"Damage"
Author: Indie
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com
Without turning around from her position at the weapons cabinet, Buffy knew that Angel was the one pushing through the Hyperion's doors. "Hey- " she said as she swiveled to face him an unbidden smile fixed firmly on her lips.
She stopped mid-sentence as she saw the voluptuous brunette trailing behind him into the lobby. It was a week since she last saw Angel. Four days since Lindsey raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions that left her with nights full of sweaty, frustrating dreams. Logically, Buffy convinced herself that Lindsey was full of it. There was nothing between her and Angel. Nothing at all. But it didn't stop the near violent jealousy that burned through her as she watched Faith - Buffy knew instantly that was who the painted whore was - saunter behind Angel in a vaguely obscene way. Buffy kept her eyes glued on Faith as Angel approached, noting the fact that if Faith's canvas army bag was any indication, she was planning on moving in.
Taking in the clearly unhappy expression on Buffy's face, Angel smiled. "Buffy, Faith. Faith, Buffy," he said offhandedly. "Slayer, Slayer," he tacked on cheekily.
Faith finally looked at Buffy and snorted as she rolled her eyes. "Anotha princess," she derided. "Great."
Angel looked at Faith, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he said playfully, "Buffy's not much to look at ... " He ignored Buffy's glare of pure hatred. "but this princess has your Slaying records beat in every category."
Faith's smirk of superiority died.
"And she's mastered the fine art of getting her ass to work on time," Angel continued pointedly. "And she plays well with the team." His expression was now completely sober. "You might want to take a few pointers," he finished.
Faith was now staring at Buffy with a look of open animosity. "Well isn't that just wicked convenient," she said. "Pollyanna can do my job better than me and I bet she always eats all her vegetables and says her prayers before bed, too."
Angel looked nonplussed. "Oh, no," he mocked in a scathing tone of voice, "is this going to be another pity party? I'm afraid I didn't wear my hairshirt today."
Faith's jaw tightened as she glared at him. "Look boss, you're the one who wanted ta get all twelve steppy with me. I didn't ask for your help."
"Ask," he said wryly. "You're right, it was more of a cry for help. 'I'm bad! Just kill me! Just do it!' You really weren't looking for a one way ticket out of this world, you were just practicing for your summer stock auditions."
Faith flinched and Angel momentarily regretted his words. But only momentarily. The demons she would face nightly sure as hell wouldn't treat her with kid gloves. Why should he? Nevertheless, his demeanor softened, though it lacked none of his former seriousness. "You're tough, Faith," he admitted freely, "and worth saving, but you were out of control. You have a hell of a lot of potential and I don't want to see it wasted. But I've dragged your ass out of the fire for the last time. Your grace period is gone. Pull your weight or get out. Buffy set the standard and you meet it or you're on your own."
Faith nodded curtly, her expression shuttered. She hefted her army green bag over her shoulder. Mutely she turned and headed up the stairs like a good soldier, disappearing around a corner. The slamming of a door echoed in the quiet hotel.
"So that's Faith," Buffy said coldly. "Nice to see she's so well adjusted."
Turning to face her, Angel struck out lightning quick and grabbed Buffy's wrist. His face was hard as his thumb played lightly over the raised scars. "Being the Slayer is a rough gig," he said matter-of-factly. "You all deal with it in your own ways."
Buffy wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, glaring.
"Don't get pissy with me," he said, "I'm just pointing out that until you've walked in her shoes, I wouldn't be so quick with the judgment. Faith has her good points."
"Oh trust me, I know all about her good points," Buffy snapped. Without waiting for his response, she turned and stalked over to the front desk, doing her best to ignore him.
Angel stood, rooted to his spot, watching her fume. He could understand her rivalry with Faith. It was natural. There was only ever supposed to be one Slayer. The fact that there were two was bound to have unpleasant side effects. But even that didn't explain her childish reaction.
More amused than irritated, Angel followed her to the front desk, standing several paces behind her. "Mind telling me why you're pouting about this?" he asked.
Twisting around to face him, Buffy snapped, "I'm not pouting!"
He smirked. "Really?" he mocked.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she demanded. "Like maybe you could be helping Faith and her body built for sin get comfortable upstairs," she offered.
Angel's face went blank for a split second and then he laughed in sincere mirth. "You're upset about the note I put in Faith's file?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Buffy fumed, her jaw muscles flexing as she ground her teeth together. So it was him! That just pissed her off more. "I'm not upset," she lied venomously. "I don't care what you do with Faith. Or to Faith. In fact, maybe you should go check in on her like a good sponsor. It could be touch and go without you to watch over her."
"You're mad," he said, his lips twisting into a smile of self-satisfaction.
"Why would I be mad?" she asked, her voice much higher than usual. "It's not like I could even begin to compete with slut-o-rama up there. Besides, I'm not much to look at."
Her chest was heaving with anger, her eyes lit by an internal fire. As far as Angel was concerned, she had never looked more beautiful. Without stopping to question his motives, Angel had her backed up against the counter, his tongue tangling with hers before she knew what was happening.
As soon as she realized what was going on, Buffy should have pushed him away. She didn't. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his hair and proceeded to give as good as she got. She suckled on his tongue, nipped at his lips and generally mauled his mouth. He wasn't complaining, though some part of his brain was still holding him in check. His hands rested neutrally at her waist, itching to do more. He settled for kissing her back with every ounce of carnal knowledge he possessed poured into the gesture.
Buffy sensed his reserve and it fanned the dying flames of her anger. She knew without question that he wouldn't dream of holding back with Faith. She didn't know why he was doing so with her, but she decided to be offended. Luckily, she wasn't completely weaponless in this war. As they continued to kiss, one of her hands left his neck, splaying over his chest, exploring the contours of his body. As she scraped her nails down his silk covered chest, he growled lightly and kissed her more insistently. Emboldened by his response, Buffy abandoned the tame gestures and went straight for wanton, rubbing herself against him in open invitation.
Angel couldn't think. He was painfully aroused, hungry for the taste and feel of this woman. His fingers bit into her hips, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist, positioning her damp softness right where he needed it. He growled again, pressing her against the counter, thrusting against her as his hands roamed her body, cupping a full breast through the flimsy cotton material of her shirt.
Buffy whined in absolute surrender, tightening her legs. She was completely helpless to stop him - not that it would have occurred to her to do so. He laid her back on the counter and Buffy went willingly, pulling him with her. He crouched over her, still molesting her mouth, still thrusting against her as he rolled a pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Buffy's nimble fingers found the buttons of his shirt and swiftly had them undone, pushing the material out of the way. She broke off the kiss to nip down his neck. Angel groaned and lifted himself off her enough to allow him to unbuckle her belt. Not even his undoing the button on her jeans or hissing her zipper down were enough to snap Buffy to her senses. As he tried to inch the confining denim down her legs, she obligingly lifted her hips to help. Soon she was wearing nothing but her sleeveless pink tanktop and a lacy white thong, laid out on the Hyperion's front desk, much more Slayer Buffet than Slayer Buffy.
Where all common sense had failed them, the shrill ringing of the telephone mere inches from their ears succeeded in interrupting their mutual molestations. Angel was still crouched over her, one of his fingers hooked under the waistband of her panties. Their eyes met, both of them panting harshly as the phone rang again.
Buffy licked her lips nervously. She flicked a glance at the phone and then back to Angel. "Maybe I should ..."
"Let it ring," he growled, kissing her again. He grabbed the hem of her shirt, breaking off the kiss only long enough to pull the garment unceremoniously over her head. Buffy pushed his shirt completely off of his shoulders and her fingers were fumbling with the buckle of his belt as the machine picked up. She heard Wesley's recorded voice inform the caller of how busy they were - no doubt - and to leave the appropriate information.
She couldn't make her fingers work enough to get his belt undone and settled instead for cupping him through the supple leather of his pants. They both groaned aloud as her palm pressed into the rigid length of his sex, stroking him lightly.
That was, of course, the cue for everything to go wrong. "Buffy," Lindsey's voice chimed happily, "haven't managed to catch up with you for a while. Just wanted to know if we could get together again some night this week. I know you know who this is. And don't mention anything to the boss. Later, darlin'."
