"Damage"
Author: Indie
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" Buffy cursed, pounding her fist against the concrete pillar.
Gunn came running around the corner and skittered to a halt several feet behind Buffy. His harsh intake of breath was loud in the relative quiet of the alley. "Shit," he said under his breath. Twisting around, he yelled over his shoulder. "Over here."
Buffy rested her forehead against the cool concrete, not bothering to turn around. She heard Groo and Wesley arrive. Her cell phone fell limply from her fingers. For a very long time, no one spoke.
"You defeated Mr. Trick," Wesley said, bending down to retrieve her phone.
"Yeah," Buffy muttered. "I got the vamp."
Wesley reached out to touch Buffy's shoulder but stopped before he made contact. He didn't know how to make this better. Cassie Newton's body was scant inches from Buffy's feet, the young girl's eyes staring blankly into the night. Her death was recent. Very recent. Mr. Trick had a reputation for being flashy. No doubt he had waited until Buffy's arrival to kill his prey.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that Buffy blamed herself for not saving Cassie. Wesley knew the score. Sometimes you won and sometimes you lost. It didn't make it easier, but it was the cold truth. Buffy tried, she killed the vampire. It wasn't her fault the girl died first. They had all been scouring the area for the missing teen. Buffy was simply the one who got to her first.
Wesley bent over to grab the dead girl's feet and Buffy stopped him. "Don't," she ground out.
Straightening up slowly, Wesley met her gaze.
Tears stained her cheeks, but her expression was deadly. "Don't touch her," Buffy said.
"Ms. Summers," Wesley said as calmly as possible, "I know it is difficult, but we must ensure she does not rise as a vampire."
"I know that, Wesley," she snapped. "I'll do it. Leave her alone."
"What's going on here?"
Buffy and Wesley both turned to see Angel watching them with slitted eyes. No doubt he knew when Buffy had the others paged out to her location, though why he felt the need to check up on things was a mystery. He was dressed for the club in tailored black slacks and a long sleeved black button up shirt over a white wifebeater. His attire looked very out of place among the muck and mire of the seedy alley. The sharp contrast of Angel and his environment snapped Buffy back to reality.
She dropped her gaze, studying the weathered concrete. She was all too aware of how much things had changed. Three months ago, she would have been at a party, exerting obscene amounts of energy to outdo Sunday. She would have been dressed in clothes that cost more than her monthly rent. She would have been happily oblivious to all the horrors that went bump in the night. No longer. Now it was Saturday night and she was standing in an alley in the worst part of town arguing over a dead body.
Buffy laughed shrilly to herself. The others stared blankly. It wasn't funny. It really wasn't. But it was. What the hell was she doing? One minute she was the most popular girl in high school, the prom queen, the cheerleader, the perfect princess that every guy wanted to date and every girl wanted to be. Now she was covered in dirt and blood and vampire dust, breaking her father's heart, fighting over the rights to decapitate a corpse.
A corpse that shouldn't have been a corpse. Buffy wasn't a princess any more, but she was definitely a long way from being a real Slayer. A real Slayer would have arrived in time. A real Slayer would have taken out Mr. Trick weeks ago and avoided this whole situation. A real Slayer would have won. She was supposed to save people, supposed to make a difference. She was a failure. Again. She slumped against the pillar.
"Take care of the body," Angel barked to Wesley.
Buffy didn't argue and neither did the others. Wesley grabbed the girl's legs as Gunn got her shoulders and Groo lowered the tailgate on the truck. Buffy didn't look as they hefted the body into the bed. Cassie Newton's parents would never know what happened to their daughter. They would never have closure. They would never be able to put flowers on her grave or mourn her properly. Buffy heard the engine roar to life and listened numbly as they drove off.
Tentatively, Angel stepped in closer. "You did your job," he said quietly.
Turning, she looked up. His expression was oddly gentle. Buffy laughed. "Oh yeah," she spat, "I did a wonderful job. Gee, look how Buffy finds the dead bodies. I'm like a fucking spaniel or something."
Frowning at her sarcastic comment, Angel said, "You dusted the vamp. That's your job."
Dusted the vampire. Ha! Buffy was certain that Cassie's parents couldn't care one way or the other if the vamp was dead. Buffy broke her own father's heart already this night and now she had to go break Cassie's father's heart as well.
It was more than she could take. She screamed. Planting her hands in the middle of Angel's chest, she pushed him backwards several feet. Her expression was feral as she faced him. "My job is to save people," she snarled. "Killing vamps is an added bonus, but the big picture is that the Slayer protects lives. I didn't do my job! I'm a joke."
Angel watched her warily. There was so much rage and pain on her face. He honestly hadn't imagined that she would take her first failure this hard. Slowly his vision ran over her and he hissed. "Jesus Christ, Buffy," he said. "What did you do?"
Following his line of vision, Buffy looked down at her leg. She stared at it mutely, like it wasn't part of her. Most of her pant leg was soaked with a fluid that looked almost black in the dim lighting. "Oh yeah," she said, "I forgot about that part. Before I dusted the vamp, he managed to get me with my own stake."
Mindless of the dirt on his expensive pants, Angel knelt in front of Buffy, grimacing as he looked at her upper thigh. There was a hole in her jeans on the outside of her thigh and the wound looked very bad. "You were stabbed," he said.
"That's what I just said," she replied dryly.
He glared up at her. "This is serious, Ionuin," he snapped. "It's deep. We have to get this bleeding stopped."
He grabbed the material of her jeans and Buffy lurched backwards, out of his grasp. "No," she said, slightly hysterical. Her hands were splayed over her jeans, like she was afraid he was going to try and wrestle her out of them.
Angel was rather bewildered by her reaction. He didn't really think that Buffy was afraid he was going to try and take advantage of her while she was bleeding to death. Her actions weren't making a whole lot of sense. Then again, she could be going into shock. "Buffy," he said very slowly, "you're bleeding a lot. If we don't get it stopped quickly, you're going to be in trouble. We need to get you to a hospital."
She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said almost hysterically. "I'm fine."
Rising to his feet, Angel advanced on her very slowly. He reached forward and grasped her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. "If I don't get this bleeding stopped, you are going to die," he said very seriously.
Buffy blinked up at him numbly.
"Puncture wound to the upper thigh," the doctor read. He shifted his gaze to his patient. "What happened?" he asked, handing Buffy's chart to the waiting nurse.
"Boating accident," Buffy answered without meeting his gaze.
The doctor turned his attention to Angel. He shrugged. "She was like that when I found her," he said evasively, not about to contradict Buffy's version of events.
The doctor was obviously nonplussed; working the night shift in the ER in a very bad part of town, he was used to getting the runaround from his patients. They could lie about the circumstances, but there was some information he needed. They were both pale, smeared with blood. "You two been doing drugs?" he asked Angel suspiciously.
Angel bristled, glaring mutely at the doctor.
"You want her to be okay, you better be straight with me," the doctor continued, undaunted.
"She's clean," Angel growled.
The doctor's expression remained skeptical, but he shrugged. Pulling on latex gloves, he looked at the black shirt tied around Buffy's upper leg. Angel sat next to the bed in only his wifebeater. The white fabric was smeared with blood from where he held her against his body while carrying her from his car into the ER. As the doctor untied the makeshift tourniquet, all Buffy could think was that Angel's ruined shirt probably cost more than the entire bill for this trip to the emergency room - which he would also be footing.
The doctor probed the wound experimentally. The flow of blood had diminished to a sluggish ooze, but it still looked horrible. At least what was visible through the hole in her jeans looked bad. It was impossible to assess the situation as long as she was still wearing the jeans. The doctor picked up a pair of shears and Buffy stiffened. "Is there any other way to do this?" she asked.
