"Damage"
Author: Indie
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com
She stared at the enormous double doors, swallowing thickly. The one and only time she had been here was a decade ago. Somehow, it didn't seem any less ominous now than it had then. Buffy steeled her resolve. She didn't know what was up with Angel, but she'd had enough of his erratic behavior and cryptic explanations. He wasn't going to push her out of a job. She was going to get to the bottom of this.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and opened the doors to his suite. The room was dark and she closed the doors behind her. She stood just inside the threshold, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom.
In a sleep roughened voice, Angel muttered a few words, and a myriad candles burst into life. Buffy blinked quickly, adjusting to the change in light. Angel was in bed, propped up on one arm as he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Buffy took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had obviously realized it was her. She gave a moment's thought to the grim fate that would meet anyone else intruding upon Angel's inner sanctum.
Looking away from him, her eyes scanned the room. She mentally noted with wry amusement that her perspective had definitely changed in the last ten years. Like the rest of his home, his bedroom was lavish and elegant. But unlike the other rooms, every inch of his suite seemed completely him. It hadn't been sanitized for public viewing. It was as primal and seductive as Angel himself.
The flickering candlelight glinted off the dark wood and stone with a sensual glow. The very atmosphere seemed permeated with the memory of private words whispered against sweat drenched skin. Just as before, the bed was the centerpiece to the room. The covers bunched around his hips were a dark, blood red. The carved ebony creatures adorning the bed's posters and canopy still seemed ominous, though for a reason completely different than the last time she had looked upon them. Their twisted little faces seemed filled with a wicked knowledge that made Buffy's stomach clench in a tight knot. The bed had belonged to the Borgia family centuries ago. Buffy heard Jenny mention that to her father. Rumor was that you had to pay for it with your soul, but that it was worth it. Buffy swallowed thickly. Looking at Angel and the bed, she believed it was worth it.
Angel, stared at her, a sly grin on his face. Ten years ago, he had been in that bed dying, now he was the picture of virility. She watched the light play over his bare flesh and reminded herself that she was angry with him. Very angry. It didn't do much good. All she wanted to do was climb underneath those covers.
Buffy ventured closer until she was standing at the side of his bed. It had to be a sin to look that good thirty seconds after waking up. But then again, Buffy had no doubt that everything Angel did was a sin. He would probably be the first to agree.
His gaze flicked to her hand and when he saw the ring on her finger, a smile of absolute satisfaction stole over his features. He raised his hand, holding it out in invitation.
Buffy took a deep breath, looking down at him. His chest was bare, sculpted, and begging to be licked. The sheet was pooled around his lean hips and she knew that he was naked underneath. This man was temptation incarnate. She willed her heart to stop pounding in her ears. "Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," Buffy quoted, meeting his gaze.
Angel frowned, dropping his hand. "The ignorant little fly was wooed to her death with flattery and lies," Angel said bluntly. "You know what's going on here, Buffy. "
Buffy lifted her hand, looking at the ring. "Actually, I don't," she said. "I want a little clarification. You just gave me this ring and dumped me out of the limo without a word."
He glowered. In his opinion, his actions had been exponentially more suave than she was insinuating. "You know what that ring is," he replied tersely. "It's a Claddagh. The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty... and the heart... " He almost growled. "You know!" he snapped. His face scrunched up in a scowl that Buffy found oddly adorable. "Wear it with the heart pointing towards you," he instructed haughtily. "It means you belong to me."
Buffy did indeed know that much. She had intentionally donned the ring with the heart facing inwards. But she still wanted to hear him say it. Obviously, he wasn't going to. Typical. Her mouth was dry, her voice catching as she spoke. "Belong to you? I thought you didn't want me as a lover," she said, much more petulantly than she would have liked.
He smiled wickedly. "I've always wanted you in that way, Ionuin," he said, his expression filled with unrestrained carnal appreciation. "What I meant was that I want more than your body, tempting as it may be."
Buffy swallowed harshly, her gaze meeting the glittering depths of his eyes. She realized for the first time that, as much as it irritated her that he was able to see through her, she had the same ability to see through him. She had no doubt that if she were any other woman that Angel would have fed her lines, impressed her with his wealth and status, let her think that he was madly in love with her. But he had done none of those things. He had opted, instead, for a near brutal honesty. And damn him if his honesty wasn't even more tempting than his lies. Angel was a lot of things, but forthright was not one of them. The fact that he had laid the situation so bare was a kind of aphrodisiac all its own.
He didn't want to want her. That much was obvious. What was also obvious was despite his formidable willpower, he couldn't stop himself. Buffy took pride in that. Angel hadn't mentioned love. Buffy doubted he possessed the ability to utter the word. But she couldn't deny that he did care. As aloof as he pretended to be, she had seen his tenderness, his hunger. She knew his devotion to her went far deeper than he was willing to admit.
Buffy's willingness to consider his proposal was based entirely on the fact that she did love him, faults and all. He was her other half and nothing could ever change that. He had already proven that he could deal with her Slayerness, that he reveled in it. Funny how the world worked; the man she swore to avoid was now the only one she wanted.
Buffy twined her fingers through his, allowing him to pull her down onto the bed. He smiled and cuddled her close, pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips met and hunger arched her through body, sharp and insistent. He licked at the seam of her lips and she gladly opened them, tangling her tongue with his. With the grace of a big cat, he crawled over her body, until they were face to face. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he lowered his nude body against her clothed form, his hips fitting snugly into the cradle of her own. Bracing the weight of his upper body on his elbows, he looked seriously into her eyes.
It wasn't like before. She wanted him; her fingertips hungry for the feel of his skin, her lips hungry for his taste. But still, it lacked the frantic need of their near coupling on the Hyperion's check-in desk. Buffy was not afraid, but she shivered, her entire body taut with nerves and need. Before it had been fun, playful even. The passion of a fight transmuted into physical lust. It was a moment in which they both lost themselves.
But there was no blissful haze of ignorance about this moment. With every touch, Buffy knew what was happening. There was intent behind his every move, intent to bind her to him, to make her his. The force of his will was a palpable presence and Buffy felt powerless to fight him.
A saying about possession being nine tenths of the law flitted through her mind. She groaned, turning her head to the side as she was swamped with doubt. He caught her chin and coaxed her to look at him. "What?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm just wondering how many other women have been in this very position," she admitted.
His expression was serious as he regarded her. "None," he answered flatly.
Buffy snorted, but his expression did not change. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that," she said.
"I've never lied to you," he replied soberly. "I've had lots of women. Dozens of them. More."
"On second thought - " Buffy began, trying to change the subject.
He cut her off. "I've had lovers, Buffy," he said. "I'm not ashamed of that fact. But none of them have ever been in a position even remotely resembling yours. None of them have ever been in this room, much less in this bed. None of them have ever worn the ring that has been in my family for more than a hundred years. And trust me when I tell you that I have never asked any of them to be my wife."
"You haven't asked me either," she said defiantly.
His gaze narrowed, but a small smile stole over his features. "I'm asking," he said, his voice low and throaty.
She swallowed thickly. "You've never brought any of them here?" she asked, avoiding his question.
His smile deepened, but he allowed her evasion. He shook his head slowly. "Not one."
"Why?"
He shrugged, obviously tiring of the subject. "As soon as I was old enough to survive on my own, I left my father's house. I went to Asia and tracked down the demon that murdered my mother. I reclaimed all of the power he stole from her." He grinned sardonically. "I took a lot of other power from Vocah as well," he admitted. "I was still weak from the battle when my father, on the other side of the globe, suffered a fatal heart attack. At eighteen, I was in charge of the Roarke fortune. Wesley brought me back here, to this house, to this room. I was dying."
"I remember," Buffy whispered.
He smiled enigmatically. "You saved me," he said. "In this room, in this bed, you saved me."
Her gaze traveled around the room, remembering the moment of which he spoke.
"I would never commit the heresy of bringing another woman here, Buffy," he whispered against her skin. "This is your room. Our room. I've been waiting for you."
Oh gods, there it went again. Her heart did that lurchy thing as she looked at his serious countenance. How on earth could somebody admitting so many horrible things be so endearing? But it was. The love she felt for him in that moment was nearly overwhelming. She placed her hand on his cheek and he turned into the embrace, kissing her palm wetly.
She watched him and in that moment knew. She knew she was going to go through with this and give herself to him completely, heart, mind and soul. Her voice was hesitant as she spoke. "Why do you want to marry me?"
He looked down at her, his expression shuttered before pushing himself into a sitting position. Buffy rolled over on her side, watching his face. "I need you," he finally admitted grudgingly.