The second Angel heard Lindsey's lips wrap around his woman's name, all playfulness was gone. Rage trembled through his powerful frame. Moving painfully slow, every minute action calculated, Angel stared down at Buffy. His large hands framed her face so she couldn't look away. "Get together again some night," he repeated, his voice taut, incredulity and fury warring on his features. "When exactly did you get together with Lindsey at night in the past?"
"I, uh ..." Buffy trailed off pitifully.
Angel dipped his head, staring right into her eyes. "When were you with that worthless, treacherous, soon-to-be-painfully-murdered sack of shit?"
"I didn't - " Buffy began. "We didn't ... I mean ... " She took a deep breath, her fear fading in the wake of her growing anger. What right did he have to treat her like this? They weren't a couple! He had no right to know anything about her and Lindsey. And trust issues much? He was acting like all Lindsey had to do was snap his fingers and she would jump in the sack with him. Of course, given the fact that she had been in the process of losing her virginity to Angel on top of the Hyperion's reception counter, maybe he had his reasons to wonder. Which brought up a whole different host of issues.
Oh gawds, she was one of those girls.
"Get off me!" she snapped, pushing ineffectually at his chest. She needed to find her clothes fast.
Angel didn't budge an inch, glaring down into her defiant countenance. "When?" he demanded.
"None of your business," she ground out, trying to wriggle out from under him.
Angel growled in frustration. "Stop squirming," he said through clenched teeth.
Buffy ignored him, determined to get free, get dressed and get out. She was oblivious to the effect her writhing was having on his ability to reason. Angel had to release her before he did something he would regret. Abruptly he stood up, pulling Buffy off the counter and setting her on her feet before giving her a small shove away from him. She stumbled backwards, sitting down hard on top of Willow's desk. Her hair was a mess, spilling uncontrollably around her shoulders. Her chest was heaving with the force of her breath and she was dressed in nothing but her underwear, a matching white lace demi-cup bra and thong. Angel looked at her a moment, his expression unreadable, before he scooped his own shirt off the floor and threw it at her.
"Why the hurry?" he sneered, watching her cover herself with the blood red silk that still held the heat of his body. "I know Lindsey isn't better than me."
Buffy glared at him and his ego. "My hurrying doesn't have anything to do with Lindsey."
Angel swallowed harshly, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn't accustomed to losing his temper. He never lost his temper. He was always completely, uncompromisingly calm ... except when Buffy was involved. "This is serious, Buffy," he said. "Lindsey is dangerous. When were you with him and why?"
She wanted to scream in frustration. "I didn't do anything with Lindsey!" she shouted. "We just talked. It was completely harmless."
"Harmless?" he choked in disbelief. "Lindsey McDonald is a lot of things, but harmless isn't one of them. He just talked to you, huh? I bet he did. Don't worry, give Lindsey half a chance and he'll talk himself into your pants."
"Well if he's trying to talk himself into my pants, he sure has a funny way of doing it," she said dryly. "Besides, I already know that everything he said is a lie."
"Indeed," Angel replied coolly. "What did he tell you?"
Buffy laughed mirthlessly. "He told me that you love me," she said bluntly.
Angel blinked. "He told you ... " His voice trailed off and he looked at Buffy, his face utterly blank.
Shouts were audible from the courtyard in front of the hotel and Buffy and Angel knew they were about to be joined by the rest of Angel Investigations. Mutely, Angel picked up Buffy's clothes, clamped one hand around her upper arm and dragged her into Wesley's office, locking the door and closing the blinds behind them.
Angel pulled one of the blinds down far enough to verify that Wesley, Groo, Gunn and Willow were indeed walking into the lobby. He watched them filter in, listening as Willow replayed Lindsey's message and deleted it without placing a call back card on Buffy's desk. He made a mental note to give Willow a raise.
Turning around, Angel faced Buffy. Her anger had faded, leaving her feeling awkward and vulnerable. She was mindlessly rubbing her upper arm where he had grabbed her. Angel stepped closer, relieved when she didn't move away. He stilled her motion by gently grasping her wrist in his fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes wary.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "I'm fine," she replied.
He took a deep breath. "I'm ... sorry," he said, the word sounding unfamiliar on his lips. "I didn't mean to scare you or insult you. I was just worried. Lindsey hates me and he knows that hurting you would be the perfect way for him to get even."
"That's what he told me," she said flatly.
Angel shrugged.
Buffy looked at his hand, still wrapped around her wrist, and slowly covered it with her free hand, pulling it against her chest. She felt, rather than saw, him sigh as he leaned in closer. "Why would hurting me hurt you?" she asked quietly. She looked up at him through her lashes.
He shrugged, shifting uneasily. "I don't know - " he began, then stopped. "I just ... " He took a deep breath and said very seriously, "I would kill him if he ever hurt you, Buffy."
She looked up at him, into the lightless depths of his eyes and knew he spoke the absolute truth. Angel was a product of his upbringing, of a reckless, selfish mother and a cold, controlling father. He hadn't been taught unconditional love or even basic kindness. Nothing in him was predisposed to gentle emotions. But the fact that he lacked the vocabulary for love didn't mean he lacked the ability.
"Lindsey stopped in the office last week," she explained. "The others made it clear he needed to leave, so he did. He caught up with me a few days later on patrol. We talked. We parted ways. I haven't seen him since."
"You weren't supposed to be patrolling last week," Angel said gruffly, pulling her closer.
Buffy went willingly into the circle of his arms. "I was bored," she said unrepentantly, thrilled that he was letting the Lindsey subject drop.
He grinned at her wickedly. "Well maybe I'll have to keep you busy then so you stay out of trouble."
"Really?" Buffy asked with a smile. "And how do you propose to do that?"
She sighed as his lips met her own. Gone was the earlier frantic hunger, but the passion between them was still plenty hot. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him as his other hand sifted through her hair. Buffy's fingers played along the contours of his bare back, tracing the line of his spine, lightly scratching over the shoulder blade that she knew carried his tattoo.
He slipped a hand between their bodies, undoing the buttons of his shirt which shielded her body. He parted the material, his fingertips skimming over her bare flesh. Delighting in the shivers of pleasure that shook her slight frame. As he pulled her to the floor with him, she did not protest. She eagerly parted her legs as he slipped his own thigh between them. His teeth nibbled at her bottom lip as one of his hands undid the front clasp of her bra. He pushed the cups aside, palming her bare breast. With a whine, Buffy arched into his touch, her nipple pebbling against his hand. He broke off the kiss to slip her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. Buffy's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her as she moved restlessly beneath him.
The doorknob rattled, startling Buffy. Angel lifted his head from her breast only long enough to bellow, "Open that door and I will sell you into slavery in Pylea."
By the time Buffy heard Wesley's muffled, "Yes, sir," Angel was already suckling at her other breast. Before long, he abandoned her breasts, kissing a line of fire down her stomach, stopping long enough to dip his tongue teasingly into her belly button. Buffy giggled and tried to roll over, but Angel held her fast. He kissed along her hipbones, pressing a hard kiss to her tattoo. His lips then ventured low across her belly, his tongue toying with the edge of her thong. Once again, he hooked his thumb under the material and looked up into Buffy's eyes.
She was breathing hard, her lips parted in a pant. She bit down on her bottom lip, nodding almost imperceptibly. Temporary insanity, that's what it had to be. She couldn't really be consenting to have sex with Angel on the floor of Wesley's office. She just couldn't. She let her head fall back, staring blindly up at the ceiling, oddly noting that Wesley needed to paint. Her thoughts didn't linger long on the paint.
Angel grinned against the warm flesh of her abdomen and skimmed her lacy thong down her legs before insinuating himself between her thighs. Buffy moved nervously, looking anywhere but at him. Part of Angel was fiercely happy for the innocence that her actions belied, but he soon set out to make her forget about any modesty or restraint, to forget about everything but her hunger for him.
He gently pressed his lips to the downy hair covering her sex, his tongue tracing the delicate seam between her nether lips. She sucked in her breath, arching against him. Angel chuckled, but once again held her down, lowering his mouth to her again with wet, open-mouth kisses. Using his thumbs, he parted her, licking her with the flat of his tongue, delighting in the feel of her fingernails biting painfully into his shoulders. She smelled unbelievable, hot and wanton, her very essence a siren call to his body.