Frowning, the doctor replied, "I'll take your modesty into account, but this pant leg has to come off. I can't see to close the wound."
Buffy stared at the doctor for several heartbeats, but finally acquiesced, lying back on the bed. She turned her head away from Angel and stared at the wall as the doctor and a nurse cut off the pant leg almost high enough that her underwear showed. Once the material was out of the way, the doctor flushed the wound with water. Buffy waited for the inevitable. The doctor's hands were firm but sure as he worked.
She knew the second he saw them. His hands went still and then concentrated on the inside of her thigh, rather than the outside where the wound was.
"Well," he said quietly. He took a deep breath. "Miss, may I see your hands please?"
Without bothering to look at him, Buffy rolled back the sleeves of her ever-present long sleeved shirt and did something she never did under any circumstances. She bared her wrists.
"I see," the doctor said grimly.
Buffy closed her eyes shut tightly.
The doctor turned to Angel, Buffy's wrist still held loosely in his grasp. "You're sure tonight was an accident?" the doctor asked. Angel stared dumbly at the scars. They were on the insides of both wrists and high on her inner thigh, along her femoral artery.
He went pale as he sat back in his chair. He didn't want to think about what this meant. The scars were obviously years old, but he had never been so terrified in his entire life. He swallowed thickly and looked at the doctor. "Tonight was an accident," he said firmly.
The doctor reluctantly accepted the explanation and finished his task in relative silence. It took quite a while to close the wound, and when he finally finished, Buffy was the proud owner of forty-three stitches. The doctor gave Buffy a tetanus booster, a pain pill and a prescription for antibiotics and more happy drugs. He also included a strict order to stay off of her feet for at least four weeks, with the added tidbit that she might need physical therapy. Buffy nodded mutely and the doctor made Angel promise to see that she followed his instructions.
Angel helped Buffy into his car and stopped by an all night pharmacy to have her prescriptions filled. The entire trip was in perfect silence. Buffy didn't speak even as Angel lifted her out of the car to carry her up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, otherwise she might have noticed that he held her a little too tightly. As it was, she was oblivious, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in the achingly comforting scent of him, letting it wrap around her.
Hands full, Angel kicked twice on the heavy steel door of Buffy's apartment. The various locks made loud thunking noises as Willow flipped them open. Her eyes went perfectly round as she stared at the huge mass of gauze and sterile tape covering Buffy's thigh.
"She needs to lay down," Angel said evenly.
"Oh, oh yeah," Willow said, shaking herself out of her shock. Frantic, she preceded Angel through the apartment, flicking on lights and opening the door to Buffy's bedroom. She hovered as Angel gently lowered Buffy onto her bed, propping her up with pillows. "Is there anything I can do?" Willow asked, wringing her hands in the doorway.
Slowly, Angel turned. "Buffy's weapons bag is still in my car," he said, handing her the keys. Glad for something to do, Willow nodded and disappeared.
Buffy stared blankly at the wall. Gently, Angel clasped her jaw and made her meet his eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Cassie died because of me," she whispered hollowly.
Angel took a deep breath. "You're the Slayer, Buffy, not a god. You don't have control over life and death. You did your best. You're still learning. It will get better."
Buffy snorted, twisting out of Angel's grasp. "Still learning," she echoed, her voice thick with self-loathing. "I shouldn't still be learning. I was Called years ago. I should know how to do my job. But I don't. I'm still a failure. It's just like before."
"Before?"
Buffy lifted her gaze, staring into the near blackness of his eyes. "Like when I was first Called," she said bleakly. "I couldn't save them either. Cassie ended up just like that little boy."
Angel closed his eyes as understanding blossomed. Slowly, he reached for Buffy's wrist and held it gently in his grasp. "Is that when this happened?" he asked, his fingers playing over her scars.
Buffy smiled, but it was merely a baring of teeth.
Angel shook his head, disgusted with himself for being so blind. "I knew when the new Slayer was Called ... I knew it shouldn't have been possible. But I didn't dare think ... Your father is a powerful man, I assumed he did something."
"You only get a new Slayer when the old one dies," she said bitterly.
"Ionuin," Angel whispered harshly, pulling Buffy against his chest.
She wanted to fight. She wanted to hate him and hate herself, but instead, she let him wrap his arms around her and pressed her face tightly against his shoulder. Once again, the smell of him surrounded her, making her feel safe in a way she did not deserve. She sobbed so violently that her whole body ached. He held her, mutely rocking her as she cried out all of her rage, her fear.
She eventually calmed, and Angel laid her back on the pillows, gently brushing her tear damp hair out of her face. Now that she was somewhat more under control, Buffy was embarrassed. She wasn't a child and here Angel - of all people - was babying her. What must he think? She was so pathetic. She ruined his evening, ruined his shirt and probably the interior of his BMW. He ended up carting her all over town, sitting in the emergency room, getting her prescriptions and then carrying her up two flights of stairs. And to top it all off, he got to be the victim of her emotional outburst. She had never felt so humiliated.
But while she would have expected Angel to be angry, or at the very least, annoyed, he seemed neither. On the contrary, he seemed ... worried. The expression on his face was a muddled mixture of emotions that she hadn't seen since the first time they met. Fear, pain, tentative hope, need; all of it meshed together into something that pulled at her very soul.
He looked down at her with gentle eyes. Ever so slowly, he raised his hand and pressed the tips of his fingers to her forehead. He used his free hand to guide her much smaller one over his heart, holding it there so tightly she could feel the reassuring thud. "We are the same, Ionuin," he whispered.
Tears glistened in Buffy's eyes. Never in a million years would she have dreamed Angel was capable of such behavior. But at the same time, it was so absolutely right. She felt something inside of herself, the part of her that was being crushed under the weight of guilt and pain, spark to life. He understood. He knew the darkness that ate at her soul because it ate at his too. He was her ally when no one else could be.
Before Buffy could stop herself, she reached out and touched the tips of her fingers to his forehead. Her fingers trailed lightly over his skin, tracing down the side of his face with one finger. His eyes fluttered shut. Gently, Angel's fingers left her forehead and circled around her wandering hand. Ever so slowly, he turned his face into her palm, kissing it. She watched with an odd sort of detachment as he kissed her palm, down her wrist to her scar. Ever so tenderly, he ran his lips along the raised, shiny skin.
Languidly, he opened his eyes and looked at her. Buffy swallowed hard enough for it to be audible. Maybe it was the horrific day she had, maybe it was the blood loss or maybe even the pain pill, but she didn't pull her hand out of his grasp. She didn't sit up or push him away or yell at him. She didn't try and turn the situation into a joke. At this moment, she needed him with an intensity that terrified her.
He leaned over her, watching her, lips parted slightly. Buffy's vision fixed on his lips as her tongue snaked out to wet her own. Angel's mouth covered hers, soft and warm. A small moan escaped her as she kissed him back, twining her arms around his neck.
Angel traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, silently begging for entrance. Curling her fingers into his dark hair, she sighed, opening her mouth for him. His kiss wasn't like anything she had ever experienced before. The part of Buffy's brain that wasn't completely lost realized that Angel's physical reputation was well earned. The thought should have sobered her. It should have reminded her of the myriad women who paraded through his bed. It should have reminded her that she swore - both to herself and to him - that hell would freeze over before she became another one of his conquests.
