Where do I start?  Once upon a time?

Better yet … I know …

In the beginning it was just the two of us …

Wait.

Maybe that should be 'at the end' it was just the two of us.

Mmmmm …  Still not right.

Bugger it all!  Where was the end, where was the beginning?  I can't rightly say.  Maybe the beginning started when we found ourselves at Angel's.  Of course, it could have been when I grabbed the Slayer and got the hell out of the Hellmouth …

No.

The end came when I found the Slayer looking like a corpse, wailing over what was left of Giles.  She was like something possessed; she'd have gone into a berserker fury if there'd been anything to go berserk ON.  By that point the fires they'd set were threatening to engulf us too …

I don't know why I saved the chit, but I'm glad I did.  Now, at least.  At the time I was bloody well brassed and …  I don't know.  Maybe in the deepest, darkest parts of my unconscious I wanted her around.

It took me awhile to restrain her and find a working vehicle to stuff her in.  I went by her mum's, but there was no one around, least of all Joyce.  Threw a few of her things in a bag, grabbed boxes off her dresser, and this little stuffed pig she's still fond of.  Found my cigarettes, my leathers and a few bottles of Jim Bean (always thought Joyce was a little off), tossed the stuff in the trunk and headed out.

I was in such a hurry that I ignored the 'Welcome to Sunnyhell' sign.

About twenty miles out I pulled off at a cheap roadside motel.  The old hag at the front desk gave me some shpill about not renting by the hour, but the enthusiastic yells and grunts coming (smirk) from the next room belied her words.  But at that point I could've cared less -- dawn was too close for me to bother.  I forked over a handful of bills, signed her fucking pad with the name of a gent I'd buggered seventy odd years ago and went back out.

The Slayer was still out of it, so I had to carry her.  I cursed when I saw the one bed --damn that hag!-- and dumped my baggage on the worn and discolored cotton blanket.

I love cigarettes.  The way the tobacco and nicotine gives you a rush, the feel of it curling in my lungs … the very act of inhaling to do something other than talk … it's almost heady.  And with a bottle to wash away the acrid after taste it's damn near true happiness.  Only one thing missing …

Think this is a tangent, do you?  Well, let me enlighten you mate.

It's not.

I sat there for over five hours smoking pack after pack, and drinking bottle after bottle.  Staring at the unconscious Slayer sprawled on that pitiful excuse for a bed, getting harder and harder.  Even after that slaughter, dirty and exhausted and covered in blood and dirt she was gorgeous.

And suddenly I saw her standing before me, encased in black leather that molded those curves of hers and showed them off to perfection.  Blonde locks bouncing on her shoulders and down her back, lights glinting off her sparkly eyes.  Those ruby red lips glistening as they whispered "because it would be WRONG … "

We'd had a confrontation coming for a while now and the reckoning was at hand.  I was so drunk, so angry that I didn't fucking care about anything but fucking her.

As soon as I could.

Her shirt was already full of rips so all it took was a few tugs and it was gone, leaving her nude from the waist up.  The pants came next, and looking back I'm always surprised that the fight I had with that clingy stretch material didn't wake her up.  Once they were off, I ripped apart that scrap of lace that passed as underwear and let my eyes feast on her very luscious body.

But only for a minute.  Then I was pushing her thighs apart, clumsily pulling my jeans down to free my hard cock.  Grasping it I pushed inside her and my eyes crossed.  She moaned, but didn't wake up.  But sweet gods she was tight; after all, it had been over a year since she stopped fucking commando boy and "reembraced her inner Slayer."  It's no bloody wonder my Sire was so obsessed with the chit.

It didn't take me long to come inside her hot quim, and I collapsed on top of her.  I rolled to the side and closed my eyes before I passed out, never once even wondering why the chip in my head hadn't reacted.

When I woke up it was an hour past sundown.  The Slayer was awake but not really there, if you get my drift.  She had her knees tucked up under her chin, and her arms wrapped around her legs as she rocked back and forth.  No words, no moans or screams, just those damn big tears streaming down her face.

I groaned at the pounding in my head swearing, once again, to never get that rip-roaring drunk.  For any reason.

A look at the Slayer convinced me that we'd have to share the shower.  Wouldn't do to have her seen in her condition.  Maneuvering us both into that tiny stall took brilliance, especially considering that I was nursing a hangover the size of Antarctica.  The not-so-hot water helped a little, and it washed all the blood and gore from our skin.

She really is beautiful, too beautiful.  Why did the Powers waste such beauty on the Slayer, of all people?  Once she stopped bonking that soldier-boy she gained back some of the weight she'd lost, and began to resemble the Slayer I met years ago that night behind the Bronze.

And all that creamy skin tinged a nice rosy color when she blushes.  Blood that, although I've never tasted it, must be sweeter than any confection and headier than the best wine rushes through her veins, just begging for a taste.  My poof of a Sire tasted her once, and she still carries the mark.

Maybe that's why I rescued her.  My Sire marked her, claimed her with both his cock and fangs.  And that brand on her neck isn't the only telling thing either …  Somehow a little of his blood runs in her veins.  I can smell it, I can smell him, and the way they mix together.

It nearly drove me mad the first time I realized what had happened, during our fight for the Gem of Amarra.  To have him so close … to have lost her to him once and for all …

Eh, I'm getting all maudlin.

Once we were cleaned up and redressed, we were back in the car and on our way.  At some point during the day I decided to go to LA, to Angel.  It's funny, once the decision was made I was on autopilot and the only thing I could think of was finding my Sire.  He would make it better, I knew he would.

It took us another two nights to find him.  He'd relocated a few times because he kept getting bombed out, or something similar.  I finally stopped asking questions (or knocking heads together) and started concentrating, like he'd taught me.  The Slayer was starting to come out of her shock by then, so I asked her to help me out -- she could sense him too, you know.  Together we tracked him to an old warehouse surrounded by wards against every sort of demon and evil imaginable.

Somehow the wards didn't bother us.

We tumbled into his office and were met by a woman named Kate, a copper if ever I've seen one.  She called out to someone, but we ignored her.  The Slayer and I, we could feel him now and we all but collapsed.

Sire.  Angel.  Sire.  Angelus.  Sire.  All those things ran through me as he knelt next to us, pulling us into his arms.  I vaguely remember hearing him tell the woman that this was personal, to go on but be careful.  Then she was gone and it was just us.  He picked up Buffy and wrapped his fingers around mine, tugging me toward an elevator.

As we descended to what I knew was his lair (odd term that, but it fit), I relaxed despite the clawing hunger I was beginning to feel.  I was with my Sire.  He would protect us, he would make it better.

We were finally home.

The End