Buffy was made for him. They were a matched set in every way and her reactions told him that even though her mind might protest, her flesh knew the truth. He knew exactly how to touch her, how hard to suckle, when to delve deeper - not because he knew women, but because he knew her. He sucked her hard, slippery, little nub between his lips as two of his long, talented fingers plumbed her depths experimentally. She was tight, so tight and his body ached painfully to be inside her. But this wasn't for him. Not yet.
Angel had always enjoyed this. Since his first fumbling days as a young teen, he had found power in the ability to bring women pleasure. He loved listening to their breathy moans, the delicious hitches in their breathing. But now, all his other memories dimmed in the reality of Buffy. She was beyond his wildest dreams, a wanton creature thoroughly created for him and him alone. The way she tasted, the way she smelled, it was all so perfect. His fingers delved deeper and he felt the physical evidence of her virginity. He couldn't prevent the growl of absolute male satisfaction that rumbled in his chest. With the evidence of her surprised groans, her continual blushing, he knew no other male had trespassed on his territory.
Filled with masculine pride, he suckled harder, curling his fingers inward, knowingly stroking her g-spot. Buffy let out a breathy whine, her thighs tightening against his sides as her hips rolled. He granted her unspoken plea, humming gently around her slick bud.
Her body corded, her back bowing as she climaxed under his touch in a series of breathy whimpers. He continued to suckle her, riding out her wave of pleasure before finally lifting his mouth from her as she went bonelessly limp. His expression smug, he crawled up her body.
Languidly, she turned her head to him, lazily kissing him. She noted with some mortification that his face was wet - wet with her fluids. She blushed, but kissed him deeper. Angel smiled against her mouth, one hand cupping her cheek.
Though she was horribly embarrassed, she met his gaze before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smiled at her before rolling onto his back, pulling her astride him. She looked down at him, her blond locks fluttering wildly around her bare shoulders. His hand traced along her jaw, down her throat, then followed the line of her collarbones before cupping her breast. The other hand bit into her thigh. Buffy could feel him, still hard, pressing against her though they were separated by his leather pants.
Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips before she looked down and very deliberately found his belt buckle with her hand. With an agonized groan, Angel closed his hand over hers, stilling her movements. His eyes pressed tightly shut, he cursed under his breath. "I can't believe I'm going to say this," he muttered. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Buffy, his lips pursed together in a decidedly unhappy line. "Not tonight," he said. "Not like this."
Buffy looked down at him, confused. She was suddenly painfully aware of her nudity as she visually scanned the room for her clothes.
Angel saw the hurt on her features and mentally cursed himself again. "It's not you, Buffy," he said.
She looked at him, her expression incredulous. "Oh I know," she bit back sarcastically. "It's you, right? I can't believe I'm such an idiot."
He growled, clamping his hands around her hips as she tried to crawl off him. "Damn it, Buffy," he swore. He thrust up against her and despite her pain and anger, she groaned, her eyes fluttering shut at the wicked sensation. "How can you think I don't want you?" he demanded.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, more confused than ever. "Then what are you waiting on?" she countered.
He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut. And opened it and clamped it shut again. "Damn it, I'm trying to do the right thing," he snapped.
"So you're Bill Clinton now?" she asked. "What you just did to me wasn't sex and now to keep your conscience clean, we can't actually consummate anything?"
He gave her a withering glare. "Why do you always have to make everything so damned difficult?" he asked. "I don't want it to happen like this. I don't want to fuck you on the floor of Wesley's office." He stopped himself and reconsidered. "Scratch that. I very much do want to fuck you on the floor of Wesley's office, but I'm not going to."
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Because you deserve better," he growled.
Buffy took a moment to appreciate the absolute insanity of their argument and let out a snort that soon snowballed into a full-blown fit of the giggles.
Angel laughed too and then groaned helplessly. "This is going pretty well, don't you think," he said wryly.
When she was recovered, Buffy's hand once again found his belt buckle. Angel narrowed his eyes at her. "I heard what you said," she announced, cutting off his lecture. "But I also know that you're not the only one who gets to play."
Shocked, but excited by her bold declaration, Angel relaxed back on the floor, acquiescing to her demands. There was nothing more sexy than Buffy when she was determined to do something - especially when it was to him. As her hands finally released his belt and carefully slid down his zipper, he hissed.
"Going commando, Angel," Buffy mused. "Color me not shocked."
Angel's reply was cut short by her hand wrapping around his stiff cock. His breath caught in his throat and he arched under her, his fingers biting into her thighs. With her free hand, Buffy worked the tight leather down his hips far enough to free his rigid sex and then went to work exploring him. Buffy may have been a virgin, but she was no innocent. She'd seen her share of naked males in the past and she knew enough to know that Angel was one hell of a specimen. She stroked him, delighting in the strangled noises issuing from his throat.
Her hand was slick with the pre-ejaculate beading from the head of his cock and she used it to ease her movement. She took her time, seeing how he responded to different speeds, different pressures. She stroked him from root to head, watching his nearly pained expression, delighting in the feel of his hips straining under her. Her hands roamed over him, testing his girth, gently cupping his testicles which tightened under her touch. She looked down at his sex and unconsciously licked her lips in a timid gesture. She'd never given a guy that sort of satisfaction. She'd never felt even remotely compelled to take one into her mouth, but she remembered the way Angel's mouth had made her feel and she wanted to experience that power. She wanted to make him as mindless as he made her.
She abandoned her position straddling him, moving to crouch next to him, giving her better access. Angel opened his eyes and was about to protest the loss of her delicious weight on his hips when he realized what she intended to do. She leaned forward, wrapping her lips around the mushroom head, and he couldn't restrain a sharp cry of pleasure. She swirled her tongue around him, taking in his distinctive taste and texture. Ford had always wanted her to do this and she had always balked, finding it dirty and degrading. At the moment, she felt anything but degraded. His taste was musky, vaguely salty and all Angel. She suckled him more insistently, searching for his flavor. He mewled helplessly, one of his large hands finding the small of her back and kneading in time to the pressure of her mouth. Having the ability to make Angel pant her name in breathy little whines filled her with power. He was helpless beneath her, dependent on her for pleasure and she loved it.
She stroked him faster, sucking on the head of his cock as her hand pumped relentlessly. His body went taut and he choked out her name, trying to warn her. Buffy knew what was going to happen. She knew that she could pull away. But she didn't. She sucked him harder, taking him deeper into her throat as he spilled into her waiting mouth. Buffy swallowed him down, sucking his softening flesh clean of every drop.
Her face burned both with satisfaction and embarrassment. What would he think of her? Nice girls weren't supposed to do what she had just done. Tentatively, she sat back on her heels, licking her lips as she turned to face him.
Any worries about him being disappointed with her were quickly assuaged. Angel threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her close for a deep kiss. Buffy was certain a guy wouldn't want to kiss her after that, but Angel growled in obvious pleasure as he licked at her lips, tasting himself on her. It was long moments before they finally broke apart. When Buffy finally pulled back, she met Angel's eyes. The naked longing there burned through her body. It wasn't a physical need, but something deeper, something infinitely more vulnerable.
She could sense a war within him, a conflict to which she was not privy. But as soon as she recognized it, he shuttered his gaze. She could almost feel him pull away from her emotionally.
He looked at her, his gaze flat and appraising, his manner cold. She had the impression he had just come to some decision. He seemed upset with himself. "They're going to wonder what we're doing in here," Angel said, his eyes on the door.
Buffy blushed slightly but shrugged, trying to ignore how much his change in demeanor bothered her. Great, now he regretted what they had done. "I didn't think you cared one way or another what people thought," she said.
"I keep my own counsel," he replied dryly, his manner brusque, "but regardless of what your father or the social gossips might say, I don't make it a habit of carrying out my affairs in full view."
"Oh," Buffy said softly, feeling infinitely stupid. So she was an affair. She forced herself to smile, not wanting him to see how his cold, businesslike manner stung. For some insane reason, she thought this little interlude meant ... something. How perfectly naïve of her. What did she think? That Angel was going to make a profession of his undying devotion just because she swallowed his cum? Her stomach roiled uneasily. He was obviously upset, most likely with himself.