But none of those thoughts could fight their way through the decadent haze of pleasure that his kisses brought. He whispered her name against her lips before kissing her yet again, harder, deeper, with more desperation than skill. He was still sitting on the side of her bed, huddled over her supine form like a freezing man around a fire and still it wasn't enough for her. Buffy whined plaintively and pulled at his shoulders. Angel broke off the kiss long enough to stretch out on the bed next to her, mindful not to jostle her injured leg. And then he was kissing her again.
Buffy nearly purred as he kissed his way along her jaw, down her neck. His upper body was angled over hers and she could feel the delicious heat of him through their clothes. She trailed her fingers over his bare shoulder, her short fingernails biting into the flesh as Angel pressed kisses beneath her ear. She arched her upper body against him, pressing the hard points of her nipples into his chest. But he ignored the blatant invitation, instead settling for another round of long, deep kisses. His hands caressed her face, her neck, her collarbone. They disappeared into her long blonde locks. But they never ventured lower.
Not that Buffy wasn't very distracted and very pleasured, but some part of her noted that for as horrific as his reputation was, Angel was doing an awful good job of minding his manners. For some reason, this irritated her immensely. Was she not bad enough for him? Here she was having her great breakdown and he didn't even have the indecency to take advantage of the situation. He was supposed to be the insatiable letch, completely lacking in any sort of scruples.
Angel was lying on his side, his upper body touching hers, but below the waist, there was no contact. Buffy wasn't really in a position to be able to wrap herself around him. The pain pill was good, but the lidocaine from the stitches was wearing off and she had no desire to move her left leg. But she needed to know if this was some sort of game for him, if he was merely toying with her.
Twining her fingers through his hair again, she brought his lips to hers and kissed him deeply. He let her lead, patient while she explored his texture. She suckled on his tongue and then nipped at his lips. Laying flat on her back, Buffy didn't have much leverage, so she made him move. Using her fingers curled through his hair, she pulled him over her so she could reach his neck. Imitating his earlier actions, she kissed along his jaw to his ear and then down his neck, all the while carefully noting his reaction. The muscles in his arms were taut and his hands fisted in the covers. She broke the kiss long enough to peek at his face. His eyes were shut and his lips were open in a pant. As she resumed her ministrations on his neck, the idea occurred to her that maybe he wasn't pretending. There was one sure way to find out.
Careful not to move her injured leg too much, Buffy scooted her hips closer to Angel. She twined her good leg through his. His leg automatically wrapped around hers, insinuating itself between her legs. The change in position pushed his hips into her uninjured upper thigh. Buffy blushed furiously against his neck as he rubbed against her lightly. He so was not playing. He was quite seriously aroused.
Realizing what he was doing, Angel pulled back. He was still panting, his face slightly flushed. They looked at each other for several long moments. Buffy bit down on her bottom lip nervously. What was she going to say? What did you say when you suddenly found yourself making out with a man you spent the last three years avoiding?
The answer was ... nothing. Buffy half expected Angel to make some caustic remark and leave her feeling like an idiot, but he didn't. He didn't say a word as he settled completely onto his side next to her, his head resting on the pillow inches from hers. Strange as it seemed, laying there looking into his eyes was somehow more intimate than their shared kisses. Buffy found herself unable to maintain eye contact. She closed her eyes and settled back on the pillow. Angel leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against her temple.
Moments later, he got out of bed and Buffy forced herself not to open her eyes or stupidly reach out for him, regardless of how much she itched to do so. As it turned out, he was simply switching off the light. She couldn't disguise a sigh of contentment as he resumed his earlier position, possessively wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Sleep, Ionuin," he whispered.
Buffy smiled, snuggling into his embrace. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she felt safe there, protected. In moments, she was asleep.
"Why didn't you tell me Buffy tried to kill herself?"
Jenny blinked, bleary eyed at the clock. "Angel," she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, "it's four thirty in the morning."
"I don't care what goddamn time it is, Janna," he spat in Gaelic. "Why didn't you tell me?" Though Buffy was asleep right next to him, Angel wasn't worried about his raised voice waking her. The prescription pain medication she took ensured that she wouldn't hear his half of the conversation. And even if she did, Buffy couldn't speak Gaelic.
Jenny, however, was not in a similar position. She put her hand over the earpiece and looked at her husband's still form. Luckily, Rupert tended to sleep like the dead. Toeing on her slippers, Jenny carefully got out of bed and headed into the adjoining master bath. She quietly closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "What's going on, Angel?" she asked. "Is Buffy in trouble?"
Angel didn't answer, but Jenny could hear his heavy, obviously irritated breathing on the other end of the phone. When he had himself under control, he said, "There was an accident tonight."
"Oh gods," Jenny gasped, "is Buffy okay?"
"She's fine," Angel answered, his vision traveling over Buffy's sleeping form. She shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching for him. As it settled on his thigh, she smiled, sighing as she slipped back into a deep sleep. Angel's voice gentled and he reassured his sister, "She was hurt, but nothing life threatening. With her healing abilities she'll be fine in a few days."
"So what's this about then?" Jenny asked, rubbing her eyes wearily.
"I took her to the emergency room tonight," he said, his voice oddly hoarse. "I saw the scars."
Jenny was quiet for a long time. This was not a subject that was ever broached in the Giles household. Angel, especially, had no right to have been informed. "Nobody knew," she explained unrepentantly. "Buffy and Rupert both wanted it that way. Besides, what business is it of yours?"
"Buffy is my business," he said succinctly.
Jenny's lips pursed into a frown that Angel could imagine, even if he could not see it. "Leave her alone, Angel, "Jenny said. "That girl has been through more than you can ever imagine and the last thing she needs is you messing with her head."
Angel's jaw muscles clenched and he stifled an instinctive growl at his sister's words. What right did Janna have to go making proclamations about his intentions toward Buffy? She didn't know anything about him. From the ages of four to seventeen, he had no contact with his sister. Despite their genetic link, Janna did not understand him or his motives. She never had. When Janna looked at him, she saw the reckless edge inherited from their mother. She saw in him the ability to destroy just as their mother had destroyed their own lives. Angel swallowed harshly, denying to himself the amount of pain his sister's words caused. His closest relative in this world had no faith in him. "Nice to know you think so highly of me," he grated.
"I love you, Angel, I always will," she said with complete honesty. "But I have no illusions about you. You're dangerous. You surround yourself with power and pain and you have nothing but heartache to offer a girl like Buffy. If you have any human decency, you will leave her alone."
Angel was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I am not human. And leaving her alone is the one thing I cannot do."
"Cannot or will not?" Jenny demanded.
"It's the same thing."
Sighing, Jenny tried to make him understand. "You're going to hurt her. You won't start out to do it intentionally, it's an unavoidable effect of being close to you. But that won't make it any easier on Buffy. You will destroy her."
"I won't let her go," he said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child.
"Then you are condemning her," Jenny said sadly.
The sun was high in the sky and streaming through her open curtains when Buffy woke. Without thinking, she tried to roll onto her side and immediately regretted it. With a grunt of pain, she propped herself up on her elbows. She was still lying on top of the covers, still wearing her clothes, but an extra blanket had been draped over her.
She blinked slowly, fighting to acclimate to the bright light. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head to the side and saw the indentation in the pillow next to her own. She could still smell the scent of him on the pillow, the sheets, herself. She could taste him on her tongue.
"Damn," she mumbled to herself. Her memories of last night weren't hallucinations courtesy of the happy drugs. Her ... whatever with Angel really happened. Buffy blushed deeply and flopped back on the bed, pulling the covers over her head. How could she have done that? With Angel of all people. She groaned aloud. He was probably having a good laugh about it at her expense - if he could be bothered to think about her at all.