"But why?" she pressed.
His expression became harder, colder. She could sense a fine trembling in his form and had the distinct impression that there was some internal war raging. "I can give you anything," he said sharply. "With my money and power, you can crush your enemies. You'll never have to bow to anyone or anything again."
She shook her head sadly. "I don't want your money or your power," she whispered. "I've only ever wanted you."
He was unreadable, watching her with dark, glittering eyes. Buffy opened her arms in invitation and he slowly approached. She needed him to understand that she would never betray his trust. She would never hurt him; she didn't possess the capacity to cause him pain. He wrapped himself around her, his manner tentative like a wounded animal.
"Yes," Buffy said.
Angel looked at her, his expression guarded. "You'll marry me?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Tomorrow," he said dictatorially.
"Is that why you took me off the work schedule?" she asked.
"Yes," he said defiantly.
She knew he was testing her, trying to push the lingering intimacy back to manageable levels. She had no intention of making things easy for him. "Saturday," she said.
Angel scowled, but nodded. Buffy smiled, placing a large, smacking kiss on his lips. He couldn't help but smile in return. As she extricated herself from his embrace, he frowned. She giggled unrepentantly.
"Where are you going?" he demanded plaintively. No doubt he intended to consummate the marriage a little ahead of schedule.
She gave him her 'duh' look. "Shopping," she said. "I need a dress."
He rolled his eyes.
Expectantly, Buffy held out her hand. He arched an eyebrow at her. "You don't really think I can afford Vera Wang on my salary, do you?" she asked.
Willow was looking at Gunn, her brow furrowed, as Buffy pushed through the Hyperion's doors again. "What do you mean I'm not on the schedule?" she asked.
"You're needed elsewhere," Buffy offered with a grin, bounding down the stairs and into the lobby.
Willow turned, smiling at her roommate, thrilled Buffy seemed to be in much improved spirits. Still, she arched an eyebrow warily. "Doing what?" she asked.
"Shopping," Buffy said. "We both need something to wear on Saturday. Not to mention invitations and a caterer," she trailed off, making a mental list. "And a location ... how the hell am I supposed to get all of this organized?"
"Wear? Invitations? Did what I think happened happen?"
Buffy smiled. "I don't know. What do you think happened?"
"Don't mess with me," Willow said with mock severity. "I can turn you into a rat. Now are you and Roarke getting married?"
Buffy's grin was blinding. "Saturday," she said.
"Woah!" Gunn exclaimed. "Back that up. You and the boss are what?"
In tandem, Buffy and Willow gave him duh face. "Getting married," Willow said seriously.
"Married?" he squeaked. "I just found out you two were messing around and now you're getting married?"
"Obviously," Willow said tersely, "you're blind. They've been falling over each other for months."
Buffy sighed loudly, becoming overwhelmed by the mental inventory of tasks that had to be completed. Willow stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You have Roarke's plastic?" she asked.
"I'm sure as hell not paying for this," Buffy scoffed.
"Then we don't have anything to worry about. First things first. We need a wedding planner." Buffy watched as Willow grabbed out a copy of In Style magazine from the waiting area.
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked.
"Finding you a wedding planner," Willow said patiently.
"But that magazine is about celebrities," Buffy said, her brow crinkling with a frown.
"Trust me," Willow said, "Roarke can afford it."
"You weren't kidding," Buffy whispered to Willow, who sat next to her on the elegant settee. Gia (no last name, because, it was Hollywood after all), wedding planner to the stars, was a force of nature. There was absolutely no doubt that she could easily pull off this wedding in less than a week. As soon as Gia's assistant ran Angel's credit history, the elite coordinator was in front of the Hyperion with a limo, ready to chauffer Buffy from venue to venue as they arranged the Happiest Day of Your Life (tm). Buffy was certain it was actually the ninth circle of Hell.
"Are you there?" Angel barked through the cell phone.
"Uh, yeah," Buffy said, turning her attention back to him as she readjusted the phone against her ear.
"So, what do you want?"
"I don't know," Buffy whined, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout that Angel might not be able to see, but could nevertheless hear. "I've never planned a wedding before!"
Angel sighed in barely contained exasperation. "What do you mean you don't know? Buffy, you are one of the girliest girls I have ever seen. You had every Barbie doll known to man. You change your clothes at least three times a day. You were a princess for Halloween. Every. Single. Year."
"So?" she pouted plaintively.
"So you expect me to believe that you've never thought about what kind of wedding you want?"
Buffy chewed on her bottom lip, debating what to say next. He was irritated and probably rightly so. She knew he considered his function in the wedding to be limited to the ring, the question and the 'I do'. And yes, she had indeed spent countless hours planning her wedding in myriad ways, vacillating from an enormous cathedral affair with a thousand guests and a thirty-foot white satin train to a private beachside ceremony wearing nothing more than a bikini and a lei.
But in all of her daydreams, amid the ever-changing venue, dress and guest list, at least one thing had been consistent; the groom was always madly professing his love for her. Listening to Angel's irritated tone, she had no trouble buying the madly part. But love was another matter entirely.
Buffy sighed and sank back in the beautifully upholstered sofa. They were at Vera Wang's Beverly Hills bridal boutique inside of Barney's. She had dreamed of an opportunity like this since she was old enough to read Vogue. It was right out of Buffy the Prom Queen's wildest imaginings. Of course, she never dreamed of coming here with the buffer of Angel's money. Her father was wealthy, but Angel was filthy, stinking rich. There was a difference to be sure.
Buffy was still chewing on her bottom lip as Angel sighed and said, "Do whatever you want."
"But I don't know what I want," she said in exasperation.
To his credit, he didn't scream. Or hang up the phone. "Fine," he said, "what don't you want?"
Buffy thought about it for a moment. "No church."
He was silent for a moment. "I really thought that went without saying."
"You asked," she huffed, her frazzled nerves threatening to break entirely under the stress. What if she planned the wedding and Angel hated it? What if he thought it was ridiculous?
"You're right, you're right," he placated. "I'm sorry. Okay, so first item, no church."
"What about you?" she pressed. "What don't you want?"
"Shoes," he said seriously.
"Shoes?"
"Yes, shoes. I'm not wearing any. Plan whatever wedding you want, but I'm not wearing shoes."
His demand seemed so ridiculous that Buffy laughed. One laugh turned into a fit of giggles so overwhelming that tears streamed down her cheeks. When she calmed, Angel said gently, "Simple, Buffy. Buy a dress, we can get married at the house. A few guests, some food. I don't need fanfare. I just need you."
Buffy's heart caught in her throat. Angel said he needed her again. She knew it was probably just a turn of phrase. He was trying to make her feel better. But it worked extraordinarily well. She smiled. "Okay," she said.
Confident once more, Buffy clicked off the phone and turned her attention back to Willow, Gia and the army of designers and seamstresses. Angel's money didn't talk, it was more like a Marine Corps drill sergeant. The second she'd walked in the door, Gia had the entire boutique closed for her private shopping. But even with the entire staff at her disposal, finding a wedding dress was not easy. There wasn't enough time to design a gown from scratch, so they would have to modify one of their existing stock. She found The Dress. It was beautiful. It cost more than the car she drove, but Buffy didn't bat an eyelash as the flurry of tape measures and straight pins descended upon her, altering the dress to fit her petite frame. She looked at herself in the dressing room mirror and fell in love. She wistfully hoped that maybe Angel would do the same.
The empire waist cream silk played up her cleavage wonderfully and it nearly trailed on the floor. Of course, a pair of stilettos could take care of that. But it was sleeveless. She absolutely could not do sleeveless, not with her scars. Gloves were right out. She needed to be able to touch Angel, to feel the physical bond with him. The army of assistants tried a variety of different sashes and scarves attempting to camouflage the imperfections, but nothing worked.
Oh well, since when had she gone for subtle? Ignoring the pins poking her and having to bunch the skirts up in her arms to keep them from dragging, Buffy charged headlong out into Barney's proper. In moments, she found what she was looking for, much to the horror of the watching seamstresses. Buffy pulled a black leather jacket off the rack and shrugged it on over the dress. There was a three way mirror, and Buffy took in the sight. Behind her, the seamstresses looked horrified. Gia, knowing where her bread was buttered, was much more politic. Willow smiled openly. Buffy nodded in approval to her reflection.