Turning his attention from her, Angel reached out and grabbed her shirt. He handed it to her abruptly. Buffy was unable to meet his eyes as she clasped the shirt to her bare chest, feeling raw and overexposed. She'd heard of bad morning afters, but this was unbelievable. Pushing herself to her feet, she reached for the rest of her clothes and turned away from him. Angel found his clothes as well and in moments they were both dressed. He reached for her and she held still, feeling awkward and unsure as he casually picked a few pieces of lint off the back of her shirt. She wondered if it was proper etiquette to thank him for letting her come first.
"There's a mirror in the bathroom," Angel said. "You should do something about your hair."
Buffy nodded and was grateful to close the door to the private bathroom. She stared at her reflection under the harsh light. Her hair was a mess and her lips were swollen. There were slight abrasions on her cheeks and chin from his stubble-roughened face. She looked like a two-bit whore. She felt like one too.
She took a deep breath. She couldn't fall apart. Not now. Later, alone in her own room she could curse her stupidity, but for now, she had to get through this without letting Angel know how much he could hurt her - how much he had hurt her. She turned on the water and splashed some on her face before rinsing out her mouth. She couldn't get rid of the taste of him. Mentally pushing away that fact, she patted herself dry with paper towels and did her best to right her hair. It wasn't perfect, but since she'd already been on one patrol tonight, no one would expect her to look impeccable. Not that she ever did look impeccable anymore. Buffy frowned again, looking at her cosmetic-free face and the uninspired ponytail. Oh yeah, she definitely looked like someone Angel would get serious about. She was an idiot. But once again, she forced the thoughts away. She had to be strong for a while longer. Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and faced Angel.
He nodded to the outer door without a word. Buffy followed his order and pulled open the door. Walking into the area behind the former reception desk, she saw that Wesley and Willow had already left again, but that Faith was now talking to Groo.
"B," Gunn said with a whistle, "what were you doing in there?"
"None of your goddamned business," Angel said, exiting the office on her heels. Gunn clamped his mouth shut, not having realized it was the boss locked in the office with Buffy.
Angel looked at Buffy, his expression cold and hard. He handed her a piece of paper. "Corner of Twelfth and Walnut. Demon named Merle. Find out what he knows about any black market Ferula-Gemina. Beat it out of him if necessary."
Buffy nodded. So they were just going to pretend nothing happened. Fine by her. "You got it," she said.
"Gunn," Angel continued, "get Wesley on the phone. I need him back here. I'm going out of town for a few days and he's in charge."
Seeing that she was dismissed, Buffy turned, heading for the doors. Her eyes caught with Faith's. The brunette smirked knowingly and then mimed wiping the side of her mouth. Buffy blushed, but kept going.
The trembling started before Angel made it out of the Hyperion. By the time he slid behind the wheel of his BMW, his magicks were so scattered that it was difficult maintaining a coherent thought. When he was with Buffy, touching her, the rush was so intense, the pleasure so intense that he didn't feel any negative effects. But the second she was gone, he was falling apart.
This couldn't continue. He knew that. He couldn't keep getting close to Buffy and then backing away abruptly. Maybe if he was with her more ... The thought trailed off into nothingness. Angel already knew what would happen. He would be fine as long as he was with Buffy, and the second they stopped touching, he would be right back here. And the more he touched her, the more violent his reaction afterwards was becoming. It wasn't exactly manageable. He couldn't very well expect to keep touching Buffy indefinitely.
He cursed under his breath. The only answer, if he wanted to maintain his power and magicks, was to make sure he never touched her again. But he'd known that before he went to the Hyperion this evening. Obviously that knowledge hadn't stopped him from almost taking Buffy on the floor of Wesley's office. He couldn't control his reaction to her. His hunger for her was so intense that all reason was lost.
"It doesn't make you special, you know."
Buffy closed her eyes, shaking her head in disgust. She was standing in the bathroom again, only this time she was trying to wash Merle's blood out of her shirt. It was the soft, gray long sleeve she wore almost every night, and she wasn't in the mood to try and find a new favorite shirt because of a demon bloodstain. Looking at the brown water flowing down the sink, she felt sort of bad. Merle was a creep, but he didn't seem terribly evil. It wasn't his fault that she had a Very Bad Day. But even beating Merle unconscious didn't make her feel any better about herself. The last thing she needed right now was Faith. All Buffy wanted was to go home and go to sleep. Turning, she looked at her sister Slayer. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said wearily.
Faith snorted, taking a seat atop Wesley's desk. "You're just the most recent in a very long line, blondie," she said cattily, idly cleaning her fingernails with an extremely wicked looking knife.
Buffy turned off the water. "Actually, you're the most recent," Buffy snapped. "I'm the elder Slayer."
Faith cocked an eyebrow. "Wow, so Pollyanna does have some spine. That's good. Of course, I already know that you know that's not what I meant. I'm talking about Roarke."
"What about Roarke?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Faith looked around the room, smiling. "The office floor," she said. "Now that's a new one. Roarke and I did it in a lot of places, but never Wesley's office."
Buffy felt like she'd just been punched in the stomach.
Laughing coldly, Faith said, "Like I told you, you're just the most recent in a long line."
Doing her best to recover, Buffy said, "Why should it make a damn bit of difference what you two did?"
Faith shrugged. "So you're into open relationships," she said. "Cool. I was just going to wait until he got tired of you to have another go, but if you two aren't pretending to be exclusive, I might just give him a call tonight."
"There is nothing between me and Roarke," Buffy bit out.
"Sure there isn't," Faith sneered. "They're called Slayer senses, babe. Your breath smelled like his cum. I should know."
Buffy couldn't respond.
"I think my favorite place was on the stage at Caritas," Faith mused. "He ever do you there? Doggie style. All the lights on, a few janitors still mopping up. Damn, that was hot. He's one hell of a piece of meat. Sometimes the pretty ones are all style, no substance, but that boy damn sure knows how to use his gifts."
"I have no desire to hear about your slutty escapades," Buffy ground out, bile rising at the back of her throat.
Faith smiled, knowing her barbs were working. "Slutty?" she asked, feigning hurt. "Come on, girlfriend, the sexual revolution was decades ago. I'm not a slut, I'm merely expressing my sexual freedom. With your new boyfriend."
"You're a whore," Buffy countered coldly.
"A whore? For sleeping with Roarke?" Faith laughed. "I'd argue that he's the one who's the whore, but if I'm one then I guess your precious roommate is one too."
Buffy thought the night couldn't get any worse, but she had just been proven very wrong.
"You didn't know that either?" Faith asked happily. "Oh yeah, Willow and Roarke were hot and heavy for a while. It didn't last long. At least not long after Willow's lesbian lover found out. Ask her if you don't believe me. Little witch never could lie worth a damn."
Unable to bear another moment of Faith's taunting barbs, Buffy left.
"What the?" Lindsey sat up on the couch where he'd passed out, blinking rapidly in the harsh light. As soon as his pupils had adjusted enough to focus, he looked at the intruder. "What do you want?" he demanded with a sneer.
Angel walked around the grimly little apartment, surveying Lindsey's possessions with obvious distaste. "You're supposed to be in Austin, Linds."
"Yeah, well, things change," Lindsey said flippantly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He didn't bother getting off the couch or offering Angel a seat.
"You called Buffy tonight."
Lindsey exhaled and shrugged. "Yeah. So?"
"Aside from the fact that I'll kill you if you go near her again," Angel said blandly, "you have to know that you don't have a chance."
Lindsey looked around the interior of his apartment. "What? You're saying that this isn't a tempting package?" he asked, his voice thick with self-loathing.
Angel looked at Lindsey, trying to deny how much it pained him to see the once proud young man brought so low. Lindsey had always sworn he would never be like his father, never stand idly by while someone walked away with his life. That much remained constant. No doubt Lindsey felt him completely responsible for his current state and thought revenge was his only recourse. Angel's lips pursed into a thin, hard line. "You chose this path," he said.
"No, you're wrong there," Lindsey countered with vitriol. "I strictly remember having a high rise condo, a new Mercedes and a track to a partnership at the biggest law firm in town. Until you arranged for it to all be taken away."
"It didn't have to end like that," Angel said. "You were the one who wanted all or nothing."
Lindsey smirked. "Let's just say that there were limits as to how much of a bitch I was willing to be for you."
Angel ignored his comment and took a seat in a threadbare recliner, propping his feet up on Lindsey's scarred, rickety coffee table. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, taking a deep breath.
"Not feeling well?" Lindsey asked with feigned sweetness.