She felt nauseated. And pained. She pulled the blanket down again. A quick glance at the nightstand showed that Angel left her pain pills and a bottle of water within easy reach. Despite her uneasy stomach, Buffy knew she needed to take one. Blindly, she reached for the bottle of pills, but pulled back unexpectedly when her hand brushed against something warm. Turning her head, Buffy looked at the nightstand. Propping herself up on one elbow, she gingerly grabbed the bottle of pills. Behind the bottle of pills was the Nottis stone.
Buffy popped a pill and took a drink of water, watching the stone warily. Curiosity won out over caution and she reached for the stone. Bonelessly, she flopped back on the bed, looking at it. It was beautiful. Her mouth twisted into a reluctant grin. Willow must have told Angel about the stone and he bought it for her. She curled her fingers around the stone and held it over her heart.
Dammit! She wanted to hate him. She needed to hate him. It kept things simple and it kept her safe. She didn't want to think about Angel or anything else. Thinking made her head hurt. She already had a sore leg, she didn't need anymore misery. But the strange thing was, thinking about Angel made her anything but miserable. Thinking about Angel made her feel ... happy.
"Damn, B, lemme help you," Gunn said, vaulting over the counter as Buffy pushed open the doors to the Hyperion.
Her leg was still killing her, but as long as she went slow, she could walk on it. Hobble on it, actually. She hated to imagine how bad it would be without her Slayer healing abilities. Sliding an arm around Gunn's shoulders, she allowed him to help her over to the counter. She didn't know what had been up with his attitude last night, but she was fairly sure his over attentiveness was his non-verbal way of apologizing.
"Ms. Summers," Wesley said as he entered from the office. Buffy nodded in greeting and gingerly sat on the tall barstool at the former check-in desk. Wesley approached her with a frown. Removing his glasses, he looked speculatively at her wounded leg. She was wearing a pair of very loose sweatpants. "May I?" he asked.
"Sure," Buffy replied unenthusiastically. She honestly didn't want Wesley poking at her, but it was sort of his job to make sure she was okay. She bit into her lower lip and sucked in a sharp breath as he experimentally applied pressure to her leg with his fingertips.
Nodding in a satisfied manner, he straightened up and replaced his glasses. "I believe you are healing quite well," he said. "You should be fine in a few days."
Buffy nodded in reply and Wesley left to take a call in his office. Buffy looked up and found Gunn leaning on the opposite side of the counter, watching her closely. His face showed his obvious concern. "You okay, B?" he asked.
Shrugging, she said, "It hurts like hell, but Wes is right. I'll be fine in a few days."
Gunn didn't look convinced, but he decided to take her word for it. "Guess you made it home all right," he said.
Buffy swallowed harshly. Oh lord, how long until the cat was out of the bag? Given that she had to hobble over her weapons bag that morning, which was sitting right inside the door to her bedroom, Buffy already knew that Willow was aware Angel spent the night. Damned office romances. "Uh, yeah," she said. "Ang - er, uh, Roarke dropped me off."
Gunn's lips pursed together in an unpleasant expression. "Boss make you walk up all those stairs?" he asked tightly.
In spite of her uneasiness, Buffy smiled at the thinly veiled threat in his voice. She knew if she said yes that Gunn would do something stupid like start a fight with Angel. They both knew he could never win, but it wouldn't stop him from trying. "Nah," she said lightly, "he was okay. He looked out for me."
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Gunn nodded. "If you need anything, you just let me know," he said.
"Will do," she replied with a very genuine smile.
Angel stared at his shaking hands with frustration. The elevator lurched to life and he abruptly put his hands behind his back, turning to glare at the intruder.
Willow stopped short at the expression on his face. Any thoughts she had entertained about teasing him about Buffy died a quick death. "I, uh, can come back later," she said, from behind the metal grate.
"It's fine," Angel bit out, nodding with his head for her to step into his office proper. "What do you need?"
"Lorne said you were free, if he was wrong I can come back - "
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"I was wondering if you could help me with a casting," she said quickly. "I'm having some trouble getting it down. It just feels off and I can't understand why."
Angel took a deep breath. "Can it wait until tomorrow?" he asked much more calmly.
"I guess," she said, frowning, "but the sooner the better. The clients are having a problem with a violent poltergeists and I was going to try and bind her before she kills another one of their house pets."
"I'll look at it tomorrow," he said tersely, turning back to his desk.
"Roarke."
He turned.
Willow cleared her throat, working up her nerve. "Are you okay?" she asked cautiously.
"I'm fine," he said with finality.
Willow didn't look convinced, but she turned, slowly descending in the elevator. Angel slumped down into his office chair, once again staring at his trembling hands. His magicks were in disarray and he felt uncomfortable, anxious, like something was trying to crawl out from under his skin.
With a low growl, he sank deeper into the chair. It had something to do with Buffy, he knew it. Whatever bond he had with her was affecting his darker powers. That was unacceptable.
But not seeing Buffy was equally unacceptable. He growled louder. All of his darker instincts were telling him to get as far away from Buffy as possible. But something else inside him knew that was an impossibility. He needed Buffy. He had always needed Buffy. Now that she was within his grasp, there was no way he was going to walk away.
He wrung his hands together, cursing under his breath.
Buffy was leaning against the recently closed front door, still panting hard from her laborious trip up from the parking lot. Thank gods her "new" car was an automatic. She couldn't imagine trying to shift gears on her sports car with her leg in this condition. As it was, driving to the Hyperion and walking up the stairs nearly sapped her completely. But her day wasn't a total loss. One perk to being seriously injured on the job was that Wesley let her skip out way early. Of course given that she was in absolutely no condition to take advantage of the impromptu vacation, this wasn't as fortuitous as it might seem.
As she looked up, she noticed Willow sitting on the couch, surrounded by books that looked more magical and less textbook-ish. Their eyes met. "Hey," Buffy chirped brightly, though still out of breath.
"Hey," Willow returned with a smile. Buffy, at least, seemed in a good mood after her night with Roarke. Maybe his strange demeanor was related to something else entirely. "Your stepmom called about an hour ago."
"Jenny?"
"Um, yeah," Willow said. "That is your stepmom, right?"
Buffy nodded. "Yes," she said with a frown, "but I didn't give her this number. Oh well, so my dad's been snooping around again. What else is new?"
Willow's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
Buffy waved dismissively. "Nah," she said. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it. They're just worried and nosy. Two great tastes that don't taste great together."
Frowning, Willow replied, "I doubt your trip to the emergency room last night will make them any less worried."
"True," Buffy said, easing down into the overstuffed chair across from Willow. She picked up the cordless phone and dialed. Jenny answered almost immediately. "Hey," Buffy said.
"Buffy, thank gods," Jenny exclaimed, her relief evident. "Are you okay? Do you need us to come get you?"
"Uh, I'm fine," Buffy said. "How did you know anything was wrong?"
Jenny was silent for several long moments. "Angel called last night," she said. "He told us that you were okay, but I would feel better if you came home for a while. I don't trust his evaluation."
Buffy ground her teeth together to silence the bitchy reply that was her automatic response to Jenny's statement. What was going on with her? It wasn't like her to defend Angel. But in light of his behavior last night, she wasn't inclined to view him as the monster. Angel had issues, she knew that, but he wasn't the unsalvageable creature that her parents chose to see. Last night, he was a perfect gentleman and she was getting really tired of no one giving him the benefit of the doubt. "I'm fine," she said. "I don't need a nursemaid and even if I did, I have people who look out for me." Unconsciously, she pushed her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the Nottis stone.