She found it befitting her marriage to Angel. Nothing conventional here. Satisfied with her outerwear, she was ready to leave. That was, until a rather stern looking woman her father's age discretely suggested that maybe she needed some ... intimate apparel as well. Buffy blushed crimson, but accepted the proffered glass of Champaign and merrily made her way to the lingerie section. She doubted that Angel was going to find the plain, white, cotton underwear that dominated her underwear drawer too appealing. She wasn't about to wear the set she wore that night in Wesley's office. Angel would think she only owned one pair of underwear. And it was his wedding night after all. She might as well be nice. Flanked by the wedding planner, Willow and two strapping young men carrying all of her purchases, she signed the receipt without bothering to look at the total.
Looking out the window in his private study, Angel watched the workers prepare for tomorrow night's event. "Well, you and Rupert have two other children," Angel said coldly into the phone, "I suppose it really doesn't matter if you screw things up with Buffy. You can always get it right next time."
"If we - " Jenny sputtered, her rage evident. "You heartless - cold - This is all your fault!"
"My fault," Angel repeated with amusement. "No, definitely not. I made it clear to Buffy that both you and your husband would be welcome."
"I knew you were a bastard," Jenny ground out, "but I never really thought you would stoop this low."
"I don't really feel that I'm stooping to marry Buffy," he said, deliberately misunderstanding Jenny.
"You know what I mean!" she shouted. "How can you do this? Have you no shame at all? You're condemning that girl - "
"I'm marrying her, Janna, not sending her to prison."
"In the end, it will all be the same," Jenny spat. "You'll make her miserable. You'll take every beautiful thing about Buffy and twist it until she isn't even recognizable anymore."
Angel looked down at his shaking hand, clenching it tightly into a fist. His voice was deadly quiet when he responded. "You have no idea what it's costing me to do this."
She laughed. "Costing? That's a good one. You never do anything that doesn't bring you something."
Angel was sitting at the bar at Caritas, looking through a stack of bank statements and contracts. While he left the day to day management of the legitimate, human arm of Roarke Industries to a team of professionals, he always checked up on them. Just because he had distanced himself, preferring to spend his time dealing with the supernatural, didn't mean he was a patsy. He kept a close eye on his employees and an even closer eye on his money. He took a sip of the bottled water as he flipped the page, studying the long columns of numbers.
The barstool next to him made a loud noise as it was pulled along the floor. Angel didn't turn his head as the newest patron took a seat, but he did say offhandedly, "Good evening, Lindsey."
Lindsey flipped open his Zippo and lit a cigarette. He took a drag, snapping the lighter closed. "That's still fucking creepy when you do that," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"It's illegal to smoke in here," Angel noted, his attention still largely focused on the statements.
"So arrest me," Lindsey snorted. He waved at the bartender and ordered a beer. He looked over at Angel. "You're really going to go through with this?"
Angel put the statement down and met Lindsey's gaze. "The wedding's at eight tomorrow. You're not invited."
Lindsey shook his head. "You know this can't possibly end well and you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"
"Not that it's any of your damn business," Angel said, "but yes."
"I'll bet you didn't even warn her, did you?" Lindsey asked with a smug expression. "I know you," he said. "You've taken it upon yourself to decide what is best for her. I'll bet she has no idea the effect she has on you. She's blissfully ignorant of the fact that there might be fallout and still ... you're not even going to mention it."
"It's my life," Angel said tightly.
"Yeah, but if you're marrying her, it's sorta hers too, huh?"
Angel smiled and it was a mercenary expression. "Well, maybe if I die then you and Buffy can start the 'we got fucked over by Roarke' club."
Lindsey frowned.
Angel shrugged. His expression became more pensive. When he spoke his voice was gruff. "Besides, it's not like she won't be taken care of."
Lindsey nodded slowly. "And I'm sure she's just marrying you for the money," he said sardonically. "She really struck me as the gold digger type."
Angel didn't answer. He looked at Lindsey, the closest thing he'd ever had to a true friend. Angel was well practiced at being alone. Solitude was a given in his life. But in this moment, he longed for simple friendship. "I love her," he said bluntly, waiting for Lindsey to tear into him.
Lindsey was quiet for a very long time. Slowly, he lifted his glass. "To the bride and groom," he said sincerely.
Angel stared out in the bright, early morning sunlight, watching workers ready the grounds for the night's event. He was all too aware of the tiny pinpricks of pain the light caused over his exposed flesh. This, more than anything, was what had always driven home the fact that he was a creature of darkness. The light didn't want him, didn't need him.
Irony of ironies that he needed the light. Because there definitely wasn't anyone on the planet more imbued with lightness than Buffy Summers. And he did need her.
It was just after eight o'clock in the evening and the air was turning cool. The grounds behind Angel's mansion were lit with a plethora of candles, torches and lanterns. There was a tent made from opaque, gauzy fabrics that glowed invitingly in the darkness. Buffy could see the shapes of people moving around in the tent. They were sitting on pillows, casually sipping some of Angel's exquisite vintages as a superb jazz quartet played softly in the background. It was a small gathering, only the closest of friends; the Angel Investigations staff, Lorne, a few of Buffy's friends from school and some of Angel's ... well you couldn't call them friends, associates.
With Willow's help, Buffy ensured her long skirts didn't drag on the ground as she made her way to the tent. Willow was her lone attendant, dressed in a floor length gown of burgundy velvet. The embroidered bodice had spaghetti straps and Willow was self-consciously covering herself with the matching velvet wrap. Their eyes met as Willow's hand found the tent flap. She smiled encouragingly. "It'll go off without a hitch, I promise," Willow said.
Buffy looked at her blankly. "There needs to be a hitch, Will, that's the whole point. Me, Angel, hitching. There needs to be a hitch."
Willow giggled lightly, beaming at her friend. "Everything will be fine," she said.
"You're sure?" Buffy asked, absolutely unconvinced.
"Positive."
The two friends clasped hands tightly one last time before Willow turned back to the tent flap. She peeked inside and quickly pulled her head back, stepping aside. Buffy looked at her quizzically until her father exited the tent. Willow looked from Giles to Buffy and then back again.
"I'll be ... uh ... over there ... uh ... being over there," Willow said before conspicuously leaving Buffy and her father alone.
Buffy looked up at her father, her lips pursed together tightly. "I didn't think you were coming," she said coldly.
"I, uh," Giles stammered. He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. "You're my daughter, Buffy, and I love you. I will always be there for you, no matter what."
Tears stung Buffy's eyes and she blinked quickly, unable to look at him.
"If you would allow me, I would be most honored to walk you down the isle," Giles continued.
Buffy sniffled loudly and then abruptly threw herself into her father's arms. Giles hugged her gingerly, tears coursing down his own cheeks. After three days spent agonizing over whether or not to come, in the end, he could not desert his daughter. Even if his presence meant granting tacit approval to something against which he was steadfastly opposed, Giles had to be there for Buffy. "I wouldn't miss this day for anything," he vowed.
Buffy and Giles waited as Willow entered the tent. Giles leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his daughter's cheek and then led her inside. The low murmur of conversation died and the music changed. Every eye in the tent turned to Buffy who couldn't help but feel nervous. Her arm was looped securely through her father's and slowly, they made their way toward the platform at the front of the tent. The platform wasn't high, maybe a foot off the ground but her heart beat faster in her chest.
Buffy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she looked at her husband to be. Angel stood on the platform, flanked by Lindsey. But even though she was thrown by Lindsey's presence, Buffy couldn't take her eyes off Angel. He was wearing a pair of black leather pants, no socks, no shoes, a white button up shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a custom tailored black blazer. He didn't look like he was getting married. He looked like he should be in some casual photo shoot for GQ Magazine. She wouldn't have had it any other way.
Buffy's heart was pounding against her chest and her hands were shaking. All of this was so unreal. And despite their connection, she couldn't get a bead on Angel's emotions. When they reached the platform, Giles solemnly placed Buffy's hand in Angel's and stepped back to join Jenny.
Buffy lighted onto the platform where Angel stood, watching him closely. She got some idea of his emotions when he leaned forward and kissed her deeply. Buffy was so startled that at first she didn't respond, but as his lips gently coaxed hers, she sighed and kissed him back.
There were a few chuckles from the assembled audience and the Officiant cleared his throat loudly. They reluctantly broke apart, Buffy blushing as she clutched her bouquet for dear life. She studiously avoided her parents' gaze. Angel - not shockingly - didn't look in the least bit repentant. He appraised her from head to toe, smiling openly at her ensemble. He lightly fingered the collar of the jacket before taking her hand. Buffy smiled at him in return, curling her fingers through his.
The ceremony was what Angel requested, short and to the point. There weren't any flowery declarations of love, but the vows were spoken with vehemence. Angel gave her a wedding ring that was at least ten karats. Buffy's jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew immediately that the plain silver Claddagh would be the ring she wore daily and that the rock was only coming out on special occasions, probably only when Sunday and Cordy were around. Damn it was sparkly.