Opening his eyes, Angel glared. "What do you know about it?" he demanded.
Lindsey slumped back against the cushions, his features coolly neutral. "I still have a few friends at Wolfram and Hart," he said evenly.
Angel put his feet on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "And what exactly does Wolfram and Hart know about me and the Slayer?"
Lindsey smiled maliciously. "Surely you've figured it out by now," Lindsey said in mocking tones. "That beautiful little girl is your Kryptonite, Superman."
A low growl sounded in Angel's throat. He was in no mood for Lindsey's games. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he spat.
Lindsey looked positively gleeful. "She's your home, Clark," he said happily. "Whatever inside you is still human is drawn to her." Lindsey smiled so wide you could almost see his wisdom teeth. "But get too close to her and it'll kill the rest of you."
Angel snarled. "And what's in it for you?"
"For me?" Lindsey asked flippantly. "Nothing but a sense of bone deep satisfaction. You see, if you get rid of her, you'll keep your power, but you'll end up breaking the heart of the only person on this earth that you'll ever truly love." Lindsey's voice was light, but he couldn't fully mask his anger. "And if you don't send her packing, then you can kiss all your dark magicks goodbye. Either way I figure I want a ringside seat. And who knows, if you break her heart or die, then maybe she'll need some consoling."
Angel looked at Lindsey, unable to muster anything more virulent than pity towards him. Shaking his head, Angel asked, "What did I do to wound you so deeply?"
Lindsey's expression sobered instantly. Looking for distraction, he finished off what remained of a glass of whiskey. "Wolfram and Hart aren't exactly sure what will happen to you if you decide to keep the Slayer," he said blandly, not making eye contact. "They have their demonic bean counters running scenarios, but so far they can't tell. You're a slippery creature anyway, a human imbued with demonic power. Unlike a Slayer, you don't have a thousand generations of forerunners to help bear out the consequences. They figure it all comes down to your soul." Lindsey's tone became conspiratorial. "That's what they insist on calling it," he said acridly. "Personally, I don't think you have a soul."
Angel frowned, but dared not interrupt. He needed to know what Lindsey knew.
"The way they see it," Lindsey continued, "your soul and your dark power are in flux. They always have been. But for whatever reason, that little girl pushes the issue."
"And what could Wolfram and Hart possibly stand to gain from this?" Angel asked snidely.
Lindsey rolled his eyes. "They stand to gain what they've always wanted. You out of the picture."
Angel snorted at the very idea.
"They think the most likely scenario," Lindsey said, "is that you'll ditch the girl."
The muscles in Angel's jaw flexed, but he remained silent.
Lindsey smiled. "But see," he said, "I think that's where they're wrong. They don't know you the way I know you. They don't know that this Slayer is more than just another weapon in your arsenal and a warm body in your bed."
He stared expectantly at Angel, but the latter declined to elaborate. Lindsey sighed and his amusement seemed to die. "Whatever humanity remains inside of you belongs to that girl," he said plainly.
Angel watched his former confidant, but allowed his expression to betray nothing. Regardless of their past, they would never be close again. The intimacy that had existed was long dead and buried under years of seething anger, betrayal and jealousy. Lindsey deserved no answers about his relationship with Buffy.
Lindsey laughed and it was a cold sound. He flicked his ash into a nearby cup and took another drag on the cigarette. He held his hand up, staring at the glowing red tip. "She'll be your death," Lindsey mused. "There isn't enough humanity left in you to win this battle." He smiled mirthlessly, lifting his gaze to meet Angel's. "I'm going to love watching you lose."
It was past dawn when Buffy finally made it home, her clothes disheveled, covered in vampire ash and demon goo. Hours of mindless fighting had left her physically numb, but her emotional anguish still held strong. She pressed the front door shut, leaning back against it.
"Thank gods, Buffy," Willow exclaimed, running into the room. "We've all been so wor-" She fell short, taking in Buffy's haggard appearance. "Buffy are you okay?" she asked, carefully venturing forward.
Buffy lifted her head and Willow stopped dead in her tracks.
"Tell me the truth," Buffy said very slowly. "Were you and Angel lovers?"
Willow's eyes went wide and she looked around the room frantically. "Buffy you need to rest," she said.
"Tell me," Buffy ground out.
Silence hung heavy in the air as the two women looked at each other.
Willow took a deep breath. "It didn't last long," she admitted. "A couple of weeks. I was getting in over my head with the magicks and being with someone like him, someone of his power, was exciting. It was wrong. We were wrong. When Tara found out ... I almost lost her. It was one of the dumbest things I've ever done."
Buffy snorted. "You must think I'm so stupid," she said. "You let me think ... You knew that there was something going on between me and Angel and you never said a word."
"Buffy what you have with Roarke ... It's different. He and I were just - it was sex and magick. Nothing more. The way he looks at you, the way he talks about you. Buffy, it's different."
"And Faith?" Buffy demanded. "What about her? Was he different with her too?"
Willow groaned, shaking her head. "Oh gods," she said, "this is all that bitch's fault, isn't it? Buffy, she's messing with your head. Faith is rotten to the core. She is a miserable hateful person and she wants everyone around her to be miserable too. She probably guessed there was something up with you and Roarke and she's doing her best to sabotage it."
"Did he fuck her?"
"Buffy, you have to understand Faith is broken - "
"Did he fuck her?" Buffy demanded.
Willow nodded sadly. "But it wasn't - "
Buffy didn't listen to the rest, turning on her heel and leaving the apartment again.
Jenny didn't say a word when she opened the door, she just enveloped Buffy in a hug. Unable to control her emotions any longer, Buffy broke down into sobbing tears, clutching at her stepmother's shoulders, fighting to remain upright. Jenny supported her slight weight, half dragging her to her former rooms in the pool house. Once there, she helped Buffy into her nightgown, promising she could have a nice long shower after she got a little rest.
A little rest turned out to be a lot of rest. It was the next morning when Buffy woke, feeling physically stronger, but numb. She drained the glass of water Jenny had left on her bedside table and then sat under the spray of her shower until the water started to run cold.
Buffy noticed with mild amusement that nothing had changed since the morning she stormed out. Everything had been left exactly the way it was, as if waiting for her to return. But even with the aching familiarity, Buffy felt wrong. The array of designer dresses hanging in her closet cost more than she made in a month now. They seemed completely alien. The slick fashion magazines on her nightstand seemed as detached from her current existence as one could possibly get. She no longer fit into this life.
Rummaging around in a pile of clothes that she had been intending to give to charity, Buffy found a worn pair of denim jeans and a lightweight long sleeved black shirt. She dressed and then pulled her hair back into its customary ponytail. She faced herself in the full-length mirror.
She was no longer Buffy Summers, prom queen. She was the Slayer. She turned away from the mirror, shaking her head, unable to even muster the energy to hate herself. Apparently, Angel just made it a habit of sleeping with all of his female employees. Like Faith said, she was just the most recent in a long line. Except that she wasn't the most recent. Not really. Angel had messed around with her, but he made it clear he wouldn't sleep with her. Tears of pain and self-loathing slid down her cheeks. At least Faith had a good time, she used Angel and enjoyed it. She might be a skank, but she hadn't made the mistake of falling in love with him.
And in a cold hard moment of self-awareness, Buffy knew that's what it was. She knew that somewhere over the last weeks that she had fallen hopelessly in love with Angel. She stopped pushing him away, stopped ignoring their connection and let herself forget the bad parts. Angel was, after all, her other half. She allowed herself to fall victim to his manipulations. She even let herself believe the lies of a man who hated Angel and wanted revenge at any cost. She took a series of random coincidences and turned them into evidence that Angel did care. Evidence that was strictly her imagination.
She was in love with Angel and there was nothing she could do to change that fact. She loved him now. Hell, she loved him when she was eight. She would still love him when she was eighty. But that love didn't mean she had to lose all self-respect. It didn't mean she had to sit by listening to Faith's taunting barbs. She didn't have to be convenient whenever Angel wanted a little distraction. Her life was in upheaval, but the only solid thing she had at the moment was that she was the Slayer. Buffy Summers, prom queen, might be long dead. Angel might have been playing her from the first day. She might have no place to live, no friends and no definite future. But when it all came down to it, Buffy was the Slayer and she still had herself.
Resolved that she would find some way through this, Buffy shoved her feet into her boots and headed for the main house to tell her parents she was leaving.
