all how he remembered them from before. She'd grown into her body in the last few years, and as much as he cringed away from admitting it, the paleness of her skin only made her
more breathtaking.

He'd seen her just two weeks ago, of course, but this was different. This was so much more than what they'd shared as demons.

Moving his hands to her waist, he found the side zipper on her skirt and lowered it, let his palms skim over her legs until it pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it, and he smiled to realize she'd been barefoot all night. They stood facing each other wearing nothing but underwear, and Buffy finally started to look a little nervous.

"Maybe we should leave these one," she said, fingering the band of her panties. "You know, just to help nip temptation in the -- suddenly thinking that maybe I shouldn't talk about nipping things."

He pressed his mouth to hers to stop the flow of words, and his hands moved to the waist of her white satin underwear. He slipped them down her legs, then moved her hand to the waist of his gray cotton boxers.

"You said no barriers," he reminded her, his voice more than a little husky.

She nodded, and his underwear joined hers on the floor.

They stared at one another for a moment, close but not touching. Then, Angel held out his hand to her.

"Dance with me?"

"Like it's even a question," she answered with a smile as she folded herself into his arms.

His hands could not remain idle, and he smoothed them over her back, traced the indentation of her spine, let his palm briefly caress the firm softness of her rear. Her hands returned the favor, tracing the A on his tattoo, and he thought that there was no more perfect a sensation than her breasts pressed tightly against his ribcage.

"We should have been dancing naked for years now," she murmured after a few moments of nothing but skin and music.

He had to agree, and he did something he hadn't thought possible -- he pulled her closer. There was a tiny layer of sexual frustration underneath the bliss he felt, but it was nothing compared to what not touching her at all felt like. To be able to have this, at least . . . it had the very real possibility of making an eternity filled without being able to make love to her bearable.

"I hereby decree that from this night forth, we spend at least one night a week dancing naked," she continued, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

Angel smiled against her temple, held one of her hands to his chest with his own as he rested his cheek against her hair. His answer was a whisper to accompany the music, and it didn't matter if she heard it or not. It was a vow he made to himself, as much as to her.

"As you wish."

Then he swooped her up, just like in the books,
And on his stallion they rode away.

The End

Note: For those of you who haven't seen 'The Princess Bride' (Good GOD, what's WRONG with you?!) -- 'As you wish,' was what Westley always said to Buttercup, no matter how much of a bitch she was being at the time. From the moment I got hooked on Buffy, it's always seemed a very Angel-esque thing to say, and since this is my fanfic, and I'll do what I wanna, he says it. So there. <g>

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