Before Buffy could really process what was happening, the ceremony was over and she was once again lost in Angel's kiss. This time when they broke apart, they were showered with cheers and applause, rose petals and soap bubbles. Buffy shot a wary glance to Angel, wondering if he would be irritated, but he was smiling with barely contained joy. Her heart soared. They signed the marriage certificate, first Buffy, then Angel and watched as it was witnessed by Willow and Lindsey.
Despite her near extortion level fees, it turned out that Gia was worth every penny. The evening went perfectly as the tent was transformed for a late supper. The food was divine and the beautiful music coaxed a few people to dance. Held tightly against Angel's side, half-drunk on Champaign, Buffy watched as Willow took to the floor with Oz. She couldn't help but smile at the picture they made. Gunn took the opportunity to cajole Angel's new secretary, Fred, onto the floor as well. As Wesley took Faith by the hand, Buffy gave a fleeting thought to joining in herself. One look at Angel dissuaded her. His eyes were smoldering and he pulled her closer for a long, lingering kiss. There was nothing in this world that could have persuaded her to move from that spot.
"Come over here for just a second."
"Why? I don't underst-" Buffy let out a sharp yelp and a laugh as Angel swept her into his arms and ducked out of the tent. The party was still going strong, but he wasn't in the mood to play dutiful host. He'd spent three hours chatting and smiling, all the while wanting nothing more than to be alone with his wife. He finally reached the breaking point. There was enough food, drink and music to keep everyone entertained for as long as they wished to linger. But he was through entertaining. It was his wedding night and everybody else could just deal with his absence.
Buffy's protests were half-hearted to begin with, but they died completely when he kissed her. She finally pulled back, breathless, and gifted him with a blinding smile. Her arms around his neck loosened and she rested her head against his shoulder, letting him take her where he would.
Quickly and quietly, he made his way inside the house and towards the bedroom. Buffy giggled as he carried her over the threshold. He kicked the door shut without bothering to lock it. None of his employees would be stupid enough to disturb them tonight. Angel couldn't prevent the little tremor of pleasure that coursed through his body at the delighted sound she made. It was as addictive as Buffy herself. The idea that he could make her this happy was humbling. He wanted to make her happy forever and he would fight anything - even himself - to attain that goal.
She didn't notice the barely perceptible trembling in his hands as he carefully stripped off her jacket and deposited her on their bed. As always, his dark power recoiled from her light, but now more so than ever. His power whispered inside his skull. It whispered for him to run, to withdraw from her luminosity, to destroy her if necessary, but at all costs to get away from her. Angel ignored the persistent, nagging thoughts. The whispers, the dark instinct had been with him a long time, but so had his need for Buffy. He knew one thing with startling clarity: though Buffy might be a threat to his power, Angel would not live without her another day. The dark power inside him howled and once again, Angel pushed it aside.
She looked up at him from under her lashes, smiling. She pressed her hand to his cheek. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
He looked down at her. She was so damn gorgeous and vulnerable and she was all his. Emotion swelled inside him, so pure it almost burned. Gently, he traced her jaw with a fingertip. "I love you," he said in a near whisper.
Her expression sobered and her eyes shimmered. She swallowed thickly. "I love you too," she said, her voice hoarse.
He laughed and then looked away guiltily. "Most people say that before the wedding," he said, his voice hard with regret.
Her bottom lip trembled and she forced herself to smile and shrug. "We're not most people," she pointed out.
Once again, he met her eyes, his face hard with determination. "You're right," he said, "we're not. But it doesn't mean that you should have to compromise your dreams."
Her smile was blinding. "I'm not."
He reveled in how much her words warmed his icy heart. What on earth did he do to deserve her? He could hear his new father in law's words echoing in his head from long ago. Sometimes people didn't get things because they deserved them, but rather because they needed them. And Angel so desperately needed her. "I will make you happy, Buffy," he vowed.
Her smile deepened, taking on a decidedly carnal feel. "You already do," she informed him.
Leaning down, Angel caught her lips in a tender kiss. His lips nipped at hers and he could feel her smile. Her fingers threaded around his shoulders, urging him down onto the bed with her and he went eagerly.
She scooted over, making room for him as they lay on their sides facing one another. One of his arms wound around her waist, the other gently threaded through her hair. Her deftly nimble fingers quickly found the buttons of his shirt and began working them free. Angel lay still, letting her do as she wished. Buffy was trembling with anticipation, biting down on her lip as she concentrated on her task. Preternatural grace failed her utterly as she fought with the simple fastenings. Her nose scrunched up in a scowl and in a fit of irritation, she grabbed the halves of his shirt and pulled, sending the three remaining buttons careening across the room. Shocked to stillness by her own actions, Buffy slowly raised her eyes to Angel's. Though he tried not to, he couldn't help but laugh. Buffy laughed too.
Smiling indulgently at her, Angel pushed himself into a sitting position and disposed of his blazer and shirt. Once free of encumbrances, he returned to her side. The laughter had momentarily lifted the weighty sense of anticipation, but it once again threatened to crush Buffy. Her stomach was clenched tightly, her heart beating fast against her chest. Angel gently cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. Her trembling hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer and she parted her lips. A rumble of appreciation formed in his chest and his tongue licked against her lips.
Her tongue met his in a tentative, playful caress. They toyed with each other, a quick, sensual brush and a retreat, a mischievous nip. The rumbling in his chest intensified and Buffy couldn't help but think of a great cat, like the one carved on her Nottis stone.
Angel pulled back, placing nipping kisses along her jaw. He saw her smile and asked between kisses, "What's so amusing?"
Her smile widened. "Nothing," she said dreamily, curling closer against his body, "just thinking that you remind me of some great cat."
He raised an eyebrow, his fingers burrowing behind her back to find the fastenings of her dress. "Cat?" he repeated.
"Mmm, hmmm," Buffy nearly purred, rolling over so he could divest her of her clothing. "Like on my Nottis stone."
Angel chuckled, pulling the zipper down. "Whatever makes you happy, Ionuin," he whispered.
Buffy rolled onto her back once again and slowly Angel pulled the bodice down until it pooled at her waist. The strapless, cream silk bra framed her breasts perfectly. Angel gave her a grin of barely veiled carnal hunger. The look made her shiver, raising goosebumps all over her skin.
He scooted closer, lying on his side next to her. His large hand tickled along her ribs. "Cold?" he asked.
Biting down on her bottom lip, she shook her head. "No."
Her enthusiasm, her tacit trust hit him like a punch in the chest. He had done nothing to deserve this, yet here she was, lying in his arms looking up at him with complete faith. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and bent his neck to capture her lips. She met his kiss eagerly, twining her arms around his neck as he levered his body over hers. Her thighs automatically parted to make a cradle for his hips.
He settled between her thighs. He was hard, aching for the sweet relief of her flesh. He didn't want to rush things. But the best of intentions couldn't prevent instinct. He couldn't help himself, uncontrollably thrusting against her through layers of clothing. She broke off the kiss, a breathy whine escaping her as she rolled her head back. Angel took advantage of the opportunity, burying his face against her neck, carnally assaulting the delicate flesh. His lips and teeth tasted her, claimed her as he slowly worked his way down her body. His nose dipped into the sensual valley between her breasts, savoring the feminine perfume of her skin.
Her fingers curled through his hair as he ventured lower, meticulously laving every bit of exposed flesh. His hands found the material bunched around her waist and he pushed himself back into a kneeling position. Buffy lay perfectly still as he pulled the dress down her legs, allowing it to fall to the floor in a mass of cream silk.
He stared at her, humbled by the beautiful creature lying in his bed, wearing his ring. He looked at her undergarments and smiled with pure carnal appreciation. Her bra was complemented perfectly by the matching thong and garter belt. Seamed silk stockings encased her legs and feet, which were still in their high heels. It was possibly the most tempting sight he'd ever witnessed. He was tempted to fall at her feet and worship her. Which actually didn't sound like that bad of an idea.
He slid off the bed, kneeling. Curious, Buffy pushed herself up on her elbows, looking at him. His hands wrapped around her ankles, fingers sliding smoothly against the silk. She shuddered at the heat of his touch, her tongue coming out to wet her suddenly dry lips. Angel's midnight dark eyes followed the path of her tongue. He swallowed thickly before lowering his mouth to her silk covered toes. Buffy gasped at the heat of his mouth, wet and humid against her flesh. She fell back on the bed, her fingers grasping the black, satin sheets. He teased her toes then licked along her instep before pressing hard kisses to her ankles. Nimble fingers released her feet from the shoes, allowing them to fall, forgotten, to the floor.