"Is there anything else you will require, sir?"
Angel shook his head, not bothering to look over his shoulder as the somber attendant pulled the door shut. He took a seat at the small table, staring at the dull gray box. There was nothing else to divert his attention. The room was tiny, windowless, all of the walls painted a gleaming white. There was only the table and the box.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Angel leaned back in his chair. He had yet to sleep. He'd gone straight from Lindsey's rat hole to LAX. He hadn't managed to rest on the flight to New York. After this little errand was finished, he would go to his penthouse with the great view of Central Park and hopefully catch a few hours of sleep. Since he was in town, he would take care of a few business negotiations and then catch a flight back to Los Angeles. But first, he had to finish this task.
Being near Buffy killed the part of him that gave him power. Her indomitable light was anathema to his darkness ...
It should have been an easy call to make, but it wasn't. Buffy set his soul free. He took a deep breath and a shudder trembled painfully through his body. For as long as he could remember, he thought that power was everything. He would - and did - sacrifice everything he was for power. Power meant never again being at the mercy of another human being, subject to their whims. Power meant no longer being forced to endure that which he could not change.
But for all of its advantages, power had never once made him happy. It had never once eased his pain the way merely being in Buffy's presence did.
Ignoring the weakness in his hand, he reached for the safety deposit box.
As Buffy should have anticipated, an easy escape was not in the cards. While her father's manner was reserved and tentative, Jenny openly fussed over her. She insisted she stay for lunch and then guilted Buffy into spending most of the afternoon with her two half-siblings - which, actually, was rather enjoyable. Before she knew it, Buffy was stuck staying for supper. Buffy finally drew the line when Jenny suggested she simply stay the night again. Tempting though it was, Buffy was firm about her plans to leave. Jenny took the opportunity to pull out all the stops. She pressed for her to move back in, to start college like she had planned and to most of all cut Angel out of her life.
Though Buffy was still stinging from her own recent realizations about her relationship with Angel, she found that she couldn't bear for Jenny to know how much of a fool she had been. Buffy adamantly denied that Angel was anything but absolutely respectful and fair. She found herself defending his honor even as she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.
Jenny's frown let her know that she wasn't convinced about Angel's apparent valor. Nor was she supportive of Buffy's leaving. She tried everything she could to get her stepdaughter to reconsider, but Buffy was firm. Buffy didn't know where she was going - staying with Willow didn't seem doable at the moment. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew she had to find out on her own.
Leaving as she had arrived, Buffy slid into the back of a taxi. She needed to talk to Wesley. She had been in a rush two nights ago. She left her phone at the Hyperion after her run-in with Faith and in current fashion, she had no idea what her Watcher's phone number was. It was stored in her cell, which she didn't have. Damn her for not keeping an address book. Without the phone, her only option was seeing Wes face to face. He was her Watcher and though he was loyal to Angel, she had never sensed any animosity or manipulation within him. Maybe he could secure her an advance on her paycheck and point her to another Watcher. Buffy knew that Sunnydale was a hotbed of demon activity. Surely they could use a Slayer over there, especially now that Faith was back at work. It might even be interesting and a little comforting to go home after all this time.
Buffy vaguely remembered Angel saying he was leaving town for a few days - thank you gods. But she didn't know where Wesley would be. She couldn't stand the thought of going to the Hyperion and chancing another meeting with Faith. Nor was she in the mood for Caritas and Lorne's unsolicited advice. She wasn't about to go to Angel's home. That left Temple Flesh as the last contact point. Somebody there would know how to get in contact with Wesley.
There was already a line around the block when the taxi dumped her out, despite the fact that it wasn't yet midnight. Buffy groaned. Scores of gorgeous starlets and models waited their turn to enter, making Buffy feel even more removed from her former life. A year ago, she would have been one of them. Now they seemed completely foreign. Buffy walked to the front of the line, nodding to Groo as she brushed past him and into the club. Buffy couldn't ignore the protests or the catty comments hurled at her by the throngs as she entered while they had to wait.
Gunn was working and Buffy smiled sweetly enough to get him to call Wesley and arrange for the Watcher to meet her at Temple Flesh. Wes was apparently in the middle of something and it would be at least two before he could be there. Buffy was nonplussed. She had no desire to wait around the club, but she had little choice.
As Gunn pushed through the patrons to head off a fight before it began, Buffy leaned back against the wall, wishing Wesley would hurry. Her wish was not granted. Buffy groaned as she caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. She tried to duck out of the way, but was unsuccessful.
"Hiding?" Lindsey drawled. "Funny thing for a Slayer to be doing."
Ashamed at having been caught trying to duck him, Buffy slowly turned around and faced Lindsey with a wry grin. "You shouldn't be in here," she said.
Lindsey shrugged. "Word is, Roarke is out of town. Seemed like prime time to drop in and see the place."
"That all you're doing?" Buffy asked warily.
"For the most part," he said. "I'm spending some time with new acquaintances."
Buffy raised her eyebrows. She had no doubts about Lindsey and his acquaintances. There was no way a woman could be platonic with that man. Well - unless she was entangled with Angel as well. Of course, Buffy had previously thought the number of people in that potential situation was small. How perfectly childish of her to make that assumption. Overwhelmed with a fresh heaping of self-loathing, Buffy was searching for a way out of the conversation. Unfortunately, she didn't find one quickly enough.
"Oh, my god," Sunday sneered with a malevolent smile, "isn't it just too wonderful that we ran into you tonight?"
Buffy turned and looked at the small group of people who were approaching. Sunday, Cordelia and Ford all looked like they stepped out of a Vogue fashion shoot. Buffy's mouth went dry as she watched Sunday lock her arm through Lindsey's, looking exceedingly comfortable. The predatory glint in her beautiful eyes unmistakable.
Buffy's teeth ground together. She didn't need this. Faith's taunts, Willow's admissions and Jenny's warnings still echoed in her ears. She wasn't up to a confrontation with Sunday and Cordelia, especially when they were flanked by Ford and Lindsey.
"I heard you were down on your luck," Sunday said with a blinding smile, "but I didn't realize that you were going in for the whole Melissa Etheridge lifestyle."
Buffy flushed hotly, but forced herself not to cower. She was a Slayer. Her clothes were not an attractive ensemble. They weren't designed to be. The outfit was functional when chasing vampires and demons through sewers and abandoned factories. Of course, Buffy wouldn't have been caught dead in such rags in high school. Previous to her debut as a Slayer, she would have made Sunday look like the sad imitation. But so much had changed between then and now. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her chest.
In high school, when dealing with Sunday, Buffy had been unerringly confident. She was a cheerleader, the prom queen, and the debutante daughter of one of the Los Angeles elite. She spent more money on her wardrobe in a week than she made in an entire month on the A.I. payroll.
But Buffy wasn't that shallow, vacuous girl any longer. She was a bouncer and a Slayer. She had to make rent, buy groceries and save up money for school. Buffy spent the entire summer immersed in her life as a Slayer, surrounded by magicks, demons and violence. She had grown as a woman and as a Slayer.
But at the moment, looking at Sunday dressed in all of her slutty glory, Buffy couldn't help but feel like a silly tomboy. She kept playing Faith's taunts over in her mind. She was just Angel's most recent conquest. Of course he didn't actually care about her. He probably laughed at her behind her back, amused by her willingness. Buffy looked at Lindsey. He made eye contact for only a moment before his gaze flitted away.
"You're even more pathetic than I'd heard," Sunday gloated.
Lindsey had the decency to look embarrassed by his date's behavior, but he was helpless to rein in Sunday. After everything that had happened, Buffy simply could not take this. She felt her stomach twist violently and was on the verge of bolting when a deep voice shattered the strained silence.
"Is there a problem here?" Angel asked. His tone was casual, but Buffy heard the malevolent undertones.
Startled, she flicked her head towards him. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be out of town. "Angel?" she said without thinking.
Sunday laughed and it was more of a cackle. "Jesus Christ, Buffy, did your memory go, too, when you lost your fashion sense?" she derided. "Angel?" she said, mocking Buffy's voice. Her expression was hard and cruel. "His name is Liam Roarke, you backwater dyke."