"Really, Buffy," Jenny said, her voice full of motherly concern with a hefty side of condescension, "just come home and let us take care of you."
"What did Angel tell you?"
"That isn't what's important - "
"What did Angel tell you?" Buffy demanded.
Jenny made an irritated sound. "He said that he had to take you to the emergency room and that you were okay," she admitted.
"And you don't believe him?" Buffy asked guardedly.
"Buffy, you have to understand a few things about Angel. He doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive. I know that he must be intriguing to a girl your age. He's handsome and tragic, but - "
"I work with Angel," she spat. "There is nothing romantic between us and if he thinks that I can continue to do my job, then I am going to do it."
"You don't understand - "
"Understand what? That Angel is dangerous? I get that, Jenny. I've always gotten that. I don't trust him. He's not my friend. But as a colleague, I do know that he knows how to do his job and I know that he trusts me to do mine. He respects me. And I will not treat him like some sort of demon just because you and dad don't get along with him."
Jenny was quiet for a long moment and Buffy could feel her barely repressed anger. "He's using you."
The words stung like a slap. How could Jenny honestly think that she was so blind? "I have to go."
"Buffy, no please wait-"
"Bye, Jenny." Buffy clicked off the phone. She slowly became aware of Willow's presence and turned to look at her roommate. Her cheeks flamed at being caught in such a blatant lie by Willow. "They still think I'm ten years old," she said by way of explanation.
Willow shrugged. "I wouldn't know," she said. "My parents have treated me like I was thirty-five since the first grade. I don't envy your fights, but knowing they cared every now and then would be nice."
Buffy smiled gently at her roommate. Willow's manner was always very reserved. Buffy had the impression that if Willow would open up they could be very good friends, but she knew that Tara's death had caused Willow to close in on herself. Buffy felt like a jerk for being so wrapped up in her own problems. "What are you doing home?" Buffy asked, changing the subject. "I thought you had class."
"It let out early today," Willow said. She smiled in a nervous gesture and an uneasy silence descended.
"You miss her," Buffy said bluntly.
Willow clearly wasn't expecting that line of conversation and her eyes instantly welled with tears. She blinked rapidly, trying to stop them from falling. It was useless as they streamed down her cheeks unchecked. Willow blushed, embarrassed and reached for a tissue. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke.
Buffy smiled gently. "I didn't mean to upset you," she said quietly. "I just ... you don't have to put on a happy face for me, I know it has to be difficult."
Willow nodded and finally gave up a pretense of trying to remain calm. Her shoulders shook as she cried. Long moments later, her sniffles ceased. "Tara was everything that's good about me," she said wistfully. "She was my light, my love. And without her ... god, sometimes it's so hard. When I think of all the time I wasted ... of all the mistakes I made. I swear if I had any idea how limited our time together would be ..."
"I can't imagine," Buffy said honestly.
Willow's expression sobered. "When Tara died .. things were bad. Really bad. I went a little crazy."
"Anyone in your position would do the same," Buffy assured her.
Willow grinned wryly. "No," she said. "You don't understand. I did things. I called a lot of dark magicks. I lost myself in their power. I came really close to hurting a lot of people."
Buffy nodded as she took in Willow's confession. "But you didn't hurt them," she said.
Shaking her head, Willow said, "No, I didn't. But not through any will of my own. If I had found the person responsible for Tara's death, I would have ..." Willow trailed off and stopped, shuddering at the thought of how far her vengeance would have gone. She took a deep breath. "Roarke stopped me. He's powerful. Very powerful. He managed to prevent me from hurting anyone. I know that a lot of people have problems with him, but he saved me from destroying a lot of other people's lives and that sorta makes me like him."
"Is that how you started working for him?" Buffy asked tentatively.
Willow nodded. "We knew of each other before that," she said vaguely. "But after he stopped me ... He has a lot of power. A lot. He could have done any number of things. He could have stripped me of my power, but he didn't. He kept me from harming other people and myself. He helped me learn to control it. We'll never be great friends, but I owe him."
It was dark, but he had no trouble making out her form in the alley. She was crying, her forehead pressed to the dirty brick wall. He could taste her grief on his tongue like the finest wine.
He walked up behind her, pressing himself against her back. She didn't flinch away. She trusted him. Blindly, she turned around, burrowing into his embrace. He felt his features shift as the demon assumed control. Lowering his head, he nuzzled against her neck. She smelled so good, like the most exquisite prey. He could smell the blood from the wound on her thigh beckoning him. He dropped to his knees, pressing his face against her stomach. She threaded her fingers through his hair. Carefully, he turned her, pressing his face closer to the vicious wound. His tongue snaked out to taste a drop of her precious blood. He shivered. The power within her was beyond words. If he consumed her, he would be unstoppable. Nothing and no one would ever be able to hurt him again.
He fisted his hand in the denim and pulled, ripping the material away. Without pause, he lowered his lips to her rent flesh. She hissed, but did not push him away. She trusted him, trusted him to never hurt her. He was going to love drinking her innocence dry. He felt his teeth elongate into fangs as he bit into her flesh. Dimly, he heard her gasp, felt her struggle. He drank deeper. He could feel her heart weakening, feel her grip on him lessening...
"No!"
Angel woke instantly, sitting bolt upright in bed. The sound of his own breathing was deafening in the perfect silence. He sat there for several minutes, willing himself to calm down. Carefully, he slipped from the bed over to the huge windows. He pulled the heavy draperies apart, bathing the room in warm morning sunlight. Ignoring the pain it caused him, he stood there, letting the light burn away the remnants of his nightmare.
What was wrong with him? He could feel his magicks. They were no longer scattered and unmanageable. They were honed to razor sharpness. He could feel the darkness twisting inside him, looking for a release, a victim. He could almost taste Buffy's blood at the back of his throat.
His stomach clenched tightly and he retched, collapsing onto his knees. He put a hand on the floor, steadying himself as he breathed deeply, trying to stave off his nausea at the thought of hurting Buffy. Half of him wanted nothing more than to protect her, while the other half demanded her blood.
The stone was warm in Buffy's palm. It felt comfortable, natural. Just like Angel. Buffy winced at the thought. Oh, she couldn't be doing this. She couldn't be sitting around thinking mushy thoughts about the most unapologetically evil man she'd ever met. Turning, she watched Willow move around the work area, measuring out herbs. Buffy knew Willow was busy and didn't need to be bothered. But Buffy wanted to bother her. She wanted to give in to her insecurities and pour her heart out to her only female confidant.
But she didn't. What had happened between her and Angel was best kept between her and Angel. Besides, there was a decade of backstory that you needed in order to really understand the full ramifications of what transpired. Buffy frowned. Was she just trying to convince herself of something? What if their past together didn't play into it at all? What if Angel was just trying to amuse himself? After all, it had been almost a week since she'd last seen him. In fact, it seemed like Angel was going out of his way to avoid her.
Looking at the stone, Buffy had the urge to throw it across the room. But she couldn't. She couldn't toss the stone away anymore than she could banish Angel from her thoughts ... or her heart.
"That looks ... interesting."
Buffy sat up on the yoga ball so fast that she tipped over and toppled to the floor. She groaned, silently berating herself for being such a spaz in front of Angel. Opening her eyes, she saw him standing over her. "Hi," she said with a frown, wondering what he was doing in the Hyperion's basement.
Mutely, he offered her a hand up. With his assistance she rose fluidly to her feet. "You must be feeling better," he said, eyeing her leg.