He worked his way up the inside of her leg, crawling onto the bed, over her body, never deviating from task. His wet, open-mouthed kisses reached the inside of her thigh, where he lingered, licking along her scar. As he pulled the raised skin between his teeth, he couldn't help but think how close he had come to losing her. The thought spurred him on. She was his now, forever. He would never let her go, never lose her. He continued his journey upward, pressing his nose to the damp silk covering her sex.
Buffy squirmed against him, her fingers sifting lightly through his hair. Carefully as possible, he took the material of her thong in his hands. Buffy gasped as the material tore loudly. Angel chuckled. He pushed the loose scraps away, delighting in how the garter belt and stockings framed her body. He pressed a kiss to the downy hair covering her sex.
She moved restlessly, tightening her grip on his hair and pulling, trying to urge him up her body. "Want you," she panted.
Angel intended to take things slowly, to torture her endlessly. But the breathy cry from her lips changed his mind. Her slunk up her body, positioning himself over her on hands and knees. He stared down at her, smiling wickedly.
Buffy smiled right back. Her fingertips traced over his chest, outlining the muscles. She scraped a dainty, pink fingernail over his nipple and his breath caught in a hiss. Emboldened, her hands ventured lower, stroking him through the overly tight leather. Her fingernails scratched along the length of him, delighting in the feel of his hardness. His eyes screwed shut and she watched the muscles jump in his clenched jaw as she cupped him with one hand while the other popped the button and carefully inched the zipper down.
He let out a yelp as her fingers played over his rigid flesh. Impatiently, he shoved the pants down his hips until he could push them off. One foot got stuck and he kicked in irritation. He growled and Buffy giggled.
Foot free, Angel turned his attention back to Buffy. Her giggles died at the expression on his face. He lowered his body over hers and she instinctively cradled his hips against her own. One of his hands cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing lightly along her cheekbone.
"Forever, Buffy," he whispered.
Her hand came up, covering his. "Forever."
Eyes locked together, fingers intertwined, Angel slowly pushed his hips forward. She gasped, biting down on her bottom lip and arching her back as he entered her. She was more than ready for him, her body primed and trembling. Her lush wetness surrounded him. There was discomfort, but not enough to overwhelm the matchless ecstasy of finally joining with her mate.
Angel shuddered, unable to prevent himself from slamming his hips forward, burying himself to the root inside his mate. Pleasure streaked through him, white hot. It sang along his nerves, burning away everything but his awareness of Buffy. She was his love, his life, the center of his world. She kept him tied to what it meant to be Angel. Without her everything else was pointless and trivial.
"Angel," she gasped, her hands squeezing his as her legs wrapped around his waist.
He groaned, burying his face against her neck as he slowly withdrew and thrust home once again. He kissed down her neck, pulling her flesh between his lips and worrying it with his teeth. In a move driven by mindless male need to assert dominance, he bit down, right where her neck flowed into her shoulder.
Her shout of pleasure/pain echoed loudly and she arched against him, her sheath fluttering around his cock as she reached completion. He ground his teeth together, barely holding himself in check. He was still, waiting as her tremors passed before resuming his languid strokes. She murmured nonsensically, twining her arms around his neck as her legs once again tightened around his waist.
Twining her fingers through his hair, she drew his mouth to hers, biting down on his bottom lip. She rolled her hips under him, intentionally squeezing him with her internal muscles. Her heart soared as his breath caught, his strokes becoming more uneven.
"I love you, my angel," she whispered in ShadowTongue.
He was lost. Her words were so soft that they didn't register with his mind, heading straight for his heart. He ground against her in three more short, hard thrusts before finding release.
He regained his senses moments later and found himself still buried deeply in Buffy's body, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her lips against his temple whispered words of love and acceptance. He had never felt so right.
Hours later, they were both so sated they couldn't walk if their lives depended on it. Buffy was fast asleep in Angel's arms. He watched the porcelain glow of her skin in the dying candlelight, smelled the soft, feminine scent of her skin. Ever so gently, he twined his fingers through hers, marveling at her perfect, diminutive hand. It was so small, so flawless. He knew from experience that she could tear apart a demon with her bare hands, yet he knew he never need fear her. Though she possessed the power to hurt him, she did not possess the capability.
Her soft little snores made his heart ache with tenderness. Whatever twist of fate had gifted him this chance, he wasn't going to throw it away. He wasn't going to play games or hide behind sarcasm and lies. He loved Buffy and by some miracle, she loved him as well. He would make it up to her, all of his years of toying and bitterness. He would do whatever was necessary to reconcile with Janna and Rupert, to make sure that they could be in Buffy's life without conflict. He would give her the world if she asked because simply by lying in his arms, she gave it to him.
Contented for the first time in his life, Angel lay his head on the pillow. He spooned around Buffy's back, burying his nose at the nape of her neck. Determined that tomorrow would herald the beginning of a new life, he drifted into a deep sleep.
He heard her crying long before he saw her. He fought through the blinding darkness before stumbling through the cold, stone courtyard into the deserted mansion. She was there, kneeling on the ground, a sword clutched loosely in her hand. The sound of her cries shredded his heart. He knew that her heart was broken, possibly her soul as well. She had been well and truly defeated.
He ventured closer, circling around her in a wide arch. She was staring ahead blankly, seeing nothing. Her expression was so bleak, so blank that tears streamed down Angel's cheeks.
And then he knew.
Another her, another him. A lifetime away and yet exactly the same. He saw Janna's death, Rupert's torture. He saw Willow's sacrifice. Most of all, he saw Buffy's excruciating, solitary, unrelenting pain.
He had done this. The darkness inside of him had waited for that moment of contentment and then had broken out with purest rage and seething hatred. The darkness had punished Buffy for every moment of happiness she had given him. The darkness wanted her sorrow, her pain. It reveled in her defeat.
And even now, he could feel his own darkness creeping forward, threatening to overtake him. He could hear the darkness clamoring for Buffy's demise.
Angel woke gasping. The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. A thousand needling points of pain jangled beneath his flesh. He stumbled from the bed clutching his chest. He groped blindly, finding his discarded pants and awkwardly shrugging into them.
It took him too long to find the door. He had to get out of here. He had to get away from her before something bad happened. He couldn't let the moments from his dream come to pass. He would die before that happened.
He could feel the darkness inside of him churning, revolting. He couldn't let it hurt Buffy. He made it to the top of the stairs before his knees buckled. In a moment of unmitigated fear, he knew he was losing the battle.
She woke with a start, searching for something she wasn't even aware had been missing. The candles had finally burned themselves out, plunging the room into complete darkness. Rain pounded loudly against the windows and lightning flashed against the sky. She groped blindly for Angel and found nothing. His side of the bed was cold. She was alone.
She slipped from the bed, quickly finding his discarded shirt and wrapping it around her body as she moved to the door. The hallway lights were off, but the lightning flashes were so numerous that she could clearly see the toppled table and shattered vase at the end of the hall.
Her heart pounded in her throat. Something was very wrong. She sprinted down the hall, mindful not to step on the broken vase. Her breath caught as she reached the top of the huge staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs rested Angel's crumpled form. She screamed, bolting down the stairs.
"Are you sure we shouldn't call a doctor?" Buffy asked in a whisper. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she couldn't stop fidgeting.
The shaman moved from where he was kneeling on the floor, rising to his own - rather impressive - height. He stared down at her, his eyes reflecting more than a little perceived insult. "Your clumsy human medicine can do nothing for him," he intoned gravely.
"But I don't understand. I -- "
Giles gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm, pulling her away from the shaman. He leaned in, saying softly, "His injuries are mystical in origin, Buffy. The shaman is correct, conventional medicine would be useless at best."
Buffy blinked quickly, wrapping her arms around her middle. She didn't mean to be disrespectful. The shaman was very powerful and her father had called in some serious favors in order to persuade the demon to look at Angel. It was just immensely frustrating that no one seemed to know anything, much less be in a position to help Angel. It had been hours since she found him and they still knew nothing.
Giles nodded toward the door and Buffy followed him outside and down the hall to Angel's study. Inside, Wesley, Willow and Jenny were fruitlessly searching ancient texts and internet sites for any possible clues. Buffy slumped into a chair, pulling her legs up to her chest. She was still wearing Angel's shirt though Willow had coaxed her into a pair of sweatpants as well.
Scant hours ago, she had been happier than she thought possible. "How can this be happening?" Buffy asked desolately.
Giles knelt before his daughter, putting his hand on her arm. "We'll find an answer," he promised.