Buffy stared blankly at Sunday, her eyes welling with tears she would not allow herself to shed. Sunday had always been a bitch, but this level of unrestrained antagonism was completely unexpected. She was numb. Buffy did not react as Angel walked up behind her, putting a decidedly possessive hand over her abdomen as he pulled her back against his large frame, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Actually," Angel said calmly, though his voice was rife with condescension, "my given name is Angel. Only two people in the world are allowed to use it to address me." Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against Buffy's temple, nuzzling against her briefly. "Ionuin is one of them."
Buffy watched Sunday flush in the wake of her fading bravado. Sunday's fingers tightened around Lindsey's arm and she swallowed harshly, trying vainly to regroup. Liam Roarke was the epitome of everything Sunday desired in a man. He was sinfully handsome, wealthy, predatory - an alpha male in every sense. The fact that he would protect Buffy, touch her so possessively was an affront to the code of conduct by which Sunday lived. Buffy lost and losers didn't get to walk away with the prize. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Sunday said cattily, "Ionuin? Is that your real name? I hope so, because I always thought Buffy was absolutely wretched."
Angel laughed, but somehow it was completely devoid of mirth. There was a barely contained darkness in the sound that raised goose bumps all over Buffy's flesh. Through slitted eyes, he looked at Sunday. "Ionuin is Gaelic," he said in a low, warning rumble. "It is a term of affection. It means beloved."
Buffy forced herself not to show surprise. Beloved? She always thought it was derisive. Angel's grip tightened. Buffy allowed herself to melt back against him, molding to the long lines of his powerful body as if seeking shelter. The part of her she thought died with Faith's words sprang to life once again despite her best efforts to quell it. Angel called her beloved. His hands held her anchored to his body. For reasons she could not explain, Buffy knew that Angel would protect her with any means necessary. She wasn't proud of the fact that she had stupidly fallen in love with him, shared intimate pleasure with him, but she wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
Sunday watched them predatorily, and for the first time that night, Buffy did not flinch under the weight of her gaze. She knew that she and Angel had to look like an odd pair, he impeccable as always and she looking decidedly worse for the wear. But Buffy also knew a few other truths. She knew that from their body language Sunday could tell they were comfortable with each other's presence and touch. The bitch might be entertaining herself with Lindsey, but Buffy knew that Sunday wasn't going to get serious about someone who worked as a public defender. Lindsey might be hot, but he had his flaws. Angel was the real prize. He was the end to which Sunday's entire existence was geared. Sunday would sell her soul for a man like Angel.
A wicked thought occurred to Buffy and her lips curled back into a snarling smile. Sunday wanted Angel. Sunday could never, ever have him. But Buffy could - even dressed like a pin-up from "Butch" magazine. The large warm hand on her abdomen holding her to him, the protective stance, the possessive term of endearment - all of it told Buffy that regardless of the fact that she might simply be his latest conquest, that he would play along with any game she wished. Emboldened by that knowledge, Buffy twisted in Angel's embrace, nuzzling against the warm flesh where his shoulder met his neck. He smiled with pure masculine satisfaction.
Sunday watched in shock as Buffy, dressed like some sort of refugee, curled into Liam Roarke's embrace. This was not happening. The mere idea was absolutely foreign. Buffy had lost the war. She was no longer the "It" girl. She had no money, no clothes, nothing - and to top it all off, she was still a virgin! She had nothing to offer a jaded, carnal man like Liam Roarke. Yet, the physical evidence was right in front of her. For whatever reason, he wanted Buffy Summers.
Sunday lusted after Liam Roarke, but she was not a victim to her emotions. She wasn't about to save face at the expense of insulting one of the most powerful men in Los Angeles. She knew how ruthless he could be in his business dealings; she had heard her father speak of it many times. Her father's business depended a great deal upon Roarke's continued generosity. If she ruined things, the fallout could be extreme.
Clearing her throat, Sunday said lightly, "I wasn't aware the two of you were acquainted."
Angel's glance flitted back to the insipid blonde and he decided maybe she wasn't so stupid after all. He felt her intentions shift and knew that she would do anything to appease him. It was a sensation with which he was well acquainted. He smiled coldly. It was a damn good thing Sunday had realized the error of her ways so quickly. He had already been mentally thumbing through a list of other distributors he would use after leaving her father's company high and dry.
Running one finger sensuously along Buffy's jaw line, Angel mused, "Acquainted ... I guess you could say that. I've wanted Ionuin for years, but until recently she has kept me at bay."
Shocked, Buffy pulled back far enough to give him a curious look, which the others could not see. Angel held her gaze for several heartbeats before looking pointedly at Ford. "It always amazes me," he said, "how intensely stupid some men can be." His gaze then turned to Lindsey. It could have frozen ice.
Turning his gaze back to Buffy, Angel gave her a devilish smile. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close. "Mo chroí," he said, his lips brushing her temple, "we should be going if we're going to make it on time."
Buffy was overwhelmed, surrounded by the heat and smell of Angel - of her other half. It was heady, making her feel slightly drunk. If he hadn't been holding her so tightly, she would have wobbled. She knew all too well why women threw themselves at him. Being held by him was decadent, intoxicating. It was very tempting to let herself pretend it was real, that he did care. She remembered his kisses from the night she was stabbed, from the counter of the Hyperion and from Wesley's office floor. Despite the fact that she knew he was using her, her body ached with hunger for more.
Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy caught sight of Gunn watching them intently, an expression of barely restrained curiosity on his face. It jolted her back to reality. They were playing. Convincing as it might be, it was all a game. A game for the benefit of Sunday, Ford and Lindsey. Buffy took a deep breath and was disheartened to learn that knowing it was a charade did not make it any less enticing.
Gently, Angel turned her in his embrace. Buffy's eyes locked with Ford's for a split second and what she saw there brought a blush to her cheeks. His expression was muddled, angry, betrayed, jealous. She felt vaguely guilty for her seeming betrayal, but given that he was with Cordy and Sunday, it was tempered measurably. Lindsey's expression, on the other hand, was neutral, shuttered. He had played poker with Angel before and lived to tell the tale.
Nodding his head, Angel sneered, "Ladies," his tone of voice making it evident he felt they were anything but. With a firm hand against the small of her back, he steered Buffy to the door. Groo held the door, staring openly as the boss escorted Buffy into the waiting limo.
Buffy scooted across the plush leather seat, making room for Angel. The door shut and Angel barked a terse order to the driver before rolling up the dividing window. The car quickly pulled away from the curb. Buffy took the brief opportunity to try and think of something to say. Did she laugh? Did she say 'thank you'? Did she bolt out the other side of the limo and embrace road rash rather than another broken heart?
Her dilemma was moot when Angel clearly ignored the generous amount of space she had left for him, wrapped his hands around her waist and dragged her across his lap. Buffy's breath caught in her throat and she met his gaze. Their faces were centimeters apart. She could feel his warm breath puffing against her skin.
She took a deep breath and licked her lips before saying breathlessly in their language, "Thanks for playing along back there."
Angel did not look happy. "What makes you think I was playing?" he asked.
Buffy let out a snort at the absurdity of his question, but the sound died as his expression became painfully serious. Emboldened, she asked, "Does Ionuin really mean beloved?"
His frown intensified. "I've called you that for years," he said, "and you've never asked Jenny what it means?"
Giving him a helpless look, Buffy replied, "I assumed it wasn't very nice."
Angel's lips pursed together in apparent displeasure. "It means beloved," he said, his voice sounding strangely hoarse.
Buffy looked at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle him out. It was no use. She had no idea what his motivations were. "What does mo chroí mean?"
He stared at her, his gaze wandering over her face, settling on her pouting, pink lips. "It means my heart," he said in a near whisper. Lifting his hand, he traced his fingertips over her cheekbone, her jaw. Buffy's eyes fluttered shut. She was tired of thinking, tired of being conflicted. Angel was here, now. He was warm and strong and at the moment she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him - to feel wanted. His lips brushed against hers and she did not think of denying him. She yielded softly and completely, relaxing into his embrace, parting her lips as he coaxed.
Angel touched her carefully, holding himself in check. After several long minutes, he pulled back and looked into her eyes. His expression was hard, angry. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "I've had people out scouring the city for you."
Buffy was quiet for a long moment. "I spent the night with my parents," she replied defiantly.
His expression was incredulous. "Your parents?" he repeated. "You've barely talked to them in months. Why would you go running to them?" Angry, he dragged a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. "You took off before I could talk to you. Then Willow said you didn't come home until dawn and then left very upset. What happened?"