"It's better," she confirmed. "Not great, but definitely healing. Wes won't let me patrol until I'm up to speed again, but since everyone else is out covering for me, I'm stuck here trying to work out by myself."
She absently kicked the neon green yoga ball, her bottom lip protruding in a pout. He was here, showing up without a single mention of the fact that he'd been gone for ten days. She wanted to be angry with him. She'd had it all planned out. If she saw him again, she was going to make him grovel. But now, presented with the reality of Angel standing in front of her, being charming, she found she couldn't do it. She'd spent so much time worried that he'd be distant or worse, mean, that relief flooded her at his wicked grin.
She looked at him warily. His smile was filled with something she couldn't identify. "What?" she asked cautiously.
He spread his arms in invitation. "Spar with me," he said.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Last time I did that, you tried to give me a permanent scar. Remember?"
He smiled wolfishly. "I remember. I also remember that you were fighting cold in high heels and a skirt. And you still won."
She laughed to herself, straightening up to her full height, head held high. "I did, didn't I," she said with obvious pride.
"So, spar with me," he repeated.
Eyeing him up and down, she said, "You're really not dressed for it."
Looking down at himself, he shrugged. He walked to the edge of the practice mat and toed off his shoes and socks before draping his jacket over a chair. Dressed in only a pair of low slung black leather pants and a white button-up shirt, he returned to stand in front of her.
She watched as he undid the buttons at his throat and wrists and then rolled back the sleeves. She swallowed audibly. Suddenly, she was inordinately glad for the fact that she decided to wear the black lycra sports bra and loose black yoga pants that rode low on her hips. Her fashion sense was definitely suffering for her Slayerhood, but she knew she looked hot at the moment.
"Ready, Slayer?" he asked in open challenge.
"You have no idea," she muttered saucily under her breath, but held up her hands and nodded to him to attack.
Angel went easy at first, testing her range of motion, carefully noting the moves that caused her to wince. Buffy circled around him, trying to ignore the pain in her leg and concentrate on her opponent. As she barely dodged a fist, she realized maybe keeping all of her interest concentrated on him wasn't such a wise move. The way he looked in those leather pants should be illegal.
When Angel was satisfied that her leg was indeed strong enough, he became more aggressive. As a rule, he didn't spend a lot of time in hand to hand combat. It was far more efficient to get his point across with political intimidation and magicks, but never one to be outdone, he had studied several different forms of martial arts and he kept himself in top physical shape. For a student of combat, it was a rare pleasure to pit his skills against someone who was such a raw and instinctive fighter. He could tell she was being hesitant because of her injuries and he was actually rather thankful for that. He had no doubt that he was no match physically for Buffy in top form.
But she wasn't in top form, and he didn't get where he was by playing fair. He started attacking on her weak side, causing her to fight for balance, making her work twice as hard as he was. After days of limited physical activity, she was waning quickly. He took the opportunity, swinging at her, knowing she would have to dodge and then sweeping her legs out from under her.
Buffy landed hard and didn't move as pain flared through her wounded leg. Angel stood over her, watching. There was a strong pull to run to her side and assure himself that she was all right, but he held his ground. Buffy was the Slayer and she had to become accustomed to battle. She stayed as she was, laid out on her back on the practice mat. Her eyes were closed and she ground her teeth against the pain.
"You okay?" Angel asked, careful to mask his concern.
"Fine," she bit out. "Just give me a second."
Angel walked around her in a slow circle. "Buffy," he said, trying to take her mind off the pain, "I thought your mother was German."
"She was," Buffy replied, pushing herself into a sitting position.
Angel smiled saucily. "And we already know your father is an English pig."
"Is there a point to this?" she asked wearily.
"Not really," he said. "I was just wondering why you have a Celtic cross tattooed on your hip."
"I don't have a ..." Buffy looked down at her right hip. Her yoga pants had ridden down far enough that there was indeed a tattoo of a Celtic cross visible. Since performing the soulmate spell with Ford many months earlier, Buffy had the strange design on her hip - right where the Celtic cross was now situated. " ... tattoo," she finished lamely.
"Some drunken night you can't remember?" Angel offered.
Buffy shook her head and looked up to see his proffered hand. She took it, letting him help her to her feet. She stared down at the tattoo, pulling her pants far enough down her hip that it was completely visible. "I don't know what's going on," she said.
"You really didn't know you had a tattoo?" Angel asked, becoming more concerned.
Frowning, Buffy said, "No, I have one, it just usually ... "
"Usually?" he prompted.
"Doesn't look like this," she said meekly, her brow furrowing as she looked at it again.
"Let me get this straight," Angel said, "you have a tattoo, it just normally doesn't look like a Celtic cross?"
"Well normally, it's ... " Buffy looked at him, her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut. "Never mind," she said. "I don't know what's going on."
He stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Ionuin, if something is wrong -"
"No," Buffy said firmly. "It's fine. I'll deal with it later." She looked at his disheveled form and didn't even attempt to lie to herself about the way his rumpled clothes and worried expression pulled at something inside of her. She stepped away from him, limping across the mat. "I think I'm done sparring for the day," she said, not looking at him.
Angel was quiet for several moments and when he spoke, his voice was soft. "Did you find the Nottis stone?" he asked.
Turning, Buffy met his gaze, trying to keep her expression neutral. "I did," she replied, then tacked on a hasty, "thank you."
He nodded, then shrugged. "See you later," he said and after grabbing his jacket and shoes, left without another word.
Buffy took a few deep breaths and looked down at her hip. Once again, the design returned to the way it had looked for the last eighteen months. The patterns made more sense now, knowing where the odd lines and twists formed the part of the larger design. Still, this was not good news. She grabbed her sweatshirt and pulled it on over her sports bra and headed upstairs to do research.
Buffy stared blankly at the weathered parchment page.
"Like this one," Gunn said loudly, scaring her out of her zone as he held up the new battle-axe. Buffy stared at him with her hand pressed to her racing heart. She had missed the entire conversation, lost in her thoughts. Leaning in, Gunn looked at her closely. "You okay there, B?" he asked. She nodded. He looked down at the book. "Whatcha readin'?"
Buffy snapped the book shut. "Nothing," she said, smiling sweetly.
Gunn didn't look convinced, but he let it drop, returning the axe to the weapons cabinet. Buffy hopped off the stool and limped carefully over to Wesley's bookshelves. She replaced the book she had borrowed. It was a duplicate copy of the spellbook she and Ford had used for their magickal dabblings, Bind's Compendium. Wesley's book had an exact copy of the spell that left the random design permanently embedded in the flesh on her hip. "Soulmates," Buffy said under her breath.
Buffy hobbled back to the stool and resumed her perch next to the phone. Wesley, Gunn and Groo milled around the Hyperion's lobby, taking a moment to regroup from the day's activities before they dove into the nighttime routine. Half hidden behind the counter, Buffy pulled up her sweatshirt and rolled over the waistband of her pants. The mark was still nothing more than a random assortment of lines. Buffy sighed and righted her clothes. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the counter as she cradled her head. She had read and re-read the spell for hours. There was no getting around it, she performed it correctly. The seemingly random pattern on her hip was half of a mark. It only completed itself when her soulmate was near.
Buffy groaned and collapsed completely forward onto the counter, pillowing her head on her arms. Liam Roarke ... Angel, the man she couldn't stand, was her other half? This couldn't be happening. She hated him! But even as Buffy thought it, she knew it wasn't true. Angel irritated her, possibly more than any human being on the planet, but she didn't hate him. He merely had the ability to push her buttons like no one else. He knew exactly what to say or do to drive her nuts. But he hadn't been driving her nuts lately - at least not the way he used to. More often than not, she actually looked forward to seeing him, to talking to him. And she couldn't even begin to deny that looking at him was most definitely a pleasure. And then there was the Nottis stone. He wouldn't have gone out of his way to find it for her if he hadn't had some inkling of what it meant. She sighed miserably.