Buffy was sitting on the bed next to Angel's unconscious form. She stared blankly at their intertwined fingers, their matching Claddaghs. She didn't understand. All of her life she had felt isolated from the rest of humanity. For the first time in her life, she was wanted and loved. She had found the only other soul on this planet who understood her. To experience that sense of oneness and then to have it all ripped away was the purest form of torture. Surely the universe couldn't be this unjust.
"I, uh, heard what happened."
Swiveling around, Buffy faced the doorway. She wiped away her tears self-consciously, not wanting Lindsey to see her like this. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice hoarse. She was aware that he and Angel had reconciled, but she had never gotten around to discussing the specifics. And she still didn't completely trust Lindsey.
"I want to help," he said seriously.
"And how exactly do you think you can help?" she demanded bitterly.
Lindsey shrugged off her anger. "I may be able to shed some light on what's going on," he explained.
"I don't like this," Giles stated for the umpteenth time.
"Do you have another idea?" Buffy demanded, fighting to maintain composure. She felt brittle, fragile, like a strong wind could send her shattering into a thousand pieces. Angel's soul hung in the balance and she had to do anything she could to sway the fight to her side. She didn't trust Lindsey, but right now, he was their best bet.
Giles' lips pursed together tightly and he fell silent. Jenny walked up behind him, twining her fingers through his to offer him support. She knew how worried he was for Buffy, how adamantly opposed he had been to her union with Angel in the first place. Jenny couldn't help feeling responsible. It was her doing that Angel was part of this family. If she hadn't maintained contact with him, Buffy would never have met him and Rupert wouldn't be facing the terrifying thought of losing his beloved daughter.
"We are ready to begin," the shaman announced.
Prophetic dreams were part of the Slayer package, so Buffy understood what was happening. Real as it might feel, this was not real. Her body was back in their bedroom, lying next to Angel's. But as she looked around the room, a room in which she had never before been, she also knew that it was more than just a dream. And more than that, it wasn't her dream.
Buffy tried the door and found it unlocked. She stepped outside into a blinding bright day. She blinked quickly, holding up a hand to block out the sun. Everything was so bright, washed out like a faded memory. She could see people in the distance. There was a small group several yards away standing in a circle. Closest to her, apart from the others, stood a woman. Slowly, Buffy ventured closer.
At first Buffy thought it was Jenny, but as she closed in, the woman turned to face her. Buffy would know those eyes anywhere. Buffy looked from the woman to the circle of other people. There were two men, neither of whom Buffy recognized, a girl in her early teens and a little boy. The men were arguing. The girl was crying and the little boy just stood there, seemingly oblivious to everything. Buffy looked at his sad countenance, mindless of the men yelling. Slowly, the little boy lifted his eyes and looked right into her soul. Tears immediately rose in Buffy's eyes and she reached out, distressed at finding she could not run to the little boy.
"He's been looking for you."
Turning, Buffy looked at the woman - Angel's mother. "Why are you here?" Buffy asked, completely confused. "You were never anything but a curse to them."
The woman smiled gently, reaching out to touch Buffy's cheek. Her expression was pensive and sad. "Regardless of what you may believe, I never meant to hurt them," she said. "I made many mistakes and I've done everything I can to atone for them."
"Like what?"
"I led you to him," she said simply.
Buffy blinked, frowning. "What are you talking about?" Turning, Buffy looked back at the little boy again. He was staring right at her, his huge brown eyes so full of grief and pain. Her heart ached to go to him. He needed so much love, so much protection and they both knew he wasn't going to find it.
"When Janna found Rupert," the woman said softly, "it meant that my Angel would find you. You alone have the power to save him, to understand him, to see through the demon to the man's soul inside."
Turning, Buffy looked into the gypsy's eyes, once again thrown by their resemblance to Angel's. "I don't know what you mean."
"He is feared," she said. "And rightfully so. Even Janna looks at him and sees only the darkness. But you - you are his other half. You can see his soul when no one else has the power."
Buffy turned back to the little boy, but the scene had changed. They were somewhere else, a basement maybe. It was dark, dank. She looked up the stairs to the closed door. "He can come out when he learns some fucking respect!" a man's voice bellowed. She turned, looking around and saw Angel. He was just a boy, fifteen, maybe sixteen. He was too skinny. Wearing only a pair of dirty jeans, he was huddled on the floor, leaning back against the bare concrete wall. The side of his face was swollen and blood was dripping on his chest from his split lip.
She walked over to him, crouching in front of him. He didn't see her. His eyes welled with tears she knew he would never allow to fall. She could feel the rage coming off of him, the pain and despair.
"He's been down here for weeks," the gypsy said. "His father told him he could come up when he agreed to live by his rules."
Buffy snorted, knowing full well that Angel would swallow his own tongue before his pride. But looking at his dirty, too thin form, she sobered instantly. It was one thing for a grown man to exhibit that level of obstinacy. It was quite another for a child to do so. It spoke volumes to the amount of abuse and mistreatment he must have suffered at his father's hands. "How long will he stay down here?" she asked.
"Too long," the gypsy replied softly. "It is in his nature to win at all costs. Even if that cost means his own destruction. When he was younger ... " she trailed off, seeming to steel herself. "When he was younger I could still offer him some comfort, but by this point, he was closed off to everyone, including me."
The scene changed again and Buffy knew exactly where they were. She had been here before, in this room, at this time. She looked at Angel lying in the bed, barely breathing. She could see the dark form coiling tighter and tighter around him like some great snake. She could taste his death on her tongue. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she cupped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.
The gypsy touched her lightly on the shoulder. "He was looking for something," she said. "Always looking for what was missing. He thought it was vengeance that he needed. So he took it."
"It's killing him," Buffy whispered.
"I know," she said plainly. "But you know how this story goes. All is not lost. Not yet. In our darkest hour, we find hope."
As Buffy watched Jenny entered, pulling a little girl behind her. Buffy's eyes widened as she realized she was looking at herself ten years earlier. She watched Jenny and Angel argue, listened to the cold rasping of his voice. Then she watched the little girl venture closer. She watched herself reach out, watched the dark forces recoil from where she touched Angel. A white light seemed to spread out from where she had touched her fingers to Angel's forehead. It radiated through his body, pushing the coiling form back, protecting him.
"You found him," the gypsy said softly.
She shook her head. "But he's gone again," Buffy said in a soft wail.
The scene darkened and Buffy could no longer see anything. "No," the gypsy whispered, "for the first time, he is truly here."
Angel stared blankly down the dingy alleyway that was neither real nor a dream. He felt like he had finally removed the blinders for the first time in a lifetime. He felt alive and alone. No, not alone. That wasn't right. Something was missing, but his former connection to Buffy was stronger than ever. He could feel her inside his heart, inside his soul. He was experiencing their connection without interference.
He shook his head sharply, disgusted with himself. For year upon year, he had allowed himself to be influenced by something so slowly creeping and insidious that he hadn't even noticed the change. The darkness had preyed upon his disillusionment, his pain, his quest for vengeance. It had used him as a means to an end.
"You didn't honestly think a mere boy could have defeated Vocah, did you?"
Angel swiveled around and stared at ... himself. He knew it wasn't him. Angel was himself, truly himself, for the first time in as long as he could remember. But the darkness, the demon had taken a form very similar to his own. The mirror wasn't perfect. The demon's flesh was a pale, luminous white and its entire eyes were black as coal. The demon smiled coldly, baring fangs. This was the creature that had slowly been taking over Angel's life, influencing his actions ... until Buffy.
"Oh yes, little Buffy," the demon cooed. "I'm going to love watching her die."
Angel bristled. "You're not getting near her," he snarled.
The demon laughed. "And who's going to stop me?" it asked with a smirk. "You?" It walked around Angel in a wide circle, looking him up and down. "You don't have the strength to stop me. For a decade you've hidden behind me, cowering in my shadow while I greatly surpassed your pitiful potential."
Angel stopped himself from flinching, but the demon's words hit home. Was it right? Had he allowed this creature to act in his stead because it was easier than facing life himself?
Angel knew with a certainty that sickened him, that the demon's words held more truth than he would like to admit. He had indeed allowed himself to be subsumed by the demon, trading his pain and helplessness for power. If it hadn't been for Buffy, Angel never would have pulled out of the spiral. He would have continued to be drawn deeper into the demon until he was no more.
"This is my life," Angel said, "and I want it back."
The demon's smile was absolutely mirthless. "I was hoping you'd say that," it snarled before launching himself at Angel.
"Where is he?" Buffy demanded. "Dammit, help me."