She stared at him blankly for a heartbeat. "What do you mean 'what happened'?" she countered just as angrily. She smacked him on the chest. "You were there! You know exactly what happened. One minute you can't wait to get me naked and the next you're all This-Is-Just-Business Guy!"
"Buffy - " he started, only to be cut off.
"No!" she continued, undaunted. "Look, I know I may not be as worldly and jaded as most of your lovers, but I think I deserve a little more than 'fix your hair' and 'go beat up Merle' from you."
"Ionuin - "
"And I know that I've never had an office romance before, but I think some common decency should play into it somewhere. You could have at least told me 'by the way, Buffy, don't feel special, I sleep with every woman who works for me'. At least then Faith wouldn't have blindsided me."
Angel placed a finger over her lips, stilling her words. "Faith said something to you?" he asked, his voice low and deadly.
Slowly, Buffy nodded. Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she pulled his finger from her lips. "Was she your lover?"
Lips pursing into a thin line, Angel watched her carefully. Honesty had never been one of his strong points, but he couldn't ignore his bond with Buffy. If he lied to her, she would know. "For a very brief period of time many, many months ago ... yes."
Even though Buffy thought she was prepared for the admission, his words still stung. She cleared her throat. "And Willow?"
"Yes," he replied tightly.
Buffy stared at him, trying to mask her hurt and failing pitifully. Angel's hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "What did Faith tell you?" he asked quietly.
Buffy looked away, watching the headlights of passing cars, dimmed by the limo's tinted windows. Angel's touch became more persistent and she sighed. "She said not to feel special because you mess around with everyone," Buffy admitted.
"Really?" Angel murmured, his voice clearly conveying his lack of pleasure. "And did you talk to Willow too?" he asked.
Nodding, Buffy said, "She admitted she had a thing with you."
"Did Willow say anything else?" he pressed.
Buffy shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. "Willow said that Faith told me that stuff just to hurt me. She said that you got around, but that you're ... different ... with me. Whatever that means."
Somewhat mollified, Angel said, "So let me get this straight, you decided to take the word of a girl that you know to be unstable over the word of your best friend? And you did all of this without even mentioning anything to me."
Buffy looked at him uncomfortably. "Well, when you put it like that ... " she huffed. "But I don't really see how this is all my fault. I mean, you kicked me out of the office, gave me an assignment and then took off on a business trip. What was I supposed to do?"
Angel frowned at her. "You were supposed to take your phone with you," he said dryly. "You were supposed to check in with Wesley. And if you had reservations about us, you were supposed to talk to me. Not Willow. Certainly not Faith."
Buffy stared at him. Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, but he knew that her anger was somewhat placated. She just wanted to pretend she was still seething mad at him. She wanted him to grovel. Angel had to exert a good deal of effort to keep from smiling. Groveling was such a small price to pay to keep Buffy.
He took a deep breath. "Aren't you even curious as to why I left in such a hurry?"
She nodded slowly.
Angel gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I was abrupt with you in Wesley's office," he admitted reluctantly. "I handled it badly. Things between us are ... complicated. I had a lot on my mind. I didn't intend for it to get that out of control. There was something I needed to take care of first."
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed something. He handed it to her. More confused than ever, Buffy took the proffered object. It was a small, black velvet box, like the kind you would get from a jeweler, though it had no name. It looked old. The velvet was worn in places.
Slowly, she opened the box. Her breath caught. There, nestled amid the black velvet, was a shining silver Claddagh ring. Buffy couldn't breathe. Her vision shot to Angel, searching his face.
He seemed somewhat sheepish, uncomfortable. "That was my business trip," he explained gruffly. "It belonged to my great-grandmother. It's been sitting in a safety deposit box in New York for more than a decade."
Hours later, Angel sat alone in his study, staring at the Da Vinci. The half-empty snifter of brandy sat on the small end table because his hands were shaking too badly to hold it.
It was done - sort of.
He growled under his breath. It was extremely draining fighting himself every step of the way. No matter how hard he tried to tamp it down, the part of him that saw Buffy as a threat was still there. It was telling him to destroy her, to push her away. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. The man in him had been supplanted by the Darkness in every arena but this. He could not abandon Buffy. He could not allow her to think that he didn't care, that she was just another of the nameless, faceless women who paraded through his life.
He could be strong in everything but this. He could isolate himself, feign indifference to his loved ones, deny the pain they caused him - except where Buffy was concerned. Preservation instinct or not, he could not deny himself her. He wouldn't. No cost was too much to pay for even a moment's happiness with her. Even if it meant losing himself.
He threaded his fingers together, willing his hands to stop shaking. There was no way this could end well, but even sensing the impending doom, he could not stop himself. Buffy would be his.
"Gahhhhh!"
Buffy reached over and flicked on the lamp, illuminating the open commons area of their loft apartment with diffuse light. "I'm sorry, Wills," she said quickly.
Willow stood in the middle of the kitchen area wearing a pair of bright pink boxer shorts and a baby tee that said "speak no evil". Her hand was clasped over her heart and she was white as a sheet.
"I, uh, didn't mean to scare you," Buffy added guiltily.
"It's okay," Willow said, taking a deep breath. "I just wasn't expecting you to be here. In the dark. Here." She frowned at her roommate. "Buffy, why are you here?" she asked. "Not that I'm complaining," she added quickly. "I'm not. Complaining. I just ... when you left, I sorta thought it was for good. And you've been gone two days."
Buffy opened her mouth and then shut it again. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. It was completely out of line."
Willow padded softly into the living room area and sat down on the couch next to Buffy. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know," Buffy said seriously.
"Did something happen?" Willow asked tentatively.
"I, uh ... " Buffy held out her hand and opened her palm. The silver Claddagh shined in the dim light. "I think Angel just asked me to marry him," she said tightly.
Willow blinked owlishly. "You think he asked you to marry him?" she repeated.
Buffy shrugged, drawing her hand back, curling her fist and the ring against her stomach. "It's a Claddagh," she said. "They're Irish wedding bands. Jenny and Angel's mother was an Irish gypsy. This ring has been in his family for generations."
"And he just gave it to you?"
Buffy nodded.
"Without saying anything?"
"He's not exactly Joe-here's-what-I'm-thinking," Buffy said, frowning, "but this was cryptic, even for him."
"Rough night?" Gunn asked, eyeing Buffy suspiciously as she dragged herself through the Hyperion's doors early the next morning. She looked like hell, not having slept the previous night. She finally gave up on trying to rest and dragged herself to work, far earlier than usual. All of her emotions were jumbled up so tight she felt like she was going to explode at any moment.
Buffy blushed, frowning. "Not that it's any of your business," she said, "but I didn't sleep well."
"Uh huh," Gunn said vaguely, looking her over as if he expected to find a sticker that read "Nailed by Angel" on her forehead or something.
"Nothing happened," Buffy said through clenched teeth.
"Didn't look like nothin' from where I was standin' last night," Gunn countered. "What exactly do you and the boss got goin' on?"
With a grump, Buffy brushed past him and into the office area behind the check-in desk. She read through the pending cases on the board, disappointed to find that none of them looked too difficult. She really needed to lose herself in Slaying right now. Impatiently she grabbed the work schedule and scanned down the list for her name. She blinked, trying to concentrate on the list. She frowned. It was Monday morning, it should have been correct. "Is this the new schedule?" she asked Gunn.
"Lorne faxed it over just like he does every Sunday night," Gunn replied speculatively, obviously having already noticed the anomaly.
Turning, Buffy glowered at him. "Do you know why I'm not on the schedule?" she asked tautly.
He smiled. "Actually," he said, "I was hoping you could tell me."
Rolling her eyes, Buffy walked over to the check-in desk and picked up the phone. It took Lorne almost ten rings to answer. Buffy was too grouchy to feel bad about dragging him out of a sound sleep. The would-be interrogation was completely useless. Lorne would only tell her that if she had a problem with the schedule that she had to talk to Angel. Lorne assured her he was the merely the messenger, and his lust for "Sugar Muffin" aside, he wasn't about to get in the middle of any lover's spat.
Without bothering to say goodbye, Buffy hung up the phone and grabbed her jacket. She intended to find out exactly what Angel was up to.