"I think I'm falling in love with him," she whispered to herself.
Buffy shook herself violently, shuddering at the notion. The thought of loving Angel terrified her. Angel wasn't a man with whom to trust one's heart. He was cold, calculating and solitary. She couldn't deny that there had always been a connection between the two of them. Nor could she deny that while she heard stories of his ruthlessness, he had never been anything but brutally honest with her ...
She let her thoughts wander, remembering his scent, the feel of his lips against hers and the concern in his eyes, remembering the unmistakable thrust of his arousal. Buffy had no trouble believing that his reputation as a lover was well deserved, but taking him as a lover and falling in love with him weren't separate for her. She knew that if she ever did give in to him that it would be because he held her heart. And her heart was the one thing she couldn't give him.
Angel took a deep breath as he slid behind his desk at Caritas. He sat stone still, eyes closed. He opened them slowly, looking at his hands. They weren't shaking. But he still felt unbalanced. Since his contact with Buffy hadn't been prolonged, the effect wasn't debilitating. But now that he knew what he was looking for, he could tell.
When he was near her, he wanted to touch her. And when he did ...
Angel knew he was damned. He'd known that for years. But touching Buffy was as close to heaven as a creature like himself was ever going to get. Her scent, her taste, her feel were all addictive. When he was near her, he felt drunk on her. When she was gone he felt empty in a way he had never imagined.
But if he was near her, if he dared to touch her, the fallout was intense. His magicks abandoned him, making him a stranger in his own body. In the wake of their contact, he couldn't concentrate, he couldn't do anything.
And when his magicks did return, they returned with a vengeance. He knew Buffy must have surmised that he was avoiding her in the wake of their physical encounter. And it was true. But he doubted she could even begin to appreciate his reasoning.
The nightmare he had of hurting Buffy, of gorging on her lifeforce until she died was still so fresh, so vivid. It was a backlash of some sort. The dark magicks that had initially receded from Buffy's touch nearly overtook him once they returned. In the wake of that dream, he had avoided all humans for fear of doing something. Something violent and bloody. The nightmare he'd had of Buffy ... He could remember the euphoria of ingesting her power.
He shook the thought away. It was much safer to avoid her. Safer for them both.
But he could only avoid her for so long before he began craving her touch. He'd been weak today. He'd sought her out, made up a flimsy excuse to touch her.
"Dammit!" he cursed, pounding his fist against the desk.
"Earth to Buffy."
Lifting her head from the former check-in desk, Buffy smiled wryly at Willow. "Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," Willow chirped. "Whatcha doin' sittin' here all alone?"
"Recuperating," Buffy said evasively.
Willow frowned, knowing that Buffy wasn't merely taking a break. "Anything you want to talk about?" she asked.
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I'm just trying to get my head straight. I'm kinda confused at the moment."
Leaning against the counter, Willow double-checked that none of the guys were close enough to overhear. "This wouldn't have anything to do with our boss, would it?" she whispered.
Buffy felt her cheeks pinken. "Wow, that obvious, huh?" she asked, her voice thick with self-derision.
"Oh, no, Buffy," Willow assured her. "I live there," she said. Willow smiled gently. "I ... know about the other night."
Blush deepening, Buffy winced. Willow laid a gentle hand on her arm. "It's confusing," Buffy said, "and getting more so by the moment."
Gunn's voice broke up their quiet discussion as he sneered loudly, "Oh look, a lawyer. Just what we need around here. It's always easier hunting vamps with bait."
Buffy turned her attention to the doors and watched as an attractive man entered the Hyperion. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a battered gray t-shirt, he didn't reek of money. But current appearance aside, Buffy knew he would be just as comfortable in Armani. He shrugged off Gunn's comment with a mix of arrogance and self-confidence that Buffy had only seen before on Angel, swaggering down the steps and into the lobby. "He a regular customer or something?" Buffy whispered to Willow, watching him walk across the floor with an easy grace that belied his familiarity with the hotel.
Frowning, Willow turned her attention back to Buffy. "Lindsey McDonald," Willow confided out of the corner of her mouth as he approached the counter.
"Willow," Lindsey said, nodding his head. The bit of twang betrayed his Texan roots. As his eyes landed on Buffy, a smile blossomed across his face, chock full of southern charm. "I don't believe we've met," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Lindsey."
Buffy shook his hand, thrilled that he gave her a firm shake and didn't try any landshark moves like planting a kiss. "Buffy Summers," she said, smiling easily. From the doorway, she had known he was attractive, but in close quarters he was a complete hottie. His ice blue eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief and his hand lingered longer than was absolutely necessary. Buffy also couldn't help noticing that he smelled very nice ... maybe not the same way that Angel's particular scent smelled nice, but definitely of the good.
"So Lindsey," Willow chirped, trying to break up the sudden tension, "what brings you here?"
Lindsey smiled broadly at Willow, completely aware that she was trying to divert his attention from Buffy. "Nothing really," he said. "I'm back in town, decided to check in and see how things are going."
"Does Roarke know you're here?" Willow asked.
Lindsey's smile faded. "You know he doesn't."
"After everything that happened," Willow asked cautiously, "do you think it's a good idea to be here?"
"Here as in Angel Investigations or are you insinuating that Roarke has dominion over the entire city?" Lindsey replied acridly.
"Linds, I wasn't - "
Lindsey shook his head, sighing. "I'm sorry, Willow, I didn't mean to snap. It's just that the muzzle gets old pretty quick."
"I'm not saying that what he did was right," Willow explained, "but I do think that his intentions were mostly good."
Lindsey's lips pressed into a hard line. "I made my own bed," he said. "I know that. It's just a little hard to sleep in some nights." Turning, Lindsey gave Buffy a smile that was a shadow of the former. "Buffy, it was nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."
As the doors swung shut behind Lindsey, Buffy giggled. "Who was that masked man?" she quipped.
"Trouble," Willow replied dryly, sharing none of Buffy's giddy impressions from the exchange.
Three days later, Lorne was just back from giving a reading on stage when he almost ran into Rebecca. She was charging out of his office, not paying any attention to anyone. "Hey, watch the suit!" Lorne yelled at her retreating form, blotting the Sea Breeze off his red shirt with a cocktail napkin.
Several moments later, Angel descended in the rickety elevator, stepping off without bothering to extricate his head from the file he was reading.
"Girl trouble?" Lorne asked.
Angel looked up, frowning.
"Rebecca," Lorne offered. "You know, the nasty little two-bit whore of an actress that you spent the better part of last year entertaining."
Angel shrugged, making a face. "If she comes in again, see that she's escorted right back out."
Lorne smiled.
Angel frowned at him. "What?"
"Nothing, Angelcakes," he said, "just wondering if this has anything to do with a certain Slayer."
"That," Angel said, snapping the file shut, "is none of
your business."
A match flared to life in the dark alley. Buffy didn't jump. Somehow jumping would make her seem not very scary as a Slayer. So she didn't jump. But she did pivot around and face the man lurking in the shadows, watching as he took a drag off the cigarette.
"Word has it that Roarke still has you assigned to desk duty," Lindsey said with a smile. "You wouldn't be going against his orders, now would you?"