The gypsy's expression was sober. "I can help you no more," she said softly. "He is here, but you must find him."
Buffy pursed her lips together in frustration, but turned away and ran up the dingy basement stairs. She burst through the door at the top and found herself in some dirty, urban landscape. She ran blindly, searching.
Angel lost his balance and the demon took advantage. It shoved him into the wall face first. Angel was dazed and had little time to recover before the demon grabbed him by the nape of the neck and sent him skidding over the grimy, oil-slicked pavement.
He tumbled, rolling until he smacked hard against the far alley wall. The demon was still unfazed, smiling at him with a patient malevolence that chilled Angel to the bone. Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea.
Buffy ran until she thought her lungs were going to explode. Still, no sign of Angel. She skittered to a halt, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared up at the night sky, or what passed for the night sky inside of Angel's dreams.
"Dammit, Angel, where are you?" she whispered. Inside, she knew something was wrong. She could feel his doubt, his pain. She needed to find him.
She walked over to the front of one of the buildings in this deserted cityscape. She leaned back against it and proceeded to slide down the wall until she was huddled on the sidewalk.
Her pout was interrupted by something digging into her hip. It was hard to wallow in misery when you weren't comfortable. She pushed herself up on her knees and shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out the Nottis stone.
Buffy stared at the stone for several seconds. Had she had it this whole time? She looked at the carving of the great cat. Tears pricked at her eyes. She had to find Angel. She held the stone in her hand and pressed it over her heart. Her eyes closed and she concentrated on feeling Angel.
Moments later, she jumped to her feet, swiveled around and took off running.
Angel grimaced as the demon slammed him into the wall. He could feel ribs crack. Whether or not they were actually physically breaking, he didn't know, but they hurt like hell and they impeded his ability to move. The demon snarled, lunging for his neck and Angel managed to twist away. Unfortunately, he only made it a few steps before he stumbled and fell.
The demon pinned him to the ground, snarling in his face. "It's too bad that you're going to miss all the things I do to her," he spat. "You always held me back, always kept me from ever being truly vicious. No more. Your sweet little love is going to discover the true meaning of horror at her beloved's hands."
Angel shook his head. "No!" he bellowed.
As Buffy ran, she felt the stone in her hand getting warmer and warmer. She ignored it for as long as she could, desperate to reach Angel, but it began to burn and she was forced to stop. She opened her hand. The stone glowed a white hot. It should have been burning through her hand, but it wasn't. The heat was uncomfortable, but not excruciating.
As she watched, the shape began to writhe and twist. The great cat's shape grew longer and longer as the little square stone transformed itself into a blade. The color changed as the transformation completed and Buffy found herself holding a perfect dagger made from the same black rock as the Nottis stone.
"No!" she heard Angel rage.
Buffy quickly rounded the corner and saw Angel pinned to the ground, a snarling dark shape over him. She didn't have time to think. The demon was going to kill Angel.
She ran towards them, hurling herself at the dark shape. She buried the blade in the middle of the demon's back.
It roared, rearing back, reaching out for her with clawed hands. Buffy could tell the demon had been trying to imitate Angel's form, but to her it looked like a mad caricature. She would never have been fooled.
She skittered backwards and it followed her, crawling after her, blood dripping from its mouth. Behind them, Angel managed to get to his feet and ran, grabbing Buffy as he went. They ran several yards down the alley, well out of the demon's reach.
Angel looked at Buffy, swamped with relief. He'd honestly thought he'd never see her again. He pulled her to his chest, mindless of his wounds. Buffy burrowed against him, crying.
The demon collapsed to the ground, screaming. A white light shown from its mouth and eyes. The light grew brighter and brighter until it burned away everything else.
Buffy woke to find Angel staring at her. The light was a weak pink, signaling the fact that it was just after dawn. The room was empty, save them. She scrambled into a sitting position, her hand automatically going out to cup his cheek. She gasped at the contact, staring at him with wonder. Where his eyes had always possessed a cold, black, vaguely reptilian feel, they were now a rich, dark mahogany. His skin beneath her hand was warmer, pinker, not the bleached alabaster she had always known.
Slowly, he covered her hand with his own and tears flowed down her cheeks. There had always been a connection between them, a bond she couldn't explain, but now that sensation was staggering. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "What happened?" she asked, her voice full of wonder.
"You found me," he said.
She burst into sobs, wrapping herself around him. He cuddled her closer, whispering to her in ShadowTongue as he pressed soft kisses to her forehead. She abruptly pulled out of his embrace, pushing herself into a sitting position, straddling his supine form. She didn't even bother with the buttons, she just grabbed the halves of his pajama top and pulled. His chest was flawless, no bruises, no cuts, no broken ribs.
"It wasn't real," he said softly.
She looked at him, her expression hard. "It was real."
He swallowed thickly, accepting her words. Slowly, his hand came out to cup her cheek. "I love you, Buffy."
She leaned forward, kissing him gently. He didn't want gentle. He'd come so close to losing her and he needed to reassure himself that she was real, that she was his. He rolled them both, pinning her underneath him as he kissed her with carnal abandon.
The following evening, the A.I. staff along with Lindsey, Rupert and Jenny were seated around Angel's private study. Buffy was ensconced on Angel's lap in one of the plush, leather chairs. She hadn't let go of him since they came back. She had no intention of ever letting go of him again. Angel humored her, letting her mother him within certain bounds. She had wanted him to spend another day in bed and while that definitely held a certain appeal, their family and friends were far too apt to walk in on them at any time. Plus, Angel needed to get to the bottom of what had happened.
He took a deep breath, looking around the odd assemblage. "Thank you all for everything you've done," he said.
"We owe ya," Willow said meekly.
"I don't," Lindsey pointed out. "You owe me now."
Angel smirked at his once-again friend's comment. "To get to the point," he continued, "I know that Wolfram and Hart had some theories, but what has anyone else come up with?"
"I think I can answer that," Giles offered, rising to his feet. His expression was contrite as he looked around the room, his vision resting heavily on his daughter and wife.
He took a deep breath. "I have made numerous mistakes and I would like to see if I can remedy them."
Wesley looked at the elder Watcher somewhat nervously. He arranged his papers so that everyone in the room could easily read them. "So far," Wesley explained to Buffy and Angel, "we have endeavored to establish a firm timeline of events."
Giles nodded.
"To our knowledge," Wesley said, looking at Jenny, "and perhaps Mrs. Giles could correct us if we are wrong - Roarke's mother was a gypsy imbued with a certain affinity for magicks."
Jenny nodded, strain showing on her attractive features. She gripped her husband's hand tighter. "My mother was a magick worker," she confirmed. "She was natural rather than trained. She didn't study, it was all inherent power. But even at that, her power wasn't great. She was a little fish. I really don't know why Vocah went out of his way to kill her and take her power."
Wesley nodded, making note of what Jenny had related. "Roarke apparently had some natural power, as do you, correct?"
Nodding again, Jenny said, "Yes, we are both natural Wiccans, but Angel was always more powerful than me, even as a very small child. I wasn't around him when he was growing up, so I don't really know how much that power might have matured."
Wesley pushed his glasses up on his nose, looking at Angel. "So you took this natural talent and tracked down Vocah?"
"I did," Angel agreed.
Buffy's eyes were riveted to him. Jenny had related the basics of what transpired, but Angel had never before spoken of the specifics.
"Somehow you managed to defeat the demon and consume not only the power that Vocah stole from your mother, but the power that Vocah had stolen from countless Wiccans as well as Vocah's own power?" Wesley asked.
"That's what I thought at the time, yes," Angel confirmed. "I consumed the power," he said quietly, "and it began to change me."
"Yes," Wesley concurred gravely. "It changed you, but don't you see? It damn well should have killed you."
"What?" Buffy pressed, clutching Angel tighter.
"Vocah's powers are demonic powers," Wesley explained. "They can't be contained within a human body. The demon would eat away at the human form, body as well as soul, devouring it bit by bit until it superceded the humanity. Vocah's power would eventually overtake the new host. He would have a new set of powers in addition to his own."
"Consuming the human soul?" Jenny repeated, horrified. "But how could Angel withstand it?"
Wesley sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes wearily. "That part," he said, "I can't figure out."
"Angel was dying."
Everyone turned to Buffy. Slowly she looked up, meeting their gazes. Her eyes locked with Jenny's. "He was dying," she repeated, her gaze shifting to Angel. "That day Jenny and I first saw you. You were barely alive."
Angel smiled gently at her, tightening his arms around her. He was here now, but it didn't stop her irrational fear.
Slowly, Jenny nodded. She turned to face Wesley. "She's right," Jenny said, "Angel was dying."
"I should be able to clear some of this up," Giles said. Everyone turned their attention to him and he straightened.
"First I feel the need to explain myself, to give a reason for my heinous behavior and my violent dislike of Ethan Rayne and my son-in-law." He looked at Jenny and then at Buffy. "In my youth I made some serious mistakes with magicks."
Buffy's eyes went wide, as did Jenny's. Giles and magicks? It was almost inconceivable.
"I was twenty-one," he continued, "studying history at Oxford and the occult by night. I hated it. The tedious grind of study, the overwhelming pressure of my calling as a Watcher, the expectations of my family. I dropped out, I went to London. I fell in with the worst crowd that would have me. That is how I met Ethan Rayne. We practiced magicks, small stuff for pleasure or gain. It was all rather harmless until Ethan and I discovered something ... bigger."
Buffy gaped at her father, and Jenny, while more composed, was visibly shocked as well.
Giles smiled a tight, self-loathing smile. "We learned how to summon demons, how to leech power. One of us would go into a deep sleep and the others would summon the demon. It was an extraordinary high," he groaned. "God, we were fools. One of our group lost control. The demon consumed him, took corporeal form. We tried to exorcise the demon from Rodney, but it killed him." He swallowed thickly. "No. We killed him."
He raised his hand, intertwined with Jenny's and gently pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. He gave Buffy a pleading glance. "I learned the hard way the downside of tampering with powers beyond our control. From that day forward, I avoided them as much as possible. Needless to say I was less than thrilled with my wife's younger brother. Angel was reckless and power hungry and I knew firsthand how badly that could turn out for him and for the people that cared about him. But my distaste for magicks became somewhat of a personal crusade. I allowed my prejudice to cloud my judgment. I required my wife to give up an integral part of her being." He looked longingly at Jenny. "Which she did, because she loves me," he said thickly.
He looked across the room at his daughter. "I did everything in my power to discourage your association with Ford," he said. "I know Ethan. I know he's dangerous and I figured his son was more of the same. But for as much as I feared your involvement with Ford, it didn't come close to the absolute terror I felt at the idea of you being anywhere near Angel."
Tears once again clouded Buffy's vision. "Why?" she managed to croak.
"Because you are bound to him," Giles said simply.
"Bound?" Angel asked.
"The ShadowTongue," Giles said, "it took me years of researching to discern the reason for your ability to communicate in that manner."
"I'm a Slayer," Buffy said.
Giles and Angel both gave her confused expressions. "What?" they asked in unison.
"I'm a Slayer," Buffy said. "I'm sort of halfway between demon and human. Angel is ... er ... was too. That's why."
Giles frowned and shook his head. "While I appreciate the fact that you took the time to consider this, I'm afraid you're wrong."
"No I'm not."
"Buffy, if that was why, then it would stand to reason that after Angel woke without Vocah's demonic powers that you would no longer be able to speak to him in ShadowTongue, correct?"
Buffy's brow creased as she considered her father's words. "I suppose," she admitted reluctantly.
"And you can still speak to Angel in ShadowTongue, correct?"
Buffy frowned. "Yes," she concurred.
"Your ability to speak in ShadowTongue has nothing to do with your status as a Slayer," Giles said in his best Watcher voice.
"Then what about Faith?" Buffy demanded in a huff.
"What about Faith?" Angel snorted.
Buffy looked at her husband, nonplussed. "Why can Faith speak ShadowTongue?"
Angel shook his head. "Ionuin, Faith can't speak ShadowTongue," he said. "At least not to my knowledge. Definitely not to me. Why do you think she can?"
Buffy chewed on her bottom lip, slightly embarrassed. "I just thought ... "
"You thought?" Angel prompted.
"Yeah, okay, so it was a hunch and apparently it was wrong."
Angel pulled Buffy more tightly against himself. She was still frowning, more embarrassed than anything at her jealous nature where Angel was concerned. "You need to stop worrying about Faith," he said.
"It's on my list of things to do," she countered wryly.
"I take it you two got something sorted out?" Gunn asked, his irritation obvious.
Buffy looked up, realizing their entire conversation had been in ShadowTongue. "Uh, yeah," she said tightly.
"Back to my point," Giles said, doing his best to accept the obvious affection between Buffy and Angel, "in my research on ShadowTongue I came to the less than felicitous discovery that it can only be spoken if the two beings are split halves of one whole. Soulmates. It took me some time to piece things together, but I realized that Jenny must have taken Buffy with her that morning to see Angel and that his recovery was no doubt related to his bond with Buffy."
"Soulmates?" Jenny asked, looking at Buffy and Angel.
Buffy looked at Angel. His brow was puckered, obviously uneasy with the new information. He frowned at Buffy. "You don't seem shocked."
"I'm not," she countered. "I already knew you were my other half."
"How?"
"My tattoo," she said.
Angel stared at her for a moment, obviously trying to remember her tattoo. His mouth twisted into a grin. He laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Out of Bind's Compendium, right?" he asked.
"You got it," she said.
"I should have known," he said dryly.
"Yeah, well when you're busy spying on everyone and everything in a hundred mile radius, you have to expect that every now and then something will get by under the radar. Even if it is just a little tidbit like the fact that you have a soulmate."
He frowned and she smiled at him cheekily. They turned back to face the group who once again hadn't been able to follow their conversation.
"That's really annoying, ya know," Gunn groused.
"Sorry," Buffy said, contrite.
"Bite me," Angel added with a fake smile.
Seeking to head off a fight, Jenny said, "So when Buffy went to see Angel it somehow ... did what?"
"Vocah's power should have consumed Angel's soul," Giles explained, "except it couldn't. That morning was the first time Buffy and Angel met. When they touched, it did something to both of them, it activated their bond if you will. Vocah's power couldn't consume Angel's soul because Angel's soul belongs to Buffy, with Buffy. Angel drew upon her strength - which being a Slayer, is considerable. It allowed him to hold that power without falling victim to it."
Buffy swallowed thickly, looking around the room. She didn't want to ask, but she had to. "So now what?"
"What do you mean?" Wesley asked.
Buffy shifted nervously on Angel's lap. "Well, now that Vocah is gone, what happens? Where does that leave Angel? If most of his power was actually Vocah's, is he going to be left defenseless now? Are we going to have to worry about old enemies crawling out the woodwork?"
Giles sighed heavily. "Only time will tell," he said seriously. "But it's not as if Angel is defenseless. He is still the head of a very powerful organization, not to mention bound to a Slayer."
Willow smiled cheekily at him. "It will come in time, grasshoppah," she said.
Angel frowned, reaching for his coat. It was definitely a turn of events having to apprentice himself to Willow, though he had to admit she was an infinitely more patient teacher than he had been. Willow had no trouble going over spells again and again until he was satisfied he could perform them flawlessly. His knowledge was still in tact and it was formidable. But without the backing of Vocah's near limitless raw power, he was having to learn the fine art of finesse. It had never and would never be his strong suit. Three months of training daily and he was still a long way from being proficient.
"Can you please give this to Buffy?" Willow asked, handing him a box. "It's a few odds and ends she left. She keeps forgetting to pick it up. I've had it for months."
"No problem," Angel said, taking the box and heading for the door. He had to get back to the Hyperion. Nowadays, he took a much more active role in the day to day operations of Angel Investigations. He wasn't the only new name on the boards. Jenny and occasionally Giles worked there as well. Lindsey hung around so much that Angel was going to start assigning him cases if he didn't find a hobby. Lindsey would always grouse at the suggestion, but Angel knew him well. Lindsey wanted to help, he just didn't want to look like he wanted to help. Maybe he'd team Linds up with Faith ...
"Ooh, it's studious guy," Buffy said with a grin as he pushed through the doors of the Hyperion.
"Yeah," he said wryly, rolling his eyes as he walked behind the counter. She was sitting on the barstool next to the phone trying to give the appearance that she'd been busy researching. One look at her bare feet and freshly painted toenails and Angel knew she hadn't been checking up on the Grentor demons like he asked. He shook his head, shrugging out of his coat. She hopped off the stool and sauntered over to where he stood. With no warning, he attacked, reaching out and pulling her against his chest.
Buffy sighed contentedly, snuggling into his embrace. He tilted her head up and kissed her gently. Her arms wound around his neck and she pressed her breasts in to his chest in blatant invitation. He broke off the kiss chuckling. "We alone?" he asked.
She nodded.
"That's my office!" Wesley yelled, banging on the door.
Faith laughed, taking a break from her mock fisticuffs with Lindsey. "English, they don't care," she said.
And they didn't.
The End