Buffy flipped the stake idly in her hand, popping out one hip as she eyed Lindsey. She watched as he pushed off from the wall and approached her. It shouldn't have been a sensuous move, but somehow it was. But Lindsey was smart. He was careful not to get too close and his posture was completely relaxed. There was a contained darkness about him, but for tonight at least, he wasn't a predator. She had never entertained that thought about Angel. Angel was always a predator.
Her musings sobered her instantly. She hadn't seen Angel in days and it was making her inordinately grouchy. "Wesley has me on desk duty," she replied.
Lindsey chuckled. "Wesley's a good dog," he said, "but he doesn't hunt. All orders come from Roarke."
Buffy shrugged. "I don't really know much about his management style, but all of my orders come from Wesley."
Nodding, Lindsey let it drop. "But regardless of who gives you orders, you're still disobeying them, right?"
Meeting his eyes for a long moment, Buffy finally nodded. "I don't like being kept on a short rein."
He smiled broadly. "Me either," he said with a wink.
Despite her better judgment, Buffy returned his smile and continued walking down the alley, nodding for him to follow. He did so easily, his gate lazy so she didn't strain her leg. "So what's up with you and the boss?" Buffy asked, deciding that there was no point in playing coy.
He laughed. "You don't pull punches, do you?" he asked.
"That's not an answer," she replied.
He nodded. "Fair enough," he said, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the sole of his well worn boots. "Roarke and I go way back. Used to be close and then we had a difference of opinion that left me high and dry."
"Difference of opinion ..." Buffy repeated. "About what?"
"I thought I should be allowed to live my life the way I saw fit, and he disagreed."
Buffy remained silent. She knew Angel well enough to know that he wasn't above dictating how others lived their lives. But still, she knew Lindsey wasn't being completely truthful. "Got any details there, Tex?" she asked.
"Big Brother didn't approve of my employment," he said. "Roarke put me through college, through law school, all the while telling me that I didn't owe him anything ... and then when I got a job he didn't like, he took it all away."
"Must have been some job," Buffy said evasively. While she had no trouble imagining Angel using his power to force someone out of a job, the fact that he had put Lindsey through college was shocking. Given Lindsey's bitterness, she also guessed there was a lot more not being said.
"To give the devil his due," Lindsey elaborated, "my employer was a firm of demons hell bent on winning Armageddon."
Buffy snorted. "Gee, can't imagine him having any issue with that."
"True," Lindsey said, "but that's not really the point, is it? He gave me this gift and said 'do with it what you will', but when he didn't like it, he took it all away. And now instead of looking at the view from my office, I'm working as a public defender for the city and hiding out in alleys."
Coming to a stop, Buffy turned to face him with slitted eyes. "You're not hiding," she said baldly.
He laughed somewhat uneasily. "Touché," he replied. "I'm not hiding. In fact, I'm doing my best to beard the lion in his own den."
"If you and Angel really were such good friends, then you must know that's not a bright idea," she advised.
For a long moment, Lindsey held her gaze, saying nothing. Finally he took a deep breath, breaking eye contact to stare blindly down the alley. " I never trusted anyone the way I trusted him and he made me regret every second of it," Lindsey said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "So now my life holds nothing but the hope that one day I'll get my payback."
Buffy cocked an eyebrow. "Touching story there, Tex, but you hope to accomplish this mission how? By lurking around in alleys?" she asked sarcastically.
"No," he said with a grin. He stepped closer, letting his eyes drift over her body in a way that sent pleasant tingles of excitement tickling over her skin. Buffy didn't even try to deny that there was definite chemistry between herself and Lindsey ... but it didn't mean she welcomed it. Something inside of her knew that getting involved with an enemy of Angel would be a very bad idea. Lindsey leaned in and though she knew she should back up, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
He let out a self-derisive snort. "I had this all planned," he admitted, shaking his head in wonder. "I followed you, waiting for the right moment. I was going to casually show up and lay some line on you ..." he trailed off and shrugged. Stepping back, he reached for another cigarette and lit it in silence. After he released his second drag, he said, "I didn't count on actually liking you."
Buffy stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Followed me?" she echoed. "And like me? What's that supposed to mean? What do I have to do with your pissing contest with Angel?"
He looked at her incredulously. "You can't honestly be that blind," he said. "Roarke is about as subtle as a bull in a china shop."
"Know what?" she demanded, getting more irritated by the second.
"Liam Roarke is a very hard man to get a bead on, but he was my best friend for a long damn time. I knew him better than anyone. Better than his sister. I know for a fact that the easiest way to truly hurt him would be to get close to you. To take you from him. He'd kill me for it, but at least I'd get my revenge."
Shaking her head, Buffy said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I work for Angel. We're - "
"Angel," Lindsey repeated pointedly. "That's his real name. He told me that once when we were both drunk out of our minds. I know that there are only two people on the planet who would dare address him by that name. One is his only flesh and blood relative and the other is the woman he's been in love with for years."
Buffy laughed and it sounded strained even to her ears. This wasn't true. It couldn't be. But she couldn't stop the pain that it caused ... because part of her desperately wanted Lindsey's words to be real. "Angel doesn't love anyone or anything."
Lindsey shrugged. "Not the way any normal, well-adjusted person would love, no. He doesn't. But I also know that whatever twisted, obsessive emotion passes for love with him, he feels it for you. I doubt he even entertains the notion of love, but it's still there. He wants you. He's always wanted you. Roarke isn't a man to deny himself anything and the fact that he has denied himself you - especially with your new oh-so-convenient circumstances - speaks volumes."
Buffy shook her head. "You don't know anything."
"Don't I?" he asked. He let his gaze wander her body again, stepping closer. "I don't know you," he said, his voice quiet and sensual. "But I do know that there is ... something between us."
Buffy swallowed audibly, but held her ground, staring defiantly into his eyes. "So?" she asked, not bothering to deny his assertion.
He chuckled at her feisty nature. "I also know that you're holding back."
Her lips pursed into a thin, hard line. "What?" she spat. "You think that just because there's some something between us that I'm going to jump you in the first convenient alley? Ego much? And for your information, I don't work for Skanks-R-Us."
"Oh," he said with mock understanding, "so it's your own standards that are getting in the way and nothing else?"
"Exactly."
He didn't look convinced. "And it doesn't have anything to do with your Angel?"
Buffy stared at him, but held her tongue. Her Angel. What a joke. Angel didn't belong to anyone but himself. But she couldn't prevent the oddly satisfying sensation the words brought.
Lindsey stepped even closer, almost touching. "What do you think he would do if he saw us now?" he asked in a near whisper.
Buffy swallowed thickly, turning away from Lindsey's knowing gaze. For reasons she could not explain, she knew that Angel's rage would be exquisite. They had no claim on each other, no understandings spoken or unspoken. But still, she knew the truth in her bones.
"He would kill me for touching you," Lindsey said flatly.
Buffy didn't contradict him because she knew his words to be true, though she didn't know why. "I have a job to do," Buffy said, turning on her heel. As she walked off, Lindsey wisely did not follow.
"You're certain it doesn't hurt?"
"It didn't," Buffy ground out, "but if you keep poking at it, I swear I'm going to poke you with Mr. Pointy."
Wesley straightened up, backing away from the agitated Slayer and her mostly-healed leg. "Ah yes," he said. "Point, erm, taken."
"So I'm off desk duty?" she asked hopefully.
"It would appear so," Wesley conceded. "I would rather you give it another week, but taking into account your enthusiasm for your work and the fact that there are three people trying to pick up your slack, I have to defer to your opinion. If you think you're ready, by all means, resume patrolling."
Grabbing her jacket off the counter, Buffy called over her shoulder, "Don't